by Maggie Ford
“Hell to our reputation!” Henry exploded – but he knew it mattered. With something like this, royals would withdraw their patronage. The rest, taking their cue from them, would stay away, go elsewhere. There were any number of high-class restaurants in London, just around the comer in fact: Wiltons and the Ritz were both within spitting distance. Just when they were lifting off the ground, after their father’s death had almost destroyed the place, Geoffrey with his selfishness threatened to bring it crashing down. Strange how one small indiscretion could generate such repercussions.
Such fine people we all are, Henry found himself sneering, such small gods when it comes to considering others. He found himself jolted back to the fact that he too had been guilty, had been thinking of himself and what this would do to his livelihood. What about Mary? He knew he ought to say to Geoffrey, “You’ll have to give her the money for an abortion”, yet what about her?
“It’s your problem,” he blurted. “You sort it out.” And, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray, he strode from the room, wishing he could stride as easily from the sickness that had risen up inside him when he thought of Mary.
* * *
The glow of the previous street lamp receding, the next one some way off as yet, William took advantage of the gloom to put an arm around Mary’s waist.
Tonight he was feeling particularly certain of himself. The show with Harry Lauder had been good. Mary had laughed at Lauder’s comical songs, although lately she’d become rather solemn and distant. He thought it might be the drawing out of this association of theirs with still no ring to show for it, so he decided to propose to her this evening as they said goodnight, and tell her they would look for a ring next Saturday. It was bound to cheer her.
All this saving up; it couldn’t go on forever. But he knew what she’d say: she would purse her lips, all concerned, and remind him of the million men on the dole queue. He could hear her saying it: “What if you lost your job, Will? It’s happening to so many.” But he could laugh away her fears. Mr Eustace, the head waiter, had lately been praising his work. And a man whose work is praised would hardly be out on his ear the very next week. Indeed, the word had got to Mr Henry’s ear who had stopped one day on his way through the restaurant to tell him personally that he was glad to see him doing well. So now, a sight more certain of the future than before, he felt confident enough to tell Mary they would buy the long-awaited engagement ring next Saturday. She would be so relieved.
“Enjoyed yourself tonight?” he asked.
“It was really nice,” she replied, watching their feet as they walked slowly, their shadows moving ahead of them but already fading. Soon they would reappear behind them as they got nearer to the next street lamp. He wanted to stop and kiss her before then.
“And that was a lovely box of chocolates,” she sighed. “Bit lavish though, don’t you think?”
“Ah,” he said contentedly. “Well, it is rather a special evening.” It was now or never. “Mary,” he began, but she interrupted him.
“I’ve got a bit of news for you,” she said, and racing on, added, “I’m not sure if you’ll be pleased for me or not.”
“Whatever it is,” he said, putting aside talk of the ring, “I’m sure it’ll be all right with me.”
“I don’t know,” she said, doubt creeping into her tone. “You see, you know about all this foot-and-mouth epidemic that’s sweeping through the country? Well, it’s upsetting the meat trade and there’s a big meeting in Birmingham of everyone concerned with the catering trade. Mr Geoffrey is having to go. Mr Henry needs to stay here to look after things. Well, Mr Geoffrey will need someone to take notes for him at this meeting and he’s asked me if I’d go with him. It wouldn’t be for long.”
The information came out in a gabble so that Mr Geoffrey’s name was almost submerged within it, but William was aware of an uncomfortable sensation. Something the head chef had said to him, so long ago that he’d long since shrugged it off, almost managed to forget it with he and Mary still going steady together, now came flooding back.
“Is anyone else going?” he asked, his voice brittle, the kiss he was going to give her abandoned.
“There’ll be lots of people there.”
“I mean, from Letts.”
“I think they’ve asked the other girl who works in the office, but I’m not sure if her parents will let her go. If not, one of the lads will.”
“What about your aunt? What happens to her if you leave her?”
“Oh, our neighbour will look after her. They’re quite thick, you know.”
It seemed Mary had got this all sorted out, all without telling him. “When were you asked?” he taxed.
“A couple of days ago.” she said quickly. “But I haven’t had a chance to see you until now.”
“You could have told me earlier this evening.”
“And spoil it all?”
It was spoiled now. He should be telling her that he wasn’t keen to have her go – that he would rather she told Geoffrey Lett to find someone else. But would that jeopardise her job?
Then, should it matter if it did? After all, when they married she’d be giving up her job anyway. Married women didn’t work, not in offices, and if he couldn’t look after her on his salary, he’d be a poor husband. On the other hand, they couldn’t be married for at least six months – the cost of the engagement ring would take a large chunk out of his post office book – and her earnings until then would go some way towards the wedding and a good start in some nice little rented accommodation.
He walked in silence for a while, his arm around her waist. Finally he came to a conclusion.
“How long will you be away?” he asked.
She thought for a moment. “I don’t really know. A week.” She seemed genuinely upset, her voice trembling, and his arm tightened around her.
A week wasn’t all that long. Often they weren’t able to meet for a whole week ordinarily, his shifts long, his break times erratic now that there was late-night dancing and even a cabaret in the restaurant with lots of wealthy and well-known people jazzing around on the small dance floor. Thirsty, they demanded a continuous supply of drinks and tipped well. His share of the pooled gratuities, small as it was, helped swell his savings. He couldn’t afford not to do overtime.
“Very well, darling,” he said at last. “I can put up with not seeing you for a week.”
He would put off telling her about the engagement ring until next time, but he kissed her instead, delighted that she returned his kiss whole-heartedly – desperately, he would have said if he hadn’t known better.
* * *
The place looked very expensive. In fact she had guessed it would be. Geoffrey would not have stinted on this, the most important thing ever to happen to her. He would want every care lavished on her, no slip-ups. Yet she shivered with apprehension and clung to his hand even more tightly as they sat on a sofa in the tasteful reception area.
“It’s so quiet,” she whispered, the silence compelling her to lower her voice.
She felt the pressure of his hand around hers, comforting, reassuring. “Don’t let it worry you. I’m assured they’re very kind, very understanding. You’ll be all right, darling. These private clinics are wonderfully good.”
He spoke as though this was a jaunt and she would have such fun.
“You’ll be fine, darling,” he said again. Yet still she shivered. All the way to this Middlesex clinic she had felt abnormally cold, and it hadn’t all to do with bitter February weather. Geoffrey had tucked a car rug tenderly about her knees, for all the car windows stayed closed except for when he had put out an arm to signal his intentions to other drivers before manoevring. Then a blast of snow-laden air would smite her so that she would pull the car rug closer around her. The cold seemed to have eaten into her very bones, but she knew it was not so much from the weather as from fear.
It felt as if they had been sitting here in this reception for hours, though of course that
wasn’t true. Someone had come out and taken her particulars, and she had seen the doctor in charge so that he could explain to her what would be done. She had come back more terrified than she’d already been. Finally the time came for Geoffrey to leave, saying that he would come back later to visit her – she was staying in for five days.
It was for the best, Geoffrey had told her. He had explained in gentle words how impossible it would be to keep the baby. She was over four months gone already; it would soon be noted that he was marrying her while she was pregnant. She hadn’t taken heart this time from the word “marriage”. Then he’d explained that should she get pregnant again, he’d see to it their child would not be labelled illegitimate and from this she did take heart, and, lighter with the knowledge that they would be married before there was any likelihood of another child, she had consented for this pregnancy to be terminated. But now, sitting here, waiting all this time, she was becoming terribly afraid.
“Don’t be,” Geoffrey told her, his hand tightening over hers. “There’s no better clinic in the country. No expense has been spared, darling.” His voice was a little shaky – she knew he cared for her.
“I wish you didn’t have to leave me, Geoffrey.”
“I’ll visit you tomorrow. By then it will all be over and you’ll be as right as rain.”
Without this inside me, she reflected as she watched him roar away in his car. Being without this inside her brought a small pang to her heart, even though she’d never felt a real bond as any expectant mother would – only heartache. Instinct had told her that what had happened to her could have driven Geoffrey away from her. It was that which prompted her to do as he bade, get back to normal, and – she knew this last from the way he kissed her so tenderly, concernedly, as he said goodbye to her – they continue as before, but this time with marriage in mind.
“We’re ready for you, my dear.”
The nurse was standing over her, the high fee for this particular patient making her voice soft and polite. The patient would not be referred to as “Miss”, merely “my dear”; must not be made to feel herself under pressure or stigmatised in any way; must not be given any cause to complain to the man who had brought her in, who had handed the large cheque to the clinic and who expected value for his money.
“If you would like to come this way, my dear?”
Mary got up and, feeling unexpectedly meek, followed the nurse who smiled in a friendly way and cooed encouragement.
“I am sure you will be quite comfortable. You have a private room. No one will bother you.”
Leading the way, she opened a door to a bright and cheerful little room containing a narrow bed with pink sheets, a dressing-table, a wardrobe, a sink in the comer with a mirror above it and a cupboard under it, a small chair and table with reading matter and a small bowl of fruit on it, and pink curtains at the window. Across the bed lay a white silk dressing-gown and a cotton nightie – a gift, Mary realised with a surge of love, from Geoffrey.
“If you would like to unpack your things,” the nurse was saying, pulling back the cover of the bed so that Mary could slip into it when she had finished, “just ring the bell there. Someone will come in to see if you have all you need, though I’m afraid we cannot give you any tea or anything to eat until after your operation. Now don’t worry about a thing. I promise, you will know nothing about it at all. When you wake up you will feel fine, and then we will give you a cup of tea and a little round of toast. Later you will have a small meal. In a moment someone will give you a tablet to make you drowsy, and you will know nothing more.”
I won’t even know if I died, came the thought, almost muffled panic. She had never had an operation in her life, nor even been in hospital, except when she had been a baby, she’d been told, with scarlet fever; but she could remember nothing of that, only that she had survived the disease completely unscathed. If she died during this operation, she would never know.
Mary bit her lip, having smiled bravely at the nurse and the woman having closed the door softly behind her. Automatically she began to unpack the nightie she had brought, her make-up, comb and brush and a change of clothing. Carefully she put the things where they had to go, then sat on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chin.
Between her legs she was aware of her private parts. Soon someone would be probing there, inserting something… doing something to her… She felt her insides begin to creep. Oh, Geoffrey, come back for me – I can’t face this alone. I can’t go through with this.
She became aware of a smell above the freshness of the room, at first a hardly detectable smell of antiseptic… no, anaesthetic, strong now, the sort of smell that floods dentists’ rooms. It was the smell of fear, the smell of terror. Panic began to mount. Unreasonable panic, she knew, for they had told her she would know nothing.
Knowing nothing or not, Mary suddenly knew she couldn’t go through with this. Couldn’t. Her breath was becoming harsh and laboured, cramping her heart, strangling in her throat, her throat tightening, hysteria taking hold.
Madly, she pressed the bell the nurse had indicated. Somewhere came a faint buzz. No one came. She pressed again. Still no one. They had left her to die of this terrible fear that was consuming her. Mary heard her voice crying out, begging someone to come. Frantically she pressed the bell again and again. The door opened.
“My dear, what is the matter?” She couldn’t recognise the woman; it could have been the nurse who had so politely, kindly, shown her to the room, but her terror-filled eyes saw only a woman looking at her. There was a buzzing, whining sound that seemed to be inside her head, and the sound of her own voice crying, “Get me out of here! I want to leave!”
“You can’t at the moment, dear.”
“I don’t want to stay here. I want to see Geoffrey.”
Hands were holding her, pushing her on to her back on the bed. “You’re just a little frightened. Everything will be all right, my dear. You must try to relax…”
“No!” With unexpected strength, Mary pushed the arms off her, flung herself from the bed. “I mean it – I want to leave here. I’m not going through with it.”
The woman had relaxed, stood back. Now Mary saw it was the same nurse who had shown her to her room. The pale features had taken on a placid, appeasing expression. “We will not make you do what you don’t want to do, Mary.” The hands moved towards her, freshly scrubbed palms with the look of two soft cushions facing towards her in a small appeal. One hand dropped to indicate the chair and table. “If you would sit down, Mary, and calm yourself.” It was as though she were addressing the insane. “I’m sure in a little while you will feel better.”
Mary did as she was told. She did feel calmer but no less determined. There was no way she would let herself be mauled by some unseen doctor. She wanted Geoffrey. She had made up her mind: she would go away, find lodgings somewhere and have the baby. Oddly, it seemed infinitely more acceptable than allowing this clinical intrusion into her insides.
“I want to see Mr Lett,” she said stubbornly, in charge of herself once more. The nurse nodded, her face cold, no longer friendly.
“Very well, Miss Owen. We will see if we can contact him for you.”
Leaving Mary sitting on the chair, she went swiftly out, closing the door not quite so softly behind her. Money would have to be handed back should the client leave, but there was little they could do about that.
* * *
In the small hotel room, the curtains closed to ease Mary’s reddened eyes, Geoffrey held her to him.
He had never seen anyone in such a state as she had been in when he came to the clinic. She had thrown herself into his arms in tears. He had reasoned with her, tried to make her see sense, all to no avail. There was no moving her – she would not go through with it, and between gulping tears had said she would pay him back the money he had spent on her.
He had smiled at that, despite his frustration. Where would she find five hundred pounds? The offer had wrung his heart, somethi
ng it wasn’t used to. Then it had done something totally unexpected – seemed to swell as all the love he had ever known was poured into it in one stream. Quite suddenly he knew he could never let Mary go, that no other girl would ever fill his heart as she was doing.
Making his excuses to the clinic, he’d waved away the reluctant offer to return his money and had taken Mary, huddled in the coat he had collected with the rest of her belongings, out into the biting February wind and into his car. From there he’d driven to this little hotel in which he now held her close.
“Mary,” he whispered against her ear. “I am going to marry you. We’ll stay here the night, and tomorrow we’ll go back to London, get you some decent accommodation. I’ll get a special licence and we’ll get married.”
Impulsive, yes, but the way he felt at this moment, who cared? His whole being was warmed by the love mounting inside him for this girl as she flung herself into his arms. If he were to put her aside now, his whole life would be as nothing. He wanted Mary, at this moment wanted her for the rest of his life. Only by making her his wife could he have that.
The following morning, after they had slept, he with an arm around her all night, her head cradled against his shoulder, the loss of feeling in that arm nothing to the way he still felt for the vulnerable sleeping girl, he kissed her lightly on the forehead. She opened her eyes, blinked and smiled at him.
Three days later they married.
Geoffrey sent Henry a telegram, telling him of the fact and informing him that he and his new wife would be having a short honeymoon and that he would see Henry on his return. Meantime, would Henry break the news to Mother, gently?
The next thing would be to find a nice flat for Mary, away from anyone who knew him. No one must know of the baby. Tongues mustn’t be allowed to wag. When it was bom, he’d find a nurse for it, and when Mary was strong enough he would take her out and about. They’d have a wonderful time socialising, she in the finest and most fashionable clothes, and no one need know about the baby until the shock of his sudden marriage was long forgotten. It was a fine plan. Mary would go along with it, he knew. What girl wouldn’t?
