The Factory Girl

by Maggie Ford

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He had no time to think what else to say. ‘You know what she’s like. And you’re a fool to take notice of damned wicked rumours like that.’

  ‘Am I?’ It was a challenge more than a question, said so quietly and for no reason it promptly promoted something akin to panic inside him.

  ‘You’re bloody mad!’ he yelled at her. ‘What d’you think I am? I’m not standing for this!’

  Leaping towards her, he swept her aside with one arm so viciously that she fell against the wall as he raced on past her. Flinging open the door of the flat he tore downstairs to the shop below, in his haste almost missing a step and taking a tumble. It took ages to calm down enough to unlock the shop door in preparation for the day, praying that no customer would detect the sick thumping in his chest as they looked into his passive face. But then, customers hardly ever looked at the one behind the counter, even when asking about something outrageously expensive.

  It was an awful half-hour, he expecting her to follow and continue her accusations. When she didn’t appear, he spent the time until Mr Bell came at nine, hardly able to apply his mind to anything other than making all sorts of contingencies against whatever might now raise its ugly head, dreaming up excuses to vindicate the mess he’d obviously but innocently, he told himself, got into. He almost deluded himself into believing that he was the wronged one, the falsely accused, the one who ought ultimately to be begged forgiveness once Geraldine came to see how misguided she’d been to listen to idle gossip.

  When Bell did arrive, he yapped at him that he had to go out and to mind the place, and with that jammed his trilby on his head, flung on his coat and fled, glad to be out of danger. In the car he furiously pushed the throttle, stamped on the accelerator. The vehicle roared into life and swept down Bond Street in the direction of Knightsbridge and the apartment where Diana would be, most likely sleeping off their night of passion.

  Some time went by before Geraldine felt able to move from the spot where she had been pushed by Tony’s retreating arm. She stood against the open door as if needing its support.

  The truth now glared at her. It must have begun soon after Egypt. All this time – two years, two whole years and she’d had no inkling. Those times he’d been away on his so-called business he’d been with her, Di Manners. How could she have been such a fool as not to ever suspect what was going on? He’d even had the disgusting cheek to come home here to make love to her. It made her feel sick thinking of him inside that woman then inside her. Her stomach suddenly heaved making her fling herself away from the door and rush to the bathroom, but little came up except bile as she crouched over the toilet. Pouring a glass of water to wash away the taste, she went into the kitchen, automatically putting on the kettle for a cup of tea.

  As she stood waiting for it to boil, slow anger began to consume her. His parting shot as he’d flung open the door to leave had been to bellow, ‘So what’re you going to do about it?’ but not even waiting for her reply.

  The anger was like a coldness rather than heat, induced by not being able to reply what she was indeed going to do about it.

  Questions – she could divorce him for adultery, a long and painful business, her name dragged around her society friends, her family with their inevitable I-told-you-so attitude, the humility of proclaiming herself the betrayed wife, it all following her around like a ghastly shadow.

  She could keep quiet, say nothing, endure in silence, hope that one day he’d tire of his lover and come back to her. Would she still want him then? Did she still want him now despite everything? That was a hard question. Not easy to shrug away love that until a few days ago had felt so strong, so enduring, so comfortable. But her marriage was broken and did she really want to mend it at all costs or would she be prepared to see it go?

  Tony’s words as he left the flat had thrown down the gauntlet, she could either put up with it, fight for him or divorce him. Was it the third option he was really looking for, freedom to marry Di Manners? It was that thought which decided her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. It was only later that the thought came that, divorced, she’d be free to marry Alan. He’d said he was in love with her. But did that include marriage? He had proved himself to be a confirmed bachelor since his own divorce, a once-bitten twice-shy attitude. Otherwise he would have suggested she divorce her husband and marry him. And he hadn’t, had he?

  It was then there came a fourth option. With no one to turn to who could truly offer her sanctuary, not Mum, not Alan, certainly not her society friends, this fourth idea came like the opening of a door onto bright sunlight. Revenge.

  How easily she could wreak revenge on him, he with his underhanded dealings, he on the wrong side of the law most of the time. When she’d asked him to be careful he had so many times taunted her with all it bought her – fashionable clothes, the fine jewellery, the good times, the fabulous holidays and great parties, her comfortable home; had flayed her with her own greed. But not any more. To get back at him now she would walk the gutters. To see him brought down after blatantly taking her for a fool with his affair was now her main aim. She’d come to mean nothing to him and he hadn’t even had the decency to tell her so, or even to cease making love to her between making love to Diana Manners. He was vile, filthy and he sickened her.

  Again the bile rose in her throat making her fight to control it. Yes, all she wanted was to pay him out. But how? To shop him, that was how.

  Her mind in a turmoil, still in shock, but slowly beginning to think straight at last, she took the now boiled kettle off the hob and with purely automatic movements began to make herself some tea.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The interior of Charing Cross Police Station struck dim to eyes that a moment earlier had battled with bright if chilly sunshine. With her heart stifling her by its thump-thump against her ribcage, Geraldine approached the desk as the middle-aged constable behind it looked up.

  ‘Yes madam?’ he enquired, and when she continued to regard him dumbly, added, ‘Can I ’elp you, madam?’

  ‘I … yes, I think so,’ she stammered. How to explain? What did she think she was doing anyway? But then a vision assailed her of Di Manners with her bare legs wrapped about Tony’s body. This was her revenge.

  ‘I want to report … my husband receives stolen goods, has been doing it for years and … and I want to report him. He’s …’

  The man didn’t even blink, reached for a form and looked at her, pen poised. ‘What’s the name, madam?’

  ‘Tony … Anthony Hanford, he …’ She paused seeing the man begin to write.

  ‘And this is your husband. You are Mrs Hanford. Christian name?’

  ‘Do you need my name?’ she asked, panic beginning to mount.

  The question was ignored ‘You’re saying he’s a receiver of stolen goods?’

  ‘I—’ She broke off, fear taking hold. She couldn’t do this. ‘Look, it don’t matter.’ Fear broke down her grammar. ‘I shouldn’t of come here. I made a mistake.’

  The man was now blinking rapidly, obviously thinking her mad. ‘This is a serious crime you’re reporting, y’know. I must make out the report, madam. I can’t just let it go, y’know.’ He was beginning to look stern. ‘We can’t ’ave people walkin’ in off the streets saying their ’usband’s a criminal – that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it, madam? – and then saying it don’t matter, they’ve made a mistake.’

  ‘Yes, I understand, but—’

  ‘Do you know if your ’usband works with a known criminal gang?’ He was now giving her an amiable smile. ‘Do you know any of their names?’

  ‘Yes, but … No, please, I’m sorry.’ Realising what she was getting herself into, she began backing away. ‘I don’t know what got into me.’

  Seconds later she had turned and bolted from the building, hurrying away until lack of breath forced her to stop. She was shaking and despite the chill air, her forehead under the cloche hat was damp with sweat. Her hands
were too, under the gloves she wore. She tried to think but nothing would come; tried to think of what to do but again nothing came into her head.

  People were looking at her in a strange way, or was it merely her imagination? The thought of revenge was one thing, carrying it out was entirely another. And still she couldn’t stop the trembling, as if her very blood and nerves were jiggering about of their own accord.

  One thought began to penetrate her muddled mind. That was to run to Alan. He would help her to calm down. He’d probably tell her that no harm would come of her actions, the police wouldn’t investigate such flimsy information from an apparently distraught woman – not even an address given, she remembered. He’d tell her not to worry. But she needed him to tell her that even though she had already come to those conclusions on her own. At this moment she wanted Alan more than she’d ever wanted anyone in her whole life.

  Collecting her wits, she hailed a passing vacant taxi, waited for it to rumble to a stop at the kerbside and got in, giving the address of Alan’s place of business.

  The man at the desk watched the departing woman narrowly. Even after she had gone he continued to stare at the exit, his eyes still narrowed to slits, the amiable smile he’d presented to her having faded to leave the lips to form a contorted, contemplative, almost malevolent slit in those square features.

  It was only when an elderly woman entered to enquire about her missing dog that the benign smile returned and he came to life to jot down the particulars being given concerning the animal, this time with far more meticulousness than the information from the previous woman.

  When the lady with the missing dog had departed, he looked again at the uncompleted sheet concerning Mrs Hanford, Mrs Anthony Hanford, then with a slow, knowing smirk, he took the sheet and, folding it carefully in four, slipped it into his breast pocket before continuing with his desk work. Rather than being sent for police information this was destined to reach entirely different hands.

  For the second time this week Geraldine sat on Alan’s sofa, his arm about her shoulders. He had told her exactly what she’d expected him to, but coming from him rather than her own mind, it gave masses of comfort.

  ‘I couldn’t go through with it,’ she sighed yet again. ‘I thought I could. I thought I could be tough, but I can’t. I’m hurt, desolate, I feel betrayed, wronged, but in the end I wasn’t able to do something like that.’

  ‘I know,’ came the whisper. ‘You just ain’t got that sort of heart.’

  His lips were buried in her short fair hair where the waves fell gently over her forehead. ‘You ain’t got a vindictive bone in yer body.’

  She allowed the lips to remain where they were. ‘But I can’t just stand by and let him go on making a fool of me. I felt I had to do something.’

  ‘P’raps now ’e knows you know, ’e might give ’er up. Come back.’

  ‘I don’t want ’im back!’ The words burst from her and she sat up suddenly. Turning her face towards him, she knew her expression was one of appeal. ‘It’s done, our marriage broken. It’ll never be the same again. I just couldn’t, not now, knowing what he’d been up to. It’s not as if he went off the rails just the once or even twice. You know, his head turned by a ravishing face and he made a mistake. This has been going on for nearly two years and after he’s been with her, he’s been coming back to our bed …’ She couldn’t say it. ‘And knowing he’s been lying to me all this time,’ she went on. ‘Me kept in the dark while he … while …’

  Visions of it all contorted her face and she sank back into Alan’s arms, felt them tighten about her as she let herself weep against his chest. ‘I feel so powerless. I feel so hurt, and so angry because there’s nothing I can do. I hate him. How could he be like this towards me? I feel shunned and ugly and unwanted.’

  If it was possible, Alan’s hold tightened still more. ‘You ain’t at all ugly, Gel. You’re—’

  ‘He always told me,’ she cut in, ‘that he thought I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever known. He’d loved buying lovely clothes and things just to show me off to everyone. I want to know, when did I start becoming plain and miserable? For a couple of years he’s been saying I’m miserable and making myself ugly by it. It was because we lost Caroline. I tried to—’

  ‘Listen,’ Alan interrupted. ‘You’re the most beautiful girl in all the world. Don’t listen to what he says, you are ter me. Always ’ave been. Always will be. Don’t ever let anyone tell yer that you ain’t. You take my breath away sometimes.’

  His lips had slid to her neck exposed by the scooped neckline of her dress, her hat and coat discarded when they’d entered his house. The touch felt so tender, so comforting, she reached up a hand to lay it on the nape of his neck. How warm it felt.

  She heard him murmur against her flesh. ‘And I love you, Gel, yer know that. Always wished yer’d choose me.’

  ‘I should of.’ Her voice too was a whisper. Had she chosen Alan she wouldn’t be in this mess. She wouldn’t have been any the wiser about the life that was now hers. By now she might have had children, never have had a baby die, the baby she’d called Caroline not known to her and thus not grieved for. How strange was fate. She would have been moderately well off with Alan, he now with his own business, not as excessively well off as she was with Tony, but there would have been contentment, she knowing no other life. What a fool to have been blinded by Tony’s fine prospects, those promises of them going places, living the high life, how empty they were. Mum was right. She’d got out of her depth and now look at her.

  With all these thoughts flashing through her mind, she only slowly became aware of Alan’s lips, having travelled to rest against her cheek, were moving towards her lips. Feeling so betrayed and forsaken by others, and so very much in want of honest affection, she let them rest on hers, lightly at first but her hand still on the back of his head was pressing down, strengthening the contact with a sudden, desperate need to know herself loved.

  It was with a strange mix of emotions that she returned home. In the taxi these emotions had refused totally to come together into one whole, and even when she’d let herself into her empty flat, still they didn’t fuse into any solid decision but persisted in bouncing off each other.

  What she and Alan had done was totally out of character, he normally so decent in his behaviour towards her to such an extent that she had laboured under the idea that he hadn’t ever fancied her in that way despite professing love for her. Today had proved otherwise. He’d been masterful, decisive, taking her with a strength that still shook her. But she had been the one who’d allowed it to happen, hadn’t protested, if she could rightly remember, though those more fraught moments only came hazily now to mind, had begged him to make love to her.

  Afterwards she had lain limp in his arms on the sofa, incapable of thought. Normality returning only slowly, they’d got to their feet, not looking at each other as they’d adjusted their clothing. She’d said something about having to get home, though why, she’d had no idea except for a need to put distance between them, not because she’d been ashamed of what they’d done – she still felt that way – but that she’d had a need to think about the fact that she was no longer quite the innocent party in this broken marriage of hers, having done exactly what Tony had been doing this past couple of years behind her back. Except that he’d seen fit to let it go on, even planning his meeting with his mistress whereas what had happened today with her and Alan had been entirely unexpected.

  Almost in shock she and Alan had avoided each other’s eyes as she got ready to leave, their words stilted, she half expecting him to whisper how sorry he was to have let it go that far and how could she ever forgive him.

  He’d not mentioned it at all and had driven her to Mile End station where she could get a tube train home, chiefly in silence with her finding it hard to think of anything to say to him and suspecting he felt the same. Once he had asked if she was all right. She’d merely nodded confirmation and he’d grunted acceptance
of that. The short hop to where she had decided to get a taxi had seemed endless.

  When they finally stopped, he’d said, ‘There’ll be one along in a minute. I’ll hang about until you’re safely in one.’

  Making ready to get out of the rickety old van, she’d hesitated, had looked at him, silently begging some word beyond the few he had offered and when he remained silent she’d fumbled with the handle that would open the door, but he had reached across and covered the hand.

  ‘I want ter say somethink.’ His eyes held hers as she looked at him. ‘I’m not a bit sorry about what ’appened. Per’aps I should apologise but I ain’t going to, because I love you. Maybe I shouldn’t of let it ’appen but it seemed right and I think you felt the same. And I’m going ter say it again, I love you, Gel.’

  She’d leaned back into the seat, her gaze downcast. When he asked, ‘Do yer love me too, Gel?’ she had nodded fiercely, unable to speak and, not knowing what to make of her emotions, had escaped his grip and moving forward had pushed open the door in her haste letting her flat, envelope-shaped handbag slip from her grasp to fall under the scuffed seat.

  As he bent to retrieve it she gazed at the mass of dark hair and suddenly found her voice. ‘I do love you, Alan. In a way I’m glad what happened, but in another I’m frightened. We mustn’t do it again.’

  He’d glanced up at her, the handbag caught between his fingers, and the stunned protest on his face had all but torn her apart. She had made an effort to explain herself, though not a terribly successful one, it seemed to her.

  ‘I don’t want what happened today to ruin things between us. I want to keep on seeing you, but two wrongs don’t make a right. Just because he’s been cheating on me don’t mean I have to do the same on him. But at the same time I don’t want you to think that what happened between us happened just because I wanted to get back at him.’