The House By Princes Park

by Maureen Lee

  ‘Not now, Matthew, Greta’s here. My God!’ Ruby gasped. ‘I didn’t realise... She’s in a terrible state. She said you just turned on her for no reason at all.’

  ‘And you believed her?’ His bitter laugh tore at her heart. ‘You mustn’t have much of an opinion of me. No wonder that other fellow wouldn’t marry you, Ruby. You put your family before every other bloody thing on earth, no matter what they do. Tell my wife to stay where she is. You’re welcome to each other.’

  ‘Matthew!’ Ruby cried frantically. ‘I’ll come and see you straight away.’ But she was talking to herself. Matthew had slammed down the receiver.

  She went into the garden and screamed for Brendan. He was halfway up a tree he’d been forbidden to climb and made his way down, looking guilty, expecting to be told off. ‘Come on,’ Ruby said brusquely. ‘We’re going for a ride in a car.’ She pulled him into the house, ‘Get your coat,’ she commanded.

  ‘Yes, Bee.’ Brendan said obediently. He was nearly four and aware something was wrong.

  Ruby turned her attention to her daughter. Earlier, Greta had thrown herself on to the settee, sobbing her heart out. Matthew was an awful person, truly horrible. That afternoon, he’d flown into a rage, she’d no idea why.

  ‘Greta,’ Ruby said from the door. ‘Get up immediately. I want you to take me to your house in the car.’

  ‘What, Mam?’ Greta raised her tear-streaked face, surprised.

  ‘I said, drive me to your house. That was Matthew on the phone. You stupid girl, you’ve hurt him badly. You didn’t tell me he’d found you in bed with another man. That’s not the way you were brought up. Oh, I’m so ashamed!’ Ruby stamped her foot in rage. She’d be sixty-two next month and it was about time she had a bit of peace. ‘Who was he, the man?’

  There was a pause.

  ‘The husband of one of me friends.’

  ‘Well, you won’t be friends much longer once she finds out. If you don’t get off that settee this very minute, I’ll drag you outside. I’ll have a go at driving the car myself if you won’t do it.’

  Greta got sullenly to her feet. ‘I don’t know why you’re so concerned about Matthew.’

  ‘Get a move on, girl,’ Ruby snapped. ‘I’m concerned about Matthew because he’s been the best friend this family could have had. Are you coming or do I have to drive myself ?’

  No one spoke on the way to Calderstones, not even Brendan who was unusually subdued. When they reached the house, Ruby turned to her daughter. ‘Give me the key.’

  ‘I haven’t got it. It’s in me handbag at home.’

  ‘This is your home,’ Ruby said tartly. ‘Or at least it was. I’ll just have to knock and hope he answers.’

  ‘He won’t answer, ’cause he’s not there. His car’s gone.’

  ‘Damn!’ She’d let him down again.

  Matthew still wasn’t home by midnight. Next day, when Ruby rang Medallion and asked to speak to Mr Doyle, she was told he was on holiday.

  ‘When will he be back?’

  ‘He didn’t say when he would return.’

  ‘When he does, please tell him Mrs O’Hagan would like to speak to him urgently.’

  ‘I’ll relay that message to his secretary.’

  The day after, Greta drove round to Calderstones to collect her things, after phoning first to make sure Matthew wasn’t there. She returned, the car full of clothes, and tearfully reported that the house was up for sale.

  ‘Oh, Mam, I’ve been such a fool,’ she sobbed.

  ‘You certainly have. Oh, come here, love.’ Ruby held out her arms. It was impossible to stop loving someone because they’d been a fool – well, a bit more than a fool where Greta was concerned. But it would be a long time before she would forgive her for what she’d done.

  Heather no longer wanted to share a room with her sister. She had bought a portable television so she could watch Open University programmes and study in bed. Greta would be in the way.

  ‘Can I sleep with you, Mam?’ Greta sniffed pathetically after a few nights on her own. ‘I’ve never slept by meself before. It feels dead peculiar.’

  ‘You certainly can’t. I like my privacy too.’

  ‘What about Brendan? Can I sleep with him?’

  ‘Not when there’s two empty bedrooms upstairs, no. By the way, have you done anything about getting a job?’

  Greta sighed. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Then I’d appreciate you doing it soon.’

  ‘I’ll look in the Echo tonight.’

  ‘If nothing’s there, try the Labour Exchange tomorrow.’

  ‘All right, Mam,’ Greta said with a martyred air, but Ruby was having none of it.

  ‘It’s entirely your own fault you’re in this situation, so I want none of your pained looks. Heather’s the only one in the house earning a wage. It’s not up to her to keep you.’

  A fortnight passed and Matthew still hadn’t acknowledged her phone call. Ruby called Medallion again.

  ‘Mr Doyle was made aware of your message,’ she was told. ‘He said to tell you he’ll be in touch next time he’s in Liverpool.’

  ‘When will that be? Where is he now?’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve no idea when it will be, Mrs O’Hagan. Our firm has just been awarded a contract for three hospitals in Saudi Arabia. Mr Doyle will be overseeing the work.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Ruby rang off. Saudi Arabia! If Greta had been there just then, she would have strangled her.

  Six months later, a letter from a solicitor dropped on the mat addressed to Mrs Greta Doyle. Matthew wanted a divorce on the grounds of adultery.

  ‘He can’t divorce me for adultery,’ Greta pouted. ‘He hasn’t any proof. I’m going to write back and contest it.’

  ‘He might try and get proof,’ Ruby pointed out. ‘He’s sure to know the name of the chap he found you in bed with if he was a friend’s husband and involve him, then the wife would be round here, making a scene. It’d be in the Echo, and your name would be mud. Not only that, the legal costs would be horrendous. You’d end up in debt for the rest of your life.’ She had no idea what she was talking about. Every word she’d just said could be a lie. But Greta had committed adultery and no longer deserved to be married to Matthew.

  ‘So what should I do?’ Greta cried piteously.

  ‘Just write to the solicitor and agree the divorce can go ahead as it stands.’ There were times when honour demanded not putting your family first.

  The following year, 1981, as soon as her divorce from Matthew was finalised, Greta got married for the third time. She was forty-five. Frank Fletcher was a sweet, if rather dull little man, a widower, with two grown-up sons, both married. He was a clerk in the shipping company where Greta worked, and owned a semi-detached house on the estate where she would have lived with Larry had life gone differently.

  The wedding was held in a register office. There were just six guests; Ruby, Heather, and Frank’s sons and their wives – none seemed too pleased that he was marrying again. Brendan had just started school and was otherwise occupied.

  After the soulless ceremony, everyone went to Ruby’s for something to eat. The Fletchers refused the wine and beer she’d bought, saying they preferred tea. After politely eating a few sandwiches, they went home, leaving only the enamoured Frank who could hardly believe his luck in landing such a pretty bride. The newly married couple left for their honeymoon in Scarborough in the afternoon.

  Greta was still on honeymoon when Ruby tidied her room and was surprised to find the wardrobe full of her smart clothes. She mentioned the fact to Heather when she came home.

  ‘She doesn’t want them any more,’ Heather told her. ‘She said there’d be no need for stuff like that when she’s married to Frank.’

  ‘I wonder if any of them will fit us?’

  When tea was over, they went upstairs to try on the clothes, accompanied by Brendan, who seized the hat Greta had worn to Daisy’s wedding and put it on, grinning at them through the green feathers
. The women went through the wardrobe and wished Greta was taller.

  ‘I wonder if I could have a false hem put on this?’ Ruby held up a blue crêpe frock.

  ‘I could wear this jacket, but not the skirt. Look at this sweater! I bet it cost the earth. Oh, I can’t do this!’ Heather threw the sweater on to the floor and burst into tears.

  ‘Neither can I.’ Ruby dropped the blue frock as if it was too hot to touch. ‘I feel like a grave robber.’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll be happy married to Frank, Mam.’

  ‘She might, love,’ Ruby said sadly. ‘You know, I should have been nicer to her when she came home, but I was so annoyed...’

  ‘Our Greta’s never been any good on her own. I should have let her back in our room. We drove her away, Mam.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it quite as strongly as that, love.’ Ruby put her arm around her weeping daughter. ‘She behaved disgracefully with Matthew. It would have been wrong to welcome her home and act as if nothing had happened.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have happened if Rob and Larry hadn’t died.’

  ‘That’s something we’ll never know, Heather. If it hadn’t been Matthew, it might have been something else.’ Ruby sighed. ‘Brendan! Give us that hat before you wreck it. One of these days Greta might want to wear the damn thing.’

  Brendan

  Chapter 19

  1985

  She was in a hotel room, an expensive hotel, not her own, and she was lying in a double bed, feeling like death. The other half of the bed had been occupied. She could see the indent of where a head had lain on the pillow and the bedclothes had been thrown back when the person had got out.

  Who, Ellie wondered? Last night there’d been a party and she could recall getting plastered, but from then on her mind was a blank. She looked at her watch; half-past nine.

  It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Ellie worked for a London-based agency that provided pretty girls for all sorts of occasions; company dinners to which wives hadn’t been invited, business exhibitions, sporting events. At the moment she was in Madrid with six other girls for a motor show – sports cars – and it was their job to drape themselves provocatively over the bonnets as an incentive to prospective purchasers to part with monumental amounts of cash. Last week it had been a computer exhibition in Sweden where they’d been expected to look charming and wise. Next month it was office equipment in Rome, though the work was mainly based in the British Isles.

  The agency adopted a high moral tone. It had its reputation to consider and the girls were forbidden to have sexual relationships while employed on a job. Ellie only occasionally broke the rule, and always when she’d had too much to drink, like last night.

  She sat up, clutched her reeling head, and noticed her clothes were on the floor beside the bed. The net curtains on the open window billowed outwards and she saw a stone balcony outside. The sun was shining brilliantly and it was already warm considering it was only May – she dreaded to think what Spain would be like in summer. People could be heard splashing about in a pool.

  The room had two doors, one of which was ajar, revealing a bathroom. Ellie climbed out of bed and got washed, then put on the tight white skirt and red blouse, the uniform for the motor show. They were badly creased and there was a wine stain on the skirt. She’d prefer to be gone when the owner of the room came back. If he came back. There was no sign of anyone staying there; no suitcase, clothes, toilet gear. Maybe he’d already checked out.

  When she opened her bag to get her make-up she found it stuffed with notes; Spanish pesetas. She had no idea what the exchange rate was, but there was plenty of them. The guy, whoever he was, must have thought she was on the game.

  Ellie sat on the bed, feeling slightly ashamed. Still, she hadn’t come to any harm. The cash was a plus and maybe the guy was just showing his appreciation. It was scary, though, to think she’d spent the night with a man she couldn’t remember. He might have looked like King Kong for all she knew or he could have been a pervert.

  There was a knock on the door and she stiffened. ‘Who is it?’ she called.

  ‘It’s Barry, darling.’

  The girls jokingly referred to sixty-year old Barry as their chaperone. He booked hotels, made travel arrangements, saw that they were properly fed, and got to the various events on time. He was a little, roly poly man, almost completely bald, with a warm smile that never reached his eyes. Ellie considered him two-faced, but so were most of the people she met these days – she probably was herself.

  ‘How did you know where I was?’ Ellie asked when she let him in.

  ‘You and Bruno Pinelli seemed very much an item last night. This being his room, it seemed the first place to look. Bruno Pinelli,’ he went on in response to Ellie’s puzzled look, ‘was at the show yesterday signing autographs. He’s a racing driver, Italian, very good-looking. He invited a few of us back to the bar downstairs for a drink and it turned into quite a party. Then Bruno disappeared at exactly the same time as you did. It didn’t take much in the way of brains to put two and two together.’

  Ellie dredged up a vague memory of dark, flashing eyes and an exceptionally virile lover. ‘I had a bit too much to drink,’ she muttered.

  ‘More than a bit, darling. You want to be careful. Next thing you know, you’ll be an alcoholic.’

  ‘Don’t talk daft, Barry.’ She laughed. ‘I’m a social drinker. I never drink during the day.’

  ‘Maybe not, but when you get near a bar, you can put a fish to shame. What’s this?’ He picked up the ashtray and frowned at the contents. ‘Have you been smoking grass?’

  Ellie couldn’t remember. ‘We must have done.’

  ‘And you’ve left the evidence for anyone to find!’ He looked grim when he took the ashtray into the bathroom. The lavatory flushed. He returned and said harshly, ‘If humping guys and getting sloshed wasn’t bad enough, now I find you’ve been smoking an illegal substance. If you don’t pull your socks up, darling, I’ll have to advise the agency to let you go.’

  ‘That’s decent of you – darling, ’ she said icily.

  ‘I don’t have to give you a warning,’ he replied, just as coldly. ‘I could advise the agency today.’

  ‘I’ve got the message, Barry.’

  ‘Glad to hear it, Ellie.’ He smiled, but his eyes didn’t. ‘You’ve got two hours before the show opens and you look like shit. I’ll get room service to bring you something to eat and some black coffee. While you’re waiting, put your war paint on, and I’ll arrange to have a change of clothes brought over. Fact, I’ll do both things right now.’ He picked up the phone.

  ‘What about this Bruno guy? Is he likely to come back?’

  ‘No, he checked out early this morning.’

  ‘Thanks, Barry – for everything.’ She didn’t like having to be grateful, but he could have her fired.

  Not that it would matter all that much, Ellie thought when Barry had gone. It was a lousy job which had seemed exciting at first. Now she found it boring. Most jobs turned out boring in the end.

  She sat in front of the dressing table and began to apply her make-up, difficult when her hands were shaking so badly. Barry was right, she looked like shit. Halfway through, a waiter arrived with the coffee and some rolls.

  ‘You pay for this now, please,’ the man said courteously handing her a bill. ‘Señor Pinelli, he already settled his account.’

  ‘How much is this in English money?’

  ‘About ten pounds.’

  Just for coffee and rolls! Ellie blanched. She didn’t even want the rolls and dreaded to think what it would cost to stay in the place. The waiter appeared satisfied with two of the notes Bruno Pinelli had given her and left. Ellie finished her make-up, then sat at the small table in front of the window to drink the coffee. The room was on the first floor at the rear of the hotel. Outside, a shimmering blue pool looked a mile long and was set within an avenue of shady trees. A man was teaching a little boy to swim and, at the far
end, a youth was poised on the edge of the diving board. He raised his arms, jumped, and soared downwards, hardly raising a splash, to the cheers of a group of watching teenagers and the few people so far occupying the loungers and umbrella-covered tables surrounding the majestic pool.

  Ellie felt a pang of envy. These people didn’t have to spend the rest of the day inside a stinking hot marquee, pretending to be nice to people, not caring whether they bought a car or not. Why hadn’t she the money to stay at a place like this? What had gone wrong with her life?

  She was twenty-six, getting on, getting nowhere. After she’d left home the second time, Ellie had hung around the pop scene for a while, hoping for a job in a promotional capacity, as an assistant of some sort, or in advertising. But nothing had happened. Nor had anything happened during the time spent working in the office of a fashion magazine. No one had suggested she become a model, though she was prettier than most of the successful ones. She’d remained unnoticed as a film extra and during the year with the television company where she’d never risen above making tea and doing the filing – an office girl. When she’d joined the agency two years ago, it had seemed a step up. At least she’d been taken on for her looks and her figure, her personality. But it was a dead end job without any chance of promotion.

  Barry was wrong to say she’d become an alcoholic, though she wouldn’t mind a good, stiff drink right now, help buck her up a bit. Trouble was, it didn’t always work, and she’d have another stiff drink, then another, and end up drinking herself into oblivion.

  There was another knock on the door. This time it was one of the girls, Trisha, with a fresh outfit.

  ‘Barry sent this. Did you have a good time last night?’ Trisha hadn’t been to the party. She was eighteen, a lovely, fresh-faced girl who, right now, made Ellie feel old and rather grubby.

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Oh, well. I’ll love you and leave you. See you later, Ellie.’

  ‘See you.’

  Ellie changed her clothes and brushed her hair. She was beginning to feel better and decided to eat one of the rolls, seeing as how it had cost an arm and a leg. She poured more coffee and took it on to the balcony. There were more people in the pool since she’d last looked and she regarded them jealously. A woman with ghastly red hair, a toad-like figure, and legs like duffle bags, was waddling her way towards a thickly cushioned chair under an umbrella. She wore a sack-like gingham frock and sat down with a thump that Ellie sensed rather than heard.