by Weaver, Pam
Percy only occasionally threw an adoring glance at a BUF girl. The women’s uniform was rather masculine, with its black shirt and tie, black belt and grey A-line skirt; and although many of them plastered their hair with Gripfix, so that it would stay tidy no matter what, sometimes – just sometimes – a softer beauty shone through. The truth of the matter was that he was beginning to feel not only slightly disillusioned, but also lonely.
Behind him someone dropped something with a clatter, bringing him back to the here and now. The letter was still in his hand.
He tapped the envelope on his palm. The writing was Ruby’s, although the original address had been crossed out and redirected to the Black House. What was so important that she should try to get in touch with him again? Could it be that his mother was ill? The last time he was home she had seemed far from well. If she was dead, he could do nothing about it, and he could do without the interruption of a funeral. And if his mother was dangerously ill, and Ruby was imploring him to go home, he didn’t want to see her anyway. He was still too angry. The feeling of betrayal was still too keen.
‘Anything I can do for you, sir?’
Percy started as a much older man came and stood by his elbow. He smiled and shook his head. As the man turned to go, Percy took one last look at the envelope, then folded it in half and thrust it into his pocket.
Rex Quinn always felt he had a sixth sense when it came to Bea Bateman. He had planned to return to Worthing later in the year, but increasingly he felt that he should arrange to go back sooner. It hadn’t been easy, leaving her to her grief. He hoped she had made a good life with Nelson and the children. He recalled the astonishment he’d felt when she’d chosen to go back to her husband all that time ago. Nelson always seemed a rather churlish sort of fellow. When he’d arrived at the hospital, everybody thought he was on his last legs, but the man obviously had the constitution of an ox. He’d not only made a full recovery, but he’d gone back to France as well.
Rex had been brought up as a God-fearing Congregationalist and, as such, he’d made a valiant attempt not to see Bea again. He’d read and reread the story of David and Bathsheba in the Old Testament, and determined in his heart that history would not repeat itself. King David had lusted after Bathsheba and had sent her husband back into the seat of battle, where he was certain to be killed. Rex had no say in what happened to Nelson once he was fit, but, to his everlasting shame, he wasn’t sorry to see him shipped back out to the trenches again.
He and Bea had enjoyed a wonderful spring and summer together in his home. Little Percy had enjoyed playing on the beach and they’d eaten strawberries and made love in his conservatory, sometimes under the stars. The disaster began when first of all Bea discovered she was pregnant, and then her husband announced that he was to be repatriated back home. Rex had begged her to stay with him, promising a good home for her and the boy, but she’d told him that she knew her husband only too well. She couldn’t leave her child, and Nelson would never allow her to take Percy with her. Rex had wanted to keep in contact with her, but Bea wouldn’t hear of that, either. Nelson, she told him, was vindictive. If he ever found out who the father of her child was, that man was as good as dead.
Rex had been terrified that Nelson would beat Bea, or do her such harm that she would lose their baby, and so it was with enormous relief that he heard she’d been safely delivered of a little girl. He’d only seen Bea once more after that. It was about nine years ago, when he’d bumped into the whole family in Hastings. Bea had tried to look casual, but Rex always feared she might have given the game away, because although he’d been polite, Nelson seemed on edge the whole time. Rex had never married, for Bea was the only woman he would ever love. But he’d heard sometime later that Bea and Nelson had gone on to have another child. He was glad for her and hoped she was happy.
He reached for the telephone and dialled the number of an old friend. After several minutes of chit-chat about nothing in particular, Rex became more direct.
‘Look here, old man,’ he said congenially, ‘I need a bit of a break. Do you think you could come here for a fortnight as my locum in August?’
Albert Longman felt like a traitor. It was several weeks since he’d left Worthing. He had successfully avoided bumping into Lily, but as soon as he’d heard on the grapevine that Ruby was actually going to marry Jim, he couldn’t bear to stay away. He’d tried to put her out of his mind, but he couldn’t. He would have to go back and see Dr Haydon again. Even as he stepped off the train, he knew he should have done this a long time ago.
The hospital was a forbidding Victorian building, but there had been some recent redevelopment on the site. A noticeboard stood to one side of the driveway: Graylingwell Hospital for the Mentally Ill.
Albert rang the bell and a woman came and unlocked the door. He explained that he had an appointment with Dr Haydon and was shown in. Walking briskly, the woman led him down a long corridor where a domestic was polishing the linoleum floor with an electric buffer. A few people shuffled about; some had vacant expressions and appeared to be drugged, while others greeted him cheerfully. Of those who passed the time of day, Albert was struck by their accents. Some were obviously middle- or maybe even upper-class. Oddly, it comforted him to realize afresh that mental illness was no respecter of class or status.
The corridor seemed endless, but at last he was shown into a small office and asked to take a seat and wait. Dr Haydon came in a few minutes later and Albert stood to shake his hand.
‘I hope this visit isn’t what I’m thinking it is,’ said the doctor.
Albert shook his head sadly. ‘I’m afraid it is, Doc. I just don’t know what to do.’
CHAPTER 34
Ruby was getting desperate. Her wedding day was getting ever closer and she still didn’t have anyone to give her away. There was no reply from Percy – not even to her second letter – and the family had a distinct shortage of male relatives.
Everything else was tickety-boo. Her dress was almost ready: just the hem to do and the cuffs on the sleeves. May’s dress was done, and Cousin Lily’s only had to have a second fitting before it could be completed. Her mother and Aunt Vinny had spent a rare day together in town and had bought their outfits. Bea had a lovely frock from Smith & Strange in South Street. Their clothes were normally way out of her league, but she had spotted a blue cotton dress with its own little bolero in the window; it was only twelve shillings and elevenpence and it fitted her perfectly. Aunt Vinny went for a navy dress with a white trim, and they complemented each other quite well. After that, the two of them had gone to the Dome to a hair-waving demonstration called ‘Waves of Desire’. An elderly woman who had been ‘Miss 1900’ in her youth sat with a lovely girl who had just been crowned ‘Miss 1934’. They acted as models for the Eugene system of waving. Bea and Vinny would have loved to have a permanent wave but, at twelve and sixpence, it would cost almost as much as Bea’s dress!
Edith popped round to admire Ruby’s dress. It was hanging in the front parlour, which nobody used now.
‘It’s gorgeous, Roob,’ Edith said. ‘Oh, you’re so lucky.’
Ruby squeezed her friend’s arm sympathetically. ‘It’ll be your turn soon.’
‘I hope so,’ said Edith confidentially. ‘I can’t hold him off much longer.’
The two friends giggled. ‘What’s it like with Jim?’
‘We haven’t done it yet, but we struggle sometimes,’ said Ruby. ‘Still, we don’t have long to wait.’
‘Do you think it hurts?’ asked Edith. ‘When it goes in, I mean.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Ruby with a shiver.
‘Bernard showed me his once,’ said Edith, lowering her voice and coming closer. ‘Oh, Ruby, it was huge.’
Ruby made no comment, and her friend suddenly looked anxious, as if she’d betrayed a confidence.
‘So is Jim’s,’ said Ruby.
‘And hard,’ said Edith.
‘And pink,’ said Ruby, whereupon they
had a fit of the giggles.
‘Who is going to give you away?’ asked Edith, suddenly serious again.
Ruby shrugged. ‘I’ve written to Percy twice, but he doesn’t reply. Either that, or they don’t give him my letters. That’s what happened the last time.’
‘Would you like me to ask Bernard?’ said Edith.
Ruby took in a breath. Of course! Bernard would be ideal. ‘Do you think he would do it?’
‘I’m sure he would,’ said Edith.
Ruby flung her arms round her friend’s shoulders and hugged her. ‘That would be wonderful.’ She had only met Bernard a few times, but he seemed very nice. He obviously loved Edith dearly. It wasn’t an ideal situation but, with no other men in her life, it solved a very pressing problem.
‘Then consider it done,’ said Edith.
Ruby paused as they walked out of the door. ‘The only thing is,’ she began, revelling in the naughtiness of their conversation, ‘after what you’ve just told me – you know, about Bernard’s thingy – I won’t be able to get it out of my mind.’
‘In that case,’ said Edith, ‘I’ll make a pact with you. You stop thinking about Bernard’s thingy and I’ll stop thinking about Jim’s.’ And, giggling helplessly, they joined Bea in the kitchen.
The crowds waited patiently. It was nearly time for the Albert Hall meeting. Percy stood in a long line of Blackshirts that snaked around the whole building. He had his back to the door with his feet slightly apart and his hands behind his back, and he remained at his post until the vast crowd had gone in, which happened with surprising speed.
As a flag-carrier, Percy then hurried to meet the others. The great man himself arrived not soon afterwards. This was the first time Percy had seen him this close up. Mosley, tall with disturbingly dark staring eyes, a Roman nose, swept-back hair parted in the middle and a full moustache, was in full uniform, including jodhpurs and jackboots. As they waited for their cue, Mosley held his body stiffly. It was clear that he was becoming irritated by the delay, which Percy put down to nerves. He was nervous enough himself.
‘What are we damned well waiting for?’ Mosley demanded. He glared at Percy. ‘Who’s doing the bloody fanfare?’
Percy didn’t have a clue, but he knew he daren’t say so. Mosley didn’t suffer fools gladly.
Someone else waiting with them accidentally trod on Mosley’s toe and he exploded. ‘Good God, am I surrounded by bloody fools and imbeciles?’ He rounded on Percy again. ‘You,’ he barked. ‘Yes, you, boy. Get out there now. Go on, go on …’
Percy’s face flamed. No one had called him ‘boy’ since his father died. He didn’t like it then, and he sure as hell didn’t like it now.
At that moment the fanfare began and Mosley shoved Percy in the back. He was propelled through the curtain, and the roar that greeted him sent an instant tingle down his spine. Holding the flag upright with as much dignity as he could muster, he walked down into the arena and headed towards the massive organ, which seemed to be using every single one of its 9,000 pipes as it thundered a deafening peal. Another roar went up as everyone stood to their feet and he knew that Mosley had entered the hall. The arc light swung away from him and Percy was left on his own to negotiate the stairs by memory, until his eyes became used to the gloom. The crowd, by now in a frenzy of excitement, chanted, ‘M-O-S-L-E-Y, Mosley’, as they clapped their hands and stamped their feet.
Percy reached the platform and someone came forward to receive his flag and place it in a specially constructed stand. His face was still hot, and he was furious. What Mosley had said was still ringing in his ears: ‘You, boy. Get out there now …’ He felt rather than saw Mosley come up behind him, and once again that rasping voice was right behind his ear. ‘Get out of the way, you nincompoop,’ Mosley hissed, his mouth tight with rage. As he turned to wave to the crowd, one of Mosley’s personal bodyguards pushed Percy to one side to make way for Mosley to climb the steps onto the platform. ‘Silly ass,’ he said as he walked past.
‘Silly ass, yourself,’ Percy snapped and knew in that moment that he was going to walk away from all this. Without so much as a glance in Mosley’s direction, Percy turned on his heel.
It took a while for the crowd to settle and then Mosley began his speech. He never used notes, but in no time at all he had his audience completely spell-bound. By the time the heckling started. Percy was almost at the back of the hall. He watched as the stewards moved in and removed the troublemakers. They did everything efficiently and with great skill, but it still troubled Percy.
A group of Blackshirts came up the stairs in front of him, carrying a struggling body. As they stumbled by, Percy was disturbed by what he saw. The person was a young woman. Her clothes had been ripped from her upper body, exposing her underwear. One man had his huge hand pressed over her mouth and nose. Her head was being forced back, which must be causing her a great deal of discomfort, if not pain, and she clearly couldn’t breathe. Her eyes, wide and terrified, met Percy’s as he held the door open for the men to pass. They rushed her to the entrance and dumped her unceremoniously on the ground outside. Anxious that she might be badly hurt, Percy went to help. She was still on the ground, gasping for breath, and there was blood all over her hand. As soon as she saw Percy leaning over her, she recoiled.
‘It’s all right,’ he said softly. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
She looked up at him and he was horrified by the gaping wound on her cheek. The cut was bad, but even so, she was breathtakingly beautiful.
‘I think I had better get you to hospital,’ he said. ‘Are you able to walk down to the street? I can hail a taxi from there.’
The girl stood shakily to her feet. She was clearly weakened by her experience. Percy put his arm out to assist her and, although she nearly fainted a couple of times, they made their way to the road. As soon as they arrived at the hospital, the girl was whisked away.
‘You can wait there,’ said the nurse, indicating a row of chairs. She smiled admiringly at Percy’s uniform. ‘I wish I could have been at the rally. I think Mosley is rather wonderful.’
Percy said nothing, but glanced up at the clock. The meeting would be drawing to a close by now.
The staff at Warnes Hotel were very helpful. Rex had arrived late on Thursday night and had woken up in the morning with a heavy head-cold. When the chambermaid, a delightful young woman called Edith, found him still in bed, she enquired if he needed a doctor. Rex felt like death warmed up and told her so. Prescribing himself hot lemon-and-honey drinks, aspirin and plenty of rest, he climbed back into bed.
Rex decided he couldn’t go to see Bea like this, and whatever had drawn him back to the town would have to wait. On Friday he woke up feeling a lot better. Edith made his bed and took his dirty washing to the hotel laundry. She had already made sure he had The Times and had been kind enough to look out a couple of books for him to read. The Encyclopaedia of British Bees looked as if it would be a bit dry, but The Shape of Things to Come by H. G. Wells looked a lot more promising and, at 420 pages long, Rex settled down for a good read.
Rex decided to sit by the balcony so that he could see the sea and watch the promenaders. For that reason he was glad he’d chosen Warnes rather than the Savoy this time.
‘You seem to be in a bit of a hurry today, Edith,’ he said, as she put his drink on the table beside him.
‘Oh, I am, sir,’ she smiled. ‘A friend of mine is getting married tomorrow and I am to be a bridesmaid.’
‘Ah,’ said Rex with a nod.
‘Mrs Fosdyke has given me a lot of extra jobs, to make up for the fact that I’m going off early,’ said Edith, glancing around the room to check that everything had been done.
‘Then I’m very grateful that you’ve looked after me so well,’ said Rex, feeling slightly guilty.
‘And that’s not all,’ Edith went on. ‘As my friend’s father has passed away and her brother can’t be found, my fiancé is going to give her away.’
‘Well, it s
ounds to me like you’ve got everything under control,’ Rex smiled indulgently.
‘Yes, sir.’ Edith hesitated. ‘Will that be all, sir?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Rex. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,’ said Edith, giving a little bob.
He smiled as she left the room, a smile that quickly died as he heard the housekeeper’s ringing tones of disapproval.
‘You’d better get a move-on, Parsons, if you want that time off tomorrow. Number thirty-six hasn’t been touched yet, and then there’s the linen cupboard to tidy.’
‘Yes, Mrs Fosdyke,’ he heard Edith say.
‘You girls expect far too much these days.’
Rex frowned. The woman was hardly being reasonable. It was his fault poor Edith was behind with her work, and yet the girl herself hadn’t made him feel the least bit awkward about it. There was a sharp rap on the door and a tall, thin woman in a dark-grey uniform entered the room. There were dark circles under her eyes and her skin had a rather unhealthy pallor, as if she didn’t get enough fresh air. ‘Good morning, sir,’ she said with a smarmy smile.
Rex took an instant dislike to her.
‘My name is Mrs Fosdyke, and I’m the housekeeper. I know you have been unwell and I came to see if everything is all right.’
‘I must compliment you,’ he said, watching her chest already swelling with pride, ‘on your charming staff. I couldn’t have been better served. Nothing has been too much trouble for Edith – is that her name?’
Mrs Fosdyke’s mouth tightened. ‘That is as it should be, sir.’
