by Rosie Clarke
LIZZIE’S DAUGHTERS
Rosie Clarke
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About Lizzie’s Daughters
LONDON 1958. Lizzie Larch battles to keep her daughters safe and out of harm's reach.
Lizzie adores her beautiful and clever daughters and will do anything for them. Both possess a wonderful creative flair, but have fiercely different characters. Betty, the eldest is head strong like Lizzie's first husband whilst Francie is talented and easily influenced.
When Betty runs away after an argument with Sebastian, heartbreak and worry descend on the family. At great risk to her health Lizzie finds herself pregnant but is determined to give Sebastian the son they craved.
Sebastian meanwhile is plunged into a dangerous overseas mission using his old contacts to track Betty to Paris and to the lair of the rogue that seduced her? Consumed with guilt can Sebastian right the wrongs of the past and finally unite his family and friends?
Contents
Welcome Page
About Lizzie’s Daughters
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
About Rosie Clarke
About the Workshop Girls Series
Also by Rosie Clarke
Become an Aria Addict
Copyright
Prologue
Sobbing, gasping for breath, she ran into the dark night, terror lending her the strength to escape him. He’d tried to drug her, to use her for his foul purposes, but she was neither as naïve nor as stupid as he believed her and in the seconds he’d turned his back on her to answer his phone, she’d switched drinks and sipped one before emptying the rest beneath the bed and falling back against the pillows in what she hoped looked like a drugged stupor.
‘He comes, ma cherie…’ the hateful voice, a voice she’d thought she loved, said close to her ear, the smell of wine and cigarettes thick on his breath, ‘and then he will give me what I want for you, ma petite. He likes a ménage à trois, so we’ll share you and then each other… it’s time you learned what it’s all about, my English prude…’
Even as the revulsion and fear trailed through her, she’d lain without protest, giving a faint moan, and she’d heard him pick up his wine glass and known he was drinking the wine meant for her. He must have drunk it all, just as he believed she had, because she heard him swear and then felt his weight as he suddenly slumped on the bed next to her. Pushing his bulk away from her, she’d scrambled over his body and out of the bed. He made an attempt to grab her ankle, cursing in a blurred voice as he couldn’t hold her; it told her clearly what effect that foul drug would’ve had on her if she’d been as drunk as he thought and taken the glass he’d intended for her.
Evading his grasp as he fell back useless against the pillows, she’d grabbed her clothes and run, down the wooden staircase to the alley below. She hid in the shadows and hurriedly pulled on her clothes as she saw the man who had paid for her walking eagerly towards the wooden steps that zig-zagged up the outside of the wall to the small garret studio. As soon as he opened the door and went in, she ran and ran… the fear of being caught making her unaware that her feet were bare on the sharp cobbles. Until she paused for breath, believing that she was safe for now, though for the moment lost in the maze of dark alleys of Montmartre, an area of cobbled streets known for its seedy nightlife and busy cafés, where the music flowed as easily as the rich wine and her friends met to smoke and drink and laugh. She’d come to know the sights and sounds well in the few weeks she’d spent in Paris, visiting the beautiful churches and art galleries whenever she had the time alone. Although it was October, the evening was warmer than it would be at home in England, and now that she’d stopped running she could breathe more easily.
Gradually, she recovered her breath and became calm enough to recognise her surroundings. She didn’t know what kind of drug he’d tried to give her, but she suspected some kind of opiate, the drugs so often used to bring wilful girls into line in houses of disrepute, and she shuddered as she realised what fate he’d had in store for her had she not tricked him into drinking the wine himself. Her feet were cut and sore, but, unconsciously, she’d been running in the right direction to find a safe harbour, though it would only be safe until he came looking for her again, which she feared he would. Once, she’d thought she loved him, but now the very thought of his touch made her sick with shame and she wished a thousand times that she’d never met him. In that moment she knew she must get away from this place. She’d believed she’d found a way to live and find happiness, to put him out of her mind, but what he’d done tonight had convinced her that he would never let her go free while she was of use to him.
She must go back to England, though she could never go home. Yet in her own country she could find a place to hide and perhaps in time she would find a new life. It was no longer a matter of choice, but perhaps the only avenue left open to her…
Chapter 1
‘I wish you’d let me take you home,’ Frank Hadley said as he saw the way Betty’s eyes were sparkling dangerously. ‘You shouldn’t drink so much, Betty – and I don’t like this crowd here tonight. What would your father say if he knew the company you keep?’
‘Why would he care?’ Betty Oliver tossed her long reddish blonde hair. She was gradually having it lightened to what she hoped would be a fabulous strawberry-blonde, but it was taking ages, because she didn’t dare to have it done all over and was adding streaks a few at a time. Her greenish-blue eyes snapped with temper. ‘If you think my father loves me, Frank, you’re wrong. I’m not really his and he only cares about my sister… and Mum, of course.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Frank said and took hold of her arm. ‘Come on, Betty love, you’ve had enough wine. I’m getting you out of here…’
The jukebox was playing an Everly Brothers song in the background and Betty swayed dreamily to the romantic music. ‘Dance with me, Frank,’ she said and looked up at him enticingly, her full skirts swishing about her hips. The skirt was made fuller by layers of net petticoats and she had flat red shoes on her feet so that she could dance to the fast numbers, because she loved to jive and twist to the popular songs. ‘Hold me…’
‘Come on, we’re leaving…’ Frank said, but Betty pulled away from him, her smile gone as she refused to leave.
‘You go,’ she said petulantly. ‘I want some fun and I’d like another Babycham…’
‘I’m leaving now,’ Frank said, suddenly angry. ‘You can come or you can stay here – but this isn’t a place I want to be, Betty…’
‘I’m staying.’ Betty flounced away from him, her neatly cut hair tossing as she lifted her head in defiance.
Frank watched her walk across the room, feeling angry and frustrated. Betty wasn’t his girl yet but he’d had hopes. When she’d asked him to bring her to this club this evening, he
’d been pleased, but when he discovered what was going on he felt let down and disappointed. He frowned as he saw her start dancing with a man he’d seen around in the cafés and dances they all went to. Frank knew he was French and he’d heard rumours about the man Betty was snuggling up to. There was nothing substantial, but Frank’s instincts told him that he meant to seduce Betty if he could. That sort who would think nothing of getting an innocent girl drunk and taking advantage. It would serve her right if he stuck to his word and went off and left her – but Frank wasn’t the sort to abandon a girl if he took her out.
He would stay on and watch over Betty, try to stop her drinking too much and eventually take her home in his car. Even if she was behaving foolishly, he couldn’t help the way he felt. Frank had been attracted to the lively girl the first time he’d met Betty at Matt’s home. She was wilful, sometimes sulky, but her smile lit up the room and he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. He and Matt Court had been at college together, and bonded because of their love of sport, though Frank was three years older; he hadn’t been able to take up his place for a couple of years due to his father’s death and his mother’s collapse.
‘How yer doin’, Frank?’ Matt’s voice made him spin round and he smiled as he saw the tall handsome younger man. They were much the same build and height, but if anything Frank was a little heavier, and both were good at all the strenuous sports like rowing, rugby and boxing. ‘Has our Betty gone off and deserted you then?’
‘She didn’t like it because I wouldn’t get her another drink and tried to make her let me drive her home.’
‘She’s headstrong sometimes,’ Matt frowned over it. ‘She thinks Sebastian loves Francie more than her and that’s so wrong. He spoils her rotten and always has – but I know how she feels, because I was in the same boat. My mother had Jenny and me before she married…’
Frank nodded, anxious about the girl he felt so protective of. ‘She won’t listen to me but that man she’s dancing with… I know him, Matt, and I don’t like him. He’ll get her drunk and then you know what will happen… I wish you’d talk to her.’
‘Betty has always been a bit of a handful – but I’ll see if I can rescue her.’ Matt grinned. ‘Maybe, I’ll just give him a look and scare him off…’
Matt was the college champion in all things sporting – and his size made him rather terrifying, especially when he was angry. Although of a similar build and almost as successful at sport, Frank had a quieter personality and people often mistook him for a country bumpkin, which was far from the truth.
‘You do that,’ he said, watching as Matt strode across the room, unconsciously clearing a path as people moved out of his way. Betty argued for a moment, but then put her arms about Matt’s waist affectionately and let him bring her away. The Frenchman stared after them, a glint of anger or even menace in his eyes as he met Frank’s gaze, but turned aside and then moved off. Frank saw him speak to another girl and leave the club with her and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been worried, because what he knew about that particular man had made him anxious for Betty’s safety and he was glad Matt had managed what he couldn’t…
Frank couldn’t always be around to watch over her. If she’d given him her promise to be his girlfriend, he believed she would keep it, because underneath the stubborn and sometimes sulky girl he knew there was a sweet nature. However, Betty saw him as Matt’s boring friend and at the moment she hardly noticed him at all, except when she could use him to bring her somewhere like this…
*
Betty groaned as she opened her eyes and felt the light strike them She’d drunk too much Babycham the previous evening and been more than a little tipsy when Matt and Frank had insisted on driving her home. She’d wanted Pierre to take her in his car, as he had a couple of times before, but after Matt had intervened he’d gone off in a mood, because he was annoyed with her.
Pierre was like that, charming, handsome and exciting, smelling of exotic Turkish cigarettes and expensive hair oil, but he could get angry if thwarted. Betty liked the hint of danger about him, and the things he whispered in her ear. His compliments sounded so much nicer in his mixture of French and broken English, making her toes tingle and her stomach clench with a need she hardly recognised as desire. Their relationship had been exciting and Betty knew she was a little out of her depth, but she couldn’t resist his smile or the sexy purr of his voice, even though she’d known him only a few weeks.
A few weeks before her eighteenth birthday, Betty was still immature enough to be thrilled by the knowledge that neither of her parents would approve of her seeing the Frenchman, which she had been doing throughout the summer holidays.
Francie, her younger sister, had been home from her art college earlier in the summer and Betty had given her a hint that she’d met someone she liked, but she hadn’t told even her how far things had gone… about the night Pierre had made love to her in the back of his car. Betty hadn’t meant for her affair to go that far so quickly, but she’d been a little drunk and somehow she’d found herself giving into his persuasion. It was a secret she had to keep, because her family would be shocked by what she’d done, and Betty had been a little anxious about whether she would fall for a child. She’d avoided meeting him for a while after that night, but then they’d met at the club.
Pierre had asked her to dance, telling her he loved her and wanted her to meet him in the café they all used, the next morning. With his arms around her, Betty had felt the pull of his charm and longed for him to kiss her and love her again..
‘We’ll go for a drive,’ he’d whispered in her ear.. ‘My time ’ere is almost over, Betty. I finish my studies and must go ’ome – but I stay for you… you’re so beautiful and I want you…’
‘Oh, Pierre…’ Betty had pressed into his lean, hard body, melting into him and wanting to be alone with him so that she could show him how much she loved him. They’d made love only once so far, but she knew it was just a matter of time before it happened again. ‘I’d love to come with you…’
Matt had interfered then and Pierre had left the club soon after, but she knew where to meet him and she’d made up her mind she would. Her rebellious feelings surfaced as she heard her mother calling to her and knew she had to make the effort to get up. Betty was sick of being told what to do and expected to excel at school the way her younger sister did. She had no intention of going back there and had her own ideas about the future – or she had until Pierre came along and now all she really wanted was to be with him…
*
‘What sort of a report is this to show your father when he comes home?’ Lizzie Winters looked at her eldest daughter’s school report in dismay. ‘Betty could do better but is lazy and inclined to mock the advice of her teachers…’ she read the first few lines of the Headmistress’ summary to her daughter, who sat at the kitchen table drinking fizzy Vimto through a straw. ‘You’ve got a C-grade in everything but art and for that you’ve got a B+… do you think that’s good enough?’
Betty shrugged and sent her a look of defiance. ‘We can’t all be as brainy as Francie, can we?’ she replied, but though the words were meant to pierce there was no real malice behind them. Because Betty adored her younger sister and had protected her from everyone when they were small. But she had not been able to keep up with her clever sibling and, when Francie had been accepted at a prestigious boarding school that specialised in art, they’d parted with floods of tears from both girls – more from Betty than Francie if the truth were known. ‘I don’t need higher maths and sciences for what I want to do, Mum. You didn’t pass a load of exams at school but you’ve done all right for yourself…’
‘I never had the chance… but then I got taken on at Bert’s workshop and that was my lucky day,’ Lizzie said defensively, because sometimes when Betty looked at her she saw Harry’s eyes gazing back at her and she felt guilty. Was it her fault that Betty was so defiant and so determined to disappoint Sebastian? Did she feel that her parent
s loved her less than her sister because she was Harry’s daughter and not Sebastian’s? Harry had been Lizzie’s first husband, but their marriage had broken down during the war and he’d died in a terrible accident, only hours before his daughter was born. Betty had never known her true father, and although Sebastian had always loved her and treated her as if she were his, perhaps she’d felt shut out or deprived of a father’s love? ‘I had good friends and then I met Sebastian and he believed in me and my talent… you have the opportunity to do so much more…’
‘Maybe I’m not as talented as you or Francie,’ Betty said, ‘but you can’t deny that I’m good at making and trimming hats – and clothes. Why won’t you give me a job in your workshops, Mum? It’s all I want to do, for now anyway – and my arithmetic is good enough to work out the cost of a range and the correct mark-up…’
Perhaps Lizzie ought not to be surprised that Betty loved hats and wanted to be involved in the business. Betty had been in and out of the workrooms all her young life, watching the various steps towards making the beautiful hats her mother was now famous for. It was August 1958 and Betty’s eighteenth birthday was in September. She’d had enough of school and exams and wanted to experience life – and Lizzie could hardly blame her. She’d chafed at the bonds that held her back when her aunt had kept her dressed like a schoolgirl long after she’d left school to work in a canteen on the Docks.
‘It’s not what your father wants for you…’ Sebastian had hoped that Betty would learn something useful and find a good job that would take her out into the world and give her the freedom their generation had never had. He didn’t want her to be a workshop girl, because life was different now and Sebastian saw his daughters living fuller more exciting lives. Air travel and foreign holidays were gradually becoming available to anyone with a decent job, and the new motorways made it easier to get from London and the rest of the country. Although they’d had a short period of petrol rationing after the crisis in the Suez canal - that had finished the previous year and the severe shortages had ceased completely in the early fifties making it possible to buy so many lovely things in the shops these days, goods that had been imported from all over the world. It was a different world, an exciting world, and Sebastian intended that his daughters should be free to enjoy all the benefits education could give them. Lizzie half agreed with him, because she knew that running your own business was a hard life, even if you loved it and were talented enough to be successful, but mostly she just wanted her daughters to be happy in their lives. ‘He thought you might be a secretary with extra languages and find exciting jobs here or abroad… or perhaps work in his West End shop, learn to be the manageress and eventually take over… unless you wanted to travel. What happened to your flair for French and German? You seemed to enjoy other languages when you were younger…’
