by Rosie Clarke
‘She has made up her mind then?’
‘I think she’s had enough of running that huge place on a shoestring. It will be much better for her in a modern flat.’
‘Yes, I expect it will.’ I smiled at him. ‘So when do you expect to move in?’
‘Next month …’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Providing you don’t need me in London? You know I’ll stay for as long as you want me, Emma? If you are still upset over that business …’
‘I’m all right now. Really, I am.’
The two days we had already spent in Torquay had relaxed me. We had been for slow, restful walks round the cliffs, stopping now and then to sit on a rocky ledge and drink in the views, which became more breathtaking the higher you went. Or perhaps that was the effect of the steep paths that wound on and on, ever upwards?
We had also been to the cinema and the theatre.
‘It’s more lively than some seaside resorts,’ Jon had said when he was showing me the town. ‘The children will have plenty to do on their holidays – and I know you like to go shopping! There’s a nice little town, darling.’
I liked Torquay. It had both beauty spots and a bit of life, and there were lots of interesting places to visit in the area. By the time Jon took me to the house – which he had saved until last – I had already decided that I would be happy to spend some time here.
I had made a determined effort to shake off my doubts and anxieties. The papers had carried several articles about the assassination of Philip Matthews. It seemed that he had been linked to a gambling racket, and also to prostitution. He owned several houses that were known to be used as brothels, and was clearly a very unpleasant character altogether.
My fears would appear to have been irrational. The police were convinced that it was a gangland killing. Philip had upset some powerful members of the criminal fraternity.
It was clearly foolish for me to go on worrying. Neither Sol nor Jack were involved. I had been wrong to imagine either of them would kill for my sake. Why should they? I had been hurt – and humiliated – but I was getting over it.
I was enjoying my few days at the sea with my kind, gentle husband. Jon was always so considerate of me. He did everything he could to please me, though he had not once attempted to make love to me. I believed his specialist had told him it was a vain hope.
So we were friends and loving companions, just as we had been before our marriage. It was not an ideal situation, but it was better than I had expected when Jon suggested that we should live apart some of the time.
I was not quite sure what had changed, but Jon was different. He did not seem as apologetic as before. He was more confident, more sure of himself – and very tender towards me.
I supposed the change was because he knew where he was going with his life, and because he was having some success with his writing.
His consideration for me those few days helped me banish the feeling of humiliation that had been so strong on my return from Paris. I could think of Philip’s attack now without wanting to scrub my skin until it stung. After all, it was not so very terrible. I had driven Philip off and I was strong enough to subdue any irrational fears that his attack had planted in my mind.
It was a pleasant interlude for both of us. I had begun to feel better than I had for a while.
By the time we were due to return to London, I was almost back to normal and ready to go on with my plans for the future. Sol had offered to lend me the money to open a big, new shop of my own, and I had lots of ideas for our wholesale business. The future had begun to look bright once more.
After our return to London, events seemed to overtake me. The summer was almost gone. I had time to take the children on a few outings, and then they were back to school.
James was going to a new school this term, a school for boys only, where his talent for singing would be nurtured. I had dreaded the moment, but to my surprise he accepted it calmly. My son was growing up very fast. It was Lizzy who wept in my arms.
‘It’s just part of growing up,’ I told her. ‘Don’t worry, darling. You will still see James every evening and weekends.’
‘I don’t want to grow up, Emmie. I like things as they are.’
‘We all have to grow up,’ I said and kissed her. ‘Believe me, Lizzy, there are nice things, too.’
I wasn’t sure she believed me, but she went off to school and within a few days she had got used to the changes.
Then Pam shocked me a few days after term started by telling me that she was leaving us to go and live with her sister in Hunstanton.
‘Oh, Pam, you can’t!’ I cried, dismayed at her announcement. I had come to rely on her and she had seemed to like living with us. ‘Why? Are you unhappy here? What’s wrong?’
Pam was flushed and uncomfortable, her fingers restlessly pleating the material of her dress.
‘Please don’t look like that, Emma,’ she begged. ‘I hate letting you down, but my sister needs me. I’ve promised I’ll help with the boarding house. Her husband bought it when he came back after the war – but he leaves all the work to her.’
Somehow I sensed she wasn’t telling me the whole truth.
‘Why do you want to go, Pam? Have I done something to upset you? Please tell me.’
‘No, of course you haven’t. You’ve been good to me. It’s just …’ She lowered her gaze. ‘It’s not you, Emma. It’s Sol …’
‘Has he done something? Been rude or sharp with you?’
‘No …’ Her gaze swept up to mine. ‘It isn’t his fault, either. I’m in love with him. I know it’s silly. He would never look at me. I know that, of course I do. I just can’t help the way I feel …’
‘Why wouldn’t he look at you?’ I wrinkled my brow, sensing more was on her mind. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand.’
‘Sol loves you,’ Pam replied. ‘You probably haven’t noticed the way he looks at you, Emma. He worships the ground you walk on … I understand that. I’m not jealous or upset. I just think I would be happier living somewhere else.’
‘Oh, Pam …’ I felt sad as I looked at her and realized what she had been going through. It was hard to love someone who did not return your feelings, especially if you saw them every day, lived in the same house. I understood now why she wanted to leave. ‘I’m so sorry. I shall miss you very much.’
‘I shall miss you, Emma. I shall always be grateful for what you did – bringing me here, making me a part of your family – but it’s better if I go now.’
I could not persuade her to change her mind, and if she really wanted to make the break and start again, it would have been wrong to try too hard. I was sad that she needed to leave, especially as it was because of her love for Sol. She was older than me, a little tired-looking these days perhaps, but younger than Sol. It was not surprising that she had felt drawn to him. He was an attractive man, and I knew he had a habit of teasing her. I was sure he had no idea of her feelings for him, and would be sorry if he guessed he had hurt her feelings. Of course I would never tell him.
I insisted on taking her down to Hunstanton in the car, then took a detour to March and paid a short visit to my mother and friends before returning to London.
Mum was worried about Bert, who had a nasty cough, but Gwen was very happy.
‘Richard is kind and gentle,’ she told me. ‘He’s a widower with two sons and lives on his own. We’re not going to get married just yet – but we see each other two or three times a week …’
‘I’m so pleased, Gwen. I’m glad you’ve got someone special.’
‘I wanted to tell you first – though I suspect that Greta has guessed.’ Gwen laughed. ‘Your mother doesn’t miss much, Emma.’
‘No, she doesn’t,’ I agreed. ‘She’s worried about Bert though.’
‘Yes, that’s a nasty cough,’ Gwen agreed. ‘And he was such a strong man until this trouble started. It’s a shame for her – and for him, of course. I go round when I can, but there’s not much anyone can do.’
I was thoughtful as I left March and began the drive back to London. What would Mum do if anything happened to Bert? She would miss him dreadfully.
I shook the morbid thoughts off. I didn’t want to think about death – especially violent death. Sometimes, I still wondered who had arranged that bomb in Philip’s car. The police seemed no nearer to finding the assassin than they had when it happened, despite having questioned members of the gangs they suspected were involved. Whoever had done it had left no clues. He must either be very clever, or he had covered his tracks well.
Jon had been right to say it was a professional job. The police were inclined to think the culprit had once been in the explosives division of the army – someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
No, I wouldn’t let myself be haunted by what had happened! It was all in the past. I was already planning my new shop. I had found suitable premises and the contract for the lease was proceeding.
Sol had arranged to lend me six thousand pounds, which was all I needed. I had some capital of my own, and the loan would enable me to stock my shop generously without over-stretching myself.
‘Are you sure it is sufficient?’ Sol had asked. ‘I’m prepared to let you have more if you need it.’
‘I have the money I’ve been saving ready to make this move,’ I told him. ‘Besides, you may need more yourself if we buy that property next to the showroom and expand our workshops. Especially now Francine has agreed to work with us.’
Francine had arrived on my doorstep a couple of days after the children went back to school.
‘I’ll be honest with you,’ she said, a bright challenge in her eyes. ‘If I wasn’t broke, I probably wouldn’t have come. I want my own business, and I would prefer to work as an independent designer, but I need a job for a while. I won’t promise to stay with you if I find something better.’
‘Come and try working for us,’ I suggested. ‘We’ll pay you a fair wage, and ten pounds for every design we can use. And if your designs sell well, I’ll pay you five percent of the profits we make on your range at the end of the year. And we’ll put your name on the label. And if you’re not happy we’ll have a month of severance time, then you’ll be free to work where you please.’
‘That sounds fair enough …’
‘I shan’t try to cheat you like Marie did, I promise.’
‘I like the sound of my name on the label – but Francine White? No, it doesn’t sound quite right.’ She shook her head. ‘Francine de Paris. The customers will like that. French fashion is hot news in London at the moment. I’ve discovered that since I’ve been here.’
‘Shall we call that a deal?’ I offered her my hand and she laughed and took it. ‘Good. We’ll have a contract drawn up to keep things straight between us – but I’m glad you’ve agreed to join us, Francine. I like you, and I like your designs.’
‘I like you, Emma,’ Francine said. ‘I wasn’t sure I could trust you when we first met. The offer you made me seemed too good to be true. I mean, you didn’t know me when you asked me to come to London. I could have been lying about Marie stealing my designs. You hadn’t even seen my drawings.’
‘But I have now,’ I replied, smiling at her. ‘It was such a chance, I just grabbed it. If your designs hadn’t matched my expectations it wouldn’t have mattered – but they do. I am thrilled with the latest ones, Francine. You are exactly what we need.’
In the short time she had been with us, Francine was already revitalizing our stock, adding lots of new touches that made old styles look fresh and exciting. She had a flair for colour and a slightly zany sense of humour that showed up most in her own designs.
As well as Dior’s New Look, there was an ankle length hobble skirt that Jacques Fath had introduced at about the same time. An American designer had also brought out a similar look. It was proving more popular than I had expected.
I hadn’t particularly liked the idea at first. I thought it would be difficult to wear, and unflattering to women who didn’t have the perfect hourglass figure needed to show it off to its best effect. However, Francine had come up with a variation that I thought was more attractive and comfortable to wear.
The long straight skirt was as tight as the one designed by Jacques Fath, but it had a little V shape of pleats at the back. When the wearer was standing still, it looked as though it was just a split, but when she walked the pleats opened out rather like a little fish tail. It was amusing and different, and when we put out three samples the orders came rolling in.
Sol had been very quiet when I introduced Francine to the workshops, but after a few weeks he was completely convinced.
‘She’s a jewel,’ he told me privately. ‘Don’t let her know I said so or she will be wanting more money. I’m not sure how you managed to get her here, Emma, but I’m glad you did. Trade has picked up all round.’
Francine herself was still a bit of a mystery to us. She was always friendly, always willing to talk about design, fashions and anything of a general nature, but I knew very little about her as a person.
‘My father left us when I was twelve,’ she had told me when we were discussing her move to England. ‘I was brought up by my grandmother so that my mother could work as a seamstress.’
‘Did she work for one of the famous fashion houses?’
Francine hesitated, then shook her head. I thought she might have been hiding something but I did not press for details.
‘Where is she now?’
‘She died just as the war ended.’ Francine’s eyes held a look of pain. ‘It was an accident.’
Again, I sensed something hidden, but asked no questions. Francine’s past was her own affair. If she had secrets, so did I … most people did. All that mattered was our working relationship, and that was more than satisfactory.
Once again, I was caught up in my work, though I took three days off at the beginning of October to see Jon settled into his new home. We had arranged for a cleaning woman to come in each morning, and he would either cook simple meals for himself or eat out.
‘I can walk into town and buy fish and chips if I’m hungry.’ He smiled at me. ‘Don’t worry, Emma. I learned how to survive in France during my time with the resistance movement. I am still capable of many things … things you might find surprising.’
‘Like what?’ I asked, teasing him. ‘Can you light the fire?’
‘Yes, of course. I can skin a rabbit. Even sew on a button if I’m forced.’
We both laughed at the idea, though of course in the forces men were required to do that kind of thing. It just seemed wrong that he should have to – it was usually a wife’s task. ‘You can always ask Mrs Martin to do that for you.’ My laughter was stilled as I looked at him. ‘Are you sure you won’t be lonely? You can always come home. You know you will always be welcome.’
‘This is my home, Emma. I rather like being alone some of the time – but I expect to make friends. And I shall come to London for Christmas, if not before.’
‘Yes, of course.’
Jon’s writing was going well. His plays were being produced as a series for the wireless. I’d read one or two of them now and I had been surprised. I’d expected them to be rather serious, emotional stories, but in fact they were full of a gentle humour.
When I left Jon in Torquay and returned to London on the train I felt sad, and a little guilty. If I had been a better wife perhaps he would not have wanted to live alone. If I had been content to stay at home and look after the children – but Jon and I had no children of our own.
James was the son of my first lover, and Lizzy was Sheila’s daughter. It was unlikely that I would have another child now.
Such thoughts could only make me restless. I had tried to dismiss them many times, but they kept coming back to haunt me.
As always I held my vague feeling of unhappiness at bay, throwing myself into all the new ventures I had begun.
I heard that Philip Matthews’ cousin had sold his shop to a fo
reign buyer. Within a few weeks it had been turned into an investment bank. Things were changing fast now as London began to lick its wounds and shake off the scars of war.
All over the city there were boarded-off areas where houses and shops had once stood. Many of them were still derelict, weeds growing through cracks in the concrete, but some were gradually being cleared ready for rebuilding.
‘Did you know that one of Jack’s companies is involved in clearing the bombed-out areas?’ Sol asked me as we were talking over coffee one November morning. We had just heard on the wireless that an unexploded bomb had been found. Police were warning people to stay away until it had been made safe. ‘You need people with special skills for that, Emma. Jack set up the company with ex army officers.’
I thought about that piece of information for a moment. So he would employ men who not only knew how to defuse a bomb, but also how to set one off.
No, of course Jack hadn’t paid for Philip Matthews to be killed! It was ridiculous of me to feel this faint shadow of guilt. I hadn’t wanted Philip dead – or at least, only for a few seconds in that hotel bedroom. Besides, the police still believed his death was a gangland revenge attack.
‘It must be a dangerous job,’ I said, looking at Sol thoughtfully. ‘Someone was killed the other day dealing with a live shell … somewhere down south I think.’
‘That’s the trouble with explosives,’ Sol said. ‘They can cause trouble for years afterwards. But don’t worry, Emma. Jack set up the company, but he won’t be there himself.’
‘No, I don’t suppose so.’ I pulled a face at him.
Was I so transparent to this friend of mine?
As it happened, Sol was wrong. I went to the pictures with Sarah a few nights later and the Pathé News was reporting the incident. They had filmed the area as the experts dealt with the bombs – two of them had been found under the debris – and the reporter spoke to the man in charge of the operation.
My heart raced as Jack answered the reporter’s questions. He explained that the task of clearing London’s bombed-out areas was likely to take a long time and could be dangerous in some cases.
