Paper Doll

by Janet Woods

  Martin helped her carry the dishes from the dining room back to the kitchen. She gazed at the remains of the turkey as she tied the apron around her waist once more. ‘Will you be kind and take some of this home with you, otherwise it will be wasted?’

  ‘I’ll be glad to help out. I enjoyed my dinner. Who taught you to cook?’

  ‘My mother did. She enjoyed planning dinner parties and cooking. So do I. Cut the remains of the bird in two. I’ll wrap it in that muslin cloth and place it in a paper bag ready for when you leave.’

  ‘Can I help you to wash up?’ he said, when she filled the sink with sudsy water.

  ‘You can dry up if you wouldn’t mind.’

  He grinned. ‘Literally or figuratively?’

  ‘It would be too much to hope for the latter, I suppose.’

  He laughed as he picked up a tea towel.

  It wasn’t long before the kitchen was clean and tidy.

  ‘Would you like another drink?’ she offered.

  ‘I had enough wine at dinner. I think I’d prefer a cup of tea.’

  ‘So would I.’ She put the kettle on and readied the tea tray. ‘Can you manage a mince pie or a slice of cake . . . or both?’

  ‘Are they as dangerous as the Christmas pudding?’

  She laughed. ‘That was disgustingly rude of me, wasn’t it? I made the pies and cake myself.’

  ‘Then I’ll have both.’

  ‘It will be at your own peril, then. Daddy said you’re taking the Morris to Hampshire for a run in a day or two.’

  She made it sound as it he was going to exercise a dog. ‘I intend to sort out my accommodation before I start work.’

  ‘May I come with you? I can help, and I promise not to be a nuisance.’

  He couldn’t really refuse her, since he’d be using her father’s car, so he nodded.

  A smile lit up her face. ‘I’ll pack us a picnic basket.’

  He sighed, then said, ‘It’s a working trip, not an outing.’

  ‘We still have to eat, don’t we?’

  Martin had pictured a rustic ploughman’s lunch of Stilton cheese, pickles and a thick slab of crusty buttered bread washed down with a glass of ale, and eaten before a roaring fire in some country pub. ‘Yes, I suppose we do, but I do hope you’re not hankering after a deckchair on the sand at this time of year.’

  ‘I’m not quite as silly as you seem to imagine.’

  ‘Actually, I don’t imagine you are as you imagine I imagine you to be, especially silly.’

  Laughter trickled from her and made him chuckle.

  There came a knock on the door and she gazed at a dainty marquisite watch on her wrist with a faintly suspicious frown. ‘I wonder who that can be?’

  ‘If you open the door you’ll find out,’ he suggested with an abruptness which earned him a raised eyebrow as she left.

  ‘Oh, hello, Mr Miller,’ he heard her say. ‘Daddy’s sleeping his dinner off. Come into the kitchen and meet Martin Lee-Trafford, the new factory manager. He joined us for Christmas to help us eat the turkey.’

  Formally introduced, the pair shook hands.

  ‘I was just going to make some tea. Will you stay, Mr Miller?’

  ‘No, I was just passing and I dropped in with a gift for you. I saw it in a jeweller’s window and thought it matched your eyes. The cigar case is for your father, of course.’

  ‘Oh, how nice of you, but you really shouldn’t have. And Daddy—’

  ‘Of course I should have.’ He placed the flat box in her hands and kissed her cheek. ‘Seasonal greetings, my dear. Irene tells me that you’ll be at her New Year party, so I’ll see you there, I expect. Lee-Trafford, I’m very pleased to meet you. No doubt we’ll bump into each other again before too long.’ He nodded, and was gone.

  Julia opened the box and gasped. Nestled in a bed of cream satin was a delicate pearl and peridot necklace set in filigree gold. ‘Oh, how exquisite it is!’

  She was a lady who had no scruples about accepting expensive gifts from older gentlemen, Martin thought, and he was just wondering what Latham Miller meant to her when she said with genuine regret, ‘It’s far too expensive, of course, and I must return it to him.’

  ‘Do you know Miller well?’

  ‘I haven’t had much to do with him in the past. Although he seems to know the same people as I do he’s a business acquaintance of my father, really. He’s awfully well off and people seem to like him.’

  The kettle began to whistle and she made the tea.

  ‘Did I hear the kettle?’ her father called out, his voice fuddled with sleep.

  She chuckled. ‘Don’t you always hear the kettle boil? You can smell a cup of tea brewing before I’ve made it . . . be patient, I’ll just be a moment.’

  Martin carried the tea tray through for her and set it on a side table. A plate of mince pies and cake joined it.

  Benjamin looked slightly embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry I dropped off to sleep, Lee-Trafford. It was damned rude of me.’

  ‘I often have a nap after lunch myself, especially at weekends. I’m given to understand that it does you good.’

  ‘And anyway, you looked so sweet that we didn’t have the heart to disturb you,’ Julia said with a smile. ‘Latham Miller dropped in with a gift, a cigar case for you and a necklace for me. The necklace will have to go back. I do wish he hadn’t put me in a position of having to return something.’

  ‘I’d say that the man was trying to impress you.’

  ‘Well, he won’t impress me that way.’

  ‘Would you like me to return it for you?’

  ‘I was hoping you’d offer to play the heavy father on my behalf. It comes in handy on occasion.’

  ‘Remind me of that the next time you tell me that you’re all grown-up.’

  ‘You know I am. I just want you to feel useful.’ She smiled and kissed him on the forehead. ‘Christmas cake or mince pie with your tea?’

  ‘Both.’

  Martin enjoyed the by-play between father and daughter, which revealed the depth of the affection existing between them. He’d always enjoyed the time he’d spent with his own father, but had been away at boarding school for much of the year. As for his mother, she’d been a social butterfly – still was, he imagined. He’d arrived home at the end of one term to discover that she’d left. He’d never seen her again. She’d sent birthday cards to his school for a couple of years – then they’d stopped.

  Later on he’d been given to understand that there had been a divorce, and his mother had married again and was living somewhere in North America.

  ‘I acted the gentleman,’ his father had muttered. ‘Less embarrassing all round if the chap takes the blame, since he can get away with much more of that nature. But the woman is no longer your mother, and you must have nothing more to do with her, Martin.’

  Later still Martin had realized exactly what his father had meant by that, for he’d found the divorce papers, and the custody agreement that had signed him into his father’s care in return for grounds for the divorce. There had been no monetary settlement. She’d been given a clear choice between her lover and her husband and son.

  When Martin arrived back at the small flat he temporarily occupied it was cold. He’d enjoyed Christmas Day, he thought, as he lit the gas fire. He set Julia’s card on the mantelpiece and gazed at it. Apart from a card from his lawyer – embossed in discreet gold copperplate on white card, and with a sprig of holly for colour – it was the only greeting he’d received.

  He knew nobody else except for the former stretcher-bearer who’d been kind enough to give him a roof over his head for a short time.

  Briefly, Martin wondered what his own mother was doing. If she knocked on his door he doubted if he’d know her after all this time.

  He opened his new attaché case and removed packages containing a quarter of a turkey, half a Christmas cake and six mince pies. He placed them in the pantry. Add a few vegetables and that should keep him nicely fed for the next
few days.

  Julia was a good cook, and that had surprised him. Not that she was usefully occupied outside the home as far as he could see, so he supposed she needed something else to occupy her time besides shopping.

  Beware the Christmas pudding! He grinned. The woman also had a surprisingly earthy sense of humour, but at least she’d spared him from that, for there were no Christmas pudding leftovers to plague him, thank goodness – at least, not yet! They’d eaten it all between them.

  He began to laugh.

  Four

  Julia was out when Latham Miller was announced the day after Boxing Day.

  ‘My daughter has gone to Hampshire for the day,’ Benjamin said. ‘Come in. I was just about to have coffee. Put another cup on the tray, would you,’ he called out to the maid. ‘Take a seat, Latham. It happens that I wanted to see you anyway.’

  ‘Oh . . . have you decided to accept my offer?’

  ‘Certainly not; I’m not ready to call it quits. Besides, I have my new manager starting in the New Year. He already has a few ideas for drumming up some business.’

  Latham chuckled, and his glance absorbed the room around him. It was comfortable rather than smart. The furniture was outdated and he wondered if the old man owned the place.

  ‘You have a nice apartment, and it’s in a good position. You should ask the landlord to modernize it.’

  Benjamin didn’t bite. ‘My deceased wife furnished it, and I have no intention of changing a leg on the table.’

  Latham doubted if Benjamin Howard owned the apartment outright. It would have been used as collateral for a loan. He ambled over to the mantelpiece and picked up a figurine that caught his eye.

  ‘Be careful with that, Latham. It was a Christmas gift from Lee-Trafford. Julia is very taken by it.’

  He turned it over, examined the maker’s mark and grunted. ‘I know quality when I see it. I don’t mind paying through the nose for something exquisite, flawless and rare, but this is mass-produced by one of the lesser porcelain producers.’ It was a duty gift from Lee-Trafford, he thought, not the type of gift a man selected for a woman he was trying to impress.

  ‘Ah, yes . . . but it’s not the value of the gift that counts, it’s the thought behind it. And that brings me nicely to what I wanted to see you about.’ He indicated the jeweller’s box on the table. ‘There is no easy way of saying this. Julia would rather not accept such an expensive gift.’

  The old man was a fool. Placing the figurine back on the mantelpiece Latham managed to find his smile. ‘Why not, when I can easily afford it?’

  ‘You know very well why not. Slip it into your pocket, there’s a good chap.’

  Hiding his anger at the older man’s patronizing tone, Latham sprung open the lid and gazed at the contents. It was nothing much, a length of artistically bent metal with a few pearls and semi-precious stones attached. ‘It wasn’t very expensive, you know, and like you said, it’s the thought that counts.’

  ‘And just what is that thought, Latham?’

  ‘My immediate thought is that I feel insulted by having my gift so casually tossed back at me. Your daughter is not a child. She’s a beautiful woman, and, considering her age, a slightly naïve one. It’s time you loosened the apron strings, Benjamin. Ask me what my motives are instead of assuming the worst. I’m not angling to be her sugar daddy.’

  ‘Courtship? Marriage? You’re at least twenty years older than Julia, and have a reputation for preferring younger women.’

  Latham shrugged. ‘Wouldn’t you prefer a younger woman? There are twenty-two years between us to be exact. As you know I’m a self-made man. I would like a family. It didn’t bother me much before. When I was busy making my fortune, having a child wasn’t quite so important, and Annie was beginning to think she was barren. That’s why she was going back to America . . . to see a specialist. Now I’ve reached middle-age and would like children of my own. Hopefully I will still have some time to watch them grow up. I can give Julia every luxury a woman needs.’

  ‘I see. Julia doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to be wed.’

  They fell quiet when the maid came in with the tray. When the door closed behind her Latham said, ‘Perhaps a little encouragement from you might be in order. Truthfully, would you object to such a marriage, or me fathering your grandchildren?’

  ‘From a personal perspective I don’t dislike you, Latham, but I would prefer someone younger for Julia.’

  Latham deflected the conversation. ‘It seems to me that she’s used to the company of more mature men. Besides which, the best of this generation didn’t survive the war. In this country alone over 650,000 men died. God knows how many more were damaged beyond repair.’

  They sipped at their coffee, contemplating the figure with some awe, as well as sorrow.

  Latham replaced his cup in the saucer. ‘The truth is, eligible men are in short supply and women are a little desperate. I could take my pick from a dozen women tomorrow. I imagine you could, as well.’

  Benjamin chuckled at the thought. ‘I’m too old for this fast generation. They wear me out. Why Julia?’

  ‘In whatever guise they appear, I do know the difference between a trollop and a lady. I have a great affection for your daughter, Benjamin. She conducts herself well, and in a manner that does you credit. I can say no more than that.’

  Latham could have said more, but it would have shocked Benjamin. He wasn’t too proud to admit to himself that he lusted after Julia in a way he’d never lusted after any other woman, not even his late wife. Even in her naivety there was an air of self-possession about Julia, a coolness that kept people at arm’s length.

  Latham was a self-made man. He’d been ruthless at going after what he wanted, and had learned the power that came with wealth. He wanted Julia Howard, body and soul. She was everything he wanted in a wife, and the need to possess her was strong. He’d buy her if he had to.

  ‘But my daughter has younger friends. Why would she want to marry you?’

  Latham didn’t allow his amusement to show. ‘Youth doesn’t always equate with marital bliss. Her friends are a fast crowd, too fast for your daughter, who is hovering on the edges of their society. She’ll soon be dragged in, if the Curruthers girl has her way. Irene’s private life leaves much to be desired; being a slut is part of her nature. Her brother Charles is a rogue of the first water. He’s a disgrace to his parents and I’m surprised he hasn’t been sent down permanently. I doubt if he’ll ever marry . . . if he does it will be out of duty, and I’ll pity his wife.’

  ‘I’ve heard he’s doing well in his studies.’

  ‘Oh, Charles Curruthers doesn’t study anything. He has a brilliant brain, and loads of charm, I’ll grant you that. However, he’s lacking in both common sense and self-discipline, so his personal life leaves much to be desired. He’ll be burned out by the time he’s thirty, mark my words. There’s a strong possibility that Irene and Charles Curruthers will lead Julia astray, you know.’

  Benjamin’s expression said he didn’t welcome being reminded of his family responsibilities, and he blustered, ‘I trust my daughter.’

  ‘So you should because she’s a girl who does you proud. But like the rest of us, she’s only human. I’m trying to do this the right way by asking your permission to court her.’

  ‘I can’t tell her who to see and who not to see, Latham. Julia is of an age to run her own life so you must sink or swim on your own merits as far as she’s concerned.’

  Latham sensed the reluctance in Benjamin. There was a vast difference in attitude between those born to wealth – even if it hadn’t stuck to their fingers – and those who’d earned their own. ‘But you could put in a word for me. She listens to you. I’ll watch out for her at the weekend, so you won’t have to worry.’

  Benjamin sighed. ‘I’d be grateful if you would, but I won’t endorse you, or anyone else as a suitor. Julia must make her own mind up to that.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Latham snapped the lid to the b
ox shut and placed it back on the table. ‘I have nobody else I’d care to give this to. I bought it because it matched your daughter’s eyes. Tell her I refused to accept it back.’

  ‘You can’t refuse.’

  ‘Yes I can. If she’s old enough to run her own life, then she’s old enough to hand it back to me herself, not hide behind you.’ Standing, he smiled down at his prospective father-in-law. ‘Think it over. On the day Julia marries me, not only will I pay you the price you want for your business and agree to your terms, I’ll also give you enough shares in my enterprises to ensure that you enjoy your retirement, and have a decent amount left over as a legacy for Julia.’

  The man’s eyelids flickered. ‘You’re trying to buy her.’

  ‘I didn’t get where I am by taking no for an answer. Like you say, it’s up to Julia. I’m just telling you what to expect if she accepts me. Where did you say she’d gone?’

  The old man’s eyes met his, and there was a malicious amusement in them. ‘I didn’t say, but she’s with Lee-Trafford. They’ve taken my car to Hampshire to bring back some of his furnishings and to put the rest in storage. They may stay there overnight.’

  ‘You trust him with her . . . a man who’s suffered a mental breakdown?’

  ‘Actually, Latham, I’d be more liable to trust Lee-Trafford with her than I would you. By his own admission he might not be quite the man he used to be, but I do know he’s a gentleman – and a bloody good man all the same.’

  Ah, it was like that for Lee-Trafford, was it? Latham thought, smiling as he let himself out. Lee-Trafford was no competition then, the poor bugger.

  ‘We’re not going to finish this and get back to London tonight. I’ll ring my father and tell him we’ll be staying over, so he doesn’t worry. Is the telephone still connected?’

  ‘It should be. Would you like me to ring him? I can book you into a hotel if you’d like.’

  Julia smiled. ‘Nonsense, no self-respecting hotel would accept me looking as dusty as a tramp. You neither,’ and she gazed around the spacious sitting room. ‘It’s warm in here now you’ve lit the fire. I’ll wrap myself in the eiderdown and sleep on the couch.’