Paper Doll

by Janet Woods

  A ship was anchored off shore and a woman waded ashore. Her evening gown of gold lamé shed the water as she emerged and he noticed that she wore a fox fur around her neck. Its mouth was open, showing a pink tongue and sharp white teeth, as though it had died taking its last breath. He reached out and touched its gleaming eye, then jerked as its teeth closed around his hand.

  His father appeared. ‘She’s nothing to you, son.’

  ‘She’s my mother.’

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘She’s my mother,’ he insisted.

  ‘If she’d loved you she would have written.’

  He woke with a start to broad daylight, the words falling from his tongue. ‘Perhaps she has written, and my father kept the letters from me.’

  And he remembered the boxes he hadn’t opened, and the documents files he hadn’t got around to sorting out.

  But although he searched through them he found nothing.

  It was Julia’s twenty-third birthday and they were in Surrey. Latham had thrown her a party in the garden. The French doors were opened to give access to the patio and the garden was a riot of summer colours.

  Agnes Finnigan had made her a birthday cake. Robert was dispensing drinks and keeping an eye on Ellen, who trotted around serving the guests with snacks and wine. She sent Robert the occasional smile. Julia smiled, having noticed before that the pair were interested in each other, and she was watching the romance blossom with interest.

  Latham was showing off Ben. Her son was getting a bit fractious. Latham nodded to Fiona Robertson, who had stayed on as nanny despite Julia’s protests.

  ‘We’ll put him on a bottle,’ he’d said. ‘I need you in London from time to time to act as hostess.’

  ‘But I want to feed him myself.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Julia, he’s over a year old. You’ve fed him for long enough and have begun to make a fetish of it. Nurse Robertson said a feeding bottle is just as good, and more reliable.’

  As usual, Julia had been overruled. Latham plied her with the best clothes and jewellery money could buy and she became the perfect sparkling hostess. She hated being in London with him, hated her role, that only required her to look elegant, smile and agree with everything Latham said – when she wanted to be with her son. In private her life was hell, unless she did exactly what she was told – but there was still a spark of rebellion in her that wouldn’t be subdued.

  Irene wasn’t at the party. She now lived in France. Latham had taken up with her again; Julia could smell Irene’s perfume on his clothes. Julia pretended she didn’t know what was going on, and only mentioned her now and again.

  ‘She’s given birth to a girl,’ Latham had told her when she’d asked him if he’d heard.

  ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Lisette.’

  The next time Latham was going to France she bought Lisette a sweet little doll dressed in a pink velvet dress and bonnet, with ribbons and lace. ‘Can you remember the father’s name for the card,’ she asked Latham, simply out of devilment, and his eyes narrowed and she thought he was going to lash out at her.

  ‘Jacques,’ he said shortly.

  She wrote on the card, To Jacques and Irene, congratulations on the birth of your daughter Lisette. Best wishes from Latham and Julia Miller.

  That had been six months ago. She’d been tempted to take Ben and leave Latham, but she had nowhere else to go and he controlled all the money. Besides which, he would hunt her down, and he’d find her and take her back. He might even separate her from Ben. Then her life wouldn’t be worth living.

  She’d wondered how much longer they would all keep up the charade. Why couldn’t he just be satisfied with one woman – preferably Irene, who loved him?

  The past year had been difficult. No matter how hard she tried to be the wife he wanted her to be, Latham had gone back to his old habits.

  Now he rapped a spoon against a glass and the guests gathered around. He beckoned to her and slid a sapphire and diamond ring on her finger.

  ‘To the mother of my son, my beloved wife . . .’

  She could sell her jewels.

  ‘who is more precious to me . . .’

  . . . and her mother’s silver fox fur coat as well.

  than life itself.’

  . . . and her father’s car . . .

  ‘Would you please raise your glasses . . .’ His fingers tightened against her already bruised skin. ‘ . . . to my beautiful wife, Julia.’

  ‘To Julia!’

  The gasp she gave when he pinched her was lost in the cheers, and she managed to pull a smile to her face as she made the required response. ‘Thank you, darling, how very sweet. You’re much too kind and generous.’

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her mouth until she felt like gagging. Releasing her he gazed into her eyes, his hooded and bland, as always. ‘Nothing is too good for my Julia,’ he said.

  He’d kill her if she left him, and she’d never see her son again. As it was, Ben was beginning to turn more and more to Fiona for the meagre amount of mothering he got! It must be easier to look after a child when the deepest of emotions were not involved, she thought.

  A week later they were back in Surrey and as soon as they walked through the door, the first place she went was the nursery.

  She was feeling happy. Not only was she going to see her son, but Latham had told her he was going to France for a couple of weeks. Charles Curruthers would come for him in the aeroplane.

  Ben was in his cot, but awake. He scrambled upright, gave her a big smile that sent her heart into a roll and held out his arms and shrieked, ‘Mummy!’

  She inhaled his baby boy smell as she kissed the soft folds of his neck, making him giggle. ‘Ben, my dove! I’ve missed you so much. You’ve grown a thousand teeth since I last saw you, and look how tall you’re getting.’ Scooping him from his cot she hugged him tight.

  Fiona had disapproval written all over her face as she bustled through. ‘Mrs Miller, I’ve been trying to get him off to sleep all morning, and look how excited you’ve made him.’

  Julia knew it was about time she asserted her own authority where Ben was concerned. It was ridiculous to expect her to take instructions from an employee. ‘What for, when he sleeps all night. He’s not going to want to sleep if he’s not tired, is he?’

  ‘You don’t understand. He has to have regular hours of sleep—’

  ‘I do understand that, Fiona, but he needs to sleep when he’s tired, and nature takes care of that. I’m his mother. I love him, and I’ll cuddle him any time I wish. Now, if that upsets your routine I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to put up with it. In fact, I want to know exactly what your routine is. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Miller.’ Fiona went off tight-lipped, and began to fold nappies.

  Julia knew Fiona took her job seriously, and she would complain to Latham, but she didn’t really care.

  Sure enough, she was summonsed to Latham’s study. She sighed. ‘Are you going to take me to task for my disagreement with Fiona Robertson?’

  ‘I am. The woman is employed for her expertise.’

  ‘Then what’s my role in the bringing up of my son?’

  He sighed. ‘Julia . . . I’m doing my best to understand you, but most women would be pleased to have help with such good qualifications. Who else would look after him while we’re in London?’

  ‘If we took him with us I’d be able to look after him myself.’

  He said mildly, ‘My dear. I’m sure you wouldn’t enjoy dealing with his nappies and bottles. Think of what it would do to those long nails of yours. Now stop all this nonsense; I don’t need it when I’m on the eve of my departure to the continent.’

  ‘Why are you going to France?’

  ‘I have business there.’

  ‘Irene, I presume . . . doesn’t her husband mind?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Her heart began to pick up speed. ‘What i
f I said: If you go to France I won’t be here when you come back?’

  A nerve flickered in his jaw. ‘Are you saying that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He laughed. ‘I’ll drag you through the courts and get custody of my son. Your name would be mud.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’

  Opening the top drawer in his desk he took out a piece of paper and threw it on the desk. The colour drained from her face so fast that she experienced a moment of dizziness. ‘But you burned that . . . I saw you?’

  ‘You saw me burn a receipt that was in my pocket. You see, Julia, I keep every little scrap that I think I might find a use for. Now, if you’re going to leave me, pack your suitcase and get out.’

  Thanks to Latham she had nowhere else to go – no money at her disposal and no friends.

  He gazed at her. ‘Well, are you going or not?’

  ‘You know I’ve got nowhere else to go if I do. But I want you to know that I despise you.’

  ‘I don’t care if you hate me. You’re mine, and you’ll remain mine until I decide otherwise.’ He rose from his chair and came round the desk. When she turned to run he grabbed her by the hair and began to slap her face. Her head jerked from side to side and she screamed.

  The door opened and Ellen’s frightened face appeared. It disappeared just as quickly.

  When she kicked Latham in the shin he grunted and punched her in the diaphragm. She doubled up, gasping, and with blood pouring from a cut lip. He straightened her up and pushed her. Staggering backwards she fell into the fire grate with a scream and banged her head.

  Through rapidly closing eyes she saw Latham pick up the brass poker and advance on her. He’d never been quite so savage before.

  The door crashed open and Robert came in. He twisted the poker from his employer’s hand and threw it aside. ‘What are you trying to do, kill her this time?’

  Latham gazed at her, the glazed look on his face beginning to clear. ‘It was an accident.’

  Robert lifted her into the chair. ‘Let me look at you, Mrs Miller. That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there. He took a folded handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against her scalp to staunch the flow.’

  ‘Is she all right?’ Latham said.

  Robert gazed up at him. ‘No she’s not all right. You’ve gone too far this time, and the gash in her head needs stitching. You’ll need to send for the doctor.’

  Latham picked up the phone and was put through to the doctor. He said, ‘My wife’s had an accident. She tripped over a rug and fell into the fireplace. She’s managed to cut her head and it needs stitching.’

  He turned to Ellen who was fluttering in the doorway, her eyes wide and frightened. ‘You, girl . . . Go and tell that Robertson woman to come and see to my wife’s injuries. You can look after my son in the meantime. And if word of this accident gets around, you’ll be dismissed.’

  Ashen-faced, Ellen’s glance darted to the rug not far from Julia’s foot, where the letter that had caused the fracas in the first place lay. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘That goes for you as well, Robert.’

  If Latham could use sleight of hand, she could use sleight of foot, Julia thought fuzzily. Stretching out she scraped the paper under the rug with her foot.

  Robert curled his lip at Latham’s words, but he said nothing, though he saw her action. He didn’t seem to be afraid of Latham, but he was a much younger man.

  Latham touched her bloodied hair with the tip of his finger. ‘I’m sorry, Julia, but you shouldn’t have provoked me. I’ll never do it again, I promise.’ He flipped back the rug, picked the letter up and smiled at her. ‘I’ll never allow you to leave me, you know – not ever. After all, I hold the winning card.’

  She would like to leave him, but she would never leave her son. Latham knew that.

  Her senses spun when she shook her head.

  Seventeen

  Nothing was allowed to change Latham’s schedule. Two days later the Bristol took off from the meadow with Charles Curruthers at the controls. Julia’s heart lightened.

  She was still hurting. Her eyes were blackened and swollen so badly that Ben had cried out in fright when he first set eyes on her.

  Fiona had gently hugged her. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ll put some witch hazel on those bruises. Your husband has told me that you mustn’t have visitors until you’re better.’

  ‘I’m sorry if he’s appointed you my jailor, Fiona.’

  ‘He hasn’t done that . . . but my job will be in jeopardy if I disobey his orders.’

  As soon as the drone of the aircraft faded away she called Robert in. ‘Thank you for coming to my aid, Robert.’

  ‘It was my pleasure, Mrs Miller. I might as well tell you now, I’m going to leave your husband’s employ . . . and I’m taking Ellen with me.’

  ‘Oh . . . I’m sorry. Have you told my husband?’

  ‘Not yet. If you don’t mind me saying so, Mrs Miller, you shouldn’t have to put up with his treatment. You should leave him.’

  ‘I can’t, Robert. If I do he’ll keep my son, and I’ll never see him again.’

  ‘Go while he’s in France. Find somewhere to hide.’

  ‘I haven’t got anywhere to go. Latham controls everything, and he’d move heaven and earth to find us. All I’ve got of my own is my father’s car, my mother’s fur coat and her jewellery. Besides, he has evidence that could condemn me in any court in the land.’

  ‘The letter that Ellen wrote . . . that you tried to hide under the rug?’

  Surprised, she gazed at him. ‘You know about it?’

  ‘Ellen told me. She wrote it under duress, and regrets that she ever set eyes on Irene Curruthers.’

  ‘Tell her that I know the truth and will stand by her. I don’t consider her responsible for the letter. That’s what started the argument with Latham in the first place, and why I tried to hide it. He’s using it to keep me with him. I thought he’d burned it in front of my eyes, but it turned out to be a receipt he had in his pocket.’

  Robert nodded. ‘He’s a devious so-and-so. But he’s been generous to me in the past, with bonuses for my loyalty. Unfortunately, he has no loyalty towards his staff. He’s used me up. He promised me the management of your father’s factory, then decided against it.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  He shrugged. ‘I haven’t worked it out yet, but I’ve heard of a pub that’s going to be available. It’s in Southampton and is managed by a relative. I’m thinking of applying for the licence.’

  ‘Well, I hope you get it. I won’t say anything to Latham.’

  ‘I’d appreciate that. At least my soul is still intact over this. You know, Mrs Miller, if you need to sell anything I have a cousin who has a pawn shop. And I’d give you a fair price for the Morris. I’ve also got this notebook,’ and he placed a red mottled book in her hands. ‘It contains the names and addresses of women your husband has been involved with on a casual basis. Three of them are married to powerful men who could easily bring him down. I’ll be around for the next few weeks, so think about it.’

  ‘How would I get away without the car?’

  ‘I could drive you to the station if need be.’

  ‘Not while he has that letter in the safe, Robert.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have left it in the safe; he’ll have it with him in his briefcase.’

  Revenge rose in her like bitter gorge. This argument wasn’t over yet. She would ring him, tell him who wrote the letter, tell him that Ben wasn’t his, and then tell him to go to hell! Since Irene had caused this with her mischief, let her bear the brunt of his anger for once.

  It didn’t go quite as she’d planned.

  ‘Latham, it’s Julia; we didn’t finish our conversation. That letter . . . I know who was responsible for it.’

  There was a short silence at the end of the line, then a guarded, ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘It was instigated by Irene, who bullied a servant into writing it. It was do
ne out of pure spite because you married me.’

  ‘I’ll look into it.’

  ‘I asked you before, and I’ll ask you again. Let the matter drop.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  ‘Did I tell you I have a diary with names, addresses and dates in?’ She reeled off a couple of women’s names to refresh his memory.

  He roared with laughter and called her bluff. ‘So, the kitten is turning into a lioness. I didn’t think you had it in you, Julia, my pretty. Go on then, sharpen your claws and do your damnedest. See how far you get. Chances are that somebody will step out of the shadows and wring your beautiful little neck. And it might even be me, so watch your back, my lovely. Why don’t you stop being a shrew and just do the job I married you for . . . adopt the role of a doting wife, a perfect hostess, and a breeder of children for me?’

  ‘Who is it?’ a woman whispered.

  There was a background noise, the sound of a baby crying. Latham didn’t bother to muffle the sound. ‘Mind your own business. This is a private conversation, so get out and take Lisette with you. And don’t go too far, I want to talk to you. Before you go, where’s Charles?’

  ‘In the back room, sleeping it off.’

  ‘Wake him up . . . give him some coffee.’

  ‘Give him some yourself.’ A door slammed.

  If Latham didn’t care about his indiscretions, then neither would Julia. Her caution fled before the wave of anger she experienced. She’d got this far and she might as well be hung for a sheep as well as a lamb.

  ‘Oh, by the way, Ben’s not your son,’ she said. ‘I had a love affair shortly after we were married.’

  Too late to heed the warning to bite her tongue, the words were out.

  ‘Don’t try and pull that one on me, Julia. I know he’s my son. He’s too much like me to be fathered by anyone else.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Look, Julia, I’ll come home in a day or two. We’ll sort this out, I promise. I’ll give you the letter and you can give me that address book you have. It will be a fair swap.’

  Her conscience began to prick. ‘You won’t hurt Irene, will you? She didn’t look very well the last time I saw her.’