Paper Doll

by Janet Woods

  ‘Don’t fret about Irene, she can take care of herself. And don’t do anything stupid before I get home.’

  ‘Promise you won’t take Ben.’

  ‘Of course I won’t take Ben. I was angry when I said that, that’s all. I love you,’ he whispered, and hung up.

  Julia didn’t trust him. She called the staff together and said, ‘You all know what’s been going on. I’ve decided to leave my husband. He told me he’ll be home in a day or two. Fiona, would you pack what I’ll need for Ben.’

  ‘I’m having nothing to do with this,’ she whispered. ‘I was employed by Mr Miller to look after his child. You can’t take him anywhere without his father’s permission. If you do he’ll report me to the nursing agency. It will be a black mark on my record, and I’ll never be employed again.’

  Latham was good at putting pressure on people.

  ‘I’m his mother. I don’t need my husband’s permission.’

  ‘Where did you intend to go, dear?’ Agnes said worriedly.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Julia burst into tears.

  ‘There you are then,’ Fiona said. ‘You can’t sleep on the street, you know, and if any of us help you to abscond with the child we could be charged with kidnapping.’

  Julia hadn’t thought of that – she hadn’t thought of anything but herself. She felt totally useless – incapable of doing anything, even pack a suitcase.

  Fiona put an arm around her shoulders. ‘There, there, dear . . . you’re overwrought, and haven’t got over your fall yet.’

  ‘Fiona, you know damned well that it wasn’t a fall, but a push.’

  ‘In such cases it’s better not to refer to the cause. The doctor said you were mildly concussed, and that can make you confused.’

  ‘The only one who seems to be confused here, is you.’

  ‘Let me take you upstairs so you can have a nice rest. I’ll give you a sleeping pill.’

  And Julia went, meekly, because she couldn’t think of anything else to do.

  Latham had finished with Irene. She no longer attracted him, and had a dried-up yellow look to her. In deference to Julia, he’d only hit Irene once, a quick jab to the stomach. It was punishment for lying to him about the letter. She was curled up on the bed, holding her stomach and gazing at him through reproachful eyes.

  ‘We’re through,’ he said.

  She gave a wry smile. ‘You don’t mean it, Latham. You’ll be back, you always are.’

  She was wrong. ‘Not this time. I’m going home to Julia and my son. I love her, I always have. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making them happy.’

  She gave a spiteful laugh. ‘It’s too late for that. Julia hates you, and I don’t blame her.’

  Irene’s brat gazed at him from her cot, making him feel guilty. He didn’t like the child much. Lisette reminded Latham of his mother with her thin, worried face and skinny limbs. He’d never seen her smile, and the child usually stank of urine, and worse.

  ‘It’s about time you changed her napkin,’ he said. Irene had proved to be as lousy a mother as she’d told him she’d be.

  The man whose name the child bore had long gone, clearing out Irene’s bank account to support himself while he studied in Paris. He would never amount to anything as an artist.

  ‘Here, spend this on the child, not on dope,’ and he threw a wad of money on to the table. He left Irene on her bed, where she’d fallen, and went through to the other room.

  ‘Charles, wake up. I need you.’ Taking him by the scruff of the neck Latham shook him awake. ‘What have you taken?’

  ‘A bit of this and that. Leave me alone,’ he mumbled, and spluttered when Latham threw a jug of cold water in his face.

  Latham dropped a couple of pills on to his tongue. ‘Swallow these.’

  Charles did as he was told. ‘What was it?’

  ‘A stimulant made from the fruit of a coffee tree, and it will wake you up fast.’

  ‘I didn’t want to wake up yet . . . I was quite enjoying the innocence of being asleep.’

  ‘I need you to fly me back home . . . it’s urgent. Julia is leaving me.’

  Charles gave a lazy laugh that infuriated Latham. ‘It serves you right. I wonder if I’ll be in with a chance. I think your lovely little Julia rather fancies me.’

  Did this upper crust little ninny take nothing seriously? ‘Over my dead body,’ he snarled.

  The pills did wake Charles up. By the time they got to the airfield his heart was pounding, the caffeine roaring through his veins like an express train. He started the engine and they headed out over the channel into a faint mist. They’d been in the air for fifteen minutes when the engine began to splutter and cough.

  ‘What is it, what’s happening?’ Latham shouted out.

  Charles laughed. ‘You’re not going to believe this, Latham, but in our haste to leave I forgot to fuel her up.’

  ‘Then return to France and do it.’

  ‘We won’t make it . . . Enjoy the dive, old thing; it will end with a truly heart-stopping moment, I promise.’

  The engine cut out completely, and the nose went down. Through the clouds Latham saw a steamer on a sea that resembled ruffled blue taffeta. The ship was as small as a matchbox.

  As they began to spiral like an injured moth he wondered if Julia would mourn him.

  Behind him, Charles was laughing like a maniac.

  ‘Shit!’ Latham said in panic, and realized he was no longer in control of his fate. He screamed all the way down.

  Julia was roused from her nap by Ellen. ‘I’m sorry to wake you, Mrs Miller, but there’s two policemen at the door. They said it’s urgent.’

  Thank goodness she hadn’t taken Fiona’s sleeping pill. Her first thought was that they’d come to take Ben from her. ‘Did they say what they wanted?’

  Ellen shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘It’s about Mr Miller. He’s been involved in an accident, they said.’

  ‘I see . . . Tell them I’ll be down in a few minutes, and ask Agnes to take some refreshment through.’

  Pulling on a pair of brown slacks and a long-sleeved cream blouse to hide the bruises on her arms, Julia gazed at herself in the mirror. She was a mess, but there was nothing she could do about her face. She tied a pale-green chiffon scarf over the bandage on her head.

  Latham had suffered an accident, Ellen had said, and Julia grimaced – there was some poetic justice in the thought.

  Both men stood as she went in to the sitting room. They were wearing uncomfortable-looking blue uniform tunics with a row of shining buttons down the front that stopped at a broad-buckled belt. Two domed helmets stood side by side on the table. Both pairs of eyes widened when they saw her injuries, and they appeared awkward and ill-at-ease. One of them wore stripes. She smiled encouragingly at him. ‘Sergeant . . .?’

  He eased his collar with his finger and coughed. ‘Sergeant Smithers, and this is Constable Woollard.’

  ‘Please be seated, gentlemen. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. I do hope you’ll excuse my appearance. Silly of me, but I tripped over a rug and fell into the fireplace. The doctor had to put stitches in my head.’

  One of the men nodded, as though he’d heard it all before.

  Agnes came in with the tea tray. ‘Will you have some tea?’ Julia said brightly, aware she was using avoidance tactics.

  ‘No thank you, ma’am,’ they both said together, and as Agnes turned to leave the sergeant said, ‘Perhaps it would be better if your housekeeper stayed.’

  ‘Yes of course, if you would please, Agnes. Take a seat.’ She turned back to the policemen. ‘Now, I believe you want to talk to me about my husband . . . an accident my maid said. Is it serious? But yes, it must be serious if you’ve come to tell me about it.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d better sit down too, Mrs Miller. I’m afraid your husband was killed in the accident.’

  Her knees began to tremble and she sat with a thump, staring at him. ‘How could that happen? Latham was
here two days ago.’

  ‘On the day you had your accident?’

  ‘Yes . . . he called the doctor for me. Are you sure it was him? He’s in France, you know, and we talked on the telephone only this morning. He was perfectly healthy then, and said he’d be home in a couple of days.’

  ‘There was identification in the wallets of both the men.’

  ‘But how did it happen? Latham was a careful and experienced driver.’

  ‘He wasn’t in a car. He was in an aeroplane and it nose-dived into the sea and disintegrated. Two bodies were retrieved by a steamer. One of them was your husband, the other is a young gentleman called Charles Curruthers. We’ve informed his family of the tragedy.’

  Julia put a hand across her mouth to stop herself from crying out. She mumbled, ‘Oh, my God, Charles as well? What a dreadful thing to have happened.’

  Agnes put a comforting arm around her and patted her bruised shoulder. She tried not to wince when the housekeeper said, ‘There, there, my dear. He’ll be at peace, now.’

  ‘Where’s my husband’s body? In London?’

  ‘In the morgue. It will be released to a funeral director after formal identification . . . not a task for a lady to undertake in this instance, I’d suggest.’

  ‘I can’t go to London looking like this, and I still have mild concussion. The doctor wants me to rest.’

  ‘Robert might have a solution,’ Agnes offered. ‘Mr Miller set great store by him.’

  Although Julia had disliked her husband to the point of leaving him, she wouldn’t have wished him dead. On top of everything else it all seemed too much. She began to weep.

  The policemen rose and picked up their helmets, eager to make their escape. ‘I’m sorry we’ve been the bearer of such bad news. You’ll need to go to London to make arrangements for the body. I shouldn’t leave it too long if I were you. Best to get these things done quickly.’

  ‘Thank you, you’ve been very kind,’ she snuffled.

  After the police had departed Agnes told the rest of the staff the news. They all looked at one another. Fiona burst into tears.

  Ben cried because Fiona did. For once, Fiona didn’t protest when Julia picked him up and cuddled him on her lap. ‘Everything will be all right, darling,’ she soothed.

  The shock the news had brought with it was beginning to abate, and Julia knew she must be strong and make arrangements for his burial.

  Julia contacted the same undertaker who’d buried her father, and tentative arrangements were made for the funeral. Robert turned out to be invaluable. He rang the staff at the London house, then informed Latham’s managers and business acquaintances of Latham’s demise. He arranged for one of the managers to identify his body.

  ‘I don’t know anything about Latham’s businesses,’ she confessed.

  ‘Don’t you worry, Mrs Miller . . . I do.’

  ‘How well?’

  ‘As well as Latham knew them.’

  Julia made her first business decision. ‘I know you have intentions to leave, Robert, but would you consider putting it off and being my advisor . . . at least, for the time it takes to sort everything out. By that time I should know where I’m going.’

  He nodded and held out his hand.

  ‘Now . . . I’d better phone his lawyer.’

  Latham had left each of his staff an appropriate amount of money. The bulk of his estate would be divided between Julia and Ben. There was also a legacy for Irene and her daughter, in the form of an allowance.

  Julia hugged her guilt to herself. It had been vindictive of her to tell Latham that he wasn’t Ben’s father, but thank goodness he hadn’t believed her!

  She buried Latham a week later, in the same cemetery that contained her parents. Her fading bruises were hidden under a dark veil. She expected Irene to put in an appearance, but she didn’t. For Latham she arranged for a deep-yellow rose to be planted.

  Afterwards she said to Robert, ‘Gold doesn’t always glisten, does it? Sometimes it’s an illusion. I guess Latham knows that by now.’ They headed for the car.

  The London staff had arranged refreshments. There were many mourners all offering their condolences. Robert stood by her side the whole time. She kept up the charade of a grieving wife for Latham, if only for her own sake. There were moments when she felt dizzy with the relief of knowing that she’d never again be subjected to a beating such as the final one Latham had delivered to her.

  The next day she attended Charles’ funeral in Surrey. She could hardly believe that the golden-haired, bright and beautiful Charles, who’d been such an outrageous and funny companion on the rare moments she’d met him, was gone. Irene didn’t attend her brother’s funeral either.

  The Curruthers were barely civil to her, so she took the hint and didn’t ask after their daughter, or go back to the hall.

  A week later, after the stitches had been removed from her head, Robert took her up to London for a business meeting with Latham’s lawyer and clerk.

  ‘Hello, Mr Adams. How are you?’ she said to the clerk.

  He smiled at her. ‘I’ve brought a summary of Mr Miller’s holdings for your reference.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Adams.’

  ‘Have you decided what you are going to do with the factories. Not knowing is unsettling for the customers.’

  ‘I have decided,’ she told them. ‘I don’t have the skills to run Latham’s business enterprises, and neither do I want to. I want everything to be sold . . . the factories, the London house and the big car.’

  The lawyer smiled. ‘I was hoping you’d come to that conclusion. Selling up shouldn’t be hard, and we’ll hold out for the best price. I’m already getting discreet enquiries about the dispersal of the estate. The proceeds will make you a very wealthy woman, Mrs Miller.’

  ‘I’m already a wealthy woman, it seems. Latham left us generously provided for, with a large amount of money held in an account in my name, which I can use immediately. There is also the legacy from my father’s estate, which is invested, I believe. However, the bulk of the money that sales of the business bring in will be placed in trust. It will support a charity in Latham’s name . . . a temporary care home in the country for children under school age, whose mothers are too ill to look after them. The property in Surrey can be used for the purpose.’

  The lawyer raised an eyebrow. ‘Your home in Surrey? There will be a board of trustees appointed, I hope.’

  ‘Yes, of course. It’s in an ideal location. The air is healthy and there’s plenty of room. I’m going to ask Fiona Robertson to accept the position of matron, and I imagine Mrs Finnigan will be happy to stay on in charge of the cooking and housekeeping, though they’d both need some extra help. My husband thought very highly of them both. We should be able to cater for about forty needy children.’

  ‘Where would you get these needy children from?’

  ‘They’d be referred by the church, or doctors. Word will soon get round.’

  ‘And where will you go?’

  ‘I’ll live in the guest flat for the time being, raise my child and help out where I can. I’m not entirely useless. I can do some of the paperwork, type letters and try and raise money.’

  Robert, who accompanied her to the meeting, chuckled. ‘It should work, as long as you remember that Fiona will be in charge.’

  Julia gave a bit of a shamefaced grin. ‘She won’t be in charge of my child, and that will make a big difference. With several children in her care her regimental skills will be useful.’

  Not hearing from Irene had begun to bother her, because the strength of Irene’s feelings towards Latham had been strong. Now she asked the lawyer, ‘Have you been in touch with Mrs Argette? I expected to see her at the funeral of her brother.’

  ‘I sent her a letter, but have received no reply, and nobody answered the telephone.’

  ‘So she doesn’t know she’s a beneficiary under Latham’s will?’

  ‘If she read my letter, she’d know. I asked her t
o come to London so we could discuss the situation. You know, Mrs Miller, I’d advise you to challenge that particular legacy. The woman concerned was notorious—’

  ‘Don’t go on, please. I know what the situation was between Mrs Argette and my husband, and I wouldn’t dream of challenging Latham’s will in this matter.’ She looked him straight in the eyes. ‘Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Miller, you’re a gracious and generous woman, and you make me feel ashamed of myself.’

  Julia doubted it.

  When she broke the news of her plans to the staff. Fiona was overjoyed to be offered the position of matron. ‘To be honest, I thought you’d dispense with my services, Mrs Miller.’

  ‘You astonish me, Fiona. Your competence for the position is beyond criticism, and to be quite honest, I never even considered asking anyone else, because I know you’re an honest, straightforward person who possesses a great deal of common sense,’ and she grinned as she added, ‘Even if we didn’t always see eye to eye.’

  ‘Like the time you sneaked in and took Ben from his cot for a feed, and I let you get away with it.’

  ‘Only because you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop me. I’ll be hiring an architect to advise us on how and where to convert the bedrooms. Fiona, if you like you can plan how many beds, sheets and things we’ll need.’

  ‘I’m sure the church committee will keep us supplied with knitted baby blankets, baby clothes, socks and matinee jackets,’ Agnes Finnigan said happily. ‘It will be a good cause for them. And we’ll have to have a patron . . . that will be you, Mrs Miller.’

  With such a lot to do Julia didn’t have time to blink. She fell into bed every night and slept deeply, waking refreshed. Looking after Ben was a delight, though Fiona hovered over her like a bird waiting to pounce on a worm.

  One night there was the sound of a car, and the dogs set up a frenzy of barking. Julia gazed at the clock. It was two a.m., and somebody was leaning on the doorbell.

  She pushed the window open. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s me, my angel . . . Irene. Come down and pay the cab, would you? I’ve run out of money.’

  ‘At this time of night?’

  ‘What has the time of night got to do with anything? Just do it, else I’ll sleep on your doorstep.’