'Having a baby was a pretty permanent reminder!' Sheila said, 'but I can't stand it when people offer to help and are forever afterwards taking it out on you, asking for thanks.'
'You don't do that.'
'Of course not. We're friends, and we help one another. Look out, here come the kids, ravenous as usual. Best get the table laid.'
*
Robert had business in Colmore Row the following Monday afternoon. He was walking back to where he had parked his car when a man coming towards him raised his hat and stepped in front of him.
'Robert? How fortunate! I'm so glad to see you. Have you time for dinner?'
Robert frowned, then smiled. 'Of course. Forgive me, I was dreaming. It's Lionel Summers, isn't it?'
'You were at the Carstairs' house on Saturday. Shall we go to the Grand along here?'
Curious at this unexpected approach from a man he scarcely knew Robert realised it was almost seven and agreed. They turned to walk along together. Lionel was silent, and it wasn't until they were sitting in the ornate dining room and had been served that he began to explain.
'Do you recall a girl called Kate? Kate Martins, who used to be a friend of Daphne's?'
Robert stiffened and laid down his soup spoon. 'Yes,' he said cautiously. 'You knew her as well. I remember you danced with her at the party where I met her.'
'You've a good memory. Have you seen her, heard from her, since then?'
'Why do you want to know? To answer your question, not since that weekend,' he added. It could hardly have been described as seeing her when her father had attacked him, and he had no wish to explain that to Lionel Summers.
Lionel's shoulders drooped. He crumbled his bread, staring into the soup. 'It was something Daphne told me at the party. I asked her where Kate was, and she – this is gossip, I shouldn't be passing it on, but you liked Kate, you might know the truth.'
'What truth?'
'Where she is. Daphne knows, I'm sure, but she wouldn't tell me. At least, all she said was that Kate had disappeared from her job. And I want to find her.'
'Why?'
'To help her. Robert, have you any idea where I can look?'
Kate needed help? Robert clenched his fists. What had happened to her? He tried to keep his voice level. Until he knew more he didn't want to let this other man, little more than a boy, see his agitation.
'What sort of help?'
'I asked Mrs Carstairs yesterday. She took an interest in Kate, helped her get the scholarship to school, but she wouldn't tell me anything, said it was best to forget Kate. I can't.'
'Daphne did mention writing to her while she was in Paris.' Robert began to eat again. The soup was cold, and he once more laid down his spoon. He'd lost all appetite. 'But that was months ago. I understood Kate hadn't written back. Come on, man, tell me the rest. There is more, isn't there? Why does she need help?'
Lionel sighed and glanced round. Then he leaned across the table and spoke so softly Robert scarcely heard him.
'Daphne said Kate was – expecting. A baby, you know. Kate blamed her employer's son, but Daphne said that was impossible. I don't know how she can be so certain, just because the fellow went to the same school as her brother.'
Robert stared at him, and Lionel, embarrassed, looked away. Kate was pregnant? His lovely, unforgettable Kate had allowed another man to make love to her, to give her a child? He wanted to find the wretch, pound him into insensibility, and then he told himself to calm down. She must have loved him. He'd been incredibly foolish, arrogant, assuming she would love him iif only he could find her again. Whatever the truth of it, whether Daphne knew the truth or not, fighting Kate's lover would serve no purpose. He struggled to fit the pieces of information together.
'Who was it? Do you know?'
'I have no idea. But if she has left her employment, would they know where she is now? In the circumstances would they give her a reference, and know who her next employer was?' Lionel asked.
'It would be somewhere to start. But have you thought, it's possible this man has set her up in a flat somewhere, and perhaps even his parents don't know,' he said, fighting to get the words out.
'He should have married her! If I knew who the man was I'd throttle the truth out of him!'
You would not be the only one, Robert thought. 'If you discover anything, let me know,' he said at last. 'Here's my card. Two of us, together, might be able to persuade someone to give us information. Meanwhile, I'll ask Mr Carstairs. He might know.'
'Thanks. I don't really know him.' Lionel didn't look much more cheerful. 'If he's not looking after her, I'm afraid she's destitute!' he burst out. 'How do girls in that situation survive?'
'Go to their families, I imagine.' And he didn't know where Kate's mother was. 'But I'll have to leave it to you soon. I'll be going back to Paris in January. The situation in Germany looks bad, we have to increase our production.'
'Damned Nazis! Do you think there will be air raids? Do we need these shelters Winston Churchill's been on about for years?'
They tried to eat the chops which were served then, but both were too distracted. Robert drove home slowly, swearing fluently and trying to absorb what Lionel had said and sort out his turbulent thoughts. Should he talk to Daphne, find out the details? But what good would knowing do, even if she could tell him, unless she knew where Kate was now? How long ago was it? He tried to think back, to conversations with Daphne, trying to recall every word she'd ever said when he'd asked about Kate. How long had she known, and why had she never told him?
If the man Kate had accused had denied it, he was unlikely to have married her. He'd been at school with Norman, so he'd also been there with Robert himself. Which of his former schoolmates had parents who might have employed Kate? That was no help. He hadn't heard what sort of job it was. Any of them might have employed her as a housemaid. Would Norman know? But Norman was on his honeymoon. Again Robert swore. Knowing would do no good. Kate could be anywhere now, with her family, and he'd had no luck tracing them. Even if he could, if she did have an illegitimate child, he could never marry her. It would be social suicide for him, and distress his parents.
Marry her? Where had that thought come from? He sighed. It had been, he now realised, a subconscious intention behind all his attempts to find Kate. From the first he had been attracted to her. Then he'd felt sorry for her struggles against poverty and her dreadful father. But he'd not allowed the thought of marriage to be acknowledged. She'd been too young. People didn't marry after two meetings, a few hours together. Yet the wish had been there, unexpressed because it had seemed too fantastical. He'd meant to wait, for once not give way to impulse, and get to know her when she was older. But she hadn't waited. Now he'd lost her. She probably wouldn't accept him even if he could disregard what his family would say, the ostracism they would face. If she was as bad as Daphne implied, she'd most likely laugh at his gullibility.
Alternating between fury, whether at himself or Kate he didn't know, frustration that he would be helpless to do anything while he was in Paris, and distress, he sat in the car outside his home until the penetrating cold forced him to move. Then he collected the whisky decanter on his way to bed, and for the first time in his life drank himself into oblivion.
*
This Christmas was so different from last, Kate thought as she sat in Phyllis's living room after they had eaten their fill of chicken and roast potatoes. She'd had a good time at Nellie's, but she had been frightened, pregnant and alone, waiting anxiously for John Wilson to return and help her.
All that was past, and despite the loss of the baby she was luckier than she deserved. Phyllis and Frank had been good friends, she enjoyed her job, loved the feel of the leather as she handled it, and was making friends with some of the other girls in the factory. They'd go to the pictures on Saturdays, and though they asked her to go dancing too, she always found an excuse. That reminded her too much of John and Robert.
Phyllis roused herself. 'Let's open the
presents before I go to sleep,' she said.
She handed Kate an envelope and a parcel which had been under their small tree. 'Open the envelope first,' she said, and giggled.
Kate looked at her, eyebrows raised, and ripped open the envelope. She'd expected a card, but it was a piece of paper, folded several times. Puzzled, she straightened it out.
'Oh! It's from Peter Llewellyn! Did you know?'
'He asked me to give it to you. So what is it?'
Kate was still staring at the paper, bemused. 'He's paid for me to have a couple of flying lessons! I can't accept! It's too much! It's not right to accept something like this from a man I hardly know!'
'You let him take you flying, don't you?' Frank asked.
'Yes, but that's different. He'd be going anyway. He says he likes company, and there's no one else he knows here, when his sister's away. It's not like spending a lot of money on me.'
She'd been flying with Peter three more times, and each trip made her more envious of those who had the skill to pilot these wonderful machines. She had taken over the controls for part of each flight, and was becoming more confident of her ability to handle the machine. And she now knew what all the instruments were for, even if Peter's explanations somewhat confused her.
'He told me he thinks you'd be a natural,' Frank said, breaking into her thoughts, 'and he'd teach you himself, but he realises he'd be no good at the technicalities. He says he flies by instinct and can't explain things properly. So he's bought you a couple of lessons. If you don't take them he'll have wasted his money. You don't want that, so you?'
'Look at your other present,' Phyllis urged. 'Decide later.'
Kate reluctantly put aside the sheet of paper. It would be a dream come true, to learn properly how to fly an aeroplane. Slowly she began to take the wrapping from the other present, and she gasped when a pair of soft leather, fur-lined gauntlets were revealed.
'Flying gloves! Oh, but you shouldn't! They're expensive! Thank you, but I can't!'
'I've never known you dither like this!' Phyllis said. 'They were a pair specially ordered and not collected, so I got them cheap. You can't refuse our present or we'll be offended. Take the lessons. Mr Llewellen said he'd leave his sister's gear at the Club for you. You might find you hate it once you've made a mess of things, and probably crashed the wretched aeroplane into the bargain, landing in a tree or something.'
'I wouldn't! And they don't let people land in just two lessons!' Kate said indignantly.
'So you'll accept?' Frank asked. 'Peter said he'd be here in January, he'd make the arrangements then.'
Kate suddenly smiled. 'Yes! Oh, how can I thank you? It's marvellous! But I'll have to work so hard to get the money to afford more, enough to get a licence, and even when I do, when would I ever be able to fly?'
'You don't know what will happen,' Frank said. 'I don't expect I'll ever be able to afford a motorcar, but when I had the chance to learn to drive one I took it. I might get a job driving one day. They'll want drivers, and pilots, if war comes.'
'Don't!' Phyllis shuddered. 'Surely they won't start killing each other again!'
'Let's hope not. I'm thankful we've no kiddies, though,' Frank said. 'I heard someone say they were going to make us all wear gas masks.'
'I don't want to know!' Phyllis said. 'Don't spoil Christmas, Frank, talking about such horrid things. Kate, when you have your own aeroplane, where would you like to go in it?
'An aeroplane costs more than a car, two or three hundred pounds,' Kate said. 'It will be years before I can afford either, even if I save every penny.'
'What about the Drone? That's supposed to be for the man in the street.'
'I wish I'd seen that,' Kate said.
'What's a Drone?' Phyllis asked.
'Something Herr Kronfeld demonstrated when the Aerodrome was opened. It has a five horsepower engine, and he flew to France in it, and it only cost one and six for petrol.'
'Well, if the air gets as crowded as the streets, I don't think I'd like to be up there. At least if two motors collide there isn't far to fall!'
'Oh, Phyllis, there's lots of room, it's easy to avoid other aeroplanes,' Kate said.
'When you can fly I'll come and watch you,' Phyllis promised, 'but I'm never going to ride in one!"
*
Mrs Carstairs looked up as Daphne entered the room. 'I thought you had lectures this morning?'
'They were cancelled.' She threw herself down into an armchair. 'What are you doing? Do you need any help?'
'Some of us are planning an appeal to help raise money and find homes for Jewish children who have been sent away from Germany. I've been trying to write letters, but people keep interrupting me.'
'Oh, I'm sorry! I'll keep out of your way!' Daphne said, rising from her chair.
'Not you, child! You can help me if you've no studying to do. It's all these people suddenly wanting to know where that wretched girl is.'
'What wretched girl?' Daphne asked, but she thought she knew.
'Kate Martins. First that young idiot Lionel Summers comes and asks yet again if I can tell him where she is, or who she worked for, then Robert Manning asks your father exactly the same, and when he said he didn't know Robert came to ask me. Why this sudden interest in her? Men can be so susceptible to a pretty face.'
Daphne hesitated, inwardly fuming that her sudden burst of temper at the party had made her indiscreet. 'It may be my fault,' she said slowly. 'I told Lionel at the party what had happened. He was stunned. But he had a soft spot for her. He probably told Robert. You didn't tell him?'
'Of course not. And fortunately I'd warned your father Lionel might ask him, and he promised not to tell anything. I don't want any of our friends to get in touch with her. She's disgraced herself, and we have no more to do with her. In any case, even Mrs Wilson doesn't know where she went to.'
'But why Robert Manning?' Daphne frowned, but forced herself to speak calmly. Was she still not rid of Kate? If only she knew where the wretched girl was she would tell Lionel, help him get to Kate before Robert could, and perhaps that would give Robert a greater disgust of her.
'Your father didn't ask what his interest was. Daphne, that's all finished. She betrayed our trust and your friendship. Let's forget the wretched girl and get on with these letters.'
They worked in silence for half an hour, but Daphne could not forget Kate.
'Did you ever have Maggie's address in Coventry?' she asked some time later.
'Yes, when I sent her the money, but I've lost it.'
'Father drove Mrs Martins there, didn't he? Perhaps he'll remember.'
'Daphne, will you please stop this! I forbid you to ask your father. We want no more to do with any of that family.'
'But – '
'But nothing! If we once show any interest the girl will be here, insinuating her way into the house again. Do you want her getting her claws into Robert again? Not that he'd look at her if he knew how she has so thoroughly disgraced herself, though with men you never know. Perhaps he wants to set her up himself in a small flat somewhere.'
Daphne looked at her mother in horror. 'Make Kate his mistress?' she whispered. 'No! Surely he wouldn't do that!'
'Darling, I know you're fond of him, and I'd welcome him as a son-in-law, but you can't hide from the fact that men behave differently to us. Why, your father once kept a woman in London. He thought I never knew. But it would have driven him further away if I'd challenged him. However, best to prevent such a situation developing. When does Robert return from Paris this time? I'll ask him to dinner.'
'Excuse me.'
Daphne fled to her own room. How did her mother know her feelings for Robert? She thought she'd been so discreet, mentioning him only as one friend, trying to talk about Brian and other men as much as she did of Robert. All the while he was still besotted with Kate. Should she hope he'd forget, or try to find Kate herself and in some fashion either drive her away, out of Robert's reach, or contrive something that wou
ld separate them for ever? What this might be she had no idea, and she spent the next hour, until it was time for dinner, making wilder and wilder plans for discrediting Kate permanently.
*
Kate stared at the controls. Would she ever be able to handle them and actually fly this Gypsy Moth she was sitting in? Taking over from Peter had been fun, easy, and he was encouraging, but that was the simple part of flying. Getting aloft and landing safely were quite different. Would she be able to satisfy a proper instructor as she had satisfied her teachers at school?
'You'll be fine once we're up in the air,' Tom Seward, who was instructing her, said. 'Today we'll just get you used to the feel of it, turning and moving generally, keeping the right balance and making your movements smoothly. And I'll be able to take over at a moment's notice if I think you're going to get into trouble. Are you ready? I'll take her up and as soon as we get over open country you can take over.'
Kate didn't like the sound of that open country. Was he expecting her to crash the plane, and preparing it so that no one on the ground could be hurt? Then she shook herself, told herself not to be silly, and tried to recall everything she had been told.
They taxied down the runway and almost before she knew it they were airborne. Tom swung the machine round in a tight circle and headed away from Walsall, over the village of Aldridge. When they could see the main street of the village and the church beyond, Tom told her to take over. Was this what he called open country?
'Keep flying straight ahead,' he said. 'Soon we get to a hill, sloping down towards Stonnall, and there may be up currents of air rising towards us. Be ready for them.'
'What do I do?' Kate asked. 'Do I go up with them or try to compensate?' Peter hadn't mentioned anything like this. With him she'd noticed changes in the air currents, but had just let the aeroplane go with them.
'I'll tell you if we get them, but whatever you do, move the stick slowly, and smoothly. Don't jerk.'
For the next five minutes Kate was tense as she tried to follow Tom's instructions, and then, as she gained in confidence, realising it was just the same as with Peter, she began to enjoy the feel of the aeroplane, the slight swaying as she turned or dipped, whatever Tom told her. She could even spare the time to look about her instead of just concentrating on the landmarks Tom pointed out to guide her. Then he began to talk her through more complicated manoeuvres, telling her what to look for on the instruments, and how to read the compass and navigate by this.
Can Dreams Come True? Page 22
