A Different Kind of Love

by A Different Kind of Love (retail) (epub)

The other had little time to respond for, hearing them talking, Wyn came in. ‘Margaret, I forgot to tell you, now that my niece is back we won’t require you beyond your usual hours.’ She looked at the clock. ‘You may go now but I’ll pay you to the hour.’ ‘That’s very generous of her,’ muttered the cleaner to the niece, ‘there must be at least a minute to go.’

  Beata chuckled and said goodbye before being summoned to the living room to attend the guests.

  * * *

  If she had thought her uncle and his friends’ attitude had undergone a radical change, over the coming months Beata was to hear even more condemnation when Germany’s support for General Franco acquired a military role, their planes bombing a Spanish town and killing many people.

  It was all very worrying for a young woman isolated from her loved ones, especially with a brother in the army.

  ‘Do you think there’ll be a war, Uncle?’ Beata had been wanting to ask all afternoon but did not do so until the reverend gentlemen had gone.

  Despite his bellicose opinions amongst his male friends, Teddy sought to put her mind at rest. ‘In Europe, maybe, but I don’t believe it’ll involve us this time. Mr Baldwin’s too sensible. So don’t you go worrying.’

  But then a few weeks after this Mr Baldwin resigned as Prime Minister, bringing more speculation amongst the men about war and causing Beata to seek her uncle’s assurance again. And again Teddy told her soothingly not to worry, for, ‘I believe Mr Chamberlain’s a peace-loving man. He won’t take us into any unnecessary mess.’

  It was good that the Coronation took everyone’s mind off the foreign unrest. Whilst Beata herself had little to celebrate, trapped here in this small coastal village, the rest of Britain had much to put the flags out for. They had survived conflict and financial depression, there was ever-increasing prosperity in all but the meanest slums and even these were gradually being razed and replaced in the building boom that had been going on since the war.

  With her own brothers and sisters being party to this overall good fortune, each fulfilling his or her desire, Beata told herself not to grumble at her own situation, even when forced to spend Christmas and New Year amongst her miserly aunt and uncle. This stagnation would not last for ever. For now, she must take solace in her siblings’ letters, a joy not allocated to Aunt Wyn.

  ‘Well, if she wanted to make me feel as bad as she does then she’s succeeded!’ At first delighted on that crisp March morning to receive this rare letter from her sister Rhoda, Wyn had soon found it to be a catalogue of illness. ‘I feel quite depressed after reading that. I don’t know how she managed to write it if she’s as crippled with rheumatism as she says. Honestly, she’s such a grumbler. I hope she isn’t angling after taking Beata away just yet.’

  ‘Beata would never put up with her,’ contributed Teddy.

  ‘No indeed.’ Wyn looked round as her niece came in with Teddy’s medication. ‘I’m just saying, I don’t know how you’re going to manage our Rhoda when the time comes. She’s not half as placid as I am.’

  Beata frowned to herself. Why did everyone take it for granted that her station in life was to look after them? But, regrettably, this was the design her life was appearing to take. All she seemed to do was wander between relatives, applying bandages, measuring medicine, being godmother to someone else’s child …

  ‘Turn the wireless on, Beata dear.’ Aunt Wyn threw the letter on the fire. ‘And we’ll listen to some proper news.’

  Beata went to click the knob, fetching the broadcaster’s voice into the room ‘… hitherto massed on the Austrian border, are reported to be now entering Vienna—’

  ‘He’s done it then,’ said Teddy to his wife, both at once attentive.

  Alert, Beata saw her aunt and uncle look at each other, their expressions sober as they listened to the rest of the broadcast. There had been grave concern over the past month about the rise of fascism in Europe, not just Franco’s success in Spain but also Hitler’s underhand manoeuvres to install more Nazis in the Austrian cabinet. There were fears that Czechoslovakia was next on his list. It was all a long way from home, but still …

  ‘Go out and enjoy the spring sunshine while you can, Beata.’ Aunt Wyn noticed she was standing there doing nothing.

  Beata nodded and asked intuitively, ‘Might there be anything you’d like me to do while I’m out there, Aunt?’

  ‘Oh, well, you could do a bit of tidying-up if you like.’

  Beata smiled grimly to herself as she went to don an old jacket and wellingtons, though in fact it was a release to be out in the fresh air. She enjoyed gardening, wishing only that it could be her own piece of land upon which she was about to labour. Avoiding the spring bulbs whose green shoots pushed their way through the winter debris, first she raked up the leaves, which was quite a lengthy task, for it was a large spread. Then, in between answering her aunt and uncle’s demands, she found a piece of old carpet and dropped on all fours on it to tear up the dried brown stalks amongst the new growth.

  Immersed in her task, she did not at first notice the little boy who peeped through gaps in the fence and moved with her as she went along the border on her hands and knees. But finally, her back aching, she straightened to relieve it, saw him, a lovely little chap about five years old, and she smiled into his serious face.

  ‘Hello!’ she said brightly, but he did not answer, just stood watching her intently for a while.

  Then he announced, ‘Your eyes are like bluebells.’

  She laughed and gave a murmur of pleasure. ‘You’ll go far, young man.’

  He said nothing more, but put his little hand through the fence and began to assist her in pulling up weeds. Seeing those tiny fingers work alongside hers, Beata felt a rush of maternal affection and told him, ‘You’re very helpful. Do you think your mother would swap you for a quarter of tea?’ He said he would ask and, dashing off, was gone for some moments before returning to announce, ‘She wants the tea first.’

  Beata chuckled and was thoroughly enjoying his company until Aunt Wyn called in that impatient way of hers and she was forced to say goodbye. But, ‘Come and see me again, won’t you?’ she entreated wistfully, knowing that such encounters were the nearest she would get to having children.

  Whilst attending Aunt Wyn’s demand for tea, remembering what she had said about losing her one and only child, and thinking that perhaps Wyn might share her own deep longing, she said with a question in her voice, ‘Aunt, have you read about those Basque refugee children who need homing?’

  ‘Refugees?’ Wyn reached for her cup and saucer. ‘I think I’ve done my bit by taking you in. I don’t want any more waifs and strays, thank you very much.’

  Beata was furious. Though she was not the sort to thrash about and her body remained calm her voice reflected her indignation. ‘Right, well if that’s the case, I’ll go back to York.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Realizing she had pushed the placid girl too far, Wyn began to panic and, slopping tea into her saucer, she reached out to grab hold of Beata’s arm, ‘I didn’t mean you were a waif, dear. We’re very grateful for all the help you’ve given us, extremely grateful, in fact we couldn’t do without you – could we, Teddy?’

  Her uncle agreed.

  ‘And, of course, you’d be so much safer here.’

  Beata still bubbled with anger. ‘How is that, Aunt?’

  ‘Well, if there’s a war—’

  ‘Uncle Teddy says there isn’t going to be one.’ Beata looked at him for confirmation.

  ‘Oh and of course he’s almost certainly right!’ Wyn babbled. ‘I don’t intend for you to worry, but one never can tell and if there were to be hostilities then York will be one of the Germans’ first targets, it being a garrison town.’

  Beata did not know what to think. One newspaper predicted a war by 1940, yet another was adamant there would be none. She wished her father were alive so that she could ask his opinion.

  ‘Please, please stay,’ begged Wyn.

  And so
pathetically was it issued that Beata decided it would be wrong to abandon this elderly relative, saying resignedly, ‘All right, I will – for now.’

  32

  The question of the refugee children was not raised again and, apart from occasional sightings of the little boy when his mother brought him to visit his grandparents, Beata was rarely to see anyone young at all, certainly no one of her own age. Of suitors there were none. Mr Ellis, the widower next door, had made it clear how very fond of her he was and would come charging and stumbling across his garden with strawberries if ever he saw her on the other side of the fence, but he was in his seventies and cross-eyed, and not the type of escort she would choose even if she had any choice. Still it was kind of him and, starved for company as she was, she came to value his friendship.

  Her only other conversation partner was Margaret, the cleaning lady, though Wyn did not care for their shirking and often aborted their get-togethers. Since the altercation, Wyn had been more easygoing towards her niece for several months, during which Beata had been quite content to help her aged aunt and uncle, who was not a bad old stick really, and if well enough to do the garden would share a joke as they worked alongside each other. Also, to save her legs, he would drive her into town and wait for her whilst she did the weekly shopping. But Wyn had few such niceties and gradually her offensive nature had resurfaced, and only by way of constant threats to leave did it become possible for Beata to maintain her equilibrium.

  In the wake of another harsh clearance of air, things were less tense at the moment, at least between Beata and her aunt. The situation in Europe was another matter entirely. Though the radio was in the living room she could hear it as she worked in the kitchen and could not fail to interpret the tension in the news report. As feared, Hitler had indeed set his sights on Czechoslovakia and was threatening war unless his demands were met.

  Concerned, she again went to ask her uncle for guidance.

  The silver-haired old teddy bear laughed off her worry. ‘It’s just a small corner of Czechoslovakia he wants, Beata. Sudetenland is a German-speaking region and Herr Hitler thinks his kinsmen should be part of Germany. I suppose it stands to reason – not that I agree with him having it, but I see his point of view.’

  Unconvinced, she told him, ‘They were demonstrating how to fit gas masks when I went into town the other day.’

  But Teddy remained light-spirited. ‘I’m telling you, there’s no cause to worry. Mr Chamberlain is flying to Munich to sort it all out.’

  Beata might have been pacified, had she not, upon departing, overheard Uncle Teddy’s furtive response to a similar question from Aunt Wyn.

  ‘It’s a very tricky situation, Olwyn, very tricky indeed. I didn’t like to frighten the girl but it could go either way. We should be prepared.’

  Struggling to get through the next few days, pressure mounting and arguments flaring as she and her aunt and uncle waited for the Prime Minister to return, Beata longed to be amongst her family – real family, not just distant relatives who viewed her as little more than a servant but people who loved her – and she teetered on the edge of informing Aunt Wyn that she must go back to York, for if there was to be a war she would feel more vulnerable here than ever.

  The waiting became unbearable as, hour after hour, they tuned in for every news bulletin, yet heard nothing of consequence.

  Then: ‘There will be no war over Czechoslovakia.’

  Her ear cocked in the kitchen, at the combined outlet of relief from her aunt and uncle, Beata felt the tension drain from her body and, after offering a little prayer of thanks to the Lord, went into the living room to join its occupants.

  Uncle Teddy was smiling. ‘You’ll be glad to hear Mr Chamberlain’s sorted it out, Beata.’

  She nodded and, for as long as she was allowed, listened to the rest of the broadcast, which informed her that Hitler had promised to negotiate on future disputes.

  ‘Well, it’s all over,’ beamed Wyn. ‘Let’s have some tea.’

  The world spared another catastrophe, Beata’s own world returned to normal and she set to resume her role as Wyn’s factotum.

  However, her aunt was to shuffle after her into the kitchen, unusually affable and even helping to set out the tray. ‘It’s a great release, isn’t it?’

  ‘It certainly is, Aunt.’ Smiling, she poured boiling water into the china pot and swilled it around.

  The ringed fingers set out cups and saucers. ‘It’s been such a boon to us having you here to keep us company. I was getting rather frightened, to tell the truth.’

  Beata nodded judiciously. ‘So was I.’

  Her aunt’s beak of a nose came up to project wonder. ‘Were you? Well, you hide it very well. You always seem very calm.’

  Beata chuckled to herself: if only Wyn could read her mind.

  ‘And your uncle wouldn’t want anybody else looking after him when he’s ill. He says you’ve got such a gentle touch, and you’re so quiet about the house; you don’t go clomping round like some I could mention. I detest clompers.’

  Gratified by this rare compliment, Beata thanked her.

  There was a short silence, whilst Wyn pottered about, then slowly she turned to her companion, fingering the string of pearls that graced her silken bosom and said, ‘I’d like to ask something of you, dear.’

  Stirring the teapot, Beata turned and gave a brief smile. ‘Certainly, what can I get you, Aunt?’

  ‘Will you promise me, when I die you won’t desert poor Uncle Teddy?’

  It was not only the question but the tone in which it was said that took Beata by surprise. Normally there would always be a demand but today Wyn seemed genuinely humble and at her niece’s mercy. It was this that led her to reply sympathetically, ‘Of course I won’t, Aunt. I’ll be here as long as you both need me.’

  * * *

  How she would come to regret those words. For it was to transpire that her aunt would be needing her no longer. The next morning there were frightened yells when Uncle Teddy woke to find his wife dead beside him, startling Beata from her own bed and heralding a day of funeral arrangements.

  Whilst Aunt Wyn must have had a premonition that she was going to die, the old man she left behind seemed too stunned to realize what had occurred, thenceforth spending the rest of the day drinking himself silly to blot out the shock and leaving his niece to deal with everything.

  One good thing to come of the awful affair was that it reunited Beata with her siblings, at least those who were able to take a day off to come to the funeral. One who did was Mims, despite not liking her aunt, nevertheless seizing this opportunity to come and introduce her newly acquired young man to her sister.

  ‘Isn’t he lovely?’ smiled Beata to Maddie later at the funeral tea, admiring from afar his abundance of dark wavy hair and friendly face, the naval uniform.

  ‘You’re slavering all down your front.’ Racked with pain, Maddie lit her third cigarette in half an hour.

  Having come to associate these waspish comments with a surge in her sister’s arthritis, Beata forgave her and asked, ‘How’ve your joints been?’

  ‘Ruddy terrible.’ The smoke was expelled in a forceful stream.

  ‘Have you been to Harrogate lately?’ She knew Maddie occasionally went there to take the waters.

  ‘For what good it’s done, aye.’ Another drag. Her face seemed even paler than usual against the black of her mourning attire.

  Initially happy at seeing her, Beata knew that spending too long with Maddie would make her depressed and so, after fetching her sister a sherry, she transferred to Mims, who was much warmer company and besides, it gave her the opportunity to chat with that lovely young sailor.

  It seemed fatuous to say it in relation to a funeral but Beata thoroughly enjoyed the get-together and the time passed all too quickly. Upon remarking this to Mims she was immediately told, ‘Come with us, Beat. You don’t have to stay here now.’

  But she replied that she could not and sadly waved
them off, to resume an even lonelier life with her elderly uncle.

  There was nothing in the will for her, which was no surprise at all, so Beata need not have been beholden to Teddy, who was only related by marriage. Nevertheless, she had made a promise to Wyn and, pitying her uncle for she knew how devoted he had been to his wife and must miss her, Beata kept her word and remained to attend his diabetic needs.

  But, even accepting that grief emerged in many guises, she had never seen it displayed as bizarrely as was to occur only a few days after her aunt’s funeral when Teddy gazed miserably at Wyn’s new shoes that were placed neatly under the empty armchair opposite his and said, ‘She only bought them a fortnight ago. I wonder if they’ll refund the money?’

  Beata tried to sound placating. ‘I shouldn’t think so, Uncle.

  They’ve been worn.’ She picked up the shoes and presented the soles for his inspection.

  ‘Only a few times.’

  ‘The shop won’t see it like that. Margaret might get some use out of them, though. They’re too large for me otherwise I—’

  ‘Give them away?’ he almost choked. ‘I can’t afford to do that. They cost a lot of money. I’m a widower now, you know.’

  Beata shrugged. ‘I doubt the shop will give you a refund.’

  ‘Couldn’t you try for me?’ he wheedled forlornly.

  Imagining the embarrassment, Beata was loath to do this, but looking into the old man’s rheumy eyes, she felt compelled at least to try.

  Naturally, the shop refused to take the shoes back, the manager pouring scorn on Beata for even having the temerity to ask. Cheeks burning, she was ejected in no uncertain terms, receiving more defamation from her uncle when he found she had let him down.

  This obsession with money was to grow increasingly worse, in widowhood Uncle Teddy becoming even more niggardly than his wife, keeping such a tight hold of the purse strings that Beata had almost to physically fight with him in order to acquire money for food and even then he demanded to know where every farthing had gone.