The Guest Who Stayed

by Roger Penfound

  “But you’ve got Jed now. You’ll be wanting to spend your time with him.”

  “Oh, Jed’s busy. He loves his work and besides he’s got to do long hours to earn the money. He won’t mind if you and me spend some time together.”

  Jack drove into the bay outside the Mayfair Hotel and reluctantly vacated his seat to a uniformed doorman to park the Austin. He didn’t like people driving his car but felt on balance it was safer being parked at the Mayfair than being left on a London street.

  He made his way into the lofty lobby and paused for a moment to take in his surroundings. All around him were signs of affluence and wealth – portraits of the great and good, statues of Greek goddesses, their modesty cleverly protected by marble fig leaves or a well placed hand. Distinguished looking men in morning suits accompanied by ladies carrying parasols clustered in small groups and talked in hushed voices. It was everything he hated, the pretence, the vanity, the hypocrisy and the greed. Faced with only a few years to live, he became more certain by the day that his short future lay outside of this unforgiving city in some small community where values were more honest and uncomplicated.

  Entering Hoest’s suite on the third floor, Jack was met with an explosion of well–rehearsed warmth as he was seized by the arm and embraced.

  “Jack, my dear, dear, fellow. Welcome to our little gathering. Sit down and I’ll fetch you a drink – bourbon alright?”

  Jack sat and listened to the back slapping and self congratulatory oratory.

  “Deltic Sewing Machines are now well established in the UK domestic market,” announced Hoest as he addressed his small audience. “The Deltic Speed Stitch, which is, of course, based on Jack’s S104, is being produced at a rate of fifty five machines each day at our new plant in Wembley. And in just two months, we’ll be introducing our own Deltic Promaster X5 into the commercial tailoring market. Gentlemen, I think we can raise our glasses to a job well done.”

  Jack sensed his mind was drifting away from the proceedings. He didn’t belong to this world of mass production and tight margins. He had been trained by his father as a craftsman. He took pride in the machines that he built and he knew the people he sold them to.

  July 1921 was an unusually wet month. Grey cloud hung low over the countryside and a permanent dampness seemed to permeate all aspects of life. Shire horses were brought out of retirement on the farms to work the sodden ground as modern tractors failed to cope with the quagmire. Finally, in the last days of July the sun began to break through the cloud cover and temperatures began to climb. By early August people were throwing off their clothes and struggling to stay cool as temperatures reached 30 degrees and above.

  It was the 6th August – the beginning of a bank holiday weekend. As Jack set off from London he could sense a holiday mood, with traffic heading out of the capital and children playing in the small parks that he passed on his way through the suburbs. He had settled his affairs and spent the last few days in a hotel as he prepared to begin his new life. As he motored through the outskirts of London, he felt a strange mix of emotions. He was free from the responsibility and routine of his job. He was well off – in fact, rich. He could please himself. But he was dying. How could he embrace the future and whatever opportunities came his way with this cloud hanging over him?

  Jack had decided to head for the east coast, to enjoy the sea air, to feel the warmth of the sun on his body and to experience being part of a holiday crowd. For so long his life had been driven by business targets and also the dark memories that still resurfaced in his mind each night. He desperately sought to throw these off and hoped that by escaping his past he would discover some peace in his final years.

  At Hope Cottage, Alice was up early working in the vegetable garden. Amongst the weeds and overgrown vegetation, small oases of cultivation were now beginning to emerge as she slowly imposed her will on the fertile soil.

  “I’m off then, Alice,” shouted Jed as he pulled his builders cart from its resting place at the side of the house.

  “Are you sure you won’t stay at home just for today, Jed. It is meant to be a holiday weekend after all.”

  “I told you I got to get that fence fixed for Mrs. Walters. We needs the money, Alice. We’ve got that loan to be paid each month.”

  “Surely a day won’t make a difference. I thought we could take a picnic up to the heath. That’s what lots of other folk do round here on a holiday.”

  “I’ll be back about sixish.” And with that he wheeled his cart out onto the road and made his way into Frampton.

  Alice stopped her work and listened to the noise of the wheels grinding on the road as the cart slowly disappeared along Duck Lane. She felt suddenly despondent. She’d only been married for seven weeks but it seemed like seven years. Already her day was governed by routine. Up at six to get Jed’s breakfast; start work at the bakery at eight; get home at four; tidy the house; prepare Jed’s evening meal; listen to Jed moaning about Dan; go to bed and feign sleep. It wasn’t what she had expected. Somehow, she thought that marriage would liberate her, that people would see her differently, seek her out and want to make friends with her. But she seemed trapped – locked into a lifetime of monotony with a man who seemed to thrive on convention and routine. She felt suddenly frightened and alone.

  Jack had chosen Cromer on the east coast as his first destination. He knew little about it except that it was a popular seaside resort and it had a much admired pier built in 1901. So here he was, strolling at last along the promenade in the warm sun. The sea to his right sparkled and glinted like diamonds. Children dressed in bathing costumes played noisily on the beach and family groups gathered in clusters, unwrapping picnics and laughing loudly at private jokes.

  Jack felt uplifted. It was what he needed. He had wanted to see people enjoying themselves and throwing off the gloom of the post war years. He hoped that somehow their good humour would transfer to him and that by being in their presence he would absorb some of the tonic.

  He spotted a small pub with a terrace overlooking the sea and bought himself a scotch. For a while, he sat pondering the scene around him, listening to snatches of other people’s conversations and laughing at jokes directed to others. Then it slowly dawned on him that he wasn’t part of this scene at all. In fact, he was invisible to everyone else – just a man sitting by himself on the terrace of a small pub. No one knew that he had just become very rich – or cared. No one knew that he had a beautiful yellow Austin Tourer. No one knew that he had only a few years to live. These things only mattered if there was somebody else to share them with. They only mattered if you could tell someone about them.

  He felt his spirits drop and decided to go in search of accommodation. He needed to be alone. Signs on the seafront directed him to the tourist information office. A young girl in her mid twenties smiled broadly at him as he entered.

  “I need accommodation for the night, maybe two nights. Could you recommend a small hotel?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but everything’s completely booked up. We’ve no vacancies at all. It’s because it’s a holiday and it’s so hot. People have been flocking here from London. Our last vacancy went half an hour ago.”

  “There must be somewhere. I can’t believe there’s nothing.”

  “The vicar’s planning to make beds available in the church hall, sir. We might be able to get you in there.”

  “I am not sleeping in the church hall. I haven’t come all this way to spend the night like a refugee. I’m not well. I need somewhere decent to sleep.” Jack felt immediately annoyed that he had resorted to his health problems to gain the girl’s sympathy. Should he also tell her he was dying?

  “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. There is one possibility. I’ve heard that the WI ...”

  “The W what?”

  “The WI. It’s the Women’s Institute. The Cromer WI is contacting groups in outlying villages to see if any of their members can put up visitors as it’s an emergency. Do you want me to see if I c
an get you a place with one of the WI ladies?”

  Jack had visions of a comely matron showing him into a small chintzy bedroom with floral cushions scattered across the bed. She would invite him to take cocoa with her and chat about the vicar’s tea party and the state of the village flower beds.

  “Sir, would you like me to investigate that option for you?”

  “Oh, er, yes. I suppose I have no option. It sounds marginally better than the church hall.”

  Alice was still working in the garden of Hope Cottage, perspiring under the hot sun as she coaxed new life into the dry soil. Being a bank holiday weekend many townsfolk were heading for the coast and Alice felt distinctly detached from the festive mood. Suddenly, her attention was caught by a shrill voice calling out her name.

  “Alice, Alice Carter, is that you?”

  The caller was an unexpected visitor – Mrs. Burns, a stalwart of conservative gentle society and also chairwoman of the local Women’s Institute. Alice gave people such as her a wide berth as she knew that she was considered by some of her kind to be below them socially.

  “Hello, Mrs. Burns. How nice to see you. You’re not often in this part of town.”

  “Just passing by and I’ve heard so much about your dear little cottage I thought I’d just catch a glimpse for myself. So very pretty. I gather your husband actually built it himself.”

  “That’s right, Mrs. Burns. Jed’s a builder so it seemed a good idea.”

  “Oh yes, I know Jed and Daniel. They’ve done jobs for me in the past. Cleared the drains last time, I think. Did it very well too. But listen, there was another matter I wanted to raise with you. I had the head of the WI in Cromer on to me this morning in a bit of a state. It seems that this hot weather is bringing thousands of trippers out to the coast. Well, given the terrible weather we’ve had I suppose you can understand that. Anyway, they’ve all been arriving in Cromer by train and charabanc and motor car expecting to be put up. But they’ve run out of accommodation. They’re simply full up. So the word has gone out to find bed and breakfast accommodation in the surrounding villages. Well, of course, they’ll pay, so I thought of you. I expect a little bit extra will help and all you have to do is provide a bedroom and give them breakfast. What do you say? Are you interested?”

  “Well, I’m not sure. I’d have to see what Jed says. I mean, who will we have to stay? Do we have a choice?”

  “No, luck of the draw. You’ll just have who the WI in Cromer send and we’ve all agreed the rate will be twelve shillings a night.”

  “Twelve shillings? That’s quite a lot. When do you need to know, Mrs. Burns? Can I think about it?”

  “I need to know now, Alice. I’ve got to go to the post office and put through a call by two this afternoon.”

  Alice was in two minds. On the one hand, she knew that she should discuss this with Jed first. He wouldn’t take well to having a visitor in the house and she would have to do a bit of persuading. On the other hand, she knew Jed was worried about money and especially about paying this month’s loan instalment on the house. Twelve shillings would almost cover the payment and take the pressure off Jed having to work such long hours.

  “Alright, Mrs. Burns, we’ll do it. I’m sure Jed won’t mind. We’ll say yes.”

  Alice spent the rest of Saturday morning preparing a guest room. Jed had already requisitioned a bed, one of many pieces of furniture that he and Dan had been asked to mend but for which no payment was forthcoming. By cleverly juggling their existing furniture and liberally decorating the room with flowers, Alice managed to create a pleasant, though simple, environment.

  She began to feel nervous about Jed’s reaction. If the guest arrived before he got home, it would be difficult explaining the presence of someone else in the house. Alice hoped it would be a woman, perhaps an elderly spinster taking a short break from London.

  Suddenly, her attention was drawn to the sound of a car engine outside. Cars seldom ventured down Duck Lane so their presence was unusual. Standing close to the window but taking care not to be seen, Alice observed a large yellow open top sedan navigating its way slowly through the pot holes. She could see that the car contained only a driver and on the back seat was a large leather trunk. She wondered why such a car would come this way. Beyond Hope Cottage there were only a couple of smallholdings before the lane petered out into a marshy meadow.

  The driver appeared to be searching for something and was consulting a piece of paper that he held in his hand. Alice’s heart began to race as she realised that this could be the paying guest. She pulled the old apron that she was wearing from her waist and patted energetically at her hair with no discernable result.

  The car had now drawn to a halt outside Hope Cottage and the driver was staring intently at the front door. Alice suddenly had a great sense of foreboding. How insane to invite an unknown stranger to stay with you in your house. He could be anyone, a murderer, a rapist, a thief, and she was going to open the door and let him walk in.

  He was out of the car now and making his way hesitantly to the door. She could see that he was a broad shouldered man, probably in his early forties. He had thick dark hair protruding from under a sporty driver’s cap and he wore a blue checked open neck shirt with light coloured trousers.

  A loud knock at the door sent a shock wave through her body. Momentarily she found herself rooted to the spot but a second knock drew her down the stairs and into the hall. Taking a deep breath she opened the door to reveal the stranger. He was tall, about six foot one. His face was clean shaven and when he lifted his cap a shiny head of thick black hair was revealed.

  “Mrs. Carter, Mrs. Alice Carter?” he enquired, a broad smile spreading across his face.

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “I’m Jack, Jack Malikov. I understand that you’ve very kindly offered to take in a paying guest.” He paused, confused by the blank expression on Alice’s face. “I’m your paying guest.”

  Alice was speechless. The man had an imposing presence. His frame filled the small porch and she found she had to look up to make eye contact with him. He extended his arm and she felt her hand engulfed by the hugeness of his.

  “Is it still alright? I mean, you were expecting me?”

  “Oh yes, yes, of course it’s alright,” stammered Alice. “We’re very happy to be having you as our guest, that’s me and my husband, Jed. We’re both very happy to be having you to stay. You must excuse our place, it’s very simple but we’ve only just built it.”

  “You mean you built this house yourselves?”

  “Well, it was mostly Jed, he’s the one with an eye for that sort of thing.”

  “He must be a very talented man, your husband. I look forward to meeting him.”

  “Well, he’s working at the moment but I dare say you’ll see him later. Look, please come in and I’ll show you to your room.”

  Alice took him upstairs into the room that had been designated as his. Although simply furnished, the room looked fresh and inviting and Jack seemed pleased with the arrangement. She left him to unpack his case and retreated into the parlour, unsure about what was required of her next. It seemed strange to hear someone she didn’t know moving around in the room above. She heard him opening drawers and moving his trunk across the floor then walk out of his room and into the bathroom. It hadn’t occurred to her that someone would be sharing her prized bathroom and she felt uneasy about it. The toilet flushed and she heard him making his way back to the bedroom. She tried to get on with some jobs but found herself obsessively listening out for his next move. The bedroom door opened again. Then came the sound of him walking slowly down the stairs. She busied herself by the sink, hoping that he would go straight out.

  “Mrs. Carter, can I have a quick word?”

  She turned to see him standing in the doorway, smiling.

  “Are you off then?”

  “Yes, I thought I might take a drive into the country – just to get my bearings.”

  “Would yo
u care for a cup of tea before you go?” Alice hadn’t meant to ask him and regretted it the moment the words slipped out.

  “Well, if it’s no trouble, a quick cup before I go out would be very welcome.”

  As Alice prepared the tea, Jack sat at the parlour table talking.

  “I’ve been really looking forward to this break. I haven’t stopped working for nearly three years. This is the first holiday I’ve had in all that time.”

  Alice tried to place the accent. His voice was warm and resonant with a clear London twang, but beneath that lay another suppressed accent, possibly foreign, which occasionally surfaced and caused some words to be pronounced in unexpected ways.

  “I had to get away. I can hardly breathe when I’m in London so I thought I’d head out to the coast and get some sea air. Thought I’d book into a little guest house with no problem but they were all full up. So I went to the tourist office and they suggested I sleep on the church floor like a refugee. Well, I must have looked dumbfounded because the next minute the young lady’s telling me the local WI’s providing bed and breakfast in the outlying villages. So here I am in a pretty little cottage being served tea by a very pleasant Mrs. Carter.”

  Alice blushed. “Call me Alice, please.”

  “Only if you call me Jack.”

  Alice poured tea for Jack into a cup from her best set.

  “I hope you’re going to join me. I’ve got plenty I want to ask you.”

  Alice chose a matching cup and poured tea for herself. She listened whilst Jack told her a little more about himself. He was careful not to mention his illness but was happy to talk about his business and how he had just sold it for a large amount of money.

  “So you’re not doing too badly, Mr. Malikov – I’m sorry, I mean, Jack. That’s a very posh car you got sitting outside there.”

  “Ah, do you like her?” A broad grin spread across Jack’s face. “I’ve only had her a week. I promised myself that when this deal was agreed I’d treat myself to a car. It’s an Austin Twenty Tourer. I bought her new for six hundred and ninety five pounds.”