Liza, having decided to make the sacrifice of allowing her daughters to know about her background, now felt risings of anger towards Louise for causing this revelation. Things were never going to be the same, for either of them, in the future. There would always be that tinge of fear, lurking in the shadows of her mind at every social gathering they went to, that she was from common stock and that her daughter had had a bastard child.
There was the added humiliation of Nanny having to know the truth about Aunt Tegan. Already Liza thought she detected a difference in her attitude. Should she sack Nanny? No. Keep the enemy within the walls, she decided dramatically. If Nanny left, she could tell her future employers all about the Granville scandal. And anyway, who was going to do the ironing?
Oh, God, why did this have to happen, Liza fretted despairingly, as she led Louise into the library, followed by a depressed-looking Henry.
Louise looked hopefully from one parent to another; were they going to ask Jack to come and meet them? To discuss the future? He still didn’t know she was expecting his baby; did they want to be the first to tell him? Adding he must marry her, as soon as they were both sixteen? Her heart thumped uncomfortably, and she felt slightly sick.
‘Now,’ began Liza, sitting down opposite her, her voice falsely bright and nervous, ‘everything’s organized, and you’re going to be staying with my aunt, in Wales, until after you’ve had the baby. Daddy and I…’
‘Wales?’ Louise croaked, aghast. ‘I don’t understand…’ Tears stormed her eyes, and her breath came in dry sobs.
‘Darling,’ Henry interjected sympathetically, ‘you must understand that this boy has committed a serious offence, for which he could go to prison, for… for taking advantage of an underage minor. Because we want to avoid everyone knowing, for your sake, I’m not going to go to the police.’
‘Daddy, we’re in love, he didn’t take advantage. I wanted him to…’ Her voice broke, as she covered her face with trembling hands.
‘Whether you allowed this to happen or not,’ Liza pointed out in a hard voice, ‘you certainly can’t keep this child. Aunty Tegan is a trained midwife. She will look after you and when the baby’s born, she will give it away to someone who wants a child. Don’t you see? Then you can come home again, without anyone knowing, and hopefully you can be a débutante, like your sisters, in three years’ time…’
Henry silenced her with a filthy look. ‘For God’s sake, stop all that nonsense, Liza, and concentrate of what’s happening now.’
‘Give it away—?’ Louise shrieked, half rising from the sofa. ‘Give it away? But I want this baby. It’s Jack’s and my baby, and I want to marry him. The minute we’re sixteen.’
‘Don’t talk rubbish,’ Liza said angrily. ‘You’ll do as you’re told. You’ve already brought shame on us all by your wickedness.’
Louise collapsed back into the sofa, crying hysterically. ‘I won’t go! Mummy, please don’t send me away. Jack will look after me, I know he will. You’ve no idea how much we love each other. I’ve got to see him… tell him…’
Henry, his own face crumpled with distress, rose and went over to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. ‘Sweetheart, it really is for the best,’ he murmured gently. ‘I know how terrible you must feel, and I’d have done anything to prevent you having to go through this, but you’re too young to get married, and it would be a stigma you’d have to bear for the rest of your life if you kept the baby.’
‘Then Jack and I can get married when we’re older,’ she protested, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.
‘But he’s an East End evacuee,’ Liza protested, as if that settled the matter. ‘How could you have got yourself into this predicament? How many times have I impressed on you girls that you must never let a man do anything, before your wedding night? Decent men expect their brides to be virgins. Not unmarried mothers, for God’s sake!’
At that moment the library door was flung open, and Rosie, who’d been listening in the hall, came hurtling angrily into the room.
‘—And look where that advice got me!’ she exploded. ‘My honeymoon was a nightmare. I couldn’t, at that time, bear Charles touching me! But that’s all right by your book, is it, Mummy? As long as one’s a virgin bride and everyone knows it, a lifetime of unhappiness doesn’t matter?’
‘You were happy with Charles – at the end,’ Liza shot back.
‘Yes, for a few brief hours. But I think that was because I’d been having an affair with a man who I was attracted to. He taught me what it was all about; something I wish I’d known before I got married,’ she added, more quietly.
There was a shocked silence, as Rosie regarded her parents with defiance. Then she looked at Louise, curled up on the sofa, looking like a whipped dog, cowering under her mother’s verbal onslaught.
‘Darling, I’m so sorry,’ Rosie whispered, hugging her. Then she turned back to Liza, her anger spent, but not her critical faculties. ‘You’ve got your priorities all wrong, you know.
‘All you care about are appearances, conventions,’ she started ticking off on her fingers, ‘what other people think, with their bourgeois values…’
Liza sat very upright, her knees and feet pressed tightly together, her hands clasped in her lap.
‘Don’t speak to your mother like that,’ Henry said sharply. ‘She’s done a wonderful job bringing you all up, and she’s only ever wanted the best for you. You’re being very hurtful and rude, Rosie, and I want you to apologize to Mummy, at once.’
Rosie stared at her father in surprise, then knew, by looking beyond the words and into the depths of his blue eyes, that he spoke more with a deep sense of loyalty to Liza than anything else.
‘I’m sorry, I apologize, Mummy,’ she said obediently, her eyes lowered. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.’
Liza nodded frigidly, knowing that Rosie had meant every taunting word she’d said.
Rosie continued, ‘It’s just that I’m so terribly upset that Louise is being sent away. If only she could stay here, with all of us. Surely we could bring up the baby ourselves? I wouldn’t mind pretending it was mine, if it helps?’
‘That’s impossible, you’ve been a widow for five months,’ Liza snapped. ‘Louise has to go away to have this child, and we’ll tell everyone she’s gone to boarding school, and that’s where they’ll think she is. Your father agrees with me that this is the best way. You’ll all thank me one day, you know, for protecting Louise’s reputation.’ She rose, and stood looking down at Louise. ‘Daddy will take you up to London, tonight, and in the morning, he’ll put you on a train to Aberystwyth.’
‘But Jack…!’ Louise sobbed. ‘I’ve got to see him…’
‘This is the best way,’ her mother said firmly. ‘A clean cut is less painful that long drawn-out goodbyes.’
While Rosie and Juliet help a distraught Louise do her packing, Henry walked down to the village, to face the most painful confrontation of his life.
* * *
The boy looked touchingly young and vulnerable, with his thin pale wrists sticking out from the sleeves of his shabby jacket, and his blond hair curling wildly.
What struck Henry most of all, though, was the open honest face, the steady gaze, and the bracing of the shoulders, in an effort to appear manly.
‘You must be Jack?’ Henry began, when the cottage door opened.
‘Yes?’ The voice, questioning, hadn’t broken yet.
‘I’m Henry Granville, Louise’s father…’ Henry began gently.
‘I know.’ Jack frowned, suddenly worried. ‘Is Louise OK?’
‘Can we talk? In private?’
Beyond Jack was a dark passage leading to a kitchen. ‘Yes. Me Aunty’s gone to Guildford for the day.’ He opened the front door wider.
Henry stepped over the threshold and smelled rank poverty. ‘I shan’t keep you long.’
‘Wot’s up?’ Jack asked anxiously, leading the way into a small dark sitting room.
‘I’m afraid it’s not good news, Jack. I’m taking Louise up to London this evening, and then she’s going to be staying in Wales for the foreseeable future, which means, I’m afraid, you won’t be seeing her again.’
Jack blinked several times, never taking his eyes off Henry’s face. Then he spoke without rancour. ‘So you’ve found out about us? And you don’t think I’m good enough for your daughter, is that it?’
Henry was finding this class business very embarrassing. ‘She’s too young, Jack,’ he explained. ‘Did you know she’s only fifteen?’
Jack nodded, his expression intolerably sad. ‘Same as me. But that ain’t the real reason, is it, Mr Granville? I’m not posh like her. That’s the trouble, ain’t it? We loves each other, though. I’ve never met anyone like her. Lends me books, she does. Tells me about fings.’ He was looking down at his feet now, in their battered lace-up workman’s boots.
Henry gave a faint smile, imagining Louise, so gentle and helpful, explaining things to Jack. ‘She’s a good girl,’ he heard himself say, impulsively.
Jack looked up, hopefully now. ‘Does she ’ave to go away, Mr Granville? Suppose we promise not to see each other again?’ There was a desperate plea in his tone.
‘She can’t have the baby here, can she?’ Henry reasoned.
Jack stiffened, and his pale face turned bright red. ‘Baby?’ he croaked.
Oh, God, thought Henry with a pang, the poor lad doesn’t know. ‘Yes, Jack. We’ve just discovered she’s pregnant. That’s why she has to go away. My wife’s aunt is going to look after her, and arrange for the child to be adopted when it’s born,’ he added, his voice trailing off, when he saw how Jack was struggling with his emotions.
The boy’s hands were clenched, his shoulders hunched, and his face screwed up, as he fought back tears.
Then he rallied, lifting his chin, and spoke firmly. ‘I’ll stand by ’er, you know. I’ll get a job, and wotever ’appens, I’ll look after ’er, and the kid, too. We could get married next year, an’ get a council ’ouse. They reely ’elp you if you ’ave a kid.’
‘I’m terribly sorry, Jack.’ Henry suddenly felt emotional himself. In all the drama of the past twenty-four hours, no one had thought that this was his grandchild who was going to be given away. ‘It’s for the best, old boy,’ he muttered, wondering if that was true.
‘Can I… can I say good-bye to her, before she leaves?’
‘I think it would be better if you didn’t. I’ll explain to her that I’ve seen you.’
Henry couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so utterly wretched. It brought back to him his own youth, and the unrequited passion he’d suffered more than once. Jack was such a decent lad. In a sensible world he’d have been proud to have had a chap like this as a son-in-law.
Henry rose to go, knowing he couldn’t comfort Jack, and unable to bear the pain of watching another human being suffering like this. ‘Take care of yourself,’ he said gruffly, patting Jack on the shoulder. ‘It’s true what they say, you know. Time heals.’
Forlornly, Jack dragged himself to his feet and shuffled to open the front door. ‘Fanks for comin’.’ His voice was muffled.
‘If there’s anything I can do… you know, when you join up in a couple of years, and you want to get into a good regiment…’
‘Ta.’
The door closed quietly behind Henry, as if a chapter in all their lives had ended. Then he walked slowly back to Hartley, knowing they were doing the right thing, but wishing it could all have been so different.
* * *
Juliet simmered with rage. People were dying in the air raids as fast as the armed forces were being killed in action, so why on earth couldn’t her parents have been happy at the thought of a new life in the family? Instead of banishing Louise to the back of beyond, in as much disgrace as if she’d robbed a bank.
‘It’s all wrong, Granny,’ she said to Lady Anne, heatedly. ‘One would think Louise had committed a crime. She could easily have stayed with me, in London, and had the baby there. Then no one in the village need have known. I can’t believe she’s been shipped off to Wales, like a criminal.’
Lady Anne continued knitting without saying anything. Age and experienced had broadened her narrow moral standards, giving her a more lax attitude towards sexual emotions than her son and his wife. It was easy to be judgemental, she reflected, when one had never been faced by temptation in the first place. Dear Frederick was the only man she’d loved or ever wanted; although the reverse had not been true for him. The existence of Gaston had hurt her deeply, but she’d come to realize that Frederick’s affair with the French woman had not lessened her husband’s love for her, and that was what mattered.
She put down her knitting and looked sympathetically at Juliet. ‘Darling, perhaps your feelings arise not so much from Louise being sent away, but from the tragic loss of your own baby. That would be quite understandable.’
‘I can’t help identifying with Louise,’ she admitted. ‘I know what it’s like to lose the child that has been fathered by the one man you love, but my baby died. I didn’t have a choice. I was going to love her and bring her up myself, no matter what. That choice is being taken away from Louise, and I think that’s barbaric.’
‘It’s very hard,’ Lady Anne agreed sadly, as she picked up her knitting again. ‘But your parents feel the rest of her life will be ruined if she keeps this baby and in many ways I agree. She’s still a child herself. The father is an uneducated boy, from a very different background. It wouldn’t be fair to burden him with a child or Louise either, at his age.’
Juliet sat brooding as she gazed out of the window, her mouth drooping at the corners. Then she sighed deeply. ‘I think I’ll go back to London tomorrow. This is becoming an unhappy house, and I don’t like it.’ She rose, and leaned down to kiss her grandmother. ‘You’re the best thing about Hartley, Granny. Without you, I doubt if I’d want to come back again.’
‘Don’t say that, sweetheart.’ Lady Anne caught her hand. ‘You must keep coming back, because I’d miss you terribly if you didn’t.’
* * *
‘How was your weekend?’ Ian enquired amiably when Henry got back to the flat on Monday evening. ‘Want a drink?’
Henry sank exhausted into an arm chair in their cheerful little sitting room. ‘It was probably the worst weekend I’ve ever had in my life, and yes, please, I’ll have a large whisky and soda – if we’ve got any whisky left?’
Ian smiled and raised a bottle of Johnnie Walker triumphantly.
‘How did you manage to get that?’
‘Ask no questions and I’ll tell no lies,’ Ian quoted. ‘So what happened?’ He looked at Henry’s grey face curiously. ‘You went down with Juliet, didn’t you?’
Henry nodded. ‘For once, the drama had nothing to do with Juliet. Thanks.’ He took the crystal tumbler from his friend, and took an appreciative sip.
Ian grinned. ‘Oh, really? So, tell all.’
Ten minutes later Henry had filled him in, his voice gruff at times with suppressed emotion. ‘I don’t know which was worse; putting Louise on the train to Wales this morning, or seeing the absolutely naked grief on the face of the boy. I actually liked him.’ He took a gulp of whisky. ‘Bloody wretched business altogether.’
‘How did Liza react to all this commotion?’
Henry shrugged. ‘She’s very upset, of course,’ he replied vaguely.
‘Are you all right, old boy?’
‘It’s this bloody war. I think it’s getting us all down. There’s no end in sight, either, and this has been the last straw.’
‘Henry, cheer up, for God’s sake! Why don’t we go out for dinner? At least we wouldn’t have to cook ourselves.’
‘Maybe you’re right.’ But Henry still looked miserable. All he coul
d think about was Louise’s face when he’d said goodbye to her. She’d clung to him like a frightened child, weeping copiously, begging him not to send her away.
‘You’re right, let’s go out to eat,’ he said, jumping to his feet, ‘and I don’t know about you, but I intend to get very, very drunk.’
* * *
Juliet was drowning her sorrows with a group of friends, going to see Noel Coward’s Blythe Spirit at the Piccadilly Theatre, before going on to the Berkeley to dine.
‘Champagne!’ she said, with forced merriment, desperate to block out the painful events of the weekend. ‘Let’s order champagne before we do anything else.’
She’d collected some new friends in the past few months; two RAF fighter pilots called Mark Taylor and Glen Fraser, who came with their girlfriends, a naval captain, David Harris, with his fiancée, and dear old Archie Hipwood and Colin Armstrong, who could always be relied upon to help her paint the town red if they were on leave.
To boost her spirits she was wearing a sexy black dress she’d bought when she’d been married to Cameron. It had been Daniel’s favourite, too, and she knew she looked good with diamonds sparkling in her ears and around her wrists. Determined to put Louise’s plight and the horrors of the war out of her mind for a few hours, she proposed a toast.
‘Here’s to all of us!’ She raised her glass.
‘To all of us!’ everyone chorused, laughing cheeringly. The band started playing Cole Porter’s ‘You’re the Tops’, and Juliet pushed back her chair and, rising, grabbed Archie’s hand.
‘Come on,’ she commanded, swaying her hips, ‘let’s dance.’
Archie swept her on to the floor, his arm encircling her waist. She seemed to float, skirt flaring out around her ankles, her high heels skimming the polished dance floor.
‘You’re on good form, Juliet,’ Archie remarked, his body pressed to hers. ‘Anyone special in your life these days?’
She gave an enigmatic smile, her scarlet mouth tipping up at the corners, her eyes half shut. ‘Maybe.’
The Granville Affaire Page 20
