The Running Years

by Claire Rayner

  ‘Listen, Uncle Alex,’ Hannah said earnestly. ‘It’s beautiful. It’s the nicest tea shop I ever saw.’

  ‘Peeh pah pooh, a tea shop! Of course it is! Better fixed up than Gunter’s better than Gatti’s, better than all of them! See those potted palms there? Cost me more'n your Mrs Lammeck pays her servants a week, believe me, and that’s a lot. And that band - you hear that band?’ No one could fail to hear it, playing as it was a very lively mazurka with enormous gusto, the players in their exaggeratedly sleeved cream silk shirts and red cummerbunds and trousers tucked into shiny boots leaping and stamping about till the crystal chandelier overhead rang with the excitement. ‘Cost me more'n she pays for two weeks' wages! It’s not that I'm asking, dolly, I want to know, does it have class? Like at your Mrs Lammeck’s house? I want my tea shop should look like her drawing room, you understand me? Not like Gunter’s, but like real class.

  Hannah looked at the glittering scene in front of her and conjured up the quiet expanse of Eaton Square drawing room with its velvet sofas and the hand blocked Chinese wallpapers and its all pervading silence and laughed aloud and said, ‘Mrs Lammeck’s drawing room, Uncle Alex? it’s better - much better.’

  He put his arm about her shoulders and hugged her and pulled her away to collect a heaped plate of food she knew she’d never be able to finish and then sat her at a table with her cousins Charlotte and David, two of Uncle Benjamin’s brood, while he went rushing about from one group to another, here insisting that someone take more cheesecake, there heaping a plate of cherries, all the time chivvying his sweating waitresses in their over-frilled uniforms to feed everyone faster and faster and more and more. And Hannah watched him and enjoyed him because he was patently enjoying himself so much. He was dressed in his best clothes, a suit of dark green checks and very gleaming white shirt and even more gleaming patent leather shoes and his face outshone both with sweat and excitement. He had been white haired now for almost three years, and it suited him, that great crest of frosty waves; beneath it his face was the same young one she had always known, and his voice was the same booming cheerful sound that had lifted her childhood spirits whenever she heard it She did love him dearly, she told herself, watching him. It’s so easy and comfortable to love Uncle Alex. Not like Momma…

  She pushed that thought away and turned to talk to her cousins, though it wasn’t easy; David was a serious minded young person who was an even more assiduous Talmudic scholar than his father, dark eyes and thin faced and very intense, and rather scornful of females, and Charlotte was interested only in possible husbands. Since none were present at this solely family party she was patently bored, so when Alex returned to slide one hand under Hannah’s elbow and take her away Hannah was grateful.

  He led her to the end of the room to the curtained window that showed the darkening pavements of Tottenham Court Road outside, for it was now six o'clock and the autumn afternoon was dwindling.

  ‘So, tell me, dolly,’ he said. ‘You really like my shop?’

  ‘I love it, Uncle Alex,’ she said and laughed at him, her eyes bright. ‘You’ve made it beautiful. Those mirrors, you’d think it was a place twice as bit as it is.’

  ‘Four times,’ he said,’ maybe five. And one day it will be. And I'll tell you something else, one day I'll have dozens.’

  He swept his hand round in a comprehensive gesture, then reached into his pocket with the other hand to take out a slim gold case.

  ‘Cigarette, dolly? No? Well, you will one day. All the classy ladies smoke now, they tell me. So, how goes it in your fancy Lammeck house, hmm? Enjoying life, are you?’

  ‘Yes thank you, Uncle Alex. It’s very nice.’ She was cautious now, for she had always found if difficult to talk to Uncle Alex about her relationship with Mrs Lammeck. He looked at her so much more knowingly than any other member of the family did, and seemed so much more aware than any of them. He knew as none of the other uncles and aunts and cousins seemed to know, how anomalous her position was. Neither servant nor equal, she was an interloper in the Eaton Square household, and she knew it. Mary might regard her as her companion, almost as an adopted child; Mr Lammeck did not, seeing her only as his wife’s personal maid. The other servants didn’t quite know how to see her, regarding her as much less lofty than a real lady’s maid would be and far from equal. And Daniel - he was not to be thought of at all.

  Neither fish, nor fowl nor good herring,’ Alex said sapiently. and took out one of his cigarettes and lit it with a match taken from a gold Vesta box in his waistcoat pocket. The scent of the Turkish tobacco drifted over her head and she looked away, her face a little pink.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said a little stuffily.

  ‘Oh, dolly, of course you do! You know exactly what I mean, Listen. I got ideas. You know that. I always have ideas, but this one, this is an idea and another again, it’s so good.’

  She smiled glad he’d moved away from his previous tack. ‘What idea?’ 'I told you. I'm going to expand. Dozens of places like this I'm going to have, only bigger and better and classier. You know about class now, Hannah, hey? You’ve got style like know one else in this family ever had, nor'll ever hope to have, apart from me, o'course. So what d'you say, dolly? Isn’t it time you left off being a servant to these fancy Yidden who reckon they're so much better than you and me, hey? Time you came and worked with your Uncle Alex and showed ‘em what we can really do when we try? What' d'you say, Hannah? Come and be my manageress. Here.’

  25

  In a way, it was Mary’s own fault that Hannah was so well able to deceive her. Hannah had long ago learned to emulate Mary’s tricks of hiding her true feelings behind a mask of calm uninterest. It had not been difficult for her, for had she not, from her own earliest childhood, taught herself to keep her own secrets behind a smooth quiet face? So it was that she was able to return to Eaton Square and assure Mary gravely that thank you, yes, she had enjoyed Uncle Alex’s party, and no, there had been no problems, and should she fetch Mary’s braided bag now, so that she could explain exactly what repairs it was she wanted made to it? And show no sign of the turmoil into which Uncle Alex had thrown her.

  They settled to another quiet Sunday evening, Mary in her usual comfortable high backed chair beside the fire, and Hannah on a broad stool at her feet, with no sound to disturb them but the muffled traffic from beyond the shrouded windows and the occasional crackle of coals in the grate. Mary watched Hannah dreamily, enjoying the way the firelight moved across her copper hair, and was content, and Hannah sewed the crystal beads on to the bag delicately and sure movements and tried to decide what to do.

  To work with Uncle Alex, in his business - it was an awesome prospect. All through her childhood he had moved in and out of her life like a glittering river in a far prospect, sometimes showing only gleams of reflected light, sometimes rising to inundate the whole of the land like a sea tide, sometimes lying low and quiet; but always there. Even when he was away about his own business and no one in the family saw him for weeks, they talked about him, as long as Poppa wasn’t there to hear, of course. Uncle Alex had done such and such, had you heard? Uncle Alex is starting up this and that, did you know? Uncle Alex, Uncle Alex, Uncle Alex. In the days before her life at Eaton Square had begun, he had been the only source of excitement in the existence, outside her own imaginings.

  And now he was offering he the chance to be part of that life. To be almost his equal. He had made that very clear.

  ‘I'm not looking for a dogsbody, Hannah, get that straight, I can get anyone for that the streets are lousy with people I can get to work for me for flumpence. That’s not what I want. I need a partner, a real helper, you understand? Someone I can trust. So, I got no children. I have to look to the rest of the family, don’t I? My brothers' children. And what do I see? All respect, dolly, but take Jake and Solly I don’t find interesting. Good boys, I'm sure. Got a bit o' charm about them, I suppose, and your Momma and Poppa love ' em, but they ain ‘t what I ne
ed, though mind you, Solly might be a useful little welter weight one of these days. But a partner in business - no, that he ain’t. As for Reuben’s lot

  - trouble with them is they all stick together like bull’s eyes in a paper bag. You got one, you got the lot. And I don’t want Reuben knowing no more my affairs than is strictly necessary. As for Benjamins' three … ’

  He lifted his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Bella’s courting, so count her out, a rabbi I don’t need, and a girl who thinks of nothing but catching a husband I also don’t have use for. And then I look at you, and what do I see?’

  She said nothing, and he had grinned then, his face creasing with delight.

  ‘I see a right careful madam,’ he said. ‘Never say a word, do you, until you got something useful to say? I like that. A person that’s good at keeping her own business to herself'll be just the person about keeping mine. I got a long way to go, Hannah, Come with me, what do you say? There aren’t that many chances for a girl, after all. Are there?’

  Not many chances for a girl. Hannah sat and sewed and tried to see how her life would be if she didn’t go with Uncle Alex. Stay here with Mrs Mary? For how long? And to what end? There were servants in the house who had worked here for years, twice as long as she had herself or even longer. She saw them moving about the great house like the well-trained shadows they were, giving no signs of having any life of their own beyond the brooms and dusters they pushed for the Lammecks. What sort of future did they have that was any better than their anonymous past? Was that what would happen to her? That Mary needed her and relied on her she knew, but there could be no guarantee of future happiness in that. Mary herself was under the domination of Emmanuel, that remote and unpredictable figure who still sometimes stopped Hannah when he met her in the hall and pinched her cheek and gave her shillings, as though she were yet a child. But suppose one day he took it into his head to send her away? Then what? Back to Bloomah in Antcliff Street. Back to Momma. And a job in Uncle Reuben’s or Uncle Isaac’s factory, grey shawled and grey faced with fatigue, spending her day in the reek of tailors' soap and the steam from the great goose irons and human sweat and wool fat and machine oil.

  She sewed a little faster. Or go with Uncle Alex, to the excitement of a totally novel sort of life. Running his first new tea shop. ‘Just to get the feel of the way they run, these places,’ he had said. ‘And then help me get the next few off the ground. Me, I got other business to sort out. I got a couple of boys with so much talent they drip it out when they sweat, and I'm going to set up fights for them as'll bring the whole boxing fraternity to a standstill. but I need time for that. Someone I can trust here.’

  But how can I leave her? Hannah looked up at Mary, who smiled back at her and then rested her head comfortably against her chair back and closed her eyes to nap a little. How can I? She'll be … impossible.

  And Daniel. That would be impossible too. Not to see him once a month, when he came visiting, and sat beside his aunt chatting about the family and about his visits to theatres and parties, and carefully not talking about his mother. Not to be able to feed her imaginings with that regular injection of his presence, that would be misery.

  But be honest, Hannah, one part of her mind admonished herself, be honest. Isn’t it time you stopped this nonsense? You're an adult now, seventeen years old. You can’t go on telling yourself stories the way you used to on the lavatory roof. To imagine Daniel … It’s crazy.

  Just as crazy as the way I used to imagine being rich and wearing beautiful gowns and living in a beautiful house. And that happened, didn’t it? Or something a little like it.

  A servant. that’s all you are. A servant.

  Mary stirred in her chair and opened her eyes and for a moment Hannah saw in Mary’s sleep-startled face the reality of the older woman’s feeling for her. There was a desperate longing in those pallid eyes, a passionate need that frightened her. She hooded her own eyes and looked back at her work and knew that the decision had been made. That look in Mary’s eyes could not be ignored. To leave her now to do what she wanted to do would be more than selfish; it would be cruel, and that was something Hannah could not be.

  And anyway, she told herself bleakly, what would Momma say? With Poppa so angry all the time with Uncle Alex? If she went to work for him, imagine the fuss. And where would she live? She thought of her warm neat room high in the attic of this house, and of Antcliff Street and marvelled at herself. How could she have ever thought it possible to listen to Uncle Alex’s siren song? He’d find a way round all the problems, of course, or would think he could, just by finding her somewhere to live, telling her to shrug her shoulders at her father the way he did; but it could never be her way, which was the way of pleasing as many people as possible, excluding herself.

  Oh, hell, Hannah thought uncharacteristically. Oh, damn. Oh dear.

  But the making of decisions was taken from her, as events turned out.

  She arrived as usual at Eaton Square on Sunday two weeks after Uncle Alex’s party to find, to her amazement, that Emmanuel was closeted with Mary, and she was able to go to her room and take off her coat before presenting herself at the drawing room door, a reversal of her usual practice, for Mary could never bear to wait a moment longer than she had to welcome her. When she did tap on the door and slip in quietly Emmanuel greeted her with a crisp nod and told her gruffly to come and make herself useful to her mistress.

  He was sitting very upright on the sofa, with Mary looking anxious in her usual chair. Hannah went and stood behind her, her hands folded on her neat green skirt in front of her. She was looking particularly well today, she knew. The skirt was cut on the newest bell shaped lines, and made the most of her neat waist, and the lemon coloured frilled blouse lifted her hair to a richer gleam than usual. She was aware of Emmanuel’s eyes lingering on her for a moment longer than he usually allowed. There would be no shillings and cheek pinching any more, she realized suddenly, and looked down at her clasped hands, her face a little pink.

  ‘Hannah, fetch a sheet of paper from the desk, and write down as I bid you,’ he said and she obeyed, moving quickly across to the little escritoire in the far corner.

  He began almost before she had returned, reeling off a list of names at breakneck speed. It was all she could do to keep up with him. Lords and earls and baronets jostled with the more familiar names of Goldsmith and Damont and Gubbay and her pencil flew over the page, making column after column in the small neat script. She had covered both sides of the large sheet before he stopped at last.

  ‘You may add any that I have overlooked, Mary,’ he said at last and stood up. ‘And remember, the theme is flight. I want the best decorations, and the best food and wine it’s possible to get. Tell Levy at Lammeck Alley to arrange any extra money, and get him to fetch any extra stuff you may need. But for God’s sake might it right. It’s the first chance I’ve had to get him here and I want no nonsense, understand me? Only the best. I'll show Albert and his damned Davida what’s what.’

  He went leaving a silence behind him that lasted until Hannah said, ‘What shall I do with this list, Mrs Mary?’

  Mary sat still for a moment longer and then shook her head and looked miserably over her shoulder at Hannah.

  ‘I wish you could throw it in the fire,’ she said. Then, ‘No, don’t!’ For Hannah had made a move in that direction. ‘Heavens, that would be … no, my dear, I must bite on the bullet, I suppose. I have to give a ball. Oh dear, oh dear, but I have to give a ball.’

  ‘Oh,’ Hannah said, and her spirits tilted and then lifted at the sound of the word. A Ball? here, in this quiet, dull house? Lavishly furnished as it was, large as it was, it had never had any pretensions to gaiety before. A ball - the very idea made her flood with excitement.

  ‘You like that?’ Mary said and smiled. ‘Well, it’s natural enough. Young people…’ her face clouded then. ‘But I don’t think it will be too agreeable for you, my love, for the work that has to be done is prodigious. It’s
the King, you see. he’s agreed to come. Emmanuel came home in a towering excitement over it. He’d had lunch with the Rothschilds and the King was there and twitted him, I gather, on being a dull stick, and that made Emmanuel - well, you can imagine. So he said we are to have a ball, and the King will be here, only not officially of course. It’s all to do with this aeroplane business. The man who crossed the Channel, you know? Emmanuel has some plans to organize regular journeys - some nonsense or other which I dare say'll prove to be anything but nonsense, for what he does he always does right. Heaven help me if I don’t get this wretched ball of his right. I wish - oh well, wishes will get me nowhere. We must settle to planning.’

  For the rest of the week she and Hannah concentrated on their plans for the ball, which was to be held a scant three weeks away. Invitations were to be printed and sent, decorations to be ordered, menus to be planned, flowers to be delivered, and it was Hannah who seemed to do the bulk of the work, for Mary became more and more distraught as the week wore on. That she loathed large and noisy entertainments Hannah knew, of course; everyone knew that. But that she could be quite so terrified of a party in her own home was, Hannah thought privately, a little ridiculous. But Mary was Mary, and had to be humoured. So, Hannah did all she could, encouraging her to rest whenever possible, and taking as many of the details from her back as she could.

  And enjoyed herself immensely. She found within herself an energy for work and an ability to organize that slightly surprised her. She had always been tidy of course, keeping her room and her clothes pin neat, and liking order and method to her day, but she never before had to perform the sort of task she was now performing, which involved doing a great many different things, some large and some very trivial, in a logical order, while remembering all that had to be remembered about them and doing it all at high speed.

  She did it and did it well, and did not even realize herself, at first, that in so doing she had taken an air of authority. She gave instructions to servants in her normal soft voice and with courtesy, but with no hint of cajolery, taking it for granted that they would see her as Mary’s spokesman in matters to do with the ball. Amazingly, they accepted her in that guise. The cook, who had hitherto ignored her most of the time, accepted the menu for the supper, over which Hannah and Mary had pored for a long evening, as perfectly reasonable, and the butler, who had shared the Cook’s disdain for the little Jew girl that Madame kept as a lap dog, now allowed her to tell him that she had ordered all the champagne that would be required for the ball, and would he please tell her when he would like it delivered, so that she could give the necessary instructions.