She hurried away to find another of the pros, Joanna Rudd, on her feet, a screaming baby in her arms. As Dora approached, a familiar sour milky smell stopped her in her tracks. Sure enough, Joanna’s apron was soaked.
‘Let me guess,’ she said. ‘You’ve been feeding Teddy Potts?’
‘That horrid creature!’ Rudd exclaimed. ‘I’d just finished giving him the bottle and he suddenly – did this – all over me!’
‘Give him to me before you drop him.’ Dora took the baby out of her arms. ‘How much did you feed him?’
‘He took the whole bottle, the greedy little wretch.’
‘No wonder he was sick, in that case. He has pyloric stenosis,’ Dora explained. ‘He has to be fed a little and often, otherwise – that happens.’
‘How was I to know?’ Rudd muttered.
‘You would if you’d read his notes,’ Dora said sternly. ‘You must always read the patient’s notes for yourself, even if you’ve been told what to do by a senior. You are as responsible as anyone else for a patient’s care and wellbeing, don’t forget that.’
She looked at Rudd’s soaked apron and tried not to laugh. ‘Luckily in this case you came off worse than the baby,’ she said. ‘You’d better go and change before Sister catches you.’
Rudd stomped off, and Dora glanced back to where Clara was also trying not to smile.
‘Poor Rudd,’ she said.
‘Perhaps that will teach her to stop and think.’ Dora looked at her watch. Nick was due to collect the laundry soon. If she was lucky Sister might remember it was time for Dora to go off for tea and she could manage to speak to him outside.
Yesterday she’d watched him go off, dressed in his best suit, to the solicitor’s office up west. She hadn’t heard a word from him since and was anxious to find out what had happened.
But one look at his grim, unsmiling face when he arrived on the ward and Dora felt her stomach sink. She sent him a questioning look but he just gave the slightest shake of his head before disappearing into the sluice.
Dora quickly checked the coast was clear before slipping in after him.
‘I can’t be too long,’ she whispered. ‘Sister is with a patient behind the screens, but she could appear at any moment . . .’ She stared into Nick’s face. ‘It isn’t good news, is it?’ He shook his head. ‘Why? Don’t tell me Ruby’s changed her mind?’ That would be just like her friend, raising their hopes only to dash them again.
‘Oh, no, she still wants a divorce. This new man of hers is mad keen to wed, she reckons.’
‘Then what’s stopping us?’
‘Divorces cost money.’
‘How much money?’
‘Fifty pounds.’
Dora gulped at the figure. It was far more than she’d expected. ‘Well, we knew it wouldn’t be cheap, didn’t we? We talked about how we’d manage. We wouldn’t need a lot to live on. I could try and find some shift work, we could pay it off in instalments—’
Nick shook his head. ‘It ain’t going to work like that. The solicitor wants it all up front.’ He looked grim. ‘It ain’t like buying a new couch, Dor. You can’t do it on HP.’
She reeled. ‘But who has that sort of money?’
He shrugged. ‘Rich people. Why do you think the likes of us never get divorced?’
Dora gripped the cold hard edge of the steel sink for support. She’d been so sure she and Nick would be together soon, but now her dream had been snatched away again.
‘I’m sorry, Dora.’ Nick’s voice was gruff. ‘It’s a kick in the teeth, ain’t it?’
‘Well, it ain’t the best news I’ve heard all day, that’s for sure.’
‘And the worst of it is I had that much saved up, until Ruby got her hands on it.’
For as long as Dora had known him, Nick had been saving his money for the chance to go to America. He’d had big plans to make it as a champion boxer over there, and had also hoped that the doctors in America might have the treatment that would make his brother Danny better.
But marriage to Ruby had put paid to his dreams. She had got into trouble running up debts all over town, and Nick had had to pay them off. It had taken every penny he had ever saved.
Dora looked at his downcast expression. ‘Don’t get too fed up about it,’ she said bracingly. ‘We saved the money before, we can do it again. And once I’ve passed my State Finals, I’ll be earning a bit more.’
His expression darkened. ‘It’s not fair you should have to help pay for my mistake.’
She put out her hand to cover his. ‘It’s our future I’m saving for, Nick Riley.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ He gave a reluctant smile. ‘Tell you what, I’ll go and see Jimmy my old trainer. He should be able to fix me up with a few fights.’
Dora frowned. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea? You haven’t been in the ring for months. Not since you fractured your pelvis—’
She suppressed a shudder at the memory. Nick had almost been killed last October, and it still terrified her to think how close she had come to losing him. His injuries had healed well, but she wasn’t sure how he would fare in the ring.
‘We’ll find out, won’t we?’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘What else can I do?’
‘I don’t want you hurt.’
He grinned. ‘You know me, love. I haven’t met the bloke yet who can lay a glove on me!’
Chapter Ten
‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN, he’s disappeared?’ Lucy demanded once she was face to face with her mother.
‘I told you, he’s vanished into thin air.’ Lady Clarissa curled up in a leather-covered wing armchair, as small and fragile-looking as a child. ‘I telephoned his office but he hasn’t been seen for three days.’ She lifted a glass shakily to her lips.
‘Have you tried his club?’ Lucy asked.
Her mother shot her a filthy look. ‘Do you think I’m stupid? Of course, that was the first place I tried. They haven’t seen him in nearly a week.’ She turned her tear-ravaged face towards the window. ‘This is it, isn’t it? He’s finally left us.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Mother!’ Lucy dismissed impatiently. ‘Father wouldn’t do such a thing.’
‘I know you refuse to believe the worst of your father, but it’s true. I’m sure of it,’ her mother insisted. ‘A wife always knows these things.’ She sighed dramatically.
Lucy ignored her as she stood at the window and tried to force herself to think. Below her, people in Eaton Place were going about their business in the afternoon sunshine, unaware that her world had been thrown into turmoil.
And to think, a few hours ago she had been so free from care, pleased with herself because Sister had given her a special job to do. And now . . .
‘I’m going to ruin him,’ her mother declared, self-pity turning to anger. ‘I shall destroy Bernard’s good name. He’s not going to get away with humiliating me like this.’
A thought struck Lucy then. ‘Are his clothes missing?’
Her mother shrugged. ‘How should I know?’
‘Didn’t you think to look? Surely if he was intending to leave he would have taken his belongings with him?’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ her mother agreed. She took another sip of her drink and stared towards the window, not moving.
Lucy sighed. ‘I’ll go and look, shall I?’
‘Would you, darling? I don’t think I could bear to.’
Her father’s room was uncompromisingly masculine and unadorned. The musky scent of his cologne lingered on the air. He had it specially blended in Paris so it was as unique as he was.
Lucy took a deep breath and threw open the wardrobe doors. All her father’s suits, tailored in Savile Row, were there, along with a neat row of his handmade Italian leather shoes. On his dresser was a walnut inlaid box containing his cufflinks and collar studs.
Lucy allowed herself to breathe out. In a way, she had been hoping that he had packed his bags and taken everything. At least then she might kno
w he was safe.
The alternative was too awful to contemplate.
She hurried back downstairs and met Jameson, crossing the hall carrying a crystal glass on a silver tray.
‘What’s that?’ Lucy asked.
‘Her ladyship asked for more gin, Miss Lucy.’
‘Take it away and bring us some tea instead.’
‘But—’
‘Take it away, Jameson. Please?’
Their eyes met and held for a moment.
‘Very good, Miss Lucy.’
Her mother was still curled in the armchair, a cheek resting on her hand, like an artist’s model in repose. She sprang to life when Lucy walked in.
‘Well?’ she said.
Lucy shook her head. ‘Everything is still there. Nothing has been taken.’
Her mother’s mood instantly changed. She sprang from her armchair, her hand pressed to her mouth. ‘Oh God, something has happened to him!’ Her voice quavered. ‘He must have had an accident.’
‘Surely someone would have informed us if he had?’ Lucy said, but her mother wasn’t listening.
‘That must be it,’ she whispered. ‘He’s had an accident. He could be lying injured somewhere . . .’
‘Stop it, Mother. Thinking like that isn’t going to do any good.’
‘Or perhaps he’s dead? Perhaps he fell in the river and was washed away by the tide. You hear of such things happening, don’t you? It could be weeks before they find him—’
‘Mother, please!’ Lucy snapped. Clarissa shut up at once, surprised into silence.
‘Really, Lucy,’ she said, when she’d found her voice again. ‘I was only—’
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Jameson entered, bringing the tea tray.
He cleared his throat. ‘Mr Bird is here to see you, your ladyship,’ he announced.
‘Gordon?’ Clarissa sat up.
‘Thank God!’ Lucy cried. Uncle Gordon would know what to do. He of all people would know where her father was. There was bound to be a simple explanation, a business trip that her mother had forgotten about or something similar.
But then her godfather walked in, and Lucy saw his lugubrious expression and realised he was as worried as they were.
‘Clarissa, my dear. I’ve been away from the office for a few days and my secretary has just told me you are looking for Bernard. Is it true? He is missing?’
‘Oh, Gordon!’ Her mother fell into his arms, sobbing.
‘It’s true, Uncle Gordon.’ Lucy took charge. ‘Mother says she hasn’t seen him for three days. And he hasn’t been to his club for nearly a week. But none of his belongings have been taken, so we don’t know if he’s really gone or . . .’ She stopped talking, not trusting herself to speak.
Gordon nodded, his face grim. He didn’t seem surprised, Lucy noticed.
She watched him carefully as she busied herself pouring tea for them. Gordon pacified her mother and settled her back into her seat and sat himself down in the wing chair opposite.
Her father’s chair. It seemed odd to see someone else sitting there, Lucy thought as she placed the cup and saucer on a table beside him.
Lucy perched on the tapestry-covered couch. ‘Where is he, Uncle Gordon?’ she asked quietly.
Her godfather turned sad, heavy-lidded eyes towards hers. ‘I wish I knew, child,’ he sighed. But once again, Lucy had the feeling he knew more than he was willing to say.
Lucy tried to compose herself as she sipped her tea, but her hand was shaking so much she could barely hold the cup.
She put the cup down. ‘Is it something to do with the problem with the bank?’
Gordon’s eyes met hers. ‘How did you know about that?’
‘I heard you and Father arguing about it, on the night of the party. You seemed very worried.’
‘What’s this?’ her mother demanded, interrupting them. ‘What are you talking about? What bank?’
But Lucy had already guessed. ‘Is my father’s business in trouble, Uncle Gordon?’
‘Trouble? Of course it isn’t in trouble!’ Clarissa gave a shrill laugh. ‘What is she talking about, Gordon . . . Gordon?’
Lucy kept her eyes fixed on her godfather’s face. ‘How bad is it?’ she whispered.
‘Very bad, I’m afraid.’ His expression was grave. ‘Your father has been making plans to expand the business into Europe by taking over several factories in Germany and France, which has meant borrowing rather a lot of money. More than the banks were willing to lend.’ He put down his cup. ‘Bernard has had to mortgage everything to make this deal happen, but it isn’t the first time he’s taken such a risk. He was confident it would come good in the end, just as it always has before.’
‘But this time it didn’t?’ Lucy guessed.
Gordon shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. Three days ago we discovered that the factories in Germany had been taken over by the government there. Your father now owes a fortune on something he no longer owns.’
Lucy stared at him, stunned. ‘But that can’t be true,’ she whispered. ‘Father would never have made a mistake like that. He’s far too astute . . .’
‘There you go again, thinking your precious father is infallible!’ Her mother’s voice sounded harsh. ‘You’re as bad as he is, thinking he can do no wrong. But he has, hasn’t he? That’s so typical of Bernard, taking ridiculous risks. Now look where it’s landed him. The stupid man has lost his business!’
Not just his business, Lucy thought. She turned back to Gordon Bird. ‘How much?’ she asked quietly.
Her godfather looked at her. He understood the question but from the expression on his face he didn’t want to answer her, any more than she wanted to hear the answer.
‘You said Father mortgaged everything on this deal,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice even. ‘What do you mean by everything?’
Gordon looked away, unable to meet her eyes. ‘Everything he has,’ he said. ‘Including his personal fortune.’
‘What?’ Clarissa was looking from one to the other, frowning, trying to understand. ‘What are you saying?’
Lucy fought to keep her voice even, even though she could feel her world beginning to crack around her. ‘Uncle Gordon means we’re going to lose the house and everything in it, Mother.’
‘No!’ Her mother’s scream of anguish ripped through the air. ‘No, I won’t believe it! I can’t believe it! The stupid, stupid man, how could he have done this to me?’
Lucy picked up the bell and summoned the butler.
‘I think my mother would like some brandy, Jameson,’ she said, surprising herself with her own calm. What did it matter if Mother drank herself senseless now? Nothing mattered any more.
She waited until Jameson had gone, then turned back to her godfather. ‘Is there nothing we can do?’
Gordon paused for a moment, considering. ‘I think the best course of action would be to stay quiet for now,’ he said. ‘The bank has faith in your father. That’s why they were prepared to accept such a risky investment . . . because they believed he would make it pay off in the end. Even now they have found out about the German government taking over the factories there, they will still be expecting your father to pull off a miracle, as he has in the past. That’s why they haven’t moved in to foreclose yet.’
‘Except there won’t be a miracle this time,’ Lucy said.
‘We don’t know that,’ Gordon replied. ‘We have no idea where your father is. He could be in Europe at this very moment, doing a deal that will save everything.’ He tried to smile comfortingly at her. ‘That’s the kind of man he is.’
Or he might just have run away from the mess he’s created, Lucy thought. Perhaps that was the kind of man he was, too?
But she understood that her godfather was trying to make her feel better, and so smiled in appreciation. ‘And the best thing we can do is to keep quiet about his disappearance?’
Gordon nodded. ‘It’s vital the bank doesn’t find out he’s vanished.
Otherwise they’ll realise something is seriously wrong and act to wind up the loan, with disastrous consequences for you.’
‘So what will we tell people?’
‘We can say he’s gone abroad, that he’s in America drumming up new business. That will keep the bank happy for now. Believe me, they won’t want to look foolish when it transpires they have lent so much money on a failed project. They won’t ask too many difficult questions at the moment.’
‘And hopefully, by the time they do, my father will be back home and everything will be sorted out,’ Lucy said. It was all she could cling to, the idea that he would be able to make everything right, just as he always had.
Gordon gave her a narrow smile. ‘Let’s hope so, my dear,’ he said. ‘For everyone’s sake.’
Chapter Eleven
NICK SAW THE gloved fist coming at his face seconds before it slammed into him. He tried to dodge the punch but his feet moved sluggishly, as if trapped in thick mud. He felt the sickening crunch of his jaw as the fist drove into it, the spasm of his neck muscles as his head jerked sideways from the force of the blow.
Stay on your feet . . . stay on your feet . . .
He staggered but somehow stayed upright, the roar of the crowd muffled by the ringing in his ears. He wasn’t sure if they were yelling encouragement or outrage. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth and pain blossomed in his head as the world blurred before his eyes.
Stay on your feet . . . stay on your feet . . .
It shouldn’t have been this hard. He’d faced Jackie Masters in the ring four times, and each time had knocked him out before the end of round three. But now it was round six, and Nick was struggling.
Through a mist of pain he saw his opponent bobbing in front of him, fists raised, ready to strike again. Another hook like the last one, and Nick knew he’d be down. As Jackie took his swing, Nick’s reflexes took over. He swerved, curving his body away from the blow, then came in with a swift uppercut to his opponent’s exposed chin. He saw Jackie’s eyes widen briefly in shock as he reeled backwards then hit the canvas like a felled tree. Nick felt his own knees buckling but willed himself to stay upright. He gulped in air, feeling the warm drip of blood off his chin as the referee counted his opponent out.
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