‘I assume there were some who said that about Quasimodo.’
‘He’s nothing like that! Besides, you shouldn’t judge people on their looks. At least go out with him for one afternoon. He’s got a lovely car.’ Dorothy laughed at herself. ‘Listen to me – that’s something Melinda would say. Oh, go on, Oriel, it’ll be good for you both.’
* * *
When Oriel was introduced to Clive she was immediately struck by his eyes, which were an intense blue, almost piercing, and performed a quick look up and down of her as their owner shook her hand. Apart from the eyes, there was no physical attraction for Oriel. Accustomed to her father’s dress sense she was highly critical of this young man who wore a jacket and trousers of two different greys that did not match, a fawn waistcoat and brown shoes, and carried in his hand a straw boater. His hair was of the unruly variety and in an attempt to control it he had been rather heavy with the grease.
He felt her criticism and laughingly made a joke of it. ‘I know, it looks as if you could fry chips on it. Sorry, it was sticking out like I’d had an electric shock and I got carried away trying to create a good impression.’
Oriel laughed, flattered that he respected her opinion, and decided that she liked Clive, who had a shy but friendly and gentle manner, and who made a jocular companion throughout the afternoon. And she could not fail to be impressed by his automobile, a powerful growling beast of lustrous maroon and brass, totally out of character with its owner.
‘So what do you think of him?’ whispered Dorothy, when the men and the girls split into pairs of their own gender and walked along the track by a creek.
‘Lovely car!’ Oriel beamed, but reserved her opinion of the man, the idle saunter of her legs distorting the pleats in her white skirt.
‘Oh, that’s a bit mean,’ scolded Dorothy. ‘I think he’s really nice.’
‘And so he is.’ Oriel lifted the straw pudding-basin hat in order to smooth wisps of hair from her cheeks. ‘He’s offered to give me driving lessons. I might take him up on it. Father won’t let me near his car.’
At the end of the afternoon, after dropping off the married couple, Clive drove his partner home. With the leathercloth hood turned down, Oriel reclined like royalty in the comfortable seats, savoured the smell of leather and polish, the wind in her face, occasionally abandoning her tranquil pose to grab hold of her hat that almost fell victim to the car’s sudden bursts of speed. Wondering if this was Clive’s attempt to impress her, she decided from the look on his face that he was not of that ilk, was simply enjoying himself and obviously hoping she would too.
Nearer home, she sought to issue directions. Clive slowed and extended his right arm, steered the chugging vehicle into the driveway and up to the house where he allowed it to stand vibrating as he ran around to open the door. Though reluctant to invite him in, in case her parents got the wrong idea, she felt she must return his courtesy.
‘Would you care to come in for a cup of tea?’ At his smiling acceptance, she added, ‘I should tell you that my parents are called Prince, not Maguire. I’ll explain why some other time. I just thought I’d better warn you. Father hates to be called Maguire.’
‘You don’t need to explain, it’s none of my business.’
Turning off the engine, Clive tugged his clothes into order and followed her into the house.
As Oriel expected, her father was most put out by this intrusion, presenting the usual morose face he reserved for unexpected company. It was a wonder Clive did not take the hint and leave, but instead he accepted her mother’s offer of tea, then made a beeline for the pram in which lay Victoria.
‘That’s Oriel’s sister,’ Bright explained rather too hastily. She did not want him to think the child was Oriel’s. Though hesitant in his manner, Clive offered a few words to the baby, then turned away from the pram smiling. ‘She looks like you, Mr Prince.’
Nat grunted. Oriel wanted to say to the poor man, it’s no good trying to flatter my father, you won’t get round him. She found herself smiling into his kind blue eyes without the fear of rebuff that she had suffered for so long. Clive was genuine, she could tell. He would never hurt anybody.
Her mother liked him too. ‘Did you have a good afternoon, the pair of you?’
‘Smashing!’ Both answered at once and laughed.
Bright came forward with a tray bearing her best china. ‘I think there’s more than an ounce of Yorkshire in that accent, Clive, am I right?’
He confirmed this. ‘I was born in Rotherham. The family’d been there for generations, until we came over in 1914 before the war. I wasn’t in it, I’m afraid, I was turned down – on health grounds.’ His explanation seemed to have been given a lot of practice as if he had faced much accusation over his negligence to contribute.
‘Oh, so was Mr Prince,’ replied Bright, pouring tea.
Nat wanted a cigarette and felt compelled to extend the packet to Oriel’s guest. Clive accepted. Bright asked him where he worked.
‘I’m a clerk at Myers.’ Bright was familiar with the big department store.
Nat frowned over the ignition of his cigarette. ‘They must pay good money. That’s a grand car you’ve got out there.’ At the sound of a motor approaching down his drive he had looked from the window to see who owned the glossy maroon vehicle.
‘It’s taken me five years to save for that.’ The young man sounded proud. ‘My parents gave me the last few pounds I needed for my twenty-fifth birthday.’
‘Oh, did you have a party?’ Bright asked out of habit.
His expressive blue eyes smiled through the haze of cigarette smoke. ‘Well, just with the family.’
During a short hiatus when all took a sip from their teacups, he tapped his foot wondering how to befriend Oriel’s rather stern-looking father. ‘Who do you barrack for, Mr Prince?’ Nat returned a blank look. ‘Footy, I mean.’
‘Can’t be doing with it.’
‘Cricket man, are you?’ Clive sipped his tea.
‘All sport’s a waste o’ time in my book.’
‘Mine too. I’m more interested in physics and brain surgery meself.’ The young man pursed his lips then chuckled to show he was joking, but his laughter petered out in embarrassment as Oriel’s father showed he was unimpressed. What a dry stick he was.
Bright, eager for her daughter to find a good husband, asked pleasantly, ‘So, what family have you got left in England then, Clive?’
‘Not many. One of my grans and an aunt came with us. Then another uncle and aunt and their family came over after the war.’ He directed his information only at the two women now and was happy to talk about his family for an hour or so. Oriel said little, but sat on the edge of the conversation and watched as he chatted quite easily to her mother. Finally, he said, ‘Well, thanks for the tea, I’d better be off.’
Oriel rose to accompany him to the door.
Her mother followed them. ‘We’re having some friends around on Saturday, would you like to join us, Clive?’
He glanced at Oriel to see if this met with her favour. She gave an agreeable nod. ‘Thanks, I’d love to.’
Her father did not appear to care one way or another for he had already turned his back as Clive departed. ‘I didn’t know we were having company,’ he muttered to Bright when the young man had gone.
‘We weren’t but I don’t seem to have met anyone for ages and that little chat with him whetted my appetite – anyway, it’s Christmas, the time of goodwill to those in possession of any.’ She turned back to Oriel. ‘He’s really nice, isn’t he?’
‘Sarcastic sod, if you ask me.’ Nat crossed his legs.
‘Stoppit! Where did you meet him, Oriel?’
Her daughter, leafing through the daily newspaper, was only half interested. ‘He’s a friend of Dorothy’s husband.’
‘Oh yes, come to think of it I think I remember him from her wedding. Good, then he knows the Ratcliffes already.’
‘Marvellous, isn’t it?’ muttered Nat.
‘I come twelve thousand miles to get away from England and every bugger you associate with are poms.’
This reminded Bright of their former maid. ‘What about Melinda and her husband, Oriel? Do you think they’d like to come?’
‘How about the Poultry, Pigeon and Cat Society?’ tendered Nat.
Bright scolded him. ‘And you call him sarcastic?’
‘Nay, mine’s wit.’
Oriel answered her mother’s question. ‘I could write but I don’t know if the letter would arrive in time.’ The image of Daniel’s smiling face came to mind; was never far away. ‘Besides, Ratty and Mel have never got on.’ She put down the newspaper and turned to go to her room in order to change.
‘I do miss her,’ said Bright.
‘Aye, we’ll have to hire another maid,’ agreed Nat. ‘You’re taking too much on yourself again.’
‘I meant I miss her as a person! Honestly, you’re dreadful – isn’t he, Oriel? Melinda was such good company.’ Though it was true Bright had been forced to curtail some of her activities due to losing her babysitter.
‘Hire a maid anyway if you’re thinking of having a do,’ advised Nat. ‘Though I don’t know why you think you have to bother – he’s nowt special to you is he, lass?’
His daughter glanced over her shoulder to deliver a blithe response. ‘No, I wasn’t really expecting to see him again.’
11
She thought little about Clive through the following week except when she was actually discussing him with Dorothy, who wanted to know what had happened when he had driven her home.
‘Mother seemed impressed with him,’ Oriel told her. ‘She’s asked him to a party this Saturday. You’re invited too – and your parents.’
Her friend looked pleased. ‘Will you go out with him again?’
Oriel had only been dancing a few times since her friend had married, not feeling comfortable tagging along with Dorothy’s pals. ‘If he asks, I suppose so,’ came the barely enthusiastic reply. ‘It’s better than sitting at home, isn’t it?’
At the party, however, she began to take more interest in Clive, admiring his easy manner with the other guests, and found herself laughing at his jokes. At the end of the evening when he asked if, after Christmas, she’d come with him to the pictures she readily agreed. She even allowed him to put his arm around her in the darkened theatre and engage in a kiss. There was no quickening of her heart, but Oriel found herself warming to him by the minute.
Clive was not a man to speak his feelings, but from the way he looked at her she felt he liked her too, and the manner in which he treated her showed a willingness to please. Upon being told that dancing was her favourite pastime, he announced that he would take her to a jazz party on New Year’s Eve. This was not a success. Clive, though competent, did not match Oriel’s standards as a dancer and although he promised to come with her again she knew that he was only saying it out of kindness, and so she proposed they go somewhere else. If he couldn’t dance there would be no point in going anyway. Instead, out of affection, she allowed him to choose the next venue and he took her to meet some of his friends, of whom she discovered there were many. Clive was a very popular young man.
This Saturday afternoon in early January they had been boating on Albert Park Lake with more of his pals. The weather had been perfect and they drove home with the leathercloth hood down, Oriel’s dark hair fluttering around the edges of her pudding-basin hat.
She turned a crimson smile to her partner and reminded him, ‘You said you’d teach me to drive.’
Immediately, he put on the brakes and began to climb out. ‘Come on then, get behind the wheel.’
She gasped, but wasted no time in swapping seats with him. It was harder than it looked and she issued little screams as the vehicle jolted and juddered along the road. But once she got the hang of the gears she became blasé, increasing her speed and leaning back against the leather with a triumphant expression on her face.
‘Oh look, they’re moving a house!’ She lifted a white-gloved hand from the wheel and pointed as a team of six horses came towards them pulling a wagon that bore someone’s home.
‘Watch the road!’ Clive grabbed the walnut dash as she failed to respond, almost lying down in the passenger seat, trying to push at pedals that weren’t there. His face was white as he watched the huge load get closer and closer to his precious car. ‘Stop!’ As Oriel veered further to her right he was forced to grab the wheel and slewed the car off the road before the engine tickered out. Gasping, he waited for the wagon and its house to pass.
She bit her lip in guilty manner. ‘Sorry, shall I get out?’
Recovered, now that his car was no longer in danger, Clive laughed aloud at her performance. ‘No, come on, I’ll start it up for you again – but for God’s sake, keep your eyes on the road, and don’t go so fast.’
There were no further mishaps on the way home. Oriel even managed a cheery wave to her friends in the grounds of Anzac Hostel as she drove past.
Clive gave a smiling frown as the men reacted with waves and whistles to his partner, then quickly tore his eyes away to issue instructions to Oriel on how to negotiate the gateway. With his vehicle parked safely outside the door, Oriel was able to announce proudly to her parents that Clive had allowed her to drive him home.
‘Well, you’re not driving mine,’ said her father. ‘I’m surprised you let her an’ all,’ he told the young man. ‘After the years it took you to save up.’
‘He trusts me more than you do,’ retorted Oriel, ripping off her white gloves. She turned to Clive. ‘Will you stay for tea?’
‘Thanks but I can’t. I promised Mother I’d be home – my aunt’s coming to visit. When shall I see you again?’
‘Whenever you like.’ She threw her gloves into her upturned hat. ‘Come on, I’ll back your car out of the driveway for you.’
Allowing him to crank the vehicle, she jumped into action with the engine and, once he was seated beside her, began to reverse along the drive.
‘She’s gonna hit that fencepost if she doesn’t straighten up,’ murmured Nat to his wife. Both had come out to watch.
As Oriel continued to chug merrily backwards, Clive looked worried. ‘I think you’re going to—’ There was a crunch and both were jolted in their seats. ‘Hit the fence,’ he finished lamely, then jumped out to investigate the damage.
Oriel was enraged. ‘Who put that there?’ she demanded loudly, glaring at the fence.
‘A little man saw you backing the car out and he rushed out to build it.’ Despite his obvious anguish Clive could still manage a joke.
Angry as she was at herself, Oriel had to laugh too, then was once more contrite and tears sprang to her eyes. ‘Clive, I’m really sorry. You’re so good about it.’
He gave immediate forgiveness. ‘It’s only a little dent.’
‘I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want anything more to do with me.’
His kind blue eyes studied her. ‘Would you be sorry if I took you at your word?’
She gazed back at him, her feelings reflecting the warmth in his face. ‘Yes, I would.’
‘So would I. I’m glad I came on that afternoon out with Dot and Cuddy. I thought they were only fixing me up because… oh well, I’m glad I came.’
‘Me too.’
He gave her a kiss on the cheek and was about to get into his car, then he turned back. ‘I’m afraid it’ll be shank’s pony till I get the car fixed.’
Now enamoured of Clive for his own sake, Oriel felt rather ashamed that she had given so much priority to the vehicle. ‘That’s all right. We don’t live far from each other – I’ve got my trusty bicycle.’
He sat behind the wheel and indulged in some afterthought. ‘I know I said I have to go home for tea but I don’t think I’ll be expected to suffer Aunt Rose’s yacking all night. Are you fit for the pictures?’ With her affirmation, he beeped his horn and began to drive away. ‘Good, I’ll be back for you at seven!’
* * *
The following Saturday saw them still in each other’s company. The car under repair in a garage, they were strolling along the foreshore indulging in desultory conversation when Clive noticed that she had turned vague as they passed a row of bathing boxes and asked, ‘Are you all right?’
Oriel started, drove the rat who had seduced her from her mind and laughed. ‘I was just remembering something I read in the paper. Someone actually had a glass eye stolen from one of those beach huts. I mean, what could anyone possibly want with a glass eye?’
‘What did the paper report say – police are keeping an eye out for it?’ Clive pursed his lips.
‘Oh that’s dreadful!’ Oriel nudged him.
‘I know, dreadfully old. But I couldn’t come up with anything better.’
They continued to laugh and talk about things in the newspapers. ‘Did you see in Wednesday’s edition, I think it was, the man from Sandringham who got home to find his wife in a torrid embrace with the greengrocer?’
‘Ah yes!’ Clive had seen it. ‘And he took the man’s horse and cart to the sea and tipped all the veggies in.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t understand that, you know. If I came home to find my wife with another man I’d kill ’em both.’
Oriel tried to imagine this placid young man in such a role and could not. She merely grinned at him.
He returned her smile warmly. A rush of love took her by surprise. Not the purely physical kind she had felt for Errol but a deep and genuine urge to be with this man for ever – if he would have her.
Risking rejection, Oriel found herself telling him all about her childhood, her illegitimacy and about her attempts to get revenge on her father who had deserted her in babyhood. Clive showed nothing but sympathy, and gave account of his life, bolstering her into divulging more of her own – sad things, bad things, things that made them laugh. But she did not tell him about her prostitute grandmother and she did not tell him about Errol.
A Complicated Woman Page 28
