When Wishes Come True

by Jonker, Joan

  ‘You really are too kind, Miss Maudsley, and perhaps one day I will be in a position to repay your kindness.’ For the first time, Evelyn acknowledged her daughter. ‘You are a very lucky girl, Amelia, and I’m only agreeing to Miss Maudsley having you each night on the strict understanding that you behave yourself and do exactly as you are told. Do you understand?’

  In a tiny voice, devoid of any emotion, she answered, ‘Yes, Mother.’

  Chapter Seven

  It was eight o’clock when Evelyn told her daughter it was time for her to go to bed. Amelia didn’t object. She was longing to lie quietly and go over all the things Miss Bessie had said and done, and the way they’d laughed at silly things her mother would only have frowned at. There had never in her life been a goodnight kiss or a hug, so after saying, ‘Goodnight, Mother,’ the girl climbed the stairs. She didn’t run up them, even though she wanted to, for that would have brought a sharp rebuke, and she didn’t want anything to spoil the day. And tonight she didn’t shiver when she slid in between the cold sheets, for she had a hand over her mouth so her mother wouldn’t hear her giggles. It had been so funny when Miss Bessie had told the fireplace to keep quiet and not to interrupt. And then she’d pretended it answered back, and said, ‘Don’t be so flaming cheeky, I won’t tell yer again. Anyone would think yer owned the house, the way yer carry on.’

  Downstairs, Evelyn told herself to wait half an hour to give her daughter time to go to sleep. Amelia wasn’t allowed in her bedroom, and although she may have seen the trunk through the open door, had no idea of its contents. That was the way it would stay. The less the child knew about her previous life, the better. She had been told very bluntly that her father had been killed in the war and wasn’t encouraged to ask further questions. What she didn’t know she couldn’t pass on, and that was how Evelyn wanted it. So, while Amelia was reliving every second of the time she’d spent next door, her mother was making plans for a future that would take her back to the good life she had known, and which she longed to regain.

  Exactly half an hour after her daughter had gone to bed, Evelyn lit a candle and placed it in the middle of a saucer. Then she made her way quietly up the steep, narrow stairs, lit by the flickering flame. She stood on the landing for a few seconds, her ear to the door of her daughter’s room. Satisfied the child was asleep, she entered her own bedroom and closed the door. Then she put the saucer on the floor near the trunk before taking a large, rusty key from the top drawer of the tallboy. At first she thought she wasn’t going to be able to open the trunk, for over the years the lock had rusted inside too and she couldn’t turn the key in it. It would have been easier if she’d knelt down to do it, and shown a little patience.

  But patience was not one of Evelyn’s virtues, and there was much tutting and clicking of her tongue before the key finally turned. ‘Confounded thing,’ she muttered when she lifted the lid and it creaked loudly. The smell of dampness was another irritant which had her wrinkling her nose. Not for a second would she take the blame for not having opened the trunk before now, so the clothes could be aired. But then, nothing was ever her fault. In her mind there were two people responsible for her present plight: Charles for being killed, and Amelia for being born. But she intended to turn her life around as soon as possible. And to do that she must put on a front. She had never allowed herself to become friendly with the staff of Astbury and Woodward, and they knew nothing of her circumstances, which was fortunate. So as far as Philip was concerned, she wasn’t poor but a well-to-do widow who had the means to live comfortably without a man in her life.

  The candle was too low to give much light out, so Evelyn carried a wooden chair from the side of her bed and placed it by the trunk. Then she set the saucer on it, and nodded as if to say that was much better and she could see what she was doing now. The first thing she touched when she put her hand in the trunk was a feather boa, and as she shook it out memories came flooding back. It was one of the first things she had bought with the allowance her father had given her. This, and much of the clothing in the trunk, had been paid for by him as he saw Evelyn as his passport into the higher echelons of Liverpool society. But things hadn’t gone the way anyone planned when Charles was killed in 1917. That in itself hadn’t upset Herbert and Gertrude Wilkinson too much, for their daughter was now a member of the Lister-Sinclair family and could still be their means of joining the ranks of the very rich. However, when they found out she was pregnant, believing her marriage to Charles had not been consummated, they blamed her bitterly and disowned her. She hadn’t seen them since. Not that it worried her, for she’d never had any love for her penny-pinching parents. She had never made the connection, but now she was treating her daughter exactly as they had treated her.

  Evelyn laid the feather boa on the lino and leaned into the trunk to see if there was anything fit for her to wear on an evening out with Philip. Fortunately she had kept her slim figure, so the clothes would fit, but were they good enough? Were they still fashionable or would they look dated? She hadn’t been to a social gathering for eight years and didn’t know if the fashions had changed greatly. She hadn’t noticed much change in everyday wear, except in the length of day clothes. Nowadays women wore them anywhere between knee and ankle-length. Cloche hats were still in vogue, though, and she knew there were two or three in the trunk. But would they be fit to wear or would the moths have eaten into them?

  Delving into the darkness of the trunk once more, Evelyn came up with a dress that brought a smile of triumph to her face. It was a long blue gown in the finest silk which was a joy to the touch. It had full-length sleeves which were slit from the shoulder to be gathered together into a cuff at the wrist. It was low-cut to back and front, to reveal her spine and the cleft between her breasts. She held the dress to her, as though welcoming an old friend, and whispered, ‘Please don’t let the moths have got to you.’ She draped it carefully over one arm while with the other she reached into the trunk to search for the cape which had been bought to match the dress. When she felt the material in her hand, she felt like shouting for joy. It was impossible in the candlelight to tell if there were any moth holes in it, but light enough to see it was a beautiful, knee-length cape in the same material as the dress with a diamanté clasp at the neck.

  Evelyn sat back on her heels. If these garments had stood the passage of time, they would certainly pass the most critical eye. She remembered walking down Bold Street with Charles and seeing them in the window of the most expensive shop in the city. She had stopped to admire them, and of course the outcome was the one she’d hoped for. Charles insisted he’d buy them for her, and half an hour later she was walking down the street with the cord of a square silver dress box over her wrist, and her head in the clouds. Charles had offered to carry the box but she would have none of it. The name on the box and its shape were exclusive to the only shop in the city to have a uniformed man standing outside to open the door for customers, and then wave their carriage or automobile down.

  There was a deep sigh from Evelyn as she remembered the heady feeling of buying only from the best shops and dining in only the best hotels and restaurants. Having a man admiring you across the table, and knowing there wasn’t another woman who could beat you for looks or style. And she could make it happen again if she had the right clothes to wear, and a good address to invite prospective suitors to. She smoothed the soft material of the dress and cape draped over her arm, and decided: I’ll take them downstairs to try them on and see if they still fit. If I raise the gas, it may give me enough light to check for moth holes. If fate is kind, and the clothes are wearable, I’ll put them on hangers and hang them outside the wardrobe in the hope of getting rid of the smell. Then at least I will have one stylish, attractive outfit to wear. And who knows what else the trunk may produce?

  So many years had passed she couldn’t remember what she had packed into it, and it was too dark now to have a really good clear out. Perhaps she could get up half an hour early tomorrow a
nd begin her search, before her daughter was awake. She’d do it a bit at a time, when Amelia wasn’t around.

  Evelyn shivered as she slipped the dress over her head. The material was cold, and the smell of damp sickening. It still fitted her, though, and as she ran her hands down the sides, she prided herself that it clung to her figure. If there was no moth damage, the one way of treating it so it would come up like new, and without the smell, was to have it cleaned at the Chinese laundry. It would probably cost a few shillings to have both dress and cape cleaned, but that was a small price to pay. The increase in her salary would start from Saturday, and although she had to pay Miss Maudsley a shilling a week, she would still be a few shillings better off. More even, as her neighbour was going to give Amelia a dinner every night. And she had asked if she could do it, it wasn’t as though she was doing it out of pity for them. No, it was more likely they were doing her a favour, for, after all, it must be a lonely life not having any family.

  When she finally climbed the stairs to bed, Evelyn felt younger than she had for years and in a more pleasant frame of mind. She had decided on her new future, and not for a second did she think she would fail.

  At the precise moment Evelyn was climbing the stairs, Philip was lying in the arms of a very pretty young woman, paying her sugary compliments and claiming she was the most wonderful girl he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting. And the young girl blushed at his compliments for, at nineteen years of age, she had never met up with a charmer before, and believed he was sincere in what he was saying. Had her parents known where she was, and with whom, they would have been horrified. Philip was at least eleven or twelve years her senior, and although he didn’t have a bad reputation, he was well known by his close friends for playing the field. But the girl’s parents would not find out, for although she was young and inexperienced in the ways of romancing, she wasn’t stupid enough to tell them; she knew what their reaction would be. And she did so want to see Philip again, he was so interesting, amusing, and a real man of the world.

  ‘And what is my lovely Charlotte thinking now?’ he asked, his finger running down a cheek as soft as silk. They’d met at a soiree in the home of one of his friends, and as Charlotte was the youngest and prettiest female there, Philip had lost no time in making her acquaintance. With the drink flowing, and the many conversations going on in the room becoming louder, it was almost impossible to hear each other. So Philip had taken her hand, and making sure they weren’t seen, had led her to the study where he knew it would be quiet and there was a very convenient and comfortable chaise-longue. Charlotte wasn’t worldly enough to know that going into an empty room with a strange man might not be the thing to do. Philip had in fact no intention of going beyond the bounds of decency. His trouble was, he was a born womaniser and couldn’t help flirting with a pretty young girl. Had she been older, or married but available and willing, then he might have been more daring and taken his chances. But he wouldn’t deliberately court trouble, especially in the home of one of his best friends.

  ‘My father is sending the car to pick me up at half-past ten,’ Charlotte said. ‘I don’t want to go, but I’m afraid I must. But will you promise we’ll meet again soon, Philip, so I have something to look forward to? I really would like us to be friends.’

  As soon as a female began to get serious, he backed away. He had heard the phrase ‘shotgun wedding’, and he was looking for fun, not a married life of so-called bliss. ‘I’m sure we’ll meet up again, my love, we’re bound to. Most of my friends know your parents, so I have no doubt we will see each other again in the very near future.’ Philip swung his legs off the chaise-longue. ‘It’s almost ten-thirty now. I’ll walk with you to the front door and see you safely into the car. We’ll pick up your coat on the way.’

  On the front step of the large house which was now brightly lit, Charlotte reached for Philip’s hand. ‘Promise you’ll see me again very soon?’

  ‘I’ll try, my love, but I am not a free agent. I have a job to go to every day, and apart from the time I spend at the office, I often have to take work home with me. I still live with my parents and feel duty bound to spend some time with them. But I do have some free evenings, of course I do, and I’m sure that the next party I go to, you will also attend. Anyway, my lovely Charlotte, you are so pretty you will always be sought after by men nearer your own age and far more suitable than myself. I promise that if we meet again at a mutual friend’s house, and I see you with a very handsome Romeo, I will not try to steal you away from him. So go now, my love, don’t keep the chauffeur waiting any longer. And do give my kind regards to your parents.’ He waited until she was safely in the car, waved her off, then breathed a sigh of relief when he went back into the house.

  In the wide hall, brightly lit by a huge scintillating chandelier, Philip was met by his friend and host Nigel, who raised his brows and shook his head slightly. ‘You’re sailing close to the wind, old boy. She is far too young for you, and her father is very protective. So take care, my friend.’

  ‘Nigel, my dear boy, I may be many things but stupid I am not. Nor am I a rotter. I didn’t lay a finger on the girl, didn’t even kiss her goodnight although she stood with lips pouted in readiness. And despite her pleas, I have not promised to see her again. Like yourself, I prefer someone nearer my own age who is responsible for their own actions.’

  ‘Don’t compare us, Philip, I happen to be a very happily married man. If Marigold had heard you say that, she would have raised hell with me and never let me out of her sight again.’ Nigel grinned. ‘And I would never leave you alone in a room with my wife, even though you profess to be my best friend.’

  ‘Have no fear, old boy, I have my sights set on a very attractive older woman. She has worked for Astbury and Woodward for several years, and as Uncle Simon’s secretary is retiring too, luck was on my side and I acquired this lovely vision for my personal secretary. She hasn’t fallen for my charms yet, but it’s early days. She may be testing me, playing hard to get, or maybe she genuinely doesn’t fancy me. Which would be quite a let-down for me. She’s tall, very attractive, with dark hair, liquid brown eyes and a curvaceous figure. So while I have Mrs Sinclair in my sights, I am not really interested in any other female.’

  ‘Mrs Sinclair? You mean you intend to pursue a married woman?’ Nigel was taken aback. ‘Shame on you, Philip.’

  ‘You have it wrong again, dear boy. Mrs Sinclair is a widow. Very little is known about her at the office, apparently, she’s not the talkative type. All that is known is that her husband was killed in battle in seventeen, not long after they were married. I find the aura of mystery surrounding her both thrilling and challenging and have made a vow to woo her, solve the mystery and claim the prize.’

  Nigel again raised his eyebrows. He was very fond of his friend, who was always good company and very loyal. But with the best will in the world, no one could say Philip was not a terror for a pretty face. ‘And providing she allows you to woo her and win her, what then?’

  Philip flashed the grin no woman could resist. Both old and young were captivated by it. ‘Ah, well, I’m not looking that far ahead, old boy. At the moment I’m attracted and intrigued, but once I’ve won the chase, who knows?’

  Nigel’s wife Marigold came looking for him then. She was very much in love with her husband, but could see why so many of her friends fell head over heels for Philip. He really was an attractive devil. ‘Oh, and what are you two cooking up? We have guests, Nigel, and mustn’t neglect them.’

  ‘I’m coming now, my love, but would you kindly lock all the good-looking, available women in the study, please, where Philip can’t get at them? I’m just giving him a lecture on his womanising. It really is time he settled down and gave his parents the grandchildren they long for before they grow too old to appreciate them.’

  ‘Now you go too far, Nigel.’ Philip feigned horror. ‘In one fell swoop you would have me married off to a sensible little woman who would set to and bear severa
l children to keep my parents happy.’ He put a hand to his forehead. ‘The mere thought is enough to bring on a headache. Come on, be a good host and give your guest a glass of champers before he faints.’

  Marigold linked his arm. ‘I’ll look after you while Nigel fetches you a drink. I’ll introduce you to a merry widow who has pots of money and is looking for someone to lavish it on.’

  Philip pretended to draw away. ‘Oh, no, not another merry widow! Why do all my friends wheel me out whenever they’re a man short? And I don’t know why you use the phrase “merry widow”, because they’re usually wearing thick make-up to hide the fact that they’re ancient. I know some young men have no objection to being kept by a woman old enough to be their grandmother, as long as the money and expensive presents keep coming their way. But I do not need the money or expensive gifts, nor am I a kind enough person to flatter an elderly woman by telling her she looks twenty years younger than she actually is. Let them grow old gracefully, that’s what I say. So, Marigold, my darling, I’ll have the drink but not the woman.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell her you already have a beauty in your sights, Philip?’ Nigel said as they made their way towards the loud laughter and voices coming from the drawing room. ‘I’m sure Marigold would love to pass on that piece of information, and revel in the disappointment on the face of every female guest.’

  She squeezed his arm. ‘Oh, do tell, Philip, is what Nigel said true?’ Again she squeezed his arm. ‘Can you hear the noise of laughter and people shouting to make themselves heard? Well, if I repeat what my darling husband has just said, the female voices will all fall silent and the men will have smiles on their faces as they gloat over the fact that at last someone has stolen your heart and you are no longer a threat to their wives, lovers and sweethearts. Oh, I can’t wait to tell them.’