by Lizzie Lane
Although the day was warm, a light breeze blowing up from the Avon Gorge cooled her warm face and her anger. Of course she wasn’t frigid and in time she’d prove it, but she wouldn’t be rushed.
A man stood on the bandstand belting out ‘Take me Back to the Black Hills’, yet another Doris Day number from Calamity Jane. Janet kicked at the grass. God, but Doris Day had a lot to answer for. She was just about to turn for home when a jubilant and childlike voice interrupted her thoughts.
‘Aunty Janet! We’re having a picnic and we’ve got fruitcake,’ boasted Susan, her podgy fingers already around Janet’s hand.
Peter came galloping up behind his sister, both hands slapping his right thigh. ‘Whoa, Trigger,’ he said, pulling on pretend reins. Accompanying his action with a loud neigh, he came to a halt.
A dark grey blanket formed a backdrop for a green checked tablecloth on which were sandwiches of thickly sliced bread; wedges of butter-gold fruitcake oozing with moist sultanas, currants and scarlet cherries; fairy cakes topped with pink and white icing; and an apple pie, its crust golden and glistening with brown Demerara.
Edna sat at one corner of the blanket, her legs folded beneath her. ‘I thought it was you,’ she said. Her brown hair was restrained by a pale blue Alice band, which matched the stripes on her dress. Janet thought how girlish she looked.
‘I’ve been to lunch with my friend Dorothea,’ Janet explained.
‘And had nothing more than a coffee, I bet,’ said Edna thrusting a plate at her.
‘Trigger’s hungry,’ said Peter and flopped near his mother.
Once everyone was munching on something – except Pamela who’d dozed off – Edna’s attention focused on Janet.
‘So how are you?’
Janet took a slice of offered fruitcake. ‘Better. I’m sorry for running off at the zoo. The things you said meant a lot to me.’
Edna waved one hand as though shooing away a fly. ‘What I meant was …’ She paused, leaned closer and murmured, ‘Are you all right?’ She jerked her chin and cast a glance at Janet’s midriff.
Janet nodded. ‘I have to say I hate periods, but I was very glad to see it this time.’
‘There!’ Edna exclaimed matter of factly, her face cheerful again, and touched with a youthful innocence that belied her actual maturity. ‘So now you can get on with your life.’
It all seemed so easy on the outside, but what about inside? The memory was still there, festering every so often, ready to jump out and mar the present. ‘I suppose so.’
‘You’ll find a good man. Just like I did.’
‘It’s early days,’ said Janet, then went on to tell her about Jonathan. ‘He’s just a friend.’
Edna laughed and looked like a girl again. ‘Best friends are best loved.’
‘You won’t tell my mother?’
‘Not if you don’t want me to, though I can’t think why—’
Susan interrupted, her ‘Princess Anne’ curls dancing around her face in coppery profusion. ‘Would you like a fairy cake, Aunty Janet?’
‘How can I refuse?’ She took yet another cake then turned to Edna. ‘You’ve got lovely children.’
Edna smiled proudly. ‘I think so. Do you like children?’
‘I like yours. If ever you want someone to take them off your hands for a day out, I’m quite willing to oblige.’
Edna looked surprised. ‘And I’m quite willing to let you do that, or at least Peter and Susan. Pamela’s a bit too young for you to handle. But I could do with the help.’ She suddenly looked very sheepish. ‘Normally I wouldn’t complain, but there’s another on the way.’
‘That’s wonderful! I’m only too pleased to help out.’
‘Can we go to the park, Aunty Janet?’ asked Susan who, in the absence of daisies, had made a chain of buttercups, which she was presently wearing around her neck.
‘Weston-super-Mare!’ shouted Peter who was galloping around in a circle and making clip-clopping sounds. ‘I want to ride on the donkeys. Whoooaaa!’
The sun was warm, the trees were green, and Janet had found herself something to do on Saturdays. Rather the children than accompany Dorothea on weekends as well as during the week, and it would help her forget what she couldn’t change.
Janet became aware that Edna was studying her thoughtfully. ‘You don’t need to do it,’ she said.
‘Yes, I do, Edna. I appreciate you sparing the time to listen to my woes. It’s only fair that I do something for you.’
Perhaps her fairy godmother had been sitting in the sycamores, listening earlier that day because the moment Janet stepped into the hall of the house in Royal York Crescent the phone was ringing and Jonathan was on the end of it.
‘I managed to get away. Are you free tonight?’ Of course she was!
‘Can you get to the Palm d’Or? Do you know it?’ Of course she did.
She told her mother that she was off out. ‘We’re out too. The Red Cross are holding a charity ball at the Francis Hotel in Bath. Your father’s booked us a room.’ She said all this without looking up from the letter she was frowning over.
Tonight was the first time for a while that Janet hummed to herself as she chose what to wear. She’d bought a tight skirt in pale blue, a matching, short-sleeved sweater and white ‘flatties’. With her dark hair and eyes, she looked and felt like a ballet dancer.
The taxi came at eight. She almost collided with Geoffrey on the pavement outside the front gate. Home for the weekend, he was going out too and was wearing his bicycle clips and a thick duffle coat despite the night being mild.
‘Give my regards to Dorothea,’ he said.
She looked him up and down, not entirely surprised at the ‘beatnik’ look he’d adopted. Scruffiness had always sat comfortably with him.
‘I didn’t say I was going out with Dorothea. Anyway, I didn’t know you were that close.’
Geoffrey grinned. ‘Come on, Jan. Everyone in trousers has got close – very close – to your friend Dorothea at some time or another. The moment I was out of short trousers and into long ones, they were off!’
Still grinning he closed the door of the taxi behind her and whistled as he got astride his bicycle. Goodness, she thought smiling to herself, Dorothea was too wicked to be believed. What would her mother say?
A pink neon sign outside the Palm D’Or flashed the statement that cocktails were being served. She craned her neck as she handed the taxi driver the fare and waved the change away.
He was there, the colour of the light contorting the colours of his face, the outline of his body.
Over cocktails they talked work. Between mouthfuls of food he talked more of work and she smiled to herself. Dorothea would consider his conversation boring. She found it fascinating.
He tapped at her nose. ‘Penny for them?’
They clinked glasses. ‘My thoughts?’ She smiled and ran one finger around the rim of the wine glass. ‘My mother always wanted to be a doctor, you know. My brother’s supposed to follow in my father’s footsteps, but he’s not that keen.’
‘Not keen?’ Jonathan sounded and looked shocked to his shoes. He poured more red wine into their glasses. ‘Why ever not? What job could be more rewarding? What job could be more glamorous?’
They clinked glasses.
‘To doctors,’ said Janet, the wine, the evening and Jonathan all contributing to repair her confidence and boost her ego.
‘To the perfect profession,’ he added. He told her about the newest physiotherapy techniques being used in the treatment of poliomyelitis, infantile paralysis. ‘The original exercises were introduced by an Australian nurse, a Sister Kenny. Of course things are moving on, but slowly. Then there’s the heat treatment. We put hot cloths on the affected areas in an effort to get them responding, perhaps even repairing themselves.’
‘Does it work?’
‘It seems to, though the ultimate cure for the disease will be inoculation. It’s coming, but …’ He shrugged helplessly and she rea
d impatience in his expression. ‘These things have to be tested. They take time. Too late for my mother,’ he added ruefully.
‘She must be very proud of you.’
He nodded. ‘She is, just as I am of her. We’re both very determined to kill this disease dead.’
‘What does your father feel about it?’
‘Oh, he’s not very interested. Mother leaves him to get on and run the farm and he leaves us to do as we please.’
Janet got the distinct impression that his father was shut out from this relationship. Jonathan and his mother seemed extraordinarily close, too close perhaps. She had imagined her sitting weak and fragile in a wheelchair. Apparently weakness didn’t come into it.
‘You sound completely absorbed by your profession,’ she said. ‘Will there ever be room in your life for anything or anyone else?’ She hadn’t wanted it to sound as though she were prying as to his intentions towards her – it just seemed to come out that way.
The swift blink, the tight smile conveyed to her that he’d been half-expecting the question. She was instantly entranced with the way one side of his mouth seemed to curl up higher than the other side, as if both the question and the answer couldn’t help but amuse. She also thought of how much he looked like Superman, the Clark Kent version but without the horn-rimmed spectacles.
‘I’m just a man. But my work comes first. A woman in my life – any woman – has to take second place.’ His smile broke suddenly. ‘With one exception of course – my mother. As I’ve already told you, my choice of career was due to her in the first place. I couldn’t get involved with anyone without her approval.’
It was not at all the explanation Janet had expected. His mother had a say in more than his career. It went some way to explaining why he had never tried to seduce her.
He smiled a little wryly and went on. ‘I’m afraid I sound a little cold, a little odd perhaps. But believe me, I’m not. It’s just that relationships have to be on my terms. I do hope you understand.’
‘Of course.’ She smiled as if she did, but what exactly did he mean, ‘on his terms’?
They talked further about her predicament at the hospital and the possibility of getting another job. ‘I can’t promise anything,’ he said slowly, ‘but I will keep my ears open.’
Janet sighed. ‘Anything rather than the Catering and Housekeeping Department.’
He insisted on sharing a taxi with her. ‘I can’t let you go home alone.’
At least he’s considerate, she thought to herself as she gathered up her angora cardigan and prepared to leave.
All that Dorothea had said earlier that day seemed to stick in her brain, like melted toffee. But I’m not frigid, she said to herself and suddenly wanted to prove that she wasn’t. She made a quick decision. If he tries to kiss me, I’ll let him.
It didn’t seem likely to happen. At first they sat apart, her hand on the seat, his close by. Lightly at first, his fingers covered hers, then gripped her hand, then ran up her arm, around her neck. He pulled her face to his and gently kissed her lips.
It wasn’t exactly passion, but she didn’t want passion, at least, not yet. His gentleness and, what she interpreted as sensitivity, was all she needed.
She wanted to say something, wanted to do something, but she wasn’t quite sure what. The one thing she didn’t want to do was run away. He wasn’t threatening like Henry or insipid like Stephen. She didn’t feel she wanted to throw herself at him. He was attractive but safe, just like a doctor should be.
The streetlights were out when the taxi pulled up in Royal York Crescent. A small porch lantern had been left on which threw enough light for her to see the pavement, the drive and the steps to the door.
He held her hand and said, ‘How about Tuesday? I wish I could do better, but you know how it is in this profession …’
‘You’re a very busy man. Name me a doctor who isn’t!’ One more kiss before leaving him in the cab. Pressing her door key against her smile she ran to the front door, the gravel crunching underfoot.
The cab lingered. Jonathan was being considerate, making sure she got to the front door safely. The caring professional, she thought as her feet tapped sharply against the marble steps before she raised her arm to put the key in the door … which suddenly sprang open.
Dorothea flew out, her hair in disarray, her lipstick kissed away and a very self-satisfied smile on her face. ‘Darling,’ she whispered. ‘A taxi! How convenient!’
Janet stood transfixed, her jaw dropping as Dorothea waved one hand, her handbag swinging over her elbow as her other hand grappled with the buttons of her suit.
She was amazed to see Jonathan get out of the taxi, open the door and let her in. He shrugged and shot Janet a helpless look, got into the taxi, and closed the door behind him.
With mixed feelings, she watched as it pulled away. What had Dorothea been up to? What would she be up to next?
Some sound registered in the hall behind her where only one table lamp cast a sphere of light over the scattered Turkish and Persian rugs. A pair of feet appeared on the stairs and as they descended swiftly grew into Geoffrey’s bare and hairy legs.
‘Is she gone?’
Dorothea’s dishevelled appearance and her brother’s bare legs said it all. Janet stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her.
‘What have you two been up to?’ she asked, although she already knew the answer. Her parents were staying overnight in Bath. Geoffrey and Dorothea had obviously taken full advantage of the situation.
Geoffrey remained halfway down the stairs, his hair flopped over his eyes. He made no attempt whatsoever to hide his nudity.
Janet shook her head at him. ‘How could you?’
He raised his eyebrows just as he used to do as a boy when he’d flushed tadpoles down the lavatory then denied ever having had any. ‘What?’
‘You and Dorothea. You’ve been to bed with her.’ Sombrely, Janet pointed at the glistening sheath that drooped like a dewdrop at the end of his penis.
‘Oh!’ He grinned. ‘Umm … do excuse me. Must go to the lavatory.’
Both hands covering his crotch and the drooping johnny, he bounded noiselessly back up the stairs.
Janet maintained her serious expression until he was gone. Then she rocked with laughter and leaned against the wall for support in case she fell over.
She felt better than she had for a long time even though Dorothea had left in a taxi with Jonathan, a man who had brought something better to her life. Perhaps Dorothea would flutter her eyelashes at him, but she trusted it would make no impression. Jonathan had his own rules about relationships and she trusted him to keep to them.
Later, as she snuggled down beneath the shiny satin of a pale mauve eiderdown and her eyes closed in sleep, it was Jonathan she heard in her head. The foreign voice, the one who had told her not to scream, had melted away – at least for now.
Chapter Ten
Charlotte wrenched open the bottom half of the study window. The morning air was humid and she found herself praying for rain. In gathering the files she needed, her gaze lingered on the small drawer in which she’d placed the letter from Josef. Such a lovely man …
‘You look pensive.’
David’s voice made her start. The desk lid rattled as she rolled it firmly shut. ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache.’
David raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. ‘At least Janet’s got over hers, or I presume she has. She seems a lot brighter this last week, don’t you think?’
Charlotte agreed though felt guilty that David had noticed and she hadn’t. Damn the letter, she thought, and made a vow to rip it up the moment she got back.
On reaching the office she headed straight for Brookman’s door, knocked and entered without waiting for his invitation.
‘Do not say a word, dear lady,’ he said before she had a chance to open her mouth. ‘I have something …’ he began and reached for the post in his tray.
More Home Office do
cumentation, she decided, in triplicate and couched in the most convoluted English ever invented. She waved it aside. ‘I went back to the building site I told you about. The men I suspected of being Polish were gone, whisked away in case I asked any more difficult questions. But I’ve got a suspicion that they are being employed illegally and are being paid the most meagre of wages. I would think it unlikely that they’re paying any taxes on their earnings either.’
He was less than congenial. ‘You have no proof!’
‘If I get proof, will you investigate? I’ll ask the people concerned – I mean the Poles. Not the employers.’
Brookman sighed and flung down his pen. ‘If you can get them to talk. Just remember that if they are being paid the going rate English will suddenly be a completely unknown language to them.’
His attitude annoyed her. These men were not being paid the going rate for their labour. Something about their appearance convinced her of it. Now, what was it? Suddenly it came to her. Wellingtons! Wearing cheap Wellington boots on a sunny day was not the norm for men earning good wages.
‘I’ll find someone to talk. I know I will.’
‘Before you go …’
Brookman took a large brown envelope from the tray he’d been fussing with earlier and handed it to her. ‘It’s from our German friend.’
‘Oh!’ It was all she could say. The envelope felt fairly bulky. She took it into the other office to read. The covering letter was from Josef. The other was from Sherman’s adoptive grandmother.
My dear Charlotte,
Signora Carlotti is most concerned that nothing has been resolved following the death of his parents with regard to the future of the little boy who she knows as Carlos. Because she is so far away and is concerned for the boy’s welfare, she has asked me to trace the father of the child with a view to the boy going to live with him in the United States of America. She found a letter from one of the clothing parcels that her father used to send over. The orphanage gave it to her when Carlos was adopted along with the name given him at birth and his mother’s name. Matron had broken the rules, but in this case we are glad she did. The father had signed his name on the letter. Using my contacts in both the Red Cross and the US Military, I have indeed traced the boy’s father. As you will see from the enclosed letter, Signora Carlotti has written to him and is presently awaiting a response. I have asked her to let me know as soon as she receives this. As you know the child is still in our care here in Germany. We look after him well and keep him occupied on one of our projects, trades and skills with which to build his own future, but nothing can replace a proper family life with people who love him. If his mother does not want him, perhaps you will let me know.
