Goodbye Piccadilly

by Goodbye Piccadilly (retail) (epub)

  ‘Well George, and what do you think it was like here when you left? I’m not bitching, there’s plenty that’d like to be in my drawers. But I used to envy you going back to a place where everybody had a place of their own like pieces in a canteen of cutlery. Husband, wife, son, daughter, cook, housemaid, tweeny, scullery-maid, all in their proper slots. And I was what? A pie slice in a separate box of her own?’

  ‘I thought you were happy.’

  ‘I was, when you were here. Most of the time I was making do with my life between your visits. But I’ve had enough, George. I know you can’t help it, but I fell for you years ago. So when you say, “Marry me” like that, out of the blue, you got to know who it is you’re asking and why you’re asking it.’

  ‘Don’t ask me to analyse it now, Effee. If I’ve hurt you, then I’ll do what I can to make up for it.’

  She sat down on his large lap, her face now almost level with his own. The hail had stopped and only soft droplet rain now fell. The sky lightened, wheels swished through puddles and rainwater rushed along gutters and down-pipes. ‘It’s a nice thought, but we couldn’t even if we wanted. You’re a rozzer, you’ve got children to think of; and you can give it any name you like, the fact is I’ve never earned a sou except on my back.’

  ‘There’s only Kitt now. Esther and Jack have done what they want to do with their lives. You’d be all right with Esther, and as soon as Jack comes out of the army, he is going to take a place of his own. I’ve been thinking for ages that I’d give up the Force. I don’t like this new work I’m on. I’ve always been a detective, not a government spy.’

  ‘Oh George, I never knew you was unhappy enough to pack your hand in.’

  ‘People spying on people who are spying on people. That’s no job for a proper copper.’

  ‘George… when I get to Chiswick, you’ll come and see me?’

  * * *

  The man with the racing paper was still waiting. He had got dampened by the hailstorm and had drunk too much of the stewed tea from the street-stall. There was something going on but he didn’t quite know what. He provided pieces for the jigsaw that his superiors were making: only they ever saw the completed picture. He knew all about the superintendent and the little piece of stuff he visited, but he could only hazard a guess as to why he had been instructed to report on his superior officer’s movements. It was bad when one department was observing another. Nobody knew what was what and who was who any longer.

  —

  My Dear Otis,

  Your astonishment will be no less than ours was when you hear that Father is to remarry. This has come entirely out of the blue and neither Jack nor I know the lady. Her name is Miss Frieda Tessalow. More than that we do not know. We have had a disastrous family luncheon where none of us seemed to know our place. Quite honestly I felt very sorry for the lady: imagine suddenly being catapulted into another woman’s family. I don’t know how you will feel about this, and to be honest that is the reason why I am writing to you. I should not know how to say this to your face, but I had thought that you had warm feelings for my father. If you have not now, then I am sure that you once did have for, on the day of my wedding, I was standing in the hallway arranging my veil and heard what I should not have heard before I realized what it was. I was in a dilemma, as you will understand. I could hardly apologize; for what should I apologize? All that I can say is that from time to time I have hoped that one day we might have become something closer than friends. You did me the best of favours when you suggested that Nancy come to stay with me. I am very well recovered and we are preparing to go down to Lyme and open up Mere again. Please, please write to me there.

  Lovingly as ever, Esther

  PS: The marriage ceremony is to be a civil one with no guests. Thank the Lord for that! I don’t know why I felt the need to write and say what I have written. I trust that you will understand.

  Dressed in light-mourning lilac, and looking fresh and in her twenties again, Esther Blood trips lightly downstairs. Nancy Dickenson, wearing a duster coat in readiness for the journey, watches from the hallway and feels pleased at what she has achieved with Mrs Blood over the past weeks.

  ‘All ready, Nancy?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Nursey’s got Stephanie running round the garden. Says it’s going to tire her out so she will sleep on the train.’

  ‘Well, the cab is waiting, so we may as well start. I will go and find Father and…’ She now trips her way across the hallway to the breakfast-room. Father and… Esther cannot see a day when the superintendent’s new wife will be anything except ‘and…’ Father had said she was to be Frieda to her and Jack, and Step-Mama to Kitt. But it was all so peculiar, so unnervingly sudden. Jack had been surprisingly sanguine about the whole thing.

  ‘I don’t know why we should be making such a to-do, Ess. If you think about it, it is a very sensible solution.’

  ‘Why a solution when there isn’t a problem?’

  ‘I don’t agree, Ess. Father looking upon you as the natural successor to Mother, and you allowing him to do so, that has been the problem.’

  ‘I haven’t minded.’

  ‘Perhaps not. But I believe that you should have minded. You are still young: too young to be the widowed daughter, the housekeeper, Kitt’s sister-stepmother. You must pick up the pieces and make a new life. The superintendent’s new wife is here to stay whether we like it or not.’

  At least there had been no great to-do about a wedding. The couple had gone to a Registrar and come quietly home to a family lunch. The lunch had not been easy. Between the time that George Moth had dropped the news into the lap of the family, and the installation of Effee a month after the day of the thunderstorm, he had tried to bring them together around the family table on two or three occasions.

  Esther thought that it would have been better had he been more casual about it, allowing them to make their acquaintance over informal cups of tea or glasses of sherry. But no.

  Father, with his usual confidence, had said that it was best for them all if they got over any initial difficulties over good roast beef. Jack had done it the first time, but subsequently had had some fine excuses as he was still convalescent at Queen Alexandra’s and expecting at any time to be called before a medical board.

  There had been a slight awkwardness about Nancy. She had always dined with Esther, and Esther wished her to be included in what she would refer to as the roast beef party. But Father had said that it was bad enough for Frieda – whom he sometimes called Effee – having to get to know the family without having Esther’s companion there as well. But Esther had said that, come what may, Nancy was no longer a mere companion but a close friend, and must be included. Nancy, with her fine sixth sense, had asked Esther whether it would be all right if she went to visit Wally’s mother at those times when the superintendent’s new wife was dining. ‘May gets very down sometimes, and you won’t miss me for an hour or two.’

  Without thinking, Esther had taken her usual place which was that which her mother had once occupied, and had organized the passing of the dishes. Effee/Frieda had been seated at the side, next to Father. Esther had flushed with embarrassment when she caught her father’s eye. On the second occasion she had willingly given up the bottom of the table to its expected occupant, but then they had both felt awkward.

  When Jack and Esther had compared notes, they had both said that the worst part was the uncanny likeness to their mother: they could momentarily be caught off-guard and find their minds flying back to earlier years. Surprisingly, Kitt took to her. If she did not know how to take the adult Moth children, then she knew how to talk easily to Kitt.

  * * *

  Steeling herself, Esther opened the breakfast-room door and was greeted by a fake of an old scene when her father, wearing his half-glasses and in his waistcoat, read the crime columns of the newspapers, and her mother, wearing a peignoir, wrote out domestic lists.

  ‘Good morning, Father. Good morning…

  ‘We
’re all set to go, Father.’

  ‘Ah. There’s a letter here for you – from Hewetson by the look of it. I think you might consider sticking to the man, he seems to have treated your affairs pretty efficiently.’

  ‘I think I shall, Father.’

  It was clear, by her nervous movements, that Effee could not decide whether she was in or out of this exchange. Esther smiled politely in her direction. Effee said, ‘I hope that you have a good journey. It’s quite a way.’

  ‘At least this time Stephanie is old enough to be distracted or amused,’ Esther replied.

  George Moth said, ‘And you won’t have Kitt to worry about.’

  ‘Oh, Kitt wasn’t ever a worry. He’s always been an entertainment on a journey.’

  Effee knew from George that he and Esther had not seen eye to eye about the boy. She was reluctant to leave him in London, and he would not agree to him leaving the school in which he had settled.

  George Moth stood up and kissed his daughter. ‘Kitt will be still here when you return.’

  ‘Just promise me that you will not do anything about boarding-school until I get back from Mere.’

  ‘Boarding-school, George? For Kitt?’ Sharply.

  At the unexpectedness of her intervention, they both turned in Effee’s direction.

  ‘It’s not settled, Effee,’ he said.

  ‘And it’d better not be, George, if you and me are going to stay friends.’

  Here the fake ‘Mother and Father at Breakfast’ scene faded. Anne Moth would never have spoken as directly as this before the children. Esther saw the momentary cloud of irritation darken her father’s face as he said, ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about, Effee.’

  ‘Well, George, I beg to differ there. When I hear you mention Kitt and boarding-school in the same breath, it is something for me to worry about. I worry that you might be thinking of sending him to one. And if that is the case, then you will find me against you.’

  ‘I tell you, nothing is settled.’ He spoke to Effee but looked at Esther.

  Effee said, ‘I don’t really want to interfere, Esther, but for better or worse I’m your father’s wife now, and it’s only natural that I should take an interest in his children. I know that it’s you that’s brought him up, and you brought him up really lovely, but it looks like me that’s going to take over now, and I’m dead set against sending children away from people who loves them to live with people who don’t.’

  ‘Then we think the same…’

  Effee smiled broadly. A smile nothing at all like Anne Moth’s beatific smile.

  ‘Well, that’s a good start then, isn’t it, George? Now all we’ve got to do is for me and you to think the same on this question of school.’

  ‘There’s time. Kitt’s name has been down since he was a baby. There is no mad rush to decide one way or the other.’

  ‘Oh yes there is, George. Esther is just off down to Dorset, and she won’t rest happy unless she knows that she won’t come back and find that you’ve parked Kitt with a lot of strangers.’

  George Moth saw the image that he had had, of another frail and beautiful partner at the breakfast table and in the bed, disappearing. For years he had been buying her suitable furniture, suitable accessories, creating a mistress in the image of his wife, but during the hours, days and weeks that he had not been with her, she had still been Effee Tessalow; strong, independent Effee Tessalow.

  He thought that he had suggested marriage on the spur of the moment, but it may well have been that he had unconsciously been heading towards it for years. Otis Hewetson, Victoria Ormorod, and even Nancy Dickenson since she had taken charge of his problems, had all at one time or another fitted his image of George Moth’s wife. But there she had been all those years. Effee loving him and Effee waiting for the snatched hours and occasional nights for him to love her.

  ‘What is it that you want, Effee?’

  ‘That you promise Esther that we are going to take over bringing up Kitt. He’s going to live here and go to school close to home. It’s not much to ask. Your parents gave you that sort of care, didn’t they? The least you can do is give it to your own children. There’s no question it’s what Kitt wants. I’m sure it’s what I want, for him. Isn’t that what you want, Esther?’

  ‘Yes… Frieda.’

  ‘Well then, George?’

  From the way her father smiled at his new wife, Esther knew that he loved her, and for a moment her body felt acutely starved of Bindon. She envied them and longed to be a partner in a marriage again.

  ‘I don’t see any objection to it, especially as I have decided to resign from the Force. I shall be more on hand than I was when you and Jack were young.’

  The two women, superficially alike with their small, slight frames and clouds of fair hair, were taken aback; particularly Esther, who knew that her father’s career was part of who he was. If he was not Superintendent Moth, then who was he? Mister Moth? She could not envisage that.

  ‘You are going to resign, Father?’

  ‘It is already under way. I have seen the chief constable. He has agreed that I should retire early.’

  Effee said, ‘Well, it’s your life, George… I never was that keen on rozzers anyway.’ She winked at him. Anne Moth had never winked in her life.

  ‘What shall you do, Father?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. Effee and I will talk it over. Maybe we could sail round the world for a start.’

  ‘Oh no we couldn’t, George, we’ve got Kitt to think of. We couldn’t go off and leave him.’

  ‘Esther won’t be at Mere for ever, will you, Ess?’

  ‘That depends on a lot of things, Father. Now I must be going or Nursey will be in shreds with Stephanie. Goodbye then, Father.’ She kissed him. ‘Goodbye… Frieda.’ She held out a hand for Effee to shake.

  Effee stood up and unexpectedly kissed Esther on either cheek. ‘Could you call me Effee? I was born Frieda, but I’ve been Effee that long…’

  Esther felt the mantle of normality settling on her life. First Nancy, and now Effee Moth giving her hope that she could soon face the world alone.

  ‘Goodbye for now, Effee.’

  ‘I’ll see nobody touches your rooms. We’ll look forward to you coming back.’

  From the front porch they waved at the departing cab, George Moth in his shirtsleeves and waistcoat and Effee in her peignoir – something Anne Moth would never have done.

  —

  16 Elton Court, Kensington High Street, Kensington, W

  Dear Otis. This is my temporary address. Esther tells me that she has written to you, so you know the state of things in Denmark. I think that I shall be returning to the Front in a week or so and would like to meet you as a whole person rather than as lately as a withering vine in hospital blue. Perhaps you would like to go out to dinner with me? I rather favour somewhere as un-trenchlike as it is possible to get – the Dorchester? The Cavendish? Say Friday evening when I know that you will not have to go slaving in the salt-mines next day. Shall I collect you? Nine o’clock?

  Best Regs,

  Jack Moth

  Friday evening at the Cavendish would be delightful, Jack. I think I should like to meet you there. Nine o’clock suits me very well.

  Otis.

  PS. I should have started by saying ‘Thank you for inviting me’ – my social graces do not improve, do they?

  In the gentlemen’s cloakroom of the Cavendish, under the eye of a portrait of the Kaiser consigned there by the famous proprietress, Rosa Lewis – ‘That’s the only throne for old Willy’ – Jack Moth ran a pocket comb through his hair before returning to the lobby to wait for Otis.

  Had any of his trench friends seen him they would have been astonished at the contrast between the booted and putteed infantryman brewing tea with hot water from a gun-cooling system, and this tall, elegantly turned-out man in evening dress. However, Jack was unaware that these days the Cavendish was not the best place to appear in evening dress. As he waited
where he could see the entrance, an inner door opened and an Aberdeen terrier raced out and attacked his ankles. Jack tried to fling him off, but he hung on tenaciously, yet still able to snarl and yelp as they went round and round together.

  Onlookers gathered and some urged the dog on with, ‘Attaboy, Kippy’, ‘Go f’r him, Kip’, then, from the door through which the shaggy little animal had bounded, appeared a beautifully turned-out woman whose gaiety owed much to a little rouge and a lot of determination.

  ‘Kippy! Come ’eah,’ she commanded, and the dog unlatched his teeth but did not move far from Jack’s heels.

  ‘Well, sir?’ Surprised, Jack saw that she was addressing not the dreadful little dog but himself.

  ‘Well, madam?’ Jack returned. ‘Do I take it that this is your creature?’

  ‘It is, young man, and so is this ’otel, and he is not no sort of creature, he’s the renowned Kippy who’s been trained by me to attack any man that comes to the Cavendish not wearing uniform.’

  Jack was so taken aback by the woman’s belligerent stare and her Cockney accent, that he did not for a moment know how to reply. However, into that moment dropped Otis’s unmistakable voice at its most imperious.

  ‘Then I suggest, Miss Lewis, that you post a notice, so that men who have had no opportunity of learning the new rules of your hotel because they have been a long time in hospital as a consequence of a much longer time in the trenches, are warned that they may be attacked by an animal with no discernment and fewer manners.’

  For a long moment the two women faced one another, until the friend of kings and emperors was stared down by the Islington schoolmistress. The proprietress picked up her terrier and was about to say something when a man’s voice intervened.

  ‘Jack. Jack Moth, as I live and breathe.’ A uniformed arm clasped him across the back. ‘Well, just look at you. Who’d have thought it – we took you for a goner.’ It was the doctor who had tended Jack through his convalescence.