‘Bad night?’ asked Charlie.
Fay nodded.
‘Helen’s got a job interview.’
Fay’s face lit up with a genuine smile. ‘Already? That’s great! Good luck and all that.’
She put her hand on Helen’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. Helen stiffened, and Fay immediately withdrew her hand as if she’d been stung.
Helen got up, pretending this hadn’t happened. ‘I’d better go.’
Ransome & Daughters was situated near Berkeley Square, in a four-storey town house with arched windows and the company’s name in gold lettering. Facing the green-painted façade, Helen knew immediately that she must have been here before, yet couldn’t quite remember it.
But there was nothing for it.
In the foyer she approached the receptionist who sat behind an imposing walnut desk. The woman ran a lacquered fingernail down a clipboard list and tapped it audibly. ‘Oh, yes, here we are. Meeting with Ms Walcott at ten. Please take a seat. I’ll send for someone to take you upstairs.’
Helen sat down on an imitation Regency style sofa – or was it the real thing? – and looked around her. The foyer was large, with marble flooring, mahogany-clad columns, a red-carpeted staircase and a corridor at the far end leading to a darkened room. In front of an imposing fireplace stood a polished table with an arrangement of white lilies, their cloying scent filling the air.
Helen closed her eyes briefly. There had been white flowers on her mother’s coffin.
‘Miss Stephens?’
She looked up to find a craggy-faced, bald man in a brown workman’s smock smiling down at her.
‘Yes?’
‘If you’d follow me, please?’
They climbed the stairs to the first floor, their feet moving soundlessly on the thick carpet. Everywhere Helen turned she saw opulence, or a good impression of it. The banister gleamed golden-red, up-lighters enhanced the lichen-green wallpaper with its velvet fleur-de-lis pattern, and English Romantic paintings were hung to maximum effect in strategic places.
The company was making serious money, a stark contrast to what Helen was used to, but she hadn’t imagined this to be reflected in the surroundings, and she nearly gasped. Her annual dividends began to seem like a paltry sum.
‘Are you here about the job?’ her companion wheezed as he opened the door to an outer office with two doors leading off it. A large desk stood in front of the doors as if it had been placed there in order to form a bastion against invaders. Behind it a secretary was tapping away at a computer.
‘I’m here about a job.’
‘You look familiar,’ he said.
‘Really?’ It was possible he’d known her mother if he’d worked here long enough, but she knew from the only photograph she had of her parents, and which she carried in her wallet, that she didn’t look like her. He couldn’t have recognised her.
She didn’t know whether Letitia had announced she was expecting her niece, but she suspected her aunt wanted to keep the association between them private. She’d never showed herself to be an auntie in the true sense of the word, so why start now?
He scratched his chin, rasping his fingers against his grey stubble. ‘Not sure, but I expect it’ll come to me.’ To the secretary he said, ‘Helen Stephens for Ms Walcott.’
Still Ms Walcott, Helen noted. So, perhaps she hadn’t married. It didn’t surprise her. Letitia had always lived for her work.
The secretary ran her eyes over Helen’s outfit and curled her lips in barely disguised contempt. Sticking her chin out, Helen was tempted to reveal her family connection, if only to wipe that look off the face of the snooty bitch, but decided not to. Perhaps the secretary already knew.
Oh, who cares, she thought impatiently. ‘I have an appointment at ten,’ she said instead.
‘You’re a little early.’
‘Isn’t that better than being late?’
‘I suppose so.’ The secretary sniffed and rose, then knocked on one of the doors.
The workman winked at Helen and left them.
‘I’ll just see if Ms Walcott is free,’ said the secretary.
‘I hope so because I’ve arranged to see her today.’
‘Maybe, but we have to leave room for emergencies. Ms Walcott is very busy.’
‘I bet,’ Helen muttered. Busy oiling the wheels of the family company and scheming behind her own mother’s back, if Aggie was to be believed. But that wasn’t Helen’s problem.
The secretary stepped into Letitia’s office and Helen followed, refusing to wait. Immediately she took in the sumptuously furnished room: gleaming oak desk, tall windows hung with designer curtains, Art Deco lamps, works of art in heavy gilded frames.
Letitia was on the phone, and Helen shuddered at the sound of her husky laugh. There was something about her laughter which had always made Helen feel she was the butt of the joke, but Letitia’s smile was genuine when she hung up and asked the secretary to leave them.
‘But, Ms Walcott …’ the secretary protested, holding out her notepad.
Letitia waved her hand. ‘There’ll be no need for note-taking. You may go.’
The secretary retreated reluctantly, and Letitia came forward to meet Helen, putting her strong, almost masculine hands on Helen’s shoulders and kissing her on both cheeks.
‘Helen, my dear niece. You have been away for far too long.’
In stark contrast to her sister, Letitia was slim, almost bony, with rich chestnut hair in an expensive cut, a hooked nose and an angular face, which wasn’t exactly handsome, but striking nonetheless, its lack of prettiness part of the charm. Her posture was effortless but at the same time commanding. She wore a peacock-blue Thai silk dress under a cream jacket with gold buttons, and matching blue heels.
The ‘dear niece’ bit flummoxed her because they had never had that sort of relationship. ‘Hi, Letitia.’
Her aunt stepped back so she could take a proper look at her. ‘You look very … mm, tanned. The epitome of good health, I’d say.’
But I’m not, Helen wanted to say. I have epilepsy and take drugs.
‘Thank you.’
‘Come, let’s talk.’ Letitia indicated an armchair in front of her desk, then sat down in her own executive desk chair. ‘So, are you back for good now? Mother said you wanted to work with us. I’m happy to find something for you to do if you’re prepared to muck in.’
Helen grimaced. So like Aggie to jump the gun. ‘I don’t mind hard work, but just so you know, I didn’t come home expecting special favours.’
‘I understand,’ said Letitia briskly. ‘We haven’t exactly been the most loving of families, have we? I expect you’ve felt rather abandoned over the years.’
This was the closest thing to an apology Helen had ever had for her family’s deception. Although she welcomed the acknowledgement from her formidable step-aunt, it didn’t have the impact she’d hoped for. All these years of bearing a grudge – when someone finally said sorry, it was almost as if they got let off too lightly.
‘I suppose.’
Letitia smiled. ‘I’m not completely heartless.’
‘I never said that.’
‘We didn’t do the right thing by you. I’ll be the first to admit that. But Mother thought it would be best for you if you grew up away from us. Didn’t think it was the right environment for you. She may have had a point.’
‘It still bloody stung,’ said Helen. ‘Learning to forget about you all, and then suddenly you expected me to come back and be part of a family.’
Letitia nodded. ‘I appreciate that. But let’s move on, shall we?’
Helen shrugged.
‘So, er, how have you been? Any significant other?’
‘I don’t have a boyfriend, no.’
‘Mm, understandable with your condition, I should think, but still …’
What do you know of my condition? Helen thought sourly. ‘No one wants the responsibility,’ she said.
‘A shame. Anyway
, where were we? Oh, yes, a job for Helen. Let me see.’ Letitia riffled through a stack of papers on her desk, then rose and opened a drawer in the filing cabinet behind the desk, while she continued to talk.
‘As you may know, in the last eight or nine years the company has really taken off. This is reflected in our share prices and in the dividends to the shareholders. I’m sure Mother must have filled you in on that.’
A rhetorical question. Helen merely nodded.
‘Of course, you could easily live on the dividends alone,’ Letitia continued, ‘but we’d prefer your involvement. One of the strengths of Ransome & Daughters is that we’re a family company. When you have a personal stake – not just financial, but a desire to see the results of your hard work – then it really matters. I believe only family can achieve that. We’re the only ones who share that passion. Do you follow me?’
‘I think so.’
‘Would you agree?’
Helen thought of the tempestuous relationship between Mamaji and her daughter-in-law, and how they managed to run the shop together despite their obvious dislike for each other.
‘Yes, I’d agree with that.’
‘Good. We’re on the same wavelength, then.’
Letitia found the file she was looking for and slipped on a fashionable pair of reading glasses.
‘You’ll be getting our starter wage, but naturally you’ll have your dividends as well.’ She sent Helen a schoolmarmish look over the top of her spectacles. ‘I’d advise you not to mention to the other staff that you receive dividends, nor your relationship to me. We have a couple of malcontents around here, and I don’t want to be accused of favouritism.’
‘I know how to fit in.’
Letitia snapped the file shut again. ‘Good. I’ll see you on Monday bright and early. And by that I mean eight o’clock sharp. Wear jeans and a jumper or something; there’ll be some lifting involved.’ Her eyes slid over Helen’s boots and hippy skirt. ‘Later you’ll be required to dress more conservatively. My secretary will provide you with a list of where to find the kind of clothes I have in mind.’
Resentment prickled between Helen’s shoulder blades, but she pushed the thought aside, aware that her wardrobe needed some attention. Who better to make suggestions than her elegant aunt? She got up to leave.
At the time of Mimi’s death Letitia had been focusing on her career and hadn’t wanted to be saddled with the responsibility of a child. Now, in hindsight, Helen could see that Letitia just wasn’t the maternal sort and living with her might not have been so great after all. Ruth would have been okay, she supposed, but Ruth didn’t want her. Both Aggie and Letitia had said so. Sure, they’d packaged it nicely, but that was the bottom line.
For a moment the old bitterness welled up in her, then she let it go. Practical to the core, Letitia was right, it was all in the past. The issues surrounding Fay were different, but the aunts were probably a bit screwed up in each their own way. Perhaps it was time to move on from that.
She paused in the doorway and looked back at Letitia. ‘I never thought I would hear myself say this, but I’m actually glad to be back,’ she said.
Letitia smiled. ‘That’s good to hear. By the way, on Monday make sure you go round the back.’
‘Well, that’s me put in my place,’ Helen muttered and caught the look of surprise on the secretary’s face that she’d actually been hired.
Chapter Seven
Helen Stephens, Jason mused as he bagged a vinyl record for another customer, a rare gatefold Pink Floyd album.
It was a perfectly ordinary name, shared by lots of people in Britain alone. He should know, he’d spent hours googling for information on her. A waste of time.
She’d lived in the house for over a week now, and with every minute he spent in her company he became more and more intrigued by her, and convinced that she was lying through her teeth.
Which only made him even more interested. And concerned.
It didn’t help that she was so attractive either. Yesterday morning he’d watched, fascinated, as she flicked back her honey-gold hair while looking through the job adverts in the local rag with Charlie. Charlie was always job-hunting, so newspapers were usually strewn about the place.
Suddenly she’d looked up, and Jason had been treated to a smouldering look from those hazel eyes. Back off, it said, and it was like a full frontal assault on his senses. It had hit him right in the gut, or more specifically, the groin.
It disturbed him, this heat coming from her. He suspected she must know, at some level, about the affect it had on him. Her vulnerability just added to her attraction, made him want to shelter her, although he doubted she’d welcome it.
Scarily independent, that one, he’d thought, and broken eye contact.
He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about her, though, and swore under his breath. How could he help her, if he didn’t know who or what she was hiding from? And if there was one thing he hated, it was not having the answers. He needed to know.
As her landlord he had the right to press her for certain details, like her prison information, and ask for references, but what if she got spooked and simply took off …?
Turning to Neil, who was threading display curtains on a pole in his own stall, he asked, ‘Do you think you could look after the vinyls for me for a couple of hours?’ The stall-holders had a thriving community and would help each other out when needed.
‘Should be able to. Not very busy today, by the looks of it.’ Neil glanced up at the sky. ‘Probably because it’s going to rain.’
Jason thanked him and set off in search of answers.
As Neil had predicted, the heavens opened as soon as he arrived at his aunt Lucy’s home in Fulham. A streak of lightning flashed across the sky in the distance, and for a moment he felt his father’s shadow on him. He had to pull himself together not to turn around and check if he was being followed.
He wasn’t, of course. Derek Moody had better things to do with his time, and anyway what could be more innocent than visiting his aunt?
Lucy was the youngest of his father’s three sisters and only about fifteen years older than him, so it was more like a friendship than an auntie/nephew relationship.
That didn’t stop her fussing over him like he was the golden child, but he put up with it because he knew she enjoyed doing it.
‘Jason!’ she squeaked. ‘Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in months.’ She planted a couple of loud mwahs on his cheeks, and Jason grinned.
Lucy was a slim brunette with a figure that spoke of hours at the gym. She wore skin-tight white jeans, a skimpy emerald-green blouse, which showed off her impressive cleavage to its advantage, and caramel-coloured peep-toe ankle boots giving her at least five extra inches. Gold rings on eight of her ten fingers glinted as she waved him inside, and a heavy gold pendant with Queen Nefertiti dangled to below her bosom, drawing the eye to where she no doubt wanted it.
Jason gulped. Lucy was, as always, just a little overwhelming.
Attracted by the commotion, Lucy’s Rottweiler came up behind her, growling. His aunt was another dog lover, and although Rottweilers weren’t Jason’s favourite breed, he preferred them to his mother’s dogs. You got more dog for your money.
‘Don’t growl at Jason, you silly girl!’ Lucy dragged the enormous dog away by the collar so she could close the door.
‘It’s okay.’ Jason dropped to his haunches. ‘Come, Jessie. Come, girl.’
Tentatively, the dog stopped growling and stepped forward to sniff Jason’s hand which he held out palm facing upwards to show he wasn’t a threat. After a moment or two, Jessie began licking his hand then rolled onto the floor to have her tummy rubbed.
Crossing her arms, Lucy shook her head. ‘I don’t know who’s the craziest of the two of you. She’s supposed to be a guard dog and you’ve got more balls than sense sitting down in front of a Rottweiler like that. She could rip your throat out.’
‘But you’re not going
to do that, Jessie, are you? No, no, we’re not going to do that at all.’ He continued talking baby-talk to the dog while it groaned with pleasure, then he rose with a grin.
‘Dogs like me,’ he smirked. ‘Besides, you know how I like to live dangerously.’
‘Lunatic,’ she said. ‘I was just getting the roast out of the oven. Come and have some dinner. Trevor is carving once the footie’s finished.’
‘I didn’t stop by for you to feed me.’
‘That is a barefaced lie, but I’m prepared to let it go. Anyway, who says I can’t invite my favourite nephew for dinner now and again?’
‘Your only nephew.’
‘Who’s counting? You’re still my favourite.’
Jason followed her to the back of the house and commented on her tan.
‘We’re just back from Dubai.’
Lucy went on to talk about their holiday to a destination which had never held much fascination for Jason, then handed him a G & T and told him to get out from under her feet. He joined Lucy’s husband, Trevor, who was slurping gin and shouting at their massive flat-screen TV in the den just off the kitchen.
Trevor turned away from the screen. ‘Well, if it isn’t Master Moody! What brings you here?’
‘Very funny. Like I haven’t heard that one before.’ Jason perched on the armrest. ‘Thought I might watch the game with you. How’s it going by the way?’
‘They’re a couple of clowns short of a full circus, that’s what. And you, young sir, are a terrible liar. What can I do for you?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘I’m good at complicated.’
‘Okay, then, what would you do if you knew someone was lying to you?’ Jason sat down on the sofa properly.
Trevor raised his eyebrows. ‘I dunno. Try to get the truth out of them?’
‘What if you knew they’d either disappear or feed you another line?’ A sudden roar from Trevor caused him to nearly spill his drink.
‘Oh, you complete fucker! You’re depriving a village of an idiot somewhere!’ Trevor continued hurling abuse at the TV, then turned to Jason with a sheepish grin. ‘Sorry. Tell you what I’d do. I’d drop them like a hot potato. Life’s too fucking short.’ He swirled the ice cubes in his drink with a pained expression. ‘You know, you’re not making a lot of sense.’
The Elephant Girl (Choc Lit) Page 8
