The Factory Girl

by Nancy Carson

  ‘A car? Yes, a car would be lovely, but they cost money. They cost money to run, too. I don’t know how much petrol costs but I’m sure it’s expensive. Can we afford it?’

  ‘Yes, we can afford it. We’re not short of a shilling or two. Just think of the freedom it would give us. Freedom to go out when we wanted, and not having to waste time waiting around for buses and trams. We could tour. There are some lovely places to visit. We live in a country that’s noted for its landscapes, but you won’t see much of them stuck in Brum.’

  The idea did not lack appeal, but she thought about the holiday they’d intended having. ‘You were supposed to be taking me away to the seaside, if you recall,’ she said.

  ‘I’d forgotten all about that.’

  ‘Ah, well. It’ll have to be forgotten anyway if we buy a car.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. There’s nothing to stop us doing both. We could use a car to travel to wherever we want to go.’

  It had occurred to Henzey that she might be pregnant already. Every time she thought about it, it sent a surge of joy through her, followed by a shudder of shame and guilt and foreboding of the undoubted traumas ahead if Will ever discovered the truth. How would she be able to tell him about her child’s parentage? If and when that time came, should she confess everything and end up in the certainty of divorce? She would be ruined, a fallen woman, with a child he laid no claim to.

  ‘What if I happened to be pregnant?’ she said experimentally. ‘We wouldn’t be able to afford a car then. I’d have to give up working. We’d have to think of the baby.’

  ‘Do you think you might be pregnant?’

  She shrugged. ‘How do you know one of your precious French letters didn’t burst? How do you know I haven’t sabotaged them?’

  He glanced around him self-consciously. ‘Shhh! People might hear?’

  She swivelled her head to check. There was nobody within earshot. In any case, the rumble and clatter of the tram prevented anyone else hearing them and Henzey realised it.

  ‘You wouldn’t have done that, would you?’ he asked, laughing. ‘Have you ever sabotaged any?’

  ‘I might have – driven by desperation.’

  ‘I can’t believe you ever would.’

  ‘I might have.’

  ‘You’re kidding me, Henzey.’

  ‘And what if I am pregnant? It wouldn’t be the end of the world. At least I’d be happy. It’s as if you don’t want me to be happy.’

  ‘How can you say that? Of course I want you to be happy. You know I want you to be happy.’

  ‘Then why won’t you let me be?’

  ‘You have to give it time, Henzey.’

  ‘How much time, Will?’

  ‘God, I give up,’ he said, in a huff. ‘This preoccupation of yours is doing things to your mind – sending you funny.’

  Henzey saw that bringing up the subject had ended yet again in another petty argument. So, they fell into silence once more, another long, cold silence; and her resentment of him increased by another degree.

  Considering they were twins, there was a world of difference between Will and Neville. If only Will were as warm and as giving of himself as Neville. What a pity that his shift working was behind them now. What a pity that Neville could no longer slip into her bed at night as he had been doing. Her earnest desire for a child had driven her, no less intensely than he had been driven to her bed, to steal an hour or two of comfort. They had taken advantage of each other, she and Neville. But now it had all come to an end. Not once had she let him know that she was aware of his real identity. During all of those energetic love sessions she had always called him ‘Will’, even in the heat of passion. It had taken some doing, but she had managed it, and was glad she had.

  ‘Look, we can get off here,’ Henzey suddenly remarked. She stood up and held on to a hanging strap. ‘There’s this nice restaurant in New Street. Let’s have some dinner there since you reckon we’re so well off.’

  After their meal they wandered down New Street, through the market by The Bullring, then made their way back to Corporation Street and into Henzey’s favourite store, Lewis’s. She would have made a beeline for the baby department to drool over little white bootees, little mittens, little smocked dresses, but that would have been too provocative and might have prompted another argument. So she avoided it, venturing no further than the haberdashery department, to buy a new pair of gloves. In the household linen department she bought her tablecloth, and the hardware department yielded up a brass coal scuttle that appealed.

  By the time they stepped off the tram in Ladywood Road on their way home the rain had stopped.

  ‘Let’s just call at the greengrocer’s in Monument Road, Will,’ she said, struggling with shopping bags and parcels. ‘We can get some plums. I just fancy some plums.’

  ‘Okay. And I can buy a paper.’

  They crossed over Monument Road and Henzey bought plums. In Reservoir Road Will bought his paper and tried unsuccessfully to read it while they walked back to Daisy Road. As they opened the door to the house, they saw a letter lying on the floor. Henzey put down her shopping and picked it up. It was addressed to Mr and Mrs W. Parish.

  ‘This must have come in the second post,’ she said, prising it open with her thumb. She took it from the envelope, unfolded it and read it aloud: ‘‘‘Dear friends, Henzey and Will, Neville and I would relish the pleasure of your company for dinner next Saturday at Wessex House, seven thirty for eight. It is the occasion of my birthday and I cannot think of two people I would rather enjoy it with. I do hope you will be able to come. If transport is a problem we could always send Alec with the car. Do let me know as soon as you can. A note in the post would of course suffice. With fondest regards, Eunice.’’’

  ‘That’s very nice of her,’ Will remarked. ‘How considerate of her to think of us. Of course, we’ll go. We’d better write, thanking her. Will you do it, Henzey?’

  ‘Must I?’

  ‘Well, I shan’t have time. Besides, we don’t want to disappoint them, do we? That would be very discourteous.’

  ‘All right,’ she agreed reluctantly.

  But Henzey did not want to go. She really did not want to go. How on earth could she face Neville?

  That same evening Alice Harper was sitting outside the dairy house in the Austin Seven of Charles Wells with whom she worked now. They had been out together for the first time to the cinema to see Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers in The Gay Divorcee. The title, coincidentally, seemed very appropriate to Alice. She and Charles had been getting along very well and she liked him. He was manifestly interested in her, of course, and had been since her interview. After weeks of suggesting that they go out together one evening, she had finally yielded. Charles was single, it turned out, though he had been on the point of getting engaged to a girl some two years earlier, who had thankfully changed her mind. Alice found him amusing and somewhat irreverent, not a bit how she thought a solicitor ought to be. He still lived with his parents in the village of Kingswinford, about five miles west of Dudley. The car was his own, paid for out of his earnings. It transpired that he was the nephew of Harold Golightly, one of the original partners in the firm. Charles was nothing like Jack Harper. At least this man appeared to have some scruples. He was intelligent, steady and responsible, despite his ability and desire to make her laugh and forget all her worries. Yes, she liked Charles Wells.

  During the weeks that Alice had been working with Charles, he had got to know all about her. She had been honest about herself and he had listened with keen interest, not in the least deterred by what he heard. Rather, he seemed somewhat stimulated. He would help her all he could when she was ready, to get a divorce from Jack on the grounds of his adultery. It would cost very little, he assured her. They both, therefore, had a vested interest in that project: hers financial; his emotional. He told her, frankly, that she had been foolish and rash to get pregnant so young and, whilst she agreed with him in principle, she argued that had sh
e not done so she would be without the young son she idolised. Charles hoped that he would be able to meet Edward soon.

  But Alice was not going to fall into the trap of giving herself as easily as she had with Jack. This time, for a change, she wanted to be wooed graciously, not ravished in lust every time they met, for lust’s sake. Charles could get to know her a bit at a time. Of course, the idea was that they would end up as lovers eventually, but she wanted him to feel that love-making was a prized achievement; an achievement gained in admiration, through a steadily growing affection and mutual respect. She wanted to allay any suspicion that she was a woman of easy virtue. Although Charles might have sussed that she had once been, he would discover soon enough that she was no longer.

  And it had begun promisingly. Before she got out of the car to go home he asked her if he might be allowed to kiss her, and she offered only her cheek. All the same, she wondered what it would be like making love with him.

  The following Tuesday, Neville Worthington returned from the factory. His day had not been memorable; the usual minor crises of production, the eminently forgettable whinging from the one or two of his workforce who were noted for it anyway. He called to Eunice, who was in the drawing room, and told her he was going upstairs to change. As he climbed the stairs he was already unfastening his neck tie. When he entered their bedroom he threw the tie on his bed and began fumbling with his collar stud. He spotted a letter lying loosely folded on Eunice’s bedside table. With idle curiosity, he crossed the bedroom and stood hovering over it. He picked it up, flipped it open, and saw Henzey’s name signed at the bottom.

  At once he ceased trying to undo his collar stud and peered at the letter intently. It read:

  Dear Eunice,

  Thank you for your kind note. It was quite a surprise to hear from you, but Will and I are happy to accept your kind invitation to dinner next Saturday. We are looking forward to it already. It has been ages since we last saw you. We hope you are both keeping well.

  Best regards,

  Henzey Parish

  PS Please don’t trouble about sending your car. We shall walk, and no doubt the exercise will do us both good.

  Neville read it again with disbelief. It was the first he knew of it. Why had Eunice not told him she’d invited the Parishes? What was she up to? As soon as they saw him without his beard it would be evident who his long lost brother was. That was not what he wanted. That was not how he’d intended to break his cover.

  He read it again and contemplated Henzey. He was desperately in love with her, but he knew that, barring Eunice’s premature demise and something tragic befalling Will, she could never belong to him. For that reason Neville was unhappy and his discontent had been growing as the bitter realisation engulfed him, pitching him into the depths of depression. But what could he do? He had brought this despair on himself. If only he’d had the courage to be open at the outset, to have declared his real identity, he would be in no worse a position. But he lacked courage, and his timidity had resolved nothing for his aching heart; it had achieved nothing.

  Neville re-read the letter. It would be wonderful to see Henzey again. He longed to see her once more, however painful it might be. But not under these circumstances. Not with Will present. Not with Eunice observing his every move. But why had Eunice invited them? What were her reasons?

  Clutching the letter he went downstairs to confront her.

  ‘Eunice, I see you have received a letter from Henzey Parish.’ He waved it before her. ‘She and Will accept your kind invitation to dinner on Saturday evening.’

  ‘I know. Excellent news, isn’t it?’

  ‘Why did you not tell me you were inviting them?’

  Eunice placed the book she was reading on her lap and twisted herself round in her wheelchair to face him. ‘Because you have procrastinated long enough, Neville. You have a twin brother – your own flesh and blood – who was lost and is now found, and from the outset it was you who wished to offer him a seat on the board of Worthington’s and the opportunity to share what wealth you enjoy. You wished to share with him some of what you’ve had all your life. Your sentiments, Neville, not mine, particularly. At least, not then. But I have also come to the opinion that he is able and worthy of such consideration. This coming evening will give us the opportunity to put that wish into practice.’

  ‘But I’ve changed my mind, Eunice. I no longer wish to acknowledge him as my brother. He doesn’t know anyway, so there’s no harm done.’

  ‘But I know, Neville. I know he’s your brother. And they’ll only have to see you now without that dreadful beard of yours and they’ll know too. Face it – when they see you, the game is up.’

  ‘What game?’ he said scornfully.

  ‘Oh, you know what game. The game that keeps you yearning for your brother’s wife. The game that I believe has driven you to impersonate him, maybe even to fool her. Have you wilfully tried to delude her, Neville? For that’s the only way you could have her, I suspect. I most certainly doubt whether you would declare yourself to be Neville Worthington.’

  He got up and walked over to the window so that she could not see his face. ‘You do speak arrant nonsense at times, Eunice. Do credit me with a bit more sense.’

  ‘But I don’t, Neville. I can’t. I know you too well, my love. I’ve seen you preoccupied, distant, and I know where your thoughts have been. Not with me; not with Frederic; and certainly not with Kitty. I know you are in love with Will’s wife and I don’t doubt the sincerity of it…Neither do I blame you, if I’m honest with myself.’ She shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘I see,’ he said, and there was resentment in his tone. ‘So what you’re really doing by inviting them here for this grand revelation, is protecting your own skin. By letting them see who I am and enticing them into the family, you believe you will eliminate the possibility of any future liaison between me and her?’

  Eunice sighed profoundly. ‘I feel very vulnerable, Neville. You would, too, in the same position.’

  ‘Eunice, you’ve had your affairs, during which time I was excluded from your bed and your thoughts. I have remained celibate for years and have not enjoyed it, but you certainly didn’t seem to care. So if I seek to find feminine comfort elsewhere please don’t deny me the possibility. I’m hardly likely to abandon you, after all. I could never leave you. You know that.’

  ‘Except in spirit.’

  ‘As you left me. So, if you do not agree to cancel this senseless evening, I shall certainly embarrass you by being absent. I’ve told you I no longer wish to acknowledge Will Parish. Now you are aware of my reasons.’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘Do as you see fit, Neville. I was aware of your reasons before. But remember this: whether you are present or not, I shall tell them both the truth. I shall tell them that Will is your long lost brother and what you intended for him from the outset. I shall, in my capacity as a director of the company, offer him the position of Director of Engineering – your idea – at a salary that will be impossible to refuse…plus shares in the company which will not have to be paid for for ten years. In other words, Neville, you will have to work with him side by side, in your own company.’

  ‘You wouldn’t do that, Eunice. I forbid you to do it.’

  ‘If you try in any way to prevent me, I shall go further. I shall take Will aside and tell him that you seriously covet his wife…yes, I shall even tell him that I strongly suspect you’ve been impersonating him. Unless you comply with your own original proposal.’

  ‘That would make working with Will impossible. That plan is self-defeating, Eunice. Don’t you see that?’

  ‘I do see. The scandal and the recriminations would make it impossible for all of us. It would render futile all we’ve striven for over the years. That’s why I’m sure you’ll see sense and forget Henzey. Will is going to be far more important to you in the long run. He is the one who will make Worthington Commercials the force to be reckoned with in quality commercial vehicles over the next
few years. On the other hand, over the next few years Henzey Parish’s looks will fade. What then? Dump her like garbage and find someone younger to replace her? Get your priorities right, Neville. For God’s sake grow up! For God’s sake think where the money is.’

  Neville sighed. Eunice was right. Her logic made sense. All could be ruined if he did not abide by her wishes. There would be a scandal of immeasurable proportions that could ruin them all if the truth got out. But it was going to be difficult to abandon his dream of Henzey. He still wanted her passionately.

  Chapter 25

  Magdalen Worthington, née Boulton-Hart, was fifty-seven. As a beautiful twenty-two year old heiress she had married Oswald Worthington, the father of Neville and of Will Parish, in 1900, in a ceremony described by many as Birmingham’s wedding of the decade. It was attended by many dignitaries, notable among them Joseph Chamberlain, who had supped frequently at the family’s table over many years. Fourteen months later, however, Magdalen was a heartbroken widow, her husband a needless victim of the Boer War.

  By the time Oswald had departed England’s shores with his regiment, Magdalen was carrying their first child, and its arrival would have sustained her until Oswald returned. But the trauma of learning of his death in a field hospital on his way to relieving Mafeking, caused her to miscarry. Magdalen was utterly devastated. Her husband was dead and with him had departed the prospect of any children. So when a man, calling himself Theo Newton, presented himself at the front door of Wessex House in 1902, accompanied by a two year old child that he was claiming to be Oswald’s, it was with curiosity and a quickening pulse that she agreed to see him.

  Now, with the same degree of curiosity, she was waiting to meet the other twin who had eluded her then. If only she could have been blessed with the opportunity to mother both. To have been mother to Neville had been ordained by heaven, since she had regarded him as the child she herself had lost in the heartbreak of grief. Accepting him had neutralised that grief, provided an alternative, living focal point.