Daughter of Riches

by Janet Tanner

  She broke off, shivering even now at the memory.

  ‘Were you in the home for long?’ Louis asked.

  ‘No. Thank goodness. Mum promised not to leave me alone again and they let me go home.’

  ‘Well there you are then!’ Louis said. ‘ If she really hadn’t wanted you she would have left you there, wouldn’t she?’

  Debbie sighed. Put like that it certainly sounded as if her mother must have wanted her. But she knew better.

  ‘No, you don’t understand. Having me taken away was a kind of insult to her. When she got me home she gave me a good hiding for getting her into trouble, that’s all. She never kissed me or put her arms round me or anything. Just hit me for being a nuisance.’

  ‘And did she ever leave you alone again?’

  ‘Oh yes. She stayed in for a few weeks but she was really bad tempered all the time, telling me I was a pain in the ass and threatening to send me back if I did anything she didn’t like. And then she went back to her old ways. I didn’t really mind. After all, she was my mum.’

  She broke off again, unexpected tears aching in her throat. In those days she had so much wanted her mother to notice her, approve of her, love her. There had been times when her whole existence had seemed to revolve around that desperate aching longing.

  She had done everything in her power to try to win her mother’s love. Once, she remembered, she had cleaned the house from top to bottom and filled jam jars with celandines to brighten every corner. But her mother hadn’t said one word of praise. ‘What the hell are those smelly weeds doing in the house?’ was all she had said. ‘ Go and tip them in the dustbin, for crying out loud!’ On another occasion when she had had a man friend to stay Debbie had taken them breakfast in bed, cutting slabs of bread and marmalade with infinite care, and making a pot of tea in the silver plated teapot that normally graced the sideboard. Her efforts had been rewarded by a shriek of anger. ‘That teapot’s not for using, you stupid bitch! Surely you ought to know that! Are you fucking thick or something?’ Debbie had felt tears of injustice prick her eyes as she had stood mutely trying to blink them away, until her mother had suddenly become coy about the hulking great stranger hunched beneath the sheets beside her and yelled at Debbie: ‘Oh just get out, will you; you nosy little cow!’

  Across the years Debbie remembered all too clearly how she had been hurt, hurt and hurt again. In those days, as a child, she had not been able to understand her mother’s attitude – she had only known she was a dreadful nuisance to her. But later, when Barry had begun taking an interest in her, she had recognised the jealousy that had taken the place of mere irritation.

  Debbie’s heart ached even now thinking of the empty place inside her that only a mother’s love could fill.

  ‘What about your father?’ Louis asked. ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Debbie said truthfully. ‘There was only ever me and Mum. I never knew my father. I’m not sure my mother even knew who he was.’

  There was a moment’s silence when Louis lay completely still. She felt the rigidity in his body and experienced a moment’s fear.

  ‘I’m sorry, Louis, but that’s the way it was,’ she said miserably. ‘I don’t suppose you want me any more now you know the truth about me.’

  And Louis laughed, a short mirthless chuckle that bubbled up from somewhere inside him.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Kitten. You shouldn’t let something like that worry you. He was probably a complete bastard anyway.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Yes. Why not?’ He reached for her, cupping her breast and playing with the nipple until it grew firm and erect between his fingers. ‘All men are bastards.’

  ‘You’re not.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure of that. Now come here and make one bastard happy – OK?’

  ‘OK,’ she whispered, forgetting her doubts in a rush of love and turning to love him again.

  Chapter thirty-one

  When she had been living with him for about two months Louis decided it was time Debbie gave up being a hostess and started being a full-time mistress. At first she argued – though there was a certain appeal to the prospect of being a lady of leisure she liked the sense of at least a little independence which having a job gave her – but Louis was adamant. He did not want her being eyed up by other men, he wanted her to be free to spend her evenings with him when he so wished it and he did not like her sleeping half the day away. He was quite happy for her to continue with her dancing and modelling classes. The elocution lessons were no longer necessary but they had done their job well. Debbie’s voice was now low and musical and a pleasure to listen to. But the job at Benny’s had to go.

  Debbie gave in gracefully. She was flattered that Louis cared enough about her to want her at his beck and call all the time and it, did not cross her mind that in reality she was nothing more or less than his plaything. She settled happily into her new routines and went along with all Louis’s wishes – with one exception. That exception was Grace.

  For some reason Louis did not approve of Debbie’s friendship with the beautiful ebony-skinned girl with whom she had once shared a flat and had in fact gone so far as to forbid Debbie to see her. When Debbie asked him the reason he was evasive but Debbie thought it might be because Grace was a bit of a wild child. Whereas Debbie had never been terribly interested in sex, Grace undoubtedly was. She had had so many lovers Debbie thought she must have lost count, but she seemed to enjoy them all. Debbie had once said to Louis that she envied Grace’s lusty appetite – it must be nice to get such fun out of each and every encounter. Debbie thought that Louis had remembered this and was perhaps afraid Grace might lead her astray – he could be extremely possessive where his Kitten was concerned.

  This attitude pleased Debbie as much as his insistence she should give up working had done but in this case she was not prepared to be quite so obedient. Grace was the first friend she had made in London, perhaps her only real friend, and she was determined not to give that up so easily. On afternoons when Louis was tied up with business Debbie sneaked out for an hour’s shopping with Grace, the two of them would ‘ do’ Harrods or Harvey Nicholls, chat and laugh over coffee and pastries, and stagger home laden with lingerie, perfume and make-up all bought with the credit card Louis had given Debbie. She never told Louis who she had been with for she had learned that beneath the suave exterior Louis possessed a wicked temper. The shared trips were her secret – hers and Grace’s.

  One weekend Louis had to go away on business leaving her alone. It happened occasionally and Debbie hated it, hated the feeling of being left behind which was somehow reminiscent of the times when her mother had left her, as a child, in the dark empty house in Plymouth. She met Grace for one of their shopping sprees on the Thursday afternoon before he was due to go, and when she told her about it Grace’s black eyes lit up with a wicked sparkle.

  ‘When the cat’s away the mouse can play! Simon Chambers is having a party on Saturday night. Why don’t we go to it?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know if I dare. Louis would be furious if he knew I’d snuck out – especially to Simon Chambers’.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Simon?’

  Debbie laughed. ‘Well he is a bit …’

  ‘… more fun than most!’ Grace finished for her. ‘He’s harmless, Debs. He’s gay – didn’t you know? And he really is very sweet. Oh come on! Don’t be a dodo. Louis will never know.’

  ‘Oh all right!’ Debbie agreed, throwing caution to the winds.

  She was not looking forward to spending Saturday evening all alone and an outing with Grace promised to be nothing if not fun.

  By the time Grace picked her up in her nippy little Sunbeam Alpine, however, Debbie’s conscience was troubling her a little. She wished the Sunbeam was not so conspicuous, but at least Louis was not on friendly terms with any of the neighbours – they were unlikely to tell him she had driven off in it! But every time they had to stop at traffic lights or
for some kind of jam Debbie slid well down in her seat, convinced that someone who; knew her and Louis would be in the car beside them.

  ‘Relax, honey!’ Grace laughed. ‘Have a smoke – I’m going to.’

  Debbie shook her head. She’d have a cigarette later – but she knew that Grace did not mean ordinary tobacco and sure enough when they had found a parking space outside Simon’s impressive Mayfair home out came Grace’s ‘smokes’ and the car was soon filled with the sweet smell of cannabis. Debbie waited uncomfortably while Grace smoked, hoping the smell was not impregnating her clothes. Louis had a sharp nose for such things.

  When Grace was ready they climbed the flight of steps to the front door. The sounds of music and laughter came floating out and moments later the door was opened by Simon himself wearing nothing but a sheet draped around him and pinned on the shoulder with a brooch to make a Roman toga.

  ‘Welcome! Two more beautiful ladies for the festivities!’ he greeted them, kissing Grace warmly.

  ‘Simon – I didn’t know it was fancy dress …’ Grace demurred.

  ‘Fancy dress? What’s fancy dress? At my parties you wear what you choose. And if you don’t want to wear anything at all then you don’t! Leave your dresses on the hat-stand, my darlings!’

  ‘Thanks but I’ll keep it on if it’s all the same to you,’ Grace laughed.

  ‘Pity. Still it’s probably just as well. That is a divine creation, my sweetheart, and Philip or Bruce would probably be quite unable to resist slipping into it! Now, come in and say hello to the gang.’

  Debbie followed Grace into the elegant hallway, her feeling of discomfort growing and as she saw a naked couple chase one another up the stairs, shrieking with laughter, she began to wonder just what she had let herself in for. For ‘party’ read ‘orgy’ she thought, fascinated in spite of herself but quite determined that no one, but no one, was going to persuade her to take her clothes off!

  The elegant drawing-room was full of people in various stages of undress cavorting on the sofas and dancing sensuously to the music of the Beach Boys and the Beatles. Debbie saw a man she recognised as a prominent member of parliament wearing nothing but a garland of laurel leaves lying back on a chaise, and being fed grapes by one near-naked young lady whilst another sat at his feet massaging them gently. What would his constituents think if they could see him now, she wondered, partly amused, partly repelled and partly embarrassed for both herself and the so-called respectable men who were making such a spectacle of themselves.

  ‘Jimmy!’ Grace shrieked, falling into the arms of an aristocratic man in a Tarzan-style loin cloth and Debbie picked her way between the gyrating bodies towards a tall parlour palm, intending to hide behind it.

  ‘Would you like some champagne, my love?’ Clearly she wasn’t hiding herself very successfully, Debbie thought as a man’s hand touched her arm. She swung round and almost laughed out loud when she saw that he was wearing nothing but a frilly white French maid’s apron and a pair of sheer black holdup stockings. Above the starched muslin his chest was pale and smooth, his balding head and gold rimmed spectacles completed the totally bizarre picture. Debbie took a glass from the silver tray, sipping gratefully, and the plump little man wiggled away on his high heels, buttocks wobbling.

  Oh dear God I have to get out of here! Debbie thought. This is definitely not for me! She looked around for Grace, but her friend was otherwise engaged with the tall lean aristocrat she had called ‘Jimmy’. Debbie drank her glass of champagne and edged back towards the door.

  ‘Not going so soon are you, my angel?’ Simon called, bearing down on her.

  ‘I’m afraid so. I’ve got a terrible headache. Tell Grace, will you?’

  She slipped past him and into the hall. The door was on the latch, Debbie escaped out into the cool evening air and took two or three deep breaths of it, overcome with a fierce longing for Louis. Why had he had to go away? Why couldn’t he be there all the time?

  A taxi turned into the street. Debbie ran down the steps and hailed it. At that moment she wanted nothing more in the world than to get home.

  One morning when Debbie had been with Louis for six months she was awoken by the sound of the telephone shrilling. Beside her Louis was still dead to the world – he had, she thought, had rather more to drink last night than was good for him. She got up quickly, slipping on a silk wrap and hoping she could reach the telephone and answer it before it disturbed Louis; the rude awakening would probably give him a headache – if he didn’t already have one. She thought the clock in the living-room said twenty past seven but she decided she must be mistaken. She always had trouble telling the time with that clock – it was nothing but two black hands on a lump of lead crystal and it was very easy to be an hour out or even muddle the minute and hour hands – and who in the world would telephone at twenty past seven in the morning? It would be hours yet before any of their friends or acquaintances surfaced. Debbie rubbed the sleep – and the stale mascara – out of her eyes and lifted the receiver.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Who the hell is that?’ It was a man’s voice, not one she knew.

  ‘Debbie Swift. Who are you?’

  ‘I’m trying to get hold of Louis Langlois. Do I have the right number?’

  ‘Yes, you do, but he’s asleep.’

  ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wake him.’

  Debbie began to feel alarmed. ‘Who is this? What do you want him for?’

  ‘I’m Robin Langlois, his brother. Would you get him to the phone, please? It’s very urgent.’

  She went back into the bedroom, pulled the sheet back and shook Louis by the shoulder. He stirred, mumbled and hunched the sheet over him again.

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘Louis – please – you must wake up. Your brother is on the telephone. I think it’s important. Louis, please!’

  After a rug of war with the sheet and some more grumbles she thought she had won but a moment later she could see Louis was fast asleep again. In desperation she went back to the telephone.

  ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t seem to wake him. He’s like a zombie. Can I give him a message or get him to ring you back or something?’

  ‘He doesn’t change, does he?’ A loud sigh. Then: ‘Perhaps he might just wake up if you tell him his father is dead. And will he please call me back without delay.’

  ‘His father …?’ Debbie repeated, shaken, but the click at the other end told her the line had been disconnected.

  She stood for a moment holding her wrapper tightly around her while her mind chased in panicky circles. She had never had to break bad news to anyone before; she didn’t know how to go about it and the prospect was scaring her to death. It wasn’t fair of his brother – Robin, did he say his name was? – to expect her to do it. She wasn’t a policewoman. At least he could have told her to have another go at waking Louis and stayed on the line whilst she did. But it was too late now. The brother had gone and the ball was very firmly in her court.

  Debbie went back to the bedroom. Louis was fast asleep again, blissfully unaware. She bent over the bed, shaking him.

  ‘Louis, please! You must wake up!’

  He stirred, reaching for her.

  ‘What’s wrong, Kitten? Come here and shut up.’

  ‘No! Louis, there is something I have to tell you. Didn’t you hear the phone?’

  ‘No. Do you know you have the most beautiful tits …’

  ‘Louis!’ She dragged his hand out from inside her wrap. ‘ Will you please listen to me! It was your brother on the phone. Your father is dead!’

  The minute she had said it she could have kicked herself. She hadn’t meant to say it like that. His fingers froze half way back inside her wrap, his face seemed to have turned to stone.

  ‘I’m sorry, Louis,’ she half-sobbed. ‘I didn’t mean to tell you like that. But you wouldn’t listen.’

  For a moment he lay unmoving and she wanted to cry for him.

  ‘I’m really sorry
. Oh, Louis …’

  He pushed the sheets aside. Her first thought was that he was going to get up and swing into action the way she imagined people did when told a close relative had died. He would have to phone his brother back, call the airport to check up on flights home to Jersey – there would be a million things to do. But Louis just lay there, lithe and unclothed, his body taking on a golden glow from the early sun that was streaming in through the enormous picture windows.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean, it doesn’t matter?’

  ‘Would it matter to you if someone told you that your father was dead?’

  ‘Louis, I never knew my father.’

  ‘No,’ he said, and there was a strange hard note in his voice, ‘and I never knew mine. Now, are you coming back to bed or do I have to come up there and get you?’

  If Louis’s unconcerned reaction to the news of his father’s death led Debbie to believe that it would make no difference to their lives she could hardly have been more wrong.

  When he eventually stirred himself to get out of bed Louis booked himself on the earliest available flight to Jersey and he was gone for more than a week. Debbie paced the house, bored, lonely and unaccountably anxious and when Louis returned she was able to get very little out of him. His father had died of an embolism, he said, it had been very sudden and totally unexpected. His mother and brother, together with his Uncle Paul, were coping with things but the situation might mean he would have to spend more time in Jersey than he had done before.