The Golden Anklet

by Beverly Hansford

  ‘Oh, but you are,’ Gerald protested. Then he added with a wink, ‘Anyway, it keeps us old codgers’ brains active.’

  Jane laughed. Then she suddenly thought of something. ‘Above the front door of the orphanage there was a plaque that said it had been founded by Sir Edward Ashington. That must be the same family.’

  ‘Most likely. I’ll tell Eric about it,’ Gerald replied. Then he asked, ‘Have you managed to get hold of this Mrs Marshall yet?’

  Jane shook her head. ‘No. I keep on trying every day, but there’s no answer.’ She was now getting quite concerned over her lack of contact.

  ‘Keep at it,’ Gerald exhorted her, at the same time turning to leave.

  ‘I might try and go down to the address this weekend,’ suggested Jane. It was something that had just occurred to her.

  ‘Good idea.’ Gerald’s hand was already on the door latch. ‘I must go now and let you get your meal.’ He opened the door.

  ‘Thank you again – and greetings to Anna,’ Jane called after him as she stood in the doorway and watched him make his way to the stairs. He put up his hand by way of acknowledging her words.

  Immediately after Gerald had disappeared, Jane closed the door and, kicking off her shoes, wandered into the lounge. She picked up the file containing all her family history notes and scribbled the new information Gerald had given her on a bit of paper. Gerald had told her from the start to make a note of everything they found out, and now she tried her best to do this methodically. He had impressed upon her that sometimes the most trivial bit of information can suddenly be of prime importance.

  After she had eaten, Jane spent the rest of the evening pottering about in her bedroom, sorting out the accessories she would need for her night out with Bob. Her dress was already hanging up behind the bedroom door. Jewellery? Well, she had the necklace with the deep blue stone in it, and she also had the fancy silver bracelet that incorporated a watch, which she could wear on her wrist. But what about shoes? When she looked at the silver ones she had in mind, she was not impressed. They looked decidedly old and shabby. She could not and would not wear them. This would mean a lunchtime forage for a new pair.

  *

  The next few days flew past. Jane had tried several times each day to telephone the number she had for Mrs Marshall, but it was a lost cause: there was no answer. Each time she tried, she became a little bit more despondent; sometimes it seemed as if everything was against her. Only Gerald and Bob kept her going with optimism. They would get to the bottom of everything at some point, Bob assured her.

  On the Thursday evening, Bob rang her again. Once the preliminaries of their conversation were over and they had caught up on the last few days’ news, Bob turned their talk to the coming weekend. By now it was a generally accepted agreement between them that they would spend the weekends together whenever possible.

  ‘About this Saturday…’ Bob began.

  Jane’s heart sank. Immediately she felt that he was going to tell her that he couldn’t see her all weekend. She waited anxiously as he continued.

  ‘Jeff has to go to a wedding in the family, so I’ve got to cover for him at the studio.’

  Jane couldn’t help but let her disappointment come through in her reply. ‘Oh… Does that mean I won’t see you this weekend again?’ she asked.

  Bob jumped in immediately. ‘Heavens, no. It just means I won’t be available until mid-afternoon Saturday.’

  Jane was instantly upbeat. ‘Oh, that’s fine. I just thought you were going to leave me all on my own this weekend.’

  She heard a chuckle at the other end of the phone.

  ‘No fear of that,’ he said.

  ‘I missed you terribly last weekend,’ she admitted.

  ‘I missed you too,’ replied Bob. ‘I kept thinking about you, wondering what you were doing.’

  Jane’s brain was suddenly working overtime. The idea she had thought of was suddenly blossoming. If Bob was working the first part of Saturday, she would have time to put her vague plan into action.

  The next instant she spelt her idea out to Bob. ‘Bob, I’ve been thinking. If you’re going to work Saturday morning, I might go and see if I can find out if Mrs Marshall still lives at that address. I mean, the neighbours might know something even if she’s away somewhere. What do you think?’

  Bob was a bit studious in his reply. ‘It seems a good idea,’ he replied slowly, but then suddenly he asked, ‘But will you have time?’

  Jane had already thought out some of the details. ‘Oh, yes. Heaps. I’ll do some shopping for us Friday evening, hairdresser’s first thing Saturday morning, and then I’ll go straight there. I’ll be back here in the early afternoon. I’ll cook us a meal for when you come.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to that,’ enthused Bob. Then he asked, ‘Where does this Mrs Marshall live exactly?’

  Jane had already checked out the location. ‘It’s in south-east London, Charlton way. I’ll drive there. Saturday morning the traffic should be fine.’

  ‘I wish I could come with you,’ said Bob, perhaps a bit concerned.

  ‘So do I. But I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl now.’ She laughed.

  Bob laughed in turn at her reply. ‘I believe you,’ he said cheerfully.

  It was Jane who changed the subject. She was still planning Saturday in her head.

  ‘What time do you think you’ll get here on Saturday?’ she asked.

  Bob hesitated for a second. He was also planning his day. ‘Hmm… Five or six, I should think.’

  Jane was quick to reply. ‘Make it six-ish – that will give me plenty of time.’

  She heard a forced sigh at Bob’s end of the telephone. ‘OK. If I must be prevented from sharing your company for an extra hour, then so be it.’

  Jane took on the faked disappointed tone. ‘Darling, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.’

  ‘OK. I’ll hold you to that,’ retorted Bob.

  They chatted for another five minutes or so and then Bob said he had better get back to his accounts and Jane responded that she had better do the washing up before she went to bed.

  They were both looking forward to the weekend – particularly Jane, who was already working out the final details.

  Unfortunately, despite all her careful planning, Saturday did not turn out as she had intended.

  Chapter 19

  Jane had everything planned for Saturday. She would go to the hairdresser’s at half past eight and take the car with her. As soon as she had finished there she would pop into the supermarket to do some extra shopping for food to share with Bob over the weekend and then drive to Charlton. She figured out that she would then have heaps of time to make herself and everything else nice for the Bob’s arrival at six, including having a meal all ready. Then she and Bob could have a cosy evening together. If the weather was nice perhaps they could go for a walk along the river later.

  But on the Friday evening her plans went awry. She had hardly arrived home when the doorbell rang. She opened the door to find a rather flustered Gerald standing there. She greeted him in her usual cheerful manner.

  ‘Hello, Gerald. Come in.’

  She held the door wide open and Gerald stepped into the hall as he answered her greeting.

  ‘Good evening, Jane. I’m sorry if I disturbed you as soon as you got home. But I have some important information and I wanted to ask you something.’ He looked distinctly concerned.

  ‘Of course. Come into the lounge.’

  Jane started to turn to go in that direction, but Gerald shook his head. ‘I don’t want to hinder you,’ he said.

  Jane could see that he was worried about something and didn’t know the best way to tell her. She immediately offered her encouragement. ‘So what’s happened?’ she asked gently.

  It seemed to do the trick. Gerald appeared more relaxed. ‘Oh, nothing serious,’ he said quickly, before continuing more thoughtfully. ‘It’s good news, really. For you, I mean.’ He smiled at Jane.

&nb
sp; Jane was intrigued and anxious to hear more. She almost interrupted Gerald. ‘That sounds exciting. What is it?’

  Gerald still seemed a bit perturbed. He hesitated. ‘Well, you remember I told you about my friend Eric Alcott?’

  Jane nodded, anxiously waiting.

  ‘He’s been doing some more research into the Ashington family. Apparently he’s found out quite a lot and he’d like to see you.’

  ‘I’d love to see him,’ responded Jane quickly.

  Gerald hesitated again. ‘That’s just the problem. He wants to come over tomorrow evening.’

  It was Jane’s turn to be concerned. She had made all her plans to have a nice evening with Bob, and it seemed they were to be thwarted.

  Before she could answer, Gerald spoke again.

  ‘Anna’s going to make a meal for us all, and we wondered if you could come as well.’ He looked at Jane appealingly.

  Jane’s brain raced. She didn’t want to offend Anna or Gerald, but nor did she want to make a habit of having meals with them and being fussed over by Anna. In any case, this time she had Bob to consider. It was this that gave her the answer.

  She responded graciously. ‘Oh, that is sweet of you. But Bob’s coming over for the weekend and he won’t be getting here until about six – or perhaps even later.’

  Gerald’s face took on the concerned look again. ‘Well,’ he replied, ‘I’m sure Anna can manage an extra person.’ He seemed to be thinking and speaking at the same time. ‘I can go and get some more food tomorrow.’

  Jane seized the advantage his statement offered her. She shook her head. ‘No. It’s not fair on Anna.’ She thought for a second. An idea came to her. She immediately outlined her solution to the problem. ‘Why don’t you all have your meal as arranged and then Bob and I can pop in later in the evening – say, about half past seven?’ she suggested as tactfully as she could.

  This seemed to go down well with Gerald. ‘Well, if you’re quite sure. That seems like a good arrangement.’ His face started to beam again.

  They left it at that, and a much-relieved Gerald departed to relay the decision to Anna.

  Jane closed the door and breathed a sigh of relief. Her diplomacy appeared to have worked. True, her plans for the evening had been altered, but she had avoided another meal with Anna.

  Saturday morning began well. She was the first client at the hairdresser’s, and as soon as she emerged from there she went straight into the nearby supermarket. She raced quickly around and fifteen minutes later was depositing two shopping bags in her car boot. A quick visit to her apartment to put some perishable items in the fridge, and then she was on her way to Charlton.

  Crossing London held no fears for her. She had learnt to drive there, and during her marriage she had used the car a lot. She had studied the London map before leaving her apartment and she was confident of the main route and where she needed to turn off for Tipton Street.

  Soon after she left the main road she became lost in a maze of side streets that all looked the same. She pulled up when she spied a postman emerging from a garden. In answer to her query, he promptly replied, ‘First left and then second right.’ After that it was easy finding her goal.

  Tipton Street was a comparatively quiet tree-lined backwater. On both sides of the road stood rows of small Victorian terraced houses, each with a tiny garden and a tiled path leading up to a porch and front door. Most had bay windows.

  Jane drove slowly along the street, noting the house numbers where she could. When she got to number 14 she parked alongside the kerb in a convenient free space. It was now well past mid-morning. She quickly got out of the car and looked for number 10. A minute or so later she was pushing open the metal gate. The front door was in the traditional Victorian pattern with glass panels in the upper half. Jane quickly grabbed hold of the stout iron knocker and gave several sound knocks. The noise carried across the road and alerted a middle-aged, grey-haired woman with a sad demeanour who was just coming out of a house opposite. She eyed Jane up but said nothing. Jane waited, trying to rehearse what she would say when the door opened. She waited a few minutes. Nothing happened. There was no movement inside the house.

  ‘I think she’s gone away.’

  Jane turned round to see where the voice was coming from. The woman from across the road was standing on the pavement looking at her.

  Jane immediately fixed her attention on her. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Do you know where she is?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘No. I did hear she went to Australia to visit her sister.’ She continued to stare at Jane. Suddenly she volunteered more information. ‘Beth at number 14 might know when she’s coming back.’

  Jane smiled politely. ‘Thank you. I’ll try there.’

  The woman nodded and muttered something like ‘OK’ and then went on her way.

  Jane went back down the path and shut the gate behind her. Number 14 was next door but one. She walked up the path and this time rang a bell. There was the noise of a dog barking, but nobody answered the door. She tried again with the same result. It was abundantly clear that there was nobody at home.

  Undaunted, and desperate now to try and obtain some information, Jane tried the houses on either side of number 10. The man who opened the door of number 12 was quite pleasant, but, no, he declared in a soft Irish accent, he didn’t know much about the lady next door. She kept herself to herself. Jane asked him if her name was Marshall, but he didn’t know. She fared no better at number 8. Here the door was opened by a young woman holding a baby. No. They had only just moved in and they had only spoken briefly to their neighbour. They weren’t sure if her name was Marshall.

  Disappointed, Jane returned to her car. She sat in the driving seat wondering what she could do next. It seemed as if her bright idea of making a visit to Mrs Marshall’s house had come to naught. She had encountered the remote pattern of living that existed in large cities. People didn’t know their neighbours any more. Despondency began to cloud over her once again. It seemed as if every avenue she tried in order to establish who she really was just became blocked to her.

  She suddenly spied the postman she had spoken to earlier. She waited until he came closer and then hopped out of the car again and walked towards him.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘Could I ask you a question?’

  He looked up from the packet of letters he was studying. He grinned at her and gave a brief ‘Yes.’

  ‘I was wondering if you knew the name of the lady living at number 10. Is it Marshall?’

  He looked at her for a moment. ‘I don’t think I can help you there. I’ve not been on this route long and I tend to look at the numbers more than the names.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I see. Thank you, anyway.’

  The postman nodded and smiled at her again. He moved on about his work.

  Jane retreated to her car once again. She sat there for five minutes or so, vainly hoping that the occupants of number 10 or number 14 might return, but no one appeared. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was already approaching midday. There seemed to be no point in hanging about any longer. Her mission had failed. She started the car and moved off, with one last regretful look at the empty house number 10.

  The journey back to Kew was fraught with delays. At one point Jane encountered an accident area and the road was cut back to one lane. The traffic was backed up and it was a case of moving a few yards and then stopping for three or four minutes. Then it started to rain, and she sat there in the queue of traffic listening to the windscreen wipers carrying out their monotonous thumping sound. She switched on the radio for company but quickly became disinterested and turned it off again. Eventually she was clear of the area and was able to drive normally.

  It was close to half past two when she arrived back home. It was still raining and she had to run from the car into the building to try to save her hair arrangement, so beautifully done earlier in the day.

  Back in the apartment, she made herself a cup of coffee
and a cheese sandwich and then set about preparing the evening meal. By four o’clock she had everything ready. The tuna steaks she had bought were ready to pop into the oven later, and the salad was made. She had laid the table carefully and had even added a candle to give a bit of a romantic touch. The bottle of wine she had purchased was chilling in the fridge. She felt quite pleased with everything.

  When it came to getting changed, she took her time. She spent ages in the bathroom and then a long time deciding what to wear. After some deliberation and taking various garments out of her wardrobe for consideration she finally selected a pretty green floral short-sleeved summer dress. She hadn’t worn it for some time, so it required the extra attention of the iron before she was satisfied with it. She had a necklace with green stones that matched the dress perfectly. When it came to shoes, she spent a good five minutes making up her mind which to wear. In the end she chose a pair of sandals. They could hardly be called that, because they consisted of just two strips of leather to hold them on. Flip-flops with high heels, somebody had once called them. For an extra bit of wickedness she dug out a delicate gold anklet Graham had given her, and clipped it around her left ankle. It always intrigued her how men’s eyes were drawn to it. She couldn’t wait to see Bob’s reaction, although she was already pretty sure what it would be. Satisfied with her appearance, she popped the shoes near the front door to put on later and then went into the lounge for a well-earned rest while she waited for Bob.

  It was only just past six when there was the familiar buzz of the outside doorbell. She scurried to the hall and answered it.

  ‘Hello.’

  ‘Hello. It’s me.’ It was Bob’s cheerful voice.

  Jane pressed the release button and called into the speaker, ‘You’re in.’

  While she was waiting she slipped her feet into her shoes. After a minute or so, she heard footsteps outside. She opened the door wide. Bob stood there with a rucksack on his back and carrying several plastic bags. He was dressed in a green sports jacket with an open-necked pink shirt. He grinned at Jane and stepped into the apartment.