by Maggie Ford
‘James,’ Mabel said suddenly, breaking through the conversation the two of them were enjoying while Madeleine also sat quiet and withdrawn, ‘before it gets totally dark, there’s something I’d like to show you in the garden that my gardener pointed out. I’d like your opinion. It won’t take long. I didn’t tell you, Anthony dear, but you and Madeleine might like to see it. It’s quite unusual and very pretty.’
He hardly glanced up, his reply curt. ‘No thanks. I need to take it easy, too much on my feet this morning.’
‘Yes of course, dear, as you wish,’ his mother said easily, glancing questioningly towards her young sister-in-law.
Madeleine knew she ought to go with them, but heard herself saying, ‘I think I’d rather stay here in the warm.’
‘Yes, it’s a little cold, dear. Stay and keep Anthony company.’ The door closed behind the two older people, with Madeleine already at a loss what to talk to him about, as he was behaving so morosely. He rose from his armchair – someone a moment ago too weary to move – and came towards her.
Hardly knowing why, she also got up, something inside her sensing that she needed to. Next moment she was in his arms, his lips pressing almost savagely on hers. Desperately she returned the kiss, her hand reaching up behind his head the better to keep his lips pressed on hers. His hand was on her breast, she felt its warmth through her blouse and silk jumper, even through the thin material of her fashionably loose bodice. Her head reeling, her insides churning, all she wanted was for him not to stop, to go further, go further.
Suddenly he released her, stepping back although his hand had now taken hold of hers in a tight grip. She half expected him to say sorry. Instead he whispered huskily, ‘They’ll be back any minute. But I will sort something out, darling.’
Fifteen
They were back in their seats, Madeleine desperately striving to compose herself, when Mabel entered the room, chattering away, closely followed by James. He glanced at Madeleine.
‘Just as well you remained here in the warm, my dear. It’s very cold out there which is why we came back quicker than expected.’ Again a veiled remark or so it seemed. Her guilt screamed at her.
She forced a smile, turning her attention to Mabel. ‘What was it you had to show James?’
‘A most oddly shaped branch now that most of the leaves have fallen. I never noticed it until it was pointed out to me. Seen from a certain angle, it appears exactly like an owl is staring down at one. It could be quite eerie if one were alone out there in the half light. The sky has cleared and what with the twilight glow, it is quite noticeable. But I have to agree with James, it is so very cold out there. We shall no doubt have a frost by morning.’
While she was chatting away, James nodding in agreement to her words, Madeleine stole a furtive glance at Anthony who returned it with a warning one of his own and a hardly perceptible shake of his head. She looked away just as James turned to her.
‘I expect you two have been keeping each other company. Not bored?’
There it was again, an oblique hint letting it be known that he knew more that he was saying.
‘You weren’t gone long enough for us to get bored,’ she managed to reply, wishing her heart would stop its rapid thumping, sure that he could hear it.
* * *
Life had become bliss, dangerous but bliss. Two weeks before Christmas, Anthony, or Tony as she now called him when they were alone, had indeed found them somewhere to meet – an inauspicious little hotel a relatively safe distance from his home and a short walk from the small private bank his father had owned, where he’d shortly be taking his father’s place now the war was over. It was ideal.
It was now well into February. They’d been meeting here once a week for the last six weeks, yet she still felt that rush of excitement in the pit of her stomach as she approached the hotel’s modest entrance. So different to the feeling she’d had that first time.
Then she had slowed her steps as she neared the place, doubts so clogging her insides that she had almost turned back the way she’d come. It had been an effort to approach the small reception desk, sure that the young clerk standing behind it would take her for a street walker and turn her away. But he couldn’t have been more polite had she been a titled lady. Even so, having to ask for Tony by name was an effort, somehow strangely unsavoury as though the clerk knew what the two of them were about.
But hardly had Tony’s name left her lips when someone had leapt up from a nearby armchair, his voice loud and cheery.
‘Maddie! Here at last. What sort of journey was it? Pretty delayed by the sound of it. How is you mother, Aunt Beatrice?’
Madeleine had instantly taken her cue from him, making her own voice as cheery and innocuous as his. ‘She’s very well and sends her love.’
His arm threaded itself through hers as he led her to the lift without a backward glance at the hotel clerk. Yanking aside the gate, he had stepped back to allow her in, then followed, dragging the gate to and pressing the button. The ground floor seemed to sink below them as the lift rose.
When they stopped at the first floor, the corridor beyond had been silent and deserted. He pulled back the gate but instead of helping her out, took hold of her, brought her close, his lips closing on hers. They seemed to stand there forever before finally moving apart. He took her hand, leading her from the lift. Neither spoke as he led her to a door a few yards along the corridor.
In silence he took the key from his pocket and unlocked the door, allowing her to precede him. He followed, closing the door behind them very quietly, not one word having passed between them. Still without speaking, he had kissed her again and, as moments before, with neither of them breaking apart he’d manoeuvred her towards the narrow bed just a few steps away and laid her down, gently lowering himself beside her at the same time. It was almost skilful.
Only then did his lips leave hers for him to lift himself the easier to undo the buttons of her thick coat, her blouse, easing the edges apart, lifting her breasts above the loose top of her bodice, lowering his face to them to take a nipple into his mouth. She had let it happen, joy overflowing with the sensation, the first time he had been so close to her, almost a part of her; so wonderful, she was hardly aware of her top clothing and nether garments being removed, his too, until she felt him enter her, an overwhelming moment of two becoming as one; his breath close to her ear, her own sighing, then gasping, the world whirling about her.
It was over too soon. Lying satiated side by side on the narrow single bed they’d gazed up at the ceiling. It was yellow with old cigarette smoke and slightly uneven in places, the lamp shade not the newest of objects, but the room itself clean and nicely furnished. Strange now to remember that.
As normality moved slowly back into place, he had turned his face to her. ‘Are you OK?’ he’d asked and she had nodded.
Then had come the memory of an old barn, she lying utterly fulfilled beside the man who’d taken his fill of her, believing him as much in love with her as she with him. The recollection had dragged an involuntary tremulous sigh from her, making Anthony look at her, filled with concern. ‘My darling, I didn’t hurt you, did I? If I did…’
It was then that she’d broken down, all the years of pent up yearning for that foolish time never to have happened, had wrenched itself painfully out of her.
Burying her face against his shoulder she heard herself sobbing, the words pouring from her, erratic. ‘It was a long time ago… I was so young, no idea what it was about… there was a baby – taken from me… I don’t know where she is. I was never told. My parents disowned me – settled her elsewhere – I never found out where or who with. I’m not… not a virgin.’
She remembered how quiet he’d become, lost in thought. Despair had washed over her – she’d lost him, knew then just how much she loved him. Silence seemed to draw itself out while she remained with her face hidden, convinced it was over. Then slowly he said in a low voice, ‘It was a long time ago,’ and as if
uncertain of her response, added huskily, ‘I shall see you next week, shan’t I?’ as if he dared not hope.
She had turned her face in surprise to his. ‘You still want me?’
‘With all my heart. I love you, Maddie. And you, do you still love me?’
‘Oh, yes, yes,’ she’d breathed, her whole being overwhelmed by relief.
Today she made her way through the few falling flakes of snow. She and Tony would make love, a little less tense these days, would lay in each other’s arms, then after a while make love again. But how long would it be allowed to go on? That was the only thought that troubled her. How much longer could she keep it from James? One day he would become suspicious – a word dropped, a look noticed as it passed between herself and Anthony, alerting him to something very wrong. How she longed to be free of James, yet how could she wish him ill? Yet it was becoming more difficult as time went on, even this short time.
For Tony, meeting her once a week was no difficulty. But for her it was growing more worrying as time went on. Lies, pretence, creeping out of the house with excuses of taking the air. Taking the air? February with its cold flurries of snow and biting winds on her cheeks and she expecting it to be believed that she was taking the air?
Mrs Cole, James’s cook for many years, long before he’d lost his first wife but who’d very quickly taken to her employer’s new wife, had expressed surprise the first time she had said she was going out for a breath of fresh air. Today her reaction hadn’t diminished one bit.
‘Surely, madam, you’re not going out again! It’s bitter out there. More than bitter – it’s killing cold! You’ll catch your death before long.’
‘I’m well wrapped up, Mrs Cole,’ she told her with an easy smile. ‘The air’s bracing. It will do me good. Every fire lit, the stuffiness indoors is giving me quite a headache.’
‘Perhaps you should have Doctor Williamson look at you, madam, if it goes on. There’s all this Spanish ’flu about – an epidemic it’s becoming, they say. It’s frightening if you ask me. A couple of my nephew’s friends are down with it and they’re really bad. It’s seeing off so many in such a short while. The papers are full of it.’
Madeleine ignored the diatribe on the influenza business – half smiled to herself as she recalled the current sally: ‘You just watch that girl called Enza because when they opened the window, in flew Enza!’ Yes, it was rife, frightening, getting worse by the day. But she didn’t have it.
‘A short walk in the fresh air will soon clear my head,’ she dismissed. ‘I’ll go to the park. Half an hour or so should do it.’
She hurried out before any further obstacles could be put in the way, albeit well meant. At least it was dry, cold but dry. Soon it would be March, hopefully a little warmer, lessening cook’s over-motherly interest in her well-being. James’s chauffeur too was concerned for her, offering to take her for a drive instead, but she’d evaded his offers saying that with petrol still rationed it shouldn’t be wasted driving her about.
So far James was too occupied with stock market dealings to notice most of her comings and goings. Nevertheless, she’d told Mrs Cole not to bother him with her worries for her well-being, he had too many other things to think about and ought not be bothered with trivialities. But one day it was sure to come out. What would she do when he began asking questions? Lie to him? Break off her meetings with Anthony? No, that was unthinkable.
Quickly she turned her thoughts from that aspect as she hurried the few hundred yards to where she would hail a taxi. It took less than a quarter of an hour to reach the hotel. Tony would already be there waiting and for a wonderful ten minutes or so they would make frantic love, to lie exhausted in each other’s arms, then make love again, more slowly.
How wonderful it would have been to lie in his arms for the rest of the morning. She would dress, hating having to leave him, and go. He would leave soon after, needing to get back to his bank, having started back there two weeks ago. In his capacity he had no one to answer to although he worried about being away for too long, which was understandable. But she had Mrs Cole, the woman quick to badger her should her return seem more delayed than she thought. What if one day it all came out, a chance remark perhaps, the mind immediately making something out of it?
Alighting from her taxi, she took her time walking that hundred yards home, hoping the cold would set her cheeks glowing as if from a surfeit of fresh air, even pinched her nose hard to make it look red. But her outings were becoming longer, dangerously so. Last week Mrs Cole had taken her to task as if she were the mistress and Madeleine the servant.
‘Madam, I thought you’d got yourself lost, you’ve taken so long getting back. You really oughtn’t to have been out so long. You could catch your death.’
‘It’s good for the constitution,’ she told her a little testily.
‘But what would the master say if he knew?’
‘Please don’t tell him.’ She’d begged, feeling like a child in danger of having a treasured toy taken from her. ‘He would worry. I’ve taken to popping into a little tea room for a nice pot of hot tea and a cake; that’s the reason I was a little longer than usual. I so enjoy it, Mrs Cole. I can’t bear being cooped up here day after day.’
‘But you’re not, madam. You have so many friends, appointments, engagements. You’re hardly ever at home, what with one thing and another.’
It was true. Always something going on, always busy organizing this and that party or function, she had become well known for it, her social events now famous. With the war, the Great War as it was becoming known, behind them, people were discovering a new freedom, making sure they were going to enjoy it to the full: dances, charity balls, the joy of loose-fitting garments after the restrictions of only a decade ago. Women had found freedom at last to do as they pleased, at least those with money to do so, and she made sure she was part of it.
‘I look forward to enjoying a walk entirely on my own,’ she told Mrs Cole, ‘and I don’t want others to spoil it for me. You do understand.’
‘I suppose so,’ was the grudging reply, leaving her free to go up to her room to dream over her wonderful moments with Anthony.
But it couldn’t continue this way forever, she left brooding on what would come later. How many years could it continue like this? Thoughts of the future frightened and depressed her.
There was of course a lot that helped take her mind off such dreary thoughts: the grand Christmas party she’d given, money no object, everyone in high spirits, enjoying to the full the pleasures the peace had brought. The New Year’s Eve Party had been another grand event; a prelude to what by next year would be a new decade utterly different from the previous one, lots of jollity, making up for the years of stalemate, all cares flung to the wind. Yes, there was still the struggling poor, but if you had money, life was sweet.
There were parties still to be arranged: Valentine’s Day, April Fool’s Day with a great fancy dress party planned, Easter with a big garden party, weather permitting, otherwise it would have to be held inside, not quite the same. Then there was the London season, visiting the country and other people’s parties: swimming parties, tennis parties, the list went on and on. Yet always in the background was Anthony. She lived only to see him. All the rest could go hang if only she and he were together, permanently.
Maybe one day. Please God let it be soon. She wished James no ill but if only there was a way, any way, out.
Sixteen
Why was it that in the midst of overwhelming happiness the Devil always seemed to raise his ugly head to spoil it all? It was wicked and selfish to be thinking such things at a time like this but that was how it seemed to her.
She and Anthony had been so happy. It was the end of April. They’d been meeting once a week with only one break, when he’d gone up to the Midlands; some business to do with his bank, he’d said. She’d missed him dreadfully and he must have felt the same for their reunion had been passionate to the point of exhaustion.
‘Promise me you’ll never go away again,’ she’d begged as she lay in his arms. ‘Promise me you’ll send someone else in your stead.’
‘I promise,’ he’d said.
But life has a way of tearing down the strongest promise. A week later, the day before they would meet, he phoned while James was away at his office, telling her his mother had gone down with the Spanish ’flu.
‘It struck almost overnight,’ he said. His voice, thin and distant over the wires, was shaky, tinged with panic, his words practically faffing over themselves.
‘She didn’t seem too bad yesterday morning, just said she felt a bit achy but by the evening she’d developed a raging headache and she became feverish. During the night I had to send for the doctor, she was tossing and turning so much, almost in delirium. I can’t see you tomorrow, darling. I can’t leave her, I have to be with her, it’s happened so fast and I’m worried.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’ she asked when finally she got a word in.
‘Not really. Just tell Uncle James she’s gone down with it. He’d want to know. I’m just praying it doesn’t get worse. So many are…’
His voice trailed off but she’d already finished the words for him in her mind: so many are dying…
‘Your doctor is there with her,’ she said instead. ‘She will be fine, darling. He’s a good man. But I’ll telephone James right now and we’ll be there as quick as we can, and…’ But he’d already rung off, her last words addressed to empty air as slowly she replaced the receiver, seeing in her mind his distraught face hovering before her.
She and James had dropped everything to be at Mabel’s side, shocked by how she looked; scarcely heeding them she lay there, face flushed, eyes when she chanced to open them, heavy with pain, all the while her head moving slowly from side to side as if to alleviate the misery she was in.
They sat around her bed feeling utterly useless, murmuring words of encouragement that seemed to go unheard. Occasionally she came to herself enough to look at them and mutter, ‘I’m sorry… I’m being such a nuisance to everyone…’
