by Maggie Ford
As Hugh took the cheque from him, his face shining with gratitude, Edwin was almost urged to say, “And don’t use it to gamble with,” but once again thought better of it and kept quiet.
* * *
Helen’s second baby was another girl. Helen had to admit to being very happy about it and though she knew Edwin would have loved this one to have been a boy, he was pleased that the birth was much easier this time.
“The second one usually is quicker,” said one of the nurses who had attended her in the hospital. “And she is bonny, isn’t she?”
Yes, she was. What the nurse didn’t see as the fond parents nodded agreement, gazing down at their daughter in adoration, was that behind the proud father’s smile was an aching fear that there could be some hidden affliction similar to that of his first daughter.
Angel – even Helen had come to call her that – no longer had the difficulties with speech she’d encountered at first. A quick child, she had soon picked up the way she had of watching people’s lips, grey eyes bright and attentive, pretty head slightly to one side, giving her an appealing look that endeared her to everyone. No one would have thought for one minute that she had trouble hearing.
Even so, it hung heavily on Edwin that, having had one child slightly defective, the problem might be repeated in the second one. It was to trouble him for months, as it did William Goodridge, suffering appalling guilt and self-condemnation that even now he did not have the gumption to reveal that secret he held. Hating himself, he could only smile as his second granddaughter was handed to him, Helen proudly but innocently announcing, “We’re calling her Georgina Mary. I thought you’d like that, Dad.”
Mary after Helen’s mother. Georgina – Edwin’s choice – after his father Geoffrey. Angela’s second name, Pamela, had also been requested by him for his mother and although William hadn’t been too pleased about that, he kept his dislike of the woman to himself. Though Georgina, he had to admit, was a pretty enough name.
After all, Edwin would have loved his mother. William wasn’t sure if he had spoken of Geoffrey Lett’s callous divorcing of Mary when Pamela had come along. He’d been so carried away in that pub all that time ago, when persuading Edwin to take over the family business, that these days he wasn’t sure what he’d said aloud and what had only been recalled in his head. Of course Edwin would want to honour his dead mother. No doubt if one of his children had been a boy he would have wanted the name Geoffrey added. It was only natural.
* * *
Glenda was divorcing him. For cruelty! God, he’d only hit her the once. Blacked her eye, that was the trouble.
Well, he had lashed out at her before, he had to admit, but then who wouldn’t? The way she cocked a snook at him all the time, taking him for a dummy. For the last six months they’d done nothing but argue. Always over the same thing – what she was getting up to behind his back.
He remembered that first time he’d hit her. He hadn’t meant to. It was the first real row they’d ever had, the day she came in after the show six months ago.
She was doing well for herself – with the help of Simon Jenson, that bloody director also going places, promising her the lead role in his next show. And he would have a next show, perhaps in the West End. Give him his due, he was bloody good at it and he had money. Glenda liked money.
He knew she was seeing him, knew which side her bread was buttered. That she still clung on to her marriage was a wonder to Hugh, but he knew why. Jenson was already married. He’d heard the gossip, Jenson a one for the ladies, but it seemed his wife was devoted, didn’t want to let go, always hoping for that miracle – her husband to become suddenly loyal.
As for himself, Hugh still toyed with the idea of hiring someone to follow them, catch the pair of them at it, giving him grounds for divorce. Trouble was he didn’t want to divorce her. He still wanted her. The only time he forgot to want her was when Helen was around and then everything would go out of the window as the sight of her got to him. Once she was out of sight, however, his thoughts would whisk back to Glenda and how she turned him on. But Glenda was turning someone else on now, the bitch, and enjoying every second of it.
He decided he wasn’t going to put up with it any more when she came home looking stunning in a pale gold New Look evening dress, all long flared skirt and hardly any top, tits almost falling out. She’d put on a bit of flesh up there and the sight of it turned his blood both to fire with desire for her and curdled it at the thought of someone else already having been fondling them.
Whore! he thought as his gaze followed her self-satisfied entrance into the lounge. And him, the bloody lecher! Where had they been, those two? He could see it all: some hotel room, the bed, the mirrors, the rumpled sheets, those two luxuriating over each other, and him here alone, stewing, just a couple of copies of Esquire and a bottle of scotch to keep him company.
“Had a good time?” He couldn’t keep the sneer out of his tone as she passed him, dropping a nonchalant kiss on top of his fair hair, as if nothing at all was wrong. She wrinkled her nose.
“You’ve been at the bottle.” She didn’t care, did she? Well, one day he would make her care.
“Where’ve y’been?” His words were slurred.
“Going over the script for another show,” she said as she went to pour herself a drink. “This one’s likely to be in a West End theatre. I might even play the lead.”
Yes, of course she would! They’d not worked together for ages; she’d gone on without him. While she was forging ahead he was still doing bit parts, still dreaming of acclaim, Shakespeare gone out of the window with him having trouble these days remembering his lines for quite mundane parts let alone those of the Bard. But with his mind always on Glenda and what she was up to with that sod Jenson, how could he concentrate? Reduced to less and less significant roles, no recommendation at auditions, he wasn’t even being given supporting roles any more.
He’d had to go back to Edwin twice since that first time, Edwin each time writing out a paltry five hundred quid cheque and expecting him to be grateful for it. It was his own money he was getting, for God’s sake, Edwin taking his shares like he had. Worth twice as much now as Edwin had paid him. Yet he handed out the odd five hundred as though it was part of his own flesh. True, the racetrack had reaped that much again at one time which had kept him going for a while – but that too gradually dwindled.
“Took a time going over one script,” he said pointedly as Glenda sat down with her drink, letting her musquash fur stole slip leisurely from around her shoulders, making him squirm to touch her as he continued to sit tight.
“It took ages to get through. It’s a big part.”
“I bet that wasn’t all that took ages,” he remarked sardonically.
That had got her going, asking him exactly what he was implying. He’d told her he was sick of playing second fiddle to her, and she had started up in anger.
“And I’m sick of you suspecting me of doing things behind your back.” Her voice had risen in a wave of injured pride. (These days she was more blatant about it, flaunting her lover, but at that time her indignation almost had him believing for a moment that he must have got it wrong.)
“I work hard,” she went on. “It’s a pity you don’t. I mean to go places, Hugh, even if you’re no longer up to it.”
That did it. He’d leapt up, confronting her as she too sprang up from the armchair. “And who is it helping you go places? Don’t lie to me, Glenda, I know all about you and Jenson. It’s true, ain’t it?”
For a moment she had stared back at him, then her lips curled. “So what if it is?” she had taunted.
Pointing a wavering finger in her general direction, he’d roared, “I knew it! You’ve been with him, with that… that…”
Lost for a suitably foul enough epithet, he aimed a swipe at her instead, managing only to catch her bare upper arm in a badly aimed blow meant for her face. Clutching the already reddening place, she’d staggered back from him as though
she had been punched.
“You struck me! I’ll never forgive you! You hit me!”
He’d not hit her again. They’d had blazing rows time and time again, but he’d never struck out at her again. Until last week when she had openly flaunted her love affair in his face, telling him he was nothing to her. Now he had blacked her eye and with this glaring evidence of cruelty she’d sought a solicitor and had immediately instituted divorce proceedings. From now on, to add to his burden of debt, he was going to have to support an ex-wife.
More and more he was going to have to see Edwin, who in a way owed him, as he saw it – climbing on his back to get Letts for himself.
Part Two
1959–1968
Twelve
It was Angel’s fourth birthday. There would be a party for all the children in the neighbourhood, and afterwards an evening for the adults. Caterers had taken care of everything but still Helen was rushing around making sure all was in order and nothing overlooked; like most people with time on their hands, she felt it had to be spent worrying over unnecessary little things, keeping the mind occupied, the hands busy.
“Are you sure you’ve covered everything?” She’d phoned the caterers, to receive a patient assurance that their reputation never allowed them to leave anything undone.
“You have nothing to worry about whatsoever, Mrs Lett. Just leave it all to us.”
But if she didn’t worry, what else was there to fill her time? This last week it had been well filled buying invitation cards, writing them out, sending them off, having a firm of cleaners in to be doubly sure the house looked its best, carpets and drapes cleaned, small repairs done, a little interior decorating here, a little exterior painting there, the grounds just so, being that November could play havoc with gardens. Now there was nothing left to do but worry herself.
“I don’t know why you’re making so much of this party,” Edwin said when he did manage to get home.
“Don’t you care about Angel enjoying it?” she had snapped at him.
“Of course I care,” he’d snapped back. “But you never made so much fuss about Georgina’s party in September. That went smoothly enough.”
“It was only her second birthday – much easier to organise. She’s too young to appreciate anything too involved. But Angel’s going to be four. She’s begun to look at things a different way.”
Edwin had looked peeved.
“I don’t like the way you pay so much more attention to her than Gina.” He often called her that, copying the way she pronounced her name.
“I don’t,” Helen had protested, but it was true. Angel would always have a special place in her heart, and she would always have a natural instinct to protect her elder daughter from the world, while Georgina, even at two years of age, already stood on her own two feet, metaphorically speaking, and always would. She already promised to be a positive child – wilful might be a better word – who even at two appeared to know where she was going, leading the way and ready to run rings around everybody – and if they wouldn’t have it, she would throw a tantrum until they gave in.
Angel, on the other hand, was sweet-natured and understanding. No matter how badly Georgina behaved, it was Angel who could calm her, putting an arm about her younger sister, gazing into her face and talking gently to her. She’d even let her have whichever of her toys she wanted, placidly giving them up. The two were like peas in a pod; Angel tending to be small and petite, her sister was already catching her up in height so that they were more like twins to look at. But there the resemblance ended as Angel moved contented and smiling through her little life while Gina tended to romp and demand and scowl.
Of course Helen would feel protective towards the sweeter, more vulnerable of the two. Edwin had no right to accuse her of favouritism. She loved them both equally in her way. And he was here so rarely, what did he know?
* * *
The party and evening went off as smoothly as Edwin had said it would. All his acquaintances and friends had come in the evening, their large cars gliding up the tarmac drive to a stop in front of the new portico entrance to empty out and be taken off by someone hired for the purpose.
In a way this incorporated a second house-warming, the first a few months after he’d bought the place, it not being shown to its full advantage at that time with all the things yet to be done to it to make it the mansion it was today.
Of course the family was there, and Helen’s father. Hugh had been asked, and invited to bring whomever he wanted with him. But Hugh had come alone.
“Can’t look at females with this damned divorce going through, old boy,” he’d lamented, while making it sound like a defiant quip. “Still into adjusting to her not being around, but I’m not prepared to stand by and watch myself being cuckolded. And I’m certainly not going to be humiliated by having her claim against me for adultery. No sir!”
He’d let out another short chuckle. “So I’m completely celibate at the moment.” Then, the bravado melting away, he’d added, “And it’s killing me!”
Edwin eyed his cousin with sympathy and some contempt. Hugh should never have sold so many of his shares so impulsively but, influenced by his stepmother, he’d only seen ready money in his hand, just as she had. What he’d overlooked was that she had not truly been family, wanted out, but he was related and should have taken that into consideration. Edwin felt remiss at not having drummed that into him more effectively. Hugh would have been reaping a decent profit by now, though Edwin imagined he would have blown it all just the same in gambling and generally having a good time.
He looked away from Hugh’s bleak expression and hardened himself against too much sympathy lest Hugh once more came the old soldier in need of money.
“I’m really sorry about your marriage,” he said inadequately and Hugh gave a miserable nod.
Divorce proceedings hadn’t even begun until this year. Under the law a couple had to be married for three years before any divorce could be initiated unless in special circumstances and all Glenda had was that he’d hit her on occasion, not beaten her up. Yes, he could have had her for adultery, but deep inside still lived the hope that she’d tire of Jenson and come back to him. He’d tried to entice her back but she would have none of it. Jenson’s marriage was finally on the rocks, and he gave all his time to Glenda. He was going places, and was happy to take her along with him. Hugh would grind his teeth every time he thought about it.
The three years had been up in September. Now would come the lengthy process of divorce itself. Last year had been the longest of his life, and there was still a long way to go. Proceedings would take at least another year, and all that time he was expected to suffer, knowing that she was with her lover.
“I’ll be glad when it’s over,” he said, following Edwin into the large reception room, brightly lit, already decorated for Christmas and crowded with people holding glasses while a couple of waitresses moved among them with trays of dainty refreshments.
Seeing Helen talking to someone, Hugh’s heart leapt. But as he made towards her, did she turn her back on him deliberately or had she genuinely not noticed him come in?
* * *
The party had gone well and she had enjoyed it, but Hugh’s arrival had unnerved her for a moment. He hadn’t replied to the invitation, and she’d rather hoped he wouldn’t come. She was going along OK with her marriage, even if Edwin was forever in town with his beloved restaurant. She didn’t need Hugh coming here to upset it. Because that’s what he did, whether he knew it or not, awakening feelings inside her she’d rather not have.
That eager look of anticipation on his face had been evident before he’d got anywhere near to her but thankfully he’d taken the hint of her turning away from him and had kept his distance, only coming over to talk to her when she’d been with Edwin. Trouble was, that in itself spoke volumes. But now the party was a fading memory, they were three months into 1960 and Hugh hadn’t come nigh or by since.
What bothered her
was that thoughts about him still popped up to unsettle her when she least expected it. She had asked Edwin casually if he’d heard from him but he’d shaken his head.
“You know Hugh,” he said. “All over us one minute, not a peep from him the next. I expect he’ll come by when he needs something. He usually does.”
That last remark sounded bitter, but Helen was only too glad not to hear from Hugh as she tried to put him aside and concentrate on her children instead, as a mother should. They in fact had become her whole life, living away from London as she did.
* * *
Her daughters were becoming inseparable. Angel tended to take her younger sister under her wing, including her in all she did. Helen would watch them playing together, grey eyes intent, golden heads close together, and feel the pride run through her veins. When something displeased Gina, when there was a toy or game she wanted to take over, Helen would see a brief frown on the other sister’s brow before it cleared in a sort of understanding and the toy was offered or the game conceded to the other. At times it irritated her that Angel should give in so easily, at other times it brought such a surge of love that she could hardly bear it as she fought an impulse to pick her up and hold her close. To do that would make Gina jealous and that she did not want. Gina was hard going enough as it was, even at two and a half, without provoking her jealousy as well.
One other thing endeared her to Angel: the child was beginning to develop a fondness for dancing and already possessed an instinct for rhythm. When the beat was strong and loud enough on the radio, she would dance in time to it, her movements dainty and precise. She’d watch anything on television that had to do with pop music, taking it all in as though her little world depended on it. Cliff Richard fascinated her and she would emulate the movements of all the pop groups, with Gina in her infant way trying to copy her, and often Angel would show her how to do it better. For Helen, watching them, the sight was as fulfilling as anything could be.
