The Runaway Women in London

by Lesley Eames

  ‘It isn’t that,’ Ruth said, and the tears spilled over.

  ‘You’re upset about Grace going,’ Jenny guessed. ‘We all are, but we’ll still see her sometimes.’

  ‘As often as possible,’ Grace confirmed.

  Even Lydia shoved Ruth’s shoulder and muttered a sympathetic, ‘Humph.’

  How kind they were, but Ruth didn’t deserve their sympathy. She was a terrible friend.

  ‘We won’t talk about it anymore for now,’ Grace said. ‘Guess what’s for supper?’

  ‘Stew?’ Jenny speculated, and Ruth knew they were lightening the atmosphere for her sake.

  ‘There’s plenty of it, so I hope you’re all hungry,’ Grace said.

  Ruth had never been less hungry, but she forced herself to eat a small amount.

  Not even exhaustion could tip her into restful sleep when she went to bed, though she must have dozed eventually because she woke with a start, rearing up and clutching at her throat to remove the phantom hands that had throttled her in her dream.

  Thankfully, she hadn’t woken the others, so she lay back down to wait for morning. As soon as they were all awake, she began to apologise again, but none of them would let her.

  Ruth took the sandwich Grace made for her lunch with a leaden heart. She had a secret appointment at one o’clock. Even if she had the time to eat, she might not have the appetite.

  She watched the clock all morning at work, torn between dreading the appointment and wanting it to be over. When one o’clock came, Ruth couldn’t take her break because she was busy with a customer. Five minutes passed. Ten. Instinct told Ruth the customer was merely browsing, but she still had to be treated politely.

  What would happen if Ruth missed her appointment completely? The thought was too dreadful to contemplate. She rushed to the café on Casey Street the moment she was free.

  ‘You’re late,’ Vic accused.

  ‘I can’t always finish on time.’ Ruth heaved breath into her lungs and opened her bag. Taking out two five-pound notes, she threw them onto the table in front of him. ‘There.’

  She gasped as he grabbed her wrist and forced her into a chair. ‘Be subtle, you fool.’

  Anger twisted his features, though the mocking smile was back as soon as she was seated. He folded the notes into his breast pocket and patted them. Ruth rubbed her wrist. She’d have a bruise there. Something else to hide.

  ‘Let me treat you to a cup of tea and a bun,’ he said.

  Ruth felt a flare of anger. ‘It’s hardly a treat when my money will pay for it.’

  ‘Old friends should share their good fortune.’ He gestured to the waitress, who took the order. ‘What’s the news from Ruston?’ he asked.

  ‘I have no news.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it? No drama? No upset? No Turner family out on the street?’

  Vic was the son of the Turners’ landlord. Had she breathed a word about seeing him on the Arleighs’ drive that day he’d have had her family evicted from the house they’d occupied for more than thirty years. Or so he’d threatened.

  ‘I don’t believe you have the power to put my family on the streets,’ Ruth ventured now to test his response. ‘The house belongs to your father, not you.’

  ‘I’m my father’s only son. His heir. Do you honestly think I haven’t the power to influence him?’ Vic sneered as though Ruth must be stupid.

  Ruth didn’t know what to think.

  ‘Why risk it for a few pounds here and there?’ Vic asked.

  ‘It won’t be a few pounds, will it? Not if you keep coming back for more. I’ve told you I can’t afford it. Why would I be working in a shoe shop if I were rich?’

  ‘Because you’re sensible.’

  ‘But you don’t need money from me. Your family has more wealth than I’ll ever have.’

  ‘A chap can always use a little extra.’

  ‘You’re bleeding me dry. It would be cheaper for me to rent a different house for my parents than to keep paying you.’

  Except that she couldn’t use Aunt Vera’s money to help her parents and her wages weren’t enough to cover the rent on a house. Vic might not know that, though.

  ‘Fibs will get you nowhere,’ he said. ‘I know you inherited a small fortune. Anyway, you’re not paying me just to stop your family from being evicted.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Ruth was wary now.

  ‘I mean you’re paying me to stay away from those friends in Shepherds Mews. They won’t be your friends for much longer if I tell them they lost their jobs and reputations because you kept quiet about seeing me. You’ve gone pale, Ruthie.’ He laughed, a harsh mocking sound. ‘You didn’t think I just happened to see you in the churchyard that day? How naïve. I’ve known about Shepherds Mews and Silver Ladies for quite a while. I wanted to be sure you’d kept our little secret, so I called on your parents pretending my father had asked me to check all was well with the house. Of course, I got a whole list of complaints from your mother, but she didn’t act as though she knew what I’d done, so all was well.’

  He smiled as though his cleverness pleased him. ‘There was a letter from you on the kitchen table. It had your address on the top. When I came to London, I took a look at Shepherds Mews and that business you’re running there. Nice car, by the way. Worth a few bob. I followed you to work one morning and the next time I had a spare moment I decided to say hello.’

  He leaned back and crossed his legs. ‘If you’re wondering why I haven’t mentioned it before, the answer’s simple. Entertainment. I saw you that first night, scurrying up alleys to try to throw me off the scent and it’s amused me to think of you doing that every night. All in vain, of course. I wanted to savour the moment I told you, too. Looking at you now, it’s been worth the wait.’

  Ruth’s breathing quickened in disgust. In frustration too because what could she do about it? ‘You’re despicable.’

  ‘Don’t be harsh, Ruthie. Our arrangement benefits you as well as me because I’m helping you to keep your naughty little secret. Ah, here comes your tea.’

  He smiled at the waitress, who simpered in return. Couldn’t she see how repellent Vic was?

  Turning his attention back to Ruth, he nudged her teacup closer. ‘Say thanks to your old friend, Vic.’

  Ruth pushed the teacup back and felt a moment’s satisfaction as it fell into his lap.

  Vic jumped up, swearing.

  Ruth jumped up too, but he grabbed her arm before she could escape, pulling her so close she could see the spittle gathering in the corners of his mouth. ‘Don’t try my patience, Ruth Turner. You really don’t want me to turn nasty. Just as a warning, I’m doubling my price. Next time I want twenty pounds.’ He thrust her away as the waitress hastened over with a cloth. ‘A little accident,’ he explained.

  Ruth staggered into the street. Twenty pounds! How could she ever give up her job to help in Silver Ladies with Vic taking her money like this?

  She returned to work feeling the earth had cracked open and one false step would see her plummeting into an abyss.

  Forty-two

  ‘I don’t see why I can’t meet them at Fairfax Park,’ Lydia complained.

  ‘Dinner at the Ritz will be exciting,’ Jenny told her.

  ‘You like dressing up and eating fancy food. I’d rather stay here with Grace’s stew and a bottle of beer.’

  ‘You never drink beer.’

  ‘I could start.’

  ‘You’ll be fine.’

  ‘I’m bound to fall over in these shoes. I don’t know how other people manage high heels. I don’t see why they’d even want to manage them when they can wear flat shoes instead.’

  ‘Heels are elegant and you managed them perfectly well at the Velvet Slipper.’

  Lydia was wearing the black and gold dress Jenny had made for their night out with Johnnie. Lydia had felt a fool then and she felt even more of a fool now. She’d seen enough of Harry’s crowd to know they were all at home in places like the Ritz. But
Lydia was going to hate it.

  ‘There’s no need to feel intimidated,’ Jenny said. ‘You’re as good as anyone.’

  ‘I know that!’

  ‘And Harry will look after you.’

  ‘I don’t need looking after.’ Too late, Lydia realised she’d fallen straight into Jenny’s trap.

  ‘Then you’ll be fine, won’t you?’ Jenny smiled. ‘Now hold still while I put this lipstick on.’

  ‘I loathe that stuff.’ Lydia leaned away.

  ‘Hold still! You want to impress Harry’s business partner, don’t you?’

  Grudgingly, Lydia sat still, thinking that if Mr Groves didn’t take to her after all this fuss she might just have to lob these ridiculous shoes at his head.

  *

  ‘Not bad,’ Harry said, when he came to collect her.

  Lydia rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  She made no comment about Harry’s appearance. Jenny would doubtless wax lyrical later about how debonair he looked in the black evening suit with white tie and shirt, his dark hair flopping over his smooth forehead. Lydia just wasn’t interested. Besides, she had more pressing concerns, like how to stop herself from toppling over.

  Harry had booked the Silver Lady for the night and insisted on paying. Jenny was driving them.

  ‘Hux is definitely coming?’ Lydia asked, settling in the car.

  Harry had been smiling, but the question took the sunshine out of his face. ‘Yes.’

  Lydia had practised at the track twice since that first time and found both men equally helpful. Praising Hux was just her way of keeping Harry’s ego in check, though she really did want to see Hux’s friendly face amongst all the strangers tonight. He was comfortable and comforting. Unlike Harry.

  But for all his faults, Harry never sulked. ‘There’ll be eight of us at dinner,’ he told her. ‘You, Sam, Hux and I make four. Then there’ll be Stockton Groves, his daughter, Estelle, and a couple of their friends, Roddy and Amelia Templeton. Brother and sister. Roddy races as a hobby. He’s something in the City by day. Amelia is… Well, I suppose you’d call her a butterfly.’

  ‘She doesn’t work?’

  ‘The Templetons are old money. Stockton’s self-made but Estelle doesn’t work either.’

  Lydia would have nothing in common with either girl. What on earth was she going to say to them?

  They reached Piccadilly and pulled up outside the Ritz.

  ‘Have a wonderful evening,’ Jenny said.

  There was little chance of that.

  It wasn’t just the usual social awkwardness that was making Lydia tense. It was also the guilt because she was far from certain she’d have time to race once Grace left as Ruth still hadn’t agreed to work in Silver Ladies.

  ‘I need to think about it,’ Ruth had finally said.

  Considering how eager she’d been to start the business; her attitude had puzzled Lydia – until the reason for it had hit her like a slap in the face. It was obvious now Lydia came to think of it. Ruth had been enthusiastic about a business that included Grace and Jenny. But Grace was leaving and sooner or later Jenny would leave too. A Silver Ladies that included only Lydia didn’t appeal to Ruth at all. The humiliation of it stung but just now Lydia had to focus on impressing this Mr Groves.

  Lydia walked into the Ritz with her chin tilted proudly, refusing to be overwhelmed by the grandness of the glittering chandeliers and air of hushed elegance. It still felt good to see Hux’s slow smile as he stood to greet them. Sam’s too.

  Harry introduced her to the others.

  Stockton was a big, bluff man who exuded prosperity. ‘Delighted, Miss Grey,’ he told her heartily. But she had no doubt that she’d be out of the team before she could blink if he didn’t feel she’d be an asset.

  Roddy Templeton was a good-looking fair-haired young man. Pleasant, but lacking the vitality of Harry and Hux.

  The girls were just as she’d feared – delicately pretty and giggly. Having none of her father’s bulk, Estelle was a dark-haired fairy with mischievous eyes. Amelia had the same fair slenderness as her brother.

  In contrast, Lydia felt like a clumsy hippo, but she pushed the awkwardness away and adopted the only other attitude in her repertoire – haughtiness.

  ‘I hear you’re going to be a fine addition to the team,’ Stockton said.

  Did that mean he already approved of her? Or was tonight a final test? Sam had said the drivers were expected to chat with the crowds, so perhaps tonight was about assessing her social graces. If so, Lydia was bound to fail, but she couldn’t let her dream disappear without even trying to succeed. ‘I’ll do my best,’ she told him.

  ‘I think it’s terrific that women can take part,’ Estelle said. ‘Not that I’d like to try. I’d be frightfully nervous.’

  ‘So would I,’ Amelia said. ‘My heart was in my mouth when I watched the racing at Brooklands, especially when I knew the drivers.’

  Lydia didn’t miss the sideways glance Amelia sent Harry. Estelle was giving him a lot of her attention too. Had they nothing better to do with their time than make eyes at men?

  ‘Don’t you feel frightened?’ Amelia asked Lydia.

  ‘Lydia’s scared of nothing,’ Hux said.

  He was just trying to make her look good because only a fool could be unaware of the danger of motor racing, but it was annoying that a smile played around Harry’s mouth as though he knew she was scared of all sorts of things. It made her want to smack him.

  ‘The important thing is to make Fairfax Park an exciting day out,’ Stockton said. ‘If people enjoy themselves, they’ll spend on meals and drinks. I hope some of them will buy Groves cars too.’

  Lydia wished Stockton would pay her a proper wage if he expected to make a lot of money, but drivers tended to be people of private means who competed for glory.

  A waiter brought menus and Lydia’s conscience stirred again at the thought of accepting this hideously expensive hospitality under false pretences.

  Stockton ordered champagne and Lydia sipped hers slowly, wary in case drink turned her apprehension into belligerence.

  Even stone-cold sober, she had no clue how to begin a conversation. Fortunately, Harry, Hux and Sam kept her involved by talking of racing and Silver Ladies.

  ‘I admire your enterprise,’ Stockton told Lydia.

  He appeared to mean it and she tried to take that as a good sign.

  If only she could get through the rest of the evening without blotting her copybook. She was relieved when their food came because it took her a step nearer to the end of the evening, but she groaned inside when everyone else wanted to go on to a nightclub.

  ‘You’ve bowled Stockton over,’ Hux whispered, as he helped Lydia into her evening cloak. ‘You’ve intimidated the hell out of Estelle and Amelia, though. I heard them describing you as one of those frightfully capable women who make them feel utterly frivolous.’

  ‘You’re kidding me.’ She’d hardly exchanged a dozen words with them and felt sure they’d decided she was hopelessly awkward.

  ‘Nuh uh.’ He laughed and, astonished, Lydia laughed with him.

  ‘Is this a private joke?’ Harry asked sourly.

  Hux evaded the question by asking Harry to pass him his scarf. If Harry were feeling momentarily excluded, Estelle and Amelia made up for it by sitting each side of him in Stockton’s car and giving him all their attention as they drove to the nightclub.

  Lydia gave another silent groan when she saw the dance floor, but Estelle clapped her hands.

  ‘Oh, goodie. Dancing.’

  ‘This is when Sam and I watch you young things enjoy yourselves,’ Stockton said. Settling into a chair, he signalled a waiter to bring drinks.

  ‘I’m a much better driver than dancer,’ Lydia got in quickly, but Hux leaned towards her.

  ‘He’ll think you’re not enjoying yourself if you don’t dance. Come on. I’ll make it painless.’

  He led her onto the floor.

 
‘I don’t recognise this music,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait for another song.’ Hopefully, one that would never come.

  ‘Just step from side to side. Add some bounce… There, you’re dancing.’

  ‘Badly.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. All you have to add is a smile.’

  Lydia gave a mocking grimace and Hux laughed. She glanced around and saw Amelia dancing with her brother, while Estelle danced with Harry. Was it really necessary for Estelle to cling to Harry like that? And did Harry really need to wrap his arms around her? Still, if they wanted to make exhibitions of themselves, it was up to them. Lydia turned away.

  ‘Now you know what to do when the others ask you to dance,’ Hux said when the song ended.

  ‘Can’t I keep dancing with you?’ She didn’t want to dance at all but at least Hux never made her feel a fool. She’d feel a complete fool dancing with Roddy and even more of a fool dancing with mocking Harry.

  ‘And leave Roddy dancing with his sister? I don’t think he’d appreciate that.’

  When Roddy asked Lydia to dance, she accepted with trepidation, but he was as poor a dancer as she was. In between dodging his size elevens, she watched Hux having fun with Estelle, while Amelia danced with Harry. Dance was the wrong description, though. The girl was pawing him.

  Back at the table, Hux leaned close. ‘You know it wasn’t Harry doing the pawing out there?’

  ‘What?’ Lydia was horrified to realise she was blushing.

  ‘Harry wasn’t touching the girls,’ Hux explained. ‘They were touching him.’

  Was Hux suggesting she was jealous? It was mortifying. And utterly untrue. No one annoyed her more than Harry. ‘Hux, you’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick if you imagine—’

  ‘I don’t imagine anything,’ Hux soothed. ‘I was just setting the record straight in case you were wondering.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  She’d only noticed the pawing because it had been impossible to miss. She didn’t actually care what Harry got up to with Amelia, Estelle or anyone else.

  ‘Our turn.’ Harry reached for her hand.