The Birthday Present (13 page)

He said, ‘I agree. Call in again tomorrow around this time. I’ll have a look at the furniture in the meantime and will leave the balance with my mother if I cannot be here myself. Mother, will you please show Miss Paton out?’

‘Indeed I will.’ She was all smiles. ‘Come along, dear.’

They parted cheerfully on the doorstep and Rose hurried home, glowing with a sense of cautious triumph. Her father might not be too pleased but he was not in a position to carp since, had it not been for his stupidity, she would not be in this situation. First thing in the morning she would get in touch with Connie and then she would return by eleven to pack a few of her belongings and anything she felt her father might want, such as clothes, when he came out of prison. It was surprising, she told herself, buoyed up by her small success, just how easily a problem could be turned around if you put your mind to it.

Rose arrived at the church with fifteen minutes to spare and huddled beneath her father’s black umbrella, thinking about poor PC Stump and his dead wife and child. The rain was little more than a drizzle but she had taken great care with her hair and didn’t want her curls to frizz. Finding herself alone in the church she had returned to the churchyard where she huddled in the lee of the building, immediately beside the church porch out of reach of the brisk wind.

Alone with her thoughts, some of the previous day’s pride had faded and she now suspected that accepting Connie’s spare room had probably been a step too far. Small, barely furnished and without even a rug, it smelled of damp and there was an ominous stain on the wall which hinted at a leaky roof.

Connie, naturally, had been delighted by her decision to move in and had asked for four weeks’ rent in advance but Rose had persuaded her to take three instead. Would she, she now wondered, be able to stay there for four whole weeks? Could she bear it? Too late she realized that she should have asked to see the room before committing to renting it. The first evening’s ‘supper’ had consisted of a thin mutton stew with onions and carrots and a large chunk of bread. They had shared the meal in Connie’s living room, accompanied by loud snores from her ancient dog – a small mongrel.

Her self-pity was now interrupted by the first mourners who trailed sadly past her without so much as a curious glance. She waited until the clock above them struck three when the funeral procession arrived and the coffin was carried into the church by six unhappy people. Rose followed them in and sat in solitary splendour in the back row.

There were no choristers but the vicar did his best. For Rose it was an ordeal. It brought back sad memories of her mother’s funeral. Rose was almost glad she was dead because she was spared the humiliation of her husband’s arrest and the knowledge that he had broken his promise to stay on the straight and narrow.

PC Stump sat in the front row, separated from his sobbing mother by his small daughter. Or was the sobbing woman his mother-in-law? Or a sister of the deceased, maybe? He wore a black suit and looked smaller than he did in his uniform.

Rose looked at the coffin and wondered where the dead child was – tucked into the same coffin as the mother, presumably, because there was no smaller coffin. Safe in her mother’s arms, thought Rose, and felt a little comforted.

After the service they made their way to the new grave and the umbrellas went up again. Rose caught the young widower’s gaze across the grave and gave a little nod because a smile seemed so inappropriate, but as soon as she got the chance, she dropped her single rose on top of the coffin and slipped away, leaving the family to their private grief.

She paused at the church gate and glanced back and the realization hit her that before long she would probably be attending Marie’s funeral, and she stumbled from the churchyard with two large tears rolling down her face.

Five

Monday afternoon found Andrew Markham lolling in a chair in his office, smoking a cigar. Through the smoke he regarded Connie whom he had just summoned. She stood in front of him, not having been invited to sit, and clasped her hands anxiously.

‘So, Connie,’ he said. He had sat through the afternoon’s rehearsal. ‘What do you think of her? Our Miss Lamore, the people’s favourite!’

‘Oh, she was good, wasn’t she!’

‘Was she? Is that your considered opinion?’

‘Yes. Yes, it is.’

He wondered what had happened to her since the two of them had been more than friends. Then she had been a bright spark – a beautiful, somewhat fiery individual, full of confidence. A challenge, in fact. He had set his heart on having her but she had tried to resist his approaches. Poor Connie. She had thought it a game. She had wanted a romance. A chase. He had soon put her right. It had taken a few hard slaps – more than a few, in fact – before she understood who held the whip hand.

He said, ‘So you don’t think her legs too thin?’

‘Oh no!  . . . At least, maybe just a bit.’

He sucked on the cigar and blew out a smoke ring, watching it float upwards, smiling a little. Poor old Connie. She still needed to humour him.

‘So you thought her voice reasonable? Or nothing special  . . . or disappointing. Weak, perhaps.’ Pointedly, he waited for her opinion.

‘Er no  . . . that is  . . . it’s early days. It’ll grow stronger. Her voice, I mean. She’s never had a singing lesson.’

‘And what about the rest of it? You reckon she’ll be agreeable to my suggestions? The after-show performance, as you might say?’

Connie knew immediately what he meant, even without the leering tone and the wink. She swallowed. ‘I couldn’t really say. She’s very young and—’

‘All the better! I like them young and tender. A revelation for both of us.’ He laughed. ‘A bit more than a revelation if she says “No”, eh?’ He snatched the cigar from his mouth and leaned forward. ‘Bit of a revelation for you, wasn’t it, all those years ago! But you fought back. Proper little scratch cat!’

She said nothing, startled by the outburst.

‘Oh, don’t look so scared, woman. She won’t be the first or the last to be taken by surprise – and I’ve got a bottle of champagne to soften her up. She won’t be in a fit state to argue. She won’t want to argue.’

He leaned back in the chair. Poor old Connie She was a shadow of her former self – scrawny now, haggard, her spirit crushed many years ago. Closing his eyes he visualized Miss Lamore. She owes me a lot, he reminded himself. No real talent, a waiflike, child’s body and no voice to speak of. But she was pretty and she had blonde curls. He would let her think she was on the way to a glamorous future.

Connie looked at him uncertainly. ‘I’ll be off then, shall I?’

He waved her away, pulled out his gold watch and studied it. Only a few more hours and Rose would learn that there was more to show business than she had ever imagined.

That same afternoon, Steven was running a nervous finger round the inside of his collar as he waited for the solicitor’s answer to his question. Mr Gideon was a neat little man, young, with a thin frame and plain features, and had been with the firm since he was twenty, which made him around twenty-three. Steven heartily disliked him. Unfortunately, the man had a strong grasp of the workings of the trust and Steven always felt he was going to enjoy refusing his requests. He was never pleasantly surprised, but this time Steven felt it to be a matter of life and death.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Bennley, but as I have told you before, the wording of the trust fund is perfectly clear.’

Steven, having eased his collar, now found himself almost breathless with fear. This refusal was going to cost him dearly. He had to make the man understand that this time it was different. This time he was in fear of a possible beating – all depending on Rose – but obviously he could not put that into words. If Rose rejected Markham, Steven could expect the worst. And when Marcus found out, there would be hell to pay. The only way to prevent damage of one sort or another was to repay the debt.

He said, ‘Mr Gideon, I don’t think you quite understand the seriousness of the problem. It is absolutely imperative that you advance me the money I have requested. It’s a business matter of the utmost importance. A  . . . a pledge is involved and I like to think I am a man of my word. You surely understand that.’

‘Mr Bennley, you are being very guarded about this business matter but even if you were to give me each and every detail, my answer would have to be a refusal. I am not allowed to tamper with the trust in any way. You are asking me to behave unethically.’

Steven looked at him with something approaching hate. How satisfying it would be to lean across the desk and punch the smug little man in the face! Without the money, he, Steven, would receive much more in the way of physical force. He imagined himself lying in the gutter being kicked and stamped upon by two thugs who were paid to cause their victims maximum pain and distress. Worse still, poor innocent Rose might find herself at the mercy of Andrew Markham and he desperately wanted to prevent that from happening. In a rash moment he had used Rose to save himself but he was ashamed of that fact now and was desperately trying to rescue the situation. If he could persuade this wretch to advance him the money he would go straight over to Andy’s Supper Room and hand it over. He would then find Rose, take her on one side and give her a serious warning about the sort of man Markham really was so that it would then be up to her. She could walk away from it all or take her chances. He would be glad to wash his hands of the affair.

An idea came to him suddenly. What would happen to Marie’s money when she died? Presumably it would then be shared between himself, Marcus and Letitia  . . . but then maybe once the latter married the trust would no longer apply to her. For a moment he brightened but then shook his head in despair as a fresh wave of guilt washed over him.

‘Mr Bennley, I have a suggestion to make, if you’ll pardon the intrusion. Have you considered finding some occasional paid work that would supplement your money from the trust fund?’

Steven stared at him, his temper rising. The nerve of the little wretch! He jumped to his feet. ‘I don’t at all pardon the intrusion. I find your suggestion rude and offensive!’

‘I am simply trying to help  . . .’ The solicitor appeared quite unmoved by his client’s response and Steven fought down a desire to lean across the desk and throttle him with his own bare hands. Instead he pushed back his chair so forcefully that it fell over. Then he snatched up his hat and strode out of the office before he could lose control and make an utter fool of himself.

 . . . ‘Dear Rose, A cautionary word in your ear – Markham can be pretty powerful. He’s that sort of chap. Don’t let him talk you into anything you don’t fancy  . . . Steven’

Rose frowned, then glanced up at Connie, who had delivered the note to the dressing room when Rose came off stage.

Connie said, ‘He seemed a nice enough fellow. A bit flustered but I expect he was in a hurry. Your young man, is he?’

‘I haven’t got a young man but I do know him. He’s the brother of a friend. “Pretty powerful”? I wonder what that means exactly.’

‘Can’t you guess?’ Connie raised her eyebrows. ‘Some men have  . . . urgent desires. They can get  . . . carried away .That sort of thing.’

‘But it was Steven who arranged the audition for me. He didn’t say anything about  . . . about this.’ She looked bewildered. ‘Mr Markham has promised me a glass of champagne when the show ends tonight. To celebrate what he calls my debut on the professional stage.’ She smiled. ‘My debut! Isn’t that wonderful! He’s going to ask a friend of his to come and hear me sing. A theatrical agent! Steven said he had influential friends – Mr Markham, I mean. I daresay the agent is one of them.’

‘Well dear, one glass of champagne won’t hurt you but if I was you I wouldn’t go any further. Keep your wits about you.’ She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. ‘It can be hard to say “No” to a powerful man.’

Rose stuffed the note into her pocket. ‘One glass, then. Mind you, I have drunk champagne before at Steven’s sister’s birthday party. It’s lovely.’

‘I’ve drunk pints of the stuff!’ Connie boasted. ‘In the old days, that is. I liked it but I do prefer a nice drop of gin. It seems to—’

‘Did you see me on stage, Connie?’ Rose began to struggle out of her costume. ‘I thought it went well. Not a lot of applause but then it is Monday and there weren’t many people eating. I expect Friday will be a better day – and maybe when I’ve got a bit more experience, I’ll have a spot on Saturday. What d’you think?’

‘Very likely – if you play your cards right. Be nice to him but not too nice. Let him think that maybe next time  . . .’ She shrugged. ‘I’ll wait up for you, Rose, seeing as it’s your first time.’

‘Oh, Connie, that is sweet of you. I expect I’ll have lots to tell you.’ She had changed into her best clothes and now did a little twirl. ‘What will he think?’

‘You look lovely.’

Rose laughed. ‘Do I look like a star?’

‘Almost there. Give it time.’ She fumbled in her bag and produced a small package wrapped in paper. ‘Here, eat these. Jam sandwiches. You can’t go drinking champagne on an empty stomach.’ She thrust them into Rose’s hand, turned and hurried away.

Rose looked at the sandwiches and then decided that there would be a bit of a wait until the show ended and Mr Markham was ready for her. She had taken the first bite when the door opened and one of the waitresses put her head in.

‘I’m to tell you he’s waiting in the office. Best get a move on, ducks!’ She winked and withdrew.

Abandoning the idea of a jam sandwich, Rose made her way round the edge of the supper room and headed for the office. She had just reached it and was about to knock when it opened and a man came out.

She stared. ‘Marcus!’

He smiled. ‘I thought I’d collect you and take you round to your room. I’ve explained to Mr Markham.’

Andrew Markham appeared in the doorway behind him, looking none too pleased. He said, ‘Another time, then, Miss Paton. I was telling your friend, Mr Bennley, that you did well tonight. A good start.’ He closed the door with a little more force than was necessary.