The Birthday Present (16 page)

‘You know him, do you?’ whispered the fat lady.

Too late to pretend otherwise, Rose thought, and nodded.

‘Your pa?’

The court official glared across at them. ‘Silence in court!’

The charge of receiving stolen goods was read out while her father stood, twisting his cap in his hand. Rose saw him suddenly, not as her father but as a stranger – a small, abject figure. She was all he had in the world, she realized. No money, no job, no home. Stricken by his plight she jumped to her feet. ‘Please may I speak in his defence? He’s my—’

Every face in the room turned in her direction. The court official roared, ‘Silence in court!’

But she plunged on while she had everyone’s attention. ‘He’s my father and he’s had a hard life and he’s not a bad man at heart. He’s weak but—’

The magistrate was banging his gavel and Rose found herself seized by the arm and dragged, with considerable difficulty, past the fat woman who grumbled ‘Oi! Watch it!’

‘He was led astray!’ she shouted, struggling to prevent herself being swept off her feet.

Despite her protests, she found herself in the corridor, panting with anger, facing a man in a uniform she didn’t recognize.

The man gave her a final shaking and then released her. He said, ‘Think yourself lucky, woman! You might have been done for contempt! I’ve done you a favour!’ He was a beefy looking man with a florid complexion.

Rose glared at him angrily. ‘Well, I don’t think myself lucky. You nearly pulled my arm out of its socket! And I wanted to help my father. He’s—’

‘I should reckon that little outburst has made it worse for him, poor wretch. You was in contempt of the court and the judge could have had you taken down into the cells. That would have been hard for him.’

Shaken by this assertion, she said, ‘Made it worse for him? Oh but that wouldn’t be fair. I was only—’

‘You were making a disturbance in court and it’s not allowed. Learn something from it. Now I have to get back.’

He left her standing irresolutely in the corridor. She felt foolish and lonely, largely ignored by the various people who hurried past. Slowly she made her way down the stairs and out into the sunlight.

At first she stood there feeling sorry for herself. She had made a mistake in the court and it had all been pointless because her father was going to be given a prison sentence.

But as the minutes passed, her own natural optimism gradually returned and she reminded herself that all was not bad. There were good things in her life, too. She was going to France at some time, with Marcus and Marie, and she had Letitia’s wedding to look forward to. Finally, as she set her face towards Connie’s house, she was smiling again.

‘Excuse me, Miss Paton. May I have a word with you?’

Surprised, Rose swung round to find Mr Granger waiting to speak to her. Her first reaction was to expect bad news in some form but then she realized he was smiling.

‘It’s about my mother, Miss Paton. You remember the two of you met when you called at our house last week.’

‘Ye–es,’ Rose replied. Keeping her tone neutral and not knowing what to expect.

‘You recall that she is often confused.’

‘She mistook you for your brother.’

He nodded. ‘And she thought you had come for a piano lesson!’

They exchanged sympathetic smiles.

‘My mother has now decided that you are a family friend and wants to see you again. I wondered if you might find time to visit twice or three times a week say, for an hour. To chat and read to her. She loves the Bible. I would pay you.’

Rose’s first inclination was to jump at the chance of a little paid work but she gave it careful thought. ‘I do have my career, Mr Granger, and there are rehearsals and three evening performances each week. And I am also about to travel abroad – to France – on a mission of mercy!’ She rolled her eyes to show that this was an exaggeration and then explained about the trip to Boulogne with Marie.

He said, ‘A travelling companion. Lucky Marie  . . . So what do you think? I gave your proposition consideration. Maybe you will return the compliment. My business takes me away from home quite frequently and Mother is on her own too much. Mrs Lake is too busy to cope with her lapses of memory and I suspect that Mother’s vagueness makes her nervous. It can be rather disconcerting. I think my mother gets lonely.’

‘I now live some way from Garret Street, Mr Granger. Would you pay my fares on top of the rest of the money?’

‘I would. I was thinking a shilling an hour.’

‘I was thinking one and sixpence.’ Her eyes met his. She thought his mouth twitched.

‘Shall we say one and threepence?’

‘Why not!’ She held out her hand and they shook on the transaction. She shrugged. ‘Mind you, the Bible is not my favourite book but I shall try to wean your mother off it and on to something lighter.’

‘That will be interesting!’ After a moment he said, ‘Your father? What happened? Was he convicted?’

‘I don’t know. I was dragged out of court for trying to plead for him. They said it was contempt of court.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ll make enquiries later on. So I am the daughter of a criminal. Should you be inviting me into your home?’

‘I’m prepared to risk it, Miss Paton.’

‘Then I’ll call tomorrow about half past ten. Will that suit?’

‘Perfectly. I’ll make a point of being there but in future I’ll leave the money in an envelope with Mrs Lake.’

He seemed pleased, Rose thought, as they separated and she went on her way with a lighter heart.

One o’clock came and two o’clock and Letitia was becoming nervous. Her brother had told her that Bernard was proposing to call in during the morning but there had been no sign of him. Marcus had hidden himself away once more in the study, working, and her pride would not allow her to approach him again. She had taken great care with her hair, had dabbed on some ‘Bonjour Paris’ – a perfume Bernard had given her – and was wearing her most attractive dress.

The lunchtime meal was now over and she had been unable to eat more than a few mouthfuls of the cold chicken and salad which she had had to force down her unwilling throat to avoid comments from her brothers. Now she sat alone in the drawing room with a magazine, trying not to look too often at the clock on the mantelpiece.

When at last the bell did ring she abandoned her nonchalant pose and hurried to listen at the door of the room as Mrs Bray passed on the way to the front door. Her relief faltered when she failed to recognize the male voice. It wasn’t Bernard!

‘Dear God!’ she whispered, frozen with disappointment. She was still there when the door opened abruptly and almost knocked her over.

‘Oh! Sorry Miss Letitia. I didn’t expect anyone to be—’

‘Flowers! Oh how beautiful!’ Letitia stepped back to admire the enormous bouquet which the housekeeper was holding out for her.

‘Aren’t they lovely!’

The flowers were wrapped in a gold patterned paper and tied with gold ribbon. She stared at them as she stammered her thanks.

Mrs Bray smiled. ‘I wish someone would send me flowers like that!’ She withdrew, closing the door quietly behind her. Letitia, feeling ultra-sensitive, wondered if she had guessed or known that Bernard himself was expected.

‘He’s not coming!’ In a moment of anguish she hurled the flowers on to the nearest armchair and pressed trembling fingers on to her eyes in an attempt to stall the tears that threatened to betray her.

The door opened again and the housekeeper handed her an envelope. ‘I almost forgot it,’ she told Letitia. ‘I slipped it into my apron pocket.’

The door closed again and Letitia stared at the envelope which bore her name in Bernard’s familiar handwriting. But what on earth was the housekeeper going to make of the bouquet upside down in an armchair! With a groan, Letitia sat down and opened the envelope.

My dearest Letitia, I wanted to visit you today but something has come up and Mother is in a state and insists she cannot do without me! You know how she can be and the wedding preparations are proving a little more daunting than she expected. Poor Mother  . . .

‘Poor Mother indeed!’ Letitia tossed her head indignantly but she accepted the fact that it was normally the bride’s parents who organized the wedding. Since her mother now lived in France the responsibility had shifted to Bernard’s family. She knew she ought to be grateful and she was.

Everything has to be absolutely perfect or she isn’t satisfied!
Instead I will come tomorrow if that is convenient to you. It seems an age since I held you close and I am desperate to see you again. Please accept these flowers as a symbol of all you mean to me, my adored Letitia. Before long we will be together for ever and I for one cannot wait. All my love, dearest. Yours, Bernard  . . .

‘Oh my love!’ Letitia held the letter to her heart and smiled through the tears of relief. He did love her and he would come tomorrow. She trusted him. The letter had changed everything.

She reread the letter and then glanced guiltily at the abandoned flowers. Hurrying over to retrieve them she took the time to study the selection of blooms in more detail – white rosebuds, pink carnations, frothy white gypsophila and deep red chrysanthemums. They must have cost a great deal of money, she thought with satisfaction. Bernard loved and valued her. Her doubts faded as her smile broadened.

‘Mrs Bernard da Silva!’ she whispered, the dream restored to a forthcoming reality.

Content that her future happiness was once more assured, she let out a long breath. She would find a suitably large vase and arrange her beautiful flowers.

When Rose arrived at Andy’s Supper Room that evening she was told to go straight to Andrew Markham’s office.

It occurred to her immediately that perhaps he was going to offer her the promised glass of champagne, but the pianist’s next remark put paid to that hope.

‘And he didn’t look too happy,’ he told her. ‘I’d step carefully if I were you, Miss Lamore. He’s got a temper on him.’

She tapped on the door of his office and heard nothing so tapped again.

‘Come in!’

She found him in his usual place, at his desk, but this time there were other people with him. Two burly men stood behind him as though they were his bodyguards. Or soldiers on parade who had been told to ‘Stand easy!’ Their feet were apart and their hands were clasped behind their backs. Neither of the two men smiled as she entered.

‘Oh, Mr Markham,’ she began earnestly. ‘I’m sorry about the other night. I was so looking forward to—’

‘Who the hell is he?’ Markham glared at her.

‘Just a friend. He—’

‘You’re telling me that’s all he is – a friend?’

‘Yes, Mr Markham. We met recently  . . . I hardly know him actually but he’s very kind and—’

‘He seems to see the situation differently, Miss Lamore. He claims he is going to marry you.’

She stared at him. ‘Marry him? Oh no! You’ve misunderstood whatever he said to you  . . . Unless it was a joke.’ But Marcus didn’t make jokes, she remembered. So why on earth had he said it?

The two men glanced at each other and grinned but Markham wasn’t grinning. He scowled at her. ‘He’s a damned nuisance, Miss Lamore. I don’t like men hanging round my performers. Do you understand? I need you to concentrate on your act.’

‘He only came that once. He just wanted to see me perform at a real venue. I mean, not in a public house like The White Horse in Stoke Newington.’

He took his feet off the desk and leaned forward. ‘He says he’s going to meet you every time you perform. Steven didn’t warn me that he had a brother who was going to make a pest of himself! We had an understanding, Steven and me. He suggested that you were unattached. He misled me.’

‘No he didn’t!’ she said with genuine indignation. ‘At least he told you the truth. I am unattached.’ She was trying to hold back her growing anger. How dare Marcus tell her boss that she was going to marry him! ‘I’m sorry, Mr Markham. I really was looking forward to our little celebration on Monday night. I’ll speak to him. I’ll make it clear I don’t want him hanging around. I can’t break off the friendship altogether because I’m going to France with him one day soon to take his sister  . . .’ Seeing his expression change she faltered.

His eyes narrowed. ‘Does Steven know about this trip to France?’

‘Well, yes, he must do  . . . but he’s not coming with us. Just me and Marcus and Marie. Because Marie is desperately—’

‘Never mind Marie! You say Steven knew.’

She nodded, wondering where this uncomfortable conversation was leading. Hoping to steer it on to something less serious she gave him a nervous smile. ‘I could come along after tonight’s performance – if you still want me to.’

He ignored her offer. ‘That little swine has double-crossed me! I didn’t think he’d have the nerve.’

He was speaking to the two men, she realized.

One of them said, ‘Maybe we should have a word with him, Mr Markham.’

The other said, ‘Or two or three words!’ and they both laughed.

Markham nodded. ‘Ask for the money. If he has it, that’s fine. We’re square. If he doesn’t  . . . Yes, I think a word or two will do the trick. But be careful. Don’t go too far. And don’t get caught. Got it?’

They both nodded.

‘Then get out of here!’

When they’d gone Rose began to speak but he waved her away. ‘You too. Get out!’

Shaken by his tone and manner she didn’t argue. Outside she paused to recover her poise and the pianist called across to her.

‘Crossed swords?’

‘You could say that. I can’t make him out.’

‘Don’t let it worry you, Miss Lamore. He can be an awkward devil when he likes. On about young Bennley, was it? Money’s usually at the root of it.’

‘Money?’ She made no attempt to hide her surprise. She had thought the Bennley family reasonably wealthy.

‘He’s run up a biggish debt at the bar. Drinks and a game of chance. Plays regularly, does Bennley, and owes money. Mr Markham takes a dim view of that. Not that he’s the only one.’ He closed the lid of the piano with a bang and reached for his jacket. ‘Yep! Funny thing though – it’s usually the toffs. Know what I mean? The ones that ought to know better.’ He adopted a genteel accent. ‘The ones who get dear old Pater to bail them out!’ He gathered his sheets of music and put them in the piano stool and reverted to his normal voice. ‘We had a chap once, middle of last year, ran up a big tab at the bar and his father was Sir Somebody! Very posh. Not that it helped. He refused to cough up for his baby boy and  . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I’m off for ten minutes. I fancy a mutton pie but I’ll be back by three if you want to run through any of your pieces.’