The September Girls (45 page)

‘All right,’ she said obediently. Nancy always knew best. An unpleasant thought struck her. ‘But if poor Marcus is dead, there’s no point in me coming back, is there, least not to Parliament Terrace? The house will belong to someone else.’ Eleanor, Sybil or Anthony, or all three together. ‘The last thing they’ll want is me and Kitty living there.’

‘Come on Tuesday, Cara,’ Nancy said firmly. ‘By the way, I forgot to say, Sybil’s on her way home from Malta and Jonathan will be here.’

‘All right,’ Cara said again.

 

Despite all the things Eleanor had said about him, that Brenna didn’t doubt were true, she’d always liked Marcus Allardyce. Even the night he’d chucked Eleanor out in the rain was understandable given the reason for it. With her, he’d never been anything but polite and she would always be grateful to him for giving Fergus a job when Anthony had left him in the lurch and he’d felt so down.

It had been upsetting to learn he’d died in such a desperately horrible way, from loss of blood after falling down his very own stairs. ‘I didn’t hear a thing,’ Nancy wailed. ‘If I’d known he’d fallen, I’d’ve called the ambulance. He was good company during the raids,’ she said. ‘We’d drink a bottle or two of wine between us and end up pissed rotten.’ Apparently, an inebriated Marcus had even been known to crack a joke or two, something Eleanor found difficult to believe, but had to concede Nancy wasn’t the sort of person who’d lie.

Brenna wasn’t going to the funeral. She had agreed to stay in the house and get on with the food so Nancy could go. Eleanor, who had taken care of all the arrangements with the help of Oliver Chandler, had sent notice of Marcus’s death to the
Liverpool Echo
, which had published a long, quite flattering obituary - ‘A good employer, respected by his workers,’ and so on. Eleanor had no idea how many people would come back from the cemetery for something to eat. Less than a dozen, and they could have a cup of tea, more than that and it would have to be wine or sherry; there was plenty of both in the cellar, but not much tea left in the caddy.

On the day - a nothing sort of day, neither cold nor warm, sunny or dull - after the funeral cortege had driven away, Brenna remained in the kitchen to get on with making the salmon sandwiches - she’d contributed a large tin of pink that she’d been keeping for a special occasion, although hadn’t dreamt the special occasion would turn out to be a funeral. She boiled a kettle of water just in case tea was needed and had just decided to treat herself to a cup, when the front doorbell rang and she went upstairs to answer it.

A tall, handsome woman dressed all in black, diamonds flashing on her ears and neck, stood outside, leaning heavily on a stick.

‘I’m sorry,’ Brenna said, ‘but they all left for the cemetery ages ago, although they should be back soon. Would you like to come inside and wait in the parlour?’

‘Thank you,’ the woman said coldly, giving Brenna a haughty look. ‘I saw the cortege leave, but I’m a semi-invalid these days and have difficulty getting in and out of cars. I merely came to pay my respects to the family when they arrive home. I know what it’s like to lose someone, my husband died many years ago.’ She made her stiff way into the parlour and sat down with great difficulty.

‘You obviously live close by if you saw the cars leave,’ Brenna commented, thinking she looked awfully young to be an invalid, not much more than her own age.

‘Next door. Aren’t you going to take my stick?’

‘If you want.’ The woman clearly thought she was a servant. Brenna put the stick in the umbrella stand in the hall. There was still a stain on the carpet where Marcus’s head had lain that Nancy had been unable to remove. She was careful not to step on it. ‘Would you like a cup of tea or a glass of wine or sherry while you’re waiting?’ she enquired.

‘Sherry, please, very dry.’

Brenna looked carefully at the woman. ‘Have we met before? Not recently, a long time ago. There’s something dead familiar about your face.’

‘I doubt that very much.’ The words, said so cuttingly, were a deliberate snub, as if to say she didn’t mix with people of Brenna’s type who answered doors and brought drinks. At any other time, Brenna would have taken offence, but today was Marcus’s funeral and it didn’t seem to matter. She took a last glance at the woman as she closed the door, noticing the way the jewels glinted in her ears and on her neck. She had reached the kitchen and was pouring the sherry when she remembered where she’d seen her before - the memory had stuck with her ever since.

It was the day they’d arrived in Liverpool twenty years ago and there’d been a party in the next door house. Brenna had been clinging to the railings, looking in, while the rain poured down and her body was being assailed by contractions heralding the imminent arrival of Cara. She’d been thinking how unjust it was that she, her husband and children were outside in the cold and wet having had hardly a bite to eat all day, while the well-dressed, well-fed people on the other side of the window were having a wonderful time. She’d wondered why fate had treated them so differently. In particular, she’d noticed a woman with glittering earrings and a plume in her hair who had, in turn, seen Brenda peering through the window and closed the curtains with an angry flourish. The same woman was now sitting in the Allardyces’ parlour, a semi-invalid and a widow. Fate was still treating them differently, but now it was Brenna who possessed the real riches, a good husband, good health, three children who caused their mam an awful lot of worry, but were basically the best in the world.

‘I’ll never complain about anything ever again,’ Brenna promised herself for about the hundredth time in her life. This time, the promise didn’t even last the day.

 

She was home again, feeling sad - well, you couldn’t expect to come home from a funeral feeling happy - peeling ’taters for the tea, glad to be under her own roof again, when Eleanor came into the kitchen, still in her black costume, but minus her over-feathered hat.

‘I wasn’t expecting to see you again today,’ Brenna remarked. ‘I thought you’d be too busy with Sybil and Jonathan. And what happened to the yoohoo?’

Not only did Eleanor ignore this, she didn’t even smile. In fact, she looked so serious that Brenna began to wonder if someone else had died. ‘You know Marcus’s solicitor was there today, don’t you?’ she said in a neutral tone.

‘Yes, you said he was going to read the will after everyone had gone.’

‘And that’s exactly what he did. I just thought that you might like to know that Marcus has left the house and all his money to his wife.’

‘That’s only to be expected, isn’t it? He probably made the will before you and him were divorced.’ Had Eleanor come all this way to tell her the patently obvious?

‘No, it was a new will made only last week on the day he saw the doctor and only hours before he died. He asked Nancy to witness his signature.’

‘That’s odd.’ The words took a few seconds to sink in. ‘That’s
really
odd.’

‘I thought so too, until the solicitor explained that Marcus had married again just before Christmas. He showed us the marriage certificate. His new wife’s maiden name is Cara Caffrey, who, according to Nancy, has a little girl called Kitty and has been living in Parliament Terrace since last July.’

‘
What
!’ The kitchen began to swim in front of Brenna’s eyes. She stumbled into the living room and collapsed in a chair. ‘
My
Cara?’

‘How many other Cara Caffreys do you know?’ Eleanor asked coolly. She had followed Brenna and stood, leaning against the sideboard with her arms folded. Eleanor only folded her arms when she was terribly cross about something.

‘But I don’t understand,’ Brenna said faintly. ‘Are you saying our Cara has been living less than a mile away since last July?’

‘So it would seem.’

‘But I get letters from Malta every other week!’

‘She sent them to Sybil who sent them back to you and did the same with your letters.’ She sniffed disapprovingly, but it came out more like an angry snort. ‘It was all very sneaky and underhand and I told Sybil as much.’

‘And Cara had a baby by Marcus?’ Her voice had gone all quivery and old.

‘I didn’t say that, no.’ Eleanor’s voice was the opposite, hard and crisp. ‘Apparently, Cara was already pregnant when she came to the house and Marcus let her stay. Kitty was born on the twenty-fifth of January. Maybe he married her so Kitty would be legitimate. From the date on the marriage certificate, they did it when the Townswomen’s Guild had their Christmas Bazaar and Nancy - all of us - were out all day. They went to a Registry Office in Chester, clearly wanting to keep it quiet.’

Brenna was beginning to recover some of her composure as her brain began to grasp the enormity of what had happened. ‘So, our Cara has been living in Parliament Terrace since July and Nancy didn’t say a word about it? She’s actually had a baby
and I didn’t know
!’ She jumped to her feet. ‘I’m going round there this very minute to have it out with Nancy Gates. How dare she keep something like that to herself?’

Eleanor stepped forward and spread her arms, creating a human barrier. ‘You’ll do no such thing, Brenna Caffrey,’ she rasped, eyes blazing. ‘Nancy was asked to keep a confidence and that’s what she did. I’ve confided in her myself enough times in the past.’ Her lips curled in disgust. ‘Trust you to put the blame on someone else. Hasn’t it crossed your mind to wonder why Cara didn’t come home to her mother instead of throwing herself on Nancy’s mercy?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘What would your reaction have been if Cara had come home and confessed she was pregnant?’

‘I would have bloody killed her,’ Brenna said belligerently.

‘That’s precisely why she went to Nancy and not you.’ Eleanor refolded her arms and the two friends glared at each other with animosity. ‘About a year ago,’ Eleanor said, ‘Marcus asked me if I’d give up my share in the house so he could leave it to Sybil, our daughter. I agreed willingly, but I would never,
never
have done so if I’d thought for one moment it was going to be left to someone else.’

Brenna licked her lips, unable to think of a single thing to say, but Eleanor hadn’t finished with her yet. ‘This whole mess can be laid at your door, Brenna. Had Cara felt able to tell you she was pregnant, none of this would have happened. There’d have been no need for her to live in Parliament Terrace. Nancy suspects Marcus fell in love with her and he adored Kitty. Oh, and before you start accusing Cara of something or other, she knows nothing about the will. She didn’t seduce him, according to Nancy they didn’t have any sort of relationship, they were just friends.’

‘Where is Cara now?’ Brenna asked limply.

‘In London, staying with someone. She’s coming back tomorrow. Marcus was alive when she left and it was her who insisted he see a doctor. I’m not blaming Cara for anything, Brenna; she’s a sweet girl, I’ve always liked her. I’m blaming you.’

 

‘What did Marcus look like?’ Fielding whispered.

‘He was very handsome for an older man,’ Cara whispered back. ‘Tall and dark-haired with hardly any grey at all, and a Clark Gable moustache.’

‘Did you . . . you know?’ Fielding winked.

‘Shush!’ Cara glanced covertly at the other people in the carriage, but they all seemed to be involved in conversations of their own. ‘You’ve got a really dirty mind.’

Fielding winked again. ‘That’s not an answer.’

‘It’s the only answer you’re going to get.’ She saw that Kitty had gone asleep with her dummy in her mouth and tried to remove it, but perhaps a tiny part of her brain was still awake and she positively refused to give it up. ‘Little madam,’ she murmured softly.

That morning, Tuesday, as Nancy had requested, Cara had telephoned before leaving for the train, to be given the startling news that Marcus had left her everything except the factory in his will. ‘So you’ll be coming back to your own house,’ Nancy had said gravely.

‘But that’s not fair,’ Cara gasped. ‘I couldn’t possibly take it.’

‘Marcus obviously thought it fair, pet. He and Eleanor were divorced and she’s already got a house, even if it’s only rented, Jonathan isn’t his child, and Anthony seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. That only leaves Sybil, and Marcus must have decided he’d rather you had the house than her.’

‘All right,’ Cara said. It still didn’t seem right, but if it was what Marcus wanted for her and Kitty . . . ‘I’ll be back later today. I’m not quite sure what time.’

‘Everyone knows about Kitty, but I only gave them the bare facts. It’s up to you to fill in the details. I didn’t mention Kit.’

‘Thank you, Nancy.’

She’d put down the phone and shouted, ‘Fielding, how do you fancy living in Liverpool? It seems I’ve been left a house.’

Now Fielding’s large suitcase and Cara’s small bag were on the rack above their heads on the inevitably crowded Liverpool-bound train - two young women with a baby had quickly been found seats.

‘What’s the house like?’ Fielding asked.

‘It’s a big mausoleum of a place, rather cold,’ Cara explained. ‘The kitchen’s the nicest room, really huge, and you’ll love Nancy. She’s the housekeeper and does all the cooking.’

‘Will she housekeep and cook for you?’

‘I certainly hope so,’ Cara replied with feeling. ‘The house wouldn’t be the same without Nancy, although I hope I can afford to pay her wages. She said Marcus had left me his money too, but she didn’t say how much. If there isn’t enough, we’ll just have to use your pension.’

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ Fielding said easily. She was excited at the idea of going to Liverpool. Perhaps she would never be her old self again and this was as close as she’d ever get, but she looked miles better than she’d done when they’d met last week. Cara had insisted on giving her hair a good wash and her blonde curls had returned to their former glory. Her face had lost its wizened look, although a few lines remained that she hadn’t had before, making her look older. Malta had turned both girls into women. Cara couldn’t imagine ever feeling young again.