All The Days of My Life (76 page)

“Tom – Isabel,” Molly said, sitting down. “The point is I have to raise the money first. That's why I haven't mentioned it. Unless I can get the backing, nothing will happen anyway. I thought there was no point in dragging the whole thing over the coals till I had finance.”

“I should have thought the first thing to do was discuss it with me,” Isabel said. “Because without my permission no amount of money will help. And that permission I do not give. I can't imagine how you can ever have thought I would. You actually plan to turn my stables into a bicycle factory – quite honestly, I still don't believe it. It's a fantasy. I think you must be mad!”

“But it could work,” Molly said. “The bike's unique. People would want it. And there's what – sixty or seventy square yards of disused space and buildings we could make a start in – it isn't a stupid idea, if you stop to think about it.”

Isabel said, “You come here, and within six months you're planning to use my land and my buildings, without any consultation at all – I still can't believe it. It's the most outrageously impudent thing I ever heard. You must believe me to be so old and so foolish that you can do what you like. Let me tell you now – you're wrong.”

“I'm sorry, Isabel,” Molly said. “As I said, my main idea was not to start talking about something that might not be going to happen.”

“And where's this money supposed to be coming from anyway?” demanded Isabel. “If you're thinking of the bank you're wasting your time.”

“I wasn't thinking of the bank,” Molly told her.

“Where then?” Isabel demanded. Molly was silent. But Isabel was now curious and becoming interested in the new source of capital Molly appeared to have discovered.

“I asked you where you were thinking of getting financial backing,” Isabel said again.

“I'd rather not say at present,” Molly answered.

“Really,” Isabel Allaun said in a tone of pure rage. “Really – I see. You're prepared to make plans to convert my stables, fill the grounds with noise and dirt and labourers, without any consultation at all – but when I ask you a simple question I'm denied a reply. It's quite unbearable.”

Tom said, “Come on, Molly, what have you got in mind?”

It seemed even more impossible to reveal to Tom that she was in collusion with his cousin than it was to tell Isabel her nephew was involved. And she knew that once she told them she was seeing Charlie they would start watching her like thieves hanging about in an alley waiting for a likely prospect to come down the street.

At that moment, as the silence following Tom's question became intolerable, Sid stood up and said, “Come on, Molly. I'd like a word with you in private.”

In the library, where he led her, he looked round at the shelves of neglected books and the dust, and said, “This is a gloomy spot for a chat, I must say.”

“Well?” said Molly, standing her ground in front of the closed door.

“Well,” Sid asked, “where are you going to get the money for this mad scheme?”

“It's not a mad scheme – not that mad, anyway,” Molly said.

“Don't sulk at me,” Sid told her. “All right – it's not mad – it's just half mad. But what I asked is where you're expecting to get the cash from? My worry is, you're planning to sell your house. I don't think that's a good idea.”

“I'm going to Charlie Markham,” Molly said bluntly. “He offered me backing when he was down here – if I had a good idea and if I didn't let Isabel or Tom know what I was doing.”

“Charlie Markham,” said Sid. “After the way you've talked about him all these years.”

“This is business,” Molly said. “He's got money to invest and I've got a proposition.”

Sid sat down in the big cracked leather armchair by the fireplace. A smile spread over his face. He said, “My God, Molly. You've got a nerve and all.”

“Shut up, Dad,” Molly cried. “Somebody's got to do something round here – and don't start bloody laughing at me. I'm not confident. I don't need any help but I don't need people acting incredulous either.”

Her father said, “I don't know anything about whether this plan will work or not. I suppose this Charlie can tell you that. But you're taking a big risk with George and Wayne – they're giving up their jobs.”

“Oh, Dad,” Molly said. “They don't care. They can always get other jobs working on cars. If it all falls through no one will be much worse off – but at least we'll have had a try.”

“Maybe,” Sid said. “But you can see my point of view: you've got no capital, you're a woman going into business – and worse than that it's something you don't know anything about –”

Molly felt discouraged. She knew that what he said was true but she didn't want to listen to him. He spotted her expression. “All right,” he said, “but I can't see how you can get away with not telling your mother-in-law. It's a bit high-handed to take over her premises without telling her –”

Now Ivy burst in. “What's going on?” she asked. “Am I a leper or something? Not good enough to be told what's happening?”

Molly told her quickly what they had been talking about.

“Oh my God,” said Ivy. “You must be raving mad. This place is a lunatic asylum. I knew it'd contaminate you in the end. If you want a decent life why don't you get back to Meakin Street and find yourself a job?”

“Thanks a lot,” Molly said. “Thank you very much indeed, Mum.” And she walked out of the room and back into the sitting room. If, she thought, her own parents were chipping at her, George was unable to understand what was going on and Tom and Isabel were in a temper already, there seemed no point at all in keeping her secret. She sat down and said bluntly to Isabel, “I'm going to Charlie Markham to try to raise some money.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Tom. “You'll be lucky. Blood from a stone, that'd be. Whatever gave you the idea he'd help?”

Molly did not say that his cousin had made the offer. She told him, “Charlie's in the business of making money – if he thinks it'll produce a profit he'll invest.”

Isabel stood up. “I'm going to bed,” she said. “I think we've all discussed this quite enough for tonight.” She turned in the doorway and asked, “Have you arranged to see Charlie?”

“Tuesday,” Molly told her.

And Isabel went out. “Having lunch with him?” asked Tom. “Yes,” Molly said. “I can manage Tuesday,” Tom assured her. “I think I'd
rather do it by myself,” Molly replied. “Two heads are better than one,” Tom told her, “and, after all, you're a woman. You're not used to dealing with operators like Charlie M.” “I'll be going alone,” said Molly. “I think it's better.”

He came into her room late that night, rather drunk, and woke her by leaning over the bed and saying, “I want you in my room.” Molly was frightened. She knew that her new plans had changed matters between them. Her refusal to let him come to the lunch with Charlie Markham only confirmed her lack of faith in him.

She said, “Not tonight, Tom. Let's pick a better time.”

“Get up,” he said, and grasped the top of her arm.

And so she allowed him to wrestle her through the doorway of her bedroom, resisting only as much as she knew she must in order to inflame his feelings. She submitted, in the big, cold bedroom, to his tearing off her nightdress. She even pulled away from him as he pushed her towards the bed, feigning terror and anticipation. She was half-convinced by her own performance – he was, after all, stronger than her. Tom entered her quickly and, almost immediately, his erection failed. He took a handful of her hair and pulled it. He bit her shoulder. She raked at his back with her nails. Then he stared down at her with hatred and flung himself from her body, “Cow,” she heard him mutter. Then, wearily, “Woman? I don't think so.” She had little trouble in crying. Through her tears she said, “Tom – please, Tom.” It was partly that she wanted to redeem his failure by her humility, partly that she felt genuinely upset. Each failure, not just sexual but emotional, reminded her of what she once had, and what she and Tom would never find. She tried to rouse him and succeeded only, it seemed, in sickening him, and herself, more.

She cried again and said, “Tom – cry. It could save us.”

“There's nothing to cry about,” he said bitterly. He lay, naked, with his legs wide apart.

She said, “This can't go on.”

Reaching for a cigarette from the bedside table he lit it and puffed out smoke. “Why did I marry you?” he said.

“You wanted what I once was, or seemed to be,” she said. “And Fred – and all the rest of it. Maybe you thought a fast tart, all blonde hair and curves, was what you wanted. I suppose you thought if I was what everybody had always wanted, I'd be what you wanted, too. What do you want to do?”

“Do?” he said, getting up and putting on his dressing-gown. “What do you mean – do?”

“I either go or we face facts,” Molly said. “There's very little chance now that we can have a proper marriage. So either I leave and we get divorced and you find somebody else or I stay and we accept each other for what we are. If I take up with someone, I won't push it in your face. Same applies to you. Just keep it out of the way. I don't care if it's a boy or a girl – I'll just wish you well. It's no good protesting, Tom,” she said, seeing him about to challenge what she said. “I saw you looking at Wayne yesterday. You fancied him. Wayne knew it, too. All I'm saying is, let's tell the truth, be as happy as we can, and whatever we do, don't make a big fuss about it. Then maybe we can be friends, if nothing else.”

“I can't see what either of us gains by your staying,” Tom said.

“I need the use of the premises,” Molly told him bluntly. “And the name might do no harm. Lady Allaun sounds respectable.”

“And me?” he asked.

“A cut of the profits, if any – and your freedom,” she said. “At worst you lose nothing.”

She felt, now, stunned with fatigue. Her arms and legs were like lead, her eyes closed continually. She could not be sure if she had spoken, or just thought she had. Tom said, “What financial arrangements were you thinking of exactly?”

“Ten per cent to you and five to Isabel,” she muttered.

“I'll get it drawn up if you settle things with Charlie,” he said.

Molly was asleep. He nudged her. “Yes?” he asked.

“Yes,” Molly told him.

Shirley declared later that it was unfortunate that Molly had learned everything she knew about contracts from Ferenc Nedermann, to whom a contract was chiefly a gesture of moderate goodwill and otherwise an item like a net, as valuable for its holes as its more solid parts.

Nevertheless, she signed.

It must have been at almost exactly this time that I was invited to tea by my former employer. This was not unusual but I had an instinct, which became stronger after I arrived, that she had some purpose in mind. But I couldn't imagine what it might be so I settled down to enjoy the occasion. There was a poet there, I remember, who had little to say for
himself and a very pleasant professor of biochemistry. In fact I had got up to leave and was on my way out when someone came up to me and asked if I would be good enough to go into another room and examine some letters on which my hostess would like an opinion. Old they indeed were – they proved to be to the Abbess of Whitby from her brother. I was certainly interested although I could not give a firm opinion about their authenticity on the spot. It was when the door opened behind me that I realized the letters might have been a pretext to detain me, which my hostess admitted, saying, as I stood there still holding the ancient documents, “Quite simply, I'm trying to clear the ground a little for the coming celebrations – and my mind suddenly turned to Mary Waterhouse. I wondered if you had any news of her.”

“None at all,” I said. “As far as I know she's still living quietly in the country with her husband. There may have been changes, of course.”

“It seems to me,” she said, “that anything which keeps her out of the newspapers is a gain. But I'd be interested to know the details of her situation.”

“I'll find out,” I said. And remembering what Corrie had said, I added, “I imagine they're still short of money and that often leads people to change things for themselves.” I could see that although she was quite composed she was not altogether easy in her mind.

She said, “You've never been pleased by how this matter was handled, have you? Be frank with me.”

I demurred, hesitated and finally admitted that the tactics used had not seemed to me to be very efficient or even to lead in the general direction of a solution. But I added that I didn't know what I would have recommended anyone to do at the outset of the business – and that it was not always a bad idea to tackle a problem by doing as little as possible and letting it disappear of its own accord.

I went home thoughtfully to my wife, unsure whether my answer had been true, or only diplomatic. Corrie's attitude was more forthright. “Wait till she finds out about the boy,” she said, rather vindictively, I thought.

I said firmly, “Corrie – there is no boy. The boy is dead. The rest is a figment of our over-heated imagination.”

“Just wait,” she said.

If Charlie Markham hadn't suggested we should meet for dinner as well as lunch I'd probably have had too little time to go and look up
Peggy Jones. Because I'd spent the morning seeing shops about the toys, then shown him, over lunch, the drawings and some figures to prove the bike would be profitable if he got the backing. And he'd said he was going to talk to some people that afternoon and see what he could do, so why didn't we meet for dinner that night and see what he'd come up with? I should've known better – too much speed in these things is always a bit suspicious. There's a difference between not hanging about and the sudden production of contracts and chequebooks, like a conjurer bringing a rabbit out of a hat. But I fell for it – being like a babe in arms in the ways of that world. This left me with the afternoon free, so I went to see Peggy. I walked straight out of the restaurant after seeing Charlie that lunchtime and got a cab to the Rose and Crown in Kilburn High Road.