Ballet Shoes for Anna (4 page)

“I feel sure dancing classes can be arranged,” he said calmly. “But the first thing is to find out if you have relations and where.”

Sir William did his best to give the children a splendid time in Istanbul. He also bought them new clothes, such as they had never owned: grey flannel shorts for the boys with
shirts and ties, and two good cotton frocks for Anna. Also there were pullovers for them all in case it turned cold. Then, on the fourth day, Sir William had a telephone call from London. He told the children the news at once.

“You have got relations. Your grandparents are dead but your Uncle Cecil is alive and you have an Aunt Mabel. They live in a house called Dunroamin in a place called Fyton. I am writing to them today to explain the situation and to say I will deliver you to them at the end of the week.”

I
T WAS A
stormy morning inside as well as out in Dunroamin after the letter arrived. Angry words flew round the dining room like hailstones.

“We’ll go away, Mabel. We’ll lock up the house.”

“We couldn’t do that for long, dear,” said Mabel. “I mean, it’s our home, where should we go?”

“I’ll send a cable to Istanbul to say you are ill, something infectious so we are unable even to see the children.”

“But,” squeaked Mabel, who had almost lost her voice trying to be heard over Cecil’s shouts, “everybody knows I’m not ill. They see me shopping every day.”

“I’ll see my solicitor, I’m sure nobody can be forced to take in their brother’s children, especially a brother who is a thief.”

Mabel thought of something he would care about.

“Wouldn’t it look very bad if it came out that we’d refused to have them?”

“How can it come out? The children are in Turkey. I suppose there are orphanages in Turkey.”

“Not for British children, dear.”

Cecil looked back at his letter.

“They are only half British, their mother was a Pole. Why don’t their Polish relations have them?”

“Perhaps there aren’t any,” said Mabel. “Anyway, I don’t see how you can suggest that. I mean, wouldn’t this Sir William think it was odd?”

In the end, though very grudgingly, Cecil accepted that for the time being he was beaten. He simply could not cable Sir William to say, “No. I won’t have the children.”

“We must just hope there is some money,” he said. “Then we can pack the lot off to boarding schools; the papers have been saying his pictures sold well.”

“Yes, dear, they did,” said Mabel, thankful to be able to agree about one thing at least, though secretly not accepting the boarding schools.

Then Cecil thought of something new to be cross about.

“If only we had bought a smaller house with no spare bedrooms, we couldn’t have had the children. That was your fault, Mabel, you would have that kitchen.”

Mabel was used to being blamed for things she had not done, so it was no surprise to her to hear it was her fault Cecil had bought Dunroamin. Though actually the first she had known of the purchase was when Cecil had said:
“I have bought a house.”

So she changed the subject.

“What shall we do if this Sir William wants to stay the night?”

“We can’t have him, thank goodness. In his letter he says there are two boys and a girl. That uses up the two rooms; in any case I have no intention of this Sir William or any other busybody crossing the threshold. If I have to bring up my brother’s children I shall do it in my own way. I shall fly to Istanbul and collect the children. Imagine Sir William writing ‘I will cable time of arrival’! Who does he think he is? Any cabling time of arrival will be done by me.”

While all this arguing was going on in Dunroamin the children were getting to know Sir William, whom they called S’William, for they had never known a “Sir” and never seen the name written, and the more they got to know him the more they liked him. He was so sensible and unfussy. Without being told he knew they could not eat proper food since the earthquake, so he let them have what they liked. If all Anna wanted was hard boiled eggs and olives in a sandwich that was all she liked so why argue? If Gussie mostly fancied fruit and fizzy lemonade then let him live on them. Black coffee with perhaps an ice cream was not Sir William’s idea of a nourishing meal but if it was Francesco’s that was his business. He only made one food rule.

“I don’t mind what you kids eat, but it’s not much, so see there’s always some of what you like to hand. After all, what’s to prevent you being hungry in the middle of the night? And,
believe me, if all else fails two or three buns at midnight are a splendidly filling meal.”

After one midnight meal of figs, buns and bars of chocolate Gussie said to Francesco:

“I think things to eat in bed is a good idea, in fact only eating when you want to is a good idea. I plan to go on doing that when we get to The Uncle.”

“An uncle, especially a British uncle, eats food at proper times, S’William told me,” replied Francesco.

“I expect we can make him see our way is simpler,” Gussie said. “After all, he ought to be glad, for it saves cooking and laying tables and all that.”

Francesco was getting sleepy – buns at night do have that effect.

“S’William said he expected living with The Uncle would turn out all right, that things often do. So perhaps he’ll understand about food.”

Sir William, who was seldom surprised by anything, was amazed when the cable arrived. For a man who lived in a house called Dunroamin did not sound as if, without a word of warning, he would roam as far as Istanbul. He was also annoyed for he did not want an unknown companion landed on him for the flight home, so he bought four tickets in an aeroplane going to London and wired the flight number and time of arrival to Uncle Cecil. Then he called the children.

“Go and pack, kids. We leave for London in two hours.”

He gave an envelope to Francesco. “I don’t expect you’ll ever need this but if you do, write to me at this address. No
doubt your Uncle Cecil is a splendid fellow but sometimes an outsider can help. Don’t worry if, having written to me, it’s weeks before you get an answer for I am always travelling, in fact I’m only going to stay one night in London then I’m off to Alaska. And, by the way, I’m holding on to your father’s picture for you. Some more may turn up but in the meantime it seems to be all you possess, so I should keep it a secret if I were you. Proper wolves there are in the picture business.”

It’s impossible for anything to happen slowly at an airport. The children had only just got their breath back from the excitement of the journey when they found themselves staring at a strange man who was almost like Christopher only somehow quite the opposite.

The man said:

“I am your Uncle Cecil. Wait over there while I talk to Sir William.”

Over there, which was by an advice counter, Anna whispered to the boys:

“I wish he didn’t look like Christopher because I don’t think I’m going to like him.”

“He speaks,” Gussie said, “like a very old dry biscuit.”

Sir William during the flight had told Francesco a lot of things including the fact that they might not take to their uncle right away – nor he to them – there would have to be give and take on both sides. So now Francesco tried to explain this to the others.

“S’William said we mightn’t like The Uncle at first but we must give time.”

“I don’t need time,” Gussie retorted. “I hate him now this very minute.”

Sir William was thinking that very same thing. He simply loathed leaving the children with their uncle but what could he do? This Uncle Cecil was their legal guardian. In any case in his travelling life there was no place for three children. So he did the best he could. He cut the goodbyes short.

“Goodbye, kids,” he called out. “Let’s hear from you some time.” Then he waved, turned and was swallowed up in the crowd.

THE BOYS, WHO
shared the larger of the two bedrooms, woke up early the next morning.

Gussie sat up and looked round.

“What a horrible room!”

Francesco sat up too.

“I think it’s just so clean and we aren’t used to rooms that are as clean as this.”

“The hotel room in Istanbul was very clean,” Gussie argued, “but it didn’t look like this.”

Francesco saw suddenly something what was wrong with the room.

“There aren’t any pictures, even the hotel in Istanbul had pictures, not very nice but they had them. As a matter of fact there aren’t any in the whole house.”

“I wish,” said Gussie, “we’d kept our picture, it would be
something of us, now there is nothing.”

“S’William was right, though, if it was here it would be sold.”

“What, by wolves like he said?”

Francesco lowered his voice to a whisper.

“No. By The Uncle. I do not think he is pleased we have no money.”

Gussie tried to remember last night but it was a blur.

“I remember The Uncle driving us in his motorcar, it was a long way and I went to sleep.”

“When we got to this house The Aunt was in the hall and she said supper was ready and we should wash,” Francesco prompted him.

“And did we?” Gussie asked.

“Yes, and then we went into a room for eating and there was a dish rolled up in thick grey stuff like a blanket. The Aunt said it was steak and kidney pudding. You looked at it and at once you were sick so you went to bed.”

“Fancy, and I do not remember,” said Gussie. “But then I’ve been sick a lot lately.”

Francesco went on.

“Anna began to cry, just a little at first but then louder and louder so she went to bed. The Aunt took her.”

“And you?” Gussie asked. “You stayed?”

“Yes, not to eat, that I could not, but The Aunt gave me a glass of milk with chocolate in it. The Uncle said she should not give in, children should eat what they were given, but she said it wouldn’t hurt for once, it had been a tiring day.”

“What else did The Uncle say?”

Francesco clasped his hands round his knees.

“He said we spoke English very bad, you remember Christopher said that too. That now it is the summer holiday but soon we all go to school.”

“Where?”

“There is a school in this place.”

“For Anna too?”

Francesco nodded.

“That is the bad thing. I told him Anna could not go to an ordinary school, she must go where there is good training to dance, but he made a sort of spitting sound and then he said: ‘I don’t hold with dancing nor ever will.’ ”

Gussie was shocked.

“Did you explain what Jardek had said?”

“Every single word and on each word he made more spitting noises. It is no good hoping, Gussie. The Uncle will not pay for Anna to learn to dance.”

Gussie was so shocked he did not answer for quite a while. Then he got out of bed and began putting on his clothes.

“Quick, we must hurry.”

Francesco watched him.

“Hurry where?”

“To S’William, of course, to sell our picture to pay for Anna to learn. We must get it before he goes to Alaska.”

Francesco shook his head.

“Do you think I did not think of that? S’William is in
London, we are a long way from there, we should have to take a train, and we have no money, no money at all.”

Often when there was to be a picture exhibition Christopher had driven the caravan to a place where there was a telephone. Gussie remembered this.

“Then we must telephone.”

Francesco felt under his pillow and brought out Sir William’s envelope. He passed it to Gussie.

“I thought of that but look, there is only an address.”

Gussie took out the piece of paper inside the envelope and saw this was true. There was just an address scrawled across it but no telephone number. He put the paper back in the envelope and gave it to Francesco.

“Then what shall we do?”

“First take off your clothes and get back into bed. In this house all is arranged. I think we will bath before we dress. The Aunt said so. Then we must learn this address by heart in case we lose the envelope.”

“Can’t we hide it somewhere?”

Francesco looked round the room.

“Where?”

Gussie had undressed again. Now he put on his pyjamas.

“Let’s look.”

At that moment they heard someone coming up the stairs so, quick as a grasshopper, Gussie got back into bed while Francesco shoved the envelope under his pillow.

Aunt Mabel opened the door. None of them had taken Aunt Mabel in last night for Gussie and Anna were both too
wretched and too tired to notice anybody, and Francesco was talking to his uncle. But now the boys had a chance to study her and very odd they thought she was. “Like a mouse,” Gussie described her later, “afraid to move in case a cat is coming.”

The oddest thing about Aunt Mabel was her voice. It was as if she had to push at her words to make them sound at all, and if she said much she seemed to run out of breath.

To look at, too, she was to the children surprising. Dressed in a shapeless flowered dress and an apron which seemed to hold her together. She had hair which, though no doubt she had put pins in it, seemed to be falling down. As a result the general effect was crumpled. This amazed the boys for the only British woman they had looked at was the Queen, whose picture Olga stuck up with a pin during lessons. The picture was of the Queen at the Flower Show and was much admired by the three children, who had supposed that was how all British ladies looked.

“Good morning, dears,” Aunt Mabel puffed. “Time for baths. You can go now, Francesco, for your uncle has finished with the bathroom. You will have to run along as you are as you have no dressing-gowns.”

In the caravan or when staying with Jardek and Babka, there had been no use for dressing-gowns, though Christopher had an old one he occasionally put on. Bathing had happened when it could. Sometimes water was heated and poured into a tub and was used by all the family in turn. More often they bathed where everybody else did, in a
wayside stream, a lake or perhaps a river. For ordinary washing there was always cold water and a tin basin.

Francesco wondered if The Aunt was blaming S’William for not buying them dressing-gowns.

“In the hotel in Istanbul we had no use for dressing-gowns for in each bedroom was a bath which was ours alone.”

The glory of that memory rang in Francesco’s voice.

Aunt Mabel was obviously impressed, in fact she seemed unable to answer for her mouth just opened and shut like a fish’s.

“S’William bought us all the beautiful clothes we have,” said Gussie.

Aunt Mabel’s voice sounded more faint and jerky than ever.

“Oh dear, I hope your uncle does not know that for he would feel he ought to pay him.”

Gussie was shocked.

“A present is a present, it is rude to wish to pay.”

Aunt Mabel, as if her legs would no longer hold her upright, sank on to the end of Francesco’s bed. She spoke in a whisper:

“In time you will understand your uncle” – she did not sound as if that was a promise. “But until you do, dears, will you try not to annoy him?”

“What is it that annoys him?” Gussie asked.

Aunt Mabel squeezed her hands together.

“Please, please, dears, don’t ask him to let Anna dance. You
see, to him dancing is not right.”

The boys gaped at her. Naturally, with a grandfather like Jardek, dancing was like painting or any art – a gift from God to be treasured and worked at. Had not Olga explained this to them almost every day? Gussie supposed The Aunt did not understand.

“Jardek – he was the father of our mother – was a great teacher of ballet in Warsaw. When he had to leave and come to Turkey he taught us. Francesco and me we have no gift but Anna has.”

Francesco added:

“Always Jardek knew this. ‘She has the real special spark,’ he said: ‘always I have searched and now I am rewarded to find it in my own granddaughter.’”

“Not to let her learn,” said Gussie firmly, “is a sin – a bad sin.”

The voice of Uncle Cecil roared up the stairs.

“What’s going on, Mabel? Those children should be bathed and dressed by now.”

Aunt Mabel scuttled to the door.

“Hurry, boys,” she gasped. “Hurry.”

Francesco and Gussie looked at each other then Francesco gave Gussie Sir William’s envelope.

“Hide it somewhere while I have my bath. Afterwards we will talk for it is us who must arrange that Anna learns to dance.”