Home for Christmas (20 page)

She shook her head vehemently. ‘That’s not what I said. I just want to finish off some of the work I’ve been doing.’

She didn’t mention Edith Allen and the abortion that had almost killed the poor woman.

‘A little time to give notice. I love my vocation and I’m going to find it hard to leave.’ She wrapped her arms around him so that he had to come back to her. That was when she became acutely aware of the points of her breasts touching his chest. She tingled at the feel of him against her, and her breath seemed tight in her throat.

‘I will marry you, Robert. I don’t think I could ever marry anyone else.’

‘Kate, Kate! I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. Do you have to go?’

Normally in total control of any given situation, it wasn’t often that Doctor Eric Miller begged anyone for anything. Up until she’d mentioned Paris, he had been admiring Kate’s glistening shoulders and the creaminess of her bosom. Now he was holding on to her fingers as though that alone would prevent her from leaving.

Her eyes sparkled and her laugh was one of reassurance.

‘It will do both of us good to be apart for a while. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Anyway, I’ve always wanted to visit Paris, and this is my chance to make a name for myself there. I understand the theatre is of good quality. I wouldn’t be going if it were anything but.’

Her commentary on her proposed visit did nothing to lift Eric’s spirits. Kate catered to his personal needs very well indeed, besides which he liked her. He knew very well she was closer to middle age than she made out, but her vivaciousness made up for the few wrinkles she had. Theirs was a relationship not based entirely on physical attraction. They shared many likes and dislikes, laughed and were saddened by the same things, had the same taste in theatre, music and art. In short, they suited each other. He tried to persuade her of this in the hope that she wouldn’t go to Paris.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her eyes looking up into his. ‘My agent has signed the contract. I have no choice, but …’ She smiled in a way that from the very first had beguiled him into letting her into his bed. ‘I will be faithful to you. I never dally with more than one man at once.’

His dark eyebrows rose almost high enough to reach his hairline.

‘A dalliance? Is that all I am to you?’

She noted the peevishness in his voice and, still smiling, attempted to stroke his frown away with her fingers, her voice as soft as silk.

Her eyes sparkled when she took his hands and smiled up into his face.

‘No, Eric. Far from it in fact. We will never marry I think, but we will always be … together. Anyway,’ she said, disengaging herself from his arms, ‘I’m sure there are aspects of your social life that have been neglected of late. Perhaps you should take up those invitations you have declined in the past. I’m sure you must have some …’ She fastened a finger against his mouth before he could utter a word.

‘Don’t deny it. I know there are places you wouldn’t dream of taking an actress. Please don’t take me for a fool.’

Eric closed his mouth. Kate had a knack of hitting the nail on the head, pointing out things to him that he’d neglected or failed to notice. He found himself wondering how he’d ever lived without her. He’d been dead before he’d met her, or at least not as full of life as he was now.

‘Anyway, Lydia would appreciate your company for a while. You rarely take her anywhere. She’s your daughter and I think you should.’

He didn’t take criticism that well and couldn’t help clenching his jaw. There was no doubt that he’d neglected Lydia, but his daughter didn’t seem any the worse for it. He thought about voicing this truth, but Kate was already talking about something else. Paris and Lydia were settled subjects.

They left the theatre to dine at a new place recommended by some young man in the cast of the latest play. Eric hesitated at the door and looked through the plate-glass window. The tables were crowded and there was much laughter. He searched for familiar faces; just one and he would beat a hasty retreat.

It had long been their habit to choose out of the way, less popular places where they were not known. He discerned that perhaps Kate was getting tired of the subterfuge.

His worst fears were realised when he saw a tall figure he recognised, resplendent in evening dress, a black cape and carrying a silver-topped cane. Rudolfo Credenza, Lady Julieta’s brother.

‘Damn,’ he muttered. He began to back out of the man’s line of sight immediately but he was taken aback by the youth of the woman accompanying him. Stones as red as rubies glistened from the necklace she wore and matching droplets dangled from her ears.

A faint glow of rouge warmed her fresh young face and glistened on her lips. Her eyes, outlined in black, lids shaded blue, sparkled with what he could only interpret as excitement coupled with upward glances of adoration for Rudolfo Credenza.

Although only lightly applied her makeup looked somewhat incongruous on so young and fresh a face. It crossed his mind that she was barely more than a child, in his judgement no more than fourteen.

If that were my daughter, he thought, clenching his jaw …

‘Is everything all right, Eric?’

Kate’s voice jerked him back from his deepest fears and to the moment, the restaurant and the haughty expression on the face of Rudolfo Credenza.

‘I think we should leave.’

‘But …’

She was about to say that they had only just arrived, when she too noticed Rudolfo Credenza. Her smile faded.

‘If you say so, my love,’ she murmured.

Arm in arm they left the establishment, both entertaining their own opinions of a man they had had dealings with and whom neither of them liked.

The starched aprons of house maids and parlour maids cracked in the breeze as they ran to the lower meadow, one hand holding on to their caps.

People from the village, labourers from the estate, chattered excitedly, their eyes scanning the sky for their first glimpse of a flying machine.

The crowd gathered in the lower meadow at Heathlands was the biggest since old Sir Avis had died. Everyone was making the most of the day seeing as his widow was not one to socialise with either the local gentry or the ordinary folk thereabouts.

Robert had also sent an invitation to be passed on to Agnes, so when she went off duty, Lydia decided to catch the tram to the end of Myrtle Street.

‘Off to see that Agnes Stacey, are ya?’

The speaker who accosted Lydia as she passed the corner shop was Arthur Truelove. His father owned most of the properties in the street, Arthur collecting the rents on his behalf. Because of this, he fancied himself as a man of means, a cut above others of his age in the neighbourhood.

Lydia replied that she was indeed paying her friend a visit and did her best to skirt around him.

‘There’s a lot of comings and goings in that house,’ he said. ‘Not that it’s my business, just so long as the rent is paid. Must be getting a bit crowded though seeing as there’s only two bedrooms.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Lydia knew that Sarah Stacey and her mother sometimes took in lodgers to help make ends meet, but would not enlighten Arthur Truelove, though they would only let one of the attic rooms. Agnes had the other one, her mother and grandmother having the two bedrooms on the first floor. Not that it was any of his business. Besides that, he smelled of mothballs so the less time spent near his tweed jacket and stained waistcoat, the better.

She did a sideways step, but Arthur still kept pace.

‘We are very great friends. Sometimes Agnes is a guest at my father’s house.’

‘Is that so? Well, I never. I hear your dad’s a doctor,’ he said, wheezing slightly as he attempted to keep pace with her. The fact was Arthur was a big, broad lad, but not the most active or agile thanks to a huge appetite turning the firmness of youth to fat.

‘Yes,’ she answered tersely.

‘Hand you’re a nurse.’

Lydia smothered a giggle. Arthur considered himself a gentleman and as such added aitches on to words beginning with vowels.

‘I ham.’

It was so easy to mimic poor Arthur who really did think himself a cut above everyone else in the street.

‘Must have a big house then. Where might that house be situated, might I hask?’

Lydia just managed to get out the word ‘Kensington’ without bursting into a more vigorous giggling fit.

She eyed the distance to go before she could safely pop through the front door where Agnes lived. About thirty more feet and …

‘Excuse me if hi ham speaking hout of turn, Miss Lydia, but could hi be so bold has to hask you to accompany me for a repast at Sampsons in Hosborne Street?’

The door to the house in Myrtle Street loomed like a cool lake.

Lydia barely broke step. ‘I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m already spoken for.’

She was gone before Arthur Truelove suggested she reconsidered his invitation. Persuading her would include his personal résumé: how much he earned and how much he would be worth once his father had ‘passed over’, as he put it when describing death.

Arthur Truelove Senior and his family, as great exponents of the afterlife and spiritualism, didn’t die, they only passed over.

The moment she was through the front door, Agnes swung out from the front room, grinning from ear to ear.

‘I saw Arthur was keeping you close company. I take it his father hasn’t passed over yet, but he’s still telling you how much he’ll inherit when he does.’

Lydia leaned against the closed door and shook her head. ‘We didn’t get that far. Thank goodness!’

Agnes giggled. ‘One of these days it’ll happen. We’ll look up and see old Mr Truelove passing over – floating past the chimney pots.’

Suddenly, Agnes saw the look of glee on Lydia’s face.

‘You’re grinning like a Cheshire cat. Something good has happened. What is it? For goodness’ sake, what is it, Lydia?’

Lydia gave her the crisp white envelope containing the gilt-edged invitation.

‘From Robert,’ said Lydia, her eyes shining.

Agnes bit her bottom lip, glanced at Lydia and then down at the card.

‘Did you ask him to invite me?’

Lydia sighed. Agnes hid her feelings well. There had been no real understanding between Robert and Agnes, but Agnes had been hurt. She’d always loved him and probably always would.

‘No. I did not ask him to invite you. He asked me to bring this to you and for us to pick you up in my father’s new motor car.’

Agnes considered it for a moment. Lydia held her breath.

‘All right,’ she said at last, the old confidence returning and glowing in her eyes. ‘But only if I can drive.’

It wasn’t too hard for Lydia to persuade her father to let Agnes drive.

‘Just think. A chauffeur-driven car and nobody will suspect it’s a woman driving. Agnes wears goggles, a leather cap and trousers. Nobody will be any the wiser. Lady Ravening and her friends will be very impressed.’

He’d been won over. It was now a case of keeping Agnes out of sight. Lady Ravening was likely to boot her off the premises on sight.

‘Keep to the crowds and the old lady won’t see you,’ Lydia advised her friend.

Agnes was her usual rebellious self.

‘I won’t hide from that old cow. I’m not afraid of her.’

‘Agnes, please remember my father’s position in this. Wealthy patients don’t grow on trees.’

Agnes burst out laughing. ‘She’d look good hanging from a tree.’

‘That isn’t funny.’ Lydia was adamant. Grabbing Agnes by the shoulders, she gazed solemnly into her face and made her promise to behave herself.

Agnes stifled her laughter and adopted what she considered a serious expression, her lips constantly stretching into a wide grin.

‘I promise I won’t flaunt my presence. I’ll mix with the blokes when she gets close, with my goggles and scarf hiding my face. Will that suit?’

Lydia said that it would. Sighing with relief, she looked around her. The excitement in the air was palpable, like electricity before a thunderstorm.

Lydia wondered at her father taking the time to be with her; they rarely spent time together. It was someone else he took to the theatre, someone else who had made him happier than she had ever seen him.

This special someone was never mentioned. Lydia wondered – it was definitely a woman – but had never asked questions about her. To her knowledge he had not brought the woman to the house, or at least not when Lydia was there. Perhaps he cared more for her feelings than she’d thought, or perhaps this woman was just a companion and not a replacement for Lydia’s mother.

I wonder, she thought as she watched him, his caped tweed coat flapping like a dark gold wing. On the journey to Heathlands, he’d asked Agnes how her mother was keeping and what she, Agnes, intended to do with her life.

‘Drive motor cars, then aeroplanes,’ said Agnes.

Agnes had commented on the performance of the doctor’s brand new motor car.

‘It smells of new leather and the seats are very comfortable,’ she exclaimed. ‘It also smells of violets,’ she said. ‘Just like the perfume my mother wears.’

Some of the crowd gathered had brought sandwiches, great doorsteps of crusty bread and thick wedges of cheese. Some of the men had brought beer and children ran and played, shrieking with excitement even before the arrival of the aeroplane.

Not even the arrival of Lady Julieta could dampen their cheerful voices or curtail their youthful energy.

Lydia managed to study her while at the same time keeping Agnes safely hidden behind the large pink hat she was wearing. The hat, she decided, was a wonderful buy, ably killing two birds with one stone; firstly to hide Agnes and secondly Robert would be able to see it from the air.

She hid a smile behind a gloved hand as she watched the old lady’s progress. Her ladyship was the sort who wore helplessness like a shield. In actuality she seemed quite fit and undoubtedly formidable.

Neverthless, Quartermaster pushed her bath chair over the rough ground, the small figure bouncing each time one wheel caught on uneven ground while the other remained level.