Memories of You (45 page)

‘I'm afraid so. Well, would you like to come and work for me?'

Suddenly Margery Sutton couldn't look Helen in the eye. She busied herself pouring another cup of tea and taking an inordinately long time to stir in a spoonful of sugar. ‘Well, actually, I've had another offer,' she said.

‘Of work?'

‘You could call it that.' She laughed.

‘For goodness' sake, tell me,' Helen said.

‘Angus – Dr Salkeld, that is – hasn't been able to find a satisfactory housekeeper since his wife died.'

‘And he wants to offer the position to you?'

‘He's offered more than that.'

‘You mean . . . he asked you to . . . ?'

Margery nodded. ‘Marry him.'

‘And you've said?'

‘I would tell him once all this business was settled.'

‘But you're going to say yes?'

‘Oh, I think so, but it doesn't do any harm to keep them guessing, does it?'

‘Well, that's wonderful, Margery. Is there anything in the sideboard we can drink a toast with?'

‘Only the sweet sherry your aunt was so fond of.'

‘That will do. You sit there while I go and get it.'

 

Helen was staying at the Royal Station Hotel. When Margery had telephoned to tell her of her aunt's death she had come north straight away, but she could not bring herself to sleep in the house where she had been so unhappy. In the morning she would telephone the solicitor and tell him to go ahead with the plans to sell the house.

She had already had an appointment with him when he had told her the terms of her aunt's will, which were very simple. Helen was the sole heir. He had also given her a letter which Helen reread now when she was lying in bed and couldn't sleep.

In it her aunt had told her something which Helen had suspected for some years. That it had been the Partingtons' car that had knocked down and killed their mother. Also that the Partingtons' chauffeur had been in no way to blame and that Mrs Partington had been prompted to help them by the sheer goodness of her heart.

Helen only half-believed that. No doubt the wife of one of the richest men in England felt it her duty to help the bereaved family, but she had been childless and had seen this as an opportunity to take the youngest child into her home and adopt her. Helen remembered the night that Mrs Partington had come for Elsie, how she had lifted her on to her knee and comforted her. How she had wanted to leave as soon as possible, leaving all Elsie's belongings behind, including the homemade doll Maisie.

Helen had kept that doll and when Elise, as she wanted to be called, had come home with her she had presented it to her only to find that her younger sister didn't remember the doll at all. However, seeing Helen's ill-concealed dismay, she had said, ‘Oh, how sweet. I shall keep her forever!'

Elise had never spoken about her feelings for her adoptive parents and Helen, guessing that she was deeply wounded by their abandonment of her, had decided to wait until her sister felt ready to talk. She had accepted that this might never happen and now, reading her aunt's letter, she decided not to reveal its contents to either Elise or her brothers. What would be the point of it? They had made a new start and they must let the unhappy years go.

Before settling for the night she telephoned Danny and asked him how he was coping.

‘Very well,' he said. ‘Joe's been trying out some new recipes for Christmas; he's really taken to this cooking business, you know, and Elise actually got round to choosing the fabric for the new curtains although she's made no move towards getting the sewing machine out. As for me, I could run this place blindfold. Oh, and there's a parcel for you.'

‘Parcel?' Helen felt a flutter of apprehension. ‘They've sent it back?'

‘That doesn't mean they've rejected it.'

‘It did last time.'

‘But the letter was encouraging, wasn't it?'

‘Mmm.'

‘There'll be a letter inside again. Do you want me to open it and read it to you? Helen . . . are you still there?'

‘I wish you hadn't told me,' she said, ‘because now I don't know what to do. If I say yes, I may have to put up with the disappointment while I'm alone here.'

‘Or the elation,' Danny said. ‘Yes, you're probably right. I shouldn't have told you and I won't open it and read the letter. Goodnight, Helen. We're all looking forward to your coming home.'

‘Danny, wait! I can't bear it! Open the damned parcel and read me the letter. Disappointment or elation, I'm a big girl. I can deal with it.'

Helen heard a clatter as Danny put his receiver down and then the rustle of paper. A moment later he was back on the line and he gave her the news she had been waiting for.

‘Don't say anything right now,' she told Danny. ‘And don't tell the others. Promise?'

‘I promise. Goodnight, Helen, and God bless you.'

There was no sleeping after that. They've accepted my novel! Helen thought. Accepted it! And they want me to go up to town and discuss things with them.

By the time Helen boarded the morning Pullman her head was full of hopes and dreams for her future as a writer and her only regret was that she could not share her exciting news with Matthew. In the two and a half years since she had seen him she had never been able to forget how much she loved him, and on many a night she had lain awake trying to work out if there was a way they could be together. But in her heart she knew this was impossible.

Joe had been involved in the last big crime story Matthew had covered before he had resumed his former job as a foreign correspondent. There was still a chance that the police would want to question Joe and she had to protect him. That was why they had left London with no one but Jocelyn Graves knowing where they had settled.

Helen gave her order from the luncheon menu, asked for a pot of coffee and opened the newspaper she had bought at the station. Matthew was still in Germany where he had been since November. She had read his reports on the night they called Kristallnacht, or the Night of Broken Glass. He had described how Nazi Storm Troopers and German citizens had launched a massive, governmentcoordinated attack on Jews throughout Germany. The mobs burned synagogues, destroyed businesses, ransacked Jewish homes, and brutalized the Jewish people. Matthew had written that in his opinion the Night of Broken Glass illustrated the radical nature of Nazi policies towards the Jews.

Helen knew Matthew to be fearless and outspoken. She could only hope that so long as there had been no declaration of war he would have the sense to keep himself safe. But what if war came, as it surely must? What would he do then? Helen could not imagine him coming home to England if other men of his generation were called to fight. He would think it his duty to be there, and if he could not fight at least he could let the world know the truth of whatever was happening.

Today Matthew's piece presented a round-up of what was being written in the German press. Apparently Herr Hitler was preparing his people for a very long war.

 

‘I'm glad you came home for Christmas, Matthew. The old folk haven't actually said so but I know they've been fretting for you.'

Matthew was helping his sister Patricia dress the Christmas tree in her front parlour. Or rather he was trying to stop his niece from pulling the ornaments off the tree the moment her mother had put them on.

‘Look,' he said, after Gillian had successfully evaded him and pulled down a whole string of tinsel. ‘Why don't we let her help?'

‘Help! Are you joking?'

‘I could show her how to put the decorations on rather than pull them off.'

Patricia frowned. ‘But she'll just put them anywhere.'

‘Surely it doesn't matter if she does? But if you really want the tree to look classy, I'll lift her up and show her where to put them.'

His sister looked at him appraisingly. ‘I should have thought of that. This marriage and motherhood business has turned my brain to mush. I think I'll go and make us a pot of tea. You can take over till I get back.'

When she returned with the tea tray she paused in the doorway and watched as Matthew lifted her daughter up to put the star on top of the tree. It was a difficult task for chubby little hands and the star hung there slightly crookedly, but Matthew hugged Gillian and told her it was just perfect.

‘You really ought to have children of your own,' Patricia said. ‘Pity you let that girl get away, isn't it?'

‘Don't start on that,' Matthew said. ‘Not again.'

He looked so despondent that she felt guilty. ‘I'm sorry. I know you've been trying to find her. I just wish I could help you.'

After the excitement of dressing the Christmas tree Gillian had fallen asleep in Matthew's arms and he laid her down on the sofa and covered her with a soft nursery rug. Patricia took the tray to a table near the fireplace and poured them each a cup of tea.

The sky outside was dark and the fireside scene inviting. Matthew momentarily gave way to a pang of longing. This is what home should be like, he thought. And I should have a home of my own to come back to rather than imposing myself on my sister or my parents each time I am in England.

When they were settled in the fireside chairs Matthew said quietly, ‘Actually there is something you could do.'

‘Just tell me!'

‘Have you ever come across a magazine called
Potpourri
?'

‘Yes. It's quite good.'

‘Helen used to write for it.'

‘She what?'

‘She used to have a column in
Potpourri
. It was about life in a restaurant. The title was À La Carte.'

‘I used to read it. Sometimes it was hilarious. And always utterly believable. But of course it would be – she wasn't making it up. She really worked as a waitress! Matthew, I
knew
there was something you weren't telling me about that girl!'

‘There was a good reason. She was writing about a real restaurant and it couldn't be identified, so she had to remain anonymous.'

‘
You
knew.'

‘Not for a long time. And of course I promised to keep her secret.'

‘And now that you've told me how can I help you?'

‘By reading
Potpourri
.'

Patricia frowned. ‘But the À La Carte column hasn't been in the magazine for some time.'

‘I know that. But something has taken its place.'

‘Beside the Seaside! That's it, isn't it? It's the diary of a seaside landlady. You think Helen is writing that?'

‘I'm sure of it. I've been having the magazine sent to me and I've been reading it every week trying to make out where she's living.'

‘But Matthew, it might not be a real place. She's a writer, isn't she? She could be making it up.'

‘Not Helen. The place will be real enough and the rambling house she fell in love with and wanted to bring to life again will be real, too. I've searched each piece for clues but she's clever. She makes the resort sound like many another resort and the people who come to stay like holidaymakers anywhere.'

‘And you want me to see what I make of it?'

‘Yes, I do.'

Patricia shook her head. ‘Honestly, Matthew, if you haven't been able to work it out I don't see how I can.'

‘You've heard the old saying “two heads are better than one”? And there's something else. She may have made a mistake at last.'

‘Tell me.'

‘She mentioned a billeting officer coming to inspect the premises.'

‘Oh, that's a great clue. It just narrows it down to the whole of the south coast of England, doesn't it?'

Matthew looked rueful. ‘More than that, probably. Much of the east coast, too.'

‘The expression “needle in a haystack” comes to mind,' Patricia said.

‘I know, but please read it anyway.' He sighed. ‘If she makes another mistake I'm sure your keen, far from mushy, brain will spot it.'

 

‘All right, Matthew. I'll do my best to help. But now let's talk about Christmas and making this a good one, not just for Gillian but for our parents, too. They never complain but I can tell that they sense that their world is changing and, like so many these days, they're worried about what's to come. They lived through one war and now we're probably going to have to help them live through another.'

 

Danny had the champagne on ice when Helen returned. Joe had made a celebratory buffet and set it out in their family room, although he hadn't been told exactly why. He just assumed it was because Helen was coming home. And Elise, also in ignorance of the true reason for the celebration, had finished the task she had been given of putting the Christmas decorations up.

They were all pleased to see Helen and she was pleased to be home. The house was warm and welcoming and furthermore they had never felt like strangers there. From the moment she had walked into the old house she knew it was where they were meant to live. She had had enough money saved to buy the house outright but it needed much doing to it, and also it seemed she was going to have to be the main breadwinner for her family.

Quite a few of the grand old houses nearby had turned themselves into guesthouses or small hotels. So that's what Helen had decided to do. At first she did almost everything herself, but gradually the others learnt to help. Joe became a surprisingly good cook, Elise a reluctant chambermaid, and Danny took the reservations, ordered provisions and kept the books.