Memories of You (46 page)

This left Helen free to get back to her writing. Jocelyn had been delighted when she got in touch and at first kept her busy with book reviews. When she came up with the idea of a diary of a seaside landlady Jocelyn had welcomed it. And she had also kept Helen's secret. So had Charlotte, who had continued to work at the magazine after her wedding although she was longing for the day when Edward would earn enough money for her to give up work and start a family.

During the first winter away from London Helen had finally got down to the task of writing a novel. She had never forgotten the old house she had seen on one of her trips to the countryside. Her imagination fired by thoughts of the generations who lived there, she wrote a fictional history of the house. It was dramatic, romantic and totally over-indulgent, and the publisher she sent it to told her so.

The accompanying letter also said that she simply didn't have the knowledge to write historical fiction and that if she wanted to do so she must be prepared to do proper research.

Then, almost in tears, Helen had come to the end of the letter. The last paragraph told her that there was nothing wrong with her actual writing; in fact it was of a very high standard, and that if she cared to try another kind of novel they would be pleased to look at it.

She had thought long and hard about that advice and had eventually decided that the sort of story she wanted to tell would be set not in historic times but in the world of today. She remembered the films she and her mother had been to see together, and the sort that they had most enjoyed had been the detective stories, the thrillers.

That's what I'll write, she thought. But it won't all be doom and gloom. No matter what straits she finds herself in, my detective will have a sense of humour. So Helen had determined to be a writer of detective fiction and tonight they were celebrating her first success.

When Danny told his brother and younger sister why he was opening a bottle of champagne they cheered and they hugged Helen and told her that they had always known she could do it.

‘And this is just the beginning!' Joe said. ‘You bet Mr Hitchcock will come calling and ask you if he can make a film of it. And when he sees our Elise and how beautiful she is he'll want to make her the star.'

They carried on laughing and joking until they heard the paying guests come in. They were two young men who were working at the radar installation.

‘They'll want their supper,' Joe said. ‘I'd better get back to the kitchen.'

‘I'll set up the table,' Elise said and she checked her hair and make-up before hurrying through to the dining room.

‘And I'll lock up,' Danny told Helen. ‘So why don't you go to bed now? You must be exhausted.'

‘Thanks, Danny, I am rather tired.'

It was only after she had left the room that it dawned on Danny how subdued Helen had been throughout their little celebration. Of course she would be tired after her journey, he thought, but in his heart he knew it was much more than that. There should have been someone else here to share Helen's success tonight. Someone who would almost certainly have been with her had she not chosen to flee from London in order to protect her brothers.

She's breaking her heart, he thought, and I can't let this go on. There must be a way of making Joe safe, and if there is I'd like to bring Matthew and Helen together again.

Christmas had been busy. Usually free of paying guests at this time of year, they had had no choice but to stay open for the men from the radar installation, now numbering five. They in turn had been disappointed not to get home leave. Helen decided she would make the Christmas celebrations as merry as possible.

Danny helped Joe in the kitchen and Helen cleaned rooms and changed beds along with Elise. She had already started writing another book and she resented the time spent away from her typewriter, so she resolved to take on domestic help as soon as possible. Especially as another visit from the billeting officer had made it clear that she could expect to have every room filled with military personnel.

‘What you do will be vital,' he had told Helen. ‘First-rate food, a warm bed and cheerful company are good for morale.'

After Twelfth Night the jolly mood dissipated. Their paying guests came and went on their different shifts and never talked about their work. Joe was happy enough in the kitchen and was intent on filling the store cupboard in case there were going to be shortages. Danny helped him with this but Helen noticed that her twin brothers were a lot more subdued than usual. In their spare time they would sit quietly and talk to each other, breaking off the conversation if anyone came too close.

But if the twins were subdued, Elise was positively downcast. Throughout the Christmas celebrations she had been the most highspirited, laughing, dancing and flirting with the youngest of their paying guests, although never letting him believe that she was seriously interested in him.

Helen was not surprised when her younger sister's mood changed so noticeably. She had suspected that much of her relentlessly cheerful behaviour had been an act designed not so much to convince the others as to persuade herself that she was having a good time.

On Christmas morning a card had arrived from the Partingtons. It was enclosed with a letter from their solicitor saying that as they had no idea what her present tastes might be they had deposited a generous sum in her bank account with which she was to buy herself a present. This had been their way ever since Elise had come to live with Helen, so she should not have been surprised. She just hasn't entirely accepted her new life yet, Helen thought, and she cursed the Partingtons for their cruel treatment of the girl they had been so eager to take away from her real family.

As winter gave way to a reluctant spring Elise took to walking on the beach after she had finished her morning duties. She never asked for company but one day, when she had stayed out longer than usual, Helen put on her warmest coat and went to find her. It wasn't hard. The chill wind had driven even the hardiest walkers away and Elise was the only person standing on the damp sand, her hands stuffed in her pockets as she gazed out across the white-capped waves. She didn't turn as Helen joined her. She simply said, ‘I wonder where he is.'

‘Who?'

‘Perry.' She paused. ‘My husband.' Then she began to laugh – or was she sobbing?

Helen glanced sideways and was concerned to see tears streaming down her sister's face. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and offered it wordlessly.

‘Thank you,' Elise said. ‘But I'm not crying, you know. It's this wind – makes my eyes water.'

‘If you say so,' Helen said. ‘But is this what you do every day? Come here and stare out across the Channel?'

Elise answered the question with one of her own. ‘How far do you think it is from here to France?'

‘Depends where in France you want to go. And where you start from. About twenty miles at the narrowest point. You're not thinking of going to look for him, are you?'

‘No. I don't want to see him again. Ever. He's an unprincipled, dishonourable cad and sometimes I think I hate him for what he did to me. But, oh, Helen, it was so wonderful while it lasted. Can you understand that?'

‘Yes, I think I can. And I also think you should put him from your mind altogether. You're young, you're beautiful and you have a wonderful life ahead of you.'

Elise turned and gave a disbelieving smile. ‘Life as a chambermaid?'

‘I've been thinking about that. It's too late to send you back to school but what about college? There must be something you would be interested in studying.'

‘Don't you need me to help you in the house?'

‘We can afford to get staff in now. So, think about it, Elise. And for God's sake let's get home. I'm bloody freezing!'

After that conversation Elise seemed to cheer up a little and now and then she even asked for company on her morning walks. Then in March, on her nineteenth birthday, another letter arrived from the solicitor. There was no birthday card from the Partingtons enclosed and at first Helen thought that was the reason her sister looked so distraught.

They were sitting at the table in their family room having a coffee break after giving the guests their breakfast. Their new domestic help, Mrs Fearon, was clearing the tables in the dining room and her husband, a former army cook who had been wounded in the last war, was learning his way round the kitchen. Danny had brought in the mail on a silver salver.

‘A letter from London, for you, madam,' he said to Helen in a voice like that of a butler in a movie. ‘I imagine it's from your publisher.'

‘And this looks as if it's from your solicitor, madam,' he said, turning to Elise.

The last envelope on the salver was a blue airmail envelope. ‘From your Australian pen pal, I think,' he said to Joe, who grinned as he reached for his letter then stuffed it in his pocket to be read later.

‘And no mail for me,' Danny said. ‘But then I never write to anyone, do I? Perhaps I should respond to one of those pen pal requests in the newspaper like Joe did. You never know what might develop.'

Joe looked embarrassed. ‘Leave it be, Danny,' he said. ‘Nothing has
developed
between Muriel and me. We're just pals.'

Suddenly Elise cried out, ‘Oh no!'

‘What is it?' Helen asked.

‘Perry,' she said. ‘He's dead. They found him on the beach.'

‘The beach?' For a moment Helen thought that her sister's husband had been found on the beach where Elise liked to walk every day. Had they been meeting secretly?

‘Which beach? Where?' Joe asked.

‘Biarritz.'

‘What was he doing in Biarritz?'

‘I can guess,' Danny said. ‘The casino.'

Elise nodded. ‘He couldn't keep away from gambling.' She stared at the letter. ‘Apparently he got mixed up with the wrong crowd, ran up some debts and asked my father to settle them.'

‘And Mr Partington refused,' Helen guessed.

‘That's right. So now he is dead and the French police don't think there's much chance of finding whoever it was who killed him. Poor Perry.'

They looked at her in surprise. After her initial outburst she had calmed down. She passed the letter to Helen. ‘You can read it if you like. My father's solicitor thought I ought to know what had happened, especially as now I won't be put through the inconvenience of having to divorce Perry. Inconvenience? That's all it means to people like that.'

Helen skimmed through the letter then glanced up at Elise. ‘Are you all right?' she asked.

‘Strangely enough I'm fine. I'm sad, of course, but I'm not heartbroken. Poor, poor Perry. Now I can put the whole unhappy episode behind me.'

 

 

Over the next few days Danny saw how feverishly Helen searched through the newspaper and then threw it aside in anguish. There had been no reports from Matthew Renshaw since the day after war had been declared when the Royal Air Force launched a raid on the German navy.

Danny could imagine him phoning his last report through to London and also the consequences of his action if he was discovered. As surely he must be eventually. The telephone lines would be tapped or cut altogether, and as far as Danny could see it would be pretty pointless for Matthew to stay there. If he has any sense he'll get home somehow, Danny thought.

Then what will happen if he does? Am I going to allow Helen to go on tormenting herself like this? No matter what Joe and I will have to face up to, we have no right to keep her away from the man she loves.

A week later Danny saw Helen throw the paper aside. She hurried out of the house without bothering to put her coat on. He picked up the paper and scanned it quickly to see if he could find what she had been reading. The report was brief.