Paper Doll (19 page)

Ten minutes later they swept rapidly upwards, so the breath left her body with the excitement of it. Heading back over land they followed a car along a road. Charles banked the plane a little and they turned and began to follow a train, the funnel puffing out a plume of smoke that disappeared into the air.

The scene reminded her of Martin’s train set, and she wondered if he’d set it up yet. There was a great longing inside her to see him again, though she knew they could never be anything but friends now.

Perhaps Latham would take her back to London with him if she asked.

They gradually lost height, a pulse beating in Julia’s throat as they neared the ground and began to leapfrog over the hedges, frightening a flock of sheep who raced in all directions. But she needn’t have worried. Charles had a wonderful sense of timing. There was hardly a bump as the wheels touched the ground. They came to a halt, the propellers barely stirring the air until they gave a final cough and became still. They had been in the air for an hour.

Once again there was the smell of hot oil in her nostrils.

When Charles helped her down she beamed him a smile. ‘Thank you so much, Charles. That was the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. I’ll never forget it.’

‘It’s the least I can do, kitten, since Latham has saved my bacon again.’

As they neared the house Latham appeared. His face was slightly flushed and she could smell Irene’s perfume on him.

Julia could hardly contain the flare of anger she felt – not at him for cheating on her, but because he chose to insult her by doing it in the home they shared.

When the Currutherses had departed she knew she was braving Latham’s own anger by bringing the subject up, but she did anyway, saying: ‘You’re making a fool of me, Latham. Please conduct your affair with Irene in a place where I don’t have to be an onlooker, and where the servants won’t gossip.’

Julia could feel the tension growing in her as he stared at her, and she knew full well that he’d strike, and quickly if the mood took him.

She stared defiantly back at him, but jumped when he suddenly leaned forward and said, ‘Are you jealous, my Julia?’

She wanted to kick him. ‘She’s welcome to you.’

He laughed at that. ‘I can have her anytime, anywhere. Irene’s like me. She’s a slut.’

‘Then why didn’t you marry her?’

‘That is why. Besides . . . I love you. You know that. The rest is nothing to me.’

She felt like kicking him. ‘Well, I don’t love you. I only married you because my father wanted me to. If he knew how you were going to treat me he wouldn’t have been so keen.’

He scooped her into his arms and against his chest. ‘How do I treat you, my darling? Tell me!’

She tried to struggle out of the embrace but he was too strong. ‘You rip my clothes and you hit me. I want a divorce. You do realize you’re giving me grounds.’

‘Try and prove it in a court of law.’ He tipped up her face and gazed into her eyes. ‘Come, my dear, you’re being a little drastic, since we’ve only been married for a short time. I provide your clothes, and I only rip the ones you look like a trollop in. I married you because I love you, and I want children with you. No more of this nonsense now. Let me know when you’re able to resume our relationship.’ When he tenderly kissed her Julia began to hate him all over again.

Lunch with the Curruthers family was hardly lively; the talk was mostly political. Lady Curruthers was aloof, and didn’t bother to be pleasant. She wore a disapproving expression reserved especially for Irene’s friends, if Irene was to be believed.

However, Irene was wicked with her wit, and Charles all charm.

Julia had found a white tennis outfit in her wardrobe. The tennis game had obviously been taken into Latham’s estimation of what she might need for living in the country when he’d bought her wardrobe. He’d crowed with success when they had beaten Irene and Charles at tennis, and had thrown his arm around her and kissed her cheek.

Winning seemed important to Latham, even a silly tennis match. ‘I didn’t know you could play tennis,’ he said.

‘I was the school champion for two years in a row.’

‘I must set up a tennis court for you to practise on.’

It was not as though a school tennis match was Wimbledon. And she’d laughed and said, ‘There’s really no need, Latham. I don’t like the game that much.’

‘I will, anyway.’

That same evening he told her he was going to France again. He’d be away for a month. He didn’t offer to take her with him, but said he’d telephone her every night. A week later he was gone, leaving her light-hearted, but bruised.

Irene was gone too.

S
ummer came with a vengeance two weeks later. Everything was bursting at the seams. The air was languid and filled with the fragrance of roses and the buzz of bees.

Although Julia was still officially in mourning she decided to take the train up to London. ‘If my husband calls tell him I’ve gone to London to arrange for some rose bushes to be planted on my parents’ graves, and to get my hair cut.’

‘Certainly, Mrs Miller. Will you be staying at the London House? If so I’ll ring them and tell them you’re on your way.’

‘No, I’m sure that’s my husband’s business address.’ She would go there only as a last resort.

Agnes Finnigan shifted from one foot to the other. ‘Mrs Miller, I wanted to let you know that I’m going to look for a new position.’

‘Oh, Agnes, I’ll be so sorry to lose you. May I ask why, when you’ve been working here for several years? Is it me?’

She drew in a deep breath. ‘Oh, no . . . you’re the nicest person I could ever have for an employer. It’s just—’

‘Go on.’

‘It’s personal, you see. I’m going to be truthful . . . Sometimes I hear you cry out and I see your bruises. Although Mr Miller is a good employer for most of the time, and I have the greatest respect for him, I can’t bear to think that he’s treating you badly.’ Her face went bright red and she folded her arms on her chest. ‘There . . . I’ve said it, and I daresay you won’t want me to stay on now, because what you do in private isn’t any of my business.’

Tears pricked Julia’s eyes. To say that she was mortified was an understatement. ‘That’s true, of course. But you’re wrong about me not wanting you to stay on. I’d miss you if you left, and I
would
like you to reconsider your decision, especially since jobs for women are hard to come by. As for the other business, my husband is a little forceful by nature, but doesn’t really hurt me. I bruise easily and I’d rather you closed your ears and mind to it.’

‘If you say so, Mrs Miller.’

‘Mr Miller has offered to hire another maid, one to look after my clothes and help out generally. She’ll be able to relieve you of some of the work. And I’ll see if I can secure a raise in your salary. Please stay, Agnes. The time may come when I need a friend.’

Mrs Finnigan said staunchly, ‘I’ll stay, but only because you want me to, and for no other reason. As for a maid, Ellen from the hall is looking for another position.’

Julia smiled. ‘I know Ellen, and yes, I’m sure she would be suitable. When my husband gets back from France I’ll tell him about her and he’ll probably make arrangements for an interview. It will be up to him if she’s hired or not.’

Latham wouldn’t like her going to London without his permission, but Julia didn’t care. She booked herself into a small hotel called
Clements
before going to visit the cemetery. Once there, she discovered that the roses had already been planted and were covered in tight buds.

There was an air of frustration inside her, because Latham, with his usual efficiency, had already arranged something she’d wanted to do herself. She hated the fact that he hadn’t bothered to tell her.

She’d managed to get a hairdresser’s appointment for later in the afternoon, then rang Irene’s house. A woman answered, a maid, she thought. ‘Miss Curruthers is in
Monte Carlo
, and is unavailable. Who shall I say called?’

About to blurt out her name, she remembered that Latham was in France as well. She imagined the pair of them were together. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter, I’ll call Irene when she gets back next week.’

‘That will be in ten days’ time,’ the woman said before she hung up.

Julia had her hair trimmed, washed and styled, and wondered what to do next. She bought herself a dress. It was low waisted with capped sleeves, and was made of a pretty pale-green silk. Red poppies grew around the hem. Sitting in a hotel room with only herself for company wasn’t very enticing, neither was going to the theatre. She doubted if she’d get tickets on a Saturday, anyway.

Martin came into her mind and she smiled as she checked her watch and said out loud, ‘I’ll go and visit the cats . . . and I’ll call in on the market on the way there, and I’ll cook Martin his dinner when I get there.’

About to leave, she decided to change into her new dress. She didn’t like herself in black.

Martin gazed at her in amazement when he opened the door. ‘Julia, what a surprise and how wonderful to see you.’ He looked past her shoulder. ‘Are you alone?’

‘Latham is in France,’ and she sent a beamer of a smile at Martin. ‘I was in London to get my hair cut, so I used it as an excuse to visit the cats and cook your dinner . . . unless you’ve already made arrangements.’

‘No, I was just thinking of heating the leftovers.’ Holding the door wide he captured her hand, pulled her inside and closed the door behind her.

‘Puss, puss, puss!’ he called, and within seconds the cats streaked in to thread through and around her ankles, purring loudly.

‘Gracious, look how big and glossy the pair of you are. I told you that you’d find a good home here.’

‘They’re very efficient mousers, but they like to show off their hunting skills. If you see any dead mice don’t be alarmed.’

‘I’ll be more alarmed if I see a live one.’

He took her bag from her and she and the cats followed him into the kitchen. ‘What have you planned for dinner?’ he asked.

‘Chicken casserole and vegetables. Apple crumble and custard.’

Placing the bag on the bench he turned to her and scrutinized her face. ‘Are you happy, Julia?’

A lie would embarrass him less than the truth, even though he’d know she was lying. ‘At this time, with you, I’ve never felt happier.’

He reached out and touched her face and she turned her face and kissed the palm of his hand. ‘A couple of weeks ago I went up in Charles Curruthers’ aeroplane. We followed a train along the line and it reminded me of you.’

‘Ah, I see . . . the day in the attic. That flowered dress you’re wearing is pretty; it’s too good to cook in.’

‘I just bought it. I know it’s frivolous. I’m supposed to be in mourning, but black is so draining, and wearing it makes me feel sad and dreary.’

‘Like a wet afternoon in London.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Come here.’

They were both playing the evasion game.

He placed an apron over her head and tied the strings in a bow at the back. She shivered as his soft breath caressed the skin at the nape of her neck. She wanted to turn in his arms and hold him close. But she must remember that Martin had been injured and could only be her friend.

‘I miss my father. I’m lonely without him and I imagined how it must have felt for you thinking that your father would be waiting, and coming home from the war to an empty house.’

‘You have a husband, you shouldn’t have been thinking of me at all,’ he reminded her.

‘So I do, but thinking about you makes life bearable.’ Even though her heart was breaking she managed a brilliant smile, and her thoughts were so clear she felt as though she’d spoken,
and it’s you I love, Martin, I want you to know that
. ‘Now, where do you keep the casserole dish?’

‘It’s on the bottom shelf in the overhead cupboard. Would you like me to peel the vegetables?’

She nodded. ‘The apples too, if you would. Oh . . . and you can peel and chop the onions. They always make me cry.’

‘It’s the sulphur in the gas.’

‘Onions have gas?’

‘Propanethiol s-oxide is released when an onion is cut. It’s caustic, so we blink, which produces tears to wash the irritant away.’

He grinned when she said, ‘Stop showing off, professor.’

‘It’s elementary science. Allow me to show off a little more.’ He skinned and diced the onions under water, waited a couple of minutes then tipped them into a colander to drain.

There was not a tear in sight.

Now it was her turn to grin. ‘I’ll remember that trick.’

‘It’s not a trick, it’s common sense.’

‘Yes . . . it is.’ And if she had any she wouldn’t be here with him, torturing herself.

‘Would you like a glass of white wine?’

‘That would be nice.’

They worked well together, and soon the casserole was in the oven and the table was set. Martin fed the cats. After grooming themselves they went to sleep in an armchair, cuddled up to one another.

‘I have something to tell you,’ Martin said after dinner. ‘I’ve made enquiries about the whereabouts of my mother. I found a photograph of us all together amongst my father’s things. I rang the lawyer who handled the divorce. He doesn’t know where she is, but said he’d make enquiries to try and locate her address.’

‘Can I see the photograph?’

He nodded, and rising from the sofa took down a silver frame from a shelf and handed it to her.

‘Your mother is lovely. A woman who looks at her baby like that wouldn’t have willingly abandoned him. You have the same shaped eyes as she does. I imagine they were blue like yours. Will you write to her when you find out where she lives?’

‘I’m still thinking about it, and have discussed it with my lawyer. I’m wondering if it’s worth the effort. It might not be a wise thing to do, since after all this time we’d be strangers to each other.’

Julia’s eyes were getting damp. ‘But you’ve taken the first step, though.’

He caught a tear on the tip of his finger, and smiled as it trembled there like a glittering dewdrop. ‘You’re not going to cry all over me, are you?’

‘Probably . . . oh, I know you’ve been ill, and you were injured and you’re not quite . . . well . . . you know . . .
manly
. But that doesn’t mean you can’t love somebody on a platonic level.’