Tara (14 page)

One thought alone dominated as she followed Ralph up a rickety gas-lit staircase. She would never get a chance to wear her white organza here!

Lucy was propped up in bed by a mountain of white lace-trimmed pillows, but the vivacious friend Mabel had expected to see now looked nearer forty than twenty-one. Perspiration beaded her pale forehead, and her dark-circled eyes looked forlorn. She had lost weight, and when Mabel bent down to embrace her she smelled of sweat and stale milk.

'Thank you so much for coming,' she wheezed, clinging on to Mabel's hand. 'I didn't think you would, you never were one for visiting sick people.'

'How could I turn down a friend in need?' Mabel gulped hard to hide her disappointment. But before she could add anything more, a deafening wailing assaulted her ears.

'Could you get him for me?' Lucy raised herself weakly against the pillows. 'It's feed time.'

It was hard to say which was worse, picking up a howling, sodden baby, or seeing Lucy unbutton her white nightdress and produce an engorged breast.

'Could you manage to change him?' Lucy whimpered. 'The nappies are over there.'

Mabel didn't have a clue where to start; she just held the wet, noisy wretch in her arms, knowing her artificial silk dress would be ruined.

'More experience with calves than human babies?' Ralph laughed cheerfully at her stricken face, taking his son from her and stripping off his long gown with practised hands. 'There are times when I'd cheerfully swop him for an animal who can survive on its own.'

Even Mabel had to admit there was something quite soothing about seeing the clean baby plugged into its food source, and listening to the soft sucking sound. Ralph brought her tea and cake while she filled Lucy in with all the village gossip. She enjoyed feeling like Lady Bountiful, producing all the food from her bag, even if the butter had run out from the waxed paper.

'Your mother's so sweet.' Lucy dipped her finger in the honey. 'Does your father know she sent all this?'

"That was his contribution.' Mabel blushed a little, embarrassed that Lucy still remembered her father's meanness. 'Mother slipped all the rest in while he wasn't looking.'

'Is he still as stern?' Lucy leaned forward in her bed and reached for Mabel's hand/Does he let you walk out with anyone?'

Mabel tossed her hair back impatiently.

'There's no-one in the village I want to walk out with, but he's as suspicious and grumpy as ever. You can't imagine how pleased I was to get away for a while.'

She couldn't bring herself to admit that her father was set on her marrying Sydney Luckwell, a farmer in the neighbouring village of Stanton Drew. He was at least thirty-five, with rotten teeth and a fat stomach, and the mere thought of him turned hers.

'You look exhausted, Mabel.' Ralph's narrow face was concerned. 'Perhaps you'd like to go to bed now, the journey must have been tiring for you and I don't want yet another patient on my hands.'

'What would you like me to do tomorrow?' Mabel asked, unsure whether Lucy was just in bed early or actually bedridden.

'If you could just manage to take Edward out for a walk during the day,' Ralph said brightly, dashing her hopes of shopping in the West End. 'Perhaps a little mending and ironing and make some lunch for us? It will give Lucy time to get her strength back.'

'Don't you have a nursemaid?' Mabel asked before she went off to the little room next door. She had already adjusted to the small, cramped flat which was clean and cosy even if it was unbearably stuffy, and Ralph was a great deal nicer than she remembered.

'We can't afford one,' Lucy said without a trace of embarrassment. 'We have a woman to come in and do the rough work, but most of Ralph's patients are very poor. We usually have to wait for months to get paid, and sometimes we never get it. Everything will be all right when I'm strong again. We're very happy here.'

Mabel's opinion of Lucy's new life fluctuated over the next two days between horror and envy. She overheard the rough Cockney voices from the waiting room below, glimpsed the ragged wretches who waited patiently for their turn to see Dr Soames and recoiled in disgust at the smells which wafted up the stairs. Yet for all the squalor below, Lucy and Ralph had something special.

The cramped rooms upstairs were an oasis of tranquillity. Old furniture handed down from their families was shiny with polish; white lace curtains softened the misery beyond the windows. But it was love Mabel could sense – the caring way Ralph tucked Lucy's feet up on a stool; Lucy's dark eyes soft with pride as she spoke of Ralph's practice, and fat, happy Edward lying in his crib gurgling and smiling, adored by both his parents.

Mabel had never experienced such warmth. Mother scampered to attend to Papa's meals like a frightened mouse as soon as he strode into the kitchen. He criticised everything, or sank into his chair by the range in sullen silence. Both Mabel and Emily had learned to keep quiet until spoken to, learned to anticipate his every need and never once had they heard their father ask his wife's opinion on anything.

'It's nice here,' Mabel blurted out after returning with some vegetables for lunch. As a guest of Dr Soames she had been treated like a lady in the local shop, and she was beginning to see the worthwhile nature of Ralph's work.

'The people are kind and caring, even if they are poor,' Lucy said, putting Edward up on her shoulder and looking out of the window. 'I know it's not quite the racy life we planned when we were playing tennis on the cricket pitch, but I'm happy here.'

'I don't think I'm ever going to fall in love,' Mabel said wistfully/How can I ever meet anyone when I'm at home all day?'

'Maybe you shouldn't think of a husband being the only way out,' Lucy said softly. 'If I could draw and paint like you I think I'd try to find a job using my talents.'

'Papa wouldn't hear of it.' Mabel sighed.

'He couldn't really stop you if your heart was set on it.' Lucy smiled. 'The War has changed things for women, you know, thousands have to get jobs now.'

'She's right,' Ralph said as he came in to have his lunch. 'Don't be intimidated by your father, Mabel, it's your life.'

That afternoon was hot and sunny and, armed with a bottle of sugar water and a clean nappy, Mabel walked Edward in his baby carriage towards Regent's Park. As the roads widened and the dark rows of squalid houses were left behind a joyful feeling of expectancy rose inside her. All at once she was in the London of her dreams – elegant crescents with carriages waiting outside, smartly dressed couples walking arm in arm, nursemaids wheeling their charges, small boys in sailor suits armed with hoops and toy sailing boats, little girls in white frilly dresses and sun-bonnets.

Mabel turned into the park, sat down on a bench under a tree and watched the fashion show pass by, gently rocking the pram with one hand. She was aware of a man coming towards her, just a glimpse of broad shoulders in an immaculately tailored grey suit, fancy waistcoat, winged collar and top-hat. At that very moment Edward began to scream.

Mabel had become quite enamoured with the fat, placid baby, who had Lucy's dark curls and cherubic features, but at that moment she loathed him for drawing attention to her. Rocking the pram made no difference and when the man stopped, raised his hat and smiled, she blushed and felt hopelessly inadequate.

She saw a flash of blond hair and white, even teeth. Even though she tried not to meet his stare she was aware of dark blue eyes studying her. He was what they called a dandy back home.

She hoped that if she ignored him he'd go away, but he stood and watched her feeble attempts to quieten the child. There was nothing for it but to lift Edward out, though by now she was flustered.

'Oh, do stop it,' she snapped.

'Fine nursemaid you are,' the man said. 'Do his parents know you speak to him like that?'

She should have walked the pram away, nose in the air, but instead she answered him.

'I'm not a nursemaid. He belongs to a friend who's ill. I was hoping he wouldn't wake up.' She hoisted Edward up into her arms and sat down with him on the bench. Almost immediately he wet himself, soaking the front of her dress and shaming her further.

'Where are you from?' The man moved closer. 'I know the accent but I can't place it.'

'Somerset,' she said grudgingly. 'And I wish I was back there now.'

Edward stopped yelling and belched loudly, bringing up some milk, then smiled beatifically.

'Mucky things, babies,' the man said. 'May I sit down?'

Mabel knew exactly how to flirt – making bright frothy conversation was second nature to her – but not with a baby in her arms, and a wet dress.

'I'm surprised you want to,' she snapped.

'Well, it's a lovely day. You're the prettiest girl in the park and he's quite a bonny baby.'

Reason told her it was madness to encourage a total stranger, particularly one as young and handsome as this. But she couldn't help herself. There was a bright, boyish quality about him, though she guessed he was at least twenty-five. Without being impertinent he asked her questions and in no time she had told him her whole story, even admitting she'd thought she was coming to London for fun.

'So you're a bit disappointed?' His blue eyes glinted mischievously at her description of the patients in Ralph's surgery and her narrow view of London. 'Suppose I asked you out to dinner, somewhere you could wear the white organza. Would you accept?'

She felt a sudden tingle, a rush of blood to her head and goose-pimples popping up all over her. She lowered her eyelashes demurely and giggled.

'How could I?' she asked. 'I don't even know your name.'

'Arthur Randall.' He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. 'Miss Brady, would you take dinner with me?'

He was teasing her, she felt the laughter inside him even though his face was serious. She noticed his long lashes and slightly upturned nose, and the softness of his lips on her hand made her blush.

'I don't know.' She was torn now.

'You mean you don't know what to say to your friends, or you don't know if having dinner would be agreeable?' He raised one blond eyebrow.

Edward had fallen asleep in her arms, thumb firmly in his little mouth.

'I must go back.' Mabel's voice sounded shaky. 'It's a long walk.'

'I'll get a cab,' he said quickly. 'You could tell your friends I'm someone you met back home and you just bumped into me in the park. I could be a friend of the family, perhaps?'

'Charles Plowright,' Mabel said. 'He lives in a big house nearby. Lucy only knows him by name, he's something in shipping.'

She giggled with excitement. 'He's the kind of man who does have many friends, we could say we met at a tennis party.'

Lucy was completely bowled over by Arthur, as he picked up little Edward and commiserated with her about her illness. Lies tripped off his tongue so effortlessly, Mabel found herself almost believing the tale about the game of tennis the previous summer.

'I haven't seen Charles since,' he said convincingly. 'I was down in Bristol doing some business with his company, but unfortunately my work rarely takes me beyond Tilbury these days. What a surprise it was to see Mabel sitting in the park. We'd been talking for some time before I realised little Edward wasn't her baby.'

He hit just the right note. 'I'm having dinner tonight with some business associates and I was short of a partner. Could you spare Mabel for one evening?'

'Just as long as you bring her home at a reasonable hour,' Ralph said. 'Lucy is so much better since Mabel came, we owe her at least one night of dressing up and conversation that doesn't involve babies or sickness.'

'You look beautiful,' Arthur said once they were back in the cab, speeding away down Gray's Inn Road. 'I've booked us a table at the Cafe Royal.'

Mabel had fallen for Arthur even before the waiter tucked her chair into the table and placed the napkin on her lap. It wasn't the grandeur of the place, the soft lights, the quartet playing softly or the elegant people. It was just him. That tingle she'd felt in the park was becoming more intense; when his hand reached out across the table and covered hers a strange feeling came over her and she found herself looking at his mouth and wanting to kiss it. Such fleshy, succulent lips, curving in a way that gave the impression of a permanent smile.

Whatever Ralph had said about the sad state of the country, there was no evidence of it here tonight. Aside from the peals of gay laughter, sumptuous food and the conspicuous consumption of wine and Champagne, the clothes alone said Ralph was over-reacting. The women wore silk and velvet dresses, in styles too new for Mabel to recognise. Diamonds sparkled on throats and fingers, wafts of French perfume reached her nostrils.

Ralph had implied that half the men in London had been injured in the War, yet she saw no sign of that, either. The men in dinner jackets, silk cummerbunds and bow-ties who leaned so attentively towards their partners were all able bodied, fit and healthy.

Perhaps she ought to have felt an urge for caution when Arthur let slip snippets about his past that didn't quite add up, but each time she looked into his bright eyes, or his hand brushed hers across the snowy tablecloth, she felt herself falling deeper and deeper.

'How did you get that?' she asked, lightly touching a thin scar that ran from his ear and disappeared under his collar.

'In India.' He grinned ruefully, a dimple in his chin growing deeper. 'A cavalry charge to quell the natives. I was lucky to get off so lightly, most of my regiment were killed.'

He spoke of tiger hunts, the heat of Calcutta, playing polo and his bungalow in the Himalayas, weaving an image for her of the gallant men who protected the British Empire.

'I've hardly ever left my village,' Mabel admitted. She couldn't bring herself to tell him she'd never eaten in a restaurant before, or that the only person she'd danced with was Lucy in the storeroom at the back of the post office. 'But now I've come
to
London I've got a terrible burning to see more of the world. Papa wants me to marry a farmer. I don't think I could bear that.'