The Angel Tree (17 page)

Once seated in the cosy, candlelit restaurant, they were handed large leather-bound menus.

‘We’ll have a bottle of Sancerre, thank you. And the special of the day. It’s always the thing to go for here,’ he said with a smile when the waiter had left. ‘And
I got something for you.’ He fumbled in his jacket pocket and produced a beautifully gift-wrapped package which he handed to her. ‘A small, belated Christmas present.’

‘Goodness, James, you really shouldn’t have.’

‘Nonsense. I wanted to. Go on, open it.’

Greta did so. Inside the Harrods box was a brightly patterned silk scarf. ‘It’s beautiful, thank you.’

Over dinner, they chatted, with Greta doing most of the listening at first. But, as the lovely wine entered her system, she began to relax – although she knew she had to keep her wits
about her, given the web of lies she’d told him to get the job in the first place.

‘So your Christmas was pleasant?’ she asked him.

‘Yes, it was . . . fine. Although a little bit too formal for me.’

‘And Veronica is well?’

‘Yes, as far as I know. She’s in Sussex still with her parents. Mrs Sallis isn’t well at the moment. I have a feeling Mr Sallis may retire soon, and I’ll be taking over
the practice.’

‘That must be good news for you.’

‘Yes. In many ways, the firm is stuck in the Dark Ages. It needs modernising, but my hands are tied, for the present at least.’

Listening to him, Greta sensed that James was not particularly happy with his lot. There was something intrinsically sad about him, which rather appealed to her.

‘Greta, if you’ve finished your coffee, would you like to come back to my house for a nightcap?’

Knowing she should refuse but desperate to say yes, Greta checked her watch. It was already ten o’clock and she’d sworn to Mabel she’d be home before eleven.

‘Is it far?’

‘No, five minutes from here, if that.’

When they arrived, James unlocked the front door and switched on the lights in the hall.

‘Here, let me take your coat,’ he offered.

He led Greta into an imposing drawing room. It was sparsely but stylishly furnished, with three cream leather sofas forming a U-shape around a large fireplace, above which hung a brightly
coloured modern painting.

‘Sit down and I’ll get us both a brandy.’

‘This is a lovely house, James,’ she said as he took the decanter from a tray.

‘Yes, Geoffrey . . . Mr Sallis, that is, gave it to us as a wedding present. Not my choice of decor. I’d prefer something a bit warmer, but Veronica likes it.’ James sat down
far closer to Greta than was necessary, given the vastness of the sofa.

After ten minutes of inconsequential chat, during which James’s gaze never left her, Greta rose from the sofa. The inappropriateness of their situation, not to mention the undeniable
sexual tension, was making her jittery and nervous. ‘Thank you for dinner, but I really must be getting home now.’

‘Of course. I enjoyed the evening immensely, and I’d like to do it again.’ He got up too, and took her hands in his. ‘Very much.’ Then he reached forward and kissed
her gently on the lips.

Greta felt his arms wind around her waist and pull her tightly against him. After a while she began to kiss him back, feeling a long-forgotten heat spread through her.

James began to undo the buttons on her jacket. His hand found its way under her blouse and he cupped his fingers around her breast.

‘Oh God . . . I’ve dreamed of this since I first set eyes on you,’ he murmured, and pulled her down on to the rug.

It was almost midnight when Greta left and hailed a taxi, bracing herself for the clucking annoyance of Mabel when she arrived home. Thankfully, Mabel had dozed off in a chair
and was snoring loudly. Greta shook her awake gently and, still groggy from sleep, Mabel offered no complaint at the late hour as she left. Greta checked Cheska, who was sleeping peacefully, arms
wrapped tightly around her new doll. Then she undressed for the second time that evening and climbed into bed.

The smell of him still lingered on her skin, and her body felt relaxed, sated.

As she lay there, sleepless, she decided she would handle this affair like the mature woman she was, taking what she needed and using James as he was using her. She would not come to depend on
him or, even worse, fall in love with him.

As she finally drifted into unconsciousness, her lips turned up in a tiny smile of contentment.

One sunny June morning Greta realised that her affair with James had been going on for almost six months. She could no longer deny that he had become part of her life and that
if he were no longer in it the void would be huge. They saw each other every time Veronica went away, which was often.

Recently, Greta had told him that she felt what they were doing was wrong and they ought to end it. At these moments James would once more confess his unhappiness with Veronica and start talking
about a future together. He’d open a practice down in Wiltshire, he told her, where the two of them could make a fresh start. He just had to pick the right moment to tell Veronica. But he
absolutely would, he said. And soon.

Despite her initial misgivings, Greta began to believe him. The thought of having a man to take care of her and Cheska – she was sure he wouldn’t mind about her when she told him,
he’d said he loved children – was so appealing.

And even though she’d sworn to herself to keep her heart locked away, slowly, her resolve had been worn down. Greta knew she had fallen in love with him.

Veronica was in the drawing room on her hands and knees, searching for an expensive earring she’d just dropped onto the floor. She and James were due to go out to dinner
soon, and she couldn’t find it. She put her hand underneath the sofa and groped around. Her fingers touched something soft and she pulled the object out. It was the silk scarf James had given
her for Christmas. How odd, she thought to herself, she was sure she’d folded it away in her drawer earlier that day. She picked it up and put it on the sofa, then continued to search for her
missing earring.

The following morning Veronica opened a drawer and saw her silk scarf lying exactly where she thought she’d put it the day before. She took it out and went downstairs to the drawing room,
picked up the one she had found underneath the sofa and smelt it. Cheap perfume.

Veronica knew exactly who the scarf belonged to.

Greta looked up when Veronica came through the door.

‘Good morning, Mrs Pickering. How are you today?’ she asked, as pleasantly as she could.

‘Actually, I just popped in to return something of yours.’ Veronica took the silk scarf out of her coat pocket and dropped it on Greta’s desk. ‘It does belong to you,
doesn’t it?’

Greta felt herself blushing.

‘Do you want to know where I found it? I’ll tell you. Under the sofa in my drawing room.’ Veronica spoke in a low, cold voice. ‘How long has it been going on? You do
realise you’re not the first, don’t you? Just one in a long line of common little tarts who flatter my husband’s ego.’

‘You’re wrong! It’s not like that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter that you know. He was going to tell you tonight in any case.’

‘Really? Tell me what, exactly?’ Veronica sneered. ‘That he’s going to leave me for you?’

‘Yes.’

‘He told you that, did he? Yes, he usually does. Well, let me tell
you
something, my dear. He’ll never leave me. He needs what I give him too much. He doesn’t have a
penny of his own, you know. He came into the marriage with nothing. Now, I suggest you pack your things and leave this office immediately. There’s no reason why we can’t handle this in
a civilised way, is there?’

‘You can’t take that decision! I work for James.’ Greta rallied, anger getting the better of her.

‘Yes, my dear, but when my father retires he’s passing over his practice to James and me. We’ll own it jointly, and I’m sure I’ll have his full backing when I say I
want you out now.’

‘We’re both leaving anyway. He loves me. We have plans!’

‘Is that so?’ Veronica raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. ‘Well then, why don’t we go into his office and hear about them?’

Greta followed Veronica into James’s office. He looked startled as they both marched in.

‘Hello, darling. And Greta. What can I do for you?’

‘Well, the problem is that I’ve found out that the two of you have been having a grubby little affair behind my back. I put it to Greta that the best thing she could do was to leave
quickly and quietly, but she insisted she hear it from you.’ Veronica seemed perfectly calm, almost bored. ‘Tell her, darling, and we can go out for lunch.’

Greta studied James’s expression, wondering why he wasn’t speaking. Their eyes met, and she saw the sorrow in his. Then he looked away and she knew she’d lost.

Eventually, James cleared his throat. ‘Yes, I . . . I think it would be best if you left, Greta. We’ll pay you until the end of the week, of course.’

‘You’ll do no such thing!’ said Veronica sharply. ‘Greta has made her own bed, so to speak, and she must lie in it. I hardly think we are under obligation to pay her
anything, do you?’

James looked at his wife and, for a second, Greta saw the uncertainty in his eyes. Then it faded and his whole body seemed to droop. He shook his head sadly.

Greta fled out of his office, grabbed her coat and handbag and left the building.

Greta spent the afternoon wandering around Green Park, unable to go home and face Cheska, or Mabel’s questions as to why she was home early. She sat on a bench in the
June sunshine and watched people go by: nannies chatting as they pushed perambulators, businessmen carrying briefcases, young couples strolling hand in hand.

‘Oh dear Lord,’ she moaned, as she put her head in her hands. Not since Max had deserted her had she felt so alone. And she knew she only had herself to blame. She should have known
from the start that her affair with James could never have a happy ending.

Greta pondered on why she seemed destined to choose the wrong kind of man. Other women managed to find lifetime partners, so why couldn’t she? Surely she’d done nothing bad enough to
deserve the kind of luck she’d had? And yet, she asked herself brutally, wasn’t it her own weakness that kept putting her in this position? She was like a moth, helplessly drawn to the
flame of a candle that would inevitably destroy her.

She sat staring into the distance. The thought of having to find another job, with no real hope of ever getting the love and security she craved, seemed too much to contemplate.

But she had to pull herself together. She knew she had to fight on, if not for her own sake, then for her daughter’s.

One thing was for certain: she was finished with men for good. Never again would she allow another man close enough to wreak havoc in her life. From now on, any love she had to give was for
Cheska alone.

Greta stood and wandered up towards Piccadilly. She crossed the road and headed for the Windmill, wondering whether she should walk inside and beg for a job rather than embarking on another
round of fruitless interviews. If she wasn’t going to receive any pay for her last week’s work, she had to earn some money straight away. Yes, she decided, it was the best solution. No
references required, no questions asked. Greta pushed open the stage door and asked the doorman if she could see Mr Van Damm.

Fifteen minutes later she was outside once more, feeling even more depressed. Mr Van Damm was sorry, but he had no vacancies. He’d taken Greta’s new address and promised to write to
her as soon as something came up, but she knew he wouldn’t. She was five years older than she’d been when she’d first arrived, and he was aware that she had a child, thanks to the
theatre rumour mill.

Disconsolately, Greta stood outside the stage door and looked at the group of prostitutes chatting in the doorway on the other side of Archer Street. She recognised some of the faces that had
been there when she’d worked at the Windmill. Greta had always looked down her nose at them, but had she really been any better than they were? After all, she had given herself to James for
free but had performed the same function: she had satisfied a need his wife didn’t fulfil.

‘Greta! Greta, it is you, isn’t it?’

A hand was placed on her shoulder from behind. She heard the familiar voice and turned around.

‘Taffy!’ Her face lit up. ‘I mean . . . David.’ She chuckled despite herself.

‘I thought I saw you coming out of Mr Van Damm’s office so I dashed after you. What on earth are you doing here?’

‘I . . . well, actually, I was asking for my old job back.’

‘I see. Ma told me you’d left Owen a few months back, but we’d no idea where you’d gone. We’ve both been desperately worried about you and your little one. Look,
have you got time for a cup of tea? We’ve got a lot to catch up on.’

Greta looked at her watch. It was ten to four. She still had a couple of hours before she needed to be home.

‘On one condition.’

‘Anything you say,’ he said with a smile.

‘That you won’t tell your mother, or
anyone
,’ she emphasised, ‘that you’ve seen me.’

‘It’s a deal.’ David offered Greta his elbow. She slipped her arm through his and they walked companionably down the road to a nearby café.

While he was busy ordering a pot of tea for two, Greta lit a cigarette and wondered how much David knew about her departure from Marchmont.

‘So, where have you been hiding since you arrived in London?’ he asked her.

‘Near where I used to live, actually. Cheska and I share a small flat.’

‘I see. I understand you left Owen because of his . . . problem.’

‘Yes. When Jonny died, he fell apart completely.’

‘I was so very sorry to hear about the little chap’s death. It must have been heartbreaking for you.’

‘It was . . . terrible.’ Greta felt a lump rise in her throat. ‘And when Owen became violent I didn’t really have any alternative. I feel very guilty about leaving him in
his condition, but what else could I do?’