The Edge of the Fall (10 page)

It was August now, and still no word from Arthur or Louisa. Celia hoped it was because they were happy, forgetting Stoneythorpe and everything about it. They were celebrating, dancing at parties, somewhere in France, perhaps. They were laughing. If they ever thought of Celia, they'd only think she was an old spinster joke, which she was, twenty-one and arranging flowers at Miss Trammell's.

‘Chance would be a fine thing,' said the girl next to her. ‘To get any sun, I mean.'

Celia smiled, vaguely. The girl, Miss Brown, had been making friendly overtures ever since she'd started at the beginning of term. She'd sigh under her breath – so that only Celia could hear – when Miss Trammell started talking, sorted out Celia's flowers when she couldn't get them to stand, came up and wished her good morning when they were on separate tables.

Miss Brown was young, would have been pretty if it hadn't been for her large nose. She had sparkling eyes and shiny brown hair. She'd probably make someone an excellent wife, they'd be very happy.
I'm not like you!
Celia wanted to say.
You don't understand
.

Miss Brown had been at home during the war, as Celia should have been. She talked of sewing circles and first-aid classes. I've had a friend, Celia thought, just as you want one. I had Shepherd,
in the ambulance station, until she died and none of us could save her.

She fiddled with the flowers for the rest of the afternoon, ignored Miss Brown trying to smile at her. At the end of the day, she gathered her coat and hat.

‘I wondered if you'd like to take tea with me?' Miss Brown asked. She blushed. ‘If you weren't doing anything else, that is.'

Celia shook her head. ‘I can't, I'm afraid. Not today. Sorry.'

‘Tomorrow, then? I'm free then too.'

Celia shrugged, seized her coat and hurried past her, knew she was being unkind. She knew the look in Miss Brown's eyes. She wanted someone to make all this silly occupation worthwhile, a friend to share it with. But Celia had known Shep and had lost her – and had lost Louisa too. She walked out, angrily arguing with herself. She hurried past the park, through the heat, past mothers with prams and workmen carrying ladders and bricks, towards her room in Hammersmith.

‘Celia!' She turned and saw Tom emerging from behind a glossy parked car. He was smartly dressed in a suit, hair shining, expensive coat. He looked like an actor who'd popped up in the wrong play.

For a few seconds she was too surprised to speak. ‘What are you doing here?' she said at last.

‘I came to find you. Have you finished for today at the school?'

‘No one would call it a school. But yes.' She paused. ‘How did you know how to find me?'

‘You wrote to me about it, remember?'

‘Oh, yes.'

‘So I found out the address. I thought you'd be finished about now. Are you going home?'

‘I'm going to Hammersmith.' She could hardly speak, her heart on fire. This was what she'd wanted, for months. Tom walking beside her, talking.

‘May I come with you?'

She shrugged. ‘Of course.'
Why? Why now, after ignoring me all these months, after saying I had to find other friends?
There was a
beat in her heart:
what do you want?
She threw it away, ignoring the voice.

He fell into step beside her, dodging the prams. ‘A lot of babies around here,' he said.

‘I suppose so.' She turned to him. ‘You look well. Nice suit.'

‘I have my job with Captain Dalton now. I was under him in France. He went back to his family firm, exporting to Europe. I've joined him. I've learnt a lot.'

‘Good.'

She paused.

‘I haven't seen you for over a year.'

He turned, briefly, looked forward again. ‘Has it been that long?'

‘Yes. You remember, my cousin Louisa has come and gone since. She came to live with us and then she and Arthur left. We haven't heard from them.'

‘Yes. Didn't you say they were living with a family called the Merlings?' So he'd read her letters.

‘They've left the Merlings' now. Who knows where they are? Papa says they're abroad.'

‘They've gone?'

She shrugged. ‘Papa says Arthur is keeping her safe.'

‘I'm sure he is.'

They'd reached the Hammersmith tube by now and he held the rail outside the station. ‘Let's go to Covent Garden from here. Are you free?'

‘I suppose so.' She followed him down into the station. Her heart beating hard.

‘Is your office here?' she asked, as they were coming out of the Underground into Covent Garden twenty minutes later. The street by the station was thronged with people. She wished she'd put on her nicer hat (or even cared about hats at all, since she never normally did).

‘No. It's near Monument.'

‘So why here then?'

‘The chaps at work said it's the place to take a girl.'

‘What do you mean,
the place to take a girl
?'

He shrugged. ‘You know.'

But she didn't know. He'd ignored her letters, told her to make new friends. And now here he was, taking her somewhere his friends thought a girl would like.

‘How are you finding finishing school? In your letter you said you feared it would be dull.'

‘It is dull. Louisa was going to come too. I only said yes because she wanted to go. Now she's somewhere with Arthur. And I'm here.' She followed him around the corner, past a large restaurant where groups of people were sitting outside, talking and drinking. Three men brushed past them, chatting. The buildings, she thought, looked old and tired. The paint was peeling. But the people were like ornaments on a Christmas tree, shiny, full of sugar. The girls were very fashionable, bright, small hats like the tops of bluebells, shoes with heels. Rudolf would never let her wear skirts like that.

‘You know, Celia, you should be doing something better. You used to want to go to college.'

‘I know. But Papa wants me to be at home. He says I have lots of time in the future.'

He strode ahead, then turned back. ‘Celia, it's not your fault that Michael died. It isn't. Emmeline and Arthur do what they want. Why shouldn't you? Try for college, or get a job. Something. Girls work in offices these days. Go to Paris. Didn't you want to go to Paris?'

‘Papa needs me.' And he did. Who was she to be selfish and rush off to Paris or somewhere, after everything he'd suffered? The memories of the dark days of the war surfaced, Verena hardly getting out of bed. If Celia left, it might go back to how it was. She was holding it together.

‘You can't stay there for ever. How long is this finishing course, anyway?'

‘A year. But you can do another if you do well in the exams.'

‘Which of course you will.'

‘No! I'm terrible.' She was. Flowers fell apart in her hands, she forgot the table arrangements, failed at the curtseys, couldn't plan
the menus, came bottom of the dinner-party test for asking the girl to her left about religion. When she'd come home with her report, Verena had almost cried.

‘Then you should leave.'

‘I'm just doing this to please Papa. Then I can do what I want.'

‘But what if you spend the whole time pleasing your father? You're twenty-one. You should be free!'

She stopped. A pretty girl in a smart hat almost bumped into her and then went crossly on her way.

‘Tom, why are you asking me—' Celia stopped.

The girl in the hat. She knew her.

‘Louisa!' she cried, turning back towards the girl. ‘Stop!'

The woman was walking away, but turned when Celia shouted.

‘It's me, Celia!' She ran closer, touched her arm. ‘Louisa! We've been looking for you!' She gazed at Louisa's eyes, saw the flecks of green in the blue around the pupil. She'd cut her hair into the shingled style, like all the girls in the magazines. It edged her face under her hat. She was fashionably dressed, looked older than Celia, even.

‘It is you!' Celia almost flung herself into her cousin's arms. ‘I knew it! What on earth are you doing here? Why haven't you written?'

‘Hello, cousin.' Louisa bit her lip. She looked nervous, unsure. She disentangled herself, stood away.

‘How are you? We've been worried about you!' Celia was gabbling now, she knew, talking, talking, trying to stop Louisa from walking away. She felt her cousin pulling her hand from her grasp. ‘We've been looking everywhere for you.'

‘Well, I'm fine.' Her eyes shifted to the side and she turned away again. ‘I should go.' Celia thought she looked afraid.

‘What about Arthur?' Tom was standing close, but she wasn't going to introduce him. She hadn't got time. She held tight to Louisa's hand.

‘What about him?'

‘He's not with you? We thought he was.'

‘I should go.' She pulled away.

Celia seized her cousin's hand back. ‘Don't go! How are you? Tell me how you are. We could meet. Are you staying nearby? What hotel are you in?'

Louisa shook her head. ‘Goodbye, cousin.'

‘Don't go. Please.'

Louisa tugged her hand back, but more gently this time. ‘You can tell them I'm fine, if you like. I am. You don't need to look for me.'

‘We miss you. We thought you were in Europe.'

Then she thought. ‘Cousin, we have news of Matthew—'

Louisa turned away. Celia grasped her again.

Louisa waved her hand, gently, as if flapping away a small fly. ‘Good afternoon, cousin. I have your address. If I want to, I'll write.' Celia stood there, watched her walk away. The white dress danced in the sun. She turned a corner, was gone.

‘She doesn't want to see you.'Tom was watching too.

‘You don't understand. Something's wrong. She looked afraid. I should go after her. We've been looking for her for so long.'

He took her arm. ‘You shouldn't. You'll make it worse. You have to wait for her to come to you. She will, I'm sure. People always do.'

‘What if she never does?'

He shrugged. ‘Then you have to accept it.'

‘This way,' Tom said, pointing to a door with peeling gold paint. ‘Let's go in here.'

The doorman ushered them through to a rather grand lobby with cream seats and tiny trees and flowers in pots dotted around. They stepped through a doorway of iron and glass to a great dining room, filled with smart-looking people talking over silver plates of cakes and tea.

She couldn't help herself. ‘Is this where your friends said you should take a girl?'

‘Don't you like it?'

‘Of course I like it. That's not what I meant.' But he wasn't really listening as he skipped ahead after the waiter and sat down
at a good table by the window. He must, she thought, look rich to them. Perhaps he was.

The waiter pushed her chair in and she shook out her napkin. She felt hot looking directly into Tom's face; she wanted to look away. She needed time to think about her meeting with Louisa.

She watched the men scurrying around. It seemed strange to see places where all the workers were men once more.

‘Business is going well,'Tom said. ‘I'm rather enjoying it. Captain Dalton said he'd need me to take over the travelling soon.'

‘Must be interesting.'

He smiled, slightly, and beckoned for a waiter.

‘How is your mother?' she managed to say, after he'd ordered tea.

‘Oh, quite well.'

‘And Mary?' Rudolf had offered to take Tom's younger sister into service while Tom had been in hospital. Mary had refused, said she would go to a hospital to train as a nurse instead.

‘Doing well, I think.'

She gazed around them. The waiter came with the tea and a plate of scones. Louisa's face flashed in her mind.
If I want to, I'll write
.

‘Thank you.' Celia took a scone.

Then Tom leant forward. ‘Celia, I've been thinking. I've got an idea.' He grinned, his eyes bright.

‘What is it?'

‘I want to find out about my father.'

Her heart sank, but then off he went, talking nonstop. ‘Celia, I'm determined. I know there's something there.'

She breathed. ‘I know your mother said that my father is also your father. But he can't be. I'd
know
. He wouldn't have done that.'

Tom split his scone with his hands, picked up the knife for the butter. She watched his movements, deliberate and slow, his long fingers, neatly pared nails. Then he looked up. ‘How do you know? He wouldn't tell you. Why else would he have paid for my education? I think Rudolf really is my father.' He gripped her hand. ‘Celia, you can help me.'

She stared at him, felt his hand tight on hers. ‘Tom—'

But he wouldn't stop, he was talking again, his hands picking wildly at the scone. ‘There's something there,' he repeated. ‘I know it. I have to find out. You can help me. You can ask them at Stoneythorpe. You could find the records from then, the household records. There would be a clue in there! And a diary. Did your father ever write a diary?'

That was it. She pushed back her chair. ‘Is that all you wanted? I told you, no! He's not your father, he never could be. You wish for it, but it's not true!'

‘You don't want to help me?'

She shook her head violently. ‘No! Of course not!'

‘Celia,' he said, putting his hand out. ‘Sit down. Let me explain.'

‘I don't want to hear any more!' There were tears coming, she could feel them at the sides of her eyes. She fought to push them down. ‘Is this the only reason you came for me? Why can't you stop with this?'

He was reaching for her hand. ‘Celia. Don't talk so loudly.' People were turning around. She could see a waiter coming for them.

‘I'm going to leave.'