The Second-last Woman in England (24 page)

When they had all made it to the safety of the upstairs landing, Harriet kissed her sister-in-law and allowed Leo to come at her with a sherry-tinged embrace.

‘Hello, Uncle Leo. Awfully chilly, isn’t it?’ said Julius, solemnly shaking Leo’s hand.

‘The roads were ghastly,’ declared Felicity. ‘Visibility down to about ten feet.’

‘Did you bring us any presents?’ said Anne.

‘We damn near hit a policeman in Mayfair!’ said Leo, with a laugh.

‘Who’s for a mince pie?’ said Harriet.

‘That’s when we switched drivers,’ explained Felicity, with another of her tight smiles.

‘Sherry for me, old girl,’ announced Leo with a wink.

‘Did you bring us any presents?’ said Anne again.

They moved into the drawing room and Leo dropped down onto the armchair. Nanny served the sherry and filled the glasses too full so that the sherry spilled into a little pool on the tray and dripped down the side of the glasses. Harriet slid a coaster beneath Leo’s glass just in time to prevent a drop of sherry splashing onto the René Drouet coffee table. Leo had removed his overcoat to reveal flannels, an extraordinary mustard-yellow jersey and an open-necked shirt, a look that might have passed muster on the golf course but seemed a little gay for Christmas Day. Felicity, in stark contrast, was dressed in her matron’s outfit: a dull olive-green skirt and white blouse, flesh-coloured nylons and horrid sturdy black shoes. She too had removed her coat, but carried it over one arm as though she were expecting to leave straight away.

‘Please, do sit down, Felicity,’ Harriet suggested, indicating an empty chair. For heaven’s sake, she thought irritably, why did one always feel so damned formal with her? They had been sisters-in-law for fifteen years. Lord knew, she didn’t wish to have an intimate chat with the woman, but for heaven’s sake, a bit of warmth, a sign of friendship wouldn’t go amiss.

‘Thank you, Harriet. But I’d prefer to stand,’ was the reply.

‘And how’s your Christmas day been, kids?’ said Leo, who always seemed to need to over-compensate for his wife’s formality. ‘Lots of lovely goodies from Father C?’

‘Not a bad haul, thanks, Uncle Leo,’ replied Julius. ‘And you?’

One never knew if Julius was being facetious or not. It was probably safe to assume he was.

‘Felicity, a mince pie?’

‘Thank you, but I can’t abide them. It’s the orange peel …’

Felicity did not go on to explain what it was about the orange peel that particularly offended her.

‘Show us what you’ve got there, Anne,’ said Cecil in his indulgent-parent voice.

Anne was busily unwrapping a large present that Leo had just handed her. She placed it now on the armchair and knelt down on the carpet, all her attention focused on the gaudy red and green wrapping paper and the gold ribbon tied around it. She unpeeled the sticking tape at one end carefully, so as not to tear the paper. It tore at one corner and she winced. But now the paper was unwrapped and Anne reached inside—

‘Oh …’ The word was little more than a breath, but the disappointment it contained was evident—to her mother at least. The present was a doll-sized gold ball gown, a vague copy of a Dior dress that had been fashionable a couple of seasons ago. It was exactly the same dress she and Cecil had purchased and given to her earlier in the day.

There was a silence as Anne held up the dress and looked at it. Someone needed to say something.

‘How beautiful!’ Cecil observed, as though ball gowns—and miniature Dior ball gowns in particular—were of particular interest to him. ‘What do you say, Anne?’

‘Thank you,’ said Anne dutifully, the dress already laid down on its wrapping paper.

‘But Pops, she’s already—’ began Julius.

‘Nanny, do be a sweetie and top up the glasses.’

‘Saw it in Hamleys,’ said Leo, obviously pleased with himself. ‘Remembered last year you were talking about it, Annie.’

‘Yes,’ said Anne quietly.

‘The bottle’s empty, Mrs Wallis,’ said the nanny in a loud whisper, leaning over and catching Harriet’s eye in some dismay.

‘Not to worry, Harriet, old girl—there’s more where that came from!’ and Leo produced a bottle-shaped present wrapped in the same gaudy paper. ‘Didn’t think we’d forget, did you?’

No, Harriet hadn’t thought for one moment that Leo would forget to bring his customary bottle of Christmas sherry. He had brought one every Christmas for the past ten years. Neither she nor Cecil had ever mentioned that they did not, in fact, drink sherry, and the only time a bottle was opened was when Leo and Felicity came around. Some they had managed to pass on as gifts, but in the main the bottles collected dust on a shelf in the pantry.

‘Thank you, Leo. How kind,’ and she took the bottle and passed it to the nanny.

The girl took the bottle and held it gingerly as though it were a stick of dynamite.

‘There’s a corkscrew in the kitchen, Nanny.’

The girl gave her a panic-stricken look and Harriet, exasperated, thought, good Lord, hasn’t the girl ever opened a bottle of sherry before? She smiled pleasantly.

‘Give it to me, I’ll do it. Do excuse me a moment,’ and she took the bottle outside.

‘Harriet, I—do you mind if I join you?’

Harriet turned in surprise as Felicity came out behind her and gave a rather wild smile.

‘Of course not,’ she said and led the way downstairs to the kitchen.

Well! What did this mean? Had something happened? Was Leo—had Leo done something? Were Felicity and Leo having problems? Dear God, surely not a divorce!

Harriet turned on the kitchen light and began sorting through the drawers to see where Mrs Thompson kept the corkscrew. Felicity had paused in the kitchen doorway and appeared to be waiting for something.

‘Ah, here it is. Now, let’s see if we can get this out.’ Harriet unpeeled the foil and stabbed the point of the corkscrew into the cork. The silence drew out uncomfortably as Harriet twisted the corkscrew then slowly began to ease the cork out. It came out with a satisfying pop and a warm, sickly-sweet aroma seeped out.

‘Fresh glasses, I think,’ she said, not really knowing what she was saying but wanting to fill the silence. She rummaged in a cupboard and retrieved two more glasses—genuine sherry glasses this time—gave them a quick polish and poured two small amounts, one into each glass, and held one out to Felicity. It reminded her suddenly of her youth, those endless cocktail parties at little flats in Bloomsbury and in large country houses where one inevitably found oneself in the kitchen at two in the morning half sloshed with some girlfriend or other, discussing some man or what some other girl had done with some man. One did not associate Felicity with such scenes. And Felicity didn’t drink.

Felicity took the glass and took a quick sip. She grimaced.

‘Harriet, I must talk to you about something. It’s—rather delicate.’

Oh Lord.

‘Of course, anything I can do, naturally …?’

‘The thing is—’ Felicity paused. ‘It’s the silliest thing, you’ll laugh …’

Upstairs Leo did laugh, loudly, and Felicity winced.

‘I don’t quite know how it can have happened …’

‘For heaven’s sake, just tell me!’ What the devil had she done? Been caught shop lifting?

‘I’m pregnant.’

‘
Pregnant?!’
Felicity was dead right—she did want to laugh.

‘Yes. I can’t think how it can have happened …’ she repeated.

‘Can’t you?’ Harriet shook her head in some confusion. Pregnant! Felicity!

‘Well, obviously one understands
how
it happened. What I meant was, well—’ She paused (and one’s mind baulked at the thought of Felicity discussing birth control). By the look of it, Felicity’s mind had similarly baulked as she was unable to complete the sentence.

‘Are you sure?’ said Harriet, getting down to business—after all, this wasn’t the first such conversation she had had with a girlfriend in a kitchen. Although it had been some years since the last time. And she did not exactly put Felicity in that category.

‘Yes, quite. It’s been two months. And I went to a doctor. Not our doctor, naturally, but he confirmed it.’

‘Why not your doctor?’

Felicity stared at her. ‘Because I can’t keep it! Obviously.’

Now it was Harriet’s turn to stare.

‘Why on earth not?’ she replied, but even as she said it the reasons seemed clear enough. Felicity was not mother material; had not the slightest interest in babies; was approaching her forties. And she had her career.

‘But I can’t! I simply
cannot
have a baby. It would destroy everything.
Everything
! Don’t you see?’ Felicity’s voice rose a little hysterically. ‘I would have to give up my job!’

‘Now, darling, take a deep breath. It’s quite all right, it’s all going to be fine,’ said Harriet automatically though she didn’t, at this moment, see how. She waited as Felicity took a deep breath and another sip of the sherry. ‘Good. That’s better. Now, let’s just think clearly and rationally about this. Leo—does he know?’

‘No, of course not. I couldn’t tell him; he’d want it.’

‘But, my dear, doesn’t he have a right to know?’

‘Yes, I’m sure he does, and I’m sure he has a right to be a father, but he doesn’t have to give up everything to do it, does he? No, I’m sorry, Harriet, but I’ve made up my mind. He isn’t going to find out.’

‘But, then, why are you telling me, if you’ve already made up your mind?’

Felicity closed her eyes for a moment.

‘I need help, Harriet. I don’t know … how to go about it. How to get rid of it,’ and for the first time her eyes became pleading, desperate. Frightened.

Harriet leant back against the kitchen cupboard and took a sip of the sherry. It tasted sweet and sickly and she put the glass down on the kitchen table. She reached around for a cigarette, but they were upstairs; there was only a packet of Mrs Thompson’s wretched Craven A’s by the sink.

There had been other occasions, of course, before the war, when girls had got themselves into trouble and she had heard a name mentioned, seen an address passed furtively from hand to hand—a doctor with a foreign-sounding name, a woman with a kind heart in the East End. But so many years ago now, she had nothing she could pass on as useful advice. And there were the horror stories, too, of coat-hangers and blood poisoning and lice-infested rooms and girls who could no longer have babies. Of girls who had died.

Besides, it was illegal.

‘Darling, I don’t really see what I can do.’

‘But surely you must know someone—someone who can help?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t think of anyone. It’s not the sort of thing one—’

‘You
must
know something!’ There was a note of something close to panic in Felicity’s voice.

Harriet turned away and replaced the corkscrew in the draw. She slowly slid the draw back into the dresser. Cecil had said, in this very house eight years ago:
‘Are you expecting me to help you? To help him? Because I won’t! I will not—do you
understand? How dare you put me in this position? How dare Freddie put
you
in
this position!’

And she
had
expected him to help, or at least to understand. But he hadn’t. He had not helped her. He had refused.

She turned to face Felicity, holding out both her hands.

‘I’m so sorry, Felicity.’

Felicity stared at her. For a moment she said nothing and it seemed as though she had pinned all her hopes, had gathered all her strength, had sacrificed all her dignity, for this one conversation, this single plea for help—and it had come to nothing.

Her eyes hardened and she nodded slowly.

‘Well. No matter, I’m sure I can sort it out myself,’ she said briskly.

There was a silence during which Harriet could have said, ‘Look, I don’t know who to go to but I can ask around, I can see if anyone knows something …’ But she remained silent, and in another moment Felicity turned and went back upstairs.

‘There you are!’ exclaimed Leo loudly, as though they had been gone for some hours. ‘Thought you’d got lost,’ he added brilliantly, but not even Anne laughed. Felicity stood stiffly at the back of the room and smiled, but it was a rather grim smile that made Harriet look away and wish they would leave.

They did leave eventually, but only after Leo had downed two more sherries and Cecil had reminisced about some childhood Christmas that he obviously felt surprisingly sentimental about, but which Felicity refused to get drawn into. Anne had got bored and gone off to her room and Julius had stood surreptitiously beside the sherry decanter and then edged out of the room and fled upstairs so that one assumed he had taken a furtive swig. Let Cecil deal with it. And finally Felicity had announced that it really was time they were off and there was relief in the flurry of coats and hats and farewells.

‘Goodbye, Harriet,’ said Felicity, leaning forward and brushing against her cheek. Her hands were cold and stiff and her eyes turned away before Harriet could reply. The door closed behind them and Harriet stood in the hallway for a long moment.

It was too bad. One couldn’t help everyone. Sometimes one was unable to help even those one cared the most deeply for. There was nothing to be done about it.