When Wishes Come True (16 page)

Although Amelia had her head bent as it studying the board game, Bessie could feel the tension coming from the girl. It was for her sake that Bessie replied, ‘Well, in that case, Amelia might as well sleep here. I will send her to bed when I think it’s time, or she tells me she is tired.’ She put her arm across the girl’s shoulders. ‘Is that all right with you, sweetheart? Here’s me and yer mother making plans without even asking what you want to do.’

The face that turned to her was aglow. Amelia’s eyes were full of excitement and a smile creased her whole face. ‘Oh, I’d love to sleep here, Miss Bessie.’

‘That’s settled then.’ She got to her feet and gave Evelyn no option but to follow suit. The little woman had had enough of the lying and the high-handedness. ‘Yer may as well go and see to yer meal, Mrs Sinclair, while me and Amelia finish our game of Snakes and Ladders. I’ll send her as soon as the game is over.’

Evelyn was propelled towards the kitchen door. ‘Thank you once again, Miss Maudsley, I will always be indebted to you.’ She was feeling very relieved that the first date with Philip could be set and could see no reason why her neighbour would refuse to help in future. How fortunate it was that she had mentioned the bed in her spare room. ‘It is definite for next Saturday then, is it? You see, I must write and tell my friend I shall be coming, and what time.’

Bessie stood as tall as her four foot eleven would allow. ‘I do not tell lies, Mrs Sinclair, nor do I disappoint a young girl who is looking forward to her birthday celebration. I’ll say goodnight to yer now, and get back to our game of Snakes and Ladders.’ She was never rude or impolite unless she was pushed too far, but this was one time Bessie had gone past the stage where she would try to be polite. But for the sake of the girl she wasn’t going to start a slanging match. Instead, she closed the door in her neighbour’s face.

When the knock came on the door of his office, Cyril Lister-Sinclair took off his pince-nez spectacles and laid them on his huge mahogany desk. ‘Come in.’

It was his secretary, Miss Williams, and she was carrying a sheaf of letters in her hand. ‘I have these ready for signing, will you do them now or shall I leave them on the desk and you can ring for me when you have read and signed them?’

‘Yes, leave them on the desk if you will, Miss Williams, and I’ll attend to them shortly. I’m afraid this is one of those days when I really don’t have the energy or the will, for work.’

When his secretary had closed the door behind her, Cyril let out a deep sigh. It was seven years now since Charles had been killed in action, and those years had not been kind to him. He had aged considerably, both physically and mentally. He had never come to terms with the loss of his son, and not a day went by when he didn’t grieve for him. Charles had been the reason Cyril had built up a successful business, and become one of the wealthiest merchants in Liverpool. He loved his son dearly, and wanted to make sure he would never lack for anything in his life. He’d been Cyril’s reason for living, and when he was killed there didn’t seem any point any more. Why carry on making more money, or take a pride in his business like he used to, when there was no one to leave it to? No one to take up the reins when he retired.

And at home there was no one who understood his grief, and his need to talk about his son. There were photographs of Charles everywhere, but no one mentioned him and that wasn’t natural. It was his wife’s doing. She’d wanted all the photographs removed because she’d said it broke her heart to look at them. It was one of the few times in his married life he’d put his foot down. His wife refused to mention her son’s name, and said she’d lost the will to live. She was so full of self-pity she didn’t notice her husband needed to talk about Charles, wanted to keep the boy’s memory alive. Most of all he wanted the arms of a loving wife to comfort him. Even the house didn’t seem like a home any more. Once it had been a place where Charles had brought his friends for partying, and the place rang with music, dancing and laughter as they dined on the very best of food and wines. Now the house was silent; even the servants talked in hushed tones. Never any laughter or the hubbub of conversation. Everything changed after Charles was killed.

Cyril’s eyes rested on the sheaf of letters, and he was just reaching for them when a knock came on the door that he recognised. ‘Come in, my boy, I know your knock by now.’

The face that came around the door had a mop of black hair, flashing brown eyes and a friendly smile. Just the sight of it lifted Cyril’s spirits for this was Charles’ best friend, Oscar Wentworth. The one person who loved to talk about his son, who had been his school chum at five and was still his best friend when they were twenty-five. He missed him as much as Cyril did. He had been best man when Charles married Evelyn at the registry office on the day he’d left to fight in the war from which he never returned. A year later Oscar had married Gwen, Evelyn’s friend and bridesmaid, and they now had two children.

‘Sit down, my boy, and I’ll ring for a pot of tea.’ Just a few seconds after the bell on his desk tinkled, Miss Williams opened the door. She had worked there long enough to be able to say, ‘The kettle is on the boil, just give me five minutes.’

‘Miss Williams, what would I do without you?’

‘Find another secretary who would put her foot down and say, “Please sign those letters, Mr Lister-Sinclair, so they can catch the lunchtime post”.’

Cyril smiled, something he could do when Oscar was there. It brought a blessed release from tension. ‘They will be signed by the time the tea arrives, Miss Williams, I don’t want to be scolded.’

When they were alone, Oscar said, ‘You are lucky with Miss Williams, Cyril, she’s perfect. Friendly without overdoing it, and not afraid to smile. My father’s secretary is like a little mouse, I’ve never seen her really smile in all the years she’s worked for him. She shuffles along with her head down, and even one of my famous jokes doesn’t light up her face. I tried for years, but I’ve given up now. Father is quite happy with her, her work is faultless. But I would prefer a spelling mistake that came with a smile.’

Cyril signed the correspondence, and pushed it across the desk when the tea was brought in on a silver tray. ‘There you are, my dear, signed and sealed.’

‘Thank you.’ Louise Williams smiled at the boss who was so kind and thoughtful she would go to the ends of the earth to please him. When she caught him looking sad, she was saddened, too. ‘I’ll be mother and pour. Then I’ll leave you in peace and make sure those letters get to the post on time.’

While she was pouring, Cyril looked from her to Oscar, the two people who had helped him keep his sanity. Particularly Oscar who, since the day the telegram had arrived to say Charles had been killed, had seldom missed a day without visiting Cyril either at the office or at home. He was the one who snorted with derision when Cyril said he was thinking of selling off his business interests and retiring, for he had lost the competitive thrust needed to stay ahead of his rivals. But his son’s friend wouldn’t allow him to. He’d come into the office every day for a year and willed Cyril to reawaken the interest he’d always had. He knew that if his dear friend’s father was at home all day, he would slowly fade away through lack of companionship, stimulating conversation and love. There was also the need to talk about Charles. Oscar was fond of Mrs Lister-Sinclair but thought her selfish, a little childish, lacking in humour and with no interest in her husband’s businesses or what was going on in the world. And Oscar had been very straight about telling Cyril that if he was at home all day he would go crazy.

The tea poured, Miss Williams made her exit, saying over her shoulder, ‘I’ve left room for a touch of the whisky you have hidden in the side drawer.’

Oscar chuckled. ‘She really is a treasure.’

‘Clever, too,’ Cyril said. ‘She knows as much about this business as I do. If I were to absent myself from the office for a month, everything would still run smoothly.’

‘If you want to take a holiday, Cyril, I could always come and work with Miss Williams to keep the wheels oiled. You could do with one, you know.’

‘Who would I have for a companion? I would be as alone on holiday as I am here.’ Cyril opened the side drawer and took out a bottle of whisky. After pouring a small measure into his cup, he handed it to Oscar. ‘How is the family, my boy? Mother and father keeping well?’

‘Both fine! Dad doesn’t seem to grow any older for all he works hard. I’ll swear he has more hairs on his head than I have. And Gwen and the children are well, although my wife has her hands full with the two boys. Charles is nearly six, and Richard just a year younger.’

‘I was grateful to you and Gwen for calling your first-born Charles, it was very thoughtful of you.’

‘Nonsense! Charles was my friend, the best anyone could have, I never considered any other name for my first son. And it was Gwen’s wish too, not mine alone.’

Cyril looked down into his empty cup for a while, then asked, ‘Gwen was friendly with Evelyn, wasn’t she? I believe they were together when Evelyn first met Charles.’

‘Yes, I believe they were. I’d known Gwen for a while at that time, but there was nothing between us but friendship. The seeds of romance were sown at the registry office the day Charles and Evelyn were married.’

‘Does she still see Evelyn?’

Oscar looked surprised. ‘No, I think she only called to see her once after the baby was born. Amelia, I believe the child was called.’

‘Yes, I saw the baby, and she was called Amelia, but whether she was ever christened I do not know. Over the years I’ve many times wondered if I was wrong about Evelyn. You know the story she told me, and I didn’t believe her because I didn’t think my son capable of treating the woman he wanted for his wife in such a shabby way. The child bore no resemblance to Charles at all. Colouring, features, nothing that would lead me to think she was my son’s child. And on top of that there were no tears of sorrow when I told her Charles had been killed, she never went into mourning. In fact, what really sickened me was the way she failed to ask what the telegram said, or where or how Charles died. There was not one tear shed. The only words she uttered, were, “What’s going to happen to me?”’ He placed the cup and saucer on the silver tray. ‘But always at the back of my mind I’m asking myself, did I do right? I don’t worry about Evelyn because I never did like her, she was shallow and selfish. But what if Charles was the father of the baby, and for seven years I’ve never bothered to find out about the child? I’ve left it so long now, I wouldn’t know where to start. But I’d hate to go to my grave wondering if I had made my son’s child an outcast.’

‘There must be some way of finding her if that’s what you want, Cyril. I’ll have a word with Gwen, see if she has any way of finding where Evelyn disappeared to.’

‘When I asked her to vacate the house in Princes Avenue, I did suggest she tried the property letting office in Moorfields. Whether she ever went there I don’t know, but it’s the last thing I remember saying to her. Oh, and I told her to take whatever items of furniture and bedding she would need. That is all I can tell you.’ There was a plea for help and understanding in the eyes searching Oscar’s face. ‘What are your thoughts, Oscar? Was I wrong in the actions I took? Too quick to judge? Was I perhaps hitting back at her for not being heartbroken, as I was?’ Cyril ran a finger across his forehead. ‘I know you are the one person I can rely on to tell me exactly what you think. So, in my place, what would you have done, then and now?’

‘Acted as you did at the time, Cyril, without any doubt. Evelyn’s actions would have hurt and angered me. But they would not have surprised me, I was never an admirer of hers. Never thought she was good enough for Charles, but he was besotted and wouldn’t listen. However, since it means such a lot to you, I will be perfectly frank. Over the years, like yourself, I have had doubts niggling at the back of my mind. Was Charles the father of the child? Could he have lost control because he was going away to a foreign country to fight in a bloody war that was claiming the lives of millions of men? If he did act out of character, who are we to blame him? I for one would not think badly of him, for he was a good man and a friend I was proud to have.’ Oscar leaned forward to put a hand on the teapot. ‘Talking is giving me a thirst, and this tea is still warm enough to be drinkable.’

‘I’ll ring for a fresh pot,’ Cyril said, reaching out to press the bell. ‘I feel quite thirsty myself.’

Oscar covered his hand. ‘No, don’t ring. Why don’t I finish what I have to say, then we can adjourn to the club for lunch and a drink? We can spend an hour going over what we’ve discussed and see where we want to go from there.’ He grinned. ‘It’s nice and quiet there, and although I am partial to a drop of whisky, my favourite tipple is claret.’

‘Good thinking, my dear boy. The chairs are more comfortable there, too!’

‘I forbid you to fall asleep in them, Cyril. My imagination is fired now, and I want an answer to the question that has plagued both of us for seven years.’ Oscar sank back in his chair. ‘One thing you should perhaps know is that at the age of one month, all babies look alike. Mine both had blue eyes and mousy hair. At eight months their eyes were brown and their hair dark. Then we could see baby Charles gradually taking on my features, when his nose became the shape of mine. And the same thing happened a year later with Richard. Blue eyes, mousy hair at birth, then six months later the spitting image of me. So you really wouldn’t have been able to make any judgement on baby Amelia, she was far too young for anyone to say who she resembled.’ He went to push himself out of the chair. ‘Shall we make our way to the club now?’

‘Can we just go a little further here first, my boy, and then smooth the details out at the club? The main question I want to ask is, do you think it’s too late to try and solve the mystery or shall I begin to search for Evelyn and her daughter? I could hire a private investigator, that would speed things up. I wouldn’t know where to start myself.’