Ballet Shoes for Anna (5 page)

W
HEN THE CHILDREN
sat down to breakfast Uncle Cecil said:

“I make it a rule at meals that nothing is said unless it is important or uplifting.”

This was so off-putting that the children could only look at each other out of the corners of their eyes to say what they thought. When they had lived in the caravan or stayed with Jardek and Babka everyone had so much to say that all talked at once and seldom minded if no one was listening. Of course sometimes Christopher would bang on the table and shout “I will have hush” or something like that. Mostly this happened when a picture was going wrong, then the last way to describe what Christopher said was either important or uplifting.

By good luck the food was what the children liked and could eat – a cereal followed by boiled eggs – and though
Anna left half her egg in its shell Uncle Cecil did not notice so there was no trouble.

After breakfast the children were told by Uncle Cecil to go to their rooms to give their aunt a hand with the tidying up.

“Old beast!” Gussie muttered as they climbed the stairs. “He ought to have seen the way we helped Babka. I think he thinks we can’t even make a bed.”

Anna said to Francesco:

“If I bring a piece of ribbon will you plait my hair?”

Francesco was surprised.

“Why plait it, you never do?”

“It’ll look awful plaited,” said Gussie.

Anna darted into her bedroom and came out with a piece of red ribbon to match the red check cotton frock she was wearing which Sir William had bought for her. Anna had dark hair and big dark eyes, so even when she was too pale, which she was at the moment, red suited her.

“I wore my hair loose in Istanbul because I couldn’t do it on top of my head” – she didn’t need to say “as Olga did it” because the boys knew – “but I think this is a plait sort of house. I mean a plait is neat and this is a very neat place.”

Francesco plaited her hair and tied the red bow on the end of the plait. It was a sad sort of thing to do for it reminded him of Togo who, on birthdays and at Christmas, had always had his tail plaited. But of course he did not tell the others what he was thinking. Instead he said to Anna:

“I’m glad you came in. Gussie and I have much to tell
you. The Uncle will not let you learn to dance, he thinks it is wrong.”

Anna swung round to face Francesco. Her face was whiter than ever, especially round the mouth.

“I do not care what The Uncle thinks. I do not like him and I will dance. I must dance, you know what Jardek said.”

Francesco remembered what he had told Gussie to do.

“Where did you put the envelope with S’William’s address?”

That calmed Anna down.

“Good. I had forgotten we had his address. We will go now and tell him. He will understand and arrange everything.”

Gussie showed Francesco the built-in cupboard.

“In such a house even a bottom shelf which is not used is covered with paper.” He opened the cupboard door so the others could see. Each shelf was covered with a pale green washable lining paper with a pattern of leaves on it. “Under there at the back,” he pointed to the bottom shelf, “is S’William’s envelope. The Aunt will never look there.”

“Good,” said Francesco. Then he turned back to Anna. “This place is far from London where S’William is, and today he goes to Alaska. If he was in London, even if I had to walk, I would have gone to him and asked him to sell our picture.”

Anna was not her father’s daughter for nothing. There was desperation in her voice.

“I must learn,” she said, “and from the best teacher. If we cannot sell the picture we must sell things from this house.”

Francesco suddenly felt very much the eldest.

“No,” he said firmly. “That we will never do. Olga taught to steal is wrong, you remember.”

“I do,” Gussie agreed. “That catechism we had to learn. It said ‘Thou shalt not steal’ and Olga said it was not truly stealing that Christopher did because it was from his own father.”

“This would be from our own uncle,” Anna argued.

“No,” said Francesco. “You shall learn to dance but no one will steal.”

Gussie thumped his chest.

“Francesco and me – we will earn the money. How do you think boys earn money in Britain?”

A procession of ways of earning money passed through the children’s minds. Loading donkeys with wood, leading a camel from one place to another, calling conveyances for people, running errands; there were, especially in towns, a hundred ways of earning small coins and small coins added up.

“First,” said Francesco, “we have to find the best place for learning dancing.”

“Who would know?” asked Gussie. “The Uncle doesn’t and I shouldn’t think The Aunt does. Would a priest?”

Francesco was doubtful.

“This I don’t know, but we could try. But while we are trying, Anna, you must practise.”

Anna nodded.

“I did in Istanbul holding on to the end of the bed. But I
can’t do much. Exercises done wrong can do harm. Then I have no shoes and it is difficult to be right when you only wear socks.”

No shoes! The boys had not thought of that. Anna had had soft pink shoes tied on with ribbons. Jardek ordered them from a shop in Italy. But of course they were gone with everything else.

“I think shoes should be the first thing we should buy,” said Gussie. “Then we find out where Anna must go to learn.”

Aunt Mabel took the children shopping that first morning to give them some idea of Fyton. To the children, who had never been out of the Near or Far East, it was confusing for everything was different. Fyton, which had been a village, was growing into what is called “a new town”. As a result it was full of young married couples. It seemed to the children that everybody owned a fat pink and white baby in a pram. There were older children as well, all well dressed and rushing about with shopping bags. They were amazed at the supermarket.

“These British must be very honest,” Anna whispered to Francesco. “Imagine everything out where anybody can steal!”

“I think also they are very rich,” said Francesco. “We have seen no beggars – no beggars at all.”

Aunt Mabel wanted to get home to cook the lunch but she had come to a conclusion about the children. If there was to be any peace in the house she must keep them out of
Cecil’s way as much as possible. Fortunately, he was out a good deal serving on committees and organizing things, but he was at home that morning so the children must stay out. Mabel opened her purse and took two tenpenny pieces out of it. She had no idea how she was going to explain where the two tenpenny pieces had gone for Cecil went through the accounts daily, but she would think of something and for the moment peace was more important. She showed the children the turning to Dunroamin and the clock on the Town Hall.

“You must start home at twelve-thirty, dears, so that you have time to wash before lunch which is at one o’clock sharp. These,” she gave the two tenpenny pieces to Francesco, “will buy you all ice creams.”

When Aunt Mabel had pushed her way out of sight between perambulators the children examined the tenpenny pieces, which was the first English money they had seen. Anna clasped her hands together ecstatically.

“Perhaps The Aunt each day will give us such money for ices. Then soon I will have my shoes.”

“It is a start,” Francesco agreed, “but for dancing classes much money will be wanted.”

Gussie again thumped his chest.

“Me, I have thought of a way.”

“How?” asked Francesco and Anna.

“Up that road,” Gussie pointed to the place he meant, “there is a little market, not like a big bazaar but things are sold from stalls.”

“But we’ve nothing to sell,” Francesco reminded him.

“Oh yes we have,” said Gussie. “S’William gave two of everything for each. All we need is one, we can wear a blanket while the one is washed.”

Anna saw the idea.

“And our suitcases. Our beautiful new suitcases! People must give money for those.”

Francesco was carried away by the enthusiasm of the other two.

“No one, not even The Uncle, could mind that we sell what is ours. Now all we must do is find out how we can borrow a little stall.”

T
HE CHILDREN WENT
to have a look at the little market. They were connoisseurs of markets of every description; they thought very poorly of this one.

“No cooked food,” Gussie grumbled. “There should always be cooked food in a market, it smells well so people come.”

“But they do sell clothes,” Francesco said, pointing to a stall which had clothes all round it on coat hangers.

They went up to the stall. Anna fingered a coat.

“But not good clothes like the one S’William gave us.”

“What you kids want?” a voice asked. The children looked round and at first could not see who had spoken because he was behind the clothes. Then a boy about Francesco’s age with bright red hair came round the stall. “This is me mum’s stall but I’m lookin’ arter it.”

Gussie liked the look of the boy and, anyway, he expected everybody to be friends, at least he had until he met The Uncle.

“We aren’t wanting to buy anything, we were wishing to know how you can have a little stall.”

The boy stared at Gussie.

“You talk funny. Foreign, are you?”

“No,” said Francesco, “we are British but we have not lived here until yesterday.”

“Where did you live then?” the boy asked.

“Just now it was Turkey, though me I was born in Iran,” Francesco explained.

“Me I was born in India,” said Gussie.

To say these things was too near all they wanted to forget. Anna’s voice became a whisper and her eyes filled with tears.

“Me I was the only one not born in the caravan.”

The boy was puzzled. If they lived in a caravan they must be gypsies, but they didn’t look like gypsies.

“What’s your name then? Mine’s Wally – well, Walter really, but everyone calls me Wally.”

Francesco introduced them.

“Me I am Francesco, this is Gussie and this is Anna.”

“Where you living then?”

“In a road called The Crescent,” said Gussie. “The house is called Dunroamin and we want a stall to sell some clothes.”

“And three suitcases,” Anna reminded him.

“Good clothes, Anna’s other frock which is blue, and we have flannel shorts and a shirt each,” Francesco explained.

To Wally the children seemed as helpless as babies. He knew The Crescent. There were nice houses up there. Not the sort where the owners booked a stall to sell clothes.

“Look ’ere,” he said in the voice he would have used to a baby. “Me mum will be back in a minute and she don’t fancy people standing round, not unless they’re buyin’ anythin’. Now there is a seat down there, go and sit on it until I come. You can’t ’ave a stall but maybe I’ll think of a way round thin’s.”

Wally did not keep the children waiting long, for he arrived on a rattling old bicycle which was much quicker than using his feet.

“Mum’s back,” he said, propping his bicycle against the seat. Then he sat down between Francesco and Anna. “Now, let’s ’ave the whole boilin’. Why, livin’ in The Crescent, do you want to sell your clothes?”

Anna answered.

“Because of me. I must learn to dance.”

“Jardek – he was our mother’s father – was a very great teacher of dancing in Warsaw and he said Anna has the real special spark,” Francesco explained.

Gussie joined in.

“When there is a great gift not to learn is a sin. But The Uncle we now live with says it is to dance that is the sin.”

To Wally the children might have come from another planet. He was fascinated by them, and at the same time felt protective about them. He had found them, they were his to look after.

“You got to get one thin’ in your ’eads. This is England and in England kids your age can’t work, it’s against the law. If you was to set up a stall you’d ’ave the coppers after you. Nor you can’t ’ave a paper round nor nothin’ like that.”

Francesco studied Wally. Wally was bigger built than he was but he didn’t look much older.

“But you are working. How old are you?”

Wally shook his head sadly at such ignorance.

“I’m ten but I’m not workin’, just standin’ in for me mum while she had a cuppa. The coppers knows us, they knows it’s just on account of it’s the school ’olidays, they’d be around all right if I was helping me mum of a term time.”

Anna had an idea.

“Do you think it would be possible for our things to be sold on your stall?”

Wally thought about that.

“I’d ’ave to talk to me mum. You see, your uncle might think your clothes was his like, then he would call it stealin’. Me mum wouldn’t ’ave nothin’ to do with that. ’Ow much money was you wanting?”

“We have these,” Francesco showed Wally the tenpenny pieces, “but we want much more for it is for dancing shoes.”

“Mine,” Anna explained, “were lost in the earthquake with all else.”

At that moment the Town Hall clock struck twelve-thirty. The children got up.

“We must go,” Francesco explained. “We have to be very punctual or The Uncle will be angry.”

Wally could not bear to let them go. They had been fascinating before but now with Anna saying her shoes were lost in an earthquake they were like something on the telly.

“Now look,” he said, “I gotta ’ave time to think what’s best to be done. Can you be back ’ere by ’alf past two?”

To the children, used to roaming where they would, this presented no difficulties.

“Of course,” said Gussie, “we’ve nothing to do.”

Wally watched them walk down the hill. He hated to see them go.

“Watch it now,” he called after them, “see you two-thirty.”

Sir William had not been at all happy about leaving the children at Fyton. He had taken an instant dislike to Cecil, who seemed to him both prim and smug. He had in the short while he had known them become fond of the children. But what could he do? Without doubt Cecil Docksay was Christopher Docksay’s only brother and, therefore, legal guardian to the children. He could not have been said to be exactly welcoming when he met them at the airport, but on the other hand he had not suggested he did not want them. Suppose the children were wretchedly unhappy with their uncle, could anything be done?

Sir William was so worried about the children that he asked an old friend who was a barrister to dinner, and to him poured out his anxieties.

The barrister listened with interest, for he knew about pictures and had admired Christopher Docksay’s work.

“I should try and see the children as often as you can. It’s about all you can do, unless of course you think they are neglected.”

“But there are other forms of neglect besides what is legally meant by the word, aren’t there?” Sir William asked. “I mean, the children have lost everyone they loved, they need that replaced.”

“You’re on a difficult wicket there. Much the best thing you can do is keep in touch. You could see them when you are in England, couldn’t you, and write to them when you are away? Children love getting letters.”

Sir William had never written to a child in his life. Now he looked in a worried way at his friend.

“Write about what?”

The barrister, who had brought up four children and who now had nine grandchildren, laughed.

“You old bachelor, you. You’ve had the children with you for over a week, you must have some idea what interests them.”

It was then Sir William remembered the talk he had had with the children in Istanbul.

“The girl Anna wants to learn to dance.”

“All girls go through that stage,” said the barrister. “It doesn’t last.”

Sir William tried to catch an atmosphere.

“These aren’t ordinary children. They have been brought up with a deep respect for art in any form. It seems their maternal grandfather taught dancing in Warsaw. He was
teaching the girl whom, according to the children, he thought was the real thing.”

“Well, that’s a good start for a letter to the children. Ask if they’ve fixed on a dancing teacher.”

“If they haven’t, who is the best?”

The barrister thought.

“None of my brood was anywhere near first-class but I remember talk. There is a Madame Scarletti, who must be very old now, but I believe she is still going. Now she was a Pole, she married an Italian called Scarletti. You could find the address of her studio in the telephone book.”