Authors: Amanda Prowse
‘Everything’s perfect, Mrs Harrison, just bloody perfect.’
Joan trotted in one direction, towards home, and Dot in the other. Mrs Harrison lit a fag and smiled. Some people needed to be brought down a peg or two and that Joan Simpson was too smug by half.
The day could not go by fast enough. By three p.m., when the two young lovers were finally reunited at Paolo’s, Dot had worked herself up into a frenzy. She was agitated, angry and sad.
Sol held both her hands inside both his, across the table top in their booth. She had given him the outline of her dad’s words, but had decided not to divulge that he had hit her.
‘It’s not a surprise, but still upsetting none the less.’
‘It’s a bloody surprise to me!’ Dot countered.
‘Then you must have had your head in the sand. I see this every day here, every day. Like that taxi driver that drove us up to the West End, remember?’
Dot cringed. She’d thought the cabbie’s vile comments had gone unheard. ‘How do you put up with it, Sol?’
‘I put up with it because I know change takes time. I can’t take on the whole world, but I can change my bit of the world, by challenging prejudice and standing up for what is right when I can. Just like my great-great-grandfather did with his beloved Mary-Jane. But it’s hard in the face of ignorance.’
Dot felt her cheeks flush, she knew her dad was ignorant.
‘Has it put you off me, Sol? I’ll understand if it has.’
He laughed and stroked his thumb along her palm. ‘How could it put me off you? I love you. It’s not conditional, not love in measures. It’s just love, one hundred per cent, unshakeable and steadfast. I love you, in all circumstances and whatever may come. In fact, even if you didn’t love me back, I would still love you forever.’
‘I do love you back, Sol, forever.’
‘Well, forgive me for being so blunt, but that’s all that matters, isn’t it? Not what your dad or some taxi driver thinks.’
‘I guess so.’ She nodded, wanting desperately to believe him.
‘I know so. I’m not after approval or acceptance, I just want you. I want to wake up with you every single day and I really couldn’t care what anyone else thinks about that.’
‘You make it sound so easy.’
‘It
is
so easy. When we are on the other side of the world, sitting on our beach in the sunshine, we won’t care how many people in Ropemakers Fields disapprove, we won’t think about any of them. It’ll be like living in paradise.’
‘Or like a fairy tale.’ Dot smiled.
‘Or like a fairy tale,’ he agreed. ‘Anyway, good news – my parents are in Paris; fancy another duet?’
The two ran hand in hand through the rain-soaked streets, jumping over puddles and slipping on cobbles like children. They laughed at the sheer joy of being together and Dot knew that she had never been happier. He was right; loving each other was all that mattered.
With her naked form wrapped in a soft blanket, the two sat on the floor in front of the fire.
‘I feel like no one can get to us here, we are in a little bubble.’
‘That’s what it’ll feel like when we’re in St Lucia.’
‘I can’t imagine it, Sol – is there enough room for me?’
He smiled at the memory of the Jasmine House and its grand proportions. ‘Yes, it’s a very large house with plenty of guest bedrooms and a formal and informal lounge, but the best thing is the incredible view. It’s like nowhere else you have ever seen.’
‘I can guarantee it’s like nowhere I’ve bloody seen, cos I haven’t seen anything!’
‘You’ll love it. It sounds weird but my nanny, Patience, lives with us. She cleans up and cooks and just potters around in the garden.’
‘Like a housekeeper or a cook? Like my mum?’
‘Not exactly, we have a housekeeper and a cook; she is more there for me.’
‘You are spoilt! Well, you’ve got another thing coming if you think I’ll be running around after you n’all!’
‘Ha! You’ll be like the bad housemaid who poisoned the king when he stayed at Jasmine House.’
‘Oh shut up, you are winding me up now!’
‘No, I swear it’s true, the story has been passed down through the years. Many, many years ago the Arbuthnotts were invited to Carnival, along with the whole household. The lady of the house politely refused as she had a royal delegation staying with her, but that meant she refused on behalf of everyone. A young kitchen maid was so angry and frustrated to be missing the celebrations that she grabbed a handful of nutmeg and shoved it into the cake mix. Too much nutmeg is never a good thing and legend has it that the royal party spent the evening hallucinating. The king was convinced that the floor was the sea and stood on a table, refusing to dive in, before being confined to his bed with violent sickness.’
‘Get away!’
‘Oh, Dot, it’s a lesson not to upset a woman on a mission!’
‘You’d better believe it. I’m a woman on a mission, to marry you.’
‘That’s not a mission, it’s your destiny.’
‘You make it sound like I didn’t choose it, like it chose me.’
‘That’s exactly right. I didn’t choose you, I found you. I feel like I’ve been waiting for you my whole life without really knowing it.’
‘I feel the same. I’m a very lucky girl.’
Sol pulled her close to him and held her fast inside her blanket.
It was Monday morning and Vida Arbuthnott was already looking immaculate in a cream trouser suit and orange high-heeled boots. Her outfit was a little bit heavy for May, but she had learnt not to take any chances with the fickle British climate. She closed her eyes for a second and leant back on the overstuffed, chintz-covered cushions. She squared the three copies of
Vogue
on the coffee table in front of her until their edges were aligned. Twisting the large diamond solitaire on the third finger of her left hand, she tried to compose herself, rehearse for the conversation that was about to take place. It would be uncomfortable, of that she was sure, but entirely necessary. She stared at the grey, so called summer’s day beyond the window and overlaid it with an image of her view from the dining room terrace at home. She missed it. The novelty of stepping through puddles on damp cobbles and breathing in the smog was already wearing a little thin.
The creak of a bedroom door roused her from her musings.
‘Good morning, Solomon.’
‘Morning, Mumma! Didn’t expect to see you up so early, everything okay?’
‘Come and sit down, darling.’ She patted the chair next to her.
Solomon tied his dressing gown around his waist and sat on the sofa opposite his mother, preferring a bit of distance.
‘Are you all right, Mum? You look a bit nervous.’
‘Nervous? No, no, but this is a little delicate and so I shan’t beat around the bush.’ Vida clasped her hands on her knees.
‘Oh no, what have I done? Is it the toilet seat thing again?’
‘No, Solomon. I want to talk to you about the cook here or more specifically her daughter.’
‘Her name is Clover. Yes, what about her?’
‘I believe that you may be conducting a little affair with her, Solomon, is that true?’
‘Well, it depends what you mean by “little affair”…’ He gave a small laugh to hide his nerves.
‘What I mean, son, is that rumours have reached my ears and I can’t say that I’m particularly happy about what I’ve heard.’
‘Wow, okay, well… I can only guess at what you’ve heard, but I am seeing her, Mum and I like her, I like her a lot.’ Sol sat forward and looked his mother in the eye. ‘It’s more than a little affair, Mumma, much more.’
Vida ran her tongue over her front teeth before she spoke. ‘Listen to me, Solomon, whatever is going on stops now. Right this minute. It’s embarrassing for Daddy and me, awkward for the staff and certainly not why we dragged you all the way over here. You can entertain yourself with a cook’s daughter at home!’
‘Sorry, Mum, I’m a bit confused. Is the problem that she is a distraction to me here or that she is the daughter of staff?’
‘Don’t try and be clever, you know perfectly well what I mean. You are not a man of the world even if you think that you are. Girls like her will see an opportunity and grab it. She will look at you as the means to a very nice life and you must not allow yourself to get ensnared. By all means have fun, but nothing more. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Not really, Mum and actually it’s a bit late for all that.’
‘What do you mean, a bit late?’ Vida’s hand flew to her chest.
‘I love her and she loves me and that is all there is to it, really.’ He clapped his hands together.
Vida was silent for a few seconds before laughing loudly into her palm.
‘Oh, darling! My sweet boy.’ She composed herself. ‘I am glad that you are having adventures, I really am, but it is
not
love. It is not.’
‘But it is, Mumma.’
‘No, Solomon. It is not and even if it was, I would not allow it, I couldn’t.’
‘Not
allow
it? This is the 1960s not the 1860s!’
Vida’s hand trembled in her lap; this was more dangerous than she had thought. ‘I am not prepared to discuss it further. It stops and it stops right now.’
Solomon had never argued with his mother, there had never been the need, but on this point he was resolute. ‘No, Mumma, it doesn’t, it can’t. We want to get married.’
‘Married? Don’t be so ridiculous!’ Her voice was now a shout. ‘I do not want to hear such madness again!
Marriage?
Do you honestly think that would be an option for you and someone like her? Grow up, boy!’ His mother had slipped into the strong St Lucian accent of her youth, as if she couldn’t do angry and well-spoken at the same time.
‘I am grown up and that’s how I know that I love her and I will marry her.’
‘You will not! I can assure you that you will not!’
‘Is that right? How exactly will you stop me?’
Solomon sat with his shoulders back and his spine straight. His chin jutted forward – he was a man and this was his choice, his life.
Vida considered this for a moment. ‘There are ways, Solomon. Do you think your daddy got to such a position of power by being
nice
?’
‘Are you threatening us, Mum?’
‘There is no “us”! And I am not threatening you; I am telling you that this madness stops, and it stops NOW! Right NOW!’ Vida banged the arm of the sofa.
Sol had never seen her lose control in this way. It alarmed him.
‘What in God’s name is all the shouting for at this time in the morning?’ Neither mother nor son had heard Colonel Arbuthnott enter the sitting room in his leather-soled slippers and silk pyjamas.
Vida took a deep breath and regained her composure. ‘Good morning, Abraham, do come and join us. Your son and I are having an absolutely fascinating discussion about why it might or might not be appropriate for him to marry the uneducated daughter of the local cook!’ She spat out the last few words.
Arbuthnott Senior scratched at this stubble and rubbed his eyes. It was far too early to be having this debate. ‘But
your
mother was a cook…’
Vida rounded on her husband. ‘Yes she was! And thank you for stating it so publicly! I know more than anyone what that means in certain circles and if you think that I have worked hard all my life to be accepted and become part of the mighty Arbuthnott dynasty just to have my only son take us right back there with one impetuous, misplaced gold band then you are very much mistaken! This is not what I planned for him and I will not tolerate it! I will not!’ Vida stood on shaky heels and swept from the room. ‘I shall take my breakfast in the morning room.’
The two men stared at the space that she had vacated. Sol rubbed his eyes and scratched his scalp.
‘You okay, son?’
Sol nodded, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I guess.’
‘She’s right though, Sol, a bit of fun is one thing, but you are far too young and inexperienced to be thinking about marriage.’ The colonel wandered across to the sofa and sat down, then ran his arm along his son’s shoulder.
‘But I love her, Dad, I really love her. She is beautiful and incredible.’
He rubbed his son’s neck. ‘Son, if I married every girl I have ever fallen in love with, I’d have a harem – and if each one was half as much trouble as your mother, I’d be dead.’
A torturous eight or so hours later, Sol was loitering at the end of Narrow Street. It was another hour before Dot appeared. He immediately wrapped his arms around her until he felt the knots leave her shoulders.
‘How are things at home?’ He almost dreaded asking. In the weeks since her row with her dad, things had become increasingly strained at Ropemakers Fields, she often had to wait and sneak out of the house unseen.
‘Still bad. Nothing’s changed.’
Sol nodded and reached for her hands. ‘Well, if it’s any consolation, my parents know too now and my mother has gone a little crazy, but I’m hopeful they will come round.’
‘No, it’s no consolation at all. I don’t understand why everyone is so against us. How can we be happy when what we are doing makes so many people miserable?’
‘That’s just the point, we aren’t doing anything wrong. It’s not us with the problem, it’s them!’
‘You make it sound true, Sol. But the reality is, no matter how loudly you shout at the sky that you don’t believe in rain, you are still gonna get pissed on eventually.’
‘Yes – but when we get pissed on in St Lucia it’s warm and soothing like a hot shower! We will weather the storm, swim in the rain and wait for the sun to reappear.’
‘It sounds lovely.’
‘It
is
lovely. Look, I don’t want us to be miserable – we can sit looking at miserable faces with our parents. We, however, are going to remain positive and confident that all will work out the way we want it to, okay?’ He pushed her chin upwards with his thumb.
‘All right.’
‘That’s my girl!’
‘I like being your girl.’
‘That’s good, because I am never going to let you go…’
Back at work later that week, Dot unscrewed the plastic lids on the jars and shook the various-sized buttons into a little brass scoop before refilling the compartments in the drawer. She did this job automatically, preoccupied with life outside the Haberdashery Department.