For Better For Worse (31 page)

Henry looked up at her with tears in his eyes. ‘No, no, I can’t allow you to do such a thing.’

‘Henry,’ she said firmly. ‘I insist. Now let’s hear no more about it. As soon as I get dressed, we’ll go to the bank and set it up.’

‘Oh Ada, my darling,’ he whispered. ‘You’re wonderful.’

‘After we’ve been to the bank,’ she continued, ‘we’ll take a walk around to Motors of Mayfair and get a car … No, no,’ she put her hand up in protest, ‘I won’t hear another word. You need a car to get to Worthing and you shall have one.’

‘Oh Ada,’ said Henry, slipping his hand under her dressing gown and drawing her onto his lap again. ‘Perhaps you could get dressed a bit later on, my love. There’s something I’d like to show you first.’

Ada’s eyes glistened with excited anticipation. ‘Oh Henry …’ she sighed.

‘Mummy, William Steel hit me.’ Jenny was sitting up in bed with wide eyes and in telltale mood.

Sarah was getting ready to read her a story before tucking her up for the night. ‘Was he the boy who wanted to speak to you in the playground yesterday? Why did he do that?’

Jenny shrugged. When William had come over to her, she had run off.

‘There must have been something,’ Sarah insisted.

‘No, Mummy.’

‘Did you do something to annoy him?’

‘I told him I didn’t want to do country dancing with him,’ Jenny admitted.

‘Why ever not?’

‘Connie Jackson says nobody wants to dance with him because he smells.’

‘Well, Connie shouldn’t say things like that,’ said Sarah. ‘And you shouldn’t be unkind to a person just because someone else doesn’t like them.’

Jenny lowered her eyes.

‘It was wrong of William to hit you,’ said Sarah, ‘but perhaps you really upset him.’

Jenny nodded. ‘Sorry, Mummy.’

Sarah hugged her daughter. ‘If William hits you again, tell Mrs Audus, but I want you to promise me that you won’t join in when people say nasty things about him, okay?’

Jenny nodded miserably.

*

It didn’t take long to set up an account in Henry’s name, and although the bank manager seemed a little surprised at the amount she put into it, knowing how frugal she had always been up until her husband’s death, he did exactly as Ada had asked.

Motors of Mayfair were delighted to see Mrs Browning again so soon. It wasn’t long since she’d bought her Bentley, and although they’d let it go at a knock-down £3,500, it wasn’t every day that their clients spent so freely. Mr Slade was assigned to her, and Henry took an immediate dislike to the fellow. Slick in his pale grey suit, Mr Slade was far too smarmy for Henry’s liking. They wandered along the rows of cars mostly waiting to be exported abroad. Henry asked what he thought were pertinent questions, but it seemed that although he answered politely, Mr Slade couldn’t hide his disapproval of Henry.

‘So do you think this one is the car I should choose?’ Henry asked.

‘I’m sure that’s up to you, sir,’ Mr Slade said snootily. ‘I really cannot say.’

It took some time, but eventually Henry settled for a delightful Riley Drophead Coupe in a glossy evergreen. It had been made for the North American market and was therefore a left-hand drive. It was a two door car and best of all, it was a convertible. Mr Slade held his head on one side and said apologetically, ‘I’m afraid that one is £1,200, madam.’

To his delight Ada didn’t even blink.

Henry ran his fingers across the pale leather seats and laughed. ‘My goodness, it’s a beautiful car but I don’t think we should spend that much do you, darling?’

Twenty minutes later, the car was his.

He drove her out of town and she loved every minute with the wind in her hair and a handsome man by her side. They stopped in nearby Richmond Park for tea and on the way back into London they had a meal in Fleet Street.

‘I’ve had such a wonderful day, darling,’ Ada sighed when they reached her flat in Mayfair.

‘So have I,’ said Henry.

There were three letters waiting for him. He’d had to inform the authorities where he would be and so they had forwarded them. He was still getting letters from Annie, but quite frankly she bored him so he hadn’t bothered to read any of them for ages. He had had obviously left one behind in his cell and the prison authorities had readdressed it. While Ada went upstairs to get ready for bed, Henry helped himself to a malt whisky and ripped the first letter open. It was from Dobbin, Kaye’s solicitor.

My client, Mrs Kaye Royale, was somewhat disappointed that you thought it necessary to rip up the documents sent from this office. She had instructed me to inform you that she will be suing you for divorce on the grounds of serial adultery. You will be hearing from us in due course.

In the meantime, I must insist that you do not harass my client or attempt to contact her in any way.

Henry swore as he screwed the paper up and lobbed it into the wastepaper basket. Damn the man. Did the interfering old goat really think he could tell him what to do? He threw himself sulkily into a chair. The second letter was from Annie.

I can’t wait to see you again and I’ve been telling Edward all about his wonderful daddy. I can’t wait to move out of this house. Have you found a place of our own yet, darling?

The silly spoiled bitch had no idea. Where did she think he was going to conjure up digs for them with a small baby? Henry’s eyes narrowed and a slow smile moved across his mouth. What did he care about her opinion? All that mattered now was getting hold of Kaye’s money and his son. The rest of them could go to hell. The third letter was from an estate agent. He read it quickly. Everything was going to plan. Henry smiled then downed his drink, enjoying the burning sensation as it slid down his throat. In the bedroom Ada was sitting up in eager anticipation.

‘I must leave you tomorrow.’

She panicked. ‘Oh Henry, why?’

‘I have to see my wife’s solicitor.’

‘But darling,’ said Ada, ‘if he’s your
wife’s
solicitor, he won’t see you.’

Henry sat dejectedly on the edge of the bed. ‘Don’t you see, Ada, I have to try,’ he said brokenly. ‘Dobbin is more than just a solicitor. He’s an old friend, and besides, he’s retired now. I have to make him see my side of the story and then I can get my son back.’

Ada gathered him in her arms and he wept on her shoulder. ‘Oh my poor darling,’ she whispered onto the top of his head.

‘All I want is to see my son,’ he said, his voice muffled by her frilly nightdress.

‘Of course you do,’ Ada soothed. ‘We’ll get onto
my
solicitor tomorrow.’

He lifted his head and, cupping her face in his hands, breathed on her lips as he brushed them against his. ‘What would I do without you, my darling?’ Seconds later she was putty in his hands once again.

*

In the event, it didn’t take Annie long to find a job. She decided to begin with the small shops nearer home, cold-calling and asking if they had any vacancies. In the early afternoon she went into a tobacconist and sweet shop in Steyne Gardens and asked if there might be a possibility of a position as a counter assistant.

‘There might be,’ said the man behind the counter, who had introduced himself as Mr Richardson, the shop’s owner. ‘Next week it’s the end of sweet rationing and they’re saying that there will be a high demand. It’ll be hard work and I’m looking for a capable girl with good references.’

‘I am both of those things,’ said Annie, exuding a confidence she didn’t really have. Kaye would give her a reference, she was sure, and she’d made up her mind to prove her worth. She had to if she was to keep Edward.

Mr Richardson, a wiry man with a bald head and glasses, looked her up and down. ‘Very well Miss … Miss …?’

‘Mrs Royal,’ said Annie.

‘Mrs,’ Mr Richardson frowned. ‘Do you have children?’

‘I have a son, but my mother takes care of him.’

‘I see,’ said Mr Richardson, and from the change in the tone of his voice, he was clearly thinking that Annie must be a war widow. ‘In that case, my dear, I should be pleased to offer you a trial run.’

Annie could have kissed him, but she restrained herself and agreed to start first thing the next morning. It only took her about twelve minutes to walk from home, so she’d be able to come back to Copper Beeches for lunch, which meant she wouldn’t have to spend a whole day without seeing Edward.

‘That was quick,’ said Sarah when she told her. ‘Congratulations.’

‘I have to work from 8.45 a.m. till 5.45 p.m. Monday to Saturday with a half-day off on Wednesday,’ said Annie.

‘Sounds reasonable enough,’ said Sarah.

‘My wage will be £2/18/-for the first month rising to £3/1/6,’ Annie went on. ‘That’s if I’m deemed to be suitable for the job.’

‘Let’s hope you like it then,’ Sarah smiled.

‘Oh, I’m determined to,’ said Annie, sweeping her son up in her arms. ‘I have to, for Edward’s sake.’

*

The morning of Annie’s first day in the shop, it began to rain. Sarah grabbed the basket and ran outside to collect the washing. April showers were seldom heavy and soon passed but she was anxious to get the baby’s washing inside. Annie didn’t have many things, and now that Edward was becoming more active, it was harder to keep him clean. His grandmother had arrived early that morning to look after him and taken him away in the pram. Sarah had no idea where she was going, but she supposed it was somewhere to show him off to her friends. She obviously adored the little boy.

Sarah pulled the washing carelessly away from the line, not bothering to fold them neatly as they went into the basket. She glanced up and saw that Mrs Goodall was watching her from the bedroom window. Didn’t the woman have anything better to do with her life than constantly keeping an eye on what was happening next door? Since Kaye sent her packing that time, she’d stopped coming round to complain, but her disapproving glares were a constant. The soft, warm rain trickled into Sarah’s eyes as she looked up at the washing and already her shoulders were damp, but when she reached the end of the line and the last item, Sarah froze. Her apron had been slashed. She held the pieces and stared in disbelief. It had been cut with something very sharp. There were no frayed edges or jagged tears. Whatever had been used to cut the apron had sliced through the material like a knife through butter.

Her heart began to pound. She spun around anxiously, but although she had the feeling she was being watched, Mrs Goodall was gone and she was quite alone in the garden. Snatching the apron down and rolling it into a ball, she hurried to the house. What could this mean? It had to be Henry’s doing – after all, he’d been out of prison for almost ten days, even though he hadn’t put in an appearance. But why was he doing this? Did he think she had been the one who had brought the police to his house the night he was arrested? He’d been very angry when he’d seen her in Annie’s kitchen and she couldn’t forget the rough way he had manhandled her and the children through the back door, but cutting up washing somehow didn’t seem his style. True, he had lost his temper that night, but normally he was very controlled. He had never seemed a vengeful man either. Henry did things for the moment and when he’d got what he’d wanted, he moved on. Perhaps prison life had changed him more than most.

‘Are you all right?’ Lottie cut across her thoughts and she realised she was still standing by the back door with the basket of washing on her hip.

‘Yes,’ said Sarah, ‘but the washing is back to square one.’

‘I’ll get the clothes horse,’ Lottie smiled.

While she was gone, Sarah threw the cut up apron into the ragbag. No point in worrying anyone else. Together, they put everything onto the clothes horse and by then the rain had stopped.

‘We’d better not chance it again,’ said Lottie. ‘I’ll put it in the lean-to.’

Sarah watched her go. Dear Lottie. She was much more confident and even beginning to take the initiative now and then. She wished she could confide in her, but that was probably a step too far just yet. Sarah chewed her bottom lip anxiously. What should she do about Henry? If only she had someone to talk to.

*

Henry slid along the bench and looked towards the counter. ‘Two teas, love.’

The woman behind the huge British Rail teapot reached for two chipped cups and set them on the counter. ‘This ain’t a bleedin’ waitress service.’

Outside on the concourse, they could hear a train working up steam and the announcer telling everyone that the train just about to leave Platform 8 was heading for Basingstoke. ‘Well?’ he said, looking at Dennis Nelson.

Nelson shook his head. ‘I’ve been watching that house morning, noon and night, but she hasn’t put a foot wrong.’

‘That’ll be fourpence,’ said the woman.

Henry stood up and collected the teas, leaving the right money on the counter. He plonked them down on the table, slopping a little in the saucers as he did so. ‘Is she still going to dances?’

‘No, sir,’ said Nelson, pulling the cup towards him.

‘What about men?’ said Henry irritably.

‘I tell you, sir, that girl is as pure as the driven snow. In my opinion …’

‘Nobody asked you for your opinion,’ Henry snapped. He was in no mood to hear what a good woman Annie was. His future lay with Ada and her fortune right now, but he didn’t want to leave the country without his son. A man carrying a large suitcase bumped Henry’s arm and apologised as he walked by. Henry didn’t even seem to notice. ‘So what does she do all day?’

‘Since I last saw you at Mrs Browning’s place,’ Nelson went on, ‘she’s got herself a job.’

‘Got a job?’ said Henry, spitting feathers. ‘I’m not having any wife of mine going out to work. What sort of job?’

‘She works in a sweet shop.’

‘What about my son? Who’s taking care of him?’

‘Cllr Mitchell’s wife,’ said Nelson, spooning two sugars into his tea. ‘I believe she’s the young lady’s mother.’

Henry’s face darkened. ‘I’m perfectly well aware of who she is,’ he snapped. So she was back in cahoots with her mother. Damn and blast it. He sipped his tea. It was strong enough to strip varnish.

‘Did my wife see you watching her?’