“You dance very well,” she said warmly.
He patted her hand. “Nice of you to say so, my dear. Not very honest, eh? But nice.”
By the time she reached the table the orchestra had struck up yet again, and this time it was Jack who led her onto the floor to execute a dashing if inexpert two-step. The great ballroom was full now, very warm and full of happy noise. Molly danced again with Jack, and then with a young man whose name she had not caught, who looked at her with admiration, held her much too close and did not seem to notice that she spent two dances calling him ‘Mr Er—?’ At length, laughing, she had almost to beg him to take her back to the table where Jack was deep in conversation with Joseph Forrest. She reached for her neglected glass of champagne and the narrow hand that she would recognize anywhere touched her wrist lightly.
“I have your husband’s permission,” Adam said solemnly, “to dance with you. May I have the pleasure?”
The musicians, happily, were back to Strauss again. As Molly turned into Adam’s arms she caught a swift glimpse of Etta Forrest’s wide, challenging eyes fixed upon them both. Just before they were lost in the swirling stream of dancers she saw the other woman tip her head back and drain her glass to the dregs. Then she was alone with Adam in the whirling maelstrom of the waltz, the glittering, spinning, colourful couples around them a mere backdrop to his eyes, his smile, the movement together of their bodies.
“You’re enjoying yourself,” he said in that odd way he had of turning a question into a statement.
“Yes.”
“You should do it more often. It suits you marvellously.”
She smiled. She had drunk just enough champagne to be able to admit to herself honestly how much she wanted to be with him, to feel his arms about her if only like this, in public as they danced. What was more, she did not at this particular moment care if he sensed it, as she knew he would. They said not another word to each other as they dipped and whirled, their bodies moving perfectly together, she adjusting without thought to the slightly unbalanced step of his damaged leg. As the music died and the supper bell rang they stood close for a moment, still without words, until Adam, with a smile, offered her his arm to escort her to Jack.
Supper was a noisy affair. Jack and the young man whose name Molly still did not know launched into a deep discussion of the industrial troubles that had plagued the old year, and wondered, pessimistically, what the new one might bring. The two other couples in the party seemed to have their own personal celebration going on at the other end of the table, while Adam had excused himself and was talking to a man on the other side of the room. Molly stood by herself for the moment, surveying the luxuriously loaded table, trying to decide which delightful dish to try and wondering, with professional interest, if the grapes had been stored in redwood sawdust when she became aware that Etta Forrest had come to stand beside her. She looked up into a pair of flatly unfriendly eyes.
“Hello,” she said, brightly, “are you enjoying the party?”
“I can’t say that I am, no.” The younger woman was swaying very slightly, and with a shock Molly saw that she was very drunk. “I find these things an awful bore, actually.”
“Really?” There seemed little else to say. Molly moved a step away.
“Have you known Adam long?” The question was blunt, and much too loud.
Taken aback, Molly answered as bluntly, but her voice was quiet. “Yes, I have.”
“I thought so.” The hostile eyes swept her critically. Infuriatingly, Molly found herself blushing. “Do you find him – easy to work for?”
“I don’t work for him,” Molly said shortly. “I work with him. And the answer to your question is no, I don’t find it easy.”
“But easy to dance with,” the other woman said very softly.
“Mrs Forrest,” said Molly, very coolly, “if you have nothing better to do than to watch others dance, easily or otherwise, then I’m not surprised that you ‘find these affairs boring’. Now, will you excuse me, please?”
Jack and the unknown young man seemed pleased to have her join them. Inwardly fuming, outwardly gay, she steered their conversation into lighter channels. From the corner of her eye she saw Etta walk, relatively steadily, to where Adam stood, saw his careful smile, noted the way that with some insistence he propelled her to a chair and then came to the table to fill a small plate of food for her. His eyes met Molly’s and, with the slightest of shrugs, he raised his eyebrows, drolly. Suddenly, and for no explicable reason, Molly’s ill humour deserted her as quickly as it had come. She had come here tonight determined to enjoy herself, and that she would do, Etta Forrest notwithstanding.
The dancing began again, and midnight crept nearer. Just before it struck Molly found herself once again dancing with Adam. This time he talked, lightly and amusingly, as she remembered that he used to. The champagne, she knew, had gone quite thoroughly to her head. She laughed at everything, smoke-blue eyes glittering and shining with pleasure from behind dark lashes. The room blazed with silver and gold, a transient treasure house of celebration. She was aware suddenly that Adam was no longer smiling, no longer talking. His arm around her had drawn her closer to him, the hand that held hers had tightened abruptly, possessively.
“Adam—” she said, and the music stopped. In a moment she was swept away from him by an enthusiastic crowd, one hand in Jack’s, the other held by a stranger. As the noise died the decorated clock at the far end of the ballroom began to strike twelve, and on the last note a great cheer arose as the figures 1914 were unfurled above it in silver and gold. Jack kissed her, Joseph Forrest kissed her, chastely on the cheek, the nameless young man kissed her, not too chastely, on the mouth. Rings formed around the room – “Should auld acquaintance be forgot—?”
She looked for Adam. He was making his way through the crowd, smiling, laughing, kissing the ladies, shaking hands with the men, having his back slapped and his hand pumped, but slowly and inexorably making his way to her. She knew that with perfect confidence. She waited for him, her eyes following his progress. When he reached her she lifted her face for his kiss perfectly naturally, and knew her mistake the moment their lips touched. With a shock as sobering as cold water she felt his desire and her own, and could not pull away. In the end it was he who lifted his head, but not before she had felt in the harsh pressure of his mouth his answering emotion. She stepped back from him, her colour high, her heart hammering. A sweep was making the rounds of the ballroom floor kissing the ladies for luck, shaking the hands of the men, leaving smears of soot on skin and clothes to everyone’s uproarious amusement.
“Molly—?” Adam said.
“Good Lord, you two, why so sober?” Joseph Forrest swept up behind them, put an arm about each of them. His hands were covered in soot and his white head was wreathed in a silver streamer. “I can’t have that at my party, indeed not!” He steered them towards the sweep. “Here’s two you’ve missed—”
Molly submitted to a sooty kiss. Over the dirty shoulder she saw Etta move close to Adam and lift her lips to his.
Outside, all over the city, the bells rang joyfully, ushering in the new and hopeful year.
Chapter Forty-One
In January 1914, a couple of weeks after the ball, Adam Jefferson went to the United States to study new cold store techniques and buy new equipment. In the six months that he was away, the newly but already strongly established firm of Jefferson and Benton built steadily on strong foundations. Jack kept the yard and the now-completed cold store running efficiently and well. The sales of ice, both manufactured and natural, were steady. Molly, her initial efforts now bearing fruit, turned her attention to tracking down, haggling over and ordering the high-quality supplies that the business demanded, and found herself enjoying the tasks immensely. Her brisk figure became well-known in the docks as she hunted down her small cargoes in person, watching their handling like a hawk – for fruit and flowers particularly could be easily damaged by careless treatment – persua
ding their passage with smiles and a quick tongue through the customs, always the first to have her trucks loaded and away. She persuaded Jack that their transport, both motorized and horse-drawn, should be smart and distinctive. Blue and chocolate brown were the colours she chose, with golden, decorative lettering proclaiming to the world that Jefferson and Benton were purveyors of only the highest quality luxury items. She used the information that Adam fed her back from America to good advantage, and for the day-to-day problems she had Joseph Forrest to advise her. They now had an established circle of customers whom she visited regularly armed with a tempting list of the new delicacies that she could, at a price, provide. By April the Jefferson-Benton store was working to capacity. As the spring sunshine strengthened in promise of a glorious summer Molly surveyed their order books with justifiable satisfaction.
‘You should buy an ice-making machine of your own for the summer, you really should,” she said to Annie one day. ‘You can get small ones, you know, specially for shops like yours—”
“And what do we use for money? Buttons?” Annie said, her voice full of laughter. Her new baby, born in February, had been another boy, Robert Edward – she intended, she had informed Molly, to produce the whole of the West Ham football team for the nineteen thirties.
“They aren’t all that expensive.” Molly, smiling, dangled a piece of ribbon for the baby to reach for. Aware of silence she looked up. Annie was standing, grinning at her, hands on hips.
“You and your big ideas, Molly girl. I remember saying to Charley the first day I met you – remember, the picnic, that hat with the cherries? – that girl, I said, is going places. And I was right, wasn’t I? But we aren’t all on our way to our first million, you know love. Some of us are quite happy with what we’ve got.” The words were spoken lightly and certainly not intended as criticism, yet they startled Molly. Walking back to The Larches she thought about them. Ever since the day that she had walked in, footsore and determined, on John Marsden she had believed that she was working for one thing and one thing only, to establish for herself and later for her family some kind of security in a frighteningly insecure world. Now, she suddenly realized, she had that security. Yet still she worked, still she planned, and Annie’s quiet content was beyond her. Ambition, she mused, was a strange thing. It might, as in her case, start as a driving necessity, an essential to keep body and soul together in a grim world, but who could tell when it took over as a force in its own right?
Wasn’t it Adam who had once told her that success, like love, was an addictive drug? She smiled a little ruefully. Of course it had been Adam. Who would know better about either?
As she turned, her mind abstracted, up the path of The Larches she almost bumped into a tall young man whom she did not at first recognize and who surprised her by doffing his hat politely and murmuring “Good evening, Mrs Benton,” as he passed her.
“Was that young Chris Edmonton I saw leaving just now?” she asked Nancy.
“Yes, it was. They’re organizing a march for Saturday. He had some leaflets for me to deliver.”
“He’s married now, isn’t he?”
“Yes he is.” Nancy’s voice was expressionless.
“What’s she like?”
“Felicity? Oh – young, pretty, I suppose. Well-connected. A bit stupid.”
Molly laughed. “I don’t suppose Christopher thinks so.” She paused and then added in face of Nancy’s dour expression, curiously, “Does he?”
Nancy stood up. “I’m sure I don’t know. It isn’t anything we discuss. Here – these are the notes on a couple of girls I interviewed today.” She tossed a file on the desk and then stood looking down at Molly, her face uncertain. “Moll, I’m sorry, there’s something I have to tell you. If I don’t then someone else will.”
“Oh?” Molly shuffled through the papers. “What is it?”
“It – concerns Danny.”
That stilled the busy fingers. Molly lifted her head. “What about him?”
Nancy spread helpless hands. “There’s no easy way to say it He’s been playing truant. And now – he’s started to steal—”
“What!”
“I’ve known he’s been playing truant for some time. I should have told you, I know. But he promised—” Nancy stopped. There was a long, tense silence.
“You’d better tell me it all.”
* * *
Jack sat in silence in the dark parlour and listened to Molly’s tale told in an even, drained tone that spoke more of her distress than any histrionics might have done. Nancy’s revelations had hit her like a bombshell. “He’s been playing truant for months. Nancy’s caught him several times. And others have seen him. He always had an excuse when Nancy mentioned it – you know what he is – she didn’t know what to do for the best. He kept promising her faithfully that it wouldn’t happen again. She didn’t want to cause trouble. But now – stealing again! From Nancy. From the girls’ pockets and purses. And from God only knows who else—” Her voice cracked a little.
Jack’s face, the still-vicious scar gleaming high on his cheekbone, was rigid with anger. He slammed his hand violently onto the arm of his chair. “By Christ, that’s enough! I’m going to take the hide off that lad!”
She shook her head. “What good will that do? This is my fault. My fault!” She buried her dry face in her hands.
“What are you on about?” Jack’s voice was rough, but not unkind. “Your fault?”
She lifted her head. “Yes. My fault. I should have known. I should have spent more time with him. I should have remembered—” She stopped. Jack watched her. The sounds of the house were loud in the silence. Above them, in Nancy’s rooms, the girls’ laughter pealed. In the hall outside the door a floorboard creaked, but neither of them noticed it. “Well,” she went on, more composedly. “Now I know, and now I will do something. I want him to leave school. If he wants money so badly, then let him earn it At the cold store, under your eye. He didn’t want to stay on at school anyway. It was I who insisted. But I’m not having him leave to run wild with these – friends – of his. I want you to take him on—”
Jack moved violently from his chair. “Damned if I’ll—”
“For Harry’s sake, Jack. And for mine. Please.”
Jack ran his hands distractedly through his hair.
“—And then – there are things I should tell him, aren’t there? We can’t keep quiet for ever. Apart from anything else, there’s the money. He comes into it on his twenty-first birthday. What will we tell him? How will we explain—?” She stopped, and her expression changed as she stared over Jack’s shoulder at the opening door.
Danny leaned against the jamb, one hand negligently in his pocket, his eyes veiled. “Secrets?” he asked.
No one spoke.
The boy shut the door behind him and walked with a kind of tense grace into the room. Fury suddenly suffused Jack’s face. “You little – you’ve been listening at the door!”
“Yes, I have.” Danny did not flinch from Jack’s sudden movement towards him.
“Jack, no!” Molly moved between them, her hands flat against Jack’s huge chest. He stood for a moment, breathing heavily, glaring at the tall, slight figure of the boy over Molly’s head. Then he turned from them both, his hands bunched, his jaw corded with anger.
Molly turned to face her son. “I think you’d better sit down.”
“I’d rather stand.” His voice was pure insolence.
“Sit down.” She did not change her tone. “I’ve no intention of talking to you until you do.”
The fragile veneer of his arrogance cracked a little. He stood uncertainly before his mother’s iron composure then, with bad grace, dropped into the nearest chair.
Molly remained standing, looking down at him. “I assume that what your Aunt Nancy has finally brought herself to tell me about is true?”
The boy shrugged.
“Answer your mother,” Jack snapped.
Danny threw him a look of sh
eer hostility.
“Well?” Molly asked.
Silence.
“That’s answer enough, isn’t it? You heard, I assume, what I was saying just now – about your leaving school and working at the cold store?”
The red head lifted then, and he looked at her, a blaze of malice in his blue eyes. “That’s not all I heard.”
“I didn’t imagine that it was.” Molly struggled to hold her temper, saw Jack turn away, sensed the effort he was making to contain an impulse to violence. “Very well. Since you are obviously determined to make this as painful as possible for everyone, then I suppose that’s the way it has to be. Though these are hardly the circumstances that I would choose—”
“Well, it isn’t your choice, is it?” The words were curtly rude. ‘I heard you say something about money. Money that’s coming to me when I’m twenty-one. I want to know about it. I’ve a right to know about it—”
Molly’s voice when she spoke was expressionless. “A few years ago you were left a sum of money. A little over a thousand pounds. The bank has invested it for you. You will come in to the capital sum and any profit that has accrued on your twenty-first birthday. You may not touch a penny before that day.”
He waited to see if she were going to continue. When it became apparent that she intended to say no more he made an impatient gesture. “And?”
“And what?” she asked, very hard.
“Where did it come from? How is it that I have money?” There was an edge of violence in his voice. He narrowed his eyes, watching his mother. “Who’s Harry? Did he leave me the money? What had he to do with me?”
Molly bit her lip, her hard-held composure shaken. “Danny, believe me, this isn’t the time—”
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