Grass in Piccadilly

by Noel Streatfeild

  “You can swear to the time you saw him leaving my flat?”

  Gladys had heard Big Ben while she was supposed to be brushing the stairs.

  “Just after nine.”

  The other man cleared his throat.

  “I say, this is all a bit unnecessary. I’m sure we can settle things like gentlemen without bringing this woman into it.”

  The way he said “this woman” annoyed Gladys.

  “I’ll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head. I may be ordinary but I am respectable, which is more than you are . . .” Jeremy tried to interrupt, but Gladys’s blood was up. “You get out now. Get a move on or I’ll get my husband to throw you out. Lucky not to get a kick in the backside.”

  Jack Willis was kissing Jenny in his hall.

  “What on earth?” He opened the door.

  Gladys grinned at him.

  “Goin’ out faster than he came in.”

  Jack stepped forward.

  “Burglar?”

  Gladys winked.

  “Of a sort. Burgling a wife, that’s what ’e’s been up to.”

  Jack and Jenny giggled. They were not interested in any one else. Jack gave Jenny another kiss.

  “You and Vera stay in the kitchen as much as you can, and be careful if you go out, it’s freezing.”

  Jenny rubbed her face against his shoulder.

  “Old fusspot! You be careful.”

  She stood in the doorway kissing her hand. Jack turned on each step to pretend to catch the kisses.

  Charlotte and John were at breakfast. Hannah had just brought in the hot milk, the door was open. Mabel, catching what she could of the excitement, had the kitchen door open. Gladys’s voice rang through the two floors.

  “No, I’m not leaving you. I’m seeing you right outside. I know your sort, nip up again the moment our backs are turned . . .”

  John laid down The Times.

  “Whatever’s happening, Hannah?”

  Hannah bit her lips together; in as far as her stays allowed she swelled with disapproval.

  Charlotte said gently:

  “Do you know what’s the matter?”

  Hannah put down the milk. She straightened up. She loathed what she had to say. In all her years with the family there had been nothing unpleasant.

  “It’s five, m’Lady. Mr. Duke has been away. He returned unexpected. That’ll be Mrs. Parks showing the gentleman out.”

  Freda marched about the bedroom, throwing her clothes on.

  “You can say what you like, but you can’t turn me out. You go, if you want to. I got the flat and I’m stopping here.”

  “You’ll find the door locked when you come back from the theatre.”

  “I’ll get in if I have to have the bloody thing off its hinges. What did you expect? You may go through life needing nothing, but not me. I get randy as hell.”

  Jeremy lit a cigarette.

  “All right. I admit I’ve been a pretty indifferent husband, but I didn’t want to marry you. I told you the truth.”

  “And now I suppose you think you’re going to marry that love of your life you wrote to me about.”

  “No. As a matter of fact, she’s married. That’s where I’ve been, to her wedding.”

  Freda was startled into immobility.

  “No! But you’ve been gone three nights. Doesn’t take three nights to get married.”

  “Quite true. I stayed on for two reasons. One, if you want to know, was that seeing her married took a bit of getting over. The other was that I wanted to catch you. I’ve been having you watched . . .”

  Freda, for the first time, believed that he really might divorce her. She shivered. She would have liked to cry, but there was plenty of time to cry later on; now was the time to fight.

  “You can’t turn me out of here. This is my flat.”

  “We’ll see about that.” He turned to go. “I’m taking Jane to my mother.”

  Freda looked at him queerly.

  “Take my advice and don’t. I tell you, if you try and take Jane out of this house you’ll send up the balloon . . . Don’t rush off, Jeremy. You . . .” Her voice broke off. Jeremy slammed the door.

  Penny was playing snap with Jane. There was no coal at Jane’s school, and Penny could not show dresses without lighting, so they both had a holiday. The flat was atrociously cold. The heating was electric except for the one fire, and that was waiting for Gladys to clean and lay. Penny and Jane were wrapped in rugs; each had a hot-water bottle. The game was at what Jane considered an exciting point when Jeremy knocked. Penny opened the door. Jane frowned.

  “I can’t come yet. I’m busy.”

  Jeremy was usually patient. He would not have hurried Jane’s game. Now he hardly knew what he was doing.

  “I’m sorry, darling, you’ve got to come. We’re going to Granny’s. You must show me what to pack.”

  “Will I stay long?”

  Jeremy was glad to hear the pleased note in the child’s voice. He risked a part of the truth.

  “Quite a long time. Say goodbye to Aunty Penny.”

  Penny let Jane kiss her. She let Jeremy lead the child out. Unaware of what she was doing she stacked the cards and put them back in their box.

  Gladys, conscious of being an object of interest, came in to do Penny’s flat. All the house knew what was going on. Mrs. Dill must know more than most for had not Mr. Duke rushed down to see her? Gladys would lay any money that some day there would be wedding bells there.

  “What a morning! You could have knocked me down with a feather when I heard Mr. Duke was back. He asked me himself to stay where I was. You should have seen the gentleman’s face. Beetroot wasn’t in it. Now, there’s a fine to-do. She says she won’t go. He’s right, though, to take little Jane to his mother’s. I was wondering, seeing she won’t be coming back here, if she ought to have Ket. She’s often spoken to me of her grandmother; fond of her, she is, but, childlike, she might fret for her cat. Say what you like it’s the break up of her home . . .” She broke off. “Whatever is it? You do look queer.”

  Penny licked her lips.

  “Nothing.”

  “I suppose her grandmother will have her for good. He couldn’t manage with her up there alone. Mrs. Duke will ’ave to go to-day, I should think. Caught red-handed, in a manner of speaking. I wish you could’ve . . . What is it, dear? Well, I never, she’s fainted!”

  Paula, returning from taking the children to school, met Jeremy and Jane on the stairs, and heard that the child was going away.

  “To stay with my grandmother. I change after tea there. I’ll want my party frock.”

  Paula’s eyes were on Jeremy’s face. He was puzzled by their tragic intensity.

  “She goes for long?”

  Jeremy knew Paula must have heard Gladys and guessed what had happened. Over Jane’s head he nodded. Out loud he said:

  “Until our pipes unfreeze, anyway.”

  Paula watched the two climb the stairs. Tears trickled unnoticed down her face and splashed on to her coat. She whispered German words to herself, but she was too distressed to know that she used them. “Susses Mädel . . . —Schrecklich Ach armes Kind—Hat sie nicht schon genug gelitten?” She forgot she was Paula Bettelheim, insignificant and unwanted, pulled by a force stronger than herself, she turned and went downstairs.

  Charlotte and Paula met in the hall. Paula coming through the door leading to the back stairs, Charlotte running down the front stairs. Charlotte said:

  “Penny isn’t well. Mrs. Parks has telephoned. She’s fainted. Must be ’flu!”

  “‘Flu!” Paula used the word as if it were a whip. “‘Flu! Do you not know Mr. Duke from this house takes Jane?”

  Charlotte was struck by the emphasis on Jane. She looked at Paula. Paula said nothing but there were tea
r marks on her cheeks and her eyes were suffering. Like a shutter opened in a dark room light flooded in on Charlotte. Jane! What a fool she had been! What a blind fool.

  Penny was round from her faint. Gladys and Charlotte helped her on to her bed. Charlotte, with a glance, told Gladys to get out. It was not Gladys’s way to move for glances; she was surprised to find herself outside the door.

  Charlotte waited until the door was shut. Then she said:

  “Why ever didn’t I guess Jane was your child?”

  Penny could not focus Charlotte clearly, and there was a receding roar in her ears, but she heard what she said. Her teeth were chattering so much it was hard for her to speak.

  “There’s been a row between Jeremy and Freda. He’s taking Jane to her grandmother.”

  “Have you got any brandy?”

  “Whisky. It’s in the cabinet in the other room.”

  Fortified by whisky clear thought came back to Penny. She grew tense and her eyes were scared.

  “What on earth am I to do? This is the end.”

  “It’s nothing of the sort. It’s awkward. Mr. Duke must be told. Who’s got the birth certificate?”

  “I have.”

  “Could you tell me the facts?”

  Penny talked haltingly at first. Pulling the story unwillingly into the light. Then the relief of speaking swept her along. She found she could tell Charlotte. Charlotte seemed outside criticism. She sat there, soignée, solid, her diamond ear-rings glittering, exuding warmth, comfort and understanding.

  “Bill and I made a pact when he went overseas. He knew what I was like and he was, too, if it came to that. We left each other free. If we felt we simply had to do something about it then we had to. It was all right at first, I kept going. Then there was that big raid on New Year’s Eve. I was on duty. Raids had a funny effect, at least they did on me. You know? He was an American.” Bitterness at herself was in Penny’s voice. “I didn’t mean to do it. I was lonely and, as I say, lit up in a queer way. He went overseas after a month but I’d had it. I carried on till May. Freda worked at my ambulance station. One day I had to start a car, the self-starter stuck. I was pretty lousy at the time, always being sick, she started it for me, but she said, ‘You shouldn’t do two things at once,’ so I knew she knew. After the last big raid I went to Wales. You remember. They thought Jane was Bill’s. She was born in September. I got a nannie somehow and took her to my flat. It was quiet then, I meant to move her if the big raids started again. One day I was pushing her in the park when we met Freda.” Charlotte moved. “Wasn’t it hell’s luck? She said nothing then, but afterwards she let me know she knew. She guessed Jane wasn’t Bill’s because I’d been so secret about it. That December Bill wired he was getting leave. I hadn’t decided what I’d do until then. It was hell. I simply couldn’t face him with a baby. I tried to get Nannie to take Jane to an hotel; she wouldn’t.” Penny paused. “This is where Freda comes in. She’d been living with Jeremy; she was frightfully keen on him, still is, really. He had liked her in a way I suppose, but he isn’t her sort. He was in the navy; he wrote to her he was coming on leave and going to get married to somebody else. It was revolting of me, but I let her have Jane. It was a sort of temporary arrangement to tide us both over. She told Jeremy Jane was his child. Seems incredible now, but you know how hectic and mad things were, nothing seemed to matter. All I wanted was that Bill’s leave should be perfect.”

  There was so long a pause that Charlotte, to help, said:

  “And was it?”

  “Madly to start with. Neither Bill nor I ever thought we’d both get through. We were glad of anything we got, and that unexpected leave was a high spot. Then one night he was out of cigarettes and fiddled round the flat. He opened a drawer of mine. Under some things I’d put oddments of Jane’s . . . Somehow he knew at once. I suppose when he came along with the things I looked pretty peculiar. Who wouldn’t?” There was a pause. Charlotte could see Penny sorting her memories. What to say. What to keep. “He was livid. He said I’d lied to him. I had. I told him I’d done nothing about it while he was away. He was furious about Jane. Thought I’d been part of a cad’s trick. He packed up and pushed off. I went out and got blind. In the middle of the evening sometime I remembered Dad was coming up, and we were lunching with him the next day. You know how you get when you’re stinking. I simply knew I had to tell Dad we weren’t coming. I went to his hotel. I saw him, but I’ve no idea what I said.”

  Penny stretched out her hand for a cigarette. Charlotte passed her one.

  “So you’ve been avoiding him ever since?”

  “More or less.” Penny lit her cigarette. “I tried to get hold of Freda after Bill left, but she had dug herself in with Jeremy’s mother and Jeremy was there, it was hopeless. Then Bill was killed. That was the end. I went right under. Then one day Freda turned up. She wanted money. I tried to get Jane back, of course. How could I? She’d been taken on by Jeremy’s people. I made a bargain; she could have any money I could raise if I could see Jane. It was quite easy. Jane bored Freda stiff; she took her out and I met her and took over. It wasn’t always so hot. I had kittens over nothing; Jane having a cold or whatever it was, not seeing her I thought she had pneumonia, you can imagine. I got Freda to take me to her mother-in-law’s; a madly silly woman who loathed Freda’s guts but made herself pretend to like her because Jeremy had married her, and any one Jeremy married must be perfect. Actually, she was damn’ good to Jane. As long as Jane was there I didn’t flap much. It was after the war finished. Freda kept saying she wouldn’t stop on with her mother-in-law and must have a flat. I couldn’t have left Jane to Freda. She doesn’t like children. Then Dad decided to convert this place into flats.”

  Charlotte’s mind was back at the beginning of the previous year. Penny’s strange willingness to meet her at ten-thirty to look over a house which she had known all her life. “Who’s going to live on the nursery floor?” “If the third and fourth floors are decently let Dad wouldn’t want much for the nursery floor, would he?”

  “And you saw a way out, that’s why you came to look over the house?”

  “I never thought of my living here myself. When you told me this floor would make a flat I felt all endways. I’d never thought I could be in the same building as Jane. It’s been heaven! Now, what?”

  Charlotte, too, wondered now what? She got up and walked to the window. It looked out at the back. The bomb damage was buried under a snow eiderdown, but she saw nothing. Her whole mind was given to Penny’s problem. Would Mr. Duke accept Penny’s story or would they have to go to law? Charlotte shuddered at that. What about the child? Did she like her supposed father? How was it to be arranged that she came back to Penny without upsetting her? It must be an upset to change mothers, and find your father was not your father. Impatience at her own blindness was in her voice.

  “I can’t think why I didn’t guess. Mrs. Bettelheim did. She’d heard Jane was leaving; I met her outside this door; she was coming to you, I think. She didn’t say much but suddenly I knew.”

  Penny got off her bed and went to the dressing-table. She looked at her face in the glass.

  “Confession may be good for the soul, but it’s death to the face.” She sat on the stool, her elbows on the dressing-table. “I always knew Paula had guessed. She had more chance than you did because she saw me with Jane. Anyway, she’s madly sensitive. There were things too. I’ve always kept Jane’s proper birthday in September, I didn’t want to celebrate the day she was taken over by Freda.”

  “I ought to have put two and two together. You looked so much better for one thing. Then I knew how good you were to the child, taking her to school, and all that. I suppose she’s like you?”

  “Much more like her father.”

  “Of course that’s why you were so angry with me about the back stairs.”

  “Well, it did seem madly ‘olde worlde’ and
I hated my child treated like that—who wouldn’t? Actually, Freda was the only one who cared, so I suggested the door. I didn’t care what annoyed Freda. She’s been in a grand position. If I didn’t raise what money she wanted, and keep her in drinks, hire cars, magazines and all the rest of it, Jane went without things. It didn’t matter what clothes and toys I bought Jane, if Freda didn’t let her have them I could do nothing. She had me all right. You see, it got more difficult to break things up as Jane grew older.”

  Charlotte’s ideas were taking shape.

  “You must tell all this to your father.”

  There was a long silence.

  “I should think it would kill him. Let’s face it, there never was a more revolting story.”

  Charlotte came over to Penny and drew up a chair by her.

  “Your father’s much tougher than you think. Do you mind Jane staying with Mr. Duke’s mother for a bit? You see, they’ll have to be told.”

  “No, that’s all right, probably the best thing. Freda will take a day or two to clear out, and I can’t just take Jane from Jeremy. He’s had the hell of a raw deal and he’s nice. That girl he wanted to marry when Freda made him marry her because of Jane, she married this week. He told me he was going to a wedding and he looked like death warmed up, so I guessed, I’d often wondered what happened to her.” They both thought of Jeremy. Tricked into a marriage. Missing his girl who had probably tired of waiting. Now to have to learn the truth and lose Jane. “Poor bastard!” said Penny.

  “Poor Mr. Duke!” Charlotte became brisk. “Well, it won’t help him to delay the truth, and it won’t help you to delay telling your father.”

  Penny caught hold of Charlotte’s hand. She pressed it to her cheek and then dropped it.

  “You’ve been an angel. You make things seem less repulsive than they are. Dad will be revolted and why wouldn’t he be? You see, he’d always known Bill. Besides, it’s easier to tell you.”

  Charlotte felt that Penny was near tears. She gave her shoulder a friendly pat.

  “I shouldn’t worry too much about how he takes it. He’ll know how to handle the business, and that is what you must worry about. Come on. There’s a fire in my drawing-room. I’ll send him to you and see you aren’t disturbed.”