Hot Pies on the Tram Car

by Sheila Newberry

  There was a screech of brakes. Lilli was jerked backwards by strong hands and propelled to the pavement. Dazed, she saw that the motor car had flattened her flowers on the road. The driver wound down his window and shouted at her, before he drove on.

  ‘You’ve had a shock,’ a man’s voice observed. She took in a sallow-skinned face, sleek dark hair, deep-set eyes. She was reassured by his look of concern.

  ‘I . . . suppose I should say thank you . . .’ She was shaking now; near to tears because of the ruined flowers.

  ‘There’s a tea-shop just along here. Allow me to buy you a cup of tea, and then, if you permit it, I will be pleased to escort you home,’ the man said.

  Lilli allowed him to take her arm, as they walked a hundred yards or so to the shop.

  As she gratefully quaffed the hot tea, her companion said suddenly, ‘If you will excuse me for a few moments – I assure you I will be back.’

  When he returned, he presented her with more flowers, to replace the crushed ones.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t expect . . . this is so kind of you. Thank you.’ She reached for her purse.

  ‘No, my pleasure, I insist. The flower seller advised me. Now, you were about to purchase bread from the bakery across the road, I believe?’

  ‘Just some cakes, Madeleines, my daughter’s favourite.’ Why had she added that?

  ‘Then you are in luck, madame, under the glass on the counter here, see: two Madeleines! Is that sufficient, I wonder?’

  Even as she wondered at his use of madame and his pronunciation of Madeleine, he called to the waitress as she came past with another order, to put the cakes in a bag and to add to the bill.

  ‘We haven’t introduced ourselves,’ Lilli said. She was beginning to feel rather uncomfortable about all this attention. ‘I am Mrs Bower.’

  ‘And I am Philippe Solon. I am French by birth, as I believe you to be.’

  She chose not to comment on his assumption. ‘I must thank you again for your kindness, but I must be going. My daughter will wonder where I am. There is really no need for you to accompany me, Mr Solon, I feel quite restored.’

  ‘Allow me to see you out,’ he said gallantly. He opened the door and gave her a little salute. ‘Goodbye Mrs Bower, I’m glad I was able to help.’

  As Lilli walked away, he went back inside the tea-shop to pay the bill.

  Lilli was relieved that Mr Solon had not insisted on seeing her home. However, the disquiet resurfaced. She quickened her pace. Was her imagination playing tricks?

  Florence was pleased with the mimosa. Yvette and Josefina ate their cakes there and then.

  ‘I’m sorry I was late,’ Lilli told Florence.

  ‘That’s all right, dearie, but I was a bit worried about you; you’re usually so punctual.’

  When Lilli arranged her spray of mimosa in a jug, upstairs, she saw that her hands were dusted yellow, from handling it. She wondered if the man who had saved her from being knocked down by the motor car was even now washing the powder from his hands, too . . .

  *

  ‘It’s my Saturday on, at work,’ Rose Marie said to Florence late that evening.

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten. Are you going shopping afterwards I wonder?’

  ‘Well, perhaps. Russ suggested that I call for him at the bookshop. He finishes an hour later than me, at one o’clock.’

  ‘You’ll be back for supper?’ Florence asked.

  ‘Well,’ Rose Marie repeated, ‘I can’t say. We might go to the theatre, to see his sister. She’s going off on tour next week.’

  ‘I think Lilli will be disappointed not to have your company again,’ Florence said gently. ‘She must get lonely, with just Yvette for company. Couldn’t you invite her to join you?’

  Rose Marie flushed. ‘We were looking forward to—’

  ‘Like that, is it? Two’s company.’

  ‘You don’t understand, Florence!’

  ‘My dear, I do. Another saying comes to mind: there’s safety in numbers, eh? You’re very young, Rose Marie . . .’

  ‘And what does that mean?’ Rose Marie asked rebelliously.

  ‘It means: don’t get too serious too soon about this young man.’

  ‘You like him, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do. But do think about what I say.’

  ‘What do you know about it?’ Rose Marie realized this was cruel, even as she said it.

  Florence flinched. ‘I’m not going to argue with you, Rose Marie. Don’t be too impulsive, that’s all I ask.’ She wanted to add, ‘Remember Stella’, but she didn’t. She thought, if only I hadn’t been so anxious about Stella and Jose, questioned her as I did, Stella might not have rebelled and run off with him. I mustn’t make the same mistake with Rose Marie.

  There was that nagging pain in her side again. She sighed. She always felt emotional at this time of the month, but the cramps were becoming much worse. She ought to see the doctor, she knew that, but how could she take time off? She was much too busy.

  *

  The pie shop closed after the lunchtime rush on Saturdays. Manny turned the sign to CLOSED. While Florence bagged up the takings, he began to clear up.

  ‘Not a very busy morning,’ he observed. ‘Apart from jellied eels. In this weather, folk are not wanting hot pies.’

  ‘That’s why I made more ham-and-egg,’ Florence said. ‘Well, I’d better go and see to the girls. It’s not good for them to be indoors in the summer, but I have to keep an eye on them. Lilli will be home shortly. I’ll suggest she takes them out this afternoon.’

  ‘You look tired, Florence,’ Manny told her, concerned.

  She forced a smile. ‘Didn’t get much sleep last night, it was too warm.’

  The knock on the shop door startled them.

  ‘Can’t they read the sign?’ Manny grumbled. He shot back the bolt and opened up.

  The man standing there politely removed his hat. ‘Good afternoon. I believe Mrs Bower lives here?’

  ‘She’s not at home.’ Manny stepped aside to let Florence deal with the stranger.

  ‘I am sorry to have troubled you,’ he said. ‘Would you be so kind as to tell her that her friend called?’

  ‘I wasn’t aware she had any friends in this area, apart from us,’ Florence was wary. ‘You’d best give me your name.’

  ‘Philippe Solon. I, too, am French.’

  ‘Oh, are you a friend of her family?’

  ‘I know of them, yes,’ he smiled. ‘Well, I will try again.’ He replaced his hat and walked off, round Paradise Corner.

  Quite suddenly, Florence felt giddy; she clutched at Manny’s arm. The next thing she knew she was slumped in a chair, and Manny was holding a glass of water to her lips. His face was drained of colour, like her own.

  ‘Can you manage the stairs yet? You gave me such a fright! Thank goodness Lilli just arrived, I haven’t had a chance to tell her about the visitor yet – I said the doctor was probably still in his rooms, and to fetch him here.’

  ‘Thank you . . .’ she managed. ‘What would I do without you, Manny?’

  ‘What would we all do without you?’ he said huskily.

  The children had already eaten their sandwich lunch, so Manny offered to take them to the newsagents to buy comic papers and a bag of lemon drops to share in the park nearby.

  While the girls were out, Lilli acted as chaperone, while the doctor examined Florence in her room. On his instructions, she mixed a powder in a medicine glass of warm water.

  ‘You must remain in bed,’ the doctor said. ‘You should attend a clinic at the hospital as soon as possible. You are obviously very anaemic. How long have you had this problem?’

  Florence felt drowsy; the pain had subsided. ‘I can’t remember . . .’

  ‘That means a considerable time,’ he observed. ‘I have held a surgery in Paradise for almost fifteen years and you have never called on my services for yourself during that time. Of course, I recall you bringing young
Rose Marie to see me, from time to time, and latterly, your niece, Josefina, but—’

  ‘I didn’t want to bother you,’ Florence said defensively.

  ‘Does that really mean you don’t wish to know the cause of all this?’

  ‘Perhaps. I don’t have time to be ill.’ Her eyes closed. The sedative was working.

  The doctor motioned to Lilli. They went out, closed the door behind them.

  ‘Are you available to help out here, Mrs Bower? She must rest up for a week or so.’

  Lilli made up her mind instantly. ‘I can look after her.’ She thought, I may lose my job, but it can’t be helped – I owe so much to Florence.

  She had to know. ‘Doctor,’ she asked anxiously, ‘Is Florence seriously ill?’

  ‘Try not to worry. It appears to be a common problem. Minor surgery would hopefully alleviate the symptoms. There is ah, a permanent solution, but one she may not consider, being still of child-bearing age.’

  ‘Florence isn’t married; she has no children of her own.’

  ‘You haven’t known her long?’

  ‘No . . .’

  ‘Then you and I should respect her privacy, eh? I will call again, if you think it wise.’

  *

  Rose Marie was amazed at the number of bookshops along Charing Cross Road. Many of these came under the banner of second-hand books, a few were serious vendors of rare old tomes. Dust inevitably added to the hazy interiors of all the bookshops; shelves were crowded, books piled haphazardly on chairs, awaiting their turn on display. The front shop windows were packed solidly with rows of books as well, which accounted for the twilight effect within, but during the summer months, to counter this, the shop doors were propped open. There were stands of cheaper novels in racks on the pavement to attract and halt the progress of the casual reader; boxes of dog-eared postcards and other ephemera.

  She recognized Mr Turbot-Watts from Russ’s graphic description. He appeared out of the gloom to welcome her in.

  ‘Miss Flinders, I presume? Mr Short is attending to a customer just now. Please look around while you have the opportunity. Mr Short tells me you have catholic tastes in reading.’

  Rose Marie was not quite sure what that meant. ‘I go to the library,’ she said lamely.

  ‘You should be building up your own library, my dear. A few pence will buy you a new paperback edition of a classic book, or you may find an earlier, bound copy on my shelves . . .’

  ‘I mainly read romantic novels,’ Rose Marie admitted. Better to be honest.

  Mr Turbot-Watts beamed. He ran his fingers through his luxuriant beard, while he reflected on that category of his stock.

  ‘Romance . . . not penny dreadfuls I presume, they appear to have had their time and place. There are the passionate writers of the past, like the Brontë sisters, who write of romance, yes, and unrequited love, of joy and of loss—’

  ‘I have a copy of Jane Eyre. My sister gave me that for my fourteenth birthday. I read it again recently; this time I understood it. After all Jane Eyre and Mr Rochester went through, well, I was so thankful it had a satisfactory ending! Oh, and I haven’t read Jane Austen since I was at school, but I loved Pride and Prejudice.’

  ‘I know where I have a copy, and if you will excuse me, because your young man is trying to catch my eye to remind me it is he you have come to see, I will deal with the customer and then I will reunite you with Elizabeth Bennet, before you leave.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rose Marie said shyly.

  Russ came over and his happy grin told her just how pleased he was to see her. He took both her hands in his and squeezed them gently.

  ‘Come into the back room. I must spruce myself up, and put on my jacket. How d’you manage to look so cool and smart after your morning’s toil?’

  ‘I changed in the cloakroom at work,’ she admitted. She wore the cream two-piece again because he’d said how much it suited her, last weekend.

  ‘I’ve a present for you,’ he said. ‘A novel by Netta Muskett. It looks your sort of book.’

  ‘Yes, it does, thank you.’ She slipped the gift into her raffia shopping bag. She whispered in his ear, ‘Your boss is finding me a copy of Pride and Prejudice . . .’

  ‘He approves of you, I can tell!’

  They enjoyed a light lunch in a small restaurant. A perfect poached egg on toast and a frosted glass of lemonade. Then they took a bus to the West End and did some window-shopping, before they took tea with Sadie in her dressing room at the theatre.

  ‘You’re not going up in the Gods,’ she insisted. ‘I have tickets for the stalls. It’s my last night here. I shan’t see you for a while, we are touring until December.’

  When the lights dimmed, Rose Marie anticipated the moment Russ would slip his arm around her. She didn’t have to wait long. She was vibrantly aware of his hand on her back.

  Sadie dazzled the audience in the dress Rose Marie had delivered, was it really only a month ago? It was thrilling to watch the sensuous tango; the smouldering looks the dancers exchanged; the fluidity of their movements. Surely they must be in love, Rose Marie thought.

  She said naïvely when the lights went up. ‘D’you think they’ll get married one day?’

  ‘We-ell,’ Russ said slowly, ‘I don’t imagine so. You see, Stan is otherwise inclined.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She looked puzzled.

  He smiled at her. ‘Oh, Rose Marie, how sweet you are; how innocent!’

  ‘Tell me!’ she demanded.

  ‘Not my place to do so. Ask Florence.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I will!’

  *

  They caught the last tram to Paradise Corner. Russ stayed on it, bound for the station. Rose Marie waved him goodbye. As she stood outside her door, she became aware that a taxi was drawing up at the kerb. The driver helped a young woman alight. She paid him, and he carried her bags across the pavement.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am. Goodnight.’

  By the light of the street lamp, Rose Marie recognized a familiar face.

  ‘Stella!’ she exclaimed. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’

  ‘And what are you doing, little sister, out so late in the evening?’

  Then they were hugging, and Rose Marie cried happily, ‘Oh won’t Florence, and Josefina, be surprised to see you. Come on, let’s go inside!’

  SIX

  ‘HERE she is, thank goodness,’ Lilli exclaimed in relief. She’d promised Florence that she would wait for Rose Marie to come home, and to explain what had occurred. The little girls were upstairs in Lilli’s flat, tucked up in Yvette’s bed.

  Manny had decided to keep her company, instead of going as usual to the pub. He’d told her about the man who’d called earlier that day. Lilli did not say much, but he recognized the flicker of fear in her eyes.

  The door opened and there were two young women, instead of one.

  ‘Lilli, Manny – didn’t expect to see you! Where’s Florence? Lilli, this is Josefina’s mother, my sister, Stella!’ Rose Marie spoke loudly in her excitement.

  ‘Shush!’ Lilli warned them anxiously. ‘Florence is asleep, she had a bad turn, earlier; we had to call the doctor.’

  Rose Marie was alarmed. ‘Florence – she’s never ill! Oh, I should’ve been here!’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Stella asked. This was hardly the welcome she’d anticipated.

  Lilli glanced at Manny. He took in her embarrassment. Time to be tactful, he thought.

  ‘I should go,’ he said. ‘Call me, if you need me. Goodnight.’ He left immediately.

  ‘Cocoa? There’s a jug keeping hot on the stove,’ Lilli offered. ‘You shouldn’t disturb Florence tonight; leave the explanations until the morning. I’ll get back to my own place, and the girls now.’

  ‘I was hoping to see Josefina!’ Stella exclaimed. She was rummaging in her bag, and she added, ‘I could do with a cigarette. Can either of you help out?’

  Rose Marie was shocked. ‘You always said smoking
would ruin your voice! No, I don’t smoke, you know Florence doesn’t approve, and nor do you Lilli, eh?’

  Lilli shook her head. ‘I really must go. I’ll bring Josefina down after breakfast.’

  After she’d gone, Stella decided: ‘I’ll have a wash, and then get to bed. You can bring my cocoa in, can’t you, Rose Marie? At least there’ll be more room in the bed, with Josefina not in it!’ She yawned widely. ‘As your friend suggested, we’ll leave the talking till morning.’

  She’d had such a happy day, Rose Marie thought ruefully, but now, she guessed there would be plenty to worry about ahead. Who would make the pies, for one thing?

  Later, she hung her best outfit in the wardrobe, undressed swiftly by Josefina’s little night-light, then extinguished it. She slid into bed and said softly, ‘Goodnight, Stella,’ in case her sister was still awake.

  There was a stifled sob from the other side of the bed.

  ‘Stella? What’s up?’ she asked.

  ‘I didn’t know how to tell you. I was expecting a big hug from Florence and a cuddle from my Josefina, you see . . . I’ve left him, Rose Marie; my marriage is over!’

  ‘You’ve left Jose? But why?’

  ‘He found another woman, that’s why. He’s been unfaithful to me for months. Don’t you go falling in love, Rose Marie – I wouldn’t like you to get hurt.’ Stella turned over, her back towards her sister.

  No more was said. Rose Marie lay awake for a long time. It’s too late, she told herself. I’m already in love with Russ, and I believe he feels the same way about me.

  *

  Florence awoke just before seven o’clock. Oh dear, she thought, I’ve overslept. Then she realized it was Sunday. Why did she feel so groggy? She sat on the edge of her bed, recalling hazily the events of yesterday.

  Sunlight streamed through a gap in the curtains; Lilli had been too busy last night to ensure they were properly closed. The linoleum was chilly to her feet; someone had rolled up the bedside rug. Florence became aware that she was trembling. She wanted nothing more than to subside beneath the covers again, but first she must make her way to the bathroom.

  Rose Marie, alerted by her footsteps passing her bedroom door, leapt out of bed herself. She glanced down at Stella, still slumbering. Then she followed Florence to make sure she was all right, before she locked the bathroom door.