by Nancy Revell
Bel nodded, although she was actually thinking he looked pretty much the same as the day she’d seen him outside his home in Glen Path.
‘He looks older,’ Marie-Anne whispered. ‘The head and shoulders shot they always use in the Echo must have been taken a good ten years ago.’
‘And obviously that’s Helen’s mother, Miriam Crawford?’ Bel asked. Again, she knew exactly who it was.
‘Yes, people call her the “ice queen” behind her back. She’s apparently a total and utter cow. All sweetness and light on the outside, but hard and totally ruthless on the inside. Heartless, apparently.’
‘Honestly, Marie-Anne, you should write your own gossip column.’ Bel threw her friend a half-smile, showing she was very much enjoying being the recipient of her friend’s inside knowledge.
‘She used to pop in quite a bit when Mr Crawford was here,’ Marie-Anne said, pretending to look at a notebook and turning over the page. ‘But since he’s gone, I’ve heard she spends most of her time at the Grand. You know what they say, while the mice are away … ’ She paused. ‘Odd couple, though.’
‘What, Miriam and Jack?’ Bel said.
Marie-Anne looked at her friend in surprise. Only those who knew Mr Crawford ever called him Jack.
‘Oh, look!’ whispered Bel.
‘Looks like they’re celebrating something,’ Marie-Anne said.
Making out that they were discussing a letter that Bel was holding up in front of her, the two women watched, entranced, as Miriam put her hands on Dr Parker’s shoulders and embraced him. She then went over to Helen’s desk, opened up the bottom drawer and produced a half-bottle of whisky. Mr Havelock, meanwhile, was lighting up a cigar, smiling from ear to ear.
They looked on as Dr Parker edged towards the door. ‘Looks like he can’t wait to get out of there,’ Bel said. ‘I didn’t realise he was a doctor.’
‘Me neither,’ Marie-Anne said. ‘Every time he’s been here Helen always refers to him as Mr Parker. I would have thought she’d want everyone to know she was stepping out with a doctor.’
‘Mm, you would have thought,’ Bel mused.
‘Oh, look,’ Marie-Anne said suddenly. ‘Looks like the good doctor is making his escape.’
They both watched as Dr Parker quickly left the office and, without a backward glance, practically ran down the stairs to the yard.
‘Not bad-looking, though,’ Marie-Anne said.
Dr Parker’s level of attractiveness had not been of any interest to Bel. Her eyes had been pinned solely to the man who was her father – Mr Havelock.
Watching his every move.
Scrutinising him.
‘Oh, I’m being summoned,’ Marie-Anne murmured quietly, as she walked quickly over to Miriam, who had her hand in the air and was beckoning her over.
‘So, Helen’s had a – what was it you said, Marie-Anne?’ Dorothy asked.
‘A ruptured appendix.’ Marie-Anne took a sip of her tea, followed by a big bite of her sandwich. She was starving. It had been all systems go since Harold had told her that Helen had been taken ill and would be off, probably for the next week or so.
‘But she’s going to be all right?’ Gloria asked. She had been sitting quietly, taking in every word Marie-Anne and Bel had told her about this morning’s impromptu meeting. She had a horrible feeling she knew exactly why the whisky had been brought out and why Miriam and Helen’s grandfather had been so jubilant.
She prayed she was wrong.
‘Sounds like she’s going to live to tell the tale,’ Bel said, looking across at Polly, who had been listening but had not said anything during their midday conflab in the canteen.
‘My old neighbour had that,’ Angie said, swallowing hard on her sandwich. ‘Nearly died, he did. Apparently yer appendix gans bad with loads of pus ’n infection ’n it all just bursts inside of you. It can poison yer to death if they don’t get it out fast enough.’
‘Blimey, Doc Ange here,’ Dorothy said, mouth open in astonishment.
‘How long’s she going to be off for?’ Rosie said, knowing the chain reaction that would occur if Helen wasn’t at the helm. As much as she hated to admit it, their reviled yard manager was very good at her job.
‘Harold reckoned it’s gonna be a week or so before she’s back,’ Marie-Anne said.
Rosie grimaced.
‘Exactly.’ Marie-Anne dropped her voice. ‘Which means it’s going to be chaos. Harold’s a nice enough boss, but he’s bloody hopeless. Couldn’t organise a booze-up in a brewery.’
‘So, she’s still in hospital?’ Martha asked the question on the tip of Gloria’s tongue.
‘Sounds like it,’ Marie-Anne said, before polishing off her sandwich.
Gloria forced herself to eat her own lunch.
It was the most she could do to stop herself from getting up and making a dash straight for the hospital.
‘Well, young lady.’
Helen looked up to see Dr Billingham by the side of her bed.
‘I’ve just come to give you a quick check-over.’
Helen looked at the doctor who had been going to take her baby away back in July.
How ironic he had ended up doing the job six weeks on. ‘You’re a very lucky woman,’ he said as he moved around the room, checking the clipboard at the end of her bed, and the saline solution that was to be her last one.
Helen felt like slapping him; probably would have if she’d had the strength and he had been nearer. ‘Lucky’ was about the last thing in the world she felt at this moment in time. She had never felt more dreadful in her entire life. Had never before been cursed with this all-consuming darkness that seemed to have invaded her body and mind since John had told her she’d lost her baby.
‘You were lucky – very lucky,’ Dr Billingham continued, as though he had read Helen’s thoughts and was determined to disprove her.
‘Lucky that you were out with John when you started haemorrhaging. Lucky that he got you here and into theatre as quickly as he did – otherwise, young lady, and I hate to have to tell you this, but you might not have been here today.’
Helen looked at Dr Billingham.
She would have liked to tell him that she wished she wasn’t here now – that she wished more than anything she had died with her baby right there on the tiled floor of the ladies’ powder room.
Chapter Forty-Three
‘Polly seems quiet,’ Marie-Anne ventured as she and Bel made their way back to the admin building. They were both hurrying as the winds were whipping up and there was a faint drizzle.
‘I know. It’s not good,’ Bel agreed. ‘I’ve known Polly since I was five years old and I’ve never known her to be so withdrawn.’
Marie-Anne pushed the entrance door open, breathing a sigh of relief to be out of the wind and rain.
‘People are always asking me if there’s been any more news,’ she said. ‘Everyone here loved Tommy,’
‘I know. I can tell by the way people talk about him whenever he’s mentioned,’ Bel mused as they made their way up the stairs.
‘And everyone really feels it for Polly, you know?’ Marie-Anne added. ‘They mightn’t say it, but they think it. God, I know I do, and I’ve only really just got to know her.’
They reached the top of the stairs and made their way through the double doors.
‘I think it was because everyone got a little carried away with their romance. It was just so lovely.’
‘I know,’ Bel agreed sadly. ‘I never thought Polly would fall in love. She was so … how can I describe it … so dismissive of blokes in general. Like she really didn’t have the time of day for them. And then she met Tommy and all that changed in an instant.’ They walked into the open-plan office, which was still quiet as there was another five minutes before the end of the lunch break.
‘You know,’ Marie-Anne confessed, ‘sometimes me and the other girls would watch the pair of them chatting down in the yard – they were just so clearly head over heels in love with ea
ch other. I think we were all a little envious, not in a bad way, but like …’ She paused for a minute. ‘Like we were watching what we hoped would happen to us one day.’
The two women were quiet for a moment.
‘Do you think there’s any chance he might be alive?’
Marie-Anne asked.
Bel’s face turned solemn and she shook her head.
‘I don’t reckon so.’
She paused.
‘It’s so hard to know the right thing to say. Should I encourage Polly to keep hoping? Or is it better that I try and help her accept that Tommy’s gone and he’s never coming back?’
The door opened and the first batch of office workers sauntered back in from their lunch break, bringing an end to any more talk about Tommy.
Marie-Anne went over to speak to them about what needed to be done by the end of the shift.
Bel sat down and put a clean sheet of paper into her typewriter, ready to start typing up the pile of memos on her desk. She looked out the window and could see the drizzle had turned into fully formed rain. What a day it was turning out to be. Her heart hurt for Polly – and she felt for Helen as well. No one had seemed that bothered about her well-being, nor that she’d undergone an emergency operation. It couldn’t have been nice. And if what Angie said was true, she could have died.
Was she feeling this sorry for Helen because she knew they were related? Because she had seen Mr Havelock and Miriam today? Her father and her sister.
It still felt strange calling them that – even in her head. As she had watched them when they were in Helen’s office this morning, she had been taken aback by how similar in looks she was to them. Even though Mr Havelock was old – very old – she could still see herself in him. And she could definitely see herself in Miriam. They had the same short, slightly curly blonde hair, narrow build and pale complexion. If she plastered herself in make-up and did her hair the same as Miriam’s, it would be like looking in a mirror.
Bel suddenly jumped.
The phone on Marie-Anne’s desk was ringing.
Bel might finally have got used to the yard’s horn blaring out, but phones were still a novelty to her. She looked around for Marie-Anne and saw her making her way back to her desk.
‘Good afternoon, J.L. Thompson and Sons,’ Marie-Anne trilled into the receiver. Bel listened, as her friend had told her that she wanted Bel to start answering the phone and taking messages.
‘Sorry, madam, would you mind repeating that? I didn’t quite catch what you said there. It can get very loud here.’
Bel looked across at Marie-Anne. She knew this was her friend’s ploy whenever she’d been caught on the hop and wasn’t sure what to say.
‘Ah, yes, I can hear you now.’ Marie-Anne looked over at Bel, raising both her eyebrows dramatically. ‘You’d like to speak to one of our secretaries here. What did you say her name was?’ Another wide-eyed look across to Bel. ‘Miss Thornton. Miss Rosie Thornton? Yes, if you could just hold the line a moment I will see if I can find her.’ Marie-Anne paused. ‘And may I ask who’s calling, please?’ Marie-Anne had a pencil in hand, poised over the notepad on her desk.
‘Mrs Willoughby-Smith, deputy head at the Runcorn School for Girls in Harrogate.’
Now it was Bel’s turn to stare wide-eyed back at Marie-Anne. ‘Thank you. If you’d just hold the line, please, I’ll just see if she’s available.’ Marie-Anne put her hand over the receiver and raised her shoulders at Bel as if to say, ‘What should I do?’
Bel scribbled furiously on a piece of paper and held it up to Marie-Anne.
Rosie ring her back!
Marie-Anne took her hand off the receiver.
‘I’m awfully sorry, Ros—Miss Thornton is over in the drawing office, but she should be back in the next ten minutes or so. Can I take a number and get her to call you back?’
Bel watched as Marie-Anne jotted a number on her notepad before saying her goodbyes and hanging up.
‘Well,’ Marie-Anne said, ‘this day just keeps on getting stranger and stranger. Why would Mrs Deputy Head think Rosie worked as a secretary? And why’s she got the deputy head of some posh girls’ school ringing her up?’
Bel looked at Marie-Anne. Although the pair had become close since she had started working at the yard, she was still careful about what she told her, especially when it came to the women welders – and even more so when it came to Rosie.
‘I’ll explain later,’ Bel said. Now it was she who was stalling. ‘Let me go and get Rosie. Will it be all right for her to come up and use the phone?’
‘Of course,’ Marie-Anne said, ‘providing you tell me later what’s really going on?’
Bel avoided the question and hurried off.
* Bel found Rosie hunched over a weld. She hated being in the yard when it was so busy, and so loud. At least, though, the rain had stopped.
‘Rosie!’ Bel yelled before nervously tapping her on the shoulder and standing back, fearful one of the sparks from the weld she was doing would land on her bare arms or, worse still, on her only decent dress.
Rosie stopped welding and turned around. On seeing it was Bel she pushed her helmet up. Her face was dirty and sweaty.
‘What’s up?’ she shouted.
Bel bent down so that her mouth was near Rosie’s ear. ‘The deputy head from Charlotte’s school’s just rang up.’ Bel paused, waiting for the words to sink in.
Rosie’s face changed instantly. She reached over, flicked her welding machine off, dumped her mask on the steel flooring of the deck she had been working on, and stood up.
‘Marie-Anne said you would ring her straight back,’ Bel shouted, again into Rosie’s ear.
Before she had time to say anything else, she saw Rosie look over to Gloria, who had spotted Bel’s arrival. Rosie made a sweeping motion with her hand over the area where the rest of her squad were working and Gloria nodded. Bel guessed that was sign language for Gloria to take the reins and keep an eye on the women.
Rosie then cocked her head at Bel and marched off across the deck and down the long sloping metal gangplank to the yard. Bel had to jog to keep up. When they reached the admin offices and had shut the door behind them, Rosie looked at Bel, her brow furrowed with worry.
‘Is Charlotte all right?’
‘Sorry, Rosie, she didn’t say. She just rang and asked to speak to you. I think she’s under the impression you’re a secretary here. But,’ Bel added quickly, ‘Marie-Anne didn’t say that you weren’t. Just said that you were in the drawing office and would call back in ten minutes.’
Rosie bounded up the stairs two at a time; Bel jogged up them one at a time.
As she walked through the double doors, Marie-Anne was there to greet her, or rather to usher her into Helen’s office.
‘Use the phone in here. There’s more privacy,’ Marie-Anne said as she pushed the piece of paper with the name of the deputy head and the telephone number into her hand.
Rosie didn’t need to be told twice. Marie-Anne closed the door behind her and stood guard – not that anyone would dare go into the boss’s office without permission.
Bel went back to her desk so as not to draw attention to the second drama of the day unfolding within the confines of the yard manager’s office. Once again it was like watching a silent movie as she observed Rosie stooping over the desk as she dialled the number she had been given. She stood motionless for a moment, presumably waiting for someone to answer. All of a sudden Rosie’s body straightened and Bel could see her face become animated as she spoke. There were another few moments when Rosie stood perfectly still, the receiver pressed against her ear.
Then Bel saw Rosie’s overall-clad body sag in what looked like utter relief. She watched as she pulled up the metal chair that Dr Parker had sat on earlier, and flumped down as though exhausted. She continued to listen intently. As she did so her free hand went under her chin as though she was deep in thought, and Bel was reminded of a picture she had seen of a famous bronze sculpt
ure of a naked man in exactly the same pose.
She watched as Rosie began to talk. Her face was no longer etched with worry – but anger.
When Rosie stepped out of the office she looked flushed.
‘Thanks, Marie-Anne, I really appreciate that,’ she said. ‘And I really appreciate that you didn’t put her right about me being a secretary.’
‘That’s all right,’ Marie-Anne said. She was hoping for more of an explanation but it was clear she wasn’t going to get one. That was Rosie, though. She’d always been a bit of a dark horse.
‘Oh, and can you sign me off on Wednesday, please. With a question mark over Thursday.’ It wasn’t a request, but a statement.
‘Of course,’ Marie-Anne said.
That was all they needed – Rosie off as well as Helen.
Rosie stomped across the yard, up the gangplank and back to work. For the next three hours she worked fast and furiously, her energy driven by her ire.
‘Everything all right?’ Gloria asked when the klaxon finally sounded out the end of the shift and they could all speak rather than lip-read.
‘No,’ Rosie said, causing Polly, Martha, Dor and Angie to look at their boss. It wasn’t often they saw her mad, and it was clear that at this moment she was positively seething.
‘What’s wrong?’ Polly asked.
‘That little sister of mine. Charlotte!’ Rosie said through clenched teeth.
‘What’s she done?’ Martha asked.
‘I think it’s a question of what hasn’t she done!’ Rosie fumed.
They all started making their way off the deck and down the gangplank. Bel was at the bottom, waiting for them.
‘Is everything all right, Rosie?’ she asked, a worried look on her face. She’d had to evade Marie-Anne’s questions and wanted to ask Rosie what she should tell her, especially as she knew something was up and that Rosie had lied about her position at Thompson’s.
Rosie let out a sigh. ‘The school’s been trying to contact me and not only has Charlotte not given them my new address like I told her to, she’s given them a completely false one!’