‘This is very difficult to understand,’ he said. ‘How can this child be yours?’
‘I’ve adopted her.’ I couldn’t help sounding defensive.
‘And it is all legal?’
‘It will be. The British consul in Perpignan accepted that she was mine and put her on my passport. I’ll register her birth here. It will be fine.’
Kitty took Marisol from my arms and sat on the easy chair with her. They seemed to comfort each other and Jacob and I exchanged rather sad smiles. I made tea and, leaving the girls to coo at each other, we sat at the little table by the window.
‘From what I read in Mr Bradford’s account, you went on a dangerous assignment, yes?’ Jacob looked very concerned. Sometimes I felt as though he was more of a father to me than my own had been. My father had become remote, totally absorbed in his academic research, and behaved to his daughters with the sort of careful manners one would show to strangers. He hadn’t always been like that. When we were children he was full of fun, ready to play games and keen to involve himself with Xanthe and me. But something happened when we went away to school. Something between him and Mother which was so unsettling that he had retreated into his study. Now he only emerged from its comforting cocoon when Mother dragged him out in order to back up her ridiculously snobbish views. But now, I was lucky. I had Jacob who cared for me and about me. I felt sorry for Xanthe; she only had Mother.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it was dangerous and I was frightened a lot of the time. But can you understand this, Jacob? It was exciting and I thrive on excitement.’
He was thoughtful. ‘And this little child?’
I looked out of the window at the garden square, where summer had come to London. The plane trees were in full leaf and happy children, watched over by their mothers and nannies, were playing on the grass. The contrast couldn’t have been greater. ‘She was born on the floor in a shepherd’s hut in the Pyrenees,’ I said, ‘and I watched as her mother bled to death. We couldn’t save her. God knows, we tried.’ My mind went back to that dreadful scene, to the blood running along the dirt and to Elena telling Amyas that he had killed her. I shuddered and Jacob saw that shudder and put his hand over mine.
‘What about the child’s father?’ Jacob frowned.
‘He was there,’ I said. ‘He asked me to take her.’ I looked over to Kitty who was absorbed with the baby, and lowered my voice. ‘He is someone I know. Someone who means a lot to me.’
Jacob looked up sharply. I knew the whole business was difficult for him; he was a man of morals and deeply held convictions. He had guessed what I hadn’t said about Amyas. ‘So,’ he growled and Willi looked up from where he was lying on Jacob’s ample lap. ‘What will you put down as the father’s name? This man?’ His face darkened. ‘This nogoodnik?’
‘Please,’ I begged. ‘Don’t judge me. I will love this child until the day I die. And,’ I looked over to my little girl, ‘I will love her father too, whatever happens.’
Jacob drank his tea, looking out at the sunny day, then putting down his cup he reached over and took my hand. ‘Perhaps, where she comes from doesn’t really matter. And you, you look different. Fulfilled. I can see that she has made you happy.’
‘Yes,’ I murmured. ‘Very happy.’
Later, when I was giving Marisol a bottle, he asked how I was going to manage. ‘You will give up your work?’ he asked. ‘Because, believe me, a small child can be very demanding. I know.’
‘Goodness, no,’ I answered. ‘I can’t give up my job. I’ve already advertised for a nanny.’
‘I can help you, if you would want me,’ said Kitty, her face brightening. ‘I go to school in September, Uncle Jacob has arranged it for me, but for the summer, I am happy to look after Marisol.’
I smiled at her. ‘That’s very kind of you, Kitty, but I think I must get someone who knows more about babies than either you or I. But we’ll have lots of time together. And you still haven’t told me about how you left Berlin. I want to hear about that.’
‘I think we must leave that for another time,’ said Jacob. ‘You look tired, Seffy, and your little girl needs her cot.’ He squeezed my arm. ‘I’m so glad you have come home.’
That night I sat in the easy chair with Marisol on my knee. My life had taken a strange turn, but despite the difficulties I could see ahead, I wouldn’t have changed a moment of these last weeks. ‘Where is your daddy now, little one?’ I whispered into her soft cheek and she smiled as she slept, while I wondered what the next weeks would bring.
Alice Weaver was the first nanny I interviewed and I engaged her on the spot. She was just what I’d been looking for, late middle-aged, competent, cheerful and someone I could bear to have in my flat. As it turned out, most of the time she didn’t stay overnight, having a little place of her own only a couple of streets away.
‘My flat was given to me,’ she confided, ‘as a thank-you present from the family of my last but one child. It was most generous, but then, they have the brass. He has a title and you can see who he is from my references, but I don’t gossip, so I won’t tell their secrets, I can assure you of that. The little lad is a nice child, mind. Gone to boarding school now and doing well, by all accounts. He writes to me, quite regular.’
‘And you have no commitments at the moment?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘The last family have gone to America. War’s coming, madam said. So they upped sticks and cleared off.’ She gave the nearest thing to a snort before looking around the room that would be Marisol’s little nursery. ‘Have you got a baby bath and a nursing chair, and what about her clothes, where are they? From what I can see, you’ll need one or two things.’
‘Yes, I know,’ I sighed. ‘I’ve only been home for a week. The baby was born in Spain just over a month ago and, as you’ll gather, I’m very new to all this.’
‘Is she yours, Miss Blake?’ At first the bluntness of the question seemed rather impertinent and I paused, considering what to say. But before I could formulate a reply, Alice spoke again, ‘Because, if you’ll forgive me saying this, you don’t look like a woman who’s a month on from giving birth.’
‘No,’ I said slowly, ‘I didn’t give birth to her. Her mother died and her father asked me to adopt her. He’s involved in the fighting in Spain.’ I was ready to tell her to go and said coldly, ‘Does that make a difference?’
‘Not in the least. I can see that she’s loved, so I’ll love her too. When d’you want me to start?’
I calmed down then and smiled. ‘As soon as possible.’
‘Good. I can start tomorrow. Now, you must call me Alice. I know that nannies like to play a dignified role but I’m not like that. I’m plain-speaking so if that doesn’t suit, then neither will we.’
‘It suits me,’ I said, ‘and you must tell me what I need to get.’
‘Right.’ She pulled down her grey cardigan over her ample bottom. ‘Let me write a list.’
Under Alice’s instruction, I bought furniture and curtains and pretty things for the baby. Alice’s room was furnished, ready for when she would stay, and my bedroom and living room now looked beautiful. When Jacob and Kitty came round, I proudly showed them my new acquisitions. ‘Ach, you have been spending money,’ Jacob said.
‘Yes. The flat looks better, now,’ I said, looking at the new chairs and the Chinese rug. ‘But it’s still not as nice as yours.’
Jacob shrugged. ‘That was my Leah. Such taste she had.’ He raised his eyebrows as Alice walked in carrying Marisol. ‘So, this is the nanny?’
I introduced them.
‘Shalom, Mr Weiss, and Miss Kitty,’ said Alice, handing me the baby, who was giving windy little smiles.
‘Shalom, already,’ said Jacob with a grin. ‘Who taught you that?’
‘Oh, I looked after some children in Leeds. Jewish family, they were. Lovely people. Terrible food, mind.’
I thought Jacob would be insulted, but he laughed. ‘You should try mine. I’m a good cook.’
/> Alice chuckled. ‘Could be I’ll take you up on that, Mr Weiss.’
I went back to work the following week and was called into the editor’s office. ‘We’re all very impressed with you, Miss Blake. From what I gather, you conducted yourself with what can only be described as gallantry. Charlie says that you saved his life.’
I blushed. ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘There was another person who helped him. I came along later.’
‘That’s not what Charlie says,’ Geoff grinned. ‘He’s told me that you were bloody brilliant.’
I didn’t know what to say so just smiled inanely.
‘Look,’ said Geoff. ‘Charlie’s still not entirely fit and I need someone to cover the foreign desk. Are you up for it?’
‘Yes,’ I said immediately. ‘Of course.’
‘Good,’ said Geoff. ‘Things are moving on the Continent; it’s all change again, and terrible for the people in Czechoslovakia. The speculation is that Poland will be next. And then France.’
I went back to my desk, happy. I was now a real journalist – at least Geoff thought I was and trusted me enough to take over Charlie’s role while he was off sick. Poor Charlie, he’d still looked rotten when I’d last seen him and it occurred to me that I hadn’t spoken to him since we’d landed back in England, three weeks ago.
I phoned the number of his flat in Westminster but there was no reply. I paused for a moment, thinking, then looked in my bag for the piece of paper he’d given me in Paris. It had his Dorset address and telephone number on it so I dialled it.
My call was picked up straight away, but it wasn’t Charlie who answered. ‘Yes?’ a woman’s voice said. A rather harsh, impatient voice, speaking as though the call was a ridiculous interruption in her busy life.
I asked for Charlie.
‘Who’s calling?’ the woman demanded.
‘Persephone Blake.’
There was a pause, then an abrupt ‘Wait,’ and I squirmed nervously in my chair. I couldn’t imagine why this woman should alarm me, but she did.
Eventually Charlie came on the line. ‘Hello, Blake. How are you?’
‘I’m fine. But how are you? Are you recovering?’
‘I’m all right. Tell me, have you spoken to Geoff? He’s given you the job, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes, that’s why I was phoning . . . in case you didn’t know.’
‘My idea.’ He chuckled, then, ‘How’s our little girl?’
Our little girl? A harpoon of jealousy shot through me. How dare he? Marisol was my little girl. Then I remembered that his name had been given as her father and, more than that, he was present at her birth. In reality he had as much right to her as did I. ‘She’s lovely; growing,’ I said. ‘I’ve engaged a nanny who will look after her while I’m on assignments. I like her, the nanny, I mean, and I think you would approve.’
‘Good. Look, Blake, I’m coming to London tomorrow. I’ll call in. I might be able to give you some pointers.’ He paused and I heard the harsh voice in the background issuing some sort of order. ‘I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow.’
I sat back and thought about Charlie and his life in Dorset, of which I knew nothing. While we’d been recovering in France, I could have asked him, but I was so stunned by the events and so wrapped up in Marisol that I couldn’t think about anything or anyone else. But then, of course, Charlie hadn’t spoken of his wife. He’d offered no information about Diana. And I supposed it was none of my business. I permitted myself a small grin. She sounded an absolute harridan. No wonder he said nothing. I found myself laughing out loud and one or two people at other desks looked over and smiled. They’d been very complimentary to me when I’d come back to work, and I revelled in the unexpected camaraderie. Even Monica, whom I’d encountered in the ladies’ room, said hello in a civil manner. ‘You’re as brown as a nut,’ she said, imagining, I supposed, that she was being friendly. ‘You look like a native.’
Charlie knocked on my door before nine o’clock the next morning. I was up, making myself some breakfast, and Alice, who’d let herself in an hour ago, was in the bathroom with Marisol. I could hear Alice singing as she carefully soaped and rinsed my daughter. It wasn’t a nursery rhyme, but something by her favourite composer, Ivor Novello.
‘Mornin’, Blake,’ Charlie greeted me and gave me a peck on the cheek. He looked well, stronger and more his old self. He cocked an ear to the rich contralto coming from the bathroom. ‘Is that the nanny?’
‘It is.’ I poured him a coffee. ‘I’ll introduce you in a minute. Are you hungry?’
He nodded and I put another rasher of bacon into the frying pan, while he went to sit by the window.
‘So,’ he looked at me. ‘Excited about the promotion?’
‘I’m only standing in,’ I said. ‘Until you’re back on your feet.’
I brought our food to the table. Charlie was looking out on to the square where I could see the milk float and hear the regular clink of bottles as they were delivered to each house. It was cloudy this morning and rain was forecast. I didn’t mind. I was looking forward to walking in the park later with Marisol.
Charlie made a sandwich of his piece of bacon and two slices of toast. He took a large bite. ‘Mm,’ he groaned in pleasure. ‘This reminds me of school.’
‘Don’t you have bacon at home?’ I was surprised.
He shook his head, blushing slightly. ‘Vegetarian.’
Alice came in with a washed and powdered Marisol while we were still eating. I got up and took her into my arms, gazing into her little heart-shaped face. She had lost that crumpled, newborn look and was beginning to move her head about and to focus. ‘She smiled!’ I exclaimed.
Alice shook her head. ‘Probably not yet, Miss Seffy, but some babies do it earlier than others.’ She glanced at Charlie. ‘I didn’t realise you had company. I’ll take baby to the nursery.’
‘No. Let’s have a look at her.’ Charlie had finished his bacon sandwich and now came over to us. He took Marisol out of my arms and stared at her. ‘My God,’ he laughed. ‘She’s grown. Who would have believed that skinny little scrap I last saw could turn into this beauty?’
‘This is Mr Charlie Bradford,’ I said to Alice. ‘He is . . . a colleague and,’ I suddenly remembered the conversation in the consul’s office in Perpignan, ‘Marisol’s godfather.’
‘Very nice to meet you, Mr Bradford. Alice Weaver.’
‘How d’you do?’ He turned to me. ‘Did you get her registered?’
‘Oh! God. I forgot.’ How could I have been so stupid?
‘Right. We’ll go now. Better done before you go away, don’t you think?’ He handed the baby over to Alice. ‘We’ll be out for a bit, Nanny Weaver. Take care of our girl.’
‘I will, sir. And, it’s Alice.’
In the taxi on the way to the registrar’s office we discussed how Marisol should be registered. ‘Your name as the mother, obviously,’ said Charlie, ‘but what about the father?’
‘I could leave it blank.’
‘You could but it’s not fair, is it? I mean, for when she grows up. You’ll have to tell her.’
I knew that in years to come I would have to have that difficult conversation, but for now? ‘Well, who then?’
‘Me,’ he said. ‘I’ll be her father, and not only on paper. I promise you, Blake, I’ll look after our girl for the rest of my life.’
I turned my head and stared at him. It was raining, and outside Londoners were scurrying along under umbrellas. ‘That sounds like a proposal.’ I said it half-jokingly.
He didn’t look at me when he muttered, ‘If I were free I would pursue you to the ends of the earth. Don’t you get it? I’m absolutely crazy about you.’
I hadn’t realised it. He’d never said anything before. Wasn’t his casual flirting just the usual banter between colleagues? The sort of witty charm he displayed to everyone? Then I remembered Amyas making that slighting remark on the hillside above Cadaqués, when he’d thought Charlie and I wer
e getting close, and realised that he’d seen what I’d missed. I took Charlie’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
‘You must know I can’t be yours, Charlie. I’m in love with Amyas,’ I whispered. ‘He has been the one since the first moment I met him.’
‘I know.’ There was a choked sound in Charlie’s voice. ‘I’ve seen how you are with him. When he’s around you take on a glow.’ He stared out of the window for a while and then turned back to me. ‘But the thing is,’ he said, ‘I’m prepared to be second best. Remember that.’
My daughter was registered Marisol Eos Bradford, born in Spain, both parents journalists, and we came out of the registrar’s office quietly satisfied. I’d wanted to keep the Greek theme of our names, Xanthe’s and mine, and remembered that Eos meant dawn. And she’d been born as the sun was rising. Our girl had a surname that wasn’t hers, and two parents who had not been responsible for her conception, but it didn’t matter. Legally and lovingly, we were her parents.
That afternoon Kitty and I pushed Marisol through Hyde Park. The rain had drifted north and a hot late July sun glistened through the rainbow drops on the laurel bushes. ‘People look so cheerful here,’ said Kitty. ‘Even though there is talk of war. It is different from Berlin.’
‘Perhaps they were sad only in the part of Berlin where you lived. When I was there, in the city centre, everybody seemed to be excited, as though something tremendous was about to happen.’
‘That is not nice,’ Kitty whispered, and looking down at her I saw that she had tears in her eyes.
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘It’s awful.’
We sat down on a bench and watched people strolling by and the ducks walking along the grass next to the Serpentine. Soldiers were digging trenches on the other side of the water. I wasn’t sure what they were for, gun emplacements, maybe, or for shelters in case of bombing, and the sight of them made me uneasy. How long would it be before a simple walk in a park was considered dangerous?
‘Kitty,’ I said. ‘I want to hear about you getting out of Berlin. But before that, you must tell me. Did you go to meet me in Monbijoupark?’
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