Janet Woods

by I'll Get By

  ‘I feel such a fool. I practically invited him to rob us.’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up over it. He was a con man, and they’re usually experts at what they do.’ He changed the subject. ‘How are your driving lessons coming along?’

  ‘Famously.’

  ‘Good . . . you can drive us to the airfield then, as long as you’re careful.’

  Meggie smiled at the thought. She’d had six lessons, so was fairly confident. ‘I’ll be careful, I promise. You’ll have to tell me which streets to turn into.’

  And she was careful. She’d never driven in a city before, and guided the car through the traffic, honking the horn to warn anyone when they got too close, or when they turned a corner.

  When they were out of the traffic she sent a glance Leo’s way, looking for a word of praise. He’d put his flying helmet on and was hunched in his seat, holding the flying jackets bundled firmly against his chest with white-knuckled fists.

  Her smile faded. ‘Was my driving that bad?’

  ‘Well, not bad for a female, I suppose. Luckily, every driver on the road was more experienced today. They must have been warned about you in advance. You can’t just honk at everyone and expect them to get out of your way.’

  ‘Why not? It worked.’

  He began to laugh. ‘So it did. I’m of a mind to get a bit of my own back for that little ride. This is supposed to be my way of unwinding after a stressful week, and I’m as tight as a spring. I’m going to throw us about a bit when we get up there, but if you’re scared use the speaking tube and tell me.’

  He was as good as his word. The plane was fuelled up and waiting for them. They spent the next hour or two zooming about in the clouds, and doing turns, so the sky and land rolled around them and at first Meggie’s stomach flattened against her spine, then they were upside down and she seemed to be hanging by her straps and heels like a trapeze artist. The air was cold against her cheeks, but the leather jacket she wore was lined with sheepskin, and quite cosy.

  She had been up with Leo before, but this was different from the last sedate outing. It was exciting, and she squealed when he took her up as far as the plane could go. They fell in a slow banana roll before straightening up and coming down to earth, landing as gently as a gadfly. The front wheels touched down lightly, and when they’d slowed sufficiently they were followed a few moments later by the tail wheel. They coasted towards the hanger, the propeller ticking over until they came to a halt.

  Four young men stood in a group, watching. They were cadets judging by their appearance. They clapped as Leo stepped out on to the wing walk and turned to help her out.

  ‘That was quite a show you put on. Well done, sir,’ one of them called out.

  Pulling off his goggles and helmet, Leo dragged his fingers through his hair, setting his dark unruly curls free. He smiled at them. ‘Thank you.’

  A tall young man stepped forward and offered Leo a hand. ‘I’m Edwin Richards.’

  ‘I’m Doctor Leo Thornton. Air force trainees, are you?’

  ‘No, sir, we’re sixth formers at Armadale College. This will be our first hands-on session in the air today. It’s a school initiative and we’re very keen to get up there. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared in case war breaks out, does it?’

  ‘It certainly doesn’t. Is all your class undertaking the course?’

  ‘We had a choice of three options. Some joined the naval cadets. They learn to tie knots and sail on the river. The army cadets march around a lot, and shoot air rifles at targets.’ This was stated with a slight air of disdain.

  ‘Good luck with your lessons then. Learning to fly isn’t all that hard.’

  Aware that a couple of boys were eyeing her Meggie followed Leo’s lead and released her own hair from its leather confines. She automatically shook it back into its new style with a toss or two of her head.

  Leo chuckled and turned away, and when Meggie followed his lanky form towards the hanger one of the boys gave a soft wolf whistle.

  ‘Schoolboys . . . honestly!’ she scoffed.

  Leo grinned at her. ‘They’re going to find it hard to keep their minds on their lesson after that small display of feminine come hither. You ought to practise getting a bit of a sway to your hips as well, then the boys will be after you in droves. Like this.’ Holding out his arm, his hand hanging limply, he waggled his rear end as he walked.

  A giggle tore from her. ‘You’re perfectly horrid Leo Thornton. You look as if you’ve dislocated your hips.’

  ‘And you’re being precious.’

  She’d always been able to argue with Leo without getting upset. ‘I’m evolving. Preening and artifice is part of the female nature. It happens naturally, and helps women to attract a mate and reproduce.’

  ‘Evolving, is it? Good Lord, what have you been reading, and what are you evolving into?’

  ‘A woman of course. It was an article in a magazine about being feminine.’

  ‘You’re feminine by gender. The trouble with those types of articles is, if you take them as gospel and make a habit of ogling men they get the wrong idea of what you’re all about. Just be your natural self and let men do the chasing; resistance brings out the hunter in them.’

  ‘I wasn’t ogling men, and I don’t want to be hunted, especially by a bunch of spotty schoolboys. They did all the ogling.’ She picked up speed and headed for the car, face hot with the beginnings of temper.

  Catching her up he brought her to a halt. ‘I was teasing.’

  ‘I know, I’m not angry with you. I’m angry because I hate being whistled at, like a dog being brought to heel.’

  ‘Get used to it, Meggie. You’re a lovely-looking girl, and men are going to whistle whether you like it or not. It’s a compliment. And if you’re going to act like a child and flounce off in the middle of a conversation I’ll send you back home to be taught some manners.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Try me.’

  Noting the amusement in his eyes she grinned; she couldn’t help it. ‘Aunt Es would flatten you if you did.’

  ‘So . . . you’re calling my bluff with your secret weapon, are you?’

  When she nodded he placed a kiss against her forehead. ‘Well done for that, but the next time you feel like flaring up do me a favour and count to ten and think about it first. At your age you should be able to handle such situations, and your moods, without resorting to being rude.’

  ‘Sorry Leo.’ And she was.

  ‘Good . . . end of lecture.’

  They’d been on the road for ten minutes when he said, ‘Those young men, they’re not just spotty schoolboys . . . or even spotty come to that. They have families who love them. And although they’ve hardly enjoyed what life has to offer yet they’re learning to fly so they can help defend this country should it be needed. You should have some respect for that, Meggie.’

  ‘Like my stepfather and my father did in the last war.’

  ‘Exactly . . .’

  ‘Did you meet my father?’

  ‘No . . . he’d already died when I met your aunt.’

  ‘I should have liked to have known him.’

  ‘Apparently he was a good sort, if that’s any help.’

  ‘Yes . . . it is. I’m glad people liked him. It means people will be more inclined to respect me because of it . . . as if my father acts as a reference.’

  ‘Only to the people who knew him and that can work two ways. They might measure you against him. The way you dress, speak and mostly, how you conduct yourself, will make a lasting impression.’

  She drew in a deep breath and whispered, ‘One . . . two . . . three . . .’

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Counting to ten. I thought the lecture was over, Leo.’

  When he laughed, so did she.

  ‘See . . . counting to ten obviously worked, and you only made it to three,’ he said.

  Her brothers came into her mind, and the thought of war no longer seemed like
an adventure concerning heroes and villains. It was real and dangerous. Her own father was an example of that. It was a defining moment for her, a moment when her childhood seemed to fall from her shoulders.

  Her brother, Luke, wasn’t much younger than the youths at the airport, and fear trickled through her. Her mother would be devastated if she lost any of her children, and what of Leo?’

  ‘If there’s a war will you have to go and fight?’

  ‘I guess that’s going to be the way of things, Meggie.’

  ‘Oh, God . . . I can hardly bear to think about it. But you’re a doctor, Leo, surely you wouldn’t have to physically fight. You’d work in a hospital and heal the wounded, wouldn’t you . . . like my stepfather did.’

  ‘That’s a possibility.’

  ‘And Luke, my brother . . . what about him? He’s young yet, but in a year or two he’ll be . . . an adult.’

  She stitched the two together in her mind, Luke all tattered and torn from the battlefield and Leo in his starched white coat, a dedicated doctor, his eyes as blue as love-in-the-mist. Leo took Luke’s temperature and miraculously declared when her brother emerged from his imaginary coma, ‘He’ll live.’

  Before she came completely down to earth she whispered, ‘Thank you Leo, you’re a hero.’

  Meggie hadn’t meant to say it out loud but it had been in so quiet a whisper she was sure Leo couldn’t have heard it. It had been ages since her mind had created such a dramatic scene, something she’d grown up with. It reminded her that she’d once wanted to be a writer, and perhaps she would be one day. Following the example of her late father, she kept a daily journal to write her experiences in . . . just in case.

  ‘Thanks,’ Leo threw at her.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Calling me your hero. A chap needs all the encouragement he can get when he’s showing off in a plane. I didn’t hear you scream once.’

  Leo had absorbed the hero bit, dissected it, and sensing something personal might be in it had turned it into something harmless. He must have lots of nurses making sheep eyes at him, and had probably developed a way of turning anything remotely personal aside. ‘I thought it was fun.’

  ‘As for Luke, he’ll find the courage inside him to do what’s required if the need arises.’

  ‘There’s been talk of war for over a year now. You can’t help but feel the inevitability of it.’

  They fell silent for a while, and then Leo gently squeezed the back of her hand. ‘It might never happen, but don’t be in too much of a hurry. Neville Chamberlain is negotiating with the powers that be, so war might yet be avoided. If it isn’t . . . then I guess we’ll have to get by. In the meantime we’ll carry on with our lives as normal, try to find some collective sense of human decency within ourselves, and be of service to the less fortunate people we meet in our everyday lives.’

  Two days later Meggie, feeling confident in her grey suit worn with the chic little hat and rosebud blouse, presented herself at the legal offices of Anderson and Stone in Temple Bar.

  A fading woman of about fifty was behind the reception desk, and she smiled warmly at her. ‘May I help you?’

  ‘I’m Miss Elliot. I have an appointment to see Mr Stone.’

  ‘Miss Elliot is it?’ She drew an invisible line down the page with her finger and taking up a pencil altered a mark on it, tut-tutting. ‘Ah yes . . . I see. A mistake was made in writing it down. I’ll just check if Mr Stone is ready to see you, yet.’

  He was – well almost. He was removing a file from a cabinet, with his back to the room, and he called over his shoulder, ‘Please be seated. I’ll be with you in a moment or two.’

  She arranged herself on a chair in front of the desk, crossing one leg elegantly over the other, like her Aunt Esmé did – though her aunt had long legs to die for. Placing her gloves and bag on the green leather-topped desk in front of her she gazed round her. Apart from the desk there were three chairs and a wall of filing cabinets. A window offered a view of a garden square surrounded by buildings.

  He turned to gaze at her, and her expression must have shown the same surprise as his, when he said, ‘Unless you’ve changed your gender you’re not Doctor Elliot!’

  ‘I’m his stepdaughter, Margaret Elliot . . . and you’re not Simon Stone.’

  ‘I’m his grandson . . . Rainard Stone.’

  ‘As in Reynard the fox?’

  ‘Exactly as . . . but spelled differently because I was born in a deluge.’ This was accompanied by a smile.

  ‘Really . . . how odd.’

  He shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘It was supposed to be a joke to relax the client with. I was actually named after a long dead ancestor.’

  ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ she said, with a smile, quoting from Alice in Wonderland. ‘That’s a joke to relax the solicitor with.’

  ‘We must have been brought up on the same nursery stories. Most people call me Rennie.’

  ‘Has your grandfather retired?’

  ‘Simon Stone died last year, I’m afraid, and my Anderson grandfather has a couple of years left in him before retirement. My father is away at present and the receptionist is at home with a streaming cold so I’m a bit pushed. That was my mother at the front desk helping out.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry . . . about Mr Simon Stone. I met him when I was a child and he struck me as being a lovely man.’

  His smile was spontaneous, and disappeared as quickly as it came. ‘He was. Now then, Miss Elliot, is there something I can help you with?’

  ‘I hope so. It’s about the Sinclair legacy.’

  ‘I really don’t think that’s something I should discuss with you.’

  She fixed him with a gaze, mentally doing the ten count. ‘Why not, when I’m the beneficiary?’

  He opened the file and gazed down at it then offered her a smile. ‘I see you must be the young lady who was born Margaret Eloise Sinclair Sangster.’

  She nodded. ‘Elliot is my adopted name.’

  ‘I still can’t discuss it with you. Doctor Elliot is the trustee acting on your behalf until you’re of legal age.’

  He was infuriating. Skipping numbers five to seven she jumped straight to number eight. ‘I see. Then we won’t discuss it. All you have to do is listen, so you’ll know what my side of the argument is when Doctor Elliot brings it up with you.’

  He didn’t mince words either. ‘Let’s get one thing clear to start with, Miss Elliot. I don’t care much for that hostile tone you’re using. I’m not the enemy.’

  She must have sounded like a spoiled brat. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Stone. I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. The thing is, I’ve grown up with this legacy yet nobody ever consults me about it, or will even listen to me when I want to talk about it. I’ve also never been one to use six words when one will suffice. It often gets me into trouble.’

  His eyes were a glow of amber flecked with brown, and as alert as those of the fox he’d been named after. He picked up his fountain pen. ‘Forewarned is forearmed; let’s get on. Just expect me to bite back. You won’t mind if I take notes, will you?’

  ‘You won’t need to since I can say it all in two or three short sentences, which won’t waste your time. I want to study at Cambridge if they’ll have me. Assuming I’m accepted, I’ll need money to pay the fees and support myself. Will I be able to use money from the Sinclair legacy to pay for that purpose?’

  ‘It depends. We must be careful not to incur a debt that you’ll be liable for in the future.’

  ‘I thought you couldn’t discuss it with me, and after all, it’s my money to spend.’

  He sighed. ‘That may be, but I can’t . . . not until I’ve been through the file and then informed the trustee of the enquiry with my recommendations. To be honest, my grandfather thought that the Sinclair trust had just about exhausted its capital during the depression. He said the estate had been neglected and no effort had been made for it to be productive. I will need to study the file in some depth
to give you a definitive answer. I believe there’s a house involved.’

  ‘Yes . . . Foxglove House. It’s been boarded up for years. My stepfather tried to find a tenant for it, but it’s terribly expensive to run because it’s not a house that can be managed without servants. I can’t imagine ever living there myself, though I visit from time to time. It’s a bit of a hidey-hole for me. The place is rather sad. It’s filled with the past lives of my relatives, yet I never met any of them, including my father. Sometimes I feel like an alien, as though I’m on the outside of the family trying to get in. And sometimes the estate feels like a millstone hanging round my neck. If I could sell it I would. I imagine I’ll give it to charity when I’m old enough to have some say in the matter.’

  He didn’t quite hide his smile at her meandering explanation. ‘Do you think you might have felt warmer towards the place if you’d grown up there?’

  ‘Yes . . . I suppose I might have. But I didn’t and I don’t. Actually, I’m glad I don’t because that will make it easier to dispose of.’ She offered him a rueful smile. ‘Thank you, Mr Stone. I really didn’t mean to be churlish. You certainly know how to bite, so you were well named I think. I shall behave myself when I’m around you from now on.’

  His shrug was almost apologetic, his eyes agleam with amusement. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘I’ll be in London until halfway through April.’ Plucking the fountain pen from his fingers she wrote her aunt’s number on his notepad. ‘There.’

  When she reached for her bag and gloves, he stood, saying, ‘Perhaps we could go out one night while you’re in the capital. Do you like dancing?’

  She liked his direct approach. ‘Yes, but I don’t dance as well as my Aunt Es does. That would be nice though . . . perhaps we could make up a foursome with them. They would want to meet you, I imagine.’

  Rennie looked as though the inclusion of Es and Leo was the last thing he’d expected. ‘Is having your aunt and uncle along a condition?’

  She chuckled at the thought. She was seventeen, after all . . . and inexperienced. She’d already misjudged one man who’d indicated that he’d represented the law. ‘I don’t really know the protocol. I’ve never been out with a man before.’