The Choice

by Valerie Mendes

  Anne, radiant and shimmering, smiles up at him, raising her glass. She looks at Eleanor. “To love such as Jonny’s and mine,” she says. “I hope you’ll find it one day.”

  “Oh, didn’t you know?” Jonny grips Anne’s hand. “Eleanor’s already found her man.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Eleanor signals to Jonny to keep quiet. He doesn’t register her frantic appeal. He’s looking at the rise and fall of Anne’s breasts beneath the low-cut jacket.

  “It’s one of the many reasons,” Jonny continues blithely, “that Eleanor turned me down. And I’m so glad she did!” He glances at Eleanor’s face, abruptly realising he has said too much.

  But it’s too late.

  Anne says, “What the hell you are talking about?”

  Jonny comes to his senses. “Crikey!” His eyelashes flutter. “So you still don’t know?” The champagne swirls in his glass. “Eleanor met someone in St Ives, darling. She told me months ago she was head-over-heels in love.” He sways on his feet. “Now I’m in loco parentis, I felt you ought to know.” He takes another swig. “Oh Lord! Have I let the infernal cat out of its bag!”

  Anne takes Eleanor by her pink satin arm and pushes her upstairs, into the untidiness of her bedroom. Closing the door, she kicks off her shoes and collapses onto the bed.

  “All right, dear daughter of mine. Exactly what cat and what bag?”

  For a moment Eleanor stands there, feeling like a schoolgirl caught playing truant. She thinks fast. She could deny everything. She could pretend that Jonny had misunderstood her. That she’d invented a lover in order to turn him down. That there had been somebody special, but not any more.

  Then she decides that the moment of truth has arrived. She hasn’t planned for it to happen like this but maybe it’s just as well. She’ll come clean. It’s too late for Anne to do anything about it – and it’s too good an opportunity to miss.

  She crosses the room and stands looking out of the window, her face turned away from her mother’s furious stare.

  “I’m in love with Felix Mitchell.”

  “What?” Anne hoists herself from her bed, making the springs creak.

  “We met in St Ives.” Eleanor forces herself to sound calm. “He was at Daddy’s funeral, but he didn’t introduce himself. I never knew he existed until he arrived at The Hideaway, asking if he could buy it. I only knew him for a few days, but we spent a lot of time together. He painted my portrait. We had so much to talk about, so much in common. Daddy seemed to come back into my life through Felix. He told me such a lot about him, important things nobody else could have known. After Daddy died, I felt so lonely.” She fights back the tears, overwhelmed by memories. “Meeting Felix allowed me to share Daddy’s life again.” She swallows. “And then we became lovers.”

  “Are you saying you’ve been to bed with him?” Anne’s voice is shrill with astonishment.

  “Yes.” The confession brings a deep blush to Eleanor’s cheeks. “He wanted to come to our exhibition but he injured his back. He finally made it to Woodstock on my birthday. It was wonderful, seeing him again. I tried to tell you about him but you were always so busy.” She wills herself to tell the whole truth. “We’re planning to live together in St Ives. I’m going to open a tea-room there. I wanted you to meet him first but—”

  “I’m more shocked and appalled than I can possibly say.” Anne’s voice chokes. “Of all the men in the world, you had to fall for him.” She unbuttons her jacket. “And what a time to tell me!” Her hands shake. “There’s no time to talk properly, no time to discuss this, no time for anything.” She steps out of her skirt. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “Thank you for being so understanding.” Eleanor’s sarcasm echoes coldly across the room. The story of her passionate affair has emerged as lame and ridiculous. She curses herself for not finding the right words, for making Felix sound like a shadowy, underhand figure, who lacks the courage to appear in person.

  Eleanor wishes she hadn’t told her mother a single honest word.

  Anne rustles over to her wardrobe in her long silk petticoat. “I forbid you to go anywhere with anyone – let alone Felix Mitchell – until Jonny and I can discuss your future.”

  “I’m nineteen years old, not nine. You can’t forbid me to do anything—”

  “Can’t I just!”

  “No, you can’t.” A savage anger bubbles in Eleanor’s heart. “It’s all right for me to take responsibility for our family’s finances, run a tea-room, look after you, be your ridiculous bridesmaid.” She looks down at the pink frock, longing to rip it off. “But the minute I want to do something for myself, something I’ve waited for with all the patience in the world.” Her voice breaks and she turns to face Anne. “Well, then it’s a predictable, ‘Good grief, Eleanor, you can’t possibly do that. You’re to stay put and do the dreary chores while I swan around Europe having the time of my life.’ God forbid I should have a life of my own!”

  Anne stares into the mirror, inspecting her smudged lipstick. “What on earth do you think your father would have said?”

  “Do you know what?” Eleanor can see her father lying on the bed, blood seeping through his bandage, his violet-blue eyes clouded, his hands burning hot. “I think Daddy meant me to meet Felix. That’s why he wrote the will he did. He sent me to St Ives to find Moira’s child – his child – the man he loved with all his heart.” Eleanor throws back her head in a gesture of triumph. “And find him I did.”

  Anne puts down her powder-puff. “So you found him.” She starts to brush her hair. “It doesn’t mean you have to spend the rest of your life with him, does it, Eleanor?”

  Anne disappears with Jonny at four o’clock, making it clear she can hardly wait to get away, with only a perfunctory kiss for her daughter.

  “You’d be out of your mind to go chasing after that man. When it all goes terribly wrong, don’t say I didn’t warn you… I’ll send you postcards to Woodstock, hoping you’ve changed your silly little mind. Give Kathleen my regards. I’m amazed such a sensible girl has given you her support.”

  A sobered-up Jonny grasps Eleanor’s hands. “Whatever you decide, don’t burn any boats. You can always come back to Woodstock. We won’t be on honeymoon for long, and we’ll be here for you no matter what.”

  Eleanor turns away, flushing with humiliation, as the cab carrying Anne and Jonny trundles away. It would serve them both right if they never saw her again…

  After the guests have gone, Eleanor and Vera change out of their wedding finery. They spend three hours clearing and washing dishes, sweeping floors, tidying rooms, making sure Anne and Jonny’s bedroom is pristine for their return.

  Then Eleanor sits down with Vera over some hot sweet tea.

  “I’ve something important to tell you.” Eleanor brushes a handful of confetti from her sleeve. “I want you to listen to the whole story. Don’t say anything until I get to the end.”

  “Of course, dear heart. Your mother said you’d want to talk to me… Hasn’t it been the most wonderful day? Anne is Mrs Giffen now. You’re the last of the Drummonds. I’m so delighted to still be here for you. Your dear father would have been so proud, God rest his lovely soul.”

  Departure

  Woodstock, 1936

  “Course,” Maud says with a contemptuous toss of her curls, “none of Edward’s servants would leave England with him, even though he asked ’em.”

  They’re in the Woodstock kitchen, sitting around the table, eating Sunday luncheon the day after the wedding.

  “Fred Smith, he’s been with Edward for donkey’s years, told him straight to his face, ‘Your name is mud.’ Craig, his valet, didn’t want to leave his wife. The junior piper said he couldn’t go because if he did, his parents would die of shock.” Maud nibbles at some lemon-meringue pie. “Edward said he’d make sure they g
ot jobs with other royals, but I don’t know they will. He’s got a nerve, walkin’ out of everybody’s life as if he couldn’t give a brass farthin’.”

  “Steady on, Maud,” Kathleen interrupts. “He didn’t take his decision lightly—”

  “What he said on the wireless about not havin’ a wife and family. Are we supposed to feel sorry for him? Edward could have married any decent single good-lookin’ woman and had a load of children. But oh, no! He has to mess about with other people’s wives and then drop ’em like hot potatoes. Talk about abusin’ his power.” Maud dabs her mouth. “Anyway, he was driven out of Fort Belvedere in his Buick and plonked onto HMS Fury at two in the mornin’. He’ll be somewhere in Europe by now, and he won’t be comin’ back. Not if the royal family has anythin’ to do with it.”

  “But surely,” Eleanor says, “they can’t just turn their backs on him.”

  “All kinds of rumours have come creepin’ out the woodwork. People are sayin’ it’s good riddance because Edward and Wallis are Nazis. The government stopped lettin’ Edward see confidential documents way back in the summer. They reckoned Wallis had access to ’em and that she were spyin’ for the Germans.” Maud stands to clear the dishes, rattling them around. “It were only in January that Queen Mary were commendin’ us to ‘her dear son’. I wonder whether she’d any notion what the year would bring.”

  “Nobody ever knows.” Eleanor helps Maud with the plates. “All we can do is to handle the things that happen to us as best we can. Trust people to understand us. Do as you would be done by… That’s the only way to live. Don’t you agree?”

  The tea-room opens again on Tuesday the 15th of December for five days before it closes between Christmas and the New Year. Eleanor, counting the days to her departure, feels a mixture of fatigue and exhilaration. She’ll finally see the light at the end of the hard-working tunnel. She wants to leave for St Ives on Tuesday the 22nd of December. That’ll give her and Kathleen the previous Sunday and Monday to spring-clean the kitchen, make sure everything’s ship-shape before they take a holiday.

  “You must write to that Felix of yours,” Kathleen tells Eleanor on the Sunday afternoon.

  “I’ve been hoping to hear from him. But no news is good news. I’ve told my mother about him now… and yes, of course, you’re right. I’ll sit down and let him know.”

  “Well, make it sharp, Ellie. Christmas will soon be here. He needs to know about your plans immediately.”

  “You’re right, Kath. I’ll send Felix a Christmas card with a message. If I post it today, he has got time to answer.”

  Eleanor receives no reply. She convinces herself that Felix is delighted she has finally told Anne about him. That he can’t wait for her imminent arrival. That he’s longing to hold her in his arms again. That he has The Hideaway finished and ready for her return. That he’s done it all for her…

  Three days into that last week, Vera gets a telegram from her sister, telling her she’s been diagnosed with cancer and asking her to come to stay until the New Year. It might be their last chance to spend the festive season together. Eleanor agrees to let her go.

  Vera vanishes in a cloud of panic and tears. Eleanor, Kathleen and Fran soldier on, all of them exhausted and very relieved when they close the tea-room’s door for Christmas on Saturday afternoon.

  In the doorway, Eleanor takes Kathleen in her arms. “I couldn’t possibly leave if you hadn’t agreed to take over.” Her eyes fill with tears. “I’ll write to you from St Ives the moment I get there.”

  “I just want to know you’re happy with that man of yours. You be sure to tell him what a lucky fellow he is.” Kathleen hesitates. Then she says, “If anythin’ goes wrong, Ellie, anythin’ at all, you know where I am. And don’t you never forget it.”

  Later that same evening in the silent house, Eleanor digs out the painting of the girl in the red taffeta frock. She hangs it in pride of place in the tea-room. Now she wants the whole world to see it and admire.

  Arrival

  St Ives, Cornwall, December 1936

  Eleanor’s drive to Cornwall is swift and easy. The weather is unexpectedly kind and the Morris behaves impeccably. She’s surprised at how many details of the journey she remembers, but she props the list of towns on the dashboard just in case.

  And in her handbag nestle her keys to The Hideaway. When she’d retrieved them from her desk, her hands had shaken with trepidation and desire.

  This is it. Her all or nothing moment has arrived.

  She’s packed her entire wardrobe into two suitcases and is even taking her typewriter. She has no intention of doing nothing while Felix works. She wants to find premises for a tea-room in St Ives. Once she’s installed with her lover, she’ll meet with James Lanham to discuss the location and price of a suitable property. She wants something small, preferably on the harbour and close to St Andrews Street. Then she’ll research the market, visit the competition, and learn.

  She also takes Jonny’s pearls. In January, she’ll travel to London and sell them in Bond Street to finance her new deal. When her plans are in place, she’ll meet Michael again, ask him to act as her legal advisor. She’ll keep Robin up-to-date. And Felix is bound to have friends who’ll be interested in working as cooks, waitresses, suppliers…

  Deep in thought, Eleanor reaches Exeter and finds a small guest-house. Her dreams are filled with the sounds of Felix’s Cornish burr and the excited flapping of gulls.

  Eleanor arrives in St Ives the following afternoon, just before two. She drives straight through the town to the car park, leaves her luggage in the boot of the Morris. Her head down, her heart thrumming against her ribs, she walks as fast as her legs will carry her to St Andrews Street.

  The front door of The Hideaway has been painted a shiny green. It has a new nameplate and a circlet of holly, whose spiky leaves glisten with red berries. The wooden window frames sparkle with fresh white paint. New muslin curtains hang at the windows.

  Eleanor knocks on the door. At last she’s here! Finally she and her beloved Felix can be together…

  But there’s no answer.

  Her mouth sour with disappointment Eleanor knocks again, stepping away from the cottage, glancing up at the bedroom. She presses her nose against the downstairs window, taps forlornly against the pane. In the echoing silence, she decides Felix must have gone shopping for their supper. Perhaps if she does the rounds, she might spot him in the town? Hunger makes her stomach growl. She’ll have luncheon and come back in an hour.

  Eleanor turns and marches swiftly towards Fore Street. A gruff voice calls to her, making her jump.

  “Miss Drummond? Bless my soul! If it isn’t Miss Drummond!”

  She spins round to face James Lanham. He doffs his hat, gives her an elegant bow. Blinking at him, she does her best to smile. He holds out his hand.

  “How wonderful to see you again, Miss! You’re looking very smart. What brings you to our lovely seaside town?”

  “I’m here for Christmas, Mr Lanham, and I’ll be staying on… I’ve just arrived.”

  “Splendid news! Quite splendid.” James’s voice falters. A shadow flickers across his eyes. “And are you staying at The Porthminster?”

  “No.” Eleanor blushes. “I’ll be living with Felix… Mr Mitchell… In our… In The Hideaway.” She swallows with difficulty. “As his guest.”

  “I see.” The corner of James’s right eye twitches. He steps away from her. “Well, I suppose if that’s all right with him—”

  “Why shouldn’t it be?”

  “Oh, no reason at all, Miss Drummond… You know me. Never one to interfere.” He crams his hat back onto his head. “Many apologies… I must be on my way… May I wish you a very Happy Christmas.”

  The Thunder of Waves

  St Ives, Cornwall, December 1936

  Eleanor watches James Lanham li
mping up the hill.

  The sky has darkened. A cold wind blows in from the sea, almost lifting her hat. She clutches at it, shivering. She seems to have lost her appetite. She’ll walk down to the harbour, fill her lungs with sea air, pull herself together.

  Of course, she tells herself as she marches off, she has the keys to The Hideaway. Doesn’t she? She digs for them in her handbag, strokes them for comfort. If the worst comes to the worst – she sidesteps a group of drunken Christmas shoppers who sway past – if, when she returns, Felix is still not there, she can always let herself in…

  Give him a joyful surprise.

  For a single black moment, Eleanor wonders who she’s trying to convince.

  God Almighty… What if Felix really has found somebody else?

  She hears Kathleen’s voice in her head. I tried to warn you but you wouldn’t listen.

  The scent of hot pasties drifts into the air. Eleanor’s stomach growls, as if it too is siding against her.

  With a tongue numbed by scalding tea, Eleanor reaches The Hideaway again. She leans against the stable door, banging her gloved fist against it. She wants to wail like a neglected child.

  Daddy, Daddy…

  Felix, Felix…

  Where on earth is he? Shopping for their blissful reunion? Back in Juan-les-Pins with his beloved Mama? Hiding behind the door?

  Eleanor stops banging. An elderly couple who live three doors’ down stare at her as they walk past. She drags her freezing feet towards the Morris, flings the door open, huddles like a foetus in the back seat.

  A child peers in at her, squashing his nose against the window, misting it up. “Mam, Mam! Look in there! There’s a funny lady in there, Mam!”

  A woman’s voice orders the child to come away.

  Eleanor’s stomach begins to growl again. For God’s sake! She’s behaving like a criminal. She’ll get out and crawl back to the cottage. Use those keys before she freezes to death. Not that anyone will care if she does…