Blue Moon

by Weaver, Pam

  ‘Are you off now?’ asked Bea. ‘Thank you for your help, dear.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Lily. She hesitated for a second, then came right into the room and shut the door. ‘Aunt Bea,’ she began awkwardly.

  ‘What is it?’ said Bea, suddenly anxious.

  ‘You remember the day of the inquest,’ Lily went on. ‘When I came out of the Town Hall, someone gave me something. A letter.’

  Bea sat up. ‘A letter?’

  Lily opened her purse and handed her the envelope.

  ‘Who gave it to you?’

  ‘A man,’ said Lily. ‘I’ve never seen him before. He was nicely dressed, with fairish hair. You must have known him a long time ago because, when he saw you, he asked me who Ruby was, so he didn’t know her.’

  Bea touched her mouth with her fingers and her eyes grew wide. ‘Did he tell you his name?’

  Lily shook her head. ‘But he said, when you read the letter, you would know who had given it to me.’

  ‘What’s in it?’ Bea said.

  Lily shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I can’t read, remember? The letters always move about on the page.’

  ‘Thank you, dear,’ said Bea, relaxing. She put the letter on the chest of drawers next to the bed and lay back down.

  ‘Aren’t you going to read it?’ Lily couldn’t hide her disappointment.

  Bea yawned. ‘Later. I’m too tired right now. Thanks for bringing it to me, and for all that you’ve done today.’

  As Bea closed her eyes, Lily leaned over her and kissed her cheek. With one last glance at the propped-up envelope, she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  CHAPTER 12

  Bea looked up at the Savoy Private Hotel. It was small and, unlike the giant Warnes Hotel across the road, it had a homely look to it. She had timed her visit so that there was no danger of bumping into Ruby. Right now she knew her daughter was at work, so there was no chance of seeing her on the street.

  Bea had dressed with care. Under her dark-brown woollen twill coat with its sheepskin collar and trim, she was wearing a dark-green dress with a wide vintage-lace collar. Her head was covered by a close-fitting hat in a light-brown jersey, which teamed up nicely with her suede lace-up shoes and matching handbag. She was still in mourning, so she had a black armband on the sleeve of her coat. Taking a deep breath, she walked briskly up the front steps.

  A woman sat behind the desk in the foyer. She leaned forward and smiled as Bea entered the hotel. ‘Good morning, madam.’

  ‘Good morning,’ said Bea. Already her heartbeat had quickened. It was strange being treated as a guest, for Bea was more used to the role of a servant who bobbed a curtsey at important people. Although she had never been inside a private hotel before, she knew how to behave. ‘I’m here to enquire about a guest,’ she began. ‘I believe he is staying here.’

  The woman waited, her artificial smile fixed.

  Bea took another breath. ‘Dr Rex Quinn.’ There – she’d said it. She’d said his name aloud for the first time in eighteen years. Nelson had forbidden her to mention his name ever again, and she had given him her promise. Well, Nelson was dead now, so she was under no obligation to keep it secret any more. It felt so deliciously wonderful that she almost wished Nelson was still alive to hear her say it. She could almost picture his face, purple with rage and indignation.

  The receptionist was running her finger down the register. Bea was caught a bit off-guard. The hotel wasn’t that big; surely she would know which room Rex was in, without having to look it up?

  ‘Dr Quinn left town on Sunday,’ she said, looking back up.

  Her words hit Bea in the chest like a hammer-blow. She had to stop herself from crying out. Gone? He had been here, and now he was gone? Oh no, no … This was too cruel … too much to bear.

  ‘He was here for eight days,’ said the woman.

  Bea clutched at her chest. She had come as quickly as she could. If only Lily had given her the letter straight away. ‘Did …?’ she began in a quavery voice.

  ‘Are you all right, madam?’ said the woman, glancing at the armband on Bea’s coat. ‘Would you like to sit down? Shall I get you a glass of water?’

  Bea struggled to regain control of herself. ‘Did he leave a forwarding address?’

  The receptionist shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, madam.’

  With as much dignity as she could muster, Bea turned to leave.

  ‘Madam,’ the woman said again, ‘please rest for a minute.’ She came round the desk and guided Bea to a chair. It was next to a potted plant, which obscured her from the road. Her nose was tingling and she had a lump in her throat. She fumbled for a handkerchief. ‘Wait while I get the proprietor,’ said the woman.

  Bea was vaguely aware that the receptionist had rung a bell as she came round the desk, but as she pressed the handkerchief to her mouth to stop a scream from coming out, everything else disappeared. He’d gone; she’d missed him. Why hadn’t he come to the house? She shook her head. Don’t be silly. He doesn’t know your address. He only knew you lived in Worthing. If he had been here for a week, why hadn’t he spoken to her at the inquest? It was unbearable to think that they’d both been in the same room, but she hadn’t seen him. If only he’d come up to her then …

  Someone else appeared at her elbow. She was holding a small glass of something the colour of amber. ‘Here, dear,’ she said kindly. ‘My name is Miss Taylor, and this is my hotel. You’ve had a bit of a shock. Have a little drop of brandy to steady your nerves.’

  ‘She was asking for Dr Quinn,’ said the receptionist.

  ‘Did you give her the note?’ Miss Taylor asked.

  ‘What note?’ said the woman.

  ‘What note?’ Bea repeated.

  ‘Really, Iris, you never listen to a word I say. I clearly remember telling you about it. I put it in the pigeonhole.’

  ‘The blue envelope?’ asked Iris.

  ‘Yes,’ said Miss Taylor. ‘Well, go and get it. Don’t keep the lady waiting.’ Bea sipped the brandy. ‘That girl will be the death of me,’ said Miss Taylor and then, seeing the black armband on Bea’s coat, her face coloured. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean anything …’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Bea. ‘You’ve been most kind.’

  Iris reappeared with a blue envelope.

  ‘Before I give it to you,’ said Miss Taylor, ‘may I ask for your name?’

  ‘Mrs Beatrice Bateman,’ said Bea, not once taking her eye from the envelope.

  Miss Taylor handed it to her. Bea’s hand trembled as she took it, and she instantly recognized the copperplate hand. She pressed it to her chest and stood up. The blood drained from her head, and Miss Taylor cried out as Bea wobbled precariously. ‘Oh, my dear …’

  ‘I’m all right,’ said Bea as her head cleared. ‘I just stood up too quickly, that’s all. I’m fine, really I am.’ Calling out a thank-you, she headed for the door.

  ‘You really should take your time, dear,’ Miss Taylor called after her, but Bea wasn’t listening. All she wanted was to get home and read his letter. She dropped it inside her bag and, despite the two-inch heels on her shoes, almost ran home.

  Once back in her kitchen, Bea didn’t even bother to take off her coat before she tore open the envelope:

  My darling girl,

  I waited for the weekend, hoping that you would come, but I suppose it’s too soon. I am sorry to intrude so quickly into your grief, but I am an impatient man. I realize now that you must have time to get over your loss, and of course I want to protect your good name. If we are to have the best chance of a happy life together, I need to allow you to say your goodbyes properly. For this reason, I won’t add any pressure until you are ready.

  I shall come back next year, and perhaps by then we can meet without impropriety. I have booked a room for the weekend of October 6th, 1934. Until then, all my best love, Rex.

  An anguished cry roared from Bea’s mouth. A year – another year … N
o, no, he couldn’t do this to her. A whole year … Oh God, this was too cruel. It was too much. She couldn’t bear it. She was filled with pain and despair and suddenly heard this terrible howl that went on and on.

  The back door burst open and her other neighbour, Florrie Dart, rushed in. ‘Oh, Bea,’ she cried. ‘It’s hit you at last, hasn’t it? There, there, my dear. It will get better, I promise. Let’s get you upstairs and into you bed, and I’ll send for the doctor.’

  A postcard from Miss Russell! Ruby took it down from the mantelpiece and turned it over:

  Staying near the Sorbonne. Beautiful streets and lively night-life. Jazz is very popular here. Think of you often, dear Ruby. Thank you for what you did. Best wishes, Imogen R.

  Ruby turned the postcard back and looked at the picture of the Eiffel Tower reaching up into the sky. If only she could see it for herself …

  Someone tapped on the window, making her jump. When she opened the front door, Isaac Kaufman snatched his hat off.

  ‘Hello!’ she cried. ‘Come in, come in.’

  He stepped inside hesitantly.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Ruby, taking him into the kitchen. ‘Let me get you some tea.’

  ‘I came to offer you my condolences,’ he said. ‘Mr Searle told me of your loss.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Ruby.

  The reminder of her father’s death was never far away, yet it still brought her up short when someone mentioned it. The weight of guilt because she hadn’t cried was beginning to lie heavily on her chest, like a jagged canker. She should have cried by now, shouldn’t she? When she’d seen his coffin again in the church she’d felt as if she couldn’t breathe, but the tears had refused to come.

  She put a match under the kettle and lit the gas. ‘It was so kind of you to come,’ she said. ‘I know I’ve only had a couple of lessons, but I may not be able to carry on with my classes, and I was just thinking that I should let you know. You’ve saved me having to write you a letter and putting the stamp on the envelope.’ Her laughter was both brittle and sad. She was prattling, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. ‘I’m sorry to let you down.’

  ‘No, no, dear lady,’ he protested. ‘It is I who am sorry.’

  She looked at him helplessly. She wanted to ask him for her money back, but how could she? He probably needed it more than she did. But, whatever happened from now on, she couldn’t afford to carry on with the lessons. It would be hard enough trying to keep going, without paying for such unnecessary luxuries.

  ‘I cannot invite you to Mrs Grimes’s,’ he said, oblivious to what was really being discussed.

  Ruby lowered herself into the chair opposite. Although it was clean, his shirt was crumpled. It looked un-ironed. He was wearing a different suit, and Ruby guessed he had bought it from a second-hand repository with the two pounds she had given him in advance. (No chance of getting her money back then, even if she had the courage to ask for it.) Isaac’s face was haggard and he had dark circles under his eyes. At first he met her steady gaze, but then lowered his eyes and fiddled with his hat, which lay on the table in front of him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked softly.

  He managed a small smile. ‘You have troubles of your own,’ he said apologetically.

  ‘Tell me,’ she coaxed. ‘Have you heard something about your family back in Germany?’

  ‘I have no family now, Miss Bateman,’ he said simply. ‘They are all dead. I came to England for peace, but now I must leave.’

  ‘Leave? Why must you leave?’

  ‘Mrs Grimes,’ he sighed. ‘She has a new lodger.’

  ‘And?’ said Ruby.

  ‘The lodger and Mrs Grimes … they like each other,’ said Isaac, clearing his throat with an embarrassed cough. ‘I am in the way. He makes trouble for me.’

  Ruby bristled with indignation, but as she busied herself making the tea, a plan was forming in her mind. The kettle boiled and, as she poured the tea, her mother came through the back door with a washing basket on her hip. Isaac leapt to his feet.

  ‘Mother, this is Isaac,’ said Ruby. ‘He’s a friend of Jim’s.’

  Bea put her basket on the draining board and wiped her hand on her apron before shaking hands. She was pale and her face was expressionless, just the way Ruby had found her when she’d come home a couple of days before. Mrs Dart had told her that her mother had finally wept for her father, and that the doctor had given her a sedative. Since then, Bea went through the motions of doing what she was supposed to do, but it was obvious that something had died within her. Their friends and neighbours told Ruby it was just the grief, but she had a funny feeling it was more than that.

  Once again Isaac offered his condolences.

  ‘Isaac is a refugee from Germany,’ said Ruby. ‘He is also looking for lodgings.’

  Bea seemed astonished. ‘Oh, my dear,’ she said, ‘we’re not ready yet. My husband … the room …’ Her voice trailed off.

  ‘Please, madam,’ said Isaac, obviously embarrassed, ‘I intrude.’

  ‘Perhaps if you came back at the end of the week,’ said Ruby, ‘we would be ready then.’

  Isaac shook his head. ‘You don’t have to …’ he began.

  ‘My mother and I had discussed getting a lodger.’ Ruby spoke directly to Bea, giving her a quizzical look. ‘I feel sure we could be ready by Friday. Do you have anywhere to stay until then?’

  ‘Miss Bateman,’ Isaac began again, ‘you are very kind, but I have little money.’

  ‘What happened to the Parks and Gardens department?’ Ruby frowned.

  ‘I still work there, but the money …’ He shrugged.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about your skills as a bootmaker,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Boot-mender,’ he corrected her. ‘I am – how do you say? – a cobbler.’

  ‘I’ve heard people around here saying they could do with a cobbler,’ said Ruby. ‘They want a man who will charge sensible prices and who is good at his job.’

  Isaac shrugged. ‘I have no tools.’

  He looked defeated, but Ruby was on a mission now. ‘There’s a place on the corner of Lyndhurst Road and High Street,’ she said. ‘We call it The Ark, because they have just about everything you could wish for there. What would you need most?’

  ‘A cobbler’s last,’ said Isaac. ‘Leather, nails, a good knife …’

  ‘I’m sure we could find enough to get you started,’ said Ruby.

  ‘But where will I do it?’ cried Isaac.

  Ruby sat down, clearly stumped. Bea smiled to herself and began to fold the washing ready for ironing. Isaac sipped his tea.

  May came in from the small courtyard garden and interrupted them. ‘Can I have some tea for my dolly’s tea party?’

  ‘Bring your teapot and I’ll give you some,’ said Ruby. A moment or two later the tiny china teapot appeared, and Ruby filled it with lukewarm milky tea. ‘That’s all there is,’ she cautioned. ‘Don’t drink it too quickly.’

  ‘It’s not for me – it’s for dolly,’ said May crossly. ‘She drinks it.’

  ‘Well tell her to be careful to make it last,’ said Ruby with a smile. ‘Where are you having your party?’

  ‘By the shed,’ said May, skipping out of the back door.

  Ruby looked up at her mother. ‘The shed,’ she said. ‘Isaac can mend his boots there.’ Bea was nodding.

  ‘I do not understand,’ said Isaac.

  ‘There’s an old shed outside,’ said Ruby, getting excited. ‘People can come in through the back gate.’

  ‘It’s still full of your father’s fishing gear …’ said Bea. Her voice died away.

  ‘Percy made it clear he doesn’t want to fish,’ said Ruby, ‘so what’s the point of keeping it? We could sell it and use the money for something else.’

  Isaac put his head in his hands. ‘Aye-eeh-aye, what is this?’ He put his hand in his pocket and drew out two pound notes. ‘I came to give you these back,’ he said, ‘and now what have you done?’

/>   Bea raised her eyebrows. ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘I’ll explain later, Mother,’ said Ruby. ‘Isaac, you keep it. I still want my lessons and we can do them here. Use the money to buy your equipment.’

  Isaac looked up, his eyes moist with tears. ‘It will take me a long time to pay you back.’

  ‘We know,’ said Ruby.

  ‘Pay her back for what?’ Bea said, but neither of them was listening.

  ‘We’ll do it properly,’ said Ruby. ‘Give you a rent book, and everything. So … what do you think?’

  ‘I think you are amazing, Miss Bateman,’ he said.

  ‘Isaac, Ruby … will one of you tell me what is going on?’

  Half an hour later, when Isaac had gone and Ruby had explained everything, Bea shook her head. ‘It’s going to be a lot of hard work, getting ready for this. And what about our Percy?’

  ‘You heard Percy say that he wanted to move out, Mum,’ said Ruby.

  ‘But that was before your father died,’ said Bea.

  Ruby chewed her lip anxiously. ‘We don’t know if he’s ever coming back,’ she said softly. ‘He promised you that he’d write. It’s been weeks since he went, and you haven’t heard a thing.’ It was always a bit of a struggle not to feel cross with her brother. She couldn’t blame him for going, and he had told her as long ago as the day of the High Salvington outing what was on his mind. Father had made his life a misery, and in times past Percy had even taken the blame for some of the misdemeanours she’d committed. He knew how much she’d hated being shut in the coal-hole, and she’d loved him dearly for accepting a tanning – and even the belt once – to spare her having to sit in the cold and dark for hours on end. In one sense, it wasn’t Percy’s fault that he wasn’t here right now. He clearly had no idea their father was dead, but, by clearing off like that, he had in effect left her with all the responsibility.

  Bea nodded miserably. Ruby put her arm around her mother’s shoulders. ‘Don’t you see, Mother?’ Ruby smiled. ‘It will help us in the long run. Once Isaac’s got going, he’ll be paying us two lots of rent: one for the room, and another for the shed. That can’t be bad now, can it?’