Woolston contributed little to all this, apart from an occasional whistle, a ‘Say, honey!’, or ‘Gee, honey!’ Mainly he confided himself to murmurs of sympathy until Elaine described the final scene, the one that occurred after Esme had come home on leave and found that she had gone away in the friendly grocer’s car, in order to make preliminary arrangements to abandon him.
“Ah, he was cruel all right, that night,” she sighed, “the night I came back into a house that I thought was empty!”
“What did he do?” demanded Woolston, “just what did that sonofabitch do then, honey?”
Elaine had to draw on a never-to-be-forgotten experience in a hotel bedroom, where Audrey the Amazon, wife of her lover, had discovered her in bed with Mr. Tappertitt, the circus-owner.
“He threw me on the bed, knelt on me, and…and thrashed me until he was tired, Woolston!”
“Say! With that dog-whip,” cried Woolston, in agony.
“No,” said Elaine, honestly, “it wasn’t a dog-whip that time, it was a hair-brush and he smashed it to pieces on me!”
“He did that?”
“That’s what he did, and that’s what I never told anybody before because I was always so ashamed of marrying a man who could treat a woman like that!”
“Gee, I’d sure like to run across that guy! I’d sure like to meet him,” said Woolston, fervently.
Elaine reflected, with some relief, that this was unlikely, for Esme had been swallowed up by the war.
“Oh, it’s all over and forgotten now, Woolston,” she said, “don’t let’s talk about it any more, let’s talk about us!”
It might be imagined from this kind of exchange, that Elaine was beginning to feel more sure of Woolston, and that she had some kind of confidence in an eventual proposal, in her shy acceptance and in his submission to the military authorities for permission to marry, but as the summer went by, and his autumn kisses continued to fall upon the cheeks rather than the lips, as night followed night, and Woolston never once suggested coming in for a nightcap, she began to grow desperate again. It was then that she conceived the master plan and hurried to put it into execution. She needed an accomplice and luckily one was available in the person of Muriel Payne, who might be described as Elaine’s sole woman friend.
Muriel owned a small but expensively equipped gown shop in West Croydon, and had known Elaine for many years. It was Muriel, who, as sales-girl, had sold the original red velvet dance frock that had bewitched Esme at the Stafford-Ffoulkes dance as long ago as 1929, but since then Muriel had risen in her profession, and was now a partner in a prosperous little business.
Elaine liked her. She was hard-fisted, forthright and broad-minded, but Elaine’s trust in Muriel did not extend to confiding wholly in her as regards Woolston. She told her enough, however, to secure her light-hearted co-operation in the matter of a telephone call, to be put through to Number Forty-Three at about 3 a.m. At Elaine’s urgent request she also gave her a couple of sleeping pills, without enquiring into the use to which they might be put. She knew that Elaine never used sleeping tablets, and was not likely to possess any, for Elaine was a sound sleeper and had not been attended by a doctor since her child was born on the first day of war.
It was an essential factor of Elaine’s plan that Lieutenant Ericssohn should at last be prevailed upon to overcome his reluctance to cross her threshold at night. To achieve this, Elaine invented a birthday, which was celebrated, gravely and decorously, by a trip up West, and a supper in Soho, following a visit to the theatre. For the supper, Elaine steered Woolston to the little French café in Dean Street, where Esme had taken her on the day of their reunion and where, in fact, he had proposed to her.
The location meant nothing to her. She was not a sentimentalist and it was simply a convenient place to get the abstemious Woolston to swallow a half-bottle of Burgundy and a few sips of brandy. She managed to slip one of the sleeping tablets into his second cup of coffee.
That evening she worked especially hard to beguile him, encouraging him to talk about his beloved South and regarding him with parted lips while he held forth on the Negro problem, a subject upon which he held bellicose opinions. She struck a mellow chord when she said:
“Woolston, dear…you make it all so alive…over here we’ve only read about those things, and they never seemed real. I think you Americans are so good for us, and so stimulating! I suppose because we’re an island we’ve got so stuffy and self-righteous about everything, and this has resulted in us being…well…left behind.”
“Don’t you say that, honey, don’t you say that,” said Woolston, emphatically. “Why, honey, the thing I most admire ’bout you folk is that you got reel respect for the past, and that’s something you just don’t find north o’ the Mason-Dixon line. Say honey, this place is kinda cosy, how come you know ’bout this caffy?”
She stopped herself saying that Esme had introduced her to it, deciding that it was an evening to forget Esme, with and without dog-whip and hair-brush.
“Oh, my father used to bring me here when I was a little girl,” she said. “Daddy’s always had good taste. That’s why he does so well in the antique business.”
“I’d sure like to meet him,” said Woolston and Elaine could not help feeling that this admission signified some kind of progress.
“Oh, but you shall, Woolston, you shall! He’s a dear, really, and I know he’d go for you because you’ve got so much in common.… You both have…well, I like to call it ‘male gentleness’. You’d like my Auntie Dolly, too, Daddy’s sister, but she’s a bit severe, like someone out of a Victorian novel. She’s so disgusted with the way people behave nowadays that she doesn’t want to meet anyone. That’s why she took a little cottage up in the Lake District, but she’s always very nice to me and I’m in her will. She’s a bit eccentric, of course. Sometimes she stays up all night and goes to bed in the daytime! That’s why she often calls me in the middle of the night.”
“Calls you? What for, honey?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Elaine, giggling in what she hoped was a fair imitation of Georgian belles at a barbecue, “I think she likes to check up on me now and again—you know what old people are!”
Considering that Aunt Dolly had no existence outside Elaine’s imagination and the demands of the master plan this was a creditable effort. It was not, however, entirely impromptu, for the creation of Aunty Dolly, and Aunty Dolly’s moral outlook, had been occupying Elaine’s thoughts for several days.
“I think you’d better take me home now, Woolston, dear,” she said, rising. “It’s already after eleven o’clock.”
They returned to the Avenue by train and he was mildly gallant in the compartment that they had to themselves. When they reached the short, tiled path up to Number Forty-Three Elaine took a deep breath.
“Look, Woolston, dear, I’ve just remembered something. I know it’s my birthday but I always feel we ought to give things to the people we like on birthdays, so I went out this morning and bought you a little present!”
“You did? Say, honey that was mighty foolish of you, but I’ll treasure it, I’ll treasure it whatever it is! What is it, honey?”
“Only a record…a medley of the Deep South, you know, bits of all the songs that the darkies sing, like ‘Dixie’. ‘Dixie’ is the main theme and I think you’ll like it, it’s so lovely and banjoey!”
He was touched. “That’s mighty nice of you, honey, mighty nice! You sure go out o’ yo’ way to keep me from bein’ homesick, but heck, I don’t have a radiogram right here! How’m I gonna hear it played?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” said Elaine, eagerly. “I’ve got a portable gramophone, so why not come in for a moment and hear it right now? I’ll make you some tea, I always have a pot of tea before I go to bed.”
He hesitated and she held her breath.
“It’s kinda late, honey! I don’t want to compromise you ’mong the neighbours hereabouts!”
“Oh, but you couldn’t do that, Woolston, no
t if you didn’t stay! After all, we’re only going to play a record, and that’s a kind of alibi isn’t it? It won’t take a minute, really it won’t!”
He badly wanted to hear that record, and the Burgundy he had drunk had uplifted him. The wine, the brandy, and her demure companionship, had created within him a mood very conducive to sitting still and listening to banjo melodies of the Deep South.
“Okay, we’ll risk it, honey! But you better draw the curtains good! I’d sure hate to hurt your reputation ’round here!”
He followed her inside and through into what had once been the dining-room but was now her bed-sitting-room.
He looked around with interest while she was drawing the heavy blackout curtains but he averted his eyes from the bed. The gramophone and the new record were on a small circular table, close to the gas-fire which she bent down and lit.
“You sure fixed it real pretty in here, honey,” he told her and she smiled and told him to make himself comfortable while she put the kettle on for tea.
She made plenty of noise filling the kettle and then kicked off her shoes and tiptoed back into the hall, peering through the crack in the half-open door. He was sitting on the bed, his back against the padded headboard, and she noticed with satisfaction that he was yawning, prodigiously.
She left him alone while the kettle boiled and then bustled in with the tray, setting it down and starting up the gramophone. At once his head began to nod to the twang of banjos and he was far too relaxed to notice that a second sleeping pill, powdered this time, went into his cup with the sugar. She poured tea as the record played itself out.
“That was swell, real swell, honey!” he said, with another yawn. “Say, I’m tuckered! You know something? I could go to sleep right here!”
“You mustn’t do that, Woolston,” she said, with another barbecue giggle, “that really would compromise me! Listen to the other side and drink up your tea!”
She turned the record and he sipped his tea. Then, without protest from him, she played the first side over again and refilled his cup. When she turned back to hand it to him he was sound asleep, chin up and mouth open.
She remained very still for a few minutes and then gently lifted the arm of the gramophone and waited again. He did not stir but began to snore, gently and regularly. She turned down the gas, switched off all but the bedside light, and carried the tea tray into the kitchen to wash up.
When she returned he had slithered several inches, and she was able to lift his feet on to the bed and remove his shoes. Her action caused him to slide into an almost recumbent position and she softly adjusted the pillow and loosened his tie. Once he stirred and groaned, but she remained quite still and he did not wake. Finally she threw the eiderdown over his legs, undressed, put on her dressing-gown, and crept from the room, leaving the door ajar.
She was lightly asleep on the front room sofa when she heard the first tinkle of the telephone. She jumped, switched on the light and looked at her watch. It was ten minutes past three. She found her slippers and crept into the hall, peeping through the open door.
He was in the same position, high up on the bed and still sound asleep, but the persistent ringing of the ’phone on the bedside table must have disturbed him for he turned over and uttered a series of short grunts.
She had dreaded this moment. Everything depended on his automatic response to the telephone bell. After all, he was an adjutant and a ringing telephone must be second nature to him. All he had to do was to roll over, grab the receiver, say one word and then Muriel would do the rest.
She waited, biting her lips as the ’phone rang and rang. She found herself praying: “Answer it, Woolston! Answer it, you clot! Everything depends on you answering it! My entire future depends on you waking up and grabbing that ’phone!”
She was glad now that she had warned Muriel that he might not answer at once. The damned ’phone must have been ringing five minutes and it was within a foot of his ear! Suddenly and quite unexpectedly he sat up, rolled to the left, and snatched at the receiver.
“Yeah? Yeah? Who is it?”
She almost squealed with relief and then laughter as she studied his bemused expression, so bemused indeed that she was sure he had not yet remembered where he was. Muriel’s brittle voice crackled from the ’phone and Elaine heard the words: “Who’s that? Who is it? Is that a man? Do you hear me? Is that a man?”
She had to bite her hand to check the bubble of laughter, for suddenly he held the ’phone at arm’s length, as though it was a scorpion, and his eyes, still blank with bewilderment, roved the room. Muriel’s voice continued to crackle but her words were now indistinguishable.
This was Elaine’s cue. Deliberately she loosened the girdle of her dressing-gown and hurried into the room throwing herself across the bed and snatching the ’phone from his hand.
“Is that you, Aunt Dolly? Is it you, Auntie? It’s Elaine, here, darling! Who? A man? Nonsense, darling! There’s nobody here but me!”
She heard Woolston hiss and felt him plucking at her dressing-gown.
“I said something,” he hissed, “Dogonnit, I opened my big mouth…!”
Elaine pretended not to hear him. She was engaged in acting harder than she had ever acted for anyone in the past.
“But of course not, darling…how could there be…? Listen Auntie…listen.…”
This was Muriel’s cue. There was a sharp click as the receiver was replaced. Elaine stared at it for a moment, still sprawled across his knees and then, slamming down the ’phone she sat up and uttered a long, low wail of dismay.
“You…you spoke to her, Woolston! Oh, but you shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t have! What will she think? Whatever, can she think? Oh Woolston…!” and she climbed off the bed, slumped into the armchair and buried her face in her hands.
He was beside her in an instant, a wincing, quivering figure of shame and contrition.
“I guess it come natural, honey…I was dead to the world, and I just grabbed it…I wouldn’t have done it for the world, honey, you gotter believe that! I’d rather’ve cut my hand off, so help me, I would!”
“What…what did you say?” she whimpered.
“I dunno, I don’t remember…I asked who was calling, I guess. It come natural, honey, startin’ up like that!”
“But she’ll never forgive me, Woolston, never! She’ll never even speak to me again! And I was the only one in the will! It’s even worse than that, she’ll write to Daddy, and Daddy’ll be down here right away! He’ll never believe it was innocent, nobody will! Don’t you see what a dreadful mess you’ve made of everything?”
He did, indeed, and groaned aloud.
“How come I’m here? What happened to me? What’s the time?” he wanted to know.
“It’s after three, and you…you just wouldn’t wake up! It was all that wine, I suppose, and you seemed so terribly tired that I thought I’d leave you to sleep for a bit, and lay down in the other room. It was silly I suppose but how was I to know she’d ring? And how could I dream you’d be silly enough to answer if she did?”
He looked so wretched now that she thought he was going to burst into tears.
She seemed suddenly to realise that her dressing-gown was uncorded and whipped its folds about her. He turned his eyes away.
“Look, honey…I feel kinda responsible for this…I wouldn’t want you to quarrel with your family on my account. You been swell, and me…I figure I’d have gone loco here if it hadn’t been for you! What say we…we get married, huh? Then I figure it wouldn’t matter how much the old fuddy-duddies talked!”
It was like the final moment of a long and uncertain voyage across stormy waters; it was like the first, friendly twinkle of light, after hours and hours of stumbling along in the dark, but it was also more than that, it was a moment of supreme personal triumph, the climax of a campaign that reached back to the first day she had come to terms with her destiny, the day that she had decided that there was only one worthwhile goal for her, s
ecurity in the embrace of a man who was ‘loaded’!
Yet she was not free to savour the moment, not yet, not until he was safely out of the house and across the road in his billet at Number Four. Until then she must keep the stars from her eyes.
She said, so softly that he had to incline his head to hear her:
“I wouldn’t want you to marry me on that account, Woolston. That’s the most gallant thing any man ever said to me and I’ll always remember it, but what happened just now wasn’t your fault, it was an accident.” She paused a moment, watching him, then: “Of, course, if you really want to…if it had ever crossed your mind before this dreadful thing happened…?”
She must have underestimated herself, for there was really no need to take any more chances. He gave a little yelp and fell forward on his knees, lowering his head to her lap and covering her hands with kisses.
“I guess I’ll write to your father right away, honey! I guess I’ll tell him what a swell daughter he’s got and that I’m crazy to marry her, crazy, d’you hear me?”
She sighed and stroked his stiff, stubby hair.
“I’ll try and make a good wife, Woolston darling,” she said, and at the moment of saying she meant it.
CHAPTER XXV
Sunshine In November
AS EDGAR FRITH turned into the Avenue from Shirley Rise, and passed beside the shapeless mound that had once been his home, a shaft of November sunshine lunged at the even numbers opposite like a long, bronze spear, lighting for a moment the russet-coloured brickwork of Number Twenty and Twenty-Two where the rough-cast had fallen away from the space above the porches.
Edgar noted the sunshine and it seemed to him a good omen. It was not often that he returned to the Avenue. His memories of the years he had spent at Number Seventeen were not pleasant memories, nor was he successful in blotting them out when he was separated from Frances.
She was aware of this and had suggested accompanying him to London, but he had a very personal reason for wanting to make this trip alone. He was jealous of her high opinion of his professional judgment, and if Chaffery was going to laugh at him, and tell him to hump his prize back to Wales, mark it forty shillings, and sell it as a garden ornament, he did not want Frances to witness his humiliation.
The Avenue Goes to War Page 39