by Maggie Ford
It wasn’t going to be easy. Cissy’s letter had been disturbing. Her first thought had been to give what comforting words she could in the face of her terrible tidings. But suddenly she had a better idea.
Putting aside paper and pen, she grabbed Cissy’s letter and raced downstairs, her slippers flapping eagerly on the polished wood. Teddy was sitting in his armchair smoking his pipe, his gentle deep brown eyes contemplating the fire now blazing in the grate, even brighter for the cold outside, while the slow sweet strains of Brahms’ German Requiem wafted softly from the radiogram.
Slimly handsome for a man of forty-six, beneath almost black hair his pale narrow face with its strong nose and firm but gentle lips looked so deep in thought that Daisy knew she was disturbing him. But unable to stop her own headlong rush, she had already done so, his pensive expression transformed to one of concern.
‘Gently, lieberling! You will fall.’
She ignored the warning. ‘I’ve just had a thought. You know Cissy’s husband lost his tug and he’s having some sort of trouble with his insurance or something?’
‘So I understand.’
‘And you know his bank loaned him money on the security of his tug? Cissy’s explained some of it here.’ She waved the letter in the air. ‘I don’t think she understands it any more than I do, but it looks like they insisted he had a policy or something to cover the loan, well now he hasn’t got the boat. He’s been paid out by the insurance but he’s still got to pay the premium for the rest of the year and the bank wants its money back too. Something like that. But what it means is he’ll be in the clear paying back with the insurance money, but he hasn’t got a bean now to buy another boat to keep him in business. All that work and now he’s got nothing.’
She stopped for a second, out of breath from running and talking, for a deep intake of air to refill her lungs, and went on.
‘I was wondering, Teddy, he’s got nothing now.’
‘His wife has her shop.’
‘We can’t expect her to look after the three of them – her, him and their baby – on what that brings in.’
‘Many others must do so.’
‘I know, but banks and things – they’re always after their pound of flesh…’ She ignored the quirky ironic smile he gave at that. He had read his Shakespeare too. ‘But I was wondering if you were to lend…well, Cissy is almost family, isn’t she, so Eddie is as well, and she’s been so wonderful letting me carry on taking care of Noelle. I love Noelle so much, I can’t thank her enough for…’
‘One moment, please.’ Theodore lifted a narrow hand to stop the flow of words. ‘I am in the business of lending money, yes. But it is a business, my dear, not a charity.’
Daisy’s face fell. Dumbstruck, she stared at him, saw a face gone tight and cold, almost cruelly efficient. She had never seen this side of him before – the hard, calculating side that he kept in his office, the face he presented to his clients. She could hardly believe it and now she realised that before coming home he would put away that face and bring out the one he reserved for her, the mild, loving one. And she had always thought the only face he’d ever had had been the kind and loving one. It was like being told a lie.
Confused by it, all she could say was, ‘Charity begins at home, Teddy, darling,’ and saw him smile at her, slowly, sorrowfully, back to the man she knew.
‘Were I to begin lending money to all my friends, for nothing, I shall end up as poor as they.’
Daisy’s own eyes grew hard now. Two could play his game. ‘Do you ever give when professional bodies ask you for charity for some cause or other?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then what’s the difference between them and Cissy?’ she burst out, suddenly vehement. ‘You get nothing back from giving to charity except the satisfaction of giving. At least Eddie will pay you back in time, and if you want interest, I’m sure he’d agree to that, though I think it would be charitable not to charge my closest friend’s husband what the banks charge, or more. You were charitable enough to take Cissy in when she needed help. I’m not asking you not to expect anything out of it. I know you run a business but I just thought you’d be kinder to him than some cold-blooded banks who probably wouldn’t even consider him now.’
‘Because, my dear, they know him for a bad risk.’
‘And what if he is?’ she shot back at him, his calm argument in the face of her anger riling her. ‘He’ll be as honourable as he can under the circumstances. As for bad risk, but for the grace of God…And it wasn’t because he couldn’t manage his business. The tug sank. And he needs to keep his family’s head above water now – not later. If you could just be nice, for my sake, for Cissy’s.’ She was pleading now. ‘If you could just help him out, tide him over for the time being until he’s back on his feet again. Oh, please, Teddy! If Cissy has to sell her shop, they’ll have nothing. And all the good you did letting her stay here that time will be wasted.’
For a moment he looked at her as she fell silent, standing before him, her chest heaving, her argument exhausted. Then getting up, he went to the radiogram and lifted the arm from Brahms’ German Requiem which had long since come to an end. Gently lifting the record off the turntable he carefully put it in its sleeve, putting the sleeve in the cupboard rack underneath, everything done with utmost deliberation. Closing the cupboard doors, he came back and sat down. All this while Daisy waited and watched, for the first time in her life feeling real anger mounting towards him.
‘I will think about it,’ he said, but she wasn’t quite yet done.
‘Teddy…’ Her tone was businesslike, as cold as his had been. She came and sat stiffly on the arm of his chair, towering over him. ‘Teddy, I can’t see us ever having children. Not now. But we do still have Cissy’s daughter. She even spoke of our adopting her. I think it would be only kind to help her out in her hour of need when she has let us keep Noelle almost like our own child. She could have claimed her long ago, but she hasn’t.’
He looked up at her, dark eyes calculating. ‘Has it ever occurred to you, my dear, that she would not want her return because she has not informed her husband of her former indiscretion?’
Daisy wilted a little. ‘I’ve never thought of that.’
‘Then I suggest you do.’ His expression changed suddenly, softened. ‘I do promise you that I shall consider what help I can give your friend. I promise also that we shall soon go to see a specialist of gynaecology.’
Daisy’s heart leapt suddenly. All else forgotten, she unstiffened and next thing was throwing herself across the chair arm into his beloved arms.
‘I find no reason for your wife not to have a child.’ The specialist spoke in German, his tone coldly efficient.
Daisy frowned, not understanding, shot a look at Teddy. ‘What’s he saying? He doesn’t hold out much hope?’
But his smooth sallow face was grinning like some Cheshire cat. ‘On the contrary, my dear,’ he interpreted, ‘There’s nothing wrong with you.’
He turned back to the man who had begun addressing him again. Teddy replied, his voice ringing with delight as he translated for Daisy.
‘He says he is of the opinion that it must merely be of the mind. None of the tests have shown anything wrong with you. He is of the opinion that you are trying much too hard to conceive. That we both are trying much too hard.’
Daisy frowned again. ‘But how else are we going to have a baby? Of course we’ve been trying.’
‘No – you have it incorrectly.’ He turned back to the man saying something in German that softened the gynaecologist’s stern features, and brought a reply in a far warmer tone than he’d hitherto used.
Translating, Theodore gently took Daisy’s arm. ‘He is explaining that those so wanting a child may become tense during copulation and such tension will obstruct the normal result of the sexual act. He says we should relax when making love, and in time all will be well.’
‘But I’ve always been relaxed,’ Daisy cried.
/> ‘Not relaxed enough,’ Theodore returned after relaying her words to the gynaecologist. ‘What is on your mind when we are making love is, “Will I have a child this time?” You are over-anxious that this time something must happen.’
The specialist was speaking. His face once more stiff and formal. Teddy nodded, colouring as far as his pale complexion would allow.
‘We are to enjoy having…sex. He advises we do…things…while making love. That we should…enter into fantasy…and play games…you with me, I with you…’ He was definitely blushing. ‘I am telling you only what the Herr Doktor is saying, you understand?’
Now Daisy was blushing furiously, wishing she could be out of this surgery and as far away from the imperious man gazing at her as she could possibly get. But her heart was already singing.
The gynaecologist regarded them both, his light grey eyes fierce and commanding, trained more on her than on Theodore.
‘Now we have concluded our tests, Frau Helgott, and found no reason why you should not conceive of a child, you and your husband will attend a clinic where you will be taught relaxation with each other. You will begin on Tuesday, which is the day of the clinic, promptly at seven in the evening for two consecutive Tuesdays. You will be given your attendance card by the receptionist. You will not miss either appointment. Good day.’
He moved towards the door, opened it, executing a small curt bow as they passed through, his terse guten Tag almost as though he bore them a grudge.
Daisy’s thank-you smile lay frozen on her lips. All she had understood to any degree apart from the dismissive goodbye, was die Klinik, unmistakable in either language, Dienstag being Tuesday, and the time appointed them, sieben Uhr, but the imperious tone of command had not been missed and she shivered to even dream of disobeying it. Yet the manner of the gynaecologist had instilled her with such confidence that she somehow knew that before long she would be carrying Theodore’s baby. As they left, she offered up prayers of grateful thanks to the Almighty that Theodore had brought her to Germany to live.
Cissy sat reading Daisy’s letter, the first lines an excited scribble as if a moment wasted might make her wonderful news untrue. It was a good job the postman came early around here, Cissy thought as she went back up the stairs to read over a final cup of tea before going down to open up the shop.
She read at first with joy for Daisy, turning vaguely to concern for what such wonderful news could eventually portend for herself.
Daisy was pregnant. Daisy was overjoyed. ‘After all these years of going to specialists in France, them shaking their heads as if they couldn’t care less, then a German doctor, such a wonderful, efficient German doctor, has wrought a small miracle – no, a huge miracle. Aren’t you just thrilled for me?’ Daisy’s writing shouted at her for support.
The letter was all about how the specialist had frightened her with his German correctness, almost brow-beating her, she’d thought at the time. But oh, how she could kiss his hand now!
Cissy was happy for her, yes, but there was a tremor of foreboding creeping into her heart, especially the following words proving not so cheerful: Noelle, gone down with chickenpox just over a week ago, was getting over it, and wouldn’t be scarred at all, the doctor ordering her little fingertips to be bound with soft bandage to stop her scratching off the crusting heads of the spots. She would be as pretty as ever – an accompanying photograph of her taken earlier showed a most pretty four-year-old that Cissy felt a surge of mother love come over her.
There had been of course no question of claiming her back, Eddie knowing nothing about her and hopefully he would never know. She was even thinking seriously of letting Daisy adopt her, but now here was Daisy announcing her pregnancy, would she still want to adopt? Reading on, how Daisy had hardly been off her feet during Noelle’s chickenpox, how tired she’d been, how she wondered how she’d cope in her condition if Noelle fell ill again, and so many childish illnesses she hadn’t yet had, Cissy’s heart, from rising to her friend’s wonderful news, now plummeted.
Yet if Daisy was suffering a change of heart how could she feel angry after what she and Theodore had done for her – for Eddie?
Not long after the Cicely went down, had come word from Theodore saying he wished to help, enclosing a cheque of an amount near enough to pay off what Eddie owed the bank, thus leaving him the insurance money to buy another tug. He had added that it was not charity but a loan to be repaid in Eddie’s own good time, interest at one per cent. One per cent! If that wasn’t charity, Cissy thought, overwhelmed by Theodore’s generosity, she couldn’t say what was.
Eddie, however, had been startlingly ungrateful, waving the cheque in her face as though she had been in on some conspiracy.
‘What’s this then? I suppose you’ve been blabbing to your friend how badly off we are, how I can’t provide fer me own family.’
‘I haven’t.’ She had been taken aback.
‘Tellin’ ’er all about how you ’ave ter provide fer us now. You and yer shop. Me with no livelihood to me fingertips. Leading ’er to think you’re ’ard done by and I can’t keep you without ’elp.’
‘Of course she doesn’t think that.’
‘Then why this? And ’ow does she know all about us?’
‘It wasn’t a secret what happened, Eddie. I just wrote and told her of our bit of bad news. And I suppose she wanted to help us somehow.’
‘Well, they’ve got money, ain’t they? And ’er husband now thinks he can go giving me ’andouts like I was a pauper.’
‘It’s nothing like that! Daisy and I have been close ever since we first started working together. We’ve always helped each other out.’
‘I bet you ’ave,’ he’d shot at her with such venom that it left her bewildered, with no idea what he was alluding to.
It wasn’t like Eddie, the Eddie she once knew. Churlish, uncertain of temper, it was the times they were living in, worrying about where the next penny was coming from. He didn’t want what he called handouts, yet he could hardly return the money. Throwing it back at them would have, he growled, diminished him even more in that he’d look scared of having to pay back even at one per cent. He had some pride, even though some people tried to put it down.
At the end of February, rather reluctantly but circumstances having the last word, he bought another tug, fortunately a buyer’s market in these bad times. When she’d asked if he would be naming it Cicely, he had been most offhand; said he’d never give a tug of his that name ever again. She might have taken it as a compliment except for the look he had thrown her, as though blaming her for something she’d done, though she couldn’t think what. When she had asked, he hadn’t answered. She had written her profound thanks to Daisy and Theodore for their wonderful generosity on Eddie’s behalf.
There was more to Daisy’s letter, catching up on all the news from the country she now called her home.
‘We’ve had some odd things happen here though I don’t bother much about politics, as you know. There was some trouble in Berlin last month. The Reichstag was burned down. It was arson and there’s a lot of rumours f lying about, though no one is saying who they suspect, I don’t think I should say who I think it was either. You never know who could read one’s letters and I don’t want Teddy to get into any trouble…’
Cissy gnawed at her lips. Something wasn’t right about the tone of Daisy’s letter. Far from her usual happy or carping self as the case may be, it had an ominous ring and Cissy felt apprehension run through her. It was like what she’d read in history books: intrigues of Henry VIII’s court, terrors of the Spanish Inquisition, unease of Cromwell’s time. With no comparison in modern days, it was the only way she could describe it. It sent a shiver up her back – the friend she’d spent so many carefree days at work with, now writing like some anxious spy. She read on hurriedly:
‘The new Chancellor has curtailed all personal liberties and public meetings. Understandable I suppose. Well, it was the Parliament building. And if ours
went up in flames…But all Jewish shops now have notices on them that they are to be boycotted so maybe the Chancellor suspects Jewish connections. But what worries me is that the girl who used to come to do our house told Teddy she wouldn’t be working for us any more because he’s Jewish. And we’re being snubbed by our neighbours. No one’s talking to us.
Funny, I never think of Teddy as Jewish. It’s all a bit worrying and not nice. I expect it’ll blow over like most things do, but it’s rotten for Teddy. He’s such a kind person and I can’t see why anyone needs to be nasty to him. He feels it. We both feel it. And yesterday, one of the children in Noelle’s kindergarten spat at her, and his mother said he had every right. I wanted to go round to have a row with her over it. After all, you don’t do that sort of thing in England and get away with it. But Teddy wouldn’t let me, and anyway I still can’t speak German enough to have an all out row with someone. I could in England, of course. So I had to do what Teddy asked, and say nothing. But I’m so angry…’
Cissy looked at the clock on the mantelpiece and realised how the time had gone on, now she only had two minutes to get downstairs and open up. Putting Daisy’s letter aside, she hurried off, thinking less about Germany’s problems than about Noelle being spat at and the implication it had – Daisy hinting of tiring of looking after Noelle, that before long something awkward was going to crop up, and what would Eddie say to her having kept secret from him that she had a child living in Germany? She could see no way out of it all coming suddenly to light. It was a worrying prospect, enough to make her feel quite sick as she hurried downstairs.