by Rosie Clarke
‘Only a little white lie,’ she said, seeing disappointment in his eyes. ‘I only wanted a bit of fun and it spiralled out of control… the contracts keep mounting up…’
‘No wonder you’ve got behind with your art.’ Sebastian’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘You know what a fool you’ve been, letting these people exploit you, so I shan’t lecture you, Francie, but you can’t do any more. My lawyers will sort this mess out and I’ll do my best to fix things with the college – but you must give me your word to knuckle down to your art and forget this nonsense.’
Francie wanted to tell him how lovely it had been working for the nicer magazines. She hadn’t wanted to do those pictures of her lying half-naked and staring up into the handsome face of a male model clad in very little as far as the photos showed, except that he’d kept swimming trunks on all the time – but from the way a towel was draped across his backside, it would appear that he had nothing on and she had little but some artfully draped silk to cover her body. She had actually worn a flesh-coloured body former underneath but it looked as if she were naked after they’d touched out any lines. If her father ever saw those pictures he would kill her!
‘I promise,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to lose the scholarship to study in Paris, Dad…’
‘Well, I’ll do my best for you,’ her father said, ‘but I can’t promise you, Francie. I shall have to speak to your headmistress and hear what she has to say… and I’ll keep that wretched contract.’
‘I’m sorry I let you down…’
‘It wasn’t your fault. You were foolish, but too young to understand what you were getting into. I know who to blame and believe me they’ll be sorry by the time my solicitor gets through with them…’ He made a note on a pad on the desk, and then handed the magazine back to her. ‘Go and see if your mother needs anything, and I’ll make that call to Miss Honiton now…’
*
‘It’s a pity you didn’t telephone me the instant you suspected something odd was going on,’ Sebastian said coldly into the telephone.
‘I thought it was just a piece of innocent fun at first,’ Miss Honiton replied. ‘It is a case of not wanting to tell tales, Mr Winters. When I realised it wasn’t just a one-off thing I warned Francie that she was in danger of losing her scholarship.’
‘Has her work deteriorated so much?’
‘It has suffered. As I told her, she has to live for her art if she wants it to live for others… it is in all honesty nothing that a little more time spent at her easel wouldn’t cure, but I wanted to shock her.’
‘She will work here and I’ll see this other business is sorted out. The contract they made her sign is ridiculous, if not to say dubious and downright illegal. I’m handing it over to my lawyers. Francie was duped into signing it – and she was under age. At fourteen, she needed my consent to enter the contest and they know it. I haven’t spoken to this Kathy person yet, but when I do she will wish she’d thought twice about using an innocent girl…’
‘I’m so glad Francie made a clean breast of it,’ Miss Honiton said. ‘She does need to work for her exams, but I know you have everything she needs there with you – and I’ll send a copy of her coursework through the post. She will miss the lectures, but I can send tapes so she can listen and that may help her. It would be a shame if Francie didn’t pass the art exams she has coming up this term – and I should then be obliged to give the scholarship to another pupil. In fact, my advice would be to remove her from the school and allow her time to make up her mind as to what she truly wishes to do.’
‘Are you telling me you no longer wish her to be one of your pupils?’
‘No, I have great faith in her ability, but I do not believe that art should be forced on anyone. Unless Francie truly wishes to continue she will not achieve her full potential. She needs to commit one way or the other…’
‘Yes, she will, I promise you… ’ Sebastian said. ‘Thank you for listening, but for the moment Francie is needed here with her mother…’
‘Of course. Thank you for letting me know so quickly…’
Sebastian replaced the telephone. He glanced down at the magazine pictures of his youngest daughter and felt a shock as he saw quite clearly that Francie wasn’t a child… or perhaps it was because he was her father that he thought she looked like an innocent waif, which could make her vulnerable to predators. It was her very innocence that would appeal to men of all ages. She’d smiled at him like that on the beach, but she was his daughter and he loved her as a father should; appreciating and loving her immaturity, but even he could see that she was that elusive thing, a child-woman. A part of him felt proud of her beauty and the sweet innocence he saw in her face, but he also felt that this new world she’d entered held too many dangers for a girl of her age and he was angry that she’d been tricked into it.
God! He would like to tear that Kathy woman limb from limb! It was just as well he had more important things to do first, because it would give him time to clear his head, but he would certainly deal with the woman when he returned.
Chapter 9
They’d been working non-stop all morning when Marie told Betty to take her break and enjoy the unusually warm sunshine. It was October but it might have been high summer, because the heat had been intense and sweat was trickling down Betty’s back beneath her thin blouse.
‘Go for a walk, ma enfant,’ Marie told her with a smile. ‘The customers will sit for hours over their wine now we have finished the midday rush. It is only Michele, Jean and Renoir… and they have no money to spend…’
Her eyes sparkled with mischief, because the artist she teasingly named Renoir was really a young Englishman who was trying very hard to follow in the footsteps of the famous Impressionist but was not truly very good.
‘You are wicked,’ Betty told her and went off with a smile on her face. Not far away there was a beautiful park where she loved to walk when she had the chance. She found a bench under a shady tree and sat down to rest. Her hair had grown longer and she wore it twisted into a pleat at the back of her head and held with pins while she worked, but now she removed the pins and shook it loose. Since she’d had a little more money to spend, Betty had been to the hairdresser and had the all-over lightening that she’d always wanted and she knew her hair, which previously she’d had cut much shorter and bleached, was now a proper strawberry blonde and she loved it. She just wished she had someone to take her out… someone to wear the new dress she’d designed and made for herself, after finishing Marie’s.
Her friend had loved the dress and was planning to wear it when she closed the café for two weeks in November and went to stay with her cousin at her villa in the South of France.
‘Hortense will adore it,’ she’d told Betty. ‘You are very talented, my little one, and do not let anyone tell you different.’
Marie was so kind to her, but Betty knew she was biased. Lost in her thoughts, Betty was not at first aware that she was being watched. Glancing up as she felt a prickling sensation at her nape, she saw that two men were staring at her and seemed more than a little interested. When she realised that one of them was Pierre she felt a jolt of something rather like pain shot through with regret, because it was the first time she’d seen him since he’d thrown her out.
Betty’s heart raced as the men walked over to where she sat. Part of her wanted to get up and run but pride held her where she was, refusing even to acknowledge him until he spoke to her.
‘Betty, you look… gorgeous,’ he said in that voice that could melt her insides. ‘What ’ave you done to yourself?’
‘Hello, Pierre,’ she said, ignoring his question. ‘I’ve been working… and I have to get back to work now…’
‘Why you must rush?’ Pierre asked, his smile making the blood pound in her veins and her heart race. ‘Stay and talk to us… my friend Marcus wants to meet you… Marcus this is Betty, the young English girl I told you of…’
Something about his companion’s heavy-lidded eyes as
they moved over her sent shivers down Betty’s spine. She thought he might be French-Algerian or perhaps Turkish, and something in his manner was menacing. She saw an expression that might have been anger or excitement in his eyes, but his smile did not waver as he told her she was very lovely and he was happy to make her acquaintance.
‘Betty, ’ave you nothing to say to my friend?’
‘Monsieur is very kind,’ she replied coldly. ‘Now, if you will excuse me – I must return to work or I shall be late.’
‘Betty,’ Pierre chided playfully. ‘You know ’ow much I love you, ma cherie. I am sorry that we parted so badly, but I was – ’ow you say, under great anxiety. Now everything ’as changed… and I want you to forgive me…’ He looked at Marcus, who inclined his head. ‘You let me take you out this evening… we go to the cafés and see our friends and perhaps watch the cabaret…’
For a moment Betty was tempted, because she would’ve liked to see her friends, and she’d thought she loved Pierre, but then she shook her head. She’d been a fool once and she had no intention of falling into the same trap twice, even if her heart had leaped at the sight of him.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t have time,’ she said coolly. ‘It was nice seeing you again, Pierre… Monsieur…’
She walked away, her head in the air, aware that the men were watching her. She might have forgiven Pierre, because a part of her was still attracted to him despite the way he’d treated her, but something about Pierre’s friend had made her uneasy. There was a look in his eyes that made her feel cold all over and instinct told her to stay well away from men like that. All he could want from a girl like her was to use her. Betty knew that if Pierre had been alone she might well have welcomed the chance to visit the cafés and have an evening with the friends she’d made when she first arrived in Paris… but she hadn’t liked the calculating look in the other man’s eyes, as if he were stripping her naked.
She walked quickly, not looking back over her shoulder and so failed to notice that she was being followed. For a moment Betty thought of her mother and was caught by a wave of longing for her home. She wished she could see her mother and Francie… but not Sebastian. Oh no, she hadn’t forgiven him… and yet something inside was hurting so bad and she wanted to see his smile and feel his arms about her.
Knuckling away her tears, Betty entered the café and went through to the back kitchen. She stood in front of the spotty old mirror and twisted her hair up into its neat little pleat and then picked up her tray and went back into the café. There were cups and glasses to clear and tables to clean…
*
‘Have you heard anything since Sebastian left for France?’ Beth asked when she visited that morning. ‘Frank came to see us last night and he’s very worried – he wondered if there was any news of Betty…’
‘Frank? I don’t think I’ve met him?’
‘You wouldn’t; he met Betty at our house,’ Beth said. ‘I believe he, Jenny, and Matt all went to a skiffle concert once: Lonnie Donegan, I think it was – and they may have gone to the flicks or a jazz club a couple of times. He’s a year or so older than Matt, though they were at college together, but he’s not a Londoner. He lives in Cambridge; he designs stuff for airports… Matt says he’s clever and he travels all over the place, because people want his advice about the problems of modern travel. Frank is trying to make travelling by air more comfortable for passengers, because he thinks holidays in Spain and France are going to be the norm one day in the near future… affordable for the many and not just the privileged few…’
‘That sounds wonderful,’ Lizzie said and sighed. ‘Why couldn’t Betty have fallen for him instead of this Frenchman?’
‘Who knows what goes on in the mind of young girls these days?’ Beth said. ‘All they seem to think about is clothes and make-up, music – and film stars…’
‘Have you seen those pictures of Francie?’ Lizzie asked, her gaze narrowing. ‘Sebastian wasn’t very pleased about them – but they didn’t look too terrible to me, though they do make her seem at least eighteen instead of nearly fifteen…’
‘Francie showed me,’ Beth said. ‘She was a silly girl to get pushed into it in the first place, though of course I see the attraction, and I think those people took advantage of her innocence, made her feel she was legally bound to them because she entered the competition.’
‘I think she was excited and flattered too…’ Lizzie said. ‘I don’t really mind her doing it myself, though I know Sebastian is upset – he thinks she’s out of her depth amongst people like that…’
‘He may be right, Lizzie. It makes me glad Jenny got married so young, even though I was dubious about it at the time… but I suppose we weren’t much more sensible, were we?’
‘Not much…’ Lizzie laughed and some of the tension left her. ‘You fell for Mark and got caught out – and I married Harry and that all went wrong, but we both came through it all right. I tried to tell Sebastian not to be too hard on Francie, and I know he won’t make the mistake he made with Betty. He hasn’t stopped blaming himself for her running off… I just hope she’s safe with this Pierre and not in any trouble…’
‘He’ll find her,’ Betty said. ‘Sebastian won’t give up, Lizzie…’ She hesitated then, ‘You two are still all right together, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. Why do you ask?’ Lizzie frowned, because Beth couldn’t look her in the eyes and she knew that expression of old. ‘Come on, Beth. I know you’re holding something back – please tell me…’
‘I don’t want to upset you, love… I’m sure it was nothing important…’
‘Did you see Sebastian with a woman?’
Lizzie’s direct question made Beth stare at her. ‘So you know… I was sure it didn’t mean anything…’
‘Aunt Miriam saw him with a woman in a dress shop in Knightsbridge. She thought he’d been buying her clothes – and I’m sure she’s convinced that he’s having an affair…’
‘If he is he must be mad,’ Beth said. ‘I saw them coming out of a block of flats in Southwark. A row of lovely old houses that have been turned into flats now, much nicer than the high-rise flats the council are sticking up all over the place, and probably expensive…’
‘What were you doing out there?’ Lizzie raised her brows.
‘Jenny’s husband is after a vacant flat. She wanted to stay with us until the baby is born but her husband is buying a flat for them – it’s a ground-floor apartment with two bedrooms and the use of the garden. He thinks it will be a good investment for the future – they can let it if they’re posted abroad again and he thinks it will rise in value. I went to have a look with Jenny…’
‘What is this woman like? Is she very pretty?’
‘She’s older than you – and she’s not at all pretty. She might have been once but she appears washed out and… I thought she might have been very ill…’
‘You had a good look at her then?’
‘Yes. She was well dressed, but plainly – nothing special about her…’
‘I see…’ Lizzie nodded. ‘It would be easy to jump to conclusions, Beth, but Sebastian loves me. He’s worried to death because I’m having this baby – and he insisted that Francie stays home and does her college work here, because he didn’t want me to be alone.’
‘You’re hardly alone with that nurse and Aunt Miriam fussing over you…’ Beth shook her head. ‘I’m sure there is nothing in it, Lizzie – and I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.’
‘You haven’t,’ Lizzie assured her. ‘I’m determined not to be silly about this or judge Sebastian until I know the truth…’ Determined not to show any distress, Lizzie fished under the eiderdown for her sketchbook. ‘I’ve been forbidden to work, but I had some ideas and I can’t bear just lying here day after day. Could you take these into Romany for me? It’s just some variations on our spring line for next year… ask her if she has time to pop in for a visit. I want to talk about some new ideas for the summer…’
‘Su
rely you don’t have to worry about that so soon? We haven’t had Christmas yet…’
‘Hats are much harder to sell these days,’ Lizzie told her. ‘The younger generation don’t wear them as much as we used to, unless it’s for church or a wedding – except for the Ascot race days, of course. I don’t think that will ever change… not as long as the Queen mother and Queen Elizabeth love them…’
‘I still love my hats, Lizzie.’ Beth sighed and smiled. ‘I wear them whenever I get the chance…’
‘Well, why not?’ Lizzie looked at her questioningly, because she knew her friend so well and something was wrong. ‘Are you worried about anything, love?’
Beth shook her head, but Lizzie could see she was holding back and she gave her a straight look. Beth saw it and burst out laughing.
‘That’s the trouble with us – we know read each other’s minds…’ she admitted. ‘Tony and I are all right – but I worry about the kids. Jenny isn’t carrying the baby as well as she might. Tony says I worry too much, but you know what it’s like, Lizzie… and Matt doesn’t want to take over the shops from his father. I think he has some idea of being a sports journalist… or writing books.’
‘There’s nothing wrong in working as a journalist or in writing books…’
‘You try telling that to Tony. He says it’s pie in the sky stuff and that Matt should go into the shops and use his education to improve them… he wants more shops, a whole fleet of them…’
‘Men and ambition,’ Lizzie teased. ‘I shouldn’t worry, love. Matt can write in his spare time and Jenny will probably get on much better than you think…look at me. I’ve been condemned to bed under dire warnings…’
‘Compared to your troubles mine are nothing,’ Beth said and leaned forward to kiss her. ‘Make sure you rest, love. We could none of us manage without you. Now I’ll take the sketches and go before your dragon lady comes after me…’