by Rosie Clarke
‘I wouldn’t dream of saying anything of the sort. You know this house, my money and shares in the workshop will come to you – if you wanted help to set up your own place I’d sell my shares and give you the money…’
‘I’m not ready yet,’ Betty said. ‘I want to work for someone else first and learn my trade from the bottom and then… if I work hard and learn the trade I could be successful.’
‘I think that’s a sensible plan, my love. I know you’ll do it, Betty. Your uncle was a brilliant cutter in his time and your mother is clever at her hat making. If you want to design dresses then go ahead…’
‘Will you let me make you something – and then wear it without telling my parents where it came from… to see what they think of it?’
‘If you have belief in yourself, no one else’s opinion matters,’ Aunt Miriam said, ‘but I’ll back you up all the way.’
‘Thanks,’ Betty hugged her. ‘I’m going home for a few days to see Mum and give Francie her birthday gift, but I don’t want to stay there – can I live with you for a while?’
‘For as long as you wish,’ Aunt Miriam said. ‘If your father allows it…’
‘I’ll talk to him,’ Betty said, ‘but if he says no I’ll find myself a room somewhere. Don’t worry, I shan’t disappear, but I don’t want to live at home…’ She shook her head. Sebastian’s careless desertion of her in Paris was still too raw and painful. Aunt Miriam had got through to her a little, but she still wasn’t ready to forgive him or accept that he really was her dad. ‘I wanted to talk to you first – but I’d better go home…’
*
‘Frank, I thought you would want to know,’ Matt said as he ordered coffee for two in the popular cafe. Someone had put a coin in the jukebox and Tab Hunter was crooning about young love. ‘Betty got home and it seems she’s OK – but I thought one of us ought to pop round to her aunt’s and see if she wants to talk. If she’s in any kind of trouble she may need our help…’
‘I’ll go round one evening and ask her out for a coffee or something…you know you can rely on me if anything is wrong…’
‘Supposing she’s having that devil’s baby?’ Matt said, watching his reaction carefully. ‘I know it’s illegal – but we could probably find someone to get rid of it for her…’
‘No! She’s not going through that,’ Frank said firmly. ‘If she’s in that kind of trouble I’ll marry her.’
‘Are you sure, Frank? I know you care for her but that’s a big commitment…’ Matt looked him in the eyes, because he needed to know what Frank felt.
‘I love her, Matt. I don’t blame her for what happened. I could kill that bastard – but she was just a kid and she doesn’t deserve to be made to suffer for it any more than she has. She might not tell me, but she talks to you – ask her if she needs help and if she does…’
‘Right, I’ll have a word with her – and if you’re interested I think you’re a great bloke, Frank.’
‘I’m not making a sacrifice. I love her…one day you’ll know what that means…’
‘Fine,’ Matt grinned at him and fished for a coin in his pocket. ‘I’m going to see if there’s any decent Jazz on that thing instead of all this daft love stuff…’
He placed his coin in the jukebox, a frown marring his forehead. Frank wasn’t the only one that wanted to kill Saint-Jacques for what he’d done to Betty. He had no intention of telling his friend, but if he ever got the chance he might do just that…
*
Lizzie was sitting in a comfortable chair in the large sitting room overlooking the garden. It was a pleasant day, the wintry sun having broken through misty clouds after lunch and she had her sketch pad on her lap, a box of her favourite pencils and pastels next to her on the arm of her chair, but for some reason she hadn’t drawn a thing so far. Sebastian’s call had unsettled her and she couldn’t help wondering where he was and what he was doing.
She heard a door knocker and Lizzie’s cleaning lady had gone to open it… Beth was in the kitchen making tea for them. Romany had said she might come over to discuss the Christmas promotions, so Lizzie wasn’t expecting anything when the door opened and someone entered. It took a moment for her to realise that it was Betty, looking nervous and clutching a little posy of flowers. For that second Lizzie stared in disbelief and then jumped up, overturning the box of pencils and sending the sketchbook flying.
‘Betty, my darling, you’re home!’ she cried and opened her arms wide.
Betty came flying across the room and into her arms and then they were hugging and kissing, both of them crying.
‘Oh, Betty, I’ve been so worried – and Sebastian has been wretched, terrified something had happened to you and blaming himself…’
‘Mum, I’m sorry you were worried,’ Betty said and wiped the tears from her mother’s cheeks with her fingertips.
Lizzie touched her hair, feeling the joy at having her daughter home flood through her. ‘How lovely you look – and so grown-up. What have you been doing in Paris?’
‘I’ve been a fool, Mum. Going off like that and upsetting everyone. I’m really sorry for what I did. I didn’t realise what I was getting into…’ Betty gave a little sob. ‘I’m really glad to be back… if you can forgive me’
‘Of course we will! You’re our daughter and we love you. Sebastian loves you. He’s so sorry for what happened… there is no excuse for him raising his hand to you, but he had a lot on his mind, worries over the business and other things, I imagine. He shouldn’t have done it and he has told me he will never do such a thing again, but you were wrong too, Betty. You shouldn’t have said those things… and you should never have run off with a man like that. It was dangerous and foolish and we might have lost you for good…’
‘Mum, I’m so sorry. I made a mistake. Forgive me, please? I was so mixed up and unhappy. You won’t hate me, will you?’
‘Of course I shan’t and I have forgiven you, though I do want to know what happened out there.…’ Lizzie looked at her anxiously. ‘We were so worried… were you with friends? You should’ve let us know where you were… just a phone call would have been enough.’
‘I know. I’m so sorry…’ Betty bit her lip. ‘I can’t tell you yet, Mum. I want to but not yet…’
‘I shan’t force you, but I think we should talk… as women and friends… don’t you?’
Betty nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. ‘I feel terrible, Mum. I just can’t tell you some of it… please don’t make me…’
‘You don’t have to tell me it all… but tell me as much as you can about what happened, Betty, please? You can’t simply disappear and not give us an explanation…’
‘I was with a man but… it didn’t work and I was on my own for a while. I’ve made a lot of friends in Paris; I’ve worked hard in a café but I’ve also worked on my designs and I know what I’m going to do with my life now,’ Betty said. ‘I’m going to work as a seamstress in a fashion house, learn the business from the bottom up – and then I’m going to design clothes. Not hats like you, Mum. Your designs were so good I couldn’t better them, but I’ve always loved making dresses…’
‘And you do it well,’ Lizzie agreed. ‘Romany might be able to help you find a job. She has a lot of contacts in the rag trade and she thinks the world of you, Betty. I’m sure she’ll help you get started…’
Betty stood back and stared at her. ‘You wouldn’t mind? You don’t think I should go back to college as Dad said?’
‘No, not now, Betty,’ Lizzie said. ‘You’ve had a taste of working for a living and you’ve proved you can survive on your own.’ She smiled at her daughter. ‘Sebastian only wanted what he thought best for you, darling – but this time he will listen, I promise.’
Betty drew away. ‘He asked me to meet him at a hotel, Mum, but when I got there he’d checked out in a hurry. He left me a note and the money to get home… but why did he just go off like that? I’m sure the girl in reception thought I was a floozy; it was so
humiliating…’
‘I don’t know, but be sure I’ll ask him about it.’ Lizzie drew her down to sit on the squashy seat beside her, wanting to hold her close so that she wouldn’t ever leave again. ‘Your father is mixed up in something,’ she said. ‘I think it’s some kind of secret work, something to do with the last war…’
‘That’s been over for years,’ Betty dismissed it with a shake of her head. ‘How can it have anything to do with that?’
‘No, my darling, it isn’t over, not for everyone. There are still people without homes or have family that they can’t trace… so many people were lost and misplaced during that awful time… I don’t really know exactly, but I just feel it’s all mixed up with what he was doing in the war…’
Betty sat up straight and stared at her. ‘Do you think he could be a spy… but that would be dangerous?’
‘I’m not sure he’s a spy but…’ Lizzie broke off as they heard Francie’s voice outside the door. ‘Don’t say anything to Francie. We don’t have to worry her yet…’
Betty nodded and stood up as the door was flung open and her younger sister came bursting in wearing Betty’s clothes, which she’d managed to get paint all over, a paintbrush tucked behind one ear.
‘Beth just told me! She said not to come in yet because you’d want to talk to Mum, but I couldn’t wait. Betty, you’re home…’ Francie cried and hurtled towards her. ‘I’m so glad! So glad! Where the hell have you been?’
‘Working in cafés,’ Betty said and laughed as Francie pulled a wry face. ‘It was fun, but I’ll tell you all about it later. Why aren’t you at college – and who told you, you could wear my things?’ Betty teased and Francie laughed in delight. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here for your birthday, love, but I’ve got a present for you – and I did send a card to the college…’
‘Oh, thanks,’ Francie hugged her. ‘You don’t mind about the skirt, do you? I always liked your clothes, and you left this behind…’
‘I don’t care if you wear my things, Francie. I’m going to be making lots now… and you can tell me what you like and what you hate… and be my model…’
Francie went white and looked at Lizzie. ‘No, I didn’t tell her,’ Lizzie joined in the teasing. ‘Betty, your sister is in disgrace with Sebastian for becoming a famous photographic model…’
‘What have you been doing, Francie?’ Betty put her arm about her. ‘It sounds exciting?’
‘Yes, it was…’ Francie told her about the competition and how she’d been given a contract and had her pictures in several magazines.
‘And your father isn’t too pleased, because he’s afraid she’ll be too famous to know us…’
‘Mum!’ Francie giggled. ‘I’m not famous – but I might be if Dad wasn’t so cross about it. Miss Honiton threatened to kick me out of college if I let my work slide and to rescind the scholarship in Paris…’
‘The mean old devil.’ Betty hugged her sister. ‘You’ll love it there, Francie – I thought your art meant everything to you?’
‘It did – it does,’ Francie said, ‘but it was fun doing the photo shoots. I’ve just got the latest magazine. I daren’t show it to Dad – but I think it’s good…’
‘You haven’t shown it to me either,’ Lizzie said and frowned. ‘Is it very awful, Francie?’
‘Dad is going to think so,’ Francie said and produced the magazine from under a cushion on the sofa. It came through the post this morning and I hid it because I was afraid of what you might say…’
Betty took the magazine and flicked through until she found the pictures. She frowned over them for a few minutes and then nodded. ‘Dad will hate them, Francie, because they make you look older – and so sexy, but they’re really good. You’re gorgeous, and this photographer has done a fantastic job…’ She used the word Dad talking to her sister without realising it and then frowned, because she would be a fool to slip back into the old ways. He’d shown how little he cared when he left her in Paris. She handed the magazine to Lizzie. ‘Look at it sensibly, Mum, and not as a mother…’
Lizzie looked at the spread of several rather lovely photographs of her daughter. Francie was delectable, beautiful, leggy and very enticing – but much too knowing and grown-up for a very recent fifteen-year-old. She was wearing filmy clothing that seemed to reveal her flesh through it, but there was nothing that Lizzie wouldn’t have accepted in any other model.
‘I was wearing a bodysuit underneath, Mum… it isn’t as bad as it appears.’
‘She isn’t naked,’ Betty said, ‘and I think she looks beautiful…’
‘Yes, I do see, Betty,’ Lizzie agreed, ‘but your father is going to hit the roof, Francie! I think he will sue the pants off the person who made you have these taken…’
‘Then don’t show him, Mum,’ Betty said. ‘What the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve for…’
‘That is quite enough, Betty! We’ll have no more lies in this family. Your father will be angry, Francie, but I’ll do what I can to calm him down.’
‘I was wearing a flesh-coloured leotard under that filmy thing, Mum, honestly,’ Francie pleaded with her eyes. ‘I said no at first, but Kathy said I had to…’
‘Sebastian will murder her when he gets back…’ Lizzie said.
‘He can’t know,’ Betty said. ‘By the time he gets home these magazines will be off the stands. Are there any more to come, Francie?’
‘Not like these,’ Francie said and grinned at her. ‘It was fun though – and I wouldn’t mind working for a magazine again… but not quite like these… more fashion photography.’
‘You’d do well in Paris. Veronique would have you working with her like a shot…’
‘Who is Veronique?’ Francie wanted to know, listening in fascination as Betty told her about her Parisian friends.
Lizzie watched her girls talking, half-listening to their chatter but just happy to have them both here and safe.
Lizzie was torn between her love for her husband and anger that he could risk all they had for this secret work. Surely he’d given enough in the war? It was time he gave it up, whatever it was, and spent time with her and his children.
Oh, God! Please let him come home… she didn’t know how she’d bear it if she never saw him again…
Chapter 14
Sebastian saw them sitting together at a table in the corner of the shabby bar: two men and a woman, one of the men obviously a German official from the look of his uniform. They were the only customers, which wasn’t surprising to Sebastian; the place smelled of spilled beer and something more unpleasant coming from the rear of the bar. He conquered his distaste for the whole affair, which seemed somehow sordid and far from what he’d imagined, because all the false papers and Jack’s strict instructions about their identities made it seem unreal. Was this truly the girl Sebastian had been searching for or had he been tricked?
As he approached the table, the girl looked up and his heart jolted because Karl’s eyes were looking straight at him, and he knew in that moment that this thin, pale-faced girl was his friend’s daughter. The man next to her was in his thirties, also thin and gaunt-looking, he had long hair that straggled into his neck and looked as if it needed a damned good wash. According to the papers Sebastian had been given for him, he was a small-time crook who was wanted by the British government for theft committed in London and on British ships, a man who worked on liners as a steward and stole from the passengers and crew. Sebastian had been told that he was actually travelling with them, because he was Gretchen’s lover – according to what he’d been told.
‘Herr Schmidt?’ Sebastian asked of the officer and took the papers he’d been given from his pocket. He saw the man stiffen and then relax as the papers were offered; as if he’d half thought Sebastian would pull a gun. ‘You’re here to hand my prisoner over to me I think?’
‘That is correct, sir,’ the officer replied, his English perfect but with a heavy German accent, ‘please sign here…’
Sebastian signed with a flourish the name he’d been given, but in such a way he hoped it was unreadable, because he didn’t want to end up in a German prison accused of using a false identity, and all this could yet turn out to be a trap.
‘Thank you.’ The officer handed over some documents, inclined his head and then said, ‘If I were you, I should leave for the border immediately, sir. It isn’t safe here these days… and I can’t guarantee your life once you leave this café…’
He walked quickly from the room, leaving Sebastian stunned and disbelieving. What the hell did Jack think he was playing at! This was supposed to be a straightforward hand over. He hadn’t reckoned with any cloak and dagger stuff, though there was always danger on these missions, because people double crossed you for personal gain. Sebastian had fumed as he read the letter from Jack detailing the plan, which seemed pretty straightforward in essence. He was supposed to be a plain-clothes police officer here to arrest and deport Eric Schiller and, at the same time take home the girl who was supposed to be Sebastian’s daughter according to the papers he had been given for her, and who had fallen ill on a visit to her mother who lived in East Germany. He had papers signed by some official in East Berlin to take Gretchen and Schiller, her supposed lover, through the border controls into West Germany and then into France, and his instructions were to pick them up from the bar and drive straight to the nearest border, present the papers and get the hell out again.
Everything has been taken care of, bribes paid to guards and it should be straightforward – but we need Eric Schiller so make sure you get him through. I know you can do it. Destroy this. Good luck, J.
Jack’s careless note seemed less than reassuring now. Sebastian had been watching the couple’s manner as he dealt with the German police officer and doubted very much he’d been told the truth about them being lovers. Eric Schiller might be a small-time crook wanted for theft, but he was more likely someone the British government wanted for their own reasons. By the look of him he’d been held prisoner for a while and not well treated.