by Rosie Clarke
*
‘There’s someone on the phone for you, Betty,’ Aunt Miriam said as she came into the sitting room later that evening. ‘He didn’t tell me his name…’
‘Oh… all right…’ Betty frowned as she went into the hall to answer the call and wondered who would be ringing at this hour. She wasn’t sure whether Mr Walter had this number or not and couldn’t think who else it might be.
‘Betty?’ a voice she knew sent shivers down her spine. ‘How are you, my little deceiver?’
‘What do you want? How did you get this number?’ Betty asked. ‘After what you did, I can’t believe you have the cheek to call me…’
‘Oh, I’m going to do more than that,’ Pierre said in a tone that made her tremble. ‘You cheated me, Betty, and you owe me. One of these days I’m going to collect…’
The phone went dead, leaving Betty feeling chilled and apprehensive. Pierre couldn’t really be threatening her? Yes, she’d switched glasses, causing him to suffer the effects of the foul drug he’d prepared for her, but surely he couldn’t be so vindictive that he would pursue her to London to get his revenge? Of course he’d known that she often visited Aunt Miriam when he was here in the summer, and it hadn’t taken him long to find her. He was evil and she mustn’t forget what he’d planned for her that night in Paris. She felt a trickle of fear because she had no idea what to do. If her father had been well…but he wasn’t and she couldn’t tell her mother or her sister or even her aunt, because it would mean confessing the whole story and there was no one she dare tell…unless maybe she could talk to Matt…
They’d been brought up almost as brother and sister and he might just understand…and yet if he looked at her with disappointment or disgust it would be more than she could bear. No, she must keep it to herself and pray that Pierre was just trying to frighten her.
‘Who was it, love?’ Aunt Miriam asked when Betty returned to the sitting room.
‘I’m not sure,’ Betty lied. ‘The line was a bit crackly. I couldn’t hear properly. It might have been one of my friends from Paris…’
‘Oh… I could hear perfectly,’ her aunt said, looking puzzled. ‘Never mind, if he wants to talk he will ring again…’
‘Yes, I expect so,’ Betty picked up her sketchbook, looking at her latest drawings of an evening gown.
She groaned as the front door knocker sounded, a feeling of fear shooting through her. It couldn’t be Pierre, could it? He wouldn’t dare to come here…
‘I’ll go,’ Aunt Miriam said. ‘I’m about to make a cup of chocolate…’
Betty was apprehensive as she heard the male voice and then her aunt opened the door and admitted someone into the room, before leaving them to go off and make their drink. She gave a sigh of relief as she saw it was Frank.
‘Frank,’ she said, standing up to greet him. ‘What made you come round this evening?’
‘I wanted to make sure you’re all right, ask after your family…’ Frank said and the look in his face was concerned and caring. Betty’s heart caught with pain, because she liked him so much and she didn’t want to hurt him. ‘You seemed so upset the other night – and if that was my fault, I want to apologise.’
‘Of course it wasn’t, Frank,’ Betty said. ‘You know I like you – but…’ she stopped and shook her head. If only she could confide in Frank, but no – she couldn’t tell him yet.
‘I know you don’t love me the way I love you,’ Frank said, his eyes never leaving her face, ‘but that doesn’t mean we can’t go out together, does it? I’ve got tickets for a dinner and dance for my firm. I’d love you to come with me, Betty.’
Betty hesitated, but then realised that unless she was going to lock herself away it was the best thing she could do. She wasn’t in love with Frank, but knew she might never love anyone. Pierre had destroyed her trust – and yet she trusted Frank.
‘Yes, all right,’ she said and smiled shyly. ‘When is it for?’
’A week on Saturday ,’ Frank said. ‘I’ll pick you up and bring you home, Betty. It’s just as friends…’
Betty laughed, because at that moment he was looking at her with the eyes of a little puppy dog. She felt some of the fear and sadness caused by Pierre’s phone call fall away.
‘Friends? Yes, I can do that, Frank,’ she agreed just as her aunt returned carrying a tray of milky chocolate drink with a jug and three mugs.
‘I brought enough for you too, Frank,’ her aunt said and set it down. ‘Was it you trying to get through on the phone earlier? Betty had a call but she couldn’t hear what he said…’
‘No, not me…’ Frank looked at Betty, who gave a little shake of her head. If Frank knew that Pierre had threatened her he would try to do something about it, and she didn’t want him to get hurt.
For a moment Betty longed for her father to be well and strong and on her side. She was certain that Sebastian would’ve sorted this out, but of course she couldn’t tell him either, because he was ill and the doctors were saying he mustn’t have any stress…she might just have been able to tell Matt, but he hadn’t been round to see her. Betty wondered why. Was he disgusted with her for going off to Paris with Pierre? The thought made her eyes sting with tears and once again she wished she’d never met the charming Frenchman.
‘Thank you, Miriam,’ Frank said and took his drink. ‘How kind of you – it’s just what I need on a chilly evening…’
‘Well, it’s only six weeks to Christmas now,’ Aunt Miriam said, ‘and the nights are very cold. It was good of you to come round to see us – how is your mother?’
‘Very well,’ Frank replied. ‘I haven’t seen her for a few weeks, but I phone most nights just to say hello…’
‘What a good son you are,’ she beamed at him. ‘That’s the sort you want, Betty, a good reliable man who always thinks of others…’
Frank raised his brows at Betty as Aunt Miriam turned away to pour the cocoa and it was all she could do to stop bursting into laughter. The last thing Frank wanted to be described as was a good reliable man…it was good to be with him and to forget for a while all the things that had hurt and frightened her…
Chapter 21
Francie had dressed simply in a pair of American-style jeans and a tight jumper that accentuated her firm breasts, choosing to wear a pair of high heels with the outfit. Her hair was swept back in a ponytail and she wore only a smear of pale pink lipstick, her face still a little tanned from the summer.
Some builders working near the magazine’s offices whistled and called out as she passed, but Francie didn’t turn her head. She wasn’t interested in men – or at least not in any of the men she’d met thus far. She’d liked the grip who worked for Styled but she was too young to get serious about any man. Francie enjoyed going out with a group of friends to the café or youth club nights, and she missed going about with Betty, but her elder sister was often too busy.
The receptionist inside the impressive building put through a phone call and asked Francie to wait, which she did, sitting on a plastic-covered single chair that made her feel as if she would slip off if she breathed too deeply. The whole place was shiny and slippery with a lot of stainless steel and plastic everywhere.
After a few minutes a woman in a smart black dress, with a huge white collar that stood up at the back and framed her neck, and red high-heeled shoes, came towards her and introduced herself. ‘I’m the editor’s secretary,’ she said, smiling in a way that made Francie think of a crocodile. ‘Will you come up please, Miss Winters? Miss Arlene will see you in a short time…’
Francie glanced at her watch. She was on time, but it seemed as if the editor intended to keep her waiting. Perhaps she’d heard something about the way Francie’s father had threatened the magazine with the law if they forced her to do anything she didn’t like again.
Shown into an outer office with yet more plastic and steel, Francie perched on the edge of the uncomfortable settee and waited. Half an hour passed and no one came for her. She l
ooked at her watch and then expectantly at a girl who came out, followed by another two girls. They looked at each other and giggled. Francie glanced at her watch again and then stood up. She was on the point of leaving when the door of the office opened and a woman came out. She was wearing a silver grey wrap-over dress that looked like haute couture and clung to her hips like a silken sheath, and she smiled at Francie.
‘I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Winters,’ she apologised. ‘I was caught up in something – a load of pictures came through of another model and they are impossible to use. We’ve had to reschedule the whole magazine – and, as a matter of fact, we want to use some of your material again. We’d like to take a couple more shots today, at a studio nearby – and reuse some of the old stuff…’
‘I’m not sure…’ Francie was doubtful. ‘Some of that stuff was very upsetting for my father…’
‘Oh no,’ the woman said and held out her hand. ‘I’m Arlene. May I call you Francie please? I assure you we have no intention of using those particular photos. It was quite wrong of Kathy to force you into agreeing to that work when it was so obviously not appropriate for you…’
‘My father was so angry,’ Francie nodded agreement and followed her into an office where she was relieved to see there were more comfortable chairs and a small table with a coffee tray, as well as a large desk covered with lots of pictures. ‘He didn’t want me to do anything like that again…’
‘Well, these are quite tasteful,’ Arlene said. ‘Just have a look at them. You have my word that we shan’t use anything your father could object to…’
Francie looked and smiled. They were some of her favourite shots, taken of her wearing outer clothes for a trip to the zoo, and pictured her with various animals in the background, including one of her holding a koala bear.
‘Oh, yes, I loved those,’ she said. ‘Even Dad couldn’t object to them…’
‘Then that will fill a big hole for us – and if you could pop round to the studio and have a couple taken there in a day dress and some designer jeans rather like your own…and if they turn out well we might just feature you on the cover…’
‘Yes, all right,’ Francie said, sucking in her breath, because she still wasn’t sure her father would be very pleased about it, but she couldn’t see anything wrong with just doing the odd shoot now and then, especially when it was harmless like the zoo pictures. ‘Thank you – I’d love to…’
*
‘Have you had a nice day with your friends?’ Lizzie asked when Francie got in that evening. She noticed the colour in her daughter’s cheeks from the fresh air. It was a cold November day but the sun was bright and the air crisp with frost, but that didn’t explain the excitement in Francie’s eyes. ‘What did you do?’
‘Oh, hung out with a few old friends, drank coffee and tried on some divine clothes,’ Francie said. ‘What about you, Mum?’
‘I’ve been to see Romany and Ed,’ Lizzie said. ‘Everything is going well and I’ve got lots of ideas for next year’s spring and summer lines…and visited your dad, of course’
‘How is he?’
‘A little better I thought…we just have to see the results of those tests…’
‘Fingers crossed.’ Francie gave her mother a hug and then started to set the table for two. ‘I’m not very hungry this evening, can we just have salad?’
‘Yes, of course, if you like…’ Lizzie looked at her. ‘It’s no wonder you’re so thin, darling. You never eat enough to keep a sparrow alive…’
‘Cheep, cheep,’ Francie said and flapped her arms. ‘I’m thin because I was meant to be. If you want to know, I’ve had loads of coffee, two iced buns and a cream doughnut…’
‘All that and you never put on an ounce…’ Lizzie laughed and looked at her daughter a little enviously. ‘If I sniffed a cream doughnut I’d balloon to size sixteen in an instant…’
‘I bet you’ve hardly put on a pound since you had me… you’re only a small twelve now…’
‘I was…’ Lizzie smiled and placed her hands lovingly over her tummy, ‘but look again, darling, I’m already blooming, which means your brother is growing fast. Shall we just have a lovely fruit salad and not bother with much else…’
‘Lovely,’ Francie said. ‘I’ll do some work this evening, Mum…’
‘Me too,’ Lizzie agreed and looked anxious. ‘You’re not neglecting your coursework, are you?’
‘No, of course not,’ Francie said but didn’t quite meet her eyes.
‘Oh Francie…’ Lizzie sighed. ‘I know you enjoy meeting friends and having fun, and I’d never try to stop you, darling – but you must try to pass those exams. Your future might depend on it…’
*
Francie lay on the bed and looked through the back issues of Styled that Arlene had given her. She liked the magazine, and she’d liked Arlene, even if she had kept her waiting – but most of all she’d liked having her photographs taken by Michael.
He was so good-looking in his tight leather trousers and black silk polo… rather like James Dean, but less moody. He’d been so easy to work with and so complimentary.
‘You were made for the camera; it adores you,’ he’d said. ‘You’re a beautiful girl, Francie – and I do hope I get the chance to work with you again.’
He’d smiled at her when they’d finished. ‘Good work, Francie,’ he’d said. ‘I hope we’ll work together in the future…’
Finding some photos in the magazine, which had his name printed underneath, Francie looked at them and smiled. There was something special about his work and she felt pleased that he’d taken her pictures.
Sighing, she put the magazines back in her bag and went down to her studio. Perhaps she’d better have a go at some of the coursework Miss Honiton had sent her, though it didn’t inspire her at all. Francie thought it stupid that she was required to do stuff she would never paint from choice. Her style was individual and surely it was better to work at what she liked rather than force something that did not come naturally?
Oh well, she could splosh a few bits of paint about and have fun. If she returned to college soon she might be able to get away for a few days for that photo shoot in Cornwall, but after that she would have to think things through and decide what she really wanted to do, because if it was modelling, she need to talk to her father…and she couldn’t do that until he was properly well again…
Chapter 22
‘Why don’t you ask Sebastian?’ Gretchen inquired as her mother looked longing at the details from the estate agent that Saturday morning. ‘You have the rent money for six months – we just need a loan to start…’
‘He has done so much for us already,’ Marianne said and frowned. ‘We should need at least five hundred pounds to buy all the equipment and stock up with food and drink for the opening day and to keep us going for a while…’
‘He promised to help us,’ Gretchen insisted. ‘You should remind him…’
‘Yes, but that was two weeks ago,’ Marianne reminded. ‘He would contact us if… no, I cannot ask, Gretchen. Sebastian risked everything for our sakes. It would be wrong to demand more.’
Gretchen’s face hardened. ‘You are too soft, Mutti,’ she said. ‘Men lie too easily. He promised… you should tell him the perfect premises are available. My father saved his life – what is five hundred pounds for a life?’
‘No, Gretchen,’ Marianne replied sharply. ‘You are too hard. I know you’ve suffered dearest, but we already owe Sebastian so much – we must wait and see whether he comes back to us…’
Gretchen shrugged and reached for her jacket. ‘I shall be late for work…’ she kissed her mother’s cheek and went out, a little annoyed with her.
Sebastian had promised he would come to see them and make sure they were settled. He had not even telephoned since the day he brought her home – and he’d promised to let her know if Eric was safe. It seemed he’d just forgotten them. And to a girl who had been let down so many tim
es by men that meant he didn’t care about her or her mother. He’d just said things he didn’t mean to please them.
Gretchen had found work at the café her mother cooked for but only washing up and she hated it. Her life was better in some ways than it had been, but she’d expected much more once she’d escaped to the West. The bitterness of years of misery surged inside her.
Why shouldn’t they have a chance of a better life? Gretchen’s thoughts hardened as she walked to work. If Sebastian kept his word she knew that they could make a go of the café they’d viewed on her half day from work. Gretchen would cook and help in the kitchens and they could have a girl to serve the customers – but they would be working for themselves, and she was tired of taking orders. Besides, she didn’t like the way her boss had been looking at her recently. He hadn’t laid a finger on her, but she sensed he was only waiting his chance and Gretchen wasn’t prepared to be mauled or used; she’d had enough of that in the past.
She would ring Sebastian at home. His number was in her mother’s book and she’d copied it down on to a scrap of paper. Going into the nearest phone box, she asked for the number and then inserted her money in the box. The phone rang three times before it was picked up.
‘Hello,’ a woman’s voice said. ‘May I help you?’
‘Is Sebastian there?’ Gretchen asked. ‘It’s important. I need speak with him urgently…’
‘I’m afraid he’s resting,’ the woman said. ‘Who is this please? Can I take a message?’
Gretchen hesitated, then, ‘Please ask… no, don’t bother…’
She replaced the receiver, pushed the button to get back the money she hadn’t used and left the kiosk. It had been an impulse. Gretchen wouldn’t have hesitated to ask for money if Sebastian had answered, but somehow she couldn’t ask the woman if he would ring her… Marianne had told her he was married and it wouldn’t be fair if that was his wife on the phone, because she might have thought Gretchen was his lover…