Paper Doll

by Janet Woods

  He had to admit that they were both looking a little dusty now. Her outfit was practical enough though, he thought.

  Earlier, she’d come down the steps from the apartment block wrapped in a fur coat. Under it was a rather clownish, but charming outfit, a pair of grey slacks with a loose flared ruby tunic over the top. She’d beamed a smile at him. ‘How dashing you look behind the wheel.’

  Two of the staff from the kitchens had come out after her carrying a picnic basket apiece. They placed them on the back seat.

  ‘Thank you . . . so kind,’ she said to them, impressing Martin with her grace and good manners.

  He’d abandoned his dashing position behind the wheel and had helped her into the passenger seat. ‘It’s rather a lot of food, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not at all, the car might break down in the New Forest, and we might need it. Now don’t go all growly on me before we start, else I won’t speak to you for the entire journey.’

  ‘That might prove to be a blessing,’ he’d countered, smiling at her so she wouldn’t take offence.

  ‘It most certainly will not, since there would then be an atmosphere of ill-will and you’d be obliged to humour me, in case I boxed your ears.’

  He burst into laughter. ‘Or the other way round.’

  She’d grinned, revealing an enchanting little dimple to the left of her mouth.

  There hadn’t been a cross word exchanged all day, just plenty of banter, and although there had been silences between them too, they’d been relaxed.

  They were upstairs now. The gaslights gave off a jaundiced glow. From the second storey there was a view during the day of the English Channel, which was an uninviting pewter colour at this time of year. The expanse of dark water was scribbled with a thread of light tying the moon to the earth as it journeyed from behind one cloud to the next. It looked chilly outside and Martin shivered. France was only a few miles across the water.

  She broke into his unwelcome thought by drawing the curtains across the window. ‘You’re flagging. We’ve done enough for today, I think.’

  He turned to smile at her, at the smudges of dust on her translucent cheeks. Reaching out he tried to brush one away, but only succeeded in smudging it more. ‘Your face needs washing,’ he said. ‘Are you hungry? We should get something to eat.’

  They went downstairs and he gave in to an urge to slide down the banister, as he used to when he was a child. It didn’t seem quite as lengthy as he remembered from his youth. He went too fast and staggered backwards as he shot off the end, ending up sprawled on his backside.

  She gave into her amusement, flinging a dollop of scornful laughter his way. ‘That serves you right for showing off. Do grow up, Mr Lee-Trafford.’ She then collapsed into giggles, making it almost impossible for him to restore his former dignity.

  ‘Investigate that second picnic basket, would you,’ she said now. ‘There should be two dinners ready to warm up in the oven. I do hope you like roast lamb, mashed potatoes, peas and carrots. The gravy is in a flask, and there’s an apple tart and a container of custard to be warmed. We can keep the fresh fruit, hard-boiled eggs and bread for breakfast. We’ll have to have lunch on the way home tomorrow. Country pubs are not quite so fussy as restaurants, and they’ll think that we’re farmhands.’

  Anyone who looked least like a farmhand he’d yet to meet. He admitted that he hadn’t met any though, just taken it for granted that they existed. He followed her into the sitting room and stoked up the fire, adding more coal before setting the guard in front of it. ‘I’ve never seen a farmhand in a fur coat before. Usually it’s the plough horse that wears one.’

  ‘The last horse I saw wore a hair coat. Cows wear . . . hides.’

  He snorted. ‘That’s stretching it a bit.’

  ‘And before you mention sheep, they wear woolly coats.’

  ‘I was going to say rabbits when you allowed me to get a word in edgewise.’

  ‘You’re just being aggravating and I won’t dignify that with a retort . . . mainly because I can’t think of one except that this coat is not lapin, it’s silver fox and it belonged to my mother. As a punishment you can cook dinner.’

  ‘And to think I complained about two picnic baskets. You’re a genius.’

  ‘Oh, men rarely plan ahead, they just think they know better than women. Go and make yourself useful. I’m hungry, and I’m going to ring my father.’

  The cushion he threw at her skimmed past her head as she gave a timely stoop to pick up the receiver. When Martin reached the kitchen he heard her say, ‘Hello, Daddy, it’s too late to drive back so we’ll be staying the night here and will probably leave about lunchtime tomorrow. I didn’t want you to be alarmed, and I’ll ring you just before we set out tomorrow.’

  There was a pause, then she laughed. ‘Of course not, we’re getting along famously, almost like brother and sister . . . No, we haven’t walked along the pier, we haven’t had time, we’ve been working. Now we’re going to have dinner, and I daresay we’ll find something else to pack into a suitcase before it’s bedtime.’

  There was a bottle of white wine to go with their dinner, and he poured them a glass while they waited for the contents of the picnic basket to warm.

  Martin set the kitchen table with the cutlery and napkins from the picnic basket, then he placed a candle in a saucer. Julia had thought of everything, which was more than he had. Just as he put a match to the gas oven and slid the dishes inside to warm, he remembered his train set in the attic.

  The boxes for storage had been picked up earlier. Anything else would have to fit into the car, or be left behind. He was loath to leave it, but remembered that the landscape did come apart. He recalled that there was a box for the train and rails.

  He asked her about it over dinner. ‘Do you think anything else will fit into the car? My train set is in the attic.’

  ‘We’ll make it fit. It’s surprising how much can be packed into small spaces if it’s done right. We’ll have an empty picnic basket to start with.’

  ‘I’m not worried about the train set fitting in when it’s boxed, but the landscaping might be a problem. The sections can be unscrewed though.’

  ‘We’ll have a look at it after dinner.’

  They did. The train set was covered in a dustsheet. Next to it was the old wooden chair his father used to use. On the bamboo table resided a cup with a tea-stained tidemark. Next to that his father’s rosewood pipe leaned sideways into the dip of the ashtray. The burned baccy formed a dusty landslide from the bowl. A whistle lay abandoned.

  Lifting off the dustsheet Martin gazed at this other world his father had created for him, and the punch to the heart he experienced was unexpected and almost overwhelming.

  The train stood at the station, where it had waited since his father’s death. The porter on the station had his trolley. The plump woman with rosy cheeks and the same baby in her arms was just behind him. Elsie Carter they’d named her. Up on the hills the same sheep and cows grazed peacefully on the same painted grass.

  Something was different about it though. He gazed down at it, the blood pounding in his ears when he spied the extra figures. One stood on the platform near an open carriage door. He was wearing an army uniform. The other one stood on the bridge, waving a handkerchief.

  He choked back a sob and turned away, trying to collect himself as he looked for the box to pack it in.

  ‘Martin, are you all right?’ she said, and gently touched his arm.

  He’d forgotten she was there. ‘I’m sorry . . . I’ll be all right in a minute.’

  ‘I wonder if it still works.’ Behind him, Julia wound the engine clockworks. He heard the faint metallic clunk of the signal from red to green and then the sound of the whistle being blown. The train was set in motion.

  He blew his nose before turning to watch it race around the track, a self-deprecating smile on his face. ‘I haven’t been up here since . . . only God knows when.’ He shrugged and sucked in a deep breath. ‘
Men aren’t supposed to cry, are they?’

  ‘It’s all right, Martin, I understand.’ She kissed his cheek, her mouth like a butterfly settling lightly on his skin before it flew off again.

  The train slowed and stopped exactly at the station. His father had timed the clockwork movement to the length of rail to do exactly that. ‘It probably needs oiling,’ he said.

  ‘See, you came back to him, Martin. He’d have been pleased to know that you survived.’

  ‘Yes . . . I imagine that would have been the case.’ He took the figure from the bridge and gazed at it, then stood the two together on the platform and gave a faint sigh. ‘I would like to have seen my father again.’

  ‘Yes . . . it’s hard to lose a parent. Pass me the box and I’ll pack the train set and the figures. It’s on that shelf.’

  Somehow he found it in his hands, and he gave it to her. There was a picture of a speeding train on the lid with smoke belching out of the funnel.

  She gave a huff of laughter and ran her finger through the dust coating it. ‘How odd . . . It’s a train set made by the Howard Toy factory.’

  ‘I’d forgotten. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it.’

  ‘Go and fetch the picnic basket, Martin dear; the station and bridges should easily fit in there.’

  She had given him time to get a grip on himself, and he was grateful for her sensitivity. An hour later and they were carrying slabs of painted papier mâché landscape down the stairs. It was larger than he’d expected and he expressed his doubt.

  ‘If nothing else we can wrap it in the dustsheet, stand it on the running board and tie it to the door on the passenger side.’

  Which was exactly what they did do.

  Martin woke her early next morning with a cup of tea, and they packed the rest of the stuff in the car before they ate breakfast. He delivered the key to the letting agent, who would hire a cleaning service and find a decent tenant. Hopefully, the house would rent quickly, and that would bring him in some extra money to help pay his own rent.

  The trip back to London was uneventful. Creased and dusty, Julia fell asleep snuggled under her fur coat and a heap of cushions. He was glad, because he didn’t much feel like talking, let alone making conversation for the sake of it.

  He woke her when he reached her apartment block and she emerged from sleep and the cushions with a startled look and mussed-up hair. Her smile appeared when she realized where they were and her fingers raked her hair into a semblance of order. ‘Home already,’ and was it his imagination or was there a note of regret in her voice.

  ‘Thanks for your help, Julia. I don’t know how I would have managed without you, especially where the eating arrangements were concerned. You’re very practical.’

  ‘Thank you, and it was my pleasure. Aren’t you coming in?’

  ‘No . . . I’ve got about two hours left of daylight to get this car unpacked. Tell your father I’ll clean the car and take it back to the garage in the morning.’

  ‘Oh, the garage will clean it for you.’ She smiled at him. ‘It was fun, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it was.’

  ‘Couldn’t you be a little more enthusiastic?’

  It had been more fun having her there to talk to than doing it alone, though he’d exposed his emotions when he shouldn’t have and embarrassed himself – her as well, he imagined. She’d been surprisingly sympathetic.

  ‘I enjoyed your company . . . and yes, it was fun.’ He placed a kiss on her peachy mouth, remembered he wasn’t ready to get involved, and quickly withdrew.

  He left the engine running and went round to open the passenger door for her. When he realized his mistake and turned back, she was standing on the pavement with a grin on her face.

  ‘I can’t get out that side, remember.’

  ‘I do remember now.’ His mouth dried as he engaged her eyes with their long dark lashes. He struggled with a strong urge to kiss her again.

  Her chuckle said she knew it. ‘I thought you were going, Martin.’

  Then he remembered that it was he who’d set the rules. It would not be wise to become involved with her. If what had happened the day before was any indication, he wasn’t yet ready to handle a relationship, or commit himself emotionally to anyone. So he took a step back and inclined his head. ‘I am going. Thank you once again; your help was invaluable.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve stepped back into your business suit, how very annoying of you.’ She stepped forward into the space he’d vacated and kissed his cheek. Her eyes glittered like emeralds. ‘Take care, and have a happy New Year.’

  Everything retreated. Rooted to the pavement he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from hers. A pulse beat erratically against his temple reminding him he was still alive.

  There was a sudden swirl of grit and dead leaves around their ankles, carried by a fitful breeze. The lash of it broke the spell between them.

  ‘And you, Julia,’ and for some reason he felt like crying again. Sliding back into the car seat he controlled himself for as long as it took to engage the gears and drive off. The road blurred before his eyes as he left her, standing there staring after him.

  Five

  A second honk on the horn took Julia to the window. She opened it a little and gazed down at the road. Charles, astride their conveyance, was parked in a pool of light under the street lamp.

  ‘I’ll just be a minute, Charles. Stop making such a racket.’

  ‘Is that any way to treat a swain? Get a move on, Julia, my love. It’s freezing out here.’ He revved the motor up.

  ‘In my day, gentlemen escorts picked their ladies up in time and at the door. They also introduced themselves to their parents,’ her father said, clearly disapproving. ‘Close the window, Julia. You’re letting the warmth out.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She kissed him. ‘Do I look all right?’

  ‘Perfect. You’re too good for that ill-mannered young man.’ He took her hand in his. ‘You will be careful, won’t you dear? Charles Curruthers has an unsavoury reputation.’

  She avoided his eyes, doubt slithering into her like a stream of cold slush. Talking about losing her virginity was much easier than actually going through with it, and now the time had nearly come she was nervous. Tosh! She thought. Irene had lost hers and was none the worse for it.

  ‘There will be a crowd of us, so no harm will come to me, I promise. Look, if you’re really worried I’ll stay home. We could play chess.’

  ‘And spoil your New Year celebrations, my dear. Nonsense! I’m just a grumpy old man who has forgotten what it’s like to be young, and I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m going to put my feet up and listen to the wireless.’

  From outside came a series of impatient toots on the horn. The engine revved to an alarming roar, backfired a couple of times, then eased down again.

  Annoyance settled on her father’s face. ‘Go on then, don’t keep him waiting any longer, Julia, else I might just take out my pistol and shoot him.’

  ‘Since when have you owned a pistol?’ She wrapped herself in the silver fox, tied a silk scarf around her hair, gave her father a final kiss and hurried off downstairs.

  ‘Julia, my angel . . . at last. I was just about to go on my way without you.’

  Charles Curruthers was handsome in a boyish sort of way. His golden blond hair flopped over his forehead, his skin was soft and fine and his bottom lip had a natural pout that gave him a slightly sulky look.

  He pulled on a flying helmet and gazed through innocent baby-blue eyes at her. His smile was lopsided as he held out a second helmet. ‘Dear oh dear . . . Irene informs me that you’re still untouched by human hand.’

  She blushed. ‘Don’t tease.’

  ‘I’m not teasing. Don’t feel ashamed, Julia; I’ll soon have my lascivious way with you and reverse the situation. I won’t charge for my service, either. I rather fancy you, actually. I’ve never had an old-fashioned innocent.’

  Her blush became furious and she presse
d her cool palms against her cheeks.

  He laughed. ‘Remove your scarf and put the helmet on, there’s a good girl. It will be warmer.’

  ‘But it will flatten my hairstyle.’

  ‘I’m sure Irene’s maid will rearrange it for you. Come on, Julia, old thing, stop being difficult . . . do it, just for Charlie?’

  Removing her scarf she folded it, placed it in her pocket and pulled on the leather helmet.

  ‘It suits you,’ he said, and taking her face in his hands he gently kissed her mouth. He tasted of tobacco. ‘Get in the sidecar and I’ll tuck the rug around you to keep the cold out.’

  They were soon on their way, roaring around the streets with great dash – too much dash for her as she clung to the edges of the sidecar with eyes closed, giving fearful little screams and moans as she was thrown about. It was the most uncomfortable mode of transport she’d ever used. Charles laughed like a maniac as he narrowly missed parked cars and kerbs.

  Then they were out in the country. Bounced from one pothole to the next, they headed through a tunnel of light made by the headlights. It was cold, even wrapped in her fur and a blanket. She sank down behind the windscreen so the wind didn’t snatch her breath from her lungs.

  Before too long house lights in the misty distance appeared, then a low oblong building that grew into a dignified stately manor as they neared it. They raced around the circular driveway littered with cars, scattering gravel, and drew up outside a porch. Light spilled from the windows and the sound of music came beating from inside the house.

  Julia felt slightly nauseated, and was shaking when she climbed out of the sidecar. She could have sworn that every bone in her spine was disconnected.

  A window was pushed up and Irene screamed out, ‘Yoo-hoo! Julia, darling, I’m up here. It was too bad of Charlie to pick you up late.’

  ‘Felicitations, Sis,’ Charles shouted back. ‘I was carpeted by pater before I could escape. He said he’s holding me responsible for the party, and if any damage is done he’ll take the cost of repairs from my allowance.