by Janet Woods
His eyes narrowed a fraction. For a moment Julia thought he might insist, in which case she’d have the choice of doing as she was told or creating a scene. He made no reaction, just gazed at Martin and said, ‘We must talk, Lee-Trafford. Now Mr Howard is no longer with us I intend to convert the factory to domestic ware.’
‘But you promised my father—’
‘Any agreement I had with your father was binding only while he lived, my dear. Please don’t comment on something you know nothing about.’ He beckoned to the housekeeper. ‘Fetch Mrs Miller some tea please, and make sure she has a bite to eat.’ He placed his hand on Martin’s back to guide him away. ‘Lee-Trafford?’
Martin nodded to her, sympathy in his eyes. ‘Mrs Miller, it was nice to see you again despite the sad circumstances. Your father was a fine man.’
A hand touched her arm as she watched them walk away. It was a woman Julia had met before at her wedding to Latham. She was the wife of a politician in opposition to the government. Her mind scrambled for a name. ‘Mrs Oliver, I’m so pleased you came.’
‘I’m sorry we had to meet again on such a sad occasion. I didn’t know your father well but he struck me as being a nice gentleman.’
‘Yes . . . he was a nice gentleman.’
Now her father was where he’d always wanted to be. But he’d done his duty first. He’d brought her up with love, made sure she received a good education and married her off to a successful man before joining her mother in eternity.
Attacked by a sudden feeling of loneliness, she thought: What more could a woman need or desire?
Her glance fell on Martin Lee-Trafford.
Ten
They stayed in London for two weeks. Despite her grief over her father’s death Julia found she was expected to entertain on several occasions.
They joined a party for the theatre on the second week. Among the many gowns inside her town wardrobe was a black-beaded gown with a velvet cape.
Latham wound a long string of flawless pearls with a pear-shaped diamond drop around her neck, and he clipped pearl drops to her ears, saying, ‘I must hire a maid to look after you.’
She applied her lipstick, a startling red that made her face look pale. Latham had bought it. She stared at her image. She looked like a living parody of the doll her father had invented. Not Rosie, the wholesome child in her sailor tunic – or the teenager with her ringlets and bows. Not Rosie, the perpetual virgin with the simpering smile, who knew nothing about herself, let alone life. Her glance slid to Latham then skittered away again. She was Rosie, the battered bride in a black gown, a woman whose eyes had lost their innocence.
The paper doll looking back at her through disappointed green eyes from the mirror was in mourning for the man who’d invented her. She was a treasured possession handed over from one man to another for safekeeping – only she was learning that Latham was unpredictable, and she wasn’t always safe. She was wary of him, but she couldn’t live her life in fear, and her eyes lifted to his. ‘I’m quite capable of looking after my own appearance, Latham.’
His eyes met the reflection of hers in the mirror. ‘I want you to be perfect in every way, Julia. You’re elegant and well mannered. Men envy me and women are jealous of your looks and your style.’
‘It’s not my style; it’s yours. I can’t live up to such perfection, and I don’t give a damn about other people’s jealousies.’
‘You can be perfect, and you will be. These people we mix with, you’re every bit as good as them . . . better.’
‘I never imagined I was any different. It’s you who seems to feel inferior, Latham.’
He reached out for her, and even though she’d half expected it, she jumped.
‘Latham, please don’t. I’m dressed ready to go out.’
‘I know,’ he said, and he pushed her down on the bed and ripped the gown down the middle. Beads scattered everywhere and he used his thumb to smear streaks of red lipstick across her face. Pulling her upright his arms came round her from behind and he turned her to face the mirror. She looked like a clown.
His thumbs caressed her bared breasts and she shivered.
Julia wore a dark-blue silk gown with sleeves to the theatre. It had sleeves to hide her bruises. She smiled until her jaw ached, when really she felt like crying. She could smell Latham’s possession on her as she sat next to him, her mind in a ferment of hatred.
On the other nights of their stay in London he went out by himself. A couple of times he returned in the early hours of the morning with the faint scent of perfume about him. It was an exquisite fragrance, one she’d smelled before, in the guest room she’d used on New Year’s Eve.
Surely Latham didn’t wear perfume, though she’d heard that some men did. It was an interesting development, but no – it was Irene’s perfume. He’d been seeing her. Either way, Julia found she didn’t care all that much.
They went back to Surrey together in the Rolls. Julia liked Latham better there. He was more relaxed.
There were answers to the condolence letters to write – even the ones from Charles and Irene Curruthers. It was unexpected hearing from them after all this time. She missed seeing Irene, who’d always had an air of craziness that had made Julia laugh. Julia didn’t laugh much now, and she had an odd thought that marrying Latham might have aged her – suddenly turned her into a forty-year-old matron.
The dogs greeted her with the same enthusiasm they offered everyone, but they obeyed Latham. When he made a fuss of them they responded with delight.
She went to visit her father’s quarters. Julia had expected it to be exactly the same as she’d left it, but the bed by the window, photographs of her mother and herself on the mantelpiece, the little pieces of memorabilia special to him were all gone. His favourite chair was gone too. The place had been wiped clean of her father’s presence and the guest quarters were as neat and comfortable as a hotel. The bed and mattress that had supported the weight of her father’s laboured last breaths had been discarded and replaced with a new one. Even the nurse had departed. It was as if nurse and patient had never existed.
She went to see Latham in his study. He was seated behind a blond-wood desk, reading a letter. He turned the paper against the blotting paper, looked up at her and smiled. ‘Julia, I must teach you to knock at doors. What can I do for you?’
‘I wondered where my father’s things had gone?’
‘I left instructions for them to be stored in the attic while we were away; I didn’t think you’d be up to doing it yourself. If there’s anything you particularly want Mrs Finnigan will find it for you.’
‘Thank you.’
He rose and held a chair out for her. ‘Stay and talk to me, Julia?’
‘About what?’
‘Anything.’
She shrugged, knowing she had nothing much to say. She searched her mind. ‘I’m bored, Latham. Would it disturb you if I learned to type?’
‘Probably. Why do you want to learn to type?’
‘It might come in useful one day.’
‘And it might not.’
‘I wouldn’t practise it when you were here, only when you’re in London.’
‘I can understand why you’re bored. You must please yourself about the hobbies you adopt when I’m away. I’m much too busy to get bored myself.’
She’d not given his working life much thought. He was wealthy, yes, but he had to earn that wealth. Suddenly she was curious. ‘What do you actually do for a living? Tell me about it.’
He gave a faint smile. ‘It’s nothing that would be of interest to you. I have five factories, including the one I’ve just bought. During the war my factories mostly produced weapon parts. Now I’m making domestic appliances.’
‘China and stuff?’
‘No, I don’t run a pottery. Three of them produce gas appliances such as cookers and water heaters. There’s a big demand for such items now. One produces a range of goods such as baking tins, copper pans, jelly moulds, biscuit ti
ns, scales, etcetera.’
‘And the factory you bought from my father? What domestic goods will you make there?’
‘Army and navy supplies.’
‘I thought I heard you tell Mr Lee-Trafford it would be domestic ware.’
He laughed. ‘Servicemen don’t use their fingers as spoons and forks unless they have no choice. It’s cutlery, canteens, tin plates and other goods. I also need storage space and the Howard factory is central and on the river. Your father made me pay through the nose for it, you know.’
‘Will you keep his former staff on?’
‘I see no reason to lay good men off if they’re needed and can do the work. I’ll consult with Lee-Trafford on that. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.’
Now it was her turn to smile. ‘Yes . . . he has. My father was very attached to his workers.’
‘I know, but that’s what got him into such a hole. Lee-Trafford has been whittling down the staff by natural attrition.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘That when they leave they’re not being replaced. Once your father’s debts are cleared what’s left will go to you. By the way, there has been a good offer for your flat, so the mortgage will be finalized with some left over.’
‘Will it be much?’
‘The amount will be enough to help clear his other debts. His affairs are complicated. The moneylenders were irresponsible in furnishing large loans on a failing business. Unfortunately, people of your father’s era operated on the old school tie and a handshake principle, and unsubstantiated small debts keep coming out of the woodwork. Right now I’m negotiating with his bank on the overdraft interest. I think they’ll come to understand that it’s better to forgo some of the accumulated interest than have the debt left on their books as a monument to their bungling.’
‘I’m sorry you have so much of my father’s business to clear up as well as doing your own.’
His head cocked to one side and he gave a soft chuckle. ‘I enjoy the cut and thrust of business and I’m pretty certain I can save some of your father’s estate for you and leave his reputation intact while I’m doing it.’
At that moment she felt closer to him than at any time during their short marriage. ‘Thank you. My father’s reputation means a lot to me, as it did to him.’
‘I know. If you’ll allow me to invest any monies left over, it will amount to a tidy sum in the years to come.’
She nodded.
‘I’m going to take the dogs for a walk; would you like to come with me?’
‘Not today, Latham; I feel a bit off colour.’
His expression questioned her. ‘Time of month?’
When she nodded he looked disappointed.
‘Goodness, we’ve only been married a few weeks,’ she said, making light of the moment as best she could. Julia would have loved to be able to tell him she was expecting a child – he might stay away from her then.
Latham was off walking with the dogs one day, when Irene was announced.
‘Please show Miss Curruthers into the sitting room, Mrs Finnigan. I’ll join her there shortly.’
Julia went upstairs and combed her hair. She didn’t really want to be pleasant to Irene, who had snubbed her since the day of the apology, but she supposed she must.
Irene looked fabulous in a dark-blue crepe-de-chine frock and flat walking shoes. Her hair was a dark cap with perfect scimitar curves pointed against each cheek. She was as thin as a reed. Her smile was wide, but there was a hollowness to her eyes when she said, ‘Darling Julia, marriage to Latham obviously suits you.’
It didn’t suit her at all! Julia took a moment to remember that as much as Irene could love anyone, she had loved Latham, and she felt a twinge of remorse. ‘Irene, how lovely to see you again, to what do I owe the pleasure?’
‘Liar to the first . . . curiosity mostly to the second.’
Julia laughed; she couldn’t help herself. ‘You haven’t changed, have you?’
‘Not in the least.’
‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘Of course I would. I’m absolutely parched after that walk. I’ve never liked the country much, except when we have a party, then its perfect since the neighbours are too far away to complain about the noise.’ She eyed Julia up and down. ‘Oh, for crying out loud, come here and give me a hug . . . Hating each other is stupid, especially because of a man.’
Irene was wearing the same perfume that Julia had smelled on Latham in London. ‘I don’t hate you, Irene . . . actually, I haven’t given you much thought.’
Irene’s eyes flickered. ‘When you take the gloves off you really take them off, don’t you? Do stop being such a bitch, Julia, though I suppose I deserve it.’
Julia rang the bell and ordered some refreshment before asking, ‘Why are you really here?’
‘I wanted to say how sorry I was about your father.’
‘You sent me a card.’
‘I know I did. I only met him twice but he was a nice old duffer . . . decent, you know. Oh hell, Julia, I used him as an excuse to come over and visit you. Besides wanting to commiserate with you, because I know you adored your father, I wanted to apologize for what nearly happened at New Year.’
‘You did apologize.’
‘Latham insisted so it was under protest then. Now I really do feel guilty about it, and I’d like us to put it behind us and remain friends.’
Astonished, Julia stared at her, then she shrugged. They were bound to run into each other socially, and it would be silly to ignore each other. ‘Of course we can still be friends. I never blamed you, you know.’
‘No, you wouldn’t have . . . You’re so noble that sometimes I could kill you. The hug, please? I warn you, there’s only so far I’m going to crawl before I give you a good slap or puke all over your carpet. I’ve just about reached that limit.’
Julia laughed as they gently hugged and kissed the air at the side of each other’s cheeks. She doubted if she’d ever trust Irene again, even though she’d missed her company. ‘Exquisite perfume,’ she said.
‘Chanel number five. It was a gift . . . I take it you finally lost your virginity, and to Latham. Was the experience as good as you expected?’
‘Better.’
Irene looked her straight in the eye and answered the lie with one of her own. ‘I’m so glad.’
Fifteen minutes later Julia heard the distant bark of the dogs. Latham was on his way home. This could prove to be interesting.
He came into the sitting room just as they’d finished their second cup of coffee, a bunch of bluebells in a small vase. ‘Look what I found in the woods. I picked you a bunch and put them in water . . . and I found a four-leafed clover.’
Julia couldn’t resist it. ‘How sweet of you, Latham,’ and she turned her face up to be kissed. The touch of surprise in his eyes at her wifely gesture was gratifying.
It didn’t fool Irene. ‘How touching . . . Latham Miller, with a jam jar full of bluebells and a kiss for his lady love. Good Lord, Latham, your background is showing,’ she drawled from her position in the other chair.
His eyes flew open in shock, then shuttered down. It was almost an anti-climax as he turned towards her, his voice flat: ‘Irene . . . What are you doing here?’
‘Visiting your wife, of course . . . You can’t keep her in seclusion, you know, and you are by far the most interesting people in the village; everybody says so.’
‘Why?’ Latham said.
‘You seem so ill-matched.’
‘We’re perfectly matched. I was asking: Why are you here?’
‘I’m delivering an invitation from the parents to come to an informal lunch on Saturday.’
‘I’ll check my diary.’
‘Several people will be there who might be useful to you, and Charles of course. I thought we might make up a four for tennis.’
‘Charles is coming down?’
‘He’s been sent down for the rest of the term. Father is furious,
of course, so Charles has been summoned and will get a fearful wigging. Lord . . . I’ve never seen Daddy so incensed.’
‘What did Charles do this time?’
‘Apparently he buzzed the chapel in his plane with Rupert standing on one wing and Adam standing on the other . . . both of them debagged.’ She gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘They must have frozen their arses off.’
Latham laughed and even Julia giggled at the picture Irene presented.
‘Pater has threatened to ground Charles’ plane. It’s terribly inconvenient, since we had plans to go over to the continent next month. I suggested to Charles that he lands on your meadow. You won’t mind, will you? It won’t be the first time, and they’ll think he travelled down on the train.’
‘It’s too late if I do mind.’
‘Don’t be such a meanie, darling.’ She stood, smoothing down the skirt of her dress. ‘Julia, you look marvellous. Marriage must agree with you. No, don’t get up, dear. Latham can see me out . . . Let’s go up to the meadow and wait for Charles, shall we, Latham? He won’t be long. Do put those flowers down on the table. You look slightly ridiculous holding them, just like a lovesick schoolboy. How terribly boring of you.’
They went out together, Latham closing the door behind him. Julia wished he’d left the bluebells behind in the woods because they were already beginning to wilt and would be dead by nightfall. And there was the four-leafed clover. Perhaps it would bring them luck – perhaps she would learn to love Latham. She took it upstairs and placed it between the pages of a book to dry.
The sun came out from behind a cloud and she saw her husband’s shadow, and that of Irene. The two merged together for a long moment, then they moved apart as the couple strolled away from the house, Irene chatting and laughing, the gap between them left deliberately wide in case the truth of the relationship was detectable by closeness.
Irene had separated her from Latham, making her prior claim on him perfectly clear with a gesture so manipulative it took Julia’s breath away. She didn’t care if they were lovers, but Irene had lied to her. She hadn’t come to visit her, she’d come to see Latham. She wouldn’t sit meekly by and be made to feel like an interloper in her own home.