by Lizzie Lane
‘Of course I remember. How are you, Edna?’
Edna shook the proffered hand.
Charlotte stood close to his side, her voice oddly cajoling. ‘Darling, I was doing some shopping at a market garden near Long Ashton and got caught in the crowd coming out of the tobacco factory. I saw Edna and suggested she come up here to collect one of the orphanage bags. She’s going to make some baby clothes.’
He smiled. ‘Very commendable of you, Edna.’
She smiled stupidly and nodded towards the floor. There was something of the snake about his voice. There was no harshness, just a slippery charm and a bland smile that never altered. If he was hoping to charm her, he had failed miserably. He frightened her.
Charlotte dashed off to get the carrier bags as promised.
Still smiling, David asked her about the wedding.
‘The fourth Saturday in May.’ Edna glanced towards the door Charlotte had disappeared through. She made an effort to stop being nervous. ‘You are both invited.’ She prayed that Charlotte wouldn’t be long.
Her prayers were swiftly answered. Charlotte returned with a carrier bag in each hand. She was smiling broadly and with almost as confident an air as on the first day they’d met. She held up the two carrier bags, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. ‘I’ve brought you two. I’m sure that will keep you busy.’
‘As dinner is an hour away, I insist on giving you a lift home,’ said David. Edna thanked him but wished Charlotte was taking her.
Face flushed, Charlotte handed him the keys. She seems relieved, thought Edna, and as the string handles of the carrier bags bit into her fingers, it occurred to her that she’d been used. The material and patterns could have been delivered at any time. But Charlotte had needed her as some kind of excuse, perhaps a defence.
Chapter Eleven
CHARLOTTE WAS ARRANGING daffodils in a tall blue vase. David gathered up his papers and put them in his briefcase. There was an uneasy peace between them after her late arrival home last night, but she hid her discomfort, hoping that today she would see some glimmer of the old David.
In the past she had used her superior strength and confidence to help others with their problems. Now she had the problems and couldn’t bear to unload them on someone else. It was against her nature. So she concentrated on other things. Giving out good advice and being generous to other people made her feel especially good.
That very morning she had received a letter of thanks from Edna. She smiled at the thought of Edna’s face when she discovered the six yards of white silk, the lace and the strips of seeded pearls she’d crammed into one of the carrier bags.
I’m using it to make my wedding dress, as if you hadn’t guessed.
Which was exactly what Charlotte had intended. She was grateful for having bumped into Edna on the day she’d taken Janet back to school. Her presence had saved a lot of awkward questions being asked. David would not know about Janet running away from school unless someone told him.
There was a knock at the door and Mrs Grey entered. ‘I’ve finished packing your case, Doctor. It’s out here in the hall.’
‘Very good.’ David fastened his briefcase and straightened.
‘These conferences are getting ever more frequent aren’t they?’ said Charlotte, trying her best not to sound relieved that he was going away.
‘They need to be!’ snapped David. ‘Most of the BMA are opposed to this National Health rubbish. We have to fight it or see our incomes cut to unmanageable levels.’
Charlotte didn’t mention that she’d read something about it and didn’t think it was that bad an idea – with some reservations of course, but it was basically sound. But David rarely listened to her point of view nowadays. She resigned herself to being submissive. ‘Whatever you say, David.’
‘I’ll see you when I get back.’ He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. In times past he would have held her close, run his hands down her back. The warmth and affection between them would have been almost tangible. But it wasn’t like that any more.
Charlotte stared after him thoughtfully. He hadn’t mentioned anything more about her going out to work. He’d actually been more amenable over the past few days, absorbed in fighting a new idea that he might have embraced in pre-war years.
Majorie the receptionist had developed a heavy cold on the Tuesday when Dr Hennessey-White was due back from conference. Although Polly was mainly there for domestic and menial office work, she had done enough reception duties to manage by herself.
‘Don’t worry, Marge,’ she said in a put-on voice as common as any she knew. ‘I’ll look after things.’
Majorie had looked at her with dread. ‘You can’t talk to patients like that!’
Polly grinned. She loved putting it on just to upset the older woman whose bun was tight enough to stretch her skin, and her glasses as thick as milk bottle bottoms. She went on, ‘Oh I won’t, Majorie darling. I will speak very slowly so I don’t drop my aitches or stick “l”s and “r”s on the end of everything.’ This time she spoke with as much refinement as she could and Marjorie sighed with relief.
The afternoon went well. Polly made an effort to be very solicitous to patients, and although David was surprised she was there he seemed pleased to see her.
At the end of surgery she knocked on his door and asked him if it was all right to lock the outer door. The drop down leaf of the cocktail cabinet was open and he was pouring himself a large whisky. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught him drinking.
‘Yes please,’ he answered.
When she went back into his office he was pouring himself a fresh whisky. Any humble employee – such as good old Marjorie – on seeing him drinking so heavily, would have retired discreetly, but not Polly. She had a destiny to achieve. Besides, she’d seen the way he had looked at her on the day she’d pulled down her stocking and he’d examined her ankle.
Smart as ever in another of her made-over black and white outfits, she sat herself down in one of the armchairs and seductively crossed one leg over the other.
‘A gentleman would invite a girl to join him.’
A hard, surprised expression came to David’s face. For a split second she thought he was going to show her the door. But slowly a smile spread over his face. Never met anyone so bloody cheeky, she thought, cocking her head to one side like an inquisitive sparrow.
She beamed as he handed her the well-filled tumbler. ‘Bottoms up!’ She took a large swig. The amber liquid warmed the back of her mouth and seeped into her brain. This was good!
‘I appreciate you stepping into the breach at such short notice,’ he began.
‘Don’t mention it.’
‘So what have you been up to?’ David said as he sat himself in the chair opposite her. He meant in reception that afternoon, but she wasn’t going to leave matters so mundane.
‘Well, besides working for you I’ve been planning my future. But it’s not always easy. People get in your way, don’t they? Especially busybodies who like to buzz about thinking they’re helping people when they’re really only being plain nosy.’
A knowing look came over his face.
Thinking about Charlotte, thought Polly, which is exactly what I meant him to do. Never before had she felt as angry towards anyone as she did towards Charlotte. Everything about her was suddenly hateful. Charlotte’s clothes, Charlotte’s lifestyle and, most of all, that confident smile, that air of superiority, added up to everything the upper class was and she wasn’t. She disliked her for that alone, but she hated her for ruining her chances of a new life in a new world.
He drained his glass. She followed suit.
‘That’s a lot of whisky for a woman,’ he said, frowning with disapproval.
Polly raised an eyebrow. ‘Now, now, Doc. You weren’t thinking you could out-drink me, were you?’
He looked at her steadily as though he was making up his mind what to do about her. Then, as if a decision had been reached, he took her glass and poured her
another.
‘Do you enjoy working for me?’
She said she did because she knew it was what he wanted to hear. But oh, it would have been so much better if she could have married Aaron and gone to America. Remember what you promised yourself, said a small voice in her head.
If you don’t get a better life over there, then you’ll aim for one over here. Oh yes. She remembered all right. And as she did, she smiled at David over the top of her glass.
He was talking about when they’d first met. ‘At least it makes amends for me pushing that door open so quickly and knocking you down.’
She laughed, partly as a result of the drink and partly because she had made up her mind to hurt Charlotte just as Charlotte had hurt her. Her skirt slid up and exposed a lot more leg. David noticed. She did not adjust it. Instead she caressed the soft velvet of the chair. At the same time she kept her eyes fixed on his. ‘I loved this chair the first time I saw it,’ she said.
‘I remember.’
You’re remembering me in it, stocking off and your hands all over my foot, perhaps thinking of running them up my leg, under my skirt.
He got up, his hands shaking slightly as he poured himself another drink.
I’m right, she thought, and smiled smugly to herself.
He said, ‘I would have thought a good-looking girl like you would be married by now.’
She joined him, leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed. ‘My sweetheart got killed in the war. No one can understand what it’s like. I feel so sad at times. So lonely.’ She silently congratulated herself. The lies rolled off her tongue so easily.
She looked up into his face. Something was different. His expression had changed. There was a slackness to his jaw, a vacant look in his eyes.
For a moment it frightened her. She thought about leaving but her desire for revenge forced her to stay.
You should leave, said the voice of reason. He’s happily married and there’s two children to think of.
That was it! Charlotte was happily married and had two children along with everything else that she had. Why should Charlotte have it all and not her?
Hurt and confused, she forced herself to stay, her anger overwhelming her good nature and common sense. She knew men well. Even before his lips met hers she knew he was going to kiss her. She’d known plenty of servicemen just like him, far from home and in need of female comfort. And that’s what David was, home from the war, yet in his mind he was still there, tasting something he had not tasted before.
It was a weekday when David went off to another BMA meeting and Charlotte breathed a sigh of relief. It was only when he was not at home that she became anything like her old self. When he was there she behaved the way he wanted her to, did everything he wanted her to. It was like walking on eggshells. She trod softly, silently, and hardly spoke unless she was spoken to.
His obsession with fighting the government’s new health scheme occupied his mind. The fact that she still had her car and was still involved in various projects, paid and unpaid, was overlooked.
On the drive out to the camp, she thought about Polly and her anger. She had never meant for Aaron to be shipped out and she had no idea that it was Polly he was talking about marrying. She resolved to see the commanding officer and see if there was anything to be done.
A sergeant she didn’t know, white, greeted her and informed her that it was now his task to organise the prisoners’ appointments for her. He had shiny hair and an air of arrogance. ‘My name’s Sergeant Noble,’ he said, and asked her if there was anything he could do. She had the distinct impression that he didn’t think she had any right being there. Probably the type that thinks all good Germans are dead ones, she thought. But she was not the sort to let herself be bullied by him.
She pulled herself up to her full height which, bearing in mind her high heels, meant she was almost looking down at him. ‘Yes. I would like to see the commanding officer before I start. Take me to him now.’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ he said, openly smirking and shaking his head as though she were little more than a child. ‘But Commander Cohen is a very busy man and …’
She slammed her briefcase down. ‘Then I’ll wait outside his office!’
She strode resolutely to the door, the heels of her tan court shoes beating a strident tattoo as she did so. The sergeant followed.
‘This is US territory and you’ve got no right …’
This was the last straw. Charlotte stopped so abruptly that he almost collided into her when she turned.
‘This is my country, sergeant, and I have every right! If you want to make an issue of it, please put it in writing. But I would warn you that I know some very influential people in very high places!’
His skin paled to the colour of unbaked bread.
Pleased with the result but giddy with anger, Charlotte marched on.
Outside the commander’s office she smoothed her green jacket firmly over her hips and realigned the mink fur collar. She meant business.
After knocking, she walked right in.
‘Mrs Hennessey-White!’ he got up from his chair as she entered, his expression amiable but condescending. In his right hand he held a large cigar. ‘Please,’ he said, indicating with a wave of his hand, ‘sit yourself down.’
She shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t feel comfortable.’
His amiable expression froze, like some cartoon character when the film’s broken down.
‘Mrs Hennessey-White. Please tell me, have I done something to upset you?’
‘When I was last here I spoke to you about Aaron Grant and his wish to marry. I now understand he’s been shipped home. Might I ask why?’
As he studied her he drew on the cigar. A pall of smoke floated up and hung between them.
‘Best for him. Best for the army. Fraternisation of non-white combatants is something we couldn’t control in your country. But we sure as hell don’t have to put up with the result of these liaisons. I take it the girl is pregnant. They usually are.’
Charlotte knew that Polly was no saint. And she hadn’t thought to ask her whether she was expecting. But she wasn’t going to give Colonel Cohen the satisfaction.
‘No!’ she said vehemently.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But rules are rules.’
‘And laws are laws. You are subject to British law as well as US law.’
His expression crumpled then hardened. ‘Grant was a member of our army, Mrs Hennessey-White, not yours. It’s none of your business.’
She went on unabashed. ‘I’d like his address, or does that belong to the army too?’
He glared at her, his eyes no more than chips of hard glass in a face now glistening with a thin layer of sweat.
She sensed he was searching for some way of refusing her request. But he couldn’t do that. He knew without her saying that she would go above his head. And indeed she would. For her own self respect as much as for anything else, she felt compelled to put things right between her and Polly.
‘I’ll have to write and ask his parents’ permission to let you have that.’
It was a small hope and a very small triumph, but she felt she had achieved something.
She told Josef later. ‘I feel awful about it. Polly blames me.’
‘There’s nothing you can do. Anyway, in one way it is for the best. At least it happened now before there was a child.’
‘As far as I know,’ Charlotte interjected, unable to control the anger she felt at such bigotry, such hypocrisy.
She went prattling on about the hypocrisy of men fighting a war against those who killed because of race or religion. Only when she fell to silence and Josef did not respond did she realise that he was sitting very quietly, his gaze fixed at the door directly in front of him.
‘What’s the matter?’
Still with his gaze fixed on the door, he rubbed his hands together.
‘I have decided to go home as soon as I am allowed.’
She hadn’t expected this.
‘But I thought …’ She got up and stood behind his chair, her arm trailing around his shoulders. Briefly she glanced outside the small, square window, desperate to be close to him yet concerned that their behaviour should not be observed.
She knelt at his side then reached up and touched his cheek, a slight stubble rough but enticingly masculine beneath her fingertips. ‘What is it, Josef?’
He too looked out of the window but not, she guessed, for the same reason. ‘They made us watch a film today about war crimes.’
He turned back to look at her. His eyes were moist.
Charlotte had been hurt both physically and mentally since David had come home. Now she was hurting more. She didn’t want him to leave.
‘I would have thought you would be put off going home. If you stayed here I could arrange …’
He clasped her hand between his. ‘It would be easy for me to stay here. But I have to go back. Don’t you see that? I have to make amends.’
They drove silently to the village pub after she’d seen her last appointment.
‘It’s going to take some time to arrange your repatriation. You do know that?’ she said, as they sat at a rough oak table with their drinks.
He nodded and folded his hand over hers, the gesture hidden by the tabletop.
‘You say I can get a job in the meantime. Perhaps on a local farm or something.’
But I want you with me, not stuck in the country.
Her mind searched for a solution. An idea came to her.
‘Do you like children?’
His mood lightened. ‘Are you propositioning me?’
‘Be serious, Josef …’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I think I might be able to arrange something.’
He seemed pleased but she could tell that something was troubling him.
‘Everything will work out terribly well,’ she said brightly, as though she were talking about a netball game result rather than the course of their lives.