Scarlett nodded wordlessly. Jonathan reached across the table and squeezed her hand, lifted Simon off his knee and went downstairs to use the phone. The call to the police out of the way, he rang round all his friends. Half an hour later he went back up to Scarlett with a plate of sandwiches, more tea and a list.
‘Someone’s coming to interview you at four,’ he told her. ‘Do you want me to be here with you?’
‘Yes, please.’
‘OK. In the meantime, I’ve got promises of stuff from all these people. You should have more than enough to make a bit of a home here. And they all send their sympathy—the gang, of course, and Aunty Marge and the Mancinis, they were all shocked to hear your news. The thing is, do you want to come with me while I collect what they’ve promised, or would you rather stay here?’
‘I don’t know—I can’t think—’
‘There would be more room in the car if you stayed here, but are you sure you’ll be all right?’
‘Yes, yes—you go.’
He paused at the door of the living room as he left, looking back at her as she sat at the table. Corinne had spoken of them sitting there on a sofa, looking out at the sea, but it needed a very strong leap of imagination now to see that. Scarlett looked right sitting there.
When he came back with armfuls of household goods, he began to take a real pleasure in seeing the home come together. It was very makeshift and not particularly comfortable, but it was a home. His home, with Scarlett in it.
When the police officer arrived, he sat in on the interview and volunteered to identify Victor, but the officer shook his head.
‘Not really possible, sir. We’re going to have to look at dental records. Where would those be, miss?’
‘I don’t know,’ Scarlett admitted. ‘I can’t remember the last time he went to the dentist. He was afraid of them.’
‘Right. Did he have any accidents in his life? Any broken bones we could look for?’
‘Oh—yes—he broke his wrist—his left wrist—about ten years ago.’
That satisfied the officer. As there did not appear to be any suspicious circumstances, he thought the inquest would be within a week or so, and then they would be able to arrange the funeral. Scarlett just nodded. Jonathan thanked him and saw him out.
And then the phone rang. It was Corinne.
‘Jonathan! You said you would ring me today. Why did you forget?’
‘Oh—I’m sorry, darling. I’ve had a lot on my mind. How are you?’
‘I am fine. But you should not forget me, even if you have a lot on your mind.’
‘I didn’t forget you. I was just about to ring when you called,’ Jonathan lied.
Corinne made an unconvinced noise, then evidently decided to let it ride. ‘How is the building work going? Are the men working hard? Will it all be done in time?’
Jonathan told her what was happening in the new kitchen.
‘That’s good, but the apartment, will that be finished?’
Above Jonathan’s head, small feet thudded across the floor. Should he tell Corinne what was going on?
‘I don’t know about that, darling. But that can be done as and when. The important thing is to get the restaurant opened for the Christmas trade.’
‘I think I should come over and see for myself.’
‘Oh, that’s not really necessary yet,’ Jonathan hurried to assure her. ‘It will take a while to get all the basic stuff done and the kitchen fitted. You don’t need to oversee that. Wait till we start the decorating and choose the furniture and stuff. That’s where we need your good taste.’
‘I know—but I want to see you. I miss you. Are you missing me?’
‘All the time,’ Jonathan said but, even as the words left his mouth, he knew they were no longer true.
‘Then perhaps I will come. It’s horrible here without you.’
‘But it won’t be long now, darling. And you know how you hate the ferry.’
Jonathan found he was holding his breath. The last thing he wanted now was for Corinne to arrive and find Scarlett there.
‘Yes—well—maybe you are right. Or maybe some day I will just surprise you.’
‘No, don’t,’ Jonathan told her. ‘I hate surprises.’
Corinne gave a tinkling laugh. ‘Oh, darling, you can be so boring! But I love you.’
A small hand tugged at Jonathan’s arm. ‘Uncle Jonathan—’
Scarlett urged in a low tone down the stairs, ‘Joanne! Leave Uncle Jonathan alone and come here!’
As luck would have it, the workmen had gone quiet.
‘What was that?’ Corinne asked. ‘It sounded like a child. Do you have a child there?’
‘It was the radio,’ Jonathan told her.
‘But I heard someone say your name.’
‘I’m showing one of the gang round.’
‘But—’
‘This call must be costing your father a fortune. Must go now, darling. Thanks for ringing. Bye!’
Jonathan put the phone down and ran a hand over his head. That had been close. He was going to have to be very careful. This whole situation was difficult enough without Corinne finding out.
CHAPTER THIRTY
SCARLETT woke the next morning with a curious feeling of peace. She lay on the camp-bed looking up at the sloping ceiling of the bedroom and listening to the seagulls calling outside. Reflected light from the sea came in through the uncurtained window. There was something about this apartment that soothed her. She felt right here. At home.
But it was not her home—it was Jonathan and Corinne’s. For her it was only a temporary refuge. The peaceful feeling dissolved as the events of the previous day crowded in on her mind. She was homeless. She possessed nothing but the things around her that had been lent or given. Her father was dead and there was an inquest to attend and a funeral to arrange. If she did not get back to work, she had nothing to live on but a bit of family allowance. The practical difficulties of working seemed mountainous. She could do all the walking to and fro when she had only been a few streets away from the Harringtons’, but now she was the far side of town from them.
Walking! With a start, she realised that the pram was still at the Harringtons’. She would have to go back there and pick it up. She couldn’t function without that pram. She tried to think about which buses she would have to catch, and whether she had enough money for the fares. Everything seemed to be such an effort. Her mind was sluggish and her emotions raw. She felt as if she had been scraped out inside and left empty and hollow.
There was a thump next door as one of the children got out of bed. They had been thrilled with the camp- beds, thinking them much better than their cots. Scarlett’s spirits lifted slightly as she listened to them chattering to each other.
‘Mummy!’
They both burst into her room and flung themselves at her.
‘It’s nice here, Mummy. You can hear seagulls. Is this our home now?’ Joanne asked.
‘Just for a bit,’ Scarlett told her.
If only it was their home. How wonderful that would be.
‘Is Grandad Vic here?’
‘Grandad!’ Simon repeated.
Scarlett fought back the choking tears. ‘No, darlings,’ she managed to whisper.
‘Where is he?’
Scarlett summoned up the strength to explain once more. She tried to keep her voice level. ‘He’s gone to live with your Granny Joan in heaven.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s…he’s dead. He couldn’t stay here any more. He’s happy with Granny Joan.’
She could see that they didn’t understand. They had no real idea of who Granny Joan was and they certainly didn’t know what death meant.
‘When’s he coming back?’
‘He isn’t coming back. When…when people die, they never come back.’
Joanne’s face crumpled. ‘But I want him back!’
Scarlett gathered both children to her and buried her face in their soft hair
. ‘So do I, darlings,’ she sobbed.
They clung to her, upset by her distress.
‘Don’t cry, Mummy,’ Joanne begged.
‘I’m sorry, darlings. I’m just so sad about Grandad Vic.’
‘We love you, Mummy.’
‘I know, darling. And I love you. Whatever happens, we’ll always have each other. You just remember that. We’ve got each other. That’s all that matters.’
She said it to convince herself as much as Joanne and Simon, and it worked, because it was true. Somehow she managed to control her tears. She must try to make the day nearer to normal, for the children’s sake. By the time Jonathan arrived, they were sitting at the table in the front window eating toast made from the bread he had left for them last night.
Scarlett felt a rush of longing as he came into the room, so much so that she couldn’t speak. She just gazed at him as he stood there smiling with a pint of milk in his hand.
‘How are you all this morning?’ he asked. ‘Here— thought you might be needing this.’
‘Th-thank you. You’re very kind,’ she stuttered.
He was all she wanted, but he wasn’t hers to have.
Jonathan shrugged. ‘It’s nothing. Any tea in the pot?’
Scarlett nodded. ‘I’ll get you some.’
She was glad to have something practical to do. Downstairs, the builders were arriving, calling out to each other and switching on their transistor radio.
Jonathan sat down at the table with them. ‘Mrs Mancini says you’re to go and have lunch at theirs, on the house,’ he said.
Scarlett was touched. ‘How kind.’
‘But a word of warning—she’s quite old-fashioned about things and she’ll expect you to be wearing black, out of respect, you know.’
That suited Scarlett. Black matched her mood.
‘I think there’s something in the stuff the gang gave me.’
She braced herself for the day ahead.
The following days began to fall into a pattern. If it hadn’t been for the circumstances, it would have been like a holiday, camping out in the light-filled apartment facing the sea and spending all her time with the children. Her loss brought out the best in people, and she found herself drawn back into the sea front community. Jonathan’s little gang of friends and their wives and girlfriends called round in various combinations, offering help and sympathy. She weathered a difficult interview with the Harringtons when she went to fetch the pram, and arranged with her employers at the High Street pub to keep her job open.
And then she was given a date for the inquest.
‘That means we can start to arrange the funeral,’ Jonathan said.
Scarlett thought of her mother’s funeral. It had been a terrible occasion, but there had been a great deal of comfort in it as well. They had held it at the village church and all their friends and customers had attended and said what a wonderful woman her mother had been. This time it was going to be very different. They no longer belonged to a church, so it would have to be a cold ceremony at the crematorium. And who was going to mourn her father, apart from herself and the children?
‘Would you like me to come with you to the funeral director’s?’ Jonathan asked.
‘Yes, please.’ Scarlett studied him as they sat across the table from each other once more. She didn’t deserve all this support, not after what she had done to him. ‘You’re such a rock, Jonathan. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
Jonathan looked away, staring out of the window. ‘It’s nothing, really. How could I abandon you at a time like this?’
‘Some men might have done.’
‘Well, I’m not some men, am I?’
‘No, you’re not.’
He was the most wonderful man in the world. She longed to wrap her arms round him, to hold him tight and never let him go. But he was still avoiding her eyes, looking at something far away over the water. Perhaps he was thinking about Corinne.
‘Come on,’ he said, coming back to the problem in hand and standing up. ‘Get those children ready and we’ll walk up to the funeral director’s. Best get it over with.’
The day of the inquest arrived. Jonathan knew how much Scarlett was dreading it, and offered once again to go with her. They dropped the children off with Mrs Mancini, who was delighted to have them and sat them down at her kitchen table with ice creams, so that they hardly noticed Scarlett saying goodbye to them.
‘They’ll be fine there,’ Jonathan said.
‘I know. She’s a lovely person, isn’t she?’ Scarlett said.
He could hear her fear in her voice.
‘You’ll feel better once this is over,’ he told her.
The whole official process was horribly intimidating and impersonal, but Scarlett appeared to stand up to it well. Jonathan felt proud of her as she answered the questions put to her with quiet dignity. The verdict was accidental death. They were free to lay Victor Smith to rest.
It was late afternoon before they arrived back, having picked up Joanne and Simon on the way. Jonathan went inside to speak to the builders before they knocked off for the day while Scarlett got the children out of the car.
He knew there was something wrong from the way the men looked at him as he walked into the building. Before he could even open his mouth to ask what was up, there was a clatter of footsteps on the stairs and Corinne appeared. A furious Corinne, eyes sparking, face flushed. She let loose a torrent of French.
‘What have you been doing behind my back? You traitor! You liar! I knew there was something wrong, I knew it! All that, There’s no need to come over, you know how much you hate the ferry. You were putting me off, weren’t you? Lying to me, when all the time you had your mistress and her horrible brats in here. And don’t try to deny it. I’ve been upstairs, I’ve seen it. All her things in my home, hers and those brats, in my home. How could you do this to me? How could you bring your mistress into our home?’
Acutely aware of Scarlett outside on the pavement, Jonathan tried to explain.
‘Corinne, darling, it’s not what it seems—’
‘Oh, no? You mean she’s not living here?’
‘Well, she is, but I’m not living with her. I’m still at my parents’—’
‘Ha! You expect me to believe that?’
‘Yes, I do, because it’s the truth. I offered the place to Scarlett because—’
‘I don’t want to know! All I know is—she has to go. Now.’
Before Jonathan could stop her, Corinne marched to the front door and erupted onto the pavement.
‘You!’ she screamed in her heavily accented English. She jabbed a finger at Scarlett. ‘I knew it! I knew it! Is something wrong. I come here, and here is you. What you do in my house? Is my house, you hear? Mine, my home, not yours. And my man. This Jonathan, he is my fiancé. You understand? Mine!’
Joanne and Simon whimpered in fear and clung to Scarlett’s legs, stopping her from moving. Crack! Corinne’s hand slammed into Scarlett’s face, whipping her head round.
‘You bitch! You whore! How dare you live here? How dare you—?’
Jonathan stepped forward and grasped her wrist.
‘Corinne! Stop it!’
Corinne rounded on him, screaming at him in French. ‘I won’t stop it till you get rid of her. You hear me? Get rid of her at once!’
She struggled to get free, but Jonathan held her tight.
‘I can’t. She’s got nowhere to go.’
‘I don’t care! If you love me, you will get rid of her.’
Jonathan looked swiftly from Corinne’s furious face to Scarlett’s white one to the two frightened children. This wasn’t going to be solved by yelling at each other on the pavement.
‘Let’s go inside and talk about it sensibly,’ he suggested in English.
It was Scarlett who disagreed first. ‘No—really—I don’t want to cause trouble—’
‘You’re not,’ he said, and almost laughed at himself because it was so pa
tently untrue.
‘I’ll wait in the car,’ Scarlett told him. She looked at Corinne, who was shaking with fury. ‘I’m sorry, but I had nowhere else to go. And it’s not what it looks like. He’s not living here with me.’
‘Liar!’ Corinne spat.
‘Come inside,’ Jonathan ordered, and pulled her after him up the steps and into the building.
The workmen had downed tools and were openly watching the show. Jonathan hesitated. If they stayed here, they had to have it out in front of the men, if they went upstairs they were going to be surrounded by the evidence of Scarlett’s occupation. He decided on upstairs.
‘You see, all these things of hers. Very cosy,’ Corinne said, waving an arm at the makeshift home.
‘Corinne, calm down, please. Let me explain—’
‘Oh, yes, explain, explain! I am dying to hear this wonderful explanation!’
‘Scarlett had nowhere to go. Her flat burned down. She had nothing left, nothing but what she was standing up in. And her father was killed in the fire. He was burnt to death, Corinne, and she was distraught. He was the only family she had. She has no one else, no one to turn to. Now, what did you want me to do? Tell her to go away? How could I do that? I was helping an old friend, that’s all.’
He watched the conflicting emotions chasing across Corinne’s face.
‘Ha…well…maybe…’ The generous side of her could see that he couldn’t have turned Scarlett away, but she was still far too angry and jealous to let it drop. ‘But you did not have to live here too, not in our home. I shall never feel the same way about it now, not after this—’
Jonathan snapped. ‘For God’s sake, Corinne! How many more times do I have to say it? Look around you—go on, look in the bathroom, look in the bedrooms. Can you find any of my stuff here?’
Corinne refused to look at proof.
‘It doesn’t matter what is here. I shall still see her here now. It will be her place, not mine. It is all spoilt.’
Jonathan raised his hands in a Gallic gesture of despair. ‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘Get rid of her.’
Bye Bye Love Page 31