‘It’s the police, dear.’
‘Police?’ Fear overwhelmed her as she pulled on her dressing gown and ran downstairs.
‘I do hope it isn’t bad news, dear,’ Mrs McAllister said, pointing to the large black telephone on top of the bureau in her private sitting room.
‘Thank you, Mrs McAllister.’ Bess lifted the receiver as Mrs Mac left the room. ‘Hello. This is Elizabeth Dudley.’
‘Euston Square police station here, Miss Dudley. We’ve found a handbag that fits the description of the one you reported stolen in January. If you’d like to come down to the station and identify it--.’
Bess shook with relief. It had been three months since the theft of the bag. And, thinking she would never get it back, Bess had put it out of her mind. ‘Thank you. Is the wallet still in the bag?’ she asked, fearing it wasn’t.
‘Hang on, Miss.’ Bess heard the telephone receiver clunk against a hard surface. ‘Yes, the wallet’s here, and so is the purse,’ the policeman said. ‘The money’s gone, I’m afraid, but it looks like everything else on the list’s here.’
Bess was on tenterhooks all the way to Euston. She knew it was an incredible bit of luck to get the bag back and was pleased the wallet and purse were still in it, but she so wanted James’s business card to be there too.
‘Good afternoon, Miss. Can I help you?’ a ruddy-cheeked desk sergeant asked, pushing up a glass hatch that looked more like a serving flap in the take-out of a pub than the enquiries window in a police station.
‘My name’s Elizabeth Dudley. I believe you’ve found my handbag?’
‘Yes Miss, it’s here.’ Reaching under the desk, the sergeant produced the bag. ‘This is yours, I believe,’ he said, removing a small luggage tag which Bess could see had her name on it. ‘If you’d just sign the release form,’ he said, handing her the bag and the form.
‘Thank you.’ Bess scribbled her signature, picked up her handbag and left.
There was a small grassy area in front of the police station with a couple of wooden benches facing a flowerbed of daffodils. When she arrived the seats were occupied by office workers eating sandwiches, but now the area was deserted. She sat on the nearest bench, opened the handbag and looked for James’ card. She took out the wallet and checked each compartment, but the card wasn’t there. She knew it wouldn’t be in the purse but she looked anyway. In the bottom of the bag she could see her powder compact, lipstick and comb, but there was nothing else except the bag’s frayed lining. ‘Damn,’ she said, under her breath.
Pleased to have the handbag back but disappointed that James’s card wasn’t in it, Bess snapped the gold clasp shut and set off along Euston Road to catch a bus home.
Molly tipped the contents of Bess’s bag onto the kitchen table. The wallet flew out first, followed by the purse and comb. ‘These are real leather, Bess, you can’t throw them away. And this comb is ever so pretty. It’ll be as good as new after a wash.’ The comb was pretty and Bess wondered why the thief hadn’t kept it and tried to sell it. It was the only surviving piece of a dressing table set that had belonged to Bess’s Granny. Bess had loved it for as long as she could remember but Granny said a silver comb was far too precious for a child. Then, when Bess started at the grammar school, Granny gave it to her as a reward for passing the eleven plus. It was her only personal possession, the only thing she could truly call her own, that her sisters were not allowed to play with – and she treasured it.
‘All right,’ Bess said. ‘I’ll keep the bag, the comb, and the wallet and purse, but I don’t want the make-up. I know it was a man that stole my bag – and the chances are he didn’t use the make-up but I still don’t want it. Just the thought of him touching it ...’ Bess wrinkled her nose. ‘Bin it, Moll.’
Molly disappeared outside and shook what remained of the bag’s contents into the dustbin. ‘Bess?’ she said on her return. ‘Did you want this?’
Bess stared at Molly in disbelief. ‘Where did you find it?’
‘It fell into the dustbin when I shook the bag. It must have been stuck in the lining,’ Molly said, handing Bess James’s business card. ‘Why, is it important?’
‘Yes, my young friend, it is important.’ Bess hugged Molly before running to find Mrs McAllister who, after hearing the urgency in Bess’s voice, vacated her sitting room for the kitchen and the kettle.
‘Holborn 1959 please?’
‘One moment please,’ the operator said, ‘trying to connect you.’
Why was she taking so long? The clock on Mrs Mac’s mantle gave the time as twenty past three. Bess didn’t know James’s office hours but it was the middle of the afternoon. Surely someone was there.
‘There’s no reply, caller. Please call back later.’
‘But I can’t call back later. Please try the number again,’ Bess pleaded.
The operator sighed loudly and the line went dead. Bess held her breath and listened to silence. She was about to put the receiver down when the operator came back on the line. ‘You’re connected, caller.’
‘Thank you--’
‘Foxden, Foxden and Hadleigh, Temple Garden Chambers. How may I help you?’ a young sounding female voice asked.
‘I’d like to speak to James Foxden, please.’
‘Who may I say is calling?’
‘Bess-- Bess Dudley.’
‘Bess…? I’m sorry, but Mr Foxden’s in a meeting and doesn’t want to be disturbed. Unless it’s urgent of course, and then I can--’
‘No! No, it isn’t urgent. I’ll call back tomorrow,’ Bess said.
‘I’m sorry, but James won’t be here tomorrow. Would you like to leave a message?’
‘Yes. Thank you. Would you tell him I phoned, and I’ll try to catch him later?’
‘Thank you. Goodbye,’ the girl said, and she’d gone.
Bess returned the telephone receiver to its cradle and picked up the telephone directory.
Leaving the Underground at Aldwych, Bess walked along Fleet Street for about half a mile, and found James’ chambers on the junction with Fetter Lane. Taking his business card from her pocket, she checked it against a list of names on a brass plaque by the main entrance. Foxden, Foxden and Hadleigh were on the third floor.
Returning the card to her pocket – she wasn’t going to risk losing it again – Bess looked up at the third storey windows and felt her stomach churn. She was suddenly overcome by doubt. What was she doing, coming to see James when she’d been told he was in a meeting? She looked at her watch – it was half past five. If he wasn’t still in the meeting, he’d have left the office by now. She walked away.
There was a chill in the air and it had started to spot with rain. She stepped into the first doorway, buttoned her jacket, and wished she had worn a coat. She had come all this way, she reasoned, it would be a shame to leave without trying to see him. What was wrong with casually calling on a friend who had suggested they meet up? According to the girl who answered his telephone, James wouldn’t be in the office tomorrow, so this might be the only chance she’d get to speak to him before …. Before what? The girl hadn’t said why he wasn’t going to be there. Thinking about it, she hadn’t said much at all.
Bess stepped out of the doorway and looked towards James’s office – and there he was, standing on the steps outside the main entrance where she had stood minutes before. He was hunched over with his hands cupped, lighting a cigarette. He straightened, drew on the cigarette, and as he exhaled he began to walk in Bess’s direction. Bess lifted her hand to wave, then let it fall when she saw a girl in her early twenties come running out of the building calling James’s name. The girl caught up with him and took the cigarette from between his lips. She took a long drag, closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. She lifted the cigarette to her mouth a second time but James took it from her.
Bess watched as the girl linked her arm through James’s and pulled on it until he was facing the opposite direction. They walked a short distance and stopped outside a restaurant
called Ye Olde Eatery where, after what looked to Bess like a discussion on the weather because the girl pointed to the sky before pulling her coat round her, they went inside.
Bess crossed the road and walked to a bus stop that was almost level with the restaurant. She couldn’t see James but the girl was sitting at a table next to the window, looking into the street.
Surrounded by dozens of men and women as they left the offices and chambers on Fleet Street, Bess felt less conspicuous. She joined a queue of people waiting for taxis and had a clear view of the restaurant. She looked across the road and into the restaurant window, hoping to catch a glimpse of James. Instead she caught the eye of the girl – who smiled.
Embarrassed, Bess looked away, took a step backwards and trod on the foot of a woman who was locking the door of a solicitor’s office. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. The woman glared at her and walked away. Bess ducked into the doorway. It was raining heavily now. Tears filled her eyes. She was cold and wet, alone and disappointed.
She should have turned away, gone home, but she didn’t. Tears streamed down her face. Her hair was soaked, but she couldn’t move. She stood in the rain for what seemed like hours, until James and the girl left the restaurant. James held his coat over the girl’s head with one hand and hailed a cab with the other. A hackney pulled up and James opened the door. He motioned to the girl to get in. Instead she reached up, put her arms around James’ neck, and spoke into his ear. James laughed and allowed the girl to pull him into the cab.
As the hackney pulled away from the kerb and into the traffic Bess could see through the rear window James and the girl locked in each other’s arms, kissing.
She took the small white business card from her pocket and dropped it in the gutter.
CHAPTER FOUR
Written beneath the words “Teaching Certificate” were the words “Passed with Distinction.”
‘I’ve done it, I’ve done it!’ Bess shouted, running into Nora’s room. ‘Nora, I’ve-- Sorry, I should have knocked.’
Nora was sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘It’s all right, come in.’
‘I just wanted to tell you I’ve got my teaching certificate.’ Bess was waving the manila envelope above her head when she noticed an identical envelope – which had to be from The De La Salle Teaching College – lying on the bed next to Nora, unopened.
‘Congratulations, Bess. If anyone deserves to pass you do,’ she said, tears filling her eyes.
‘What’s the matter? Why haven’t you opened your letter?’
‘It’ll be bad news, I know it will.’
‘Don’t be silly, you can’t know! And, even if it is, which I’m sure it isn’t …’ Bess searched for the right words, ‘wouldn’t it be better to know?’
Nora shrugged, and with the back of her hand swept her tears into her hair.
Bess picked up the envelope and sat down next to her. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to open it eventually, so you might as well do it now.’ She wondered whether she was the best person to be with her friend if the envelope contained bad news, but there wasn’t anyone else.
Breathing in slowly, Nora took the envelope from Bess, made her mouth into an O, and exhaled. ‘Right! Here goes,’ she said, tearing it open.
Bess watched her friend’s face closely, praying that the envelope she’d insisted she open contained good news. Nora closed her eyes. ‘Thank you, God,’ she whispered. ‘Right “Miss”,’ she said, when she’d finished reading. ‘You can’t tell me what to do, because I’m a “Miss” too. I’ve passed, Bess! I’ve passed!’ she squealed, waving the certificate in the air.
Both women leapt from the bed. With their arms around each other, they jumped up and down, shouting out their congratulations.
‘Lord knows what the rest of the house is thinking,’ Bess said, ‘with the racket we’re making.’
‘Nothing,’ Nora said, catching her breath. ‘Molly’s at the flicks and Miss Armstrong’s up west at a show. There’s no one to hear us. So,’ she said, pretending to be sad, ‘there’s no one to tell.’
‘We could tell Mrs Mac. She might get the sherry out,’ Bess said, grinning.
Nora jumped up. ‘Yes! She might! Come on then, what are we waiting for?’
They descended the stairs slowly, singing “Apple for the Teacher”, and by the time they reached their landlady’s sitting room, she was standing in the doorway brandishing a bottle of sherry.
The following morning Nora knocked on Bess’s door. ‘Are you up?’
‘Yes. I’m sorting through some papers. Come in. Did you sleep well?’ Bess asked when Nora flung herself onto the bed.
‘Not a wink. I was too excited. You?’
‘Not much,’ Bess said, laughing at her friend who was lying spread-eagled across her bed. ‘I suppose I was excited too,’ she said, pulling the crumpled papers that she’d carefully compiled from under Nora’s head.
‘Some of the lads from Arthur’s college are going to trawl the Kings Road – find a place that’s not too expensive, where we can celebrate the end of college. A kind of last supper before we go our separate ways,’ she said, laughing. ‘Any preferences?’
‘No. But anyway, I don’t think I’ll be going,’ Bess replied.
‘But you’ve got to. For me. I mean, me getting a teaching certificate really is something to celebrate. I knew you’d sail through the exams, but me?’ Nora laughed. ‘Please say you’ll come.’
Bess sat on the bed next to her friend. ‘I haven’t been out for ages. I haven’t even been to see Natalie and Anton Goldman,’ she said, sorry now that she hadn’t made the effort to go to the West End and see her friends at their theatre, especially as they’d been so kind to her. ‘All right, I’ll come. I don’t care where we go as long as there’s lots to eat and lots to drink.’
Bess and Nora arrived at La Casa Romani on the Kings Road in Chelsea just before eight o’clock.
‘There’s a table booked in the name of The De La Salle Teaching College,’ Nora announced to the young waiter who met them at the door.
‘This way, Signorina,’ he said to Nora, leading the way to what looked like several tables pushed together to make one long one on the far side of the room. Handing Nora a wine menu, he said, ‘While you wait,’ nodded and left.
‘If I hadn’t got my Arthur,’ Nora said, pretending to drool over the waiter. Bess dug her in the ribs and they both laughed. ‘Here they are. Over here!’ Nora shouted as Arthur and his chums, and a couple of friends of Bess’s and Nora’s from the teaching college, entered the restaurant noisily.
As they ate bowls of spicy minced meat in long strands of spaghetti and drank fizzy white wine they talked and laughed about their time at college and what fun it had been living in London. They told each other about their hopes and dreams for the future; of becoming teachers, or whatever it was the boys had chosen as careers, but no one mentioned the war. The possibility of it, the fear of it, was at the forefront of everyone’s mind. But they had all agreed before sitting down to eat that tonight was about celebrating and having fun.
When it was time to leave Nora’s boyfriend, Arthur, egged on by his college chums, knelt down on one knee and asked Nora to marry him.
Nora’s response to his proposal was an unreserved ‘Yes!’ Her squeals of delight were almost inaudible above the cheers of their friends.
The following morning, as she was coming downstairs, Bess heard Arthur’s motorbike roar to a halt. By the time she reached the hall, she could see him through the dimpled glass in the top of the front door. She opened it and let him in.
‘Is she ready?’ he beamed. Before Bess could answer Nora came running into the hall and gave Arthur a kiss. ‘You’re early,’ she scolded playfully. ‘Go and get my things, there’s a love, while I say goodbye to Bess.’
‘I didn’t think you’d be leaving this early,’ Bess said.
‘Nor did I. But maybe it’s as well. I hate goodbyes--’
‘Me too.’
&n
bsp; ‘And it’s not as if we’re never going to see each other again, is it?’
Bess shook her head. Before she had time to answer, Arthur returned with Nora’s cases, followed by Mrs McAllister and Molly. She threw her arms around her friend. ‘You’ve got my address at Foxden, so keep in touch.’
‘I will. And you’ve got mine. Let me know when you get a job and where you’ll be,’ Nora said, as Arthur opened the door. While he tied the cases onto the back of the motorbike the small crush of people in the hall nudged Nora out. ‘And I’ll let you know when I get a job, and where I’ll be-- Where me and Arthur will be,’ Nora said, grinning. Putting her satchel over her head, she climbed onto the pillion-seat of her fiancé’s motorbike and put her arms around his waist.
‘Hold on,’ Arthur shouted over his shoulder, and started the motorbike. After kicking the steel parking stand from under the bike, it jolted forwards. ‘Bye, folks,’ he called, pulling away from the kerb, steering with one hand and waving with the other.
‘See you at the wedding,’ Nora called.
‘Goodbye,’ everyone shouted.
‘Drive safely,’ Mrs McAllister added.
The small group waved until the motorbike was out of sight and then they returned to the house and the breakfast table.
‘Now you sit down,’ Mrs McAllister said to Bess, and disappeared into the kitchen. When she returned she was holding a plate of eggs and bacon with a tea towel. ‘Careful, the plate’s hot,’ she said, putting it down in front of Bess. ‘You need something substantial inside you before you travel. Come on now, tuck in.’
Bess felt too sad to eat, but she didn’t want to offend Mrs Mac so she ate most of it, and drank two cups of tea. When she’d finished she went upstairs and fetched her bags.
‘Well, dear,’ Mrs McAllister said as Bess entered the sitting room for the last time. ‘You know where we are if you want to come back to us. I won’t let your room until the start of the next college term, so if you get a teaching job in London, on this side of the river, all you have to do is telephone and your room will be ready.’
Foxden Acres (The Dudley Sisters Quartet Book 1) Page 6