And Alison again saw that look in Rose Smith's eyes.
It was gone in a split second. But Alison had seen it.
Her mind whirled. She felt unable to leave the child, yet what could she do?
She drove back to Grandma Johnstones house in a daze. That poor child. If anything happened she would never forgive herself. She couldn't accept that it was none of her business. Suppose something like that happened to Jennifer? Wouldn't she hope someone would have the decency to intervene? Oh God! She had to go back, make some excuse to see Kate, be sure the child was safe ...
Grandma Johnstone opened the door.
Alison blurted out, "I've left something at Eleanor's. I'll have to get it." She tried to calm herself by forcing a smile and ruffling Jennifer's hair. "This one is asleep on her feet. All she wants is a bath and then bed. I won't be long."
She left and drove the block and a half back to 920 Hurlingham Drive. Her brain stalled. What excuse could she give Eleanor for returning? Nothing sounded sensible. She couldn't think of one plausible reason. She bit her lip and urged herself to think.
She parked on the road, not the drive, and walked past the front porch to the side door. It was unlocked as usual. She hurried past the kitchen door and into the hall. Up the stairs. Like a thief! Oh God, if I meet Eleanor, what will I say? How will I ever explain ...
Along the landing. How long since she left - ten minutes, fifteen perhaps. Oh this is awful, not happening, a nightmare. Lincoln would be so furious. These people are his friends, mine too ...
Kate's sitting room was empty. The far door was ajar. Alison tiptoed across and peered into the bedroom. Kate was not there. The door to the bathroom was closed. Alison skirted the bed. She listened outside the bathroom - opened the door - and went in.
They were on the floor. Both naked. Kate was on top. Her hand was working like a piston. The nurse was groaning. Her legs were wide apart. She was tugging Kate's head down to her breast.
Alison shrieked. She kicked blindly at Rose Smith's ankle. Kate rolled off, terrified. The nurse gasped and tried to cover herself. Alison attempted to speak but gagged instead. She staggered to the bath and sat on the edge. The nurse scrambled to her feet, pulling a towelling robe up from the floor. Kate stood there screaming hysterically. Alison's hand cracked hard across the child's cheek. Kate gasped, covered her face and began to sob.
Alison could have committed murder. She thanked God afterwards that no weapon presented itself. She stared with hatred and loathing at the nurse, who was moving towards her own room.
"You filthy ..." Alison screamed. She stopped, taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself. "Get dressed and -"
"It's my word against yours," Rose Smith spat back.
Alison was too stunned to answer. She turned to the child, "Oh God, what are we going to do?"
Sheer terror stopped the flow of Kate's tears. "Oh please, don't send me to the orphanage, please!"
Alison reeled, realising the threats that had provoked the child's fear. She gasped and spun round to the nurse, only to see the door closing as Rose Smith slammed into her bedroom.
"Please!" Kate begged through her tears.
Alison rallied her strength.
"Not the orphanage," Kate screamed, "I'll do anything -"
"Now listen to me," Alison grasped Kate's bare shoulders and shook her violently. She stared into the girl's eyes. "Just answer one question. I'll know if you're telling lies. Did you want to do ... that... what I saw, did you, did you?"
"She made me," Kate burst out. "She made me do it."
Alison shook her again, staring hard into Kate's face. She almost sobbed herself. "God help me, I believe you. But if my Jennifer ever gets into anything like this because of you, may God strike you dead. Do you understand that?"
Kate was too petrified to understand anything.
Alison made her wash her hands and face before bundling her out of the bathroom to her bedroom. Kate could not stop trembling. Alison was shaking herself but she dressed the girl in a nightdress and dressing gown, then sat her on the bed and talked to her sternly. "You're to tell no one about this. Not ever. Not even Jennifer. Promise me that and I'll do what I can to help. Break your promise and I'll never have anything to do with you again."
Kate was sobbing so hard that no answer was possible.
Ten minutes later they went downstairs, leaving Rose Smith still in her room. Alison took Kate to the kitchen and told Melissa to warm up some milk. "And she's to stay here with you until I fetch her. Let her go to sleep by the fire. Don't talk to her, she's had a nasty shock, just give her warm milk and keep an eye on her."
After giving Kate a look which warned her to keep quiet, Alison left. Her legs felt wobbly as she walked down the hall to the drawing room. She heard Ned's voice as she opened the door. She was glad he had arrived home. He was pouring Eleanor a sherry when Alison walked in.
"Alison? I didn't hear the front... My God, what's the matter, you're as white as -"
She sat down and asked for a brandy.
Eleanor rose from her chair, concern in every line of her face. "My dear, what on earth has happened?"
Alison looked at them. Kind, civilised, sane people - but they had let it happen under their very noses. She stifled her temper. "Ned, you might need a brandy yourself. And pour one for Eleanor."
She told them what had happened.
Poor Eleanor was lost. She had no knowledge of such things, had never heard the word lesbian let alone some of the other expressions Alison used. But Ned understood. He went grey.
Eleanor whispered, "You mean that two women would, together ..."
Ned stared at Alison. "You knew this was going on?"
"Do you think if I had known I'd have let it happen?" Alison snapped angrily. She shrugged helplessly. "I suspected. Tonight I thought that, well, something might happen ..."
"Dear God in Heaven," Ned whispered into his glass.
Eleanor was on the verge of tears. "I always said we shouldn't have her. You see, we've no experience of children." She appealed to Alison, "I never wanted the responsibility ... but Ned said, well you see he felt obligated to Lord Averdale ..."
Alison could have screamed. They had not asked a single word about the child! Not asked where she was, how she was - God, how could people be so selfish, so unfeeling!
"We turned the house upside down," Eleanor said. "Now this has happened ..."
Alison's hands tightened into fists on her lap. She sat bolt upright in her chair. "I thought you were very proud of Kate. After all, she's tried tremendously hard to fit in -"
"Oh she can be sweet," Eleanor said quickly. "And pretty -"
"That's the trouble," Ned burst out. "She's too damn pretty. I was afraid something like this would happen. Well not exactly like this, but, well dammit, that child's so attractive someone was going to get hold of her ..."
Alison could scarcely believe what she was hearing. "You make it sound like her fault. She's only a child."
He flushed the colour of beetroot. "I know that, but she's too pretty for her own good. I've seen grown men look at her like... well, you know what I mean. She'll be trouble all her life."
Alison wanted to cry. She wished Lincoln were here. She had never missed him so much in the whole of her life.
Nobody spoke for several minutes. Ned poured another drink. Eleanor looked painfully embarrassed and stared at the carpet.
Ned cleared his throat. "You could have misunderstood the whole thing. I mean, bursting in like that - they could have been fooling around. Sometimes things aren't what they seem."
Alison stared at him. Rose Smith's words rang in her ears - "It's your word against mine." Oh dear God, don't let it come to that.
"Well?" Ned asked. "What about it? Do you think you could have been mistaken?"
She tried to hide her contempt. "Shall I draw you a diagram of what they were doing, Ned?"
He flushed his beetroot colour again. Eleanor sucked in her breath an
d looked more shocked than ever.
Alison wondered how she had ever seen them as friends. All she felt now was contempt, and anger of course, she was beginning to feel very angry indeed.
Ned gave a shaky laugh. "Well you must have frightened the hell out of them. Reckon they'll never do it again."
Alison's anger boiled over. She said Ned should send for the Sheriff. If Ned wouldn't press charges, she would. She refused to leave the house while that pervert remained under the same roof as Kate. She said she would write to Lord Averdale and tell him exactly what had happened. She said all they were thinking about was what people would say about them, what their friends would say, the dirty stories people would put around. She said she was ashamed for the pair of them. She said that and a lot more, more than was prudent. She was trembling and in tears when she finished, but she said it. And they said not a word to interrupt.
When she calmed down she realised that she was the only one who could provide a solution. Perhaps because she was the only one who really cared about Kate. Even so the exact arrangements would take a little while to work out.
Eleanor retired to her room, too upset to participate. Alison was relieved to see her go. They would never feel the same about each other ever again.
Ned went along with everything. Alison left him no choice. It was either do it her way, or listen to her recount all she had seen to the Sheriff.
They went up to Rose Smith's room together. When the nurse claimed to be in bed and refused to answer the door, Alison gave her five minutes to dress and get downstairs. Six minutes later came a tap on the drawing room door.
Alison did the talking. Rose Smith was dismissed, fired, sacked. She would pack her things and leave the house immediately. It was eight thirty by the clock on the mantelpiece. If she was ever seen in Dayton again, Alison would report her to the police. If she was discovered to be working as a nurse, or to be in charge of children, Alison would call the authorities. She would receive no reference, merely a cheque for three months' salary. And she was to be gone within the hour.
Alison delivered the ultimatum in a brisk voice which brooked no interruption, but she was terrified the nurse would deny everything and Ned Bleakley would be forced to decide who was telling the truth. So Alison gambled and finished with a lie. "That child has signed a statement, and when those six pages are read out in court you'll be lucky not to be lynched."
Rose Smith's defiance died in a split second. Fear shone from every pore of her face. Ned Bleakley's doubts vanished. He held out a cheque, drawn on the Averdale account which provided for Kate.
Rose Smith hesitated, snatched it, then spat at Alison, "I suppose you'll have her all to yourself now, won't you?"
Alison cried out. She was swinging her arm when Ned caught her hand.
"Get out of my house," he said, but Rose Smith was already making for the door.
Ned helped a trembling Alison into a chair. "I could use another drink," he said, "what about you?"
She shook her head and asked for coffee instead.
An hour later Rose Smith left 920 Hurlingham Drive and never returned.
Only when the front door banged did Alison take Kate back to her room and put her to bed, telling her to go to sleep and they would talk about things in the morning. But the child was still terrified about being sent to an orphanage.
"No," Alison said wearily. "You won't be sent there."
Then she went downstairs to Ned Bleakley to make sure.
Chapter Eleven
It was the spring of 1943 before Sean Connors met Freddie Mallon again. Much had happened in the interval. Slowly but surely the tide of war was turning against Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan. The most dramatic headlines were no longer about London, instead other theatres of war made the news. Unfamiliar names in the Middle East and even the Far East were coming to be recognised as easily as Paris or New York. The Germans were retreating from Russia. There was much talk of a second front. An Allied invasion of Europe seemed imminent.
Sean Connors had remained in London throughout. For the first year he told himself he was doing it for Val. Dear Val, who had dreamt of a brave new world - who had loved London so much. Val would have stayed, so Sean stayed in her place. It gave him a reason for existing, which was vital at first. After that, he just lasted it out - immersed in his work, straining to improve his technique, not from professionalism but from a simple determination to get his message across.
Around him, blitzed and battered London was changing. Americans in uniforms had arrived in numbers. The West End contrived a tawdry gaiety. Sean was invited to five parties a night. He went to some, where he talked and drank and smoked his way through the night - but never did he dance or take a pretty girl home. The Irish Navvy became known as the Gaelic Monk.
Freddie Mallon had accepted Sean's wish to remain in London, he even understood and respected the reasons. After which he turned his own energies back to broadcasting in America. In fact, from Pearl Harbor onwards Freddie became part of the war effort. He did a series of shows, some straight news but more and more "entertainments" from Army camps and Navy depots - broadcasts which were a mixture of quiz games and talent contests and quick-fire patter, all designed to keep the boys in uniform in touch with "the folks at home". They were immensely popular. Sponsors queued up for Freddie Mallon. He became a radio phenomenon. And Freddie was shrewd. Just as he owned fifty percent of Sean's output from London, so he found other young broadcasters to take over shows he had created in the States. By 1943 Freddie Mallon was wealthy, and looking for a new challenge.
Which is what had brought him to London.
He had changed in three years, most noticeably by growing a moustache and a few extra inches round his waist. His hair was thinner, but he looked happy and prosperous. Marriage to Margaret had been an unqualified success - they now had a son and Margaret was expecting again. Freddie's wallet bulged proudly with family snapshots.
By contrast Sean looked leaner, as did most people in London. He was fit enough though, no doubt because he cycled around London every day looking for stories.
Freddie was staggered. "Cycled? You're not suggesting we get a tandem, I hope."
It was a warm reunion. They remained closeted in Craven Street for thirty-six hours. What was so exciting was that Freddie planned to stay, at least until the end of the war.
"Item one," he said cheerfully, "has got to be the Allied Invasion of Europe. It must come soon. When those boys go I want to be one step behind with a microphone in my hand, all the way to Berlin. We'll do two shows a week, right - call the first Seven Days at the Front, all the battles, the real front line stuff - then a Mom and Pop show from farther back, a base hospital, something like that - music and messages to home, and not a dry eye in the house."
Of course it made sense. Freddie and his agent had already signed contracts with all sorts of people. But that was just the start.
"The next step is when all the Krauts are dead and buried. Then we'll go back to the US of A to a welcome that will blow your hat off. And to more money than you ever dreamed of. What about it, Sean? You've got an audience of millions over there."
Freddie's enthusiasm was a tonic in battle-scarred London. It was easy to get carried away. Sean was grateful, and yet. Yet what? Sean couldn't say to begin with. He stumbled and mumbled, until Freddie became short-tempered. "Hell, just spit it out, kid. What's on your mind?"
How could he express himself without sounding ungrateful? And how could he defend something so illogical? But to leave London - Val's London, the London of Alfred Harmsworth, the London he had wanted to conquer - well, it just wouldn't feel right.
Sean struggled with almost forgotten dreams. He talked of Gombeen men and the Dublin Quays and the Widow O'Flynn. He even managed a shy smile. "What with the war and Val and everything, I haven't given anything else much thought. Now you're talking about after the war and making a fortune and things. I don't know," he sighed. "It's a different set of priorities.
I don't want to think -"
"You've got to look ahead -"
"But that far? I'm not even sure I want to make a fortune without Val -"
"You've been living alone too long. It's unnatural -"
"I've been living in London, and I like the place, despite everything. And Harmsworth made his fortune here -"
"Will you listen to me? Harmsworth was yesterday. I'm talking about tomorrow. And tomorrow belongs to the United States of America."
When Sean looked dubious, Freddie leaned forward in his chair. "Let me tell you something. This war changed the whole ball game. Four years ago the United States was one of the world's major powers, right - but just one of about eight. Not any longer. Not when this war ends. Forget London, forget the British - the Empire won't exist after the war, and when that goes Britain's influence goes with it."
"But -"
"But nothing. There's a war boom across the States like nobody's ever seen. We produce half the steel in the world, half the electricity, more than half the oil. National income, wealth, industrial production, all doubled in the last four years. And when this war ends all that production will get turned round to making automobiles and frigidaires and radios. No other country in the world will be able to compete. Everyone will be rebuilding, and with the start we've got, they'll never catch us."
Freddie could not understand Sean's reservations. "Is it Dublin?" he suggested. "Are you homesick for Ireland?"
Sean wondered that himself.
Freddie shook his head. "Forget it. Don't bury yourself over there whatever you do. De Valera's turned it into the backwater of all time. Ireland's getting a stinking press back home."
Sean knew that was true, Freddie had sent him the clippings. De Valera's neutrality policy was seen as a threat to American lives. Bad enough that there were unending rumours of German and Japanese spies in Dublin, even worse when the Irish refused to allow the British into their ports, but when de Valera took the same attitude with America ... "He's biting the hand that feeds him," Freddie growled. "You know we've given him half a million dollars worth of Red Cross supplies. He wanted rifles for his Defence Forces, so the British actually handed him 20,000 of those we sent over for them! He's had the chartering of our cargo ships, access to our wheat, our cotton, our steel. Did you know Churchill even now has invited him to join the Allies. Even now! I tell you, the Brits are too soft at times."
Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1 Page 131