by Maggie Ford
The woman turned to her, unsmiling, vase in hand. ‘How much?’
Letty craned her neck politely, ignoring the rudeness. ‘It says four and six on the ticket.’
‘You can’t possibly expect that much for something that is damaged! It has a chip on the rim.’
‘Some stuff does come in a bit damaged,’ Letty said, politely as she could. Used to this type of treatment from customers, her diction seemed to improve naturally when dealing with them. But in front of Mr David Baron, she felt suddenly demeaned, felt the heat come to her cheeks. ‘We are second hand dealers, you see. But if you want to look around, there may be something you’d like that is in good condition.’
‘No, I want this, Alfred.’ The woman turned to the man who was obviously her husband. ‘It’s very like the one Alice broke, and she’s paying for it.’ She turned to Letty, her eyes hard. ‘But four and six really is far too much for something in this condition. We’ll give you three shillings and sixpence for it.’
‘I’d better ask the proprietor,’ Letty began, but as the woman put down the ornament with a somewhat heavy thud, signifying an obvious intention to leave, Letty came to a decision. ‘I could take four shillings for it,’ she said cautiously.
She waited, watching the woman take up the article again, examine it, frown at it, turn it over in her gloved hands. She knew the signs and waited patiently to one side, not prompting or persuading. The woman would make up her own mind; the slightest wrong word would put her on her guard, drive her away. David Baron forgotten, Letty’s main concern, her pleasure, was to see this customer, so certain of her rights, persuade herself into buying. Letty saw the signs, saw the woman take a deep breath, her neck lengthen, her head tilt. A decision had been made.
‘Very well. Four shillings! It’s still too much.’
Letty resisted the temptation to proffer: ‘A bargain, madam.’ She had heard so many traders say that. But the sale had been made; she’d not cheapen herself further.
‘Thank you, madam,’ she said sedately, taking the purchase and wrapping it as nicely as a piece of newspaper allowed. Only when the money was in the cash register and the customers departed with their find, did she remember David Baron again.
He was regarding her, not with sympathy but with a look of honest appreciation, though he, a stranger, had no call to patronise her, she thought, her pride faintly pricked.
‘You handle customers very well,’ he said frankly, but her chin had gone up.
‘It’s me … my dad’s shop. I do know what I’m doing. I suppose you know what you’re doing in your dad’s shop.’
‘That’s true,’ he conceded seriously, but there was light dancing in his eyes as hers regarded him defiantly.
No, she decided, he wasn’t at all good-looking. His nose was definitely too long and his face too narrow. But his eyes were brown and his lashes thick. And his mouth … oh, luv, his mouth! Generous and wide, with lips that curved upward at the corners.
‘Well then!’ she challenged, trying to stop the strange thumping inside her chest. She was startled by his light laugh, realising instantly that it wasn’t directed at her.
‘I wonder who Alice is?’ he chuckled. ‘Madam’s poor little skivvy, I don’t doubt, paying out of her paltry wages for breaking madam’s precious ornament! I don’t suppose her bit of money would allow for anything more expensive, but by the look of madam, she’ll exact more from that poor girl than you asked for it!’
She’d never heard him say so much in one go, and it revealed a nature sympathetic and understanding beneath the whimsy that made her laugh with him, suddenly at ease.
David was smiling at her. ‘I called,’ he said, ‘to ask if you might care to take a stroll with me this afternoon? It is a lovely day.’
Letty did not hesitate. ‘Oh, I would like that!’ she burst out.
Chapter Three
It was a wonderful Sunday dinner. The small piece of beef stretched to accommodate David, a few less vegetables on each plate, Yorkshire pudding cut in smaller portions, gravy thinned down a fraction to go further, and Dad at his most affable, talking shop to David.
Lucy, magnanimous for once, agreed to the four of them going off to Victoria Park for the afternoon but made it plain that once there, she and Jack would leave the other two to their own company.
The journey there felt totally different from all the other visits when conversations with Letty’s friends were yelled over the tram’s clatter, its whine fluctuating when it slowed or accelerated. With David sitting beside her on the slatted seat, protecting her from the vehicle’s more erratic jolts, there seemed no need for conversation.
Letty and her friends would spend all afternoon in the park, passing and repassing the boys with sly glances, pretending not to notice their reaction, tossing their heads at each cheeky remark and sending back as good as they got. Being with a boy was never the same.
She’d once let Billy Beans take her. It hadn’t been half so much fun. But today with David at her side, a man, she felt strangely and wonderfully cherished and protected by the way he guided her, one hand gently beneath her elbow. She was shy about putting her arm through his as yet. Perhaps next time, if he asked to take her out again. She prayed fervently that he would.
She also prayed Lucy and Jack would stay with them, the idea of being left alone with David conversely putting her all in a fluster. What on earth would she find to talk about? Fortunately, Lucy didn’t seem inclined to rush off as they approached the deer enclosure to see the fawn creatures with their slim cream muzzles.
‘Aah … they’re gorgeous!’ Letty sighed, one or two coming close enough for a dry black nose to be touched. She felt David’s hand under her elbow tighten a fraction, ready to pull her away from any danger. There was none from these gentle creatures, but it felt wonderful being watched over.
‘I wish we had bought something to feed to them,’ she said, taking care over her words.
A doe nibbled her finger, plucking at the thin cotton of her glove, but losing interest began to move away.
‘Oh, it’s going!’
Pulling off the glove, Letty pushed the tip through the wire mesh, wriggling it, tempting the animal back. It sniffed delicately at the fabric, touching the material with an exploratory tongue, gently took the tip of the glove between its protruding teeth, pulled a little.
‘Oh, it do feel funny!’ Letty giggled and heard David chuckle. She jiggled the glove, feeling the doe’s grip tighten, grow stronger. But as she made to pull away, her giggle became a squeak of alarm.
‘David! It’s got me glove. It won’t let go. Oh, ’elp!’
Lucy too was emitting anxious little squeaks.
David’s hand, warm and strong, covered Letty’s, pulled, but what had appeared a gentle creature proved to have hidden strength. The cotton ripped, leaving Letty with the wrist end, staring in dismay as the remainder dangled from the deer’s mouth, slowly disappearing behind the buck-teeth which masticated the morsel with relish. With a contented glaze in the animal’s eyes, its prize slipped down the slender throat in one visible swallow.
Distressed, expecting to see the creature fall dead at any moment, Letty’s studied speech went completely. ‘Oh, crikey! What’ll we do? I’ll ’ave ter pay for it if it dies!’
Lucy had started to giggle. Letty rounded on her. ‘Go on – have a good laugh! They was me best gloves. Dad bought ’em for me birthday. He won’t half be annoyed!’
Lucy’s giggles subsided abruptly, deeming Letty’s attitude uncalled for. ‘He’s never annoyed with you, his little favourite.’
Letty stared at her, gloves forgotten. ‘I’m not his favourite! He don’t think any more of me than he does of you and Vinny.’
Lucy’s face tightened. ‘He’s always thought more of you than me and Vinny. Ever since he lost the boys, you’ve been his favourite.’
Letty winced. Her younger brothers had died five years ago, Arthur from meningitis at the age of eight and Jimmie from appen
dicitis at the age of eleven, both within two months of each other. Dad had never really recovered from it.
‘I know why, of course,’ Lucy continued, not even realising what she’d said. ‘You purring over that old junk of his. He laps it up.’
‘I don’t purr. Me and Dad just like the same things.’
‘That old rubbish he calls art?’ Lucy gave a derisive titter. ‘None of it’s worth a light.’
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Letty snapped. ‘One day he’ll find something really good and make a lot of money and get a better shop and deal in real works of art, what he’s always wanted …’
Lucy’s laugh was cynical. ‘What you’ve always wanted!’ Blood rushed to Letty’s cheeks. ‘What’s that supposed ter mean?’
Jack had clutched at Lucy, his smooth blunt features creased with concern as he strove to pour oil on troubled waters.
David, in his turn, took hold of Letty. ‘I’ll buy you new gloves,’ he said in a tone firm enough to calm her instantly. And as she did, attempting to disguise threatening tears by brushing down the front of her beige skirt with trembling hands, his tone moderated. ‘I shall take you out to buy them, Letitia.’
‘There’s no need,’ she said ungraciously as Lucy marched off, head in the air, Jack trailing behind, reasoning with her.
‘I would like to,’ David said. He took her arm gently and threaded it through his. ‘That is, if you don’t mind?’
‘I don’t mind,’ she managed to say as the angry beat of her heart began to slow a little. The feel of her hand lying on his arm spread a feeling of warmth through her, her anger against Lucy slowly diminishing.
‘He has his own house and everything,’ she told her sister that evening, already practising speaking like a lady; rather overdoing it, but pleased with her achievement so far. ‘That’s where we would live.’
‘He’s got to ask you to marry him first,’ Lucy said, still a little chilly towards her. ‘What if he don’t?’
But Letty was full of confidence. He would never offer to buy her gloves if his intentions weren’t serious, would he? Green eyes wide with visions of her future, she now, however, knew a fear she’d never before experienced. What if he met someone else and tired of her? Or what if anything dreadful, a terrible accident or something, happened to put an end to this wonderful thing that was happening to her?
Letty was seeing David every Sunday, he and Jack turning up together. But now it was she who spurned Lucy and Jack’s company.
Weekends had become bliss to her. She felt a little sad about Billy Beans when he called, having to tell him she was otherwise engaged. But a girl had to make the best choice. David took her to museums and art galleries. She particularly enjoyed the art galleries – the splendid paintings, the fine sculptures, the delicate porcelain, all the things Dad would have liked to deal in.
There were afternoons in Hyde Park, afternoons rowing on the Serpentine. He looked so manly, rowing with sure strokes, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up. He was more sinewy than muscular. She thought of Billy Beans’ solid frame, deciding she much preferred sinewy men.
Then there was the theatre. David would sometimes take her up West on a Saturday evening, with the full blessing of her dad, who once would never have sanctioned his daughter being up West after dark. But now she was escorted properly it was different. And where she used to be queuing outside to go into the gods while well off theatre goers in their carriages looked down their noses at the queues, she now went in on David’s arm, seats booked. Proper theatres too, squashing into the Hackney Empire or the Cambridge a thing of the past.
No longer did she walk all the way up West with Ethel Bock to watch the carriage folk drive round Piccadilly Circus. With David she rode in style. In her modified bridesmaid’s dress and hat and the gloves he’d bought her, she’d watch with pride, as he gave directions to the cabby. Sometimes she almost had to pinch herself to prove she wasn’t dreaming.
‘Fancy,’ she said to Mum. ‘Me riding in a taxicab. I never dreamed I’d ever be doing that.’
‘It’s lovely for yer,’ her mum said, while Dad smiled wistfully.
‘Looks like you’ll be next ter be married after Lucilla. Then all me daughters’ll be gone.’
‘He ain’t asked me yet,’ Letty laughed, aware of nothing beyond her own happiness.
‘He will. And when ’e do, you’ll be off, like the other two.’
Something in his tone struck a small chord of conscience, took the laughter from her lips. ‘Well, if he does, Dad, I’ll insist on staying around here. There are some nice places to live in Bethnal Green.’
She saw the lips under his moustache tighten. She felt his sense of desolation that with all of them flown to a better way of life than he had, his would never be the same again. She could almost feel the emptiness inside him. Overwhelmed by an explosion of love for him, she went and folded her hands over his as he sat by the sun-lit window, already wrapped in his own little winter.
‘I promise, Dad,’ she said emphatically. ‘I won’t ever go away.’
She meant it. But life was too wonderful for a young head to stay filled with dreary thoughts. David was wonderful. Whatever he did was wonderful: taking her to have tea in the nicest West End tea rooms, or after a show to restaurants where the rich went, feeling both opulent and conscious of shortcomings which she tried hard to rectify.
The weather being exceptional, David took her to Southend by train. She’d never been before. The tide was in, all clean and sparkly in the sunshine. The air smelled fresh, salty and strange. ‘It’s the seaweed,’ David said. All she knew was that to her nose more used to the dead reek of smoke and soot, it smelled grand. And she felt grand, strolling sedately on the promenade, her hand on David’s arm, him in straw boater and sporting jacket, she in a lightweight skirt and fawn blouse she’d bought herself, passing well-dressed folk, watching the bathers and long lines of bathing machines. They’d eaten Italian ice cream, had lunch, then a cream tea in a restaurant along the seafront.
Lucy had been jealous and badgered Jack into taking her. Vinny even more envious, but now pregnant and suffering morning sickness, made a great pretence of being disinterested and said, ‘I can’t see the point, sitting staring at a lot of water.’
Amazing how quickly autumn arrived, itself passing swiftly. Letty realised she and David had been going out together for five months, doing little more than that. Something she had at first thought too impertinent to ask was fast becoming very relevant.
‘When will I meet your parents, David?’ They were coming home from the National Art Gallery in Trafalgar Square. It was mid-November, and Letty huddled beside him in the cold taxicab they’d got from the station.
It probably wasn’t the time to ask. He had been a little withdrawn all day and she remembered his telling her some time ago that November was the month his wife Ann and baby had died. He’d never mentioned them again, as if it was too painful to speak of. She was glad he didn’t. It was bad enough feeling vaguely second best, merely filling the gap his loss had left. The more he spoke about it, the worse she’d have felt. Did he love her as much as he had clearly loved his wife? It wasn’t something she could easily ask. She doubted she ever could.
‘When will you be taking me to meet them, David?’ she persisted as he gave a deep sigh, coming out of his reverie.
She’d touched on it last week but beyond saying, yes, he must sort something out, as if he was really saying he must prepare them for someone like her, nothing had yet come of it.
‘You’re not ashamed of me, are you, David?’ Her bluntness, sharp and exasperated, surprised even herself. She’d never seen him look so hurt.
‘How can you think that, Letitia?’ He always said her full name, much to Dad’s approval.
‘You know I love you?’ You know I love you. Never that breathless, desperate sigh: ‘I love you – I love you – I need you!’ A gentle kiss on leaving, that was his way, his hand lingering on hers. But, oh, for the
ardent trembling of passion, crushed in desperate embrace.
She would of course have pushed him away, for decency’s sake, but to have the opportunity … All these months, and they were no closer physically than when they’d first met. Oh, yes, he took her out to places most girls in her neighbourhood would have given their eye teeth to see, treated her handsomely, but that something that should have developed between them just hadn’t. Why did he seem always to hold her away? But she knew why. It was where she lived, this rat hole. She saw it in that look of distaste when he came calling on Sundays, pushing through the coarse-mouthed bedlam of Club Row, past stallholders who spat on the cobbles and street traders who accosted everyone within arm’s reach.
Until she’d met David she had never really taken a good look at the place, but now had become increasingly conscious of down-at-heel streets, of alleys reeking of urine; alleys where prostitutes lurked, and where men, faces scarred by razors, met to do deals and plot revenge; where a beating up or a stabbing nearly every night of the week only just evaded the police murder files.
Despite the authorities having swept away the Nichol which had been a so-called rookery of thieves and prostitutes operating from squalid lodging houses, and despite their having put up blocks of flats where decent if poor families tried to keep up appearances, it had changed only outwardly. It was still there just under the surface. The crime, the prostitution, the dirt.
Even now, with the area supposedly cleaned up, decent parents didn’t let a girl go out after dark unless she was with other girls and boys, and then she was required to be home by nine.
The grime of London’s smoke clung to everything. Washing never came up white, new bricks turned black within a year. Even faces had that grimed-in pallor. Stunted growth too. Cockneys were small people, small and tough. Mum and Dad were an exception, both above average height, passing it on to their girls, making them look ladylike.