by Maggie Ford
‘Everything?’ Her mirthless laugh followed him as he left. ‘Daddy will be pleased!’ As if that too was a threat.
Henry Lampton was seventy-eight. Madge was his only child after he had lost a son and a daughter from childhood illnesses and his last surviving son, who would have taken over his business, had been killed early in the Great War. Since then, Madge had been his life’s blood – as he had often told David.
Confined now to a wheelchair, Henry Lampton hadn’t been near the boardroom for years, not since his wife had died four years ago. In his large house in rural South Mimms, he was cared for by a resident nurse, housekeeper and gardener.
Thin and shaky, wrapped in a thick tartan shawl this cold January morning, he hugged the blazing fire in the drawing room where he sat. His rheumy eyes nevertheless held the dark ones of his son-in-law as David sat opposite. Henry’s quavering voice held a bitterly sarcastic tone.
‘Thought you’d come and put your case before Madge did? She’s already telephoned me, before you arrived. Got in first, you see.’
David returned the glare. ‘I thought it only right to come here and tell you myself. As from today I shall no longer be living in Barnet. I can’t go on living there and …’
‘Yes, yes.’ The gnarled and protruding from the folds of the shawl waved abruptly, an almost comical movement except that the eyes held a smouldering animosity. ‘You don’t have to repeat everything to me. I might be at death’s portals but I’m not senile.’
He shifted irascibly in the wheelchair, rang a small bronze handbell on the table beside him. At the sound, a middle-aged woman with straight iron grey hair and flat colourless cheeks came into the room, a starched wrapover nurse’s dress rustling with each swift step. Henry Lampton turned irritably towards her.
‘Sort out this cushion behind me, will you? It’s crumpled again. Damned bloody thing! We’ll have to find something more substantial than this. It gives me back ache. Damned thing!’
As if in one smooth movement she leaned him forward, plumped the cushion, leaned him back and moved out of the room. Left once more to themselves, Lampton fixed David with a harsh stare.
‘So you thought you’d get your say in first, eh?’
‘I thought it only good manners to tell you that we’ve separated.’
‘You mean you’ve separated.’ He leaned forward, cursed roundly as the cushion slipped again, but this time didn’t reach for his bell. He remained leaning forward, eyes full of dislike of the man opposite.
‘My daughter says she has no interest in any separation. Has no interest in divorcing you either. Never will.’
‘I understand that,’ David said quietly. ‘It still doesn’t mean I have to live with her. So she has two causes for divorce if she wants them. Desertion and adultery.’
‘And a child by your mistress,’ Lampton finished. ‘You and Madge were happy enough until you met this woman. You are the sole cause of the break up of your marriage and I agree with Madge that if she wants to hold you to it she is perfectly entitled to do so. So we could say you are a prisoner of her wishes. How do you like that?’ He paused for effect and, thwarted, raised his tone. ‘I said, how do you like that?’
‘It makes no difference,’ David supplied.
‘You realise you’ll never be allowed to marry this person?’
‘Certainly,’ he admitted truthfully. ‘Nor have I any intention of remaining in a marriage which is nothing more than a farce.’
‘A farce, eh?’ The pale lips sneered. ‘In other words, you share little in common with my daughter’s circle of friends. Until this all came about, you were content enough. So – you’re prepared to break up a marriage, using any excuse.’
‘It broke up long ago.’ David’s expression almost matched the old man’s but Lampton’s glare was hard and protracted. ‘Your father was my dear and trusted friend when you were but a boy. Hard for me to believe you are his son – a man of your years behaving like a fool. A director in the company your father and I built together.’
This wasn’t entirely true and Lampton knew it. That they had been friends, through business, for years was true enough. But Baron’s Haberdashers had been two thriving stores, Lampton’s just a largish shop selling dress materials. Fred Baron had ploughed in the most money, had had the controlling interest until they’d floated shares within the family and Henry’s brother Robert Lampton had bought enough to secure him a place on the board. Obviously Lampton had bought some for Madge as his daughter, and of course David had a like amount. He had also inherited his father’s shares on his death, which virtually gave him the deciding interest in the expanding company. All as it should have been – if he and Madge had been happy together. But there was one more important element: Henry Lampton. Had one ace up his sleeve, had he?
‘Since you have inherited your father’s share,’ he went on, ‘there is nothing I can do, but my greatest pleasure would be to see you resign, lock, stock and barrel, sell out and get out. Although I am powerless to ask you to do so, of course.’
David wanted to laugh, tried not to feel triumphant, knew he must not because Henry might be dangerous. The old man had expected to die before his card could be played. The danger was that, if forced, he might play it before his demise, by deed of gift to Madge.
David did not laugh. It took only the stroke of a pen to leave Madge holding a threatening amount of control in the business and Robert Lampton, her uncle, would not take much persuading to side with her. Madge could be very persuasive. But so far Robert Lampton, ten years younger than his brother, had always had a kindly attitude to Fred Baron’s son … Hopefully it would continue.
David hugged that hope to him, said evenly: ‘I’m sorry you feel that way. But I’ve no intention of resigning or selling out. Do you think I’d do that and let the name my father built die out in some takeover?’
Lampton gave a chuckle. ‘I wouldn’t dream of letting my old friend’s name die. I honour his memory too, you see. Always will. Pity I can’t feel the same for his son. And I tell you this, David, I don’t suppose I have many years ahead of me. But things won’t be plain sailing for you when I’m gone. As long as you and Madge remain married, my shares in the company go to both of you. But a divorce will make her my sole heir. With my shares and those she has now, she only has to acquire a few remaining in my family to sell out over your head if she has a mind to. There’d be nothing you could do about it. You could be out on your ear, your father’s name vanished for all your fine intentions. So if I were you, David, I’d think twice about separations and divorces. But then you know that already, don’t you? That’s why you’ve not left her before, isn’t it?’
David, seeing the old man’s smile, his eyes gleaming craftily, remained silent. He had known he was beaten before he’d begun.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Letty shrugged off her fox fur, and let it fall on to the armchair. Throwing up the sash of the window, she leaned out to look down. Oxford Street had been a scene of jubilation all day. All of London had. All of Britain. Flags and decorations were strung out in the May sunshine; bunting and pictures of Their Majesties hung in windows; stores displayed red, white and blue and gold and silver – masses of silver – appropriate for the Silver Jubilee of King George and Queen Mary.
It was dark now. No, not dark. Every large store glowed with decorative lights, Selfridge’s virtually ablaze with floodlighting – the first time anyone had seen such a thing here – that lit up the sky, not including the brilliant flashes from fireworks in all the parks.
‘It’s almost like daytime,’ Letty whispered as David took off his white silk scarf and trilby, dropping them on top of the fox fur.
It was nearly midnight but groups of revellers still roamed the street below, loath to say goodbye to what had been a glorious day.
Earlier she and David had made their way down Charing Cross Road to the Strand, pushed this way and that by crowds trying to catch a glimpse of the king and queen as they pa
ssed, together with Prince Edward, heir to the throne, looking somewhat detached from it all, the Duke and Duchess of York and their two pretty girls, Elizabeth and Margaret Rose, and all the rest of the royal family; coaches gleaming, cavalry glittering and jingling, bands playing, everyone cheering. It had been marvellous.
This evening dancing at the Waldorf, then in Trafalgar Square, half crushed to death, she and David had drunk champagne. Now back at the flat, Letty felt just a little tipsy and rather exhausted.
David stood behind her, his hand on her shoulders. She felt their warmth through the narrow straps of her Schiaparelli satin evening dress as he slowly turned her to face him, lifting her chin to kiss him.
‘Haven’t you had enough for one day?’ he asked, relinquishing the kiss for a moment to pull the window further down. She breathed in the sweetness of his breath, touched a little with celebratory champagne.
‘Not enough of you, David,’ she whispered, wanting nothing more but him.
He kissed her again while below them people passed by. From a radiogram a voice recounted the joyful events of the day but Letty hardly heard, twining her arms around David’s neck, holding his lips firmly upon her own.
‘Early night?’ he whispered within the kiss.
Again she nodded, and with his arm about her guided her away from the bright window, switching off the radiogram, the happy sounds of the outside world receding as together they went into the bedroom.
She should have been was happy. But there was the underlying knowledge of the hospital’s findings. It had taken David more than six months to tell her. Something about a narrowing of the arteries that would cause him problems as the years went on. Now he took tablets to allay the pain; had to beware of too much stress. That was a laugh! Letty told herself. He had nothing but stress, the way Madge treated him. Sometimes Letty felt she was doing it on purpose. David had told her about how he had almost walked out on Madge at Christmas, prevented only by the intrigue he knew was going on between his wife and his father-in-law over the business.
Letty had been furious, said he was weak, said the business meant more to him than she did. Deaf to explanations, she’d finally paused in a welter of fear and remorse only when David’s hand had moved towards his chest, the pain he’d suffered this past year returning sharply.
From that day in April she had said no more about it. Dared not. Better to have him as he was than not have him at all. In the small hours she would lie awake visualising life without him. Numbed by fear, she vowed to do everything possible to make life easy for him, vowed to avoid anything that might endanger his well-being. If it helped to lessen the stress he could even return to his wife, with Letty’s blessing. Once she had tried to tell him that. He’d laughed and said that would be the day!
Even after all these years they still had only the weekends together. There was some consolation in the knowledge that this was the lot of many a professional couple. She was still occupied by her business, though with time it had lost some of its sparkle, its romance. David’s working life was taken up with all that the smooth running of a large departmental store entailed. Letty knew now that this would be all she would ever have of him; she fashioned her life around that knowledge and tried to be happy with what she had.
It was summer 1936. A year had gone by and David’s health had not deteriorated as Letty had fearfully imagined it would. She thanked God for it. She viewed everything philosophically, even the lack of change in their lives together, making the most of those brief weekends, amazed how the time flew by – so fast, at times it worried her.
Elsewhere there had been change. In January King George had died; the nation was plunged into mourning. Like most people Letty had felt terribly sad. It was hardly a year since his Jubilee broadcast. It had touched everyone, that speech: ‘How can I express what is in my heart? I can only say to you, my very, very dear people …’ He had been so loved.
Edward VIII was popular, handsome, had that little boy lost look that appealed to women young and old, and Letty was no exception; she had to endure David’s taunts when she too enthused over their new king.
‘For pity’s sake! You’re forty-six, Letty. He’s only forty-one.’
‘Should that matter?’ she laughed.
She was forty-six. Still slim, her neck was smooth, but certain lights could reveal those fine lines about her green eyes, strands of silver amid the auburn of her short wavy hair that needed no permanent wave to make it so.
There was grey in David’s hair too, fast replacing its dark glossiness. Fortunately it suited him, made him appear the distinguished man of business that he was. If only he didn’t look so drawn these days.
He wouldn’t have looked so had it not been for that niggling pain he suffered. He had begun to smoke too. But he didn’t look so bad for a man of fifty-six, still very upright. His eyes, still dark and clear, held a soft faraway expression at times, and his smile was gentle. Oh, how she loved him, wanted to take away the pressure of all that bore down upon him!
Henry Lampton was growing weaker by the month, and David’s fear of Madge’s influencing the old man before he finally died wasn’t doing him any good. Letty had accepted now that a divorce could cost him all he’d worked for. She knew he was hoping to pass his share of the business on to Chris, his heir, when the time came. That, even more than his wish to carry on his own father’s name, had become paramount in David’s mind.
This warm July morning they lay in the double bed, her head resting on his arm, while the summer sun filtered into the room.
‘What if she stops you seeing me altogether?’ Letty shivered in spite of the warmth, feeling David’s muscles move spontaneously beneath her head.
‘I don’t want to think about that,’ he said in a tight voice. ‘She still enjoys her own life.’
But Letty could see the day coming when Madge would begin to tire of the good life and settle down to middle age, as everyone did in time. Letty herself could feel that phenomenon coming on.
In time, Madge would begin to feel lonely. No children to comfort her in her later years, she would demand David back. What then? Would he defy her, tell her to do her damnedest, risk losing a business which was growing from strength to strength? Somehow, Letty couldn’t see him allowing it. He had already made a will (it had terrified Letty, even with her business mind, making his death seem so much more imminent), leaving all his shares to Chris. What lengths would he go to in order to safeguard the business for his son? What if anything did happen to him? Where would Chris stand in all this? What clash of interests would arise between him and his father’s true wife?
‘I don’t want to think about it either,’ she said, shuddering at the immensity of it all.
David’s arm tightened about her. ‘So long as I keep out of her way, don’t antagonise her, I think everything’s all right. She taunts me about you, but I keep quiet and she soon tires of it. We don’t argue any more. So long as her father doesn’t alter his will, once he goes I can get our lives sorted out. I must avoid letting Madge use her shares to ruin the company. She will, you know. Out of sheer vindictiveness.’
Lapsing into silence, he lay wrapped in his own thoughts then suddenly leaned over and kissed Letty, the kiss growing strong and lingering.
‘Let’s forget what might be,’ he whispered. ‘Just think of what is. You and me.’
‘Mmm!’ Letty moaned longingly. Her mind closing to everything else, she melted luxuriously against hands that held a sort of desperation in their touch.
Chris was home. Twenty-one in a few weeks’ time, he had left Cambridge for good. Letty proudly noted how handsome her son was; noted too that three years of study hadn’t given him the slightest idea what he wanted to do in life.
‘Plenty of time to worry about that,’ he said. He’d been home for three weeks and had already brought home two girls, one after the other. Neither lasting more than a week, he had now brought home a third.
‘She won’t last either,’ Let
ty said to David with an impatient lift of her chin. ‘It’s his not wanting to settle down that worries me.’
‘He will in time,’ David said with proud parental tolerance.
David would have liked to have been closer to his son, Letty could sense it. There had never been that bond between them she’d imagined there would be. From the very start Chris had treated him more as an uncle than a father; in fact, she suspected, he still looked on Billy as more of a father figure. He still talked of Billy, a reminiscent smile lighting his clear, handsome features.
It pained her to see David trying so hard to be close to him, and Chris casually fending him off. Still slightly immature despite his college education, he had absolutely no idea how deep his father’s need of him went.
For all his broad shoulders, his height, his twenty-one years, he was a boy still. He had a likeable arrogance about him that made him popular, that made Letty proud of him, but which did nothing towards making him a man.
David booked a table at the Waldorf Hotel for his birthday. He had suggested a proper birthday party for whoever Chris cared to invite, but he had shrugged, said that his friends wouldn’t come to a family birthday party. Getting together in someone’s room with a few chums from university, yes. But family parties? He didn’t think so.
Letty, knowing his university chums, was glad. She persuaded David to limit it to just a small dinner for themselves and Chris, then afterwards he could do whatever he wanted. Fortunately Chris seemed quite happy about the arrangement, though insisted on inviting a friend – a strange female he called Bunny who wore horn rimmed spectacles, had slightly protruding teeth and talked incessantly about politics.
She monopolised most of the conversation with unswerving venom against the Jarrow marchers who had walked three hundred miles to London to state their case – so poor, yet they could afford the boot leather, she observed. She herself was obviously well off. She also denounced the German Chancellor, Adolf Hitler, for marching into the Rhineland, and wondered where that would lead; and she pontificated against the Rome/Berlin/Tokyo Axis pact which she said the British saw as a threat to future peace, though Letty herself hadn’t thought it a threat as such, if she thought about it at all. Lastly she spoke of War that had broken out in Spain in July.