‘Excuse me, Miss Paton. May I have a word with you?’
Surprised, Rose swung round to find Mr Granger waiting to speak to her. Her first reaction was to expect bad news in some form but then she realized he was smiling.
‘It’s about my mother, Miss Paton. You remember the two of you met when you called at our house last week.’
‘Ye–es,’ Rose replied. Keeping her tone neutral and not knowing what to expect.
‘You recall that she is often confused.’
‘She mistook you for your brother.’
He nodded. ‘And she thought you had come for a piano lesson!’
They exchanged sympathetic smiles.
‘My mother has now decided that you are a family friend and wants to see you again. I wondered if you might find time to visit twice or three times a week say, for an hour. To chat and read to her. She loves the Bible. I would pay you.’
Rose’s first inclination was to jump at the chance of a little paid work but she gave it careful thought. ‘I do have my career, Mr Granger, and there are rehearsals and three evening performances each week. And I am also about to travel abroad – to France – on a mission of mercy!’ She rolled her eyes to show that this was an exaggeration and then explained about the trip to Boulogne with Marie.
He said, ‘A travelling companion. Lucky Marie . . . So what do you think? I gave your proposition consideration. Maybe you will return the compliment. My business takes me away from home quite frequently and Mother is on her own too much. Mrs Lake is too busy to cope with her lapses of memory and I suspect that Mother’s vagueness makes her nervous. It can be rather disconcerting. I think my mother gets lonely.’
‘I now live some way from Garret Street, Mr Granger. Would you pay my fares on top of the rest of the money?’
‘I would. I was thinking a shilling an hour.’
‘I was thinking one and sixpence.’ Her eyes met his. She thought his mouth twitched.
‘Shall we say one and threepence?’
‘Why not!’ She held out her hand and they shook on the transaction. She shrugged. ‘Mind you, the Bible is not my favourite book but I shall try to wean your mother off it and on to something lighter.’
‘That will be interesting!’ After a moment he said, ‘Your father? What happened? Was he convicted?’
‘I don’t know. I was dragged out of court for trying to plead for him. They said it was contempt of court.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ll make enquiries later on. So I am the daughter of a criminal. Should you be inviting me into your home?’
‘I’m prepared to risk it, Miss Paton.’
‘Then I’ll call tomorrow about half past ten. Will that suit?’
‘Perfectly. I’ll make a point of being there but in future I’ll leave the money in an envelope with Mrs Lake.’
He seemed pleased, Rose thought, as they separated and she went on her way with a lighter heart.
One o’clock came and two o’clock and Letitia was becoming nervous. Her brother had told her that Bernard was proposing to call in during the morning but there had been no sign of him. Marcus had hidden himself away once more in the study, working, and her pride would not allow her to approach him again. She had taken great care with her hair, had dabbed on some ‘Bonjour Paris’ – a perfume Bernard had given her – and was wearing her most attractive dress.
The lunchtime meal was now over and she had been unable to eat more than a few mouthfuls of the cold chicken and salad which she had had to force down her unwilling throat to avoid comments from her brothers. Now she sat alone in the drawing room with a magazine, trying not to look too often at the clock on the mantelpiece.
When at last the bell did ring she abandoned her nonchalant pose and hurried to listen at the door of the room as Mrs Bray passed on the way to the front door. Her relief faltered when she failed to recognize the male voice. It wasn’t Bernard!
‘Dear God!’ she whispered, frozen with disappointment. She was still there when the door opened abruptly and almost knocked her over.
‘Oh! Sorry Miss Letitia. I didn’t expect anyone to be—’
‘Flowers! Oh how beautiful!’ Letitia stepped back to admire the enormous bouquet which the housekeeper was holding out for her.
‘Aren’t they lovely!’
The flowers were wrapped in a gold patterned paper and tied with gold ribbon. She stared at them as she stammered her thanks.
Mrs Bray smiled. ‘I wish someone would send me flowers like that!’ She withdrew, closing the door quietly behind her. Letitia, feeling ultra-sensitive, wondered if she had guessed or known that Bernard himself was expected.
‘He’s not coming!’ In a moment of anguish she hurled the flowers on to the nearest armchair and pressed trembling fingers on to her eyes in an attempt to stall the tears that threatened to betray her.
The door opened again and the housekeeper handed her an envelope. ‘I almost forgot it,’ she told Letitia. ‘I slipped it into my apron pocket.’
The door closed again and Letitia stared at the envelope which bore her name in Bernard’s familiar handwriting. But what on earth was the housekeeper going to make of the bouquet upside down in an armchair! With a groan, Letitia sat down and opened the envelope.
My dearest Letitia, I wanted to visit you today but something has come up and Mother is in a state and insists she cannot do without me! You know how she can be and the wedding preparations are proving a little more daunting than she expected. Poor Mother . . .
‘Poor Mother indeed!’ Letitia tossed her head indignantly but she accepted the fact that it was normally the bride’s parents who organized the wedding. Since her mother now lived in France the responsibility had shifted to Bernard’s family. She knew she ought to be grateful and she was.
Everything has to be absolutely perfect or she isn’t satisfied! Instead I will come tomorrow if that is convenient to you. It seems an age since I held you close and I am desperate to see you again. Please accept these flowers as a symbol of all you mean to me, my adored Letitia. Before long we will be together for ever and I for one cannot wait. All my love, dearest. Yours, Bernard . . .
‘Oh my love!’ Letitia held the letter to her heart and smiled through the tears of relief. He did love her and he would come tomorrow. She trusted him. The letter had changed everything.
She reread the letter and then glanced guiltily at the abandoned flowers. Hurrying over to retrieve them she took the time to study the selection of blooms in more detail – white rosebuds, pink carnations, frothy white gypsophila and deep red chrysanthemums. They must have cost a great deal of money, she thought with satisfaction. Bernard loved and valued her. Her doubts faded as her smile broadened.
‘Mrs Bernard da Silva!’ she whispered, the dream restored to a forthcoming reality.
Content that her future happiness was once more assured, she let out a long breath. She would find a suitably large vase and arrange her beautiful flowers.
When Rose arrived at Andy’s Supper Room that evening she was told to go straight to Andrew Markham’s office.
It occurred to her immediately that perhaps he was going to offer her the promised glass of champagne, but the pianist’s next remark put paid to that hope.
‘And he didn’t look too happy,’ he told her. ‘I’d step carefully if I were you, Miss Lamore. He’s got a temper on him.’
She tapped on the door of his office and heard nothing so tapped again.
‘Come in!’
She found him in his usual place, at his desk, but this time there were other people with him. Two burly men stood behind him as though they were his bodyguards. Or soldiers on parade who had been told to ‘Stand easy!’ Their feet were apart and their hands were clasped behind their backs. Neither of the two men smiled as she entered.
‘Oh, Mr Markham,’ she began earnestly. ‘I’m sorry about the other night. I was so looking forward to—’
‘Who the hell is he?’ Markham glared at her.
‘Just a friend.
He—’
‘You’re telling me that’s all he is – a friend?’
‘Yes, Mr Markham. We met recently . . . I hardly know him actually but he’s very kind and—’
‘He seems to see the situation differently, Miss Lamore. He claims he is going to marry you.’
She stared at him. ‘Marry him? Oh no! You’ve misunderstood whatever he said to you . . . Unless it was a joke.’ But Marcus didn’t make jokes, she remembered. So why on earth had he said it?
The two men glanced at each other and grinned but Markham wasn’t grinning. He scowled at her. ‘He’s a damned nuisance, Miss Lamore. I don’t like men hanging round my performers. Do you understand? I need you to concentrate on your act.’
‘He only came that once. He just wanted to see me perform at a real venue. I mean, not in a public house like The White Horse in Stoke Newington.’
He took his feet off the desk and leaned forward. ‘He says he’s going to meet you every time you perform. Steven didn’t warn me that he had a brother who was going to make a pest of himself! We had an understanding, Steven and me. He suggested that you were unattached. He misled me.’
‘No he didn’t!’ she said with genuine indignation. ‘At least he told you the truth. I am unattached.’ She was trying to hold back her growing anger. How dare Marcus tell her boss that she was going to marry him! ‘I’m sorry, Mr Markham. I really was looking forward to our little celebration on Monday night. I’ll speak to him. I’ll make it clear I don’t want him hanging around. I can’t break off the friendship altogether because I’m going to France with him one day soon to take his sister . . .’ Seeing his expression change she faltered.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Does Steven know about this trip to France?’
‘Well, yes, he must do . . . but he’s not coming with us. Just me and Marcus and Marie. Because Marie is desperately—’
‘Never mind Marie! You say Steven knew.’
She nodded, wondering where this uncomfortable conversation was leading. Hoping to steer it on to something less serious she gave him a nervous smile. ‘I could come along after tonight’s performance – if you still want me to.’
He ignored her offer. ‘That little swine has double-crossed me! I didn’t think he’d have the nerve.’
He was speaking to the two men, she realized.
One of them said, ‘Maybe we should have a word with him, Mr Markham.’
The other said, ‘Or two or three words!’ and they both laughed.
Markham nodded. ‘Ask for the money. If he has it, that’s fine. We’re square. If he doesn’t . . . Yes, I think a word or two will do the trick. But be careful. Don’t go too far. And don’t get caught. Got it?’
They both nodded.
‘Then get out of here!’
When they’d gone Rose began to speak but he waved her away. ‘You too. Get out!’
Shaken by his tone and manner she didn’t argue. Outside she paused to recover her poise and the pianist called across to her.
‘Crossed swords?’
‘You could say that. I can’t make him out.’
‘Don’t let it worry you, Miss Lamore. He can be an awkward devil when he likes. On about young Bennley, was it? Money’s usually at the root of it.’
‘Money?’ She made no attempt to hide her surprise. She had thought the Bennley family reasonably wealthy.
‘He’s run up a biggish debt at the bar. Drinks and a game of chance. Plays regularly, does Bennley, and owes money. Mr Markham takes a dim view of that. Not that he’s the only one.’ He closed the lid of the piano with a bang and reached for his jacket. ‘Yep! Funny thing though – it’s usually the toffs. Know what I mean? The ones that ought to know better.’ He adopted a genteel accent. ‘The ones who get dear old Pater to bail them out!’ He gathered his sheets of music and put them in the piano stool and reverted to his normal voice. ‘We had a chap once, middle of last year, ran up a big tab at the bar and his father was Sir Somebody! Very posh. Not that it helped. He refused to cough up for his baby boy and . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I’m off for ten minutes. I fancy a mutton pie but I’ll be back by three if you want to run through any of your pieces.’
He turned to go but Rose said, ‘What happened to him? The toff, I mean.’
‘Don’t rightly know. He disappeared. Never set eyes on him again. Police looking for him and everything. I reckon the chap did a runner.’
He grinned and wandered off, whistling under his breath, leaving Rose with something new to worry about.
That night Rose found Marcus outside the stage door. She tried to storm past him but he caught her hand and forced her to stop.
‘Marcus! How many times do I have to tell you I—’
‘I don’t care, Rose. I need to look after you.’
‘You don’t! I can look after myself. I always have done.’ She glared at a few spectators who were enjoying the argument. ‘Heard enough, have you? If there’s one thing I hate it’s nosy parkers!’
One of them laughed but the others drifted away, discomfited. Rose glared at him until he, too, finally followed them. She turned back to Marcus who was looking embarrassed by the exchange. ‘Oh! Have I embarrassed you?’ she cried. ‘Well, now you know how I feel when you keep appearing like my fairy godmother! If you have to look after somebody, look after Steven. He seems to be the one in trouble, not me! He owes Mr Markham money. Did you know?’
‘Of course. It’s nothing new. I’m tired of saving him. He has to learn the hard way.’
She remembered another grievance which distracted her from Steven. ‘And what’s this about you marrying me? How dare you tell Mr Markham such a whopping lie!’
He had the grace to look disconcerted. ‘Oh that! I just wanted him to know that you were important to somebody. That somebody was looking after your interests. I thought it might as well be me as anyone else.’
‘Indeed, then you were mistaken! I do not want him to think that I am about to be married to you or anyone else. He has to know that I’m dedicated to my career. If I marry I might have a child and then bang goes my future!’ She had started to walk home and he fell in beside her.
‘You would still have a future,’ he pointed out. ‘You would have a family and a devoted—’
‘I don’t want that, Marcus. I don’t want a family and I don’t want a devoted anything! I want fame and fortune. Can’t you understand? Don’t you want to be famous for your stage designs?’
‘Famous? Good Lord no!’ He sounded genuinely horrified. ‘I can’t think of anything worse.’ After a moment’s thought he said, ‘Suppose you don’t become famous. What will you do?’
‘Why shouldn’t I?’
‘You might not be good enough. No one can guarantee you success.’
She stopped abruptly in the middle of the pavement and stared at him in disbelief. ‘Not good enough? But I can sing and I’m pretty and I’m going to learn to dance. Why are you being so unkind, Marcus?’
‘I’m not being unkind. I’m trying to save you from disappointment. You’ve set your heart on fame and fortune and it doesn’t just happen.’
‘You don’t like my singing, then?’
‘It’s fair enough but . . .’ He shrugged. ‘You’re very pretty but you don’t know yet how well you will dance. Success depends on so many things like . . . like luck. You might not be lucky.’
He had rattled her but she was determined not to show it. ‘Well, Marcus Bennley, for your information, I will dance well and I will be lucky. I don’t doubt it for a moment and I thank you not to be so gloomy. Now I won’t talk about it any more. Not another word!’
Minutes later they reached Connie’s house and Rose glanced up and waved to her. ‘I wonder what we’re having for supper,’ she mused. ‘Poor Connie is a terrible cook but I can’t bring myself to say so. She’s been so kind to me.’ Her mind gave another sideways hop and she frowned. ‘Tomorrow I have to go back to the police station to ask about my father’s sentence and where he is.’
‘It’s fifty days’ hard labour and he’s been sent to Pentonville.’
Her mouth dropped open with shock. ‘You asked the police about my father?’
‘I thought you’d want to know.’
‘I was going tomorrow! You really are the most exasperating man I know! It was none of your business.’
‘It is in a way, Rose, because I wanted all the ends tied up for you before we go to France with Marie and I’ve bought the tickets for this coming Saturday. She is fading fast and I’m terrified she will pass away before we reach Mother. I was trying to help. I’m sorry.’
He looked so forlorn that Rose’s anger disappeared and she at once forgave him and concentrated on Marie’s plight.
They arranged that the following day Rose would write to her father in prison and explain that she would be out of touch for an unspecified time. After she had posted the letter she would make her way to Victoria House and discuss the trip with Marcus and Marie. He wanted to make it as much fun for Marie as they could and Rose was eager to help. Naturally, in the circumstances, neither of them gave a second thought to Steven.
The moment she set foot inside the door Connie appeared. In her ancient dress and grubby apron it was hard to imagine that she had once been even remotely glamorous and, with Marcus’s words ringing in her ear, Rose was struck by the contrast of an ageing failed artiste and the successful woman she herself expected to be. She would hate to end up like Connie, she thought uneasily. Her hair was tied in rag curlers and her feet were encased in broken-down slippers.
‘I saved you a nice bit of bacon roll,’ she told Rose, ‘and a few spuds. Nice and filling, bacon and onion roll. My mother always made it on a Saturday. She reckoned it filled all the corners!’ She led the way into the corner that passed as a kitchen. ‘Mondays it was usually kippers and cabbage, Tuesdays was either bangers and mash or stuffed hearts. Pigs’ hearts, that is. Lovely, they are . . .’
The Birthday Present Page 13