‘Tessa would be most welcome here,’ Judith Murray-Brown said. ‘I’ll show you around in a moment.’
‘She may choose not to come,’ Claire said sharply, resentful that Tessa’s future appeared to be in the hands of Dr Greenberg and this woman.
‘Of course.’ Judith Murray-Brown’s voice was warm and full of understanding.
Claire got straight to the point. ‘The men who come here, what are they like?’
Judith smiled. ‘Men don’t come here, Mrs King. Our girls are booked out and go to them. Sometimes our clients want a girl to accompany them on business trips or holidays. The girls travel a great deal.’
‘So the neighbours don’t know that the girls are . . .’
‘Hostesses?’ Judith sat on a settee and indicated that Claire should join her. ‘I would expect they do. Does that bother you? Coffee?’
‘Thank you.’ Claire chose a chair opposite. ‘Quite frankly, I don’t know what bothers me any more.’
‘We are very discreet you know. Still, I suppose it must be hard for you. Cream?’ She passed Claire a cup. ‘Help yourself to sugar and biscuits.’ She waited while Claire stirred her coffee. ‘May I speak frankly?’ When Claire nodded, she went on. ‘A companion agency is nothing more or less than the name implies. If it’s straight sex my clients want I advise them to go elsewhere. Of course, nine times out of ten relationships develop into sexual ones but, after all, this is the swinging sixties. The girls here aren’t doing anything that anyone else isn’t. It’s just that, to protect them, they’re doing it under controlled circumstances.’
‘You’re very direct.’
‘Claire. May I call you Claire? Good. I have spent a fair portion of my life summing people up. Now you, I’d say, are as innocent as the day is long. How many men have you known? No? Okay, none of my business. You’re practical, intelligent and like to play fair. But life isn’t all plain sailing and, as far as Tessa is concerned, you are, in my opinion, way out of your depth and desperate for answers. Yes, I’m direct. Isn’t that why you’re here?’
Claire could only nod.
‘There is an up-front security deposit which must be paid in advance. It’s not large but it covers me against breakages.’
Claire blinked.
‘I take pride in my home and expect the girls to do the same. There are usually four or five of them here at any one time. They come and go as they please. They’re free to have boyfriends, in fact, they lead perfectly ordinary lives. There is a fixed monthly deduction for board and lodging. Six monthly medical check-ups are mandatory.’ She smiled briefly. ‘There are no contracts, no ties. If a girl wants to leave she does so with my blessing.’
‘But you send them off with men.’
‘You make it sound like a death sentence.’
‘It’s . . . prostitution. You can dress it up any way you like, that’s what it boils down to.’
‘Technically, I suppose you are right.’
Claire’s voice went hard. ‘My daughter is only eighteen.’
Judith’s tone matched Claire’s. ‘Which would you prefer? That Tessa ends up on the street or she comes here where she’ll be happy and, more importantly, safe? I’m not running a brothel, Claire. I’m trying to help people like Tessa.’
Two hours later, heading back to the clinic in a taxi, Claire’s usually concise mind was in turmoil. She was out of her depth and knew it. Peter had offered to accompany her and, right now, she could have used some of his unemotional pragmatism.
Judith Murray-Brown had impressed Claire with her forthright and completely unapologetic explanation of the business she ran. She was obviously committed to helping girls like Tessa and worked closely with the clinic.
‘Tessa’s not a bad girl,’ she’d said to Claire. ‘She just thinks she’s bad. The first thing she’s got to learn is to love herself. How far do you think we’d get with that process if we kept sending her off to group therapy or prayer meetings?’
‘That’s all very well, but what about the other side? The risk of disease, the danger of falling into the hands of a weirdo? I mean, what kind of a man pays for a companion?’
Judith had given an answer to that as well. ‘Busy men. Newly divorced men. Shy men. Men from overseas on a business trip. All kinds of perfectly nice, ordinary men who, for whatever reason, do not get the chance to meet women.’
Claire was still lost in thought as the taxi came to a halt. She paid the driver and, straightening her shoulders, started up the steps of the clinic. Her mind was made up. Entering Tessa’s private room, Claire steeled herself. The doctor had said to expect fireworks. Tessa was sitting up in bed wearing a shawl Claire had bought for her, eyes bright but wary. Claire smiled at her. ‘Good morning, darling. That looks nice.’
‘Thank you.’ Tessa’s voice was clipped, determined and rebellious all at once.
‘How do you feel?’
‘Better. Worse. Frightened. I don’t know.’
Claire sat on a chair and crossed her legs. ‘Has Dr Greenberg spoken to you?’
Tessa’s eyes filled with tears.
‘Come on, darling. Don’t cry. There’s no need.’
‘No need,’ Tessa spat. ‘What do you know about it? It’s all right for you to talk. You’re not sick.’
‘Neither are you,’ Claire said gently. ‘Just a little mixed up.’
‘I can’t help myself,’ Tessa yelled. ‘Pull your head out of the sand, Mother, just this once. I’m a nut case.’
Claire allowed a silence of nearly thirty seconds to go by. Then, as cool as a cucumber, she nearly blew her daughter away.
‘You are addicted to sex, Tessa. It’s no more or no less than being an alcoholic or a druggie. You need to . . . fuck. It’s not lovemaking, it’s fucking. In that beautiful little head of yours you equate having sex with affection. I know it isn’t so. You know it isn’t so. But that’s what drives you. That’s the problem. Question now is, how do we fix it?’ Claire was flushed but her eyes held steady, looking directly at her daughter.
Tessa’s mouth opened and shut but no words came. Finally she managed, ‘Mummy?’
‘What, darling?’
‘Please don’t use that word.’
Claire flicked an imaginary speck of dust from her lapel. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Tell the truth, I don’t very much like it. I only used it to get your attention.’
‘It worked.’
‘I must be learning. Now, can we talk sensibly. According to Dr Greenberg you have a number of options.’
Tessa looked down at her hands. ‘Sure,’ she said bitterly. ‘Some options. A bloody nunnery, a walking zombie drugged to the eyeballs so she can’t remember her own name or some pathetic little program where a bunch of nymphos sit around and swap stories.’ Tessa folded her arms. ‘They probably leave the meeting and race for the nearest motel.’
Claire grinned at the mental image. ‘So what do you want to do?’
‘None of them. They won’t help.’
‘I tend to agree.’
‘It’s hopeless. I’d be better off dead.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m not. You have no idea . . .’
‘Well actually, darling, I do. I’ve been talking to some very interesting people.’ Claire leaned forward and, for the second time in as many minutes, took her daughter’s breath away. When she had finished, she sat back in her chair. ‘Judith is looking forward to meeting you.’
Tessa gaped at her. Her eyes filled with tears again. ‘What?’ she asked, in a strangled voice.
‘I’ve been there, even seen what would be your room.’ Claire fiddled with a flower arrangement beside the bed. ‘I met some of the other girls too. They’re nice.’
‘Mother!’
Claire reached over and took one of Tessa’s hands. ‘I understand, my darling. I know so much more now. I’m so sorry. I should have realised there was a reason. It’s okay, Tessa. It really is okay.’
Tears poured down Tessa
’s face. ‘You mean it? You really mean it?’
Claire squeezed her daughter’s hand. ‘Yes.’
Tessa took a shuddering breath. ‘I would die in a convent.’
Claire smiled. ‘So would I.’
‘I want sex all the time.’
‘I know.’
‘You don’t hate me for it? Doesn’t it shock you?’
‘No to the first question. Yes to the second.’
Tessa bit her lip. ‘I’ve been quite a trial too.’
‘Not at all,’ Claire reassured her daughter airily. ‘You’ve actually been hell on wheels.’
A small smile.
Claire looked at Tessa sympathetically. Here was a young woman on the threshold of life, so mixed-up and confused, about to tread a path few took by choice and yet, one so right for Tessa. Claire realised just how far she herself had come in the past few weeks in terms of broadening her own mind. And she could see that something like peace had entered Tessa’s spirit, though whether that was from finally being able to talk about how she felt with her mother or from the anticipation of a life previously undreamed of, Claire had no idea. Tessa must have doubts, lots of them. For all her rebelliousness, she was still a well brought up young lady with all of society’s preconceived ideas about men who paid for women’s company, sex or no sex. Claire decided it was time to give her daughter’s self-esteem a little nudge, so she told her the truth about Gregor.
‘You see, darling, I’m not as good as you think.’
‘I love you, Mummy.’ The bed sheets rustled as Tessa hurled herself into her mother’s arms. And then, for the first time in her life, she apologised. ‘I’m sorry I stole your jewellery.’
Two weeks later, with a completely changed Tessa installed at Judith Murray-Brown’s boarding house, Claire indulged herself for two days with Peter Dawson before returning to UBejane and the wedding preparations. She still had reservations about the solution to Tessa’s problems but, for the life of her, couldn’t come up with a better one.
Peter, conventional and decent as any, put it well. ‘She’s happy, she’s safe and she’s in good hands. It may be a little unusual but, darling, the other options were not going to work. I admire you tremendously for this. You’ve gone completely outside your own natural instincts and put your daughter’s welfare before your own moral standards. That’s not easy.’
As they said goodbye at Heathrow, Peter put his hand in the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small box. ‘Open it on the plane.’
‘Is it a bomb?’ she teased.
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘That’s up to you.’
She was wearing the diamond ring on the third finger of her left hand when Michael met her at Durban airport. ‘How is she?’
‘Much, much better.’
‘You were quite vague on the phone. When will she be back?’
‘I don’t know. For now Tessa’s staying in England.’
‘And doing what?’
Claire gave it to Michael, right between the eyes.
He listened in silence, driving much more slowly than his normal lead foot pace.
‘It’s all very controlled,’ she finished. ‘Tessa is, in reality, in a self-help program.’
‘I’m finding this a little hard to deal with,’ Michael admitted.
‘I know. So am I.’
‘What do we tell people?’
‘I’ve discussed it with Tessa. We’re going to say she’s in a convent.’
‘I wonder what the good Lord would think of that?’ Michael grunted. ‘Some convent! What about Sally and Gregor?’
‘Sally will be told the truth. I’ll wait until Gregor is a little older.’
‘Mother.’
‘Yes, my darling.’
‘You’re one hell of a woman.’
Claire held out her left hand, diamond flashing. ‘Someone else thinks so too.’
Michael stopped the car and gathered his mother up for a seriously enormous hug.
The wedding of Michael King and Jennifer Bailey was a grand affair to which half the European population of Zululand had been invited. UBejane was up for sale and the house and gardens looked immaculate, making an ideal setting for both the wedding and reception.
Peter Dawson had flown over from England for the occasion and Claire, elegantly beautiful in soft moss green, was happier than Michael could ever remember seeing her. The sparkling diamond on her engagement finger made a not unexpected announcement to Claire’s friends. That, and the fact that Peter did not leave Claire’s side for so much as a moment.
Gregor, handsome and stylish, was carrying out his duties as best man with accomplished ease. At twelve, he was already tall, good-looking and confident. As he stood with Michael on the verandah, waiting for Jennifer to arrive, he nodded towards where Claire and Peter greeted guests. ‘Mother had a long talk with me last night. Told me the truth about . . . you know.’
‘Good,’ Michael said a trifle absently. The bridal party had started to arrive and he felt a sudden wave of nerves.
‘Yeah,’ Gregor breathed happily. ‘Bloody marvellous in fact.’
‘Does Peter know that you know?’ Jennifer’s car had stopped in front of the house and she was just emerging from the back, a vision of silky white perfection. The nervousness left as quickly as it had come when she looked up and winked at him.
The lack of any response from his side suddenly alerted him that Gregor had only been fishing and that he, Michael, had jumped into the trap with both feet. ‘You little shit!’ he said quietly from the side of his mouth.
Gregor grinned triumphantly.
‘Keep it to yourself,’ Michael warned as he and Gregor left the verandah to take their places on the lawn where the priest waited. ‘She’ll tell you soon enough.’
‘Sure,’ Gregor agreed. He waited until they drew level to where his mother and Peter were seated. Then he leaned towards them and whispered, ‘Hi, Mum, Dad.’
Michael heard him and could have throttled his brother. Claire gave a small gasp of surprise. Shock, and then joy swam in Peter Dawson’s dark eyes. There was no time for much more. Jennifer, on her father’s arm, was ready to walk down between the guests. Peter smiled and said softly, ‘Hello, son.’
It was as natural as it should have been all those years ago.
Jennifer looked stunning in crisp white silk. Later, as the photographs were being taken, Michael bent his head and, in a whisper, told her so.
‘Wait till you’ve seen my knickers,’ she whispered back, smiling for the camera. ‘They’re electric blue.’
Wilson and Nandi were there, shyly keeping to themselves. Strictly speaking, alcohol was not supposed to be given to them, it was against the law. The other guests, robust and outgoing Zululanders mainly, couldn’t have cared less about the law but they understood the Mpandes’ reserve and went out of their way to exchange pleasantries with them, usually in Zulu. Although Nandi stuck to soft drinks, Wilson’s glass was regularly topped up by anybody noticing it needed it. No-one thought their presence strange, though a few remarked that mixed gatherings were becoming rather risky.
Raj, Balram and their families were also at the wedding. Balram, the women and children, like Wilson and Nandi, kept to themselves. Raj was under no such constraint and strode around acting, for all the world, as though he were Michael’s father. With his tall, thin frame resplendent in ceremonial satin and his hawklike features and bushy white beard emphasised under a matching turban, he was an imposing and dignified figure.
Sally had flown back from France for the event. Looking fresh-faced but chic, wearing a simple blue linen sheath with matching box-shaped jacket, one of her own designs, she moved easily through the crowd greeting friends and relatives. Her curly black hair had been cropped, Audrey Hepburn style, a look that was all the rage in Europe.
Questions about Tessa were fobbed off. ‘She couldn’t get away from the convent. She’s not allowed to break her vows of silence but sends her love.’
Most of the guests believed that Tessa’s sudden defection to religion was a passing thing. If she had turned out even half as good-looking as her twin, she was lamentably wasted in a convent. No-one guessed the truth.
UBejane was sold to a cynical individual from up north who had deserted the central African federation colony of Northern Rhodesia soon after it gained independence from Britain and became Zambia. ‘Africa’s going to the dogs,’ he complained to Michael and Claire. ‘At least we’re safe in South Africa.’
Claire felt guilty about the Zulus on UBejane, most of whom would probably lose their jobs. ‘They’re welcome to stay,’ the one-time copper miner said. ‘But I know enough to know that this isn’t cattle country. I’m going to try bananas on those hills.’
‘The Zulus won’t work with bananas,’ Michael warned. ‘It’s beneath them.’
The new owner shrugged indifferently. ‘Then they’ll have to leave.’ He winked conspiratorially. ‘Know what’s the similarity between bananas and politicians?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘They’re all yellow, all bent and they all hang around in bunches.’ He laughed uproariously at his own joke.
Written into the deed of sale was a ninety-nine-year lease for the house and one-acre garden where Raj had retired. Michael was satisfied that at least the old Sikh, his children and grandchildren would have some security.
Wilson and Nandi planned to move their family to Kwa-Mashu, a sprawling African township close enough to Durban that the white inhabitants of that city had ready access to the deep well of largely unskilled labour for their homes and gardens while not having to put up with blacks living on their doorsteps.
The transfer deeds were lodged two weeks after Michael’s wedding, the day he and Jennifer returned from their honeymoon. The house was a sad sight. Furniture had been put into storage, some sold, other pieces given to the servants. With the packing up well advanced, both Claire and Michael found themselves anxious to get the painful process over and done with. Farewells to employees and servants alike, some of whom had been on UBejane longer than Claire, were distressing for everyone. As he said goodbye to dear and familiar faces, Michael knew he’d probably never see most of them again. They were his past, to be held close in memory until they blurred, faded and finally were blown away, like dead and fallen leaves, by the winds of time.
People of Heaven Page 31