Missing the Moment

  “It’s no good, Joe,” Charlotte sighed, when she had brought him up to date about her father’s cheques. “I can’t just accept the money. I want to know why Jack stole it and why Dadda paid it back.”

  “Leave it, Charlotte. Forget Jack and his problems. Be thankful you don’t have to close the business. Concentrate on getting new customers, regaining your lost reputation.” He offered her a rather squashed egg sandwich.

  “Is this the best you can do?” she laughed.

  * * *

  Danny came home a few weeks later and once again he enquired after Jack Roberts. Charlotte said nothing about the missing money or her father’s replacement of it. He was as amusing and as attentive as usual but Charlotte sensed that he had something on his mind.

  “What is it with Jack Roberts? Why are you asking everyone for his address?” she asked.

  “Who told you I’ve been asking?”

  “Joe’s Auntie Bessie Philpot said you’ve been making enquiries in the shops and at the pub.”

  “It’s nothing. He owes me some money, that’s all.”

  She was tempted to tell him about the missing money then but the moment passed and the secret remained intact. It was no worse than Danny not telling her he no longer went to sea. But she knew it was the equivalent to a lie, not telling him when the subject was raised; now she never could.

  * * *

  Bessie’s catalogue customers were a network of information, a spy system of great efficiency. Bessie was the co-ordinator and the dispenser of detail. She decided who to tell about whom and few were given the privilege of silence.

  She was in town one Friday evening, early in November, walking around with her bag containing her collections on her shoulder, her catalogue tucked under her arm, when she saw Danny. She didn’t like Danny. He had muscled in on her Joe, pushed Charlotte out of his life, got himself involved with that Rhoda too. Causing her Joe to be unhappy was a crime greater than murder.

  To her enormous satisfaction, Danny Saunders was coming from the house of Sally Solomons, the local prostitute. This was something to pass on. Danny seeking favours from a “woman of ill repute”. Joe must know about that. She’d make sure Charlotte knew too. Heaven knew what diseases that Sally Solomons was spreading. This wasn’t gossip, she told herself righteously: it was her duty to warn Charlotte against the man.

  She was about to turn away when she saw the door open, heard shouts, and curiosity halted her footsteps. She chuckled inwardly; this might be fun, grown men arguing over the favours of Sally Solomons!

  The night had fallen, shadows distorted her view. Bessie slowed and watched; another figure emerged from Sally Solomons’ door. It wasn’t until he spoke that she recognised Eric Russell.

  This was something to taunt Harriet with, but she knew she would not. There was a limit to spreading fascinating facts. Old snob she was for sure, but Harriet didn’t deserve this: the implication that he preferred a prostitute to his legal wife.

  Then other people appeared: men, women, even some excited children. Soon a queue of people stretched from inside the house to the edge of the river. Buckets and bowls were passed along the line and the last one threw the contents into the river.

  Further investigation revealed that Sally Solomons’ house, built with its cellars too close to the river, had been flooded.

  The facts were distorted by the time Harriet heard them. She managed to grasp that Eric had been with Sally Solomons the previous evening and she gave him no chance to explain. Once the children were safely out of sight behind the hall door she slapped him hard on the face.

  “You and your brood can leave immediately, Eric Russell, and I never want to see you again. Bringing gossip to my house. How dare you!”

  “Harriet. What’s got into you! I was passing and stopped to help, like a dozen others. Ellie was with me. I’d collected her from Girl Guides for heaven’s sake!”

  Being Harriet, she didn’t apologize, but told him off again for walking past there on the way home.

  “Perhaps it’s as well I did,” he said, when things had calmed down. “Danny was there and his wasn’t an innocent visit. Not a word about it to Miranda, mind, but you’d better find a way of telling Charlotte before someone else does!”

  The following morning it was Eric, not Danny, who looked guilty; he had a black eye. Harriet smiled. It seemed ironic that it was her wedding ring that caused it.

  Chapter Twelve

  One Saturday, Joe told Rhoda he would take her to Cardiff. This would give Charlotte a break from watching over her as well as the factory, but would also give him a much-needed opportunity: there were a few enquiries he needed to make. Mostly about Danny. He couldn’t stop Charlotte from marrying the man, he knew that, but he was determined to find out all there was to know, so she would at least be prepared for any trouble. There was just something about the man that didn’t seem right. He had too much money for one thing. There was a mystery about Danny Saunders and he was determined to find out what it was.

  From Miranda, Joe had learnt that someone had cheated their mother, Gloria, out of her home. When their father was reported missing and then killed, in 1941, they had been living in a small terraced house not far from the docks and from Barry Island beach. Danny was then thirteen and Miranda was ten. Gloria had found herself without sufficient money to carry on. She took a lodger and managed to give up the factory where she packed food for the forces.

  She had hated having a stranger in her house even more than going to the factory, and was delighted at her good fortune when someone with whom she had worked, offered her a solution. Young Miranda didn’t query the wonderful offer. The man offered to lend her mother money on a weekly basis until the war ended, so she could live without fear in the house her husband had bought for her. He had asked that the agreement be kept a secret.

  Gloria had been so relieved at the man’s generosity that she signed the agreement in her sitting room without reading it. In her innocence she had signed away her right to the house. Somehow, the man had taken advantage of her confused, frightened and depressed state; grieving as she was for her young husband and trying to keep the family together. After a few weekly payments she was evicted.

  It wasn’t long after moving out into a sad little room at the other end of town that Eric had met her. He had taken her and the children into his care and, eventually, he had left Harriet, walked out of Mill House with only a brief note of explanation and moved into a new business, a new home and a new life. From what Miranda had told him, Joe understood they had been very happy.

  Miranda had told him the name of someone who had lived next door to them. Joe had written to the man and today he planned to go and see him and try to find out a little about Danny. If he could also find the man who had cheated Gloria and her children, that would be a bonus.

  * * *

  Mr Hazel still lived in the terraced house not far from the Pleasure Beach in Barry. He opened the door and smiled a greeting.

  “You must be Joe Llewellyn,” he said. “Come in, the daughters got the kettle on for a cup of tea and she’s made us some Welsh cakes.”

  Joe was shown into a neat parlour where a fire burned brightly, brass shone its welcome and the table was set with an immaculate white cloth and line china cups. Mr Hazel’s daughter shook hands and, after pouring tea, left them to talk.

  It had been Joe’s plan to talk about Danny but, since hearing Miranda’s story, he found himself asking first about the man who had stolen their home.

  After introducing the subject, Joe asked if Mr Hazel had ever met him.

  “It’s too long ago for me to be any use to you if you’re hoping to find him,” Mr Hazel said at once. “Charming he was, mind. Real gentleman we all thought him. Smart, well spoken, respectable, you know the sort. If only we’d known what he’d done we might have been able to do something for Gloria and them children of hers. But she was proud, see, and never let on till later how she’d been cheated.”

 
“You knew him?” Joe said in surprise. “Why wasn’t he caught, then? Charged with theft, or fraud?”

  “Yes, I knew him. Francis Culver he called himself. Wicked devil he must have been to steal from a war widow and her two children. But she wouldn’t do anything about it. Who’d have believed her? People like Gloria are afraid of the police, the courts, solicitors and the like. She decided to forget it and start again. Brave little woman she was. Always cheerful. Never once moaned about her troubles.”

  “Can you describe the man?” Joe asked. “The name you knew him by, Francis Culver, was probably false.”

  “Better than that. I have a photo. Not very good but it might help.”

  Joe tried not to sound too excited when he asked if he could see it.

  “See it? You can have it, I’ve only kept it because Danny and Miranda are on it. Lovely kids they were.”

  Joe studied the photograph showing three people standing against a garden wall. Although it was a distance shot, there was no doubt as to the identity of the man with his arms on the shoulders of Gloria’s children.

  He hadn’t learnt much about Danny but the visit was well worth the journey. His first thought was to talk to Ned Hardy and leave it in the hands of the police, but no, first he needed to talk to Charlotte. There was the money missing from the factory that had been replaced by her father. He could easily make things more difficult if he acted before gathering a few more facts.

  * * *

  Later that day, Joe drove up the hill to Mill House hoping to persuade Charlotte to go out for a drink and discuss what he had learned from Mr Hazel. She wasn’t there when he knocked just after six o’clock. Harriet opened the door, with a crying Matthew in her arms.

  “They’ve all gone out,” she explained above the din. “Charlotte is off somewhere with Miranda and her father is meeting Isabelle and Louise from a party.”

  “Can I come in and wait?” he asked.

  “You can help amuse the children while I bath Matthew then.”

  Joe settled the other children down by promising to read them a story. A fan of hands reached towards him, each with a favourite book and a demand to be first. Laughingly, he gathered the books, pretended to shuffle them and gathered the children around him. With a sigh of relief, Harriet took Matthew into the bathroom where the baby-bath stood ready.

  It was almost eight o’clock when Charlotte and Miranda returned.

  “Where have you been?” Harriet demanded. “Look at the time!”

  “Sorry Mam, we had lots to do and – Joe!” Charlotte threw down the pile of order books and accounts she had brought home and sat beside him on the couch. “There’s lovely. Mam made you a cup of tea, did she?”

  “Have the children been good?” Miranda asked.

  “It’s very quiet,” Charlotte said, “fed them with laudanum have you?”

  “They’ve been bathed, read to and tucked into bed. And no thanks to either of you.” Harriet didn’t acknowledge Joe’s help.

  Miranda slipped through the door in the hall after a quiet apology and called for her father. Charlotte asked if there was any tea in the pot. Harriet shrugged, and Charlotte went into the kitchen to investigate. Joe stayed with Harriet, who avoided speaking to him by pretending to doze. He took out the photograph given to him by Mr Hazel as Charlotte returned with a tray of tea and sandwiches. “Recognise anyone on there?” he asked.

  Charlotte took it and smiled. “It must be Danny and Miranda. There’s young they are. Where did you get this, Joe?”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Jack Roberts,” she smiled. “I didn’t think he knew them, did you?”

  “Jack Roberts was the man who cheated Gloria out of her home,” Joe said quietly.

  Harriet’s eyes opened very wide. “Show that to me.” She studied the three rather indistinct figures, then shook her head. “Rubbish. Jack Roberts is nothing like that man. What nonsense you talk, Joe Llewellyn.”

  “Have you told Dad?” Charlotte asked.

  “No, I haven’t told anyone yet, but perhaps he knows. Jack was beaten up a couple of times, wasn’t he?” He didn’t mention Eric paying back the money. Harriet almost certainly hadn’t been told.

  “Now what are you saying?” Harriet demanded. “Are you accusing Eric of beating up Jack? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No, but someone did, that’s for sure. If he’s the man who robbed Gloria of her home, then it might not be as inexplicable as it appeared at the time.” He stared at Charlotte and added. “Danny would be another candidate for such an attack, wouldn’t he?”

  Harriet went to the hall door, the dividing line between her territory and Eric’s and called him. He followed her back into the room, a frown on his face.

  “What is it, my dear? No complaints about the children, I hope?”

  “Tell him, Joe. Repeat what you’ve just said, if you dare.” Harriet’s voice was less harsh, Charlotte noticed. It always was, when Eric was around. She hid her frustrations and her complaints about the children from him.

  Joe handed the photograph to Eric, who looked at it and frowned. “I don’t understand,” he said, looking at Joe for an explanation.

  “Did Gloria ever talk about Mr and Mrs Hazel?”

  “Yes, they were her neighbours. But how did Jack Roberts know Gloria’s children?”

  “I went to see Mr Hazel last Saturday and he remembered Jack Roberts well. Francis Culver he called himself then.”

  “Francis Culver? But that was the name of the man who—”

  “Who gave Gloria a simple form to sign and cheated her out of her home? Yes, that’s what Mr Hazel said had happened. Gloria didn’t have the confidence to fight, afraid of becoming involved with the police and having to give evidence and all that. The poor woman was told she must get out and did just that.”

  “Jack? There must be a mistake, he’s never needed to steal. He earned good money and, living in lodgings, he’s always had enough to buy all he needs.”

  Joe had been watching Eric’s reactions and when Charlotte followed him to the door as he was leaving, he said. “I thought your father must have known. I suspected that it was he who attacked Jack and possibly demanded money from him. Now I’m not so sure. His surprise seemed genuine.”

  Charlotte was silent. Joe thought she was so shocked by what he had discovered about Jack Roberts, a man she had trusted so completely, that she was stunned. “It’s quite a lot to face, isn’t it, Charlotte?”

  “I don’t understand. The attack on Jack Roberts couldn’t have been anying to do with Gloria losing her house. If Dadda didn’t know, who else is there? No one.”

  “Charlotte, my pretty. I hate saying this, but there is someone else. There’s Danny.”

  “He doesn’t know. How could he?”

  “He’s on that photograph with the man.”

  “But he was a child, Joe. They probably only met once.”

  She found herself defending Danny, once more putting herself on the opposite side from Joe. When would she be able to talk honestly about how she felt? Everything was clouded and indistinct. Why couldn’t she just tell Joe that allowing Danny into her life had been a mistake? Until she had spoken to Danny and told him, it would be disloyal to talk to Joe. Yet Danny’s disloyalty was clear to see. He had taken Rhoda out, she now knew, without bothering to explain or make an excuse!

  Joe put her thoughtful silence down to concern for Danny but he coaxed softly. “He does flash a lot of money about, doesn’t he?”

  “I’m going in, Joe, it’s very cold out here.”

  “Yes, go in, my pretty, and think about it. I’ll see you tomorrow. Lunchtime?”

  “Yes. I – perhaps.” Leaving him to drive off without a wave, she closed the door and leaned back on it, her eyes closed. Danny beating up Jack Roberts? Every new development made life more maddeningly complicated.

  * * *

  Joe parked the car in Main Street near his smart cycle and motor spares shop and walked along
the footpath to his Auntie Bessie’s house. Rain was falling, the drops icy cold and beating on his face like shards of glass. He bent his head and began to run, but the slippery surface made him slow down. As he reached the place where he caught sight of the lighted windows in the two cottages, a movement caught his eye and he stopped, screwed up his eyes and peered through the gloomy night.

  At the edge of the river, a ghostly figure stood, white, insubstantial behind branches of scrubby willows. A slight swaying movement gave the form a fluidity and an undefined shape. He recognised the figure. With a shocked gasp he called, “Lillian, love, what are you doing out in this and you with hardly a stitch on you!” He went to guide her back to Bertha’s house but she pulled away from him, tears trickling to add to the rain that trailed down her plump face.

  “Come on, Lillian. This is no night to be out so late.”

  “Waiting for someone,” she said between sobs.

  “I know. What say we wait indoors? You can get something warm on, and if your Mam isn’t up I’ll make us a cup of cocoa. Right?”

  Slowly, he approached her and finally suceeded in catching hold of her arm. She collapsed then and, sobbing loudly, she sat on the muddy ground, crying as if her heart was broken. Joe tried to pick her up but the ground was slippery and she was very heavy.

  He managed to clasp his arms about but before he had taken more than a few steps, he tripped over a tree root and they both fell into a hawthorn bush. Lillian’s nightdress was torn and Joe felt the prick of the branches through his own clothes.

  “Auntie Bessie!” he called. “Bertha! Come quick!” He guided the howling Lillian home and thankfully handed her into the care of her mother.

  “Never know where she is these days and that’s a fact Joe,” Bertha sobbed. “She went to bed hours ago and I thought she was sleeping fast.” Soothing the girl, bathing her cuts, threatening her, scolding her and loving her, Bertha thanked Joe for his help and put Lillian to bed.