The Lost Daughters: A moving saga of womanhood

by Whitmee, Jeanne

  ‘No, darling.’ He smiled at her gently. ‘I’m planning to go away for a few weeks.’

  She shook her head. ‘Again? You never said. But not yet surely? Not until after Christmas?’

  ‘Maybe not immediately but very soon. I think it’s best this way.’

  Sitting beside him in the car she was silent. She had the distinct impression that when he had said before it’s too late he hadn’t been talking about the time. And yet he clearly didn’t intend to see her again; at least not for a while. Her mind was in a spin. The devastating news he had imparted about retiring from the concert platform, their closeness. The kiss; intimate and more disturbing than anything she had ever experienced before. Finally the unsettling feeling that the fact that he was going out of her life again was somehow because of something she had unwittingly done. All of these things swirled bewilderingly in her head. She needed time and solitude in which to work them all out.

  He stopped the car a few doors along the road, switched off the engine and turned in his seat to look at her. ‘You’re upset.’

  ‘No. Well, yes, but … ’

  ‘Because of what I told you?’

  ‘Because — yes, partly.’

  ‘My poor Cathy. I never meant to burden you. It was only that…’

  ‘You could never burden me, Gerald. It’s got nothing to do with that.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘Will you tell me something?’

  ‘Of course, if I can.’

  ‘Are you going away because of me?’

  ‘No. Whatever makes you think that?’

  ‘Oh, nothing really. Anyway, I’m glad.’ On a sudden bold impulse she reached out and drew his head down to hers, kissing him firmly on the mouth. Then, before he could speak, she jumped out of the car and ran down the road to the gate. When she got there she turned briefly and half raised her hand, then slipped out of sight behind the hedge.

  Gerald sat for a long time at the wheel of the car thinking about what he had done — what he had started. She was so sweet; so uncomplicated. For a moment a sudden thought tantalised him. How good it would be to have her with him permanently. The word sacrificial came mockingly into his mind and he cast it out angrily. It wasn’t like that. She was attracted to him, he’d always known that. She was too young and naive to know how to hide the fact. There would be no sacrifice involved if it was what she wanted. There was so much that he could give her — so much they could give each other.

  Chapter Five

  Una had been a little dismayed at first to learn that after the wedding Don intended them to occupy the house he had shared with his first wife. But on the Sunday afternoon when he had taken her and Rosalind along to see the house in Jay’s Lane, Stanmore she had changed her mind.

  Blake’s Folly was a detached house, built just before the war in suburban Tudor. It occupied a corner position on a pleasant tree-lined avenue of the kind that Una had always admired and the moment they drew up at the gate Rosalind saw her expression brighten. The double oak gates flanked by two monkey puzzle trees were, to her, the epitome of respectability.

  Don opened the car door with a flourish and escorted Una proudly up the curved driveway. Following them, Rosalind heard her mother’s squeak of approval at the impressive entrance porch which was hung with reproduction lanterns.

  But Rosalind’s first impression of the house differed from her mother’s. Less eager than Una to go into the house she had noted the front garden, with its clipped velvet lawn and shrubs mercilessly manicured into shape. Her heart sank. It was more like a municipal park than a garden and she thought longingly of the glorious profusion of blossom in the cottage garden at Sherwood Magna. Even the rigid and precise rows of bedding plants in the front garden at Blake’s Folly looked regimented, as though they wouldn’t dare to flag or drop untidy petals on the weedless soil. When she learned later that the gardener who came in twice a week to discipline the garden was an ex-sergeant major in the Royal Artillery she wasn’t in the least surprised.

  As the three of them stood waiting for Don to find his key and unlock the front door Rosalind peered surreptitiously through the windows. Even from the little she could see it was possible to get an idea of what was in store inside. Through the pristine net curtains she caught the glint of gilt-framed mirrors and the crystal and silver adorning mantelpiece and sideboard. But once Don had opened the door and they had crossed the threshold, vulgar opulence seemed to sneer at her from every corner. In the lounge a large squashy three-piece suite, its sides held in place by silken ropes, thick enough to moor the Queen Mary, squatted formidably, daring the visitor to offend its dignity by sitting on the striped plum and peacock upholstery.

  In the dining room a reproduction Jacobean dining table, realistically distressed with dents and gashes, gleamed with an artificially induced patina, and everywhere one’s feet sank into thick carpets in rich shades of antique red and gold.

  The kitchen units were white, ranged around the walls like icebergs lying in wait for the Titanic. Una stood in the middle of the floor, exclaiming with pleasure as Don gleefully opened doors and demonstrated every gadget the Ideal Home Exhibition had ever dreamed of. Rosalind stood in the doorway, wistfully remembering the warm kitchen at Ivy Cottage with its pine and gingham homeliness.

  But if Rosalind found the place ostentatious and unwelcoming, it was clear that Una did not share her view. As they walked round she could feel her mother growing more and more excited by the minute. Encouraged by her delighted smiles and enthusiastic remarks, Don led them proudly up the dog-leg staircase with its richly carved oak banister. At the top a square landing led to the four bedrooms and a lavish bathroom with a rose pink suite which he displayed with his characteristic flourish. He was an effusive, dapper little man with a pencil moustache and horn-rimmed glasses. Eager to encourage her approval, he looked at his intended enquiringly.

  ‘Well, dearest, what do you think? Can you see yourself living here with me?’

  Una sighed ecstatically. ‘Oh, Don, of course I can. It’s lovely! I’d no idea.’

  He smiled with relief. ‘Good. It would be such a waste to sell up and start all over again, I’m sure you agree, and anything that isn’t to your taste can easily be changed.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t want to change anything,’ Una said. ‘Except perhaps the bedroom,’ she said, peering once more into her predecessor’s boudoir. ‘I think I’d like to have my own choice in there — in the room you and I will share.’

  ‘Naturally, poppet. Buy whatever you like.’

  ‘Thank you, darling. You’re so good to me.’ To Rosalind’s embarrassment Una gave a coy little giggle and pressed close to her future husband’s side. Don slipped an arm around her waist and squeezed her affectionately.

  ‘Our room must be just as you would want it. Just pop along to the furniture department at the shop and choose whatever takes your fancy.’

  Una was just planting a grateful kiss on his cheek when she noticed Rosalind standing awkwardly by the stairhead, unsure of what she should do. ‘You can choose your bedroom if you want,’ she said. ‘Go on, have a look round.’

  Rosalind shook her head. ‘It’s all right. I don’t mind which one I have.’

  ‘But you haven’t even looked at them yet,’ Una said irritably.

  Don looked round at her. ‘Yes, do choose, Rosalind,’ he said. ‘Any one — oh, except this.’ He planted himself protectively in front of the door of one of the back bedrooms. ‘This one was Mother’s. Have either of the other two though. And of course the same applies to you. If you want to change anything in it, please feel free.’

  ‘I really don’t mind which I have,’ she said awkwardly. ‘And I’m sure it’ll be fine as it is.’

  Later, after Don had taken them back to the flat and was parking the car, Una admonished her.

  ‘Why do you always have to be so sullen with Don?’ she said sharply.

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘Yes, you were. He’s bent over backwards to ple
ase you. A lot of men wouldn’t want a teenage girl cluttering the place up, you know. He’s even willing to keep you while you’re still getting your education, remember. You might at least try to show a bit of gratitude and interest in your new home. I just hope you realise how lucky you are.’

  Rosalind muttered an apology. The truth was, she had the uncomfortable feeling that Don merely tolerated her for her mother’s sake. He was pleasant enough to her it was true, but it wouldn’t be easy learning to share a house with a man after so long. The next two years while she was studying for her A levels would clearly be difficult. The thought of them made her even more determined to work hard and get into business college. If nothing else had motivated her, moving away from the prophetically named Blake’s Folly and the newly wed Una and Don would have been enough incentive to keep her striving for independence.

  *

  The wedding took place on the second Saturday in August. The ceremony was conducted at the register office and was followed by lunch at a local hotel, attended by a few friends and colleagues of Don’s. Una had remarked more than once to Rosalind that her own colleagues in model gowns had behaved in a nasty jealous manner since her engagement to Don and that none of them deserved to be invited. Besides, she wouldn’t be working at the shop any more after the wedding. There would be enough to occupy her at home, she added with satisfaction.

  After lunch the happy couple left for a honeymoon in Majorca, leaving Rosalind to go home alone to the flat in Burnt Oak and prepare to pack up their belongings ready for the move to Stanmore on her mother’s return. She was still alone when her O level results came through. Her only celebration was the meeting at school when she shared her success with her classmates, including Cathy Oldham who, she discovered to her disappointment, was leaving school to go to the technical college. She’d cherished a fond hope that they might become friends when they were both in the sixth form and it had been a blow to find that Cathy was leaving, whilst the sharp-tongued Carla was to stay on.

  During the two weeks that Una and Don were away she received a postcard from them. It showed a picture of the hotel and, in the background an impossibly blue sea and cloudless sky. Her mother had written: Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here, on the reverse side, which made Rosalind smile wryly.

  By the same post there was a letter from Ben. He and Freda were appearing in their summer show, Knights and Belles, in Brighton, and he wrote inviting her to go and spend a week of her summer holiday with them. She wrote straight back accepting. It would give her mother and Don more time to themselves. She was sure they would be pleased.

  But when she told Una on her return she was anything but pleased. ‘I must say I think it’s very selfish of you,’ she said. ‘You know how much there is to do with shifting all our stuff over to Stanmore and everything. Now I’ll have most of it to do on my own.’

  ‘But I’ve already packed most of it up,’ Rosalind said. ‘And it isn’t as if the place isn’t already furnished. Surely all you have to do is unpack your own things. I’ll see to mine when I get back.’

  ‘If you think all I have to do is unpack you’re very much mistaken,’ Una said with a determined look. ‘I’ve got no intention of living with that woman’s stuff in the house.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘All those tassels and standard lamps and ruched cushions. Ugh! Pure thirties. No, I intend to bring the whole place up to date and that takes time.’

  ‘But you said you didn’t want to change anything but the bedroom,’ Rosalind said. ‘I thought you liked it.’

  Una snorted. ‘Like it? You’ve got to be joking. I’ll do it gradually, of course, bit by bit so that Don doesn’t notice, but that stuff of hers, it’s all got to go. It’s too old-fashioned for words. That silver will have to be put away too. I’m not making a slave of myself cleaning that lot!’ She looked at her daughter with unconcealed resentment. ‘Still, if you’ve already said you’ll go to Brighton to Ben and that floosie of his, then you’d better go, I suppose. I don’t want them thinking I’m stopping you. Though I must say you might have had the consideration to ask if it was convenient first.’

  *

  Brighton was a joy. Rosalind had never been there before, even when she’d joined her parents on summer shows in the past. They’d never aspired to more than number three dates in their days together, which, Rosalind accurately guessed was the real source of her mother’s present resentment.

  Ben had booked her a room at the hotel where he and Freda were staying. It had an air of subdued luxury and was a far cry from the dingy back street lodgings of the past. In the daytime they took her exploring the town, showing her the little lanes with their intriguing antique and curio shops. One morning she went along with Freda to the hairdresser and had her hair cut in a short gamine style that accentuated her large expressive eyes and delicate bones. Afterwards Freda treated her to a new skirt and blouse.

  ‘I expect you’ll be allowed to wear your own clothes in the sixth form,’ she said. ‘I daresay you’ll be glad to ditch your school uniform.’

  Rosalind was grateful. She had very few clothes apart from her uniform and wild horses wouldn’t have forced her to ask Don for money to spend on clothes. When she confided this to Freda she looked thoughtful.

  ‘Don’t you like him, Rossie?’

  Rosalind shrugged. ‘He’s all right, I suppose. I just hate feeling — you know — beholden to him.’

  Freda slipped her arm through hers. ‘I know what you mean, love. Why don’t you try to get a Saturday job? You could put the money by for your clothes then and be independent.’

  Rosalind thought this a very good idea and over coffee they discussed what she might do.

  In the evenings she went to the theatre with her father and Freda. Instead of the cheerless, cramped dressing rooms Ben had shared with Una when they were together, ‘Ben and Benita’ now occupied one of the star dressing rooms, adjacent to the stage. It boasted hot and cold running water and two comfortable chairs as well as the twin dressing table and wardrobes. Ben proudly introduced her to the backstage staff and the other artists as his ‘clever grown-up daughter’, and with the permission of the stage manager, Rosalind watched the show from the wings and thought Ben and Freda very good, even better than when she’d heard them rehearsing at Easter. Their voices seemed to blend together more effectively every time she heard them, and their obviously happy relationship put across a warmth and sincerity that made them popular with the audience.

  It was towards the end of the week that Ben took her out on her own one morning. Freda remained behind on the pretext of having sewing to do, but it was clear to Rosalind that Ben meant to have a heart to heart talk with her. They had coffee in a small cafe near the hotel, then walked for a while in the late-summer sunshine, admiring the smooth green of the promenade lawns and inhaling the fresh sea breeze. Then, just when Rosalind thought she must have been wrong about the heart-to-heart, Ben bought them an ice-cream cornet each and invited her to sit down.

  ‘Tell me, are you happy about this new marriage of your mother’s?’ he asked.

  She paused for a moment before answering. ‘It’s up to her really, isn’t it?’ she said non-committally.

  ‘That’s not what I asked you. This chap — what’s his name — Don Blake? Do you get on all right with him?’

  Rosalind wondered if Freda had said something. ‘He’s all right,’ she said. ‘I suppose it’s just that Una and I have been on our own a long time.’

  ‘Exactly. It’s bound to make a big difference to your life. So, how do you feel about the changes it will bring?’

  ‘It won’t be that different. Stanmore isn’t far from St Margaret’s. It’s a nice place. And the house is better — well, heaps better than we’ve ever had before.’

  ‘Yes, but what about you?’ he asked impatiently. ‘Look, you don’t have to pretend to me, Rossie. There’s something you’re not happy about, isn’t there? Tell me.’

  She squirmed inwardly, wishing she hadn’
t said anything to Freda. ‘No, there’s nothing really. It’s just that it’s going to be a bit strange at first, and I don’t like the idea of having him pay for things for me. But I’ll get used to it. I’ll have to, won’t I?’

  ‘Not necessarily.’ He looked at her for a moment. ‘Look Rossie, the reason I’m asking you these questions is because there’s something you should know. Freda and I have had an offer — to go to Australia. As you know, we’re recording a TV series when we’ve finished here at the end of next month. After that we’re off to Oz.’

  She looked at him. ‘Sounds wonderful. How long for?’

  There was a long pause before he replied. ‘That’s just it, baby. Probably for a long — a very long time.’ He took her hand. ‘Our kind of act is going out of fashion over here, you see, but in Australia it’s still quite popular.’ He laughed. ‘And heaven knows, the country’s big enough to tour for yonks. TV is getting off the ground in a big way over there too. Our agent has had an offer for us from someone who caught our act here. He thinks we could make a real hit over there.’

  ‘Oh, good. Congratulations.’ Rosalind gave him her brightest smile to hide the sinking feeling inside her chest. Just when she was beginning to rebuild her relationship with her father he was about to go out of her life again. ‘If it’s what you want, that is.’

  He looked into her eyes. ‘It is, of course. It’s a wonderful opportunity and we’re both thrilled. The thing is, baby … Look, Free and I have talked this over and we both agree. We’d like you to come with us.’

  She stared at him. ‘Me — come to Australia?’

  ‘Yes. What do you say?’

  Just for a moment her heart leapt with excitement. Dad and Freda actually wanted her with them — sharing a new life in an exciting new country. Then she thought of her own plans for the future and the snags and impracticalities came crowding in. ‘I don’t see how I can, Dad,’ she said, shaking her head.

  ‘Why not, love? You’d enjoy it out there.’