The Lost Daughters: A moving saga of womanhood

by Whitmee, Jeanne

  ‘You can’t know that! You’re just saying it to get out of your duty. You’re as selfish as you always were, Rossie. You’re your bloody father all over again.’ Una stared at her daughter, for the first time taking in her new appearance. She assessed the smart, understated suit, the hairstyle and make-up. Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’ve been seeing her, haven’t you? That Morton bitch?’

  ‘Freda? I’ve seen her, yes.’

  ‘More than just seen her by the look of this!’ Una sprang to her feet and revealed something hidden behind her in the chair. It was the scrapbook filled with Freda’s press cuttings. She must have been looking through while she waited. She threw it at Rosalind’s feet.

  ‘The pair of you have ganged up, why not admit it?’ Her eyes flashed dangerously as they swept Rosalind from head to foot. ‘You always did let her influence you, didn’t you? She’s been trying to tart you up again too by the look of you. That cow took my big chance away from me; snatched my part just as we were going into Town with the show.’ She narrowed her eyes at Rosalind. ‘But of course you know all that, don’t you? I daresay the pair of you had a bloody good laugh at my expense. I wouldn’t put it past you to have put her up to it in the first place. Just to get back at me.’ Her voice had risen shrilly and Rosalind stepped forward.

  ‘Mum! Keep your voice down, please. The residents will hear and think we’re having a row.’

  ‘A row?’ Una swayed unsteadily. ‘Well, what if we are having a sodding row? It’s none of their business. Let them think what they bloody well like. I’ll shout if I want to. I’ll say what I like to my selfish bitch of a daughter.’ She stepped up to Rosalind and wagged a finger in her face. ‘You owe me, Rossie. You betrayed me — you and that treacherous slut. She took the man I loved, then she stole my chance of success. Now she’s poisoned my daughter’s mind against me.’ Her face crumpled and she choked on a sob. ‘You owe me, Rossie. So are you going to come home and give me one last chance? Are you?’

  ‘No, I’m not!’ Rosalind’s voice was strong and firm as she stood her ground and looked her mother in the eye. She was slightly shorter than Una but as she spoke her mother seemed to shrink visibly before her eyes. ‘Face facts, Mum,’ she went on. ‘Freda didn’t take Dad from you. They met long after you’d parted. No one stole your part either. Mr Jacobson recast it. When Freda went to the audition she didn’t even know you were in the play. It was open to anyone and she got it. And as for poisoning my mind … ’ She stopped herself from saying what was in her mind. A row would get them nowhere. She reached out to touch Una’s arm gently. ‘Oh, Mum, why don’t you give up? Let go. Don’t risk making a fool of yourself. You’ve got so much and you’re throwing it all away. I won’t come home and let you do it to yourself. I wouldn’t even if it didn’t mean sacrificing all I’ve worked for.’

  Speechless, Una stood looking at her daughter, her face working with anger. For a moment Rosalind thought she was about to collapse. Then she took a deep breath and pulled herself together. ‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘You just think of yourself. Just stay here in your pathetic little job. You’re no more than a servant if only you knew it!’

  ‘Are you saying that what you’re offering me is better?’ Rosalind asked coolly.

  Una snatched her handbag from the chair where she’d been sitting and headed for the door. ‘Have it your way then. But don’t think you’ve heard the last of this, my girl, because you haven’t. No one tells me I’m a fool and gets away with it, especially the ungrateful child I sacrificed everything for.’

  As the door closed behind her Rosalind felt all the old insecurities and inhibitions flood back. Why did Una always manage to make her feel guilty when she knew she had nothing to feel guilty about?

  *

  When Don opened the front door and saw Una standing on the doorstep his first reaction was relief. She’d been gone for hours and he was just wondering if he should go out and start looking for her.

  ‘Una … ’ he began.

  She swept past him into the hall. ‘There’s a taxi waiting,’ she said abruptly. ‘He wants paying. See to it, will you? My head’s splitting.’

  When he came back in he found her sitting slumped in a corner of the settee, one hand clutching her head. Kneeling, he eased the shoes from her feet. ‘You’re frozen, love. Where have you been? I was so worried.’

  ‘I’ve been to see that daughter of mine,’ she said bitterly. ‘I thought we might make up our differences. I invited her to come home again — for Christmas. Maybe for good.’

  ‘Really? Oh, I’m so glad, dear. What did she say?’

  ‘You might well ask. Threw the invitation in my face. I might as well have stayed at home in the warm and saved my breath,’ Una said. ‘I’ve humiliated myself for nothing. And you should have heard some of the things she said. It’s all that Morton bitch’s doing. Hand in glove they are. Rosalind even keeps all her press cuttings pasted into a book.’ She choked on a self-pitying sob. ‘She never kept my press cuttings, never gave a damn about my career.’

  ‘Never mind. Let me make you a nice cup of tea and get you an aspirin, eh?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. And make it strong. In fact, don’t bother. I’ll have a brandy instead.’

  As he put the glass into her hand, he sat down on the settee beside her. ‘I know you must feel hurt and disappointed about Rosalind, dear. But she’s a young woman now and she has her own life to live.’ He took her free hand and held it tenderly. ‘I daresay she sees Freda as more of a friend. After all, they are of an age, aren’t they?’

  She glared at him. ‘You’re saying I’m old, are you? Over the hill?’

  ‘Of course I’m not. I’m just pointing out that we all have our own futures to think of.’ He squeezed her hand and leaned closer. ‘Just think of the marvellous time we’ll have when I retire. We can spend a lot of our time travelling abroad, all winter if you like; follow the sun as they say. We can go to the theatre, join the golf club and socialise more — anything that takes your fancy. Just the two of us. All mothers have to let go at some stage, you know, dear.’

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk about mothers letting go,’ she snapped, snatching her hand away. ‘Yours still hasn’t let go from the other side of the grave! I’ve told you, Don, I’m not as old as you. I’ve got no intention of retiring. I still want to work. I’ve had this offer to do the northern clubs and I really want to do it.’

  He sighed. He had made his views plain, or so he thought. Heaven only knew they’d been over it enough times. He couldn’t face living with the person Una became after experiencing a failure. His life had been hell on earth after her exclusion from the cast of Sweet Violet — and since. He had come to dread those magazine articles and cover pictures of Freda Morton, or Benita Moore as she was known. Every time Una read one of those interviews it threw her into a black depression for days, especially if her ex-husband’s name happened to be included. It was true that Mother had tended to dominate him when she was alive, but at least she’d had his best interests at heart. Mother was devoted to him whilst Una cared only for herself. Every instinct told him that if he gave in over this latest issue he would never know another moment’s peace as long as they were together.

  ‘No, Una,’ he said as firmly as he knew how to. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m putting my foot down. If you want to go rushing up and down the country again then you’ll do it without my support.’ He looked at her white face. ‘It’s you I’m thinking of if only you could see it. Those northern audiences are tough and demanding. They’d tear you apart. And you know what another failure would do to you.’

  ‘Why must you take it for granted I’d fail just because that woman manipulated me out last time?’ She turned to stare at him accusingly. ‘You’ve been talking to her, haven’t you? Rossie? She said the very same thing! You’ve been meeting. You’ve cooked this up between you.’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I haven’t set eyes on Rosalind since … ’

  ‘Sinc
e when? Since you gave her the money to go to Australia? Is that what you were going to say?’

  ‘No. She didn’t go to Australia.’

  ‘But she was going. And you did give her the money — behind my back too. That was disloyal of you, Don. It was what caused the row that split us up.’ She turned in her seat to look at him. ‘You could say yes to her, couldn’t you? You gave her the money when you knew I didn’t want her to go. The devious little bitch went snivelling to you behind my back and you caved in and gave it to her, just like that.’ She snapped her fingers.

  ‘It wasn’t like that, Una. She never asked.’

  ‘Oh, no?’ she sneered. ‘It all came out by accident, didn’t it? Lucky accident for her, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Believe it or not, it’s the truth, Una.’ For a long moment their eyes locked. Don held her gaze, his grey eyes unfaltering. It was Una who looked away first. But she wasn’t convinced. There was something more behind this and she’d get to the bottom of it if it was the last thing she did. And if she wasn’t going to be allowed her chance to make her name in the northern clubs then Don was going to have to make some concessions.

  ‘All right,’ she said at last. ‘If I’m going to be kept like a bloody prisoner in this mausoleum of your mother’s, I’ll need to redecorate it.’

  Don gave a sigh of relief. He’d dreaded putting his foot down but it seemed to have worked. ‘All right, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘I do!’ She looked at him. ‘It hasn’t been done since we were first married. And when I say redecorated I mean completely, mind. Furniture, carpets, curtains. The kitchen re-fitted, new bathroom, the lot. All done by a professional designer too. No amateurs or cowboys.’

  Don tried not to wince as he did some rapid panic-stricken mental arithmetic. ‘If that’s what it takes to make you happy,’ he said haltingly.

  ‘It does. I’ll make a start tomorrow.’

  ‘But we’re only a few days off Christmas.’

  ‘Sod Christmas! We’ll spend that in a hotel.’ She got up and began to walk around the room. ‘When I’m done with this house your beloved mother wouldn’t know it,’ she said spitefully. ‘I’ll see to it that there isn’t one thing of hers left. I think it’s high time she let go, don’t you Don?’

  Una was as good as her word. The following day she went from room to room, notebook in hand, jotting down her ideas. Then she sat down with the telephone book and made a list of all the interior designers in the area. She was determined to transform the place, to get rid of every last vestige of the late Mrs Blake senior. On a separate piece of paper she made a note of the few pieces of Mrs Blake’s furniture that Don had insisted on keeping. She would telephone a saleroom to collect the horrid antiquated monstrosities. The sooner they were out of the house, the sooner Don would know that this time she meant business.

  She thought she had noted everything when she remembered the display cabinet. Don had stuck out for that, but now it would definitely have to go. But what about the contents? He had always insisted that his mother’s collection of Meissen porcelain was extremely valuable. Perhaps she should contact an antique dealer about it.

  Opening the glass door Una looked at the delicate figurines with dislike. She’d always hated fussy fragile things that broke if you so much as breathed on them. But nevertheless, she respected them for their value. She peered closer, frowning. If she wasn’t very much mistaken there was a piece missing. Yes, there was a gap on the top shelf and the outline of its base could clearly be seen on the glass support. She took a step back and racked her brain as she tried to remember what it had been like. If she remembered correctly it had been the largest piece in the collection — a ghastly thing shaped like a shell. Yes, that was it. It had sugary flowers and four fat naked children with insipid expressions. Nauseating! But the question was, where had it gone? Don would never have sold it. He didn’t need the money. Anyway, if he’d been that hard up he would surely have sold the whole collection.

  Her eyes narrowed. Had he sold it so that he could give Rosalind the money for her fare to Australia? Yes, that must be it — so that Una wouldn’t notice that the amount had been withdrawn from their bank account. Her suspicions well and truly aroused, she went into the study and began to rummage in his desk. There would be something — a receipt, a bill of sale, an auctioneer’s invoice. When she knew the date of the sale she would know for sure she was right. But although she searched thoroughly she found nothing until, right at the back of the little stamp drawer, she found a small card. Printed on it in heavy black German text were the words:

  Pegasus Antiques

  Furniture, antiquarian books and objects d’art

  Prop. Arnold Corbett. 125 Bently Street, Chelsea

  *

  Una found the little shop without difficulty. The old-fashioned door-bell tinkled as she went in and she wrinkled her nose at the familiar musty smell of old books and furniture. Why on earth anyone wanted to pay good money for dead people’s cast-offs was beyond her. But the elderly man behind the counter seemed clean and tidy enough. He looked up at her over his half-moon glasses with a benign smile.

  ‘Good morning, madam. Can I help you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m looking for a particular piece of china. An ornament. I have reason to believe that you might have bought it.’

  ‘Well, I do often buy china and porcelain. Could you perhaps describe it for me?’

  Una did her best to describe the piece, adding as an afterthought, ‘I believe it was rather special. Meissen, I think.’

  ‘Ah.’ The man’s face cleared. ‘There was a piece recently that answered to that description. But if you were wanting to buy it, I’m afraid it was sold almost immediately. I have a client who is a keen collector of Meissen, you see. He was delighted with it and snapped it up at … ’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Una snapped impatiently. ‘I didn’t want to buy it. All I really want to know is, who sold it to you?’

  The man looked uncomfortable. ‘Well, I don’t normally…’

  ‘It may well have been stolen for all I know,’ Una put in sharply. ‘It’s missing, you see. But I found your card, so I think it may have been a member of my family, which would clear the mystery up and make everything all right.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘I don’t want to have to go to the police, do I? Receiving carries a rather high penalty, I believe.’

  ‘Ah — I see. No, indeed. Bringing in the police would be most unpleasant. Well now, let me see. I’m afraid I don’t have a name for the person.’

  ‘A description would do.’ Una was beginning to lose her patience. Why couldn’t the old fool just spit it out? ‘Was it a man, for instance?’ she prompted. ‘A middle-aged man?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ For the first time the man sounded positive. ‘Definitely not a man. A young woman.’ He half-closed his eyes, recalling. ‘Dark hair and eyes. Spectacles. A very pale face as I remember. If my memory serves me right I believe she said the piece belonged to a deceased relative. She needed the money to visit her sick father in Australia.’

  Una gasped. So that was it! ‘Did she now? Thank you, Mr Corbett,’ she said on her way to the door. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘Not at all, madam. Happy to have been of help.’

  ‘You’ll never know just how much of a help you’ve been,’ Una murmured under her breath.

  In a nearby cafe she digested the shocking revelation. Rosalind had stolen the Meissen. She must have done. Don would never have given it to her. He’d rather have given her the money. Then he must have found out. And he had let her keep the money and said nothing about it.

  She could hardly believe it, yet it all fitted now that she knew the truth. Rosalind’s sudden announcement that she was going to Australia, then her impulsive departure from home after Ben’s death. Well, they were going to have to pay for their sly little piece of deception, Don and Rosalind. And she would be the one setting the price!

  *

  ‘She took it, didn’t she
? The lying little thief stole one of your mother’s precious ornaments and you let her get away with it!’

  When Don arrived home from work that evening Una was standing in the hall waiting for him. Even before he had a chance to remove his coat she had begun her accusing tirade.

  ‘If I’d done a thing like that you’d have kicked me out, lock, stock and barrel. But not her. Oh, no! Not little miss butter-wouldn’t-melt!’ She stood in front of him, hands on hips, demanding an explanation. ‘What’s been going on, Don? I’m sick and tired of having the wool pulled over my eyes. What do you think I am — stupid or something?’

  ‘It isn’t the way you think,’ he began. ‘If you’ll just calm down and let me explain.’ He made to move towards the living room but she barred his way.

  ‘There’s only one thing I want to know,’ she said. ‘Did she take that ornament or didn’t she?’

  Don winced. ‘Well, yes, but … ’

  ‘With or without your permission?’

  ‘I told you, it wasn’t … ’

  ‘With or without, Don?'

  ‘Without. But as soon as she’d done it she was sorry,’ he added hurriedly. ‘She confessed to me and … ’

  ‘And you let her keep the money.’ Una shook her head. ‘You fool! You’re as bad as she is. You deceived me, the pair of you. And to think I was willing to give up my career. First I made sacrifices for her, then you. And all the time you were both deceiving me rotten.’

  ‘Una, see sense. The poor girl was desperate. She needed the money to go and see her father. She’d never have done it otherwise, you must know that. If you’d only told me — if you’d let her ask, I’d have given her the plane fare happily.’

  ‘Well, now you can happily make amends by letting me go and take that job,’ she told him. ‘I’ve already been in touch with my agent and said I’ll go so there’s nothing you can do about it now, Don.’ As she spoke she was pulling her coat on. The last button fastened, she turned to him. ‘And now I’m going to cook her goose for her. I’m going to make that little swindler wish she’d been straight with me.’