He was laughing too, blue eyes blazing with love, sunshine patterning his face. ‘You don’t look after a consort battleship,’ he said. ‘Not when its guns are blazing. You damn nearly blew me out of the water last time.’
‘Yes,’ she said with delight. ‘I did, didn’t I? Well you can’t say you don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for.’
‘Yes please!’ he demanded and kissed her with such passion that he took her breath away.
‘We must stop,’ she said, kissing, kissing.
‘I’ve stopped.’
‘It looks like it.’
He began to clown. ‘Please take me home!’
So she controlled herself and put the car into gear.
‘Where’s your car?’ she asked as she drove out into Amersham Road.
‘I left it at Abdul’s.’
‘So how was Paris?’
‘Gruesome.’
‘Good.’
He feigned surprise. ‘I never knew you were a Francophobe.’
She grinned at him. ‘It means you missed me.’
This time he pretended to be nonchalant. ‘Well yes, I suppose I did. Now and then. In a small way.’
‘I love you,’ she said, champagne laughter bubbling again.
They drove down Putney Hill aching with desire, and she negotiated the High Street with his arm around her shoulders. From time to time, he stroked her cheek, as if he was about to turn her head and kiss her again. ‘I warn you,’ she giggled. ‘If you keep on doing that while I’m driving we shall end up on the pavement.’
That provoked more laughter and more provocative caresses. ‘I’d rather we ended up in bed.’
‘You’re one-track-minded.’
‘Um, but what a track!’
She turned the car into St Mary’s Court at last. ‘You’re out of luck,’ she teased him. ‘My parents have arrived. We shall have to deal with them first.’
They were sitting in the BMW, staring through the windscreen, Billie in her best suit, looking anxious, Tim instantly flashing his most charming smile at them.
Nick struck his forehead with his fist, happily play-acting. ‘Thwarted!’ he cried. ‘Dead! Dead! And never call me mother!’
‘How did I ever get involved with such a ham?’ she giggled as she parked the car. ‘Be sensible.’
But he couldn’t be sensible. Neither of them could. Their happiness was so entire and so obvious that Billie and Tim were quite heartened by it and followed them into the flat as though they really had been invited to tea.
Gemma arranged a circle of chairs around the table, unconsciously imitating the circle she’d just left in Amersham Road but this time with Nick sitting close beside her. Very close beside her. Sparks leaping and dancing.
It was time to be serious. ‘You know Dr Quennell, don’t you,’ she said to her mother and was pleased when Billie winced. Then she turned to sting her father too. ‘Dr Quennell,’ she told him, ‘was the doctor who saved my life in the crash.’
Tim tried charm. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Right!’ his daughter said briskly. ‘Now you’ve been introduced, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.’ She produced her copy of the Chronicle and for the second time that afternoon spread it out for inspection. ‘What’s the meaning of this?’
‘They got me wrong, Poppet,’ Tim said, giving her the full beam. ‘You know what the tabloids are like.’
‘Oh no,’ Gemma corrected. ‘They didn’t get you wrong. You told them lies. This is lies from start to finish. I’ve never been enticed away by anyone and you know it. And you can hardly call yourself a loving father, now can you?’
‘Now that’s where you’re wrong,’ Tim said. ‘You couldn’t be more wrong. I know I got a bit cross with you the other evening – I’m sorry about that – but I did it all for you. I always had your interests at heart. After all I am your father.’
Gemma gave him her sternest look. ‘You share half my genes,’ she told him. ‘That’s all. By an accident of birth. But you’re no more my father than that table leg. I’ve learned a lot about fathers in the last few months. I’ve seen two very good ones in action. Men who put their wives and children first. Men who are prepared to sacrifice anything to protect their children. Even their principles. And that takes some doing – although you wouldn’t know that because you haven’t got any principles. Oh, I can tell you a lot about fathers. Fathers are men who look after you while you’re growing up, pay for your keep, buy your clothes, help you with your homework, teach you moral values, dear God! Like telling the truth.’
‘You can’t tell the truth in this world,’ Tim told her. ‘People don’t expect it. Good God, you’d be eaten alive if you went around telling the truth all the time. I mean, look at the way the politicians go on. You don’t think they tell us the truth, do you? Once in a blue moon, if ever. And certainly not when there’s an election in the offing.’ He was on one of his hobby-horses now and felt much more comfortable. All that talk about other men being better fathers had been very unnecessary.
But she cut him off short. ‘We’re not talking about politicians,’ she said sternly. ‘We’re talking about you and the lies you told to the press. What are you going to do about them?’
‘It’ll blow over,’ he said, dismissively. ‘If you’ll take my advice you’ll just ignore it. Nobody takes anything seriously when it’s in the tabloids, now do they?’
‘It might interest you to know that a burglar took that absolutely seriously. He came here yesterday evening to relieve me of some of my half-million. I had to fight him off with my crutch.’
Their faces were a study of disbelief and horror.
‘Oh Gemma,’ Billie cried. ‘He didn’t!’
Tim tried to bluff. ‘You don’t know it was because of the paper.’
‘Yes I do. He told me so. That’s his copy on the table. I wouldn’t have seen it if it hadn’t been for him.’
‘That’s awful!’ Billie said.
Gemma pressed home her point. ‘And if he’s read it and believed it, all sorts of other people will have read it and believed it too. So something will have to be done about it. Right?’
‘I don’t see what,’ Tim said, ‘It’s over and done with now. In print. You can’t unprint it.’
‘No,’ Gemma told him, ‘but they can publish a correction. I’ve got one written. It’s in the post now, signed by me and Dr Quennell. I’ve brought you a copy. I’ll read it to you if you like.’
He didn’t like it at all but how could he refuse to hear it?
She took the letter out of her bag and read it slowly.
Sir,
Contrary to the false impression given by your front page on Thursday, I would like the following facts to be brought to the attention of your readers:
I have not been enticed away from my parents.
My father, Mr Tim Ledgerwood, who was named in the article, deserted me when I was six weeks old. I have only seen him on three occasions since then.
I live on my own in my own flat and earn my own living.
I have never sued the railway for half a million pounds and do not intend to sue them.
Railways South offered me £10,000 compensation soon after the accident, which I accepted. I signed a disclaimer agreeing that I would not sue for any further compensation.
There was a long silence. Nick was grinning with delight at the way she was handling this, Billie had her mouth open, Tim was obviously shocked.
‘D’you mean to say you’ve taken it?’ he asked at last. ‘You’ve given up half a million for a paltry £10,000?’
‘A paltry £10,000 was all I needed,’ Gemma told him. ‘It bought my car and furnished this flat. It pays the rent. I don’t need half a million. Millions are trouble.’
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this,’ her stunned parent said. ‘I ran up debts on your account. Thousands. You never stopped to think about that, did you?’
‘Tough,’ she said. ‘That’s your proble
m.’
‘Yours too. I did it on your account.’
‘No,’ she corrected. ‘You did it because you thought you were going to take a share of the pickings. It was the thought of getting your hands on half a million. Well there aren’t any pickings. The dream’s over.’
‘But I’ve got bills to pay. Solicitors’ fees. How am I going to pay them?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Like I said, that’s your problem.’
‘Billie!’ he begged, turning to her for support. ‘Speak to her. Tell her.’
But Billie was no help to him. She could see him much too clearly now. ‘I suppose you’ll have to sell the car,’ she said. ‘You don’t own anything else, do you?’ All these years dreaming about him, seeing him as her dreamboat, hoping he’d come back to her, wanting to live happily ever after, and he was just a con man after Gemma’s money.
His answer was sullen. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘No,’ she said, very sadly. ‘You can’t, can you. Because it’s on hire. All this talk about the high life and how good you are at business and you haven’t got two ha’pennies to rub together. I’m sorry to have to say this, Tim, but you’re a fraud.’
‘Oh lovely!’ he said. ‘That’s really lovely. After all I’ve done for you.’
‘Like what?’ she asked, her face creased with sadness. ‘The last thing you did was to borrow £3,000, as I remember. When am I going to see that back?’
‘I don’t have to take this,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’m going.’
She was quite calm. ‘In that case,’ she said, ‘I’ll have my door key.’
He took it from his pocket and flung it at her. ‘There’s your key. And much good may it do you.’ Then he turned for a Parthian shot at his daughter. ‘And as for you young lady, don’t think you’ll ever make a model now. You might’ve done with a bit of money behind you but you’ve blown that.’
Nick decided he’d been a spectator for long enough and stood up to take over. ‘Ready, are you?’ he said and began to edge their unwanted visitor towards the hall, following him to make sure he left the premises.
‘I’m so sorry about all this,’ Billie said, when she and Gemma were on their own together. ‘I never thought he’d tell lies to the papers. I mean, I thought you really had been enticed. I suppose the truth of it is I wanted to believe him. I thought he was such a good man. He said all the right things. He was going to look after you. He was going to look after us both, come to that. But there you are. No fool like an old fool! I’m so sorry.’
She looked so woebegone that Gemma put out a hand and patted her arm. ‘I know,’ she said.
‘I only wanted the best for you.’
‘I know.’
Billie began to cry. ‘I wanted to give you a good start,’ she wept. ‘That’s all it was. I thought if you were a model you could have a really nice life.’
Gemma passed her a tissue. ‘I’ve got a really nice life,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a job and a home and a man who loves me. What more could I want?’
Billie blinked back her tears and glanced at the door. She didn’t want the young man to come back into the room and find them talking about him. ‘This doctor?’ she whispered.
‘This doctor,’ Gemma said, as he walked in. ‘I’ve just been telling Mother how lovely you are,’ she told him.
‘That’s me,’ he agreed. Then he saw that Billie was crying and embarrassed. ‘We got off to a bad start, Mrs Goodeve,’ he said. ‘Could we start again, do you think?’
She gave him a smile, watery but full of hopeful affection. ‘It would be nice, wouldn’t it,’ she said. ‘I never meant half the things I said to you. It’s no excuse but I was so worried about Gemma I said the first thing that came into my head.’
‘Me too,’ he said. ‘I thought I ought to be looking after her.’ And he grinned at Gemma. ‘Big mistake!’
‘You’re right there,’ Billie agreed, smiling at Gemma. ‘She won’t let anyone look after her. I’ve been trying to for years.’
‘Well I’m glad you’ve both seen sense at last,’ Gemma teased them. ‘Now I can get on with living my life. There won’t be any more nonsense about me being a model, will there?’
Billie shook her head. ‘I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life,’ she said. ‘But that’s one I won’t repeat.’ And she sighed. ‘All those years getting it wrong, thinking he’d come back to me and marry me and everything in the garden would be lovely. What a fool!’
‘You wouldn’t want to marry him again now though, would you?’ Gemma asked.
Billie gave her a wry smile. ‘I never married him in the first place,’ she confessed.
‘But I thought you were divorced. I thought you went back to your maiden name.’
‘I never changed it,’ Billie admitted. ‘He said he didn’t believe in marriage. I added the Mrs bit as a sort of courtesy title. To be respectable. Stand on my own feet, sort of thing.’
‘Well good for you,’ Nick applauded. ‘So that’s where she gets all this independence from.’ And he put his arm round Gemma and gave her a hug.
The gesture was so affectionate that Billie knew they wanted to be alone. ‘I must be off,’ she said. ‘Come and see me some time, both of you.’
Gemma put her arms round her and gave her a hug. ‘I’ll phone you,’ she said. ‘Now you know where we are, you can come and see us again. It’ll be better without him and I’ll feed you next time. You’d be surprised what a good cook I am.’
‘She is,’ Nick said. ‘I can vouch for that. You should see her baked salmon.’ And got punched for his presumption.
So mother and daughter parted with affection and kissed goodbye on the doorstep as lovingly as they’d ever done.
‘You make a very pretty pair,’ Billie said as she looked back at them. It was almost as though she was giving them her blessing.
‘Amazing!’ Gemma said as she and Nick walked back into the living room.
‘You were,’ Nick agreed. ‘I’d fire a six-gun salute to you, if I had any guns.’
‘I thought that was a gun in your pocket,’ she said, enjoying the old joke.
‘No,’ he said happily, ‘that’s because I’m glad to see you.’
‘I do love you,’ she said. ‘I know I said all sorts of stupid things to you when you proposed, but I do love you.’
‘I said all sorts of stupid things too,’ he admitted. ‘It doesn’t matter whether we get married or not, really. The great thing is being together.’
‘Equal partners?’
‘Equal partners.’
‘We’ll marry when we’re both ready for it,’ she said. ‘What are you doing on Monday?’
‘More to the point,’ he said, pulling her into his arms, ‘what are we doing now?’
A Note on the Author
Beryl Kingston was born in Tooting in 1931. She was eight when the war began and spent the early years of her education in many different schools, depending on her latest evacuation. As an undergraduate she attended King’s College London, where she read English.
She married her childhood sweetheart when she was 19, with whom she has three children. Kingston was an English teacher before embarking on a career as a full-time writer in 1980.
Discover Books by Beryl Kingston published by Bloomsbury Reader at
www.bloomsbury.com/kingston
A Time to Love
Fourpenny Flyer
Gemma’s Journey
Maggie’s Boy
Sixpenny Stalls
Tuppenny Times
For copyright reasons, any images not belonging to the original author have been
removed from this book. The text has not been changed, and may still contain references to missing images.
This electronic edition published in 2013 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP
First published in Great Britain in 1997 by Century
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sp; Copyright © 1997 by Beryl Kingston
All rights reserved
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make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means
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printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the
publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication
may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
The moral right of the author is asserted.
eISBN: 9781448213405
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Gemma's Journey Page 42