An Independent Woman

by Anna Jacobs

  She’d lingered outside the one hairdresser’s in Tinsley sometimes after it had been bought by a woman who had trained as a hairdresser in London. Madame Clara’s Salon had looked so splendidly modern under its new owner. The former owner had made most of her money selling false hair pieces or buying “heads of hair” from poorer women in desperate need of money, and had sent out her customers with masses of hair piled on their heads in the old-fashioned way.

  But with the new owner you could get your hair washed, trimmed or bobbed into the short modern styles some younger women were adopting. Sadly, a flattering hairstyle had been the last thing Serena wanted then, but she wanted one now, wanted it quite desperately, to show Marcus she wasn’t as dowdy and plain as the mirror had told her each morning.

  Fleming had said that only women of a certain sort frequented such places as hairdressing salons or painted their faces, but that wasn’t true. Several of her mother’s friends went to Madame Clara’s and used rice paper on their cheeks, too.

  Serena and Marcus strolled along, looking in the shop windows, and that in itself was very pleasant, especially when other women looked at her enviously because of her companion. The scars on his face didn’t stop him being tall and strong-looking, and the beard lent him a certain mysterious charm. They found several ladies’ dress shops and studied the contents of the windows, settling on a particularly nice one on High Street.

  After she’d tried on several ready-made garments, they decided on a tailored costume in navy blue. It had a box pleated skirt which should have ended several inches above the ankle but was longer on Serena. There was a matching jacket with belt, also with a pleated skirt to it that reached to about sixteen inches below the waist. Unlike the garments she was wearing it didn’t make her look lumpy, but emphasised her slender waist.

  Serena watched in amazement as the owner, who had said at first that it’d take several days to have the skirt shortened, succumbed to Marcus’s cajoling and to the idea of dressing the bride of a returned soldier, promising to have the skirt shortened for her within a couple of hours.

  They took the jacket with them and went into a blouse maker’s, where they bought two blouses one pink and one pale blue. There was a milliner’s nearby and as they lingered to look at the hats displayed in the window, Marcus said, “Not till after you’ve had your hair done. And the minute you do have a pretty hat, I’m going to throw away that lumpy object you’re wearing on your head.”

  The hairdresser’s had a picture in the window of a young woman with bobbed hair. “Shall we see if they can help us?” he asked and went in with her to make sure of that.

  Two hours later Serena looked up shyly as he came back to pick her up. He stared at her, not saying a word, and indicated with a twitch of his fingers that she should turn round. This made her worry that she looked even worse now.

  Marcus was astounded to see the pretty younger-looking woman who had emerged from her disguise. Serena’s hair was a lovely shade of brown—why hadn’t he noticed that before? The shorter style suited her face and the horrible frizzy fringe was gone, leaving only a light feathery fringe which showed off her fine blue eyes with their long, dark lashes.

  “There, sir. What do you think of her?” the hairdresser asked.

  “I think she looks wonderful. You’ve done marvels.”

  The woman beamed at him.

  Serena turned to look into the mirror again and finger the hair at the side. She hardly recognised this new woman. The hairdresser had cut her hair to hug her head and lie neatly in the nape of her neck before turning up a little. It had enough natural curl for that, revealing a glimpse of her neck.

  “I didn’t realise—” he began, stopped, then said it, “—that you were so pretty.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes, truly you are.” He saw tears well in her eyes and heard the hairdresser give a sentimental sigh. “Your father was wrong to insist on you keeping your hair long.”

  She smiled at him, such a wobbly, uncertain smile, he guessed then what a big step this was for her, and on top of a hectic couple of days, too.

  He held out the parcel from the dress shop. “They’ve done the hem. Is there somewhere here that you can change?”

  The hairdresser smiled from one to the other. “Come through to the back, miss.”

  When Serena returned, the transformation was almost complete. In the new tailored costume she looked trim and very feminine. The only jarring note was the hat. He stepped forward, removed it from her head and trampled it underfoot.

  The hairdresser giggled.

  Serena looked down at it in dismay. “But I’ll have to walk down the street without a hat!”

  She’d never done that in her life, not even when she was a child.

  “Better that than put the ugly blob on again,” he said firmly. He brushed a piece of fluff off one of her lapels. “I shall be proud to marry you tomorrow.”

  They hurried down the street to a milliner’s shop and there Serena found a very flattering hat, with a wide brim and neat crown, and a fluffy feather to one side of the crown.

  “We make these especially for the ladies with bobbed hair,” the milliner said with a smile.

  “You don’t need such wide crowns without all the hair to tuck under them.”

  “She’ll have that one,” Marcus said firmly. “Perfect for our wedding.”

  “Very good choice, sir.” The milliner turned back to Serena and studied her. “You look very smart and modern now, miss, if you don’t mind me saying so. I saw you looking in the window earlier. I wish you both happy.” Tears stood out on her lashes for a moment as she added quietly,

  “My husband didn’t make it back, but we had a few happy years together, at least.”

  Serena couldn’t help hugging her, she looked so sad. And hugging a stranger was something the old Serena would never have dreamed of doing.

  As they walked down the street, she stole glances at herself in every shop window they passed.

  He’d said she looked pretty. And she did look—rather nice.

  “We’ll pick up our luggage and catch a cab at the station,” Marcus said.

  “Are you sure we should impose on your friend?”

  “Very sure. He and I served in the same regiment all through the war. That makes the survivors as close as brothers, believe me.”

  As they sat in the cab he took her hand again. “There’s something I have to tell you about my friend.”

  “Yes?”

  “Den’s a doctor. He’s been staying with his parents while he recuperated. His father’s also a doctor and—well, I think it’d be a good thing for them to check you carefully while we’re there, so that they can swear there’s nothing wrong with you. That would give us two doctors against one, if your father ever makes it necessary, which I hope it won’t be.”

  The euphoria of her transformation into a modern young woman left Serena abruptly and reality returned to sit heavily on her shoulders. “Oh.”

  “Even after we’re married, I want you to be safe. You say your father won’t give up easily.

  And if he is in serious financial trouble and wants your annuity, well, who knows what he’s done with your inheritance? We’ll ask Justin Redway to check up on that. And we’ll leave your mother’s jewellery in the bank for the time being, shall we? We’ll have enough to live on with my money, if we’re not extravagant.”

  She nodded, but he could see the sparkle had gone out of her.

  “Ah, Serena, I hate to see you look like that. I won’t let him get hold of you, I promise.”

  Marcus took her hand and they sat quietly for the rest of the journey.

  He was such a kind man. And he did seem to like kissing her.

  But not nearly as much as she liked kissing him. She wished he’d taken the opportunity to kiss her again.

  The Rawlins house was a commodious residence to the south-east of the town centre, situated on Queen’s Road and overlooking Alexandra Park.


  “Wait here. I won’t be long.” Marcus slipped out of the cab, closing the door quickly but still letting a gust of chill air inside.

  As Serena waited, she worried about them turning up without warning like this. And what would these people think of her, running away to get married at her age?

  The front door of the house opened and Marcus came out, accompanied by a man who was his opposite in many ways, being short and sturdy with gingerish hair. He was beaming and gesticulating as the two walked along the path, clearly happy to see his friend, so she immediately felt better about being here.

  Marcus flung open the cab door. “Here she is! Serena, my dear, this is Den Rawlins, my very good friend.”

  She got out of the cab and was pulled into a hug by this complete stranger, who then held her at arm’s length and asked, “What on earth’s a pretty girl like you doing getting married to this ugly devil?”

  She couldn’t help smiling again, his cheerfulness was so infectious. “It seemed the kindest thing to do.”

  He offered her his arm. “Let’s leave Marcus to supervise the bags and get you inside out of this chilly wind. My mother’s out but she’ll be back soon, then she’ll find bedrooms for you both.”

  “Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?”

  “She loves having visitors, especially friends of mine. Says they keep her young. You’ll see.”

  They went into a chaotic sitting room which looked as if people used every inch of it.

  “We aren’t a tidy family,” Den said with a grin. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  “I love it. I come from a rigidly tidy home. This feels much more comfortable.”

  They sat down and within minutes a smiling maid brought them a tea tray. Serena poured, content to listen to the two men catching up with each other’s news.

  When they’d finished the tea, Marcus looked at her. “All right if I tell Den about your little problem?”

  She could feel herself going stiff and could only manage a nod.

  When Marcus had finished his explanation, Den looked at her, his expression serious now.

  “This must be dreadful for you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me about your father.”

  She couldn’t bear to call him that any longer, so out it came again, the fact that Ernest wasn’t her real father and the name of the man who was. She also found herself telling Den how she’d made herself look unattractive for many years and even how she was terrified of bringing trouble to Marcus now. When the words ran out, she sat there with her head bowed, unable to face the two men who would, she was sure, think her a foolish creature—if not worse.

  Marcus stood up. “I’ll leave you with Den for a few minutes, Serena.”

  As the door closed behind him, she looked at the doctor apprehensively, wondering what this was about. Surely Marcus didn’t think she was really unstable mentally?

  Den came to sit on the sofa next to her and clasped her hand in his. “You must be a very strong person to have survived a life like that.”

  She blinked in shock. “Strong?”

  “Yes. To have coped with it—and survived—and managed to escape. You’ve done so well.”

  This was the last things she’d expected to hear. “You really think so?”

  “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. What I wanted to ask privately was whether you feel forced to marry Marcus or whether you’d feel better if we made some other arrangements and you didn’t have to marry anyone until you were ready?”

  “Oh no! I want to marry him!” Doubts suddenly shook her. “Unless he’s asked you to—to tell me he doesn’t want to.”

  “From the way he looks at you, I think he’s very happy to be marrying you, and both as friend and doctor, I’m delighted to think of him having someone of his own. He had a very lonely boyhood, you know, and it wasn’t till he joined the Army that he made lasting friendships.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Men talk sometimes during quiet nights on watch, perhaps saying more than they would in normal times. And Marcus and I always did get on well. You must have been lonely too.”

  “I was some of the time, but I had Frank. It was much worse after he joined up. And although I had my mother, she was always terrified of him, always worrying about upsetting him.”

  “So you’re happy to marry Marcus?”

  “Very happy indeed.”

  “That’s wonderful, then. I hereby propose myself as witness tomorrow and I daresay my mother will come along as well. She dearly loves a wedding. Let’s bring Marcus in to join us again, shall we?”

  She grabbed his sleeve. “You’re absolutely certain I’m all right?”

  “Utterly, Miss Fleming. And I’m sure of something else . . . ”

  Of course she couldn’t resist asking, “What?”

  “That you’re a very intelligent woman as well. Marcus needs that. He never did bear fools gladly.”

  It seemed a strange thing to say, but he knew his friend better than she did, so she didn’t challenge that statement. “Thank you. And please, call me Serena. I hate the name Fleming, shall be delighted to discard it.”

  That same night a man broke into Ernest Fleming’s office and brought out his Ever Ready tubular electric torch with a wry smile. When he was a young fellow, he’d had to use a lantern to break into places, but modern progress had provided him with far better equipment for his burglaries, for which he was duly grateful.

  He went through the desk’s contents quickly, not finding what he was looking for. He studied the rest of the room, his gaze settling on the oak filing cabinet, each of its four drawers supplied with highly polished brass cardholders to help him find what he needed. It was locked, of course, but a child could have picked such a simple lock. He proved that in a few seconds and went through the papers, finding the file he’d been asked to steal almost immediately. He grinned. This was one of the easiest jobs he’d ever done.

  Then he heard a noise and switched off the torch, cursing under his breath. Surely someone else wasn’t breaking in here tonight? Of all the bloody coincidences! He stuffed the file down his jacket and crept across to the heavy velvet curtains, concealing himself behind them and taking care to turn his feet sideways so that his toes wouldn’t show.

  The door opened and a thin line of light showed under the curtains, so faint that the other man must also be using a shielded torch or lantern. The watcher frowned and prayed not to be noticed.

  There was a smell he recognised. Paraffin. A splashing sound, then someone struck a match and there was a whoosh as something caught fire. The light beyond the curtains was suddenly much brighter.

  Torn between fear for his own safety and a strong desire not to be caught, the watcher hesitated. When he heard someone run across to the door and close it, he opened the curtains a crack and saw to his horror that the room was rapidly being overrun by flames. He pushed aside the curtain and ran towards the door, trying to avoid the blaze. But it seemed to have been started in several places at once and he had to pass through a barrier of flames to get out.

  His heart was in his mouth as he went out into the hallway, but whoever had set the fire had now left. He went quickly towards the rear, eased up the window through which he’d entered and slipped out through the back yard, his face stinging where the flames had burned him.

  He ran home as quickly as he could, not wanting to be caught out on the streets when the Fire Brigade came to put out the fire. They’d not be in time to save the contents of the filing cabinet, though. He patted his chest, where the papers were safe beneath his jacket. Good thing he’d already got what he’d gone there for or he’d not have earned his fee for this strange job.

  Chapter 8

  Marcus and Serena sat in the waiting room at the registry office with Den and Mrs Rawlins, who had indeed insisted on coming with them to act as the second witness. Serena felt as if she were in a dream, floating along happily, surrounded by people who were kind and
normal. She looked sideways at Marcus, who had shaved off his beard in honour of the occasion and who looked younger without it. He must have been very good-looking before his face was damaged and he was still an attractive men. Well, she found him attractive.

  His hand was resting on his thigh. As she watched he lifted it to cover hers, which was lying on her lap, hesitated, then let it drop back on his leg.

  She’d have liked to hold his hand, but didn’t dare take the initiative. Then she got angry with herself for thinking like that. She’d vowed to be a modern woman, had she not. So she reached out for his hand and though he shot a surprised look at her, she felt his fingers curl round hers, saw a smile lift the corner of his mouth.

  “Not long now,” he whispered.

  “Mmm.” She stared down at their joined hands and he went back to staring straight ahead. But he didn’t let go of her. And she didn’t try to pull away.

  Another couple came in with their witnesses. The bridal pair were arm in arm, beaming at one another. There was a whole crowd of people with them, all looking relaxed and happy. Serena wished she felt relaxed. Instead, her stomach was churning with nerves and she hadn’t been able to eat much at breakfast.

  A woman poked her head round one of the big double and called, “Graye and Fleming.”

  As they stood up, Marcus pulled her hand through his arm.

  The other young woman waiting to be married called, “Good luck!” and smiled at them.

  Serena nodded but couldn’t manage to speak.

  It was left to Mrs Rawlins to say comfortably, “And good luck to you too, dear.”

  After a few formalities, an elderly man with a long thin face asked them to repeat a few phrases after him, then suddenly and shockingly declared them to be man and wife.

  Marcus turned Serena round and kissed her quickly on the cheek, whispering, “All right?”

  She nodded. But she wasn’t all right. She felt totally lost, as if she didn’t know who she was any more. Thank goodness she had him to hold on to.