by Erica James
‘And you said if I wanted to get dressed up in a stupid outfit I’d be better off running away and joining the circus as a clown,’ she finished for him with a smile. ‘I was very cross with you.’
‘You were. You refused to speak to me for days afterwards, you said you didn’t want to associate with such a heathen.’
Hope cringed. ‘I had a tendency to be a frightful prig back then. I still can be. I’m ashamed to admit this, but the afternoon Allegra went into labour I’d been unnecessarily sharp with her, and for something so absurdly inconsequential, for which I can never apologise.’
‘We all say things in the heat of the moment that we later regret.’
Her head tilted to one side, she smiled. ‘You always try to make me feel better about things, don’t you?’
‘But do I succeed in doing that?’ he asked, returning her smile.
‘You do.’
‘Good. Now tell me how things went with your publisher this morning.’
She told him about the meeting she’d had before coming here. ‘They’ve asked me to make a start on a sequel,’ she said. ‘In fact they see it as a series of books for children.’
‘That’s wonderful. I assume that’s precisely what you wanted to hear?’
‘Yes. I feel oddly connected to the characters I’ve created, protective of them too, and in a way that I never have before with just my drawings. I say,’ she said, as a waitress passed their table in her smart Nippy uniform, carrying a heavily laden tray, ‘look over there, the table to the right of the pillar; it’s my sister-in-law, Irene, and oh …’ Her voice broke off abruptly.
‘What?’ asked Edmund, turning in his chair to follow the direction of her gaze. ‘What’s wrong? Oh,’ he said, echoing Hope. ‘That’s not Arthur with her, is it?’ he added quietly, whipping his head back round.
‘No it’s not, and whoever he is, they seem awfully familiar with each other, don’t they?’
‘I think we can agree they’re not strangers.’
Hope tried to tear her eyes away, but she couldn’t and continued to watch in what could only be called fascinated horror as the man leaned in closer to Irene and stroked her cheek. She had no real fondness for her brother, but she felt a surprising pang of sympathy for him that his wife was betraying him this way. Or was Arthur such a terrible husband that this was how Irene coped?
‘Would you rather we left so you don’t have to witness what’s going on?’ asked Edmund.
At last Hope tore her gaze away from Irene and the man. ‘No,’ she said firmly, ‘I’m not going to let them spoil our time together, not when I see so little of you. Shall we order another pot of tea?’
‘Good idea.’ After he’d attracted the attention of their waitress and requested more tea and a plate of crumpets, Edmund settled back in his chair. ‘We needn’t see so little of one another if you wanted to change things, you know.’
‘Is that something you’d like to do?’ Hope asked warily. ‘See more of me?’
He picked up an unused teaspoon and turned it over in his hands. ‘I think you know the answer to that, but I’m astute enough to accept that you might not want to, that your love and loyalty to Dieter would keep you from changing the status quo. Maybe for ever. Which I’m bound to say I think would be a great shame for you.’
‘You’re such a good and decent man, Edmund.’
He put the spoon down and drew his eyebrows together in a frown of obvious disapproval. ‘How exceedingly dull you make me sound.’
‘That wasn’t my intention. Not at all.’
‘Describe me in three words,’ he said, once their waitress had brought their tea and crumpets and left them alone, though not before bestowing upon Edmund a wide and admiring smile. It made Hope appreciate that her childhood friend had grown into an attractive man, something she hadn’t been aware of before. He was just Edmund, the boy with whom she had played when home at Island House for the school holidays.
But now she gave herself up to studying the intently serious expression across the table from her as Edmund waited for her response. How strange, she thought, that she had genuinely never really looked at him until this moment. Perhaps knowing him for so many years, she had taken him for granted in the same way she took her own appearance for granted. Which was ironic, for as an artist she prized what she viewed as her highly attuned ability to observe with an acute eye for detail. If she were to paint him, she thought with renewed perspective, she would endeavour to capture the gentleness of his face, the blue of his eyes, the length of his eyelashes, the fairness of his hair, the deceptive strength of his jaw and the smoothness of his pale skin.
‘You’re staring at me,’ Edmund said, pushing the plate of crumpets towards her. ‘Does that mean you’re struggling to think of something that makes me sound vaguely interesting? And for the love of God, please don’t describe me as dependable. I cannot think of anything that conjures up dullness in a person more than that one word.’
‘I’m thinking,’ she said, hurriedly changing tack – dependable had certainly been on the tip of her tongue. Maybe it showed how dull she was that she had thought of that particular adjective to describe Edmund. ‘Irritable might be one word I’d use,’ she said with a flash of humour and a smile.
He smiled too. ‘Go on. Your next word.’
‘Insightful.’
He nodded. ‘Explain why.’
‘You understand people. Me in particular. I respect that about you.’
He groaned. ‘Next you’ll say that you admire me.’
‘Certainly not!’
‘Thank God for that,’ he said with a laugh.
She spread some butter onto her crumpet. ‘Gifted,’ she said at length.
‘In what sense?’
‘As a doctor you have a gift for healing people, and since we met up again last year, you’ve helped in some measure to heal me.’
He stared at her. ‘Have I? Have I really?’
‘You know you have.’
Her answer seemed to hang between them for a very long time.
‘Those are your three words to describe me, then,’ he said at length, ‘irritable, insightful and gifted.’
‘No,’ she said, meeting his clear blue eyes, ‘I’ll take back irritable and replace it with the-person-with-whom-I’d-most-like-to-spend-more-time.’
He held her gaze. ‘I make that a lot more than one word. But I strongly approve.’
‘Good. Now it’s your turn to think of three words to describe me.’
‘That’s easy.’ He leant forward, rested his elbow on the table and placed his chin on the upturned palm of his hand. His eyes were clear and so very guileless, yet so intently searching. She felt he saw right into the depths of her soul, into the dark nooks and crannies where the worst of her lay hidden from view. ‘Brave,’ he said softly, ‘and beautiful.’ He raised a hand as she opened her mouth to dispute his description of her. ‘Don’t interrupt!’ he said. ‘And now I’m going to cheat the way you did. The words Brazil nut come to mind.’
‘Brazil nut?’ she repeated, puzzled. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Difficult to crack, but worth it when one does. That’s me being incredibly insightful by the way, in case you missed it.’
She laughed. ‘It’s not everybody’s ideal description of oneself, but I accept it’s perfectly apt when applied to me.’
‘And with that established, when can I see you again?’
‘That’s the difficult part, isn’t it? You’re here in London and I’m at Island House with Annelise.’
‘Not so difficult at all,’ he replied with a shake of his head. ‘When I next have a day off, I shall come up and see you. It will be something to look forward to.’
‘It’ll be something I shall look forward to also,’ she murmured, a warm glow spreading through her.
&nb
sp; Again the words hung between them, making Hope realise just how very happy she was that not only had Edmund come back into her life, but that he should care for her so much.
‘How do you think Evelyn is?’ she asked when a few moments had passed.
‘You mean with regard to Kit?’
Hope nodded. ‘I feel there’s so much she’s not saying.’
‘Evelyn plays her cards pretty close to her chest. Whatever feelings she may have begun to have for Kit, she hasn’t shared them with me. In some ways she’s quite like you, Hope, resistant to wearing her heart on her sleeve.’ His expression earnest, he reached across the table and tentatively laced his fingers through hers. ‘I meant it earlier when I said you were beautiful. I’ve always thought so. I’m just glad you’ve allowed me to say it.’
‘I’m glad too.’
She was just relaxing into his touch when, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Irene rise from her chair and make her way towards the ladies’ cloakroom. ‘If I’m not mistaken, I’d say my sister-in-law is pregnant,’ said Hope. ‘You’re an expert; what do you think?’
His eyes on Irene, Edmund said, ‘About five months, I’d say. Presumably Arthur didn’t tell you he was due to be a father?’
‘Indeed he didn’t,’ answered Hope. ‘But the question that springs to mind,’ she went on, her eyes returning to the table where Irene had been sitting, and where her companion remained, ‘is whether the baby is actually his.’
Chapter Sixty-Six
May 1940
Arthur was late leaving work that evening. He wasn’t the only one; most of his department had stayed behind.
It had been this way for some days, the War Office finally stepping up a gear ever since Chamberlain had stood down as PM and Churchill had taken his place. When the announcement was made that Chamberlain was going, the women in Arthur’s office did nothing but talk about Churchill and how he would now galvanise the nation and give Hitler the shock of his life.
The shock, however, was the other way around when on the twelfth of May, Hitler ordered the invasion of France. Within no time, German tanks had crossed the Meuse and sliced open a gap in the Allied front. The talk now was that it wouldn’t be long before German troops would reach the English Channel. With Holland, Luxembourg and Belgium now gone, Arthur pitied the poor devils stuck with the British Expeditionary Force in France.
It was a pleasantly warm and mild evening, and so instead of using the Underground, Arthur decided to walk home. He was in no hurry. Irene’s mother had descended upon them for a visit of an unspecified length, and every minute appeared to be spent discussing what would be needed when the baby arrived. The bloody Germans were practically banging on the door, and all Irene and her mother cared about was choosing the baby’s layette and what colour to paint the nursery.
Arthur had noticed that as Irene’s pregnancy progressed, his input, or even his opinion, had grown exponentially less important, as though he were now redundant. To put it crudely, he had sown the seed and now he simply wasn’t required. Was this how all fathers-to-be felt? And if he were honest, wasn’t this how he would prefer it? For now, at any rate. But once the child was born, he would see to it that things were very different. He would not be pushed aside then.
Whitehall now well behind him, Arthur slowed his pace yet further. Above him was one of the many barrage balloons protecting London from an attack by the Luftwaffe. The women in the office twittered on about how pretty the silver balloons were, but he saw them differently. To him they were great sinister beasts hovering high in the sky waiting to devour their prey.
He was just passing the open door of a pub surrounded by sandbags, catching the invitingly tantalising smell of warm beer and the acrid tang of cigarette smoke, when he spotted something across the road that stopped him in his tracks. For a moment he could have sworn he was seeing things, or that the woman simply bore an uncanny resemblance. But then, looking at the man who had his arm linked through hers, his jaw quite literally dropped.
The blood pounding in his eardrums, his chest tight, he set off in pursuit, keeping his distance until he could be absolutely sure of what he was seeing.
But he was sure! He might only have vision in one eye, but as he trailed in their wake, watching the amorous manner in which the woman tilted back her head and laughed at what the man was saying, he’d wager his house and every penny in the bank that he wasn’t mistaken.
By God, he’d pulled some stunts of his own, but this was beyond anything he had ever dreamt up. How gullible he’d been! What a ruddy great imbecile the pair of them had made of him. Not for a single second had he suspected he was being duped. Well, now their little game was over. It ended as of now. They’d had their sport; it was time for him to turn the tables. What was more, he was going to damned well enjoy himself while exposing the pair of them.
The blaring of a car horn had him jumping back onto the pavement. So intent had he been on pursuing his quarry, he hadn’t noticed that he’d stepped into the road. The man behind the wheel of the car seemed to think his recklessness worthy of another blast of the horn, which had the effect of attracting attention from passers-by. Including those he was following. Not ready yet to confront them, he pulled his hat down low and ducked into a shop doorway in Jermyn Street. When he deemed it safe to continue, he set off again at a faster pace in order to catch them up. Seeing them stop in front of the Ritz then go in, he counted to a hundred and followed them inside.
After leaving his coat with the cloakroom assistant, he went through to the bar. Sure enough, there they were, large as life, just making themselves comfortable at a cosy little table. And all at his expense no doubt.
‘Well, well, well, isn’t this just fine?’ he said, pulling out a chair and joining them. ‘And my word, Pamela, how well you look. I don’t believe Lazarus himself could have risen from his tomb looking better than you do right now.’
The look of shock on the woman’s face could not have been more satisfying. The same was true of her companion, the odious little man, David Webster, who had visited Arthur at home to blackmail him. To her credit, Pamela regained her composure faster than he did.
‘Darling,’ she said, leaning forward and filling the air between them with a waft of the perfume she had always worn, ‘I do hope you’re not going to make a scene.’
‘Perish the thought,’ said Arthur. ‘I’m going to be wholly civilised. Now then, have you ordered something to drink? Mine’s a gin and tonic. Stick it on your bill, why don’t you?’
When on a sticky wicket and not calling the shots, Webster clearly had none of Pamela’s chutzpah, and looking decidedly pale, he grasped the armrests of his chair and made to get up. Arthur shot out his hand and restrained him with an iron grip. ‘Stay right where you are,’ he said, his voice low and threatening. ‘You’re not going anywhere, not until I say so.’
The last remnants of colour drained from the man’s face, but proving again that she was made of stronger stuff, Pamela merely smiled and acknowledged the approach of a waiter. ‘We might as well hear what Arthur has to say, Davey,’ she said quite calmly.
Their drinks ordered, Pamela directed her attention towards Arthur. ‘It wasn’t nice what you did, hitting me like that. I lay unconscious on the floor for ages. I could have died. I’m surprised I didn’t.’
‘After today, you might wish you had,’ said Arthur. ‘You too, Davey,’ he added, enjoying the sight of the pathetic man practically quivering in his chair.
‘Don’t be like that, Arthur,’ said Pamela. ‘It’s hard for a woman to make her way in the world; I only do what I can to get by. You can’t blame me for that, can you?’
He had to admire her nerve, but he kept the thought to himself. ‘Given our surroundings, I should say you’re more than getting by.’
When the waiter had returned with their drinks and once more left them alone, Arthur swirle
d the ice around in his gin and tonic and took a long sip. ‘When did the idea come to you to play dead and blackmail me from the grave, in a manner of speaking?’ As furious as he was that he’d been played for a fool, he was curious to know more.
‘When I was in hospital later that night having six stitches put in my head,’ Pamela answered him. She raised her hand and touched her head. ‘I still have quite a lump there, thanks to you.’
‘And I have quite a lump of money missing from my bank account thanks to you and your friend here.’ He gave Webster a contemptuous glance.
Another question came to Arthur’s mind, and in the mood to have every i dotted and every t crossed, he said, ‘We hardly move in the same circles, but how is it we haven’t bumped into one another before now?’
‘Davey and I have been away.’
‘How nice for you both. Doing what? Setting up a new scam somewhere?’
‘We’ve been finding ourselves a lovely new home in the country, just as I’ve always dreamt of doing. Now, darling, why don’t we be reasonable about this and call it quits? What do you think, Arthur, bygones?’
‘You’re not in any position to bargain with me,’ he snapped, sickened by the audacity of the woman.
‘I think you’ll find I am,’ she said. ‘One word from me to your pretty little wife and she’ll know just what a vile man she’s married to.’
‘And I’ll see that you go to prison for extortion.’
‘Would that be worth losing your good name for? I don’t think that’s something you’re prepared to do.’
He leaned in closer to her. ‘What a damned shame I didn’t hit you harder that day.’ Such was the menace in his voice and the look of hatred he gave her, she actually backed away from him. ‘Here’s what you’re going to do next,’ he said. ‘You’re going to hand over every photograph, negative and any other evidence of my association with you in your possession.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘I shall make you wish I’d put you out of your misery when I had the chance. Have I made myself clear?’