by Gloria Cook
Opie’s wasn’t far away, in Kenwyn Street, above a haberdashery. When they were seated at a table by the window, Jonny smiled, ‘What would you like, Kate?’
‘I don’t mind. Jill and I usually order coffee and we choose from the selection of fancies.’
‘That’s what we’ll do then.’ He gave the waitress the order. ‘So you fancied a little trip out by yourself, Kate?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’ve been shopping?’
‘Yes.’ She was terribly disappointed not to have bought something for herself, and Jill would wonder why. The day had been a failure.
Jonny saw her melancholy. For some reason it cut right into him. ‘Forgive me for asking, but what’s wrong? It’s easy to see you’re unsettled.’
‘A woman was horrible to me in the street.’ She glanced at him and looked down at the table. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t have minded so much.’
‘Of course you should mind. Do you want to tell me what she said?’
Until a short while ago he would have been the last person she’d have confided in, but Jonny made her feel secure and she needed to unload the horror she had undergone. When she’d finished, he reached across the table and patted her hand. ‘That must have been truly awful for you. The woman’s behaviour was despicable. I’m sorry you had to go through that, Kate, my dear. I’m afraid there are some really terrible people in the world but luckily they are few and far between. You were unlucky today. Now, let’s think of something to cheer you up. It’s your birthday in a few days. I’d like to get you a little something, if that’s all right. When we’ve had our coffee, would you like to look at the shops for something you’d like?’
‘It’s very kind of you,’ she said modestly, feeling better.
Everyone liked Jonny, now she could see why. He was kind and caring. She could also slip into a shop to buy something for herself to show Jill, but a watch could wait for another day.
A woman in a full-skirted suit and a hat fit for the Ascot races, with a slinky walk, and smoking from an ebony holder, entered the restaurant and made a beeline for them. ‘Jonny, darling!’ she trilled. ‘How absolutely brilliant to see you.’
Jonny rose and she kissed the air both sides of his face. ‘Cynthia. Always a pleasure to see you.’ Kate could see he didn’t mean it.
‘I see you have that silly camera with you again. Haven’t seen you at a cocktail party for simply ages.’ She tapped a gloved fingertip on his chin. ‘You’re very naughty to neglect the ladies of the town.’ She aimed a sideways glance at his companion to see if she knew who it was then turned fully and stared at Kate. ‘Good heavens. Who’s this? One of your father’s brood?’
Jonny wished Cynthia would move on. She was amoral and had been trying for years to get him as a trophy in her bed and she hated the fact that he had never succumbed to her. A war widow, she had ‘entertained’ both British and American officers during the war. She was vindictive and it showed in her hard eyes. The reason she was alone was because no one sought to befriend her. ‘Miss Kate Viant. Mrs Cynthia Walker. If you’ll excuse us, Cynthia, we were having a quiet discussion.’
Cynthia Walker looked down over her nose at Kate with distinct distaste. ‘A change of direction for you, Jonny, taking on lame ducks.’
The woman couldn’t see Kate’s legs under the table and the jibe at Kate’s ordinariness hurt Kate more than she had intended. Angry, she returned a haughty look of her own. If this woman could only show off and issue insults then she was not a better and didn’t deserve any respect.
Cynthia Walker gave a huff and slunk away like a proud cat. She snapped at a waitress for immediate service. Jonny sat down and smiled at Kate. ‘You got the upper hand there. That was one horrid woman who didn’t get the better of you.’
Kate ate and drank with a sense of triumph. She had summed up correctly that Cynthia Walker had failed to get her hooks into Jonny. And it was she who had his company, the undivided attention of the most handsome man for miles. The waitresses and the other female customers, one elderly, were giving him admiring looks.
Jonny escorted her to the same jeweller’s she had looked at earlier. He pointed to the window display. ‘Take a look and see what you like.’
‘But you can’t buy me jewellery,’ Kate gasped.
Jonny saw it as inappropriate. ‘What then?’ He didn’t want to go into a dress shop. It wouldn’t faze him but when he paid he would be seen as her sugar daddy. Then he had a good idea. ‘I could take a special photo of you. I’ll get a frame to put it in. What do you think?’
‘That would be very nice. Thank you, Jonny.’ The words came straight out. She trusted him now and had no reservations about his suggestion.
‘Well, they sell frames in here too so let’s go inside and you can choose what you would like.’ He smiled down on her and she smiled back. She was so lovely. It was wonderful to be doing something that made the light shine out of her beautiful eyes. It was wonderful being with her.
Chapter Fifteen
Before Tom got out of bed he placed a tender kiss on Jill’s lips. ‘I love you, darling.’
Tuned into him, she woke at once and murmured, ‘I love you too.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.’
‘I always know when you’ve left my side.’ She stretched out her arms. ‘Stay and give me a cuddle.’
It was important to make a dawn start on the farm but he never missed a chance to shower her with affection. He got back in bed, drew her in close to his body and caressed her neck and face. ‘Last night was wonderful, darling, but are you really sure we should be trying for another baby yet?’
She snuggled in against his chest, listening to his heartbeat for reassurance. Losing her baby had made her see how fragile life was, how quickly a loved one could be snatched away, and she needed to know he was strong and well. Each time they had made love since her recovery he had asked the same question. ‘You don’t have to worry about me, darling. The doctor says my body is healthy to carry again and I’m more than ready. The problem will be actually getting pregnant.’
‘I was so afraid you’d find making love difficult but thank God you don’t. How are you going to feel if nothing happens for ages? What if we can never have our own baby?’
‘It will be heartbreaking, but as long as I’ve got you, darling Tom… We could think about adoption. Uncle Stanley mentioned it the other day. We’ll just have to wait and see what fate has in store for us. Anyway, I’ve got something to look forward to today, preparing for Kate’s little surprise party.’
‘That’s the ticket, darling.’ He drew away reluctantly and got dressed.
Jill rose from the bed. Tom and the family still encouraged her to take things easily but there was no need. ‘Now Kate’s no longer overawed by Jonny I’ve arranged for him to take her riding after lunch. I couldn’t think of another way to keep her out of the kitchen. She loves to go riding since she gained her confidence in the saddle.’ Jill let out a long sorrowful sigh.
‘What is it, Jill?’
‘It was Abbie who brought up Kate’s birthday on that awful day. I was jealous at the time that she knew something I didn’t. Now I’d give anything to have her here. Dear God, Tom, it’s so terrible about her. Do you think she’s dead?’
‘I’m afraid it’s looking more like it every day. Douglas Goodyear and the police made inquiries at every door in the area of the railway station, and a housewife cleaning her windows was sure she saw a woman of Abbie’s description walking down Richmond Hill with a man. It seems she may have gone off with this character, willingly or unwillingly.’ He suppressed a shudder, not wanting to linger over the terrible possibility that Abbie had been abducted and murdered. He gave Jill a secure hug. ‘You’re not going to brood over that, are you?’
Safe in his embrace, she said sadly, ‘No matter what you go through there’s always someone who suffers more. If Abbie has disappeared because she wants to be on her own, what on earth can be on h
er mind? The poor, poor thing.’
Tilda cooked breakfast for everyone so they could watch Kate open her birthday cards and presents. Kate was amazed by the generosity she was shown. She was bubbling with joy and hadn’t been able to eat a bite of food. Jill had sent her out in the lane to collect the post. ‘I’ve got a card from Tremore, and the Killigrews, and Mrs Carlyon, and even one from Miss Grigg from the shop. I can hardly believe it!’ She didn’t get a card from her family and was glad. She wanted no reminders of her old life. Her presents included clothes, perfume and a hairbrush, comb and trinket jar set. Jill and Tom had given her a silver oval-shaped locket.
Jonny, who had smiled at her throughout, gave her his present last, kissing her cheek and gazing at her for a long moment. ‘You look radiant, Kate. Gorgeous.’ She did, even though she was in work clothes for the morning.
The photograph frame she had chosen was of electric blue frosted glass with a sculpted design in the corners. She would treasure it for ever. Jonny had asked her to wear ‘something long and floaty’ when he took her photo and she had been glad to be able to cover her feet without having to ask to do so. Jill had lent her an evening dress and she had felt feminine and grown up in the satin material. Jonny had taken several poses of her in the garden and had refused to show her the photos, saying he would put the best one in the frame and she could only see it on her birthday.
She was looking forward to this moment. ‘Thank you, Jonny.’ The others gathered round as she carefully lifted away the wrapping paper. There were gasps of astonishment. Hers was the loudest. ‘Is that really me?’ Jonny had portrayed her within a misty oval, sitting on the lawn with her legs to the side, the dress draped as if it was flowing away from her endlessly. Her face was in full view and she was looking slightly down at a rose he had given her to hold.
‘It’s stunning,’ Tom said. ‘You couldn’t have pictured Kate better.’
‘She looks like a medieval princess,’ Jill murmured in wonder.
‘Utterly beautiful,’ was Perry’s verdict, and Emilia agreed.
Tilda had to dab a hanky to her eyes. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. You’re a marvel, Mr Jonny. Kate, you’re like an angel.’
‘Do you like it, Kate?’ Jonny asked, leaning over the table. He hadn’t stopped gazing at her for a second.
‘I love it. Thank you so much.’ She felt she had a special affinity with Jonny.
* * *
Abbie could barely move a muscle. She was cold and parched and her head ached unbearably. She searched with a feeble arm for the glass but there was no water in it. ‘M-Mrs Mitchell.’ It was just a croak, not loud enough to summon the landlady or another guest who might be outside her room on the landing. She would have to wait for the chambermaid. Ask her why breakfast hadn’t arrived and to contact the doctor. She was ill, she had never felt so dreadful.
Time passed. All was quiet. She needed to go to the toilet. Mrs Mitchell had kindly brought a commode into the room so she wouldn’t have to slip across to the bathroom. With an arm over her burning forehead, she listened. Her ears buzzed, but as far as she could tell there was silence. Surely someone was around? She would lie here a few more seconds then summon up the strength to reach the commode. Hopefully, the chambermaid wouldn’t come in at the same time and embarrass her. Chambermaid? Mrs Mitchell had mentioned one but she had no recollection of seeing one. Had Mrs Mitchell lied? She probably had. The room was shabby – a low class bed and breakfast rather than a guesthouse. It hit Abbie that she hadn’t seen Mrs Mitchell for some time. Had she seen her yesterday? She couldn’t remember.
Something wasn’t right. Grunting and puffing with effort she sat up, groaning as her arms and back ached. She moved her legs. They were like lead weights. Then she noticed the smell, pungent and fetid and disgusting. It could only be the commode. Mrs Mitchell had stressed it was no trouble to see to it but she was neglectful of her duties. Once, she had said, ‘Don’t worry, you’re paying me enough for the privilege.’
Oh God, this was misery. When first here she had thought to ask Mrs Mitchell to phone Ford Farm and tell Emilia Bosweld of her predicament, but she had decided she couldn’t really take measles there. Today she would ask that someone from Ford Farm be sent to collect her. They wouldn’t expect her to remain in these conditions. For the first time she studied her room, she had always been too feverish or tired before. The tiny single bed was beside the wall under the window. The curtains were never pulled back but she saw they were moth-eaten, dipping in places and held up by string. The wall had large patches of paint and plaster missing. Not what one expected to find in a guesthouse or a place offering bed and breakfast.
Alarm enabled her to struggle to reach up and pull on the nearest curtain in the hope of drawing it back. It came crashing down, making her scream as she was showered by bits of plaster and blinded temporarily by the sunlight. What on earth was this place? Battling to control her fright, she remembered asking a man at the railway station if he knew where the nearest guesthouse was. ‘You’re in luck, lady. I happen to be the proprietor of such an establishment. Allow me to carry your things and I’ll escort you there.’ He had tried to speak well but his voice had been rough and common. Where had she been taken? And exactly what situation had she been taken into?
Horror after horror slammed into her mind. The bedcovers were old and filthy. There was mould in the corners of the room and trailing across the ceiling. The floor was dirty bare boards and the furniture worm-holed scraps. Her things were missing. And some of the stinking smell was coming off her. In all the time she had been here – she had no idea how long that was – she had never been helped to have a wash or been given a clean nightdress. Her hair was sweaty and matted. She must have been drugged not to have noticed all this before. The aspirin bottle! She seized it. It was small, of brown fluted glass, with no label on it. It could not have been aspirin Mrs Mitchell had kept encouraging her to take. There was no sign of her luggage, her things.
‘Oh, my God!’ She huddled against the corner of the cold wall. She had been dragged and half-starved and robbed. ‘D-don’t panic. I’ve got to get out of here.’ She had to be quiet. Someone might hear her and come to the room. She would be drugged again. Or hurt. But no one had come when the curtains had crashed down and made a loud noise. The Mitchells must be out. She had to get away before they returned.
Making her feeble hands work she pushed away the bedcovers and fallen curtains and somehow managed to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Her head swam and she had to wait for the dizziness to clear. Please let my legs take my weight. They did, just. One gruelling step at a time she went to the door, feeling grit and dirt under her bare feet. Again dizziness robbed her of her balance and she reached out and pressed her hands against the door to stay upright. Her head throbbed and a loud ringing filled her ears. Nausea rose in her stomach and she thought she would be sick. She had to cling to her senses. With her eyes closed she felt for the doorknob. Found it and frantically turned it. The door was locked. In ever-increasing dread and frustration she tugged on it and pushed on it. ‘Come on, come on. Open, stupid thing!’ It was no good – she was locked in. She was a prisoner.
Desperation replaced common sense and she hammered on the door, bloodying her fists. ‘Let me out! Let me out, damn you!’
There was a tremendous rushing in her ears. Her heart felt it was about to burst. Her sight blurred. Her legs refused to hold her up. She sank to the floor fighting to stay conscious, but it was no use. She was too frail and undernourished. Blackness took her into its monumental grip.
* * *
Tony Viant skulked home in the middle of the morning. He had to see how Delia was. Last night he had heard her begging Sidney to get off her as the bedsprings had jerked wildly in their room, with Sidney shouting insults at her throughout the assault. The sounds of Delia crying for some time afterwards had troubled Tony, and worse still had been his mother’s laughter from across the landing. His grim father
never did anything to stop the disharmony in the house, he said nothing to anyone as long as he was left alone. But his mother took pleasure in Delia’s abuse and it sickened Tony.
He felt guilty over Delia’s suffering. He had not kept his promise to take her away, not having the courage to break into Miss Chiltern’s cottage and steal from her. He would never get away with it anyway, his work there would make him an obvious suspect and he would end up in jail, and if Delia ran away with him she would probably be jailed too. Her life was a torment now, but a prison sentence and her baby being taken away would destroy her.
‘When are we going away, Tony?’ she had implored him yesterday. ‘I can’t take much more of this. I’ll never cope when the baby’s born. Can’t see your rotten mother looking after me for the ten-day lying-in period. I’ll be expected to get straight out of bed and work like a slave. If I don’t get away soon I’ll go mad. I’d rather kill myself than go on like this for the rest of my life.’ He was really worried she would do something silly.
Warily he went inside, hoping to see Delia alone, but creaking sounds above the low ceiling beams meant she was upstairs. Biddy was in her chair, reading a newspaper and smoking. ‘What are you doing here?’ she hurled at him. ‘You better not be out of work.’
‘I’ve got plenty of work, Mother,’ he snapped. ‘I told you already that I’m re-hanging the coal house door for the doctor, and then I’ll be off to Tresillian. I’ve been asked to do some painting at the pub. Betterfit you encouraged me when I get work. You always have to grumble and pick faults. I’m back because I forgot my crib bag. Can’t work all bleddy day without food and drink, can I?’