by Lizzie Lane
‘What is there to think about?’
‘The pudding club. I have to take precautions.’ It was the only excuse she could think of to play for time.
A vein began to throb just above his left eyebrow. She wickedly wondered whether his face might crack, or better still that he’d have a heart attack and drop down dead.
‘No need for precautions,’ he said, his voice suddenly like treacle. ‘The war, you know.’
‘Got ’em shot off, did you?’
His face turned the colour of well-boiled beetroots. ‘Just take it from me! There is no problem. I realize a woman of your age has to take care of herself, but I agree to allowing you time to think it over.’
Inwardly she breathed a sigh of relief. She had feared he’d demand his dues there and then. Now he had given her time to think about things. Firstly she didn’t want to lose her job, but secondly, and this was much more important, she did not want her husband going to jail. All she wanted was for all of them to go to Australia. Somehow she had to hold Griffiths at bay.
September was proving warm and Saturday started misty. Charlotte dropped Janet at the railway station. She would have taken the bus, but Mrs Grey had packed a hamper, a bulky object at the best of times and impossible on a bus.
Colin brought the children down by car. ‘It’s kind of you to do this,’ he said to her.
‘It’s a pleasure. Besides, Edna could do with a break.’ Colin nodded and smiled as if not quite believing that a young single woman could be so considerate. But then, he didn’t know how kind Edna had been to her.
By the time they’d changed trains at Yatton the mist was lifting and a watery sun was shining through.
‘Where did you say we were going?’ Peter asked Janet for the fifth or sixth time.
‘Clevedon.’
‘Can we swim in the sea?’ asked Susan.
‘Only if the tide is in.’
‘Can we build sandcastles?’ Peter asked.
‘No. There isn’t any sand at Clevedon – well, not much anyway. It’s mostly pebbles and rocks.’
‘So what are we going to do?’ bleated Susan as the train pulled into Clevedon Station.
‘We’re going to take off our shoes and socks and catch tiddlers, winkles and crabs in the rock pools.’
Janet didn’t really mean that she’d be joining them and had told no one that there was more than one reason for the trip. The truth was that Jonathan had phoned her on Thursday afternoon saying he had to see her at the weekend, preferably on Saturday. She had tried to persuade him to make it that night. He had been adamant that the only time he could see her was during the day on Saturday. She wondered what he wanted to see her about and why it couldn’t wait.
‘Help me with this.’ Janet grasped one handle of the hamper.
Susan obliged while Peter manhandled the bamboo fishing nets and two preserve jars with tin lids and string handles.
The smell of the sea lured them from the station, along the road through the town and across the grassy lawns that bordered the promenade and the sea wall.
Children clambered over the slippery green rocks, peered into pools, searching for the pop, pop, pop of bubbles breaking the surface, a sure sign that a tiddler or a crab was in residence. If they were really lucky they might even find larger prey left by the ebbing tide.
A scattering of adults watched, some sitting on rocks, some reclining against a seawall warmed by the morning sun. Some sat on deckchairs up on the promenade and dozed between making admiring comments each time their children held up a murky jar supposedly holding some fantastic find.
Peter and Susan took in all that was happening down on the rocks. Like all children they were keen to explore new places. It seemed a long time ago since Janet had felt like that in the days when she and Geoffrey had been brought here.
‘We’ll sit here,’ said a decidedly bossy Susan. Her gaze, along with that of Peter, was fixed on the beach.
Janet bit her lip as she made her decision. Jonathan had told her to get deckchairs for both of them in one of the ornate Victorian shelters at the edge of the grass where they could talk in private. He’d assured her there was one very close to some kind of pool and that she’d be able to see the beach and the children from there. Accordingly she went to the shelter he’d described. It was packed to capacity. Women with heavy jowls and pink-skinned old men dozed behind its sun-warmed glass.
Her gaze settled on the swimming pool, which jutted out into the rocks and was full to the brim with dark green seawater that lapped gently against its slime-covered sides. A flight of wide concrete steps swept down into it. If she sat against the wall behind the top step she could see the children down on the beach and could also watch the promenade for Jonathan. He could also see her without too much difficulty. Both the pool and the steps were deserted. They would have the privacy Jonathan said they needed.
‘Just here, I think.’ Janet let her end of the hamper down and Susan did the same. In no time at all it was open, a blanket spread and weighted down at its edges with discarded shoes, socks, a cardigan and a Fair Isle pullover. The children were ready for action.
‘Do you want a sandwich first? A drink perhaps?’ The food was refused. Brightly coloured limeade was swigged swiftly from a shared bottle. Peter began prancing up and down. Trigger was obviously impatient to be going.
Dress tucked into her knickers, fishing net in one hand and jar in the other, Susan rocked backwards and forwards, her face a picture of childish impatience. ‘Come on, Aunty Janet.’
‘I won’t be able to stay with you long. I have to get back here and look after our things. I’ll just show you what you have to do.’
After checking no one was watching, Janet slipped off her stockings, rolled them up and tucked them under the blanket.
Luckily the ebbing tide had left a rock pool a little way down the slope among the rocks at the side of the swimming pool.
‘It looks like sky,’ said Peter looking down into the water, which was never any other colour than slime green or mud brown.
‘A reflection,’ explained Janet. Her eyes travelled back to the promenade, the shelter and the pier. Where was he?
She showed them how to dip the nets and how to fill the preserve jars with water. They were impatient rather than quick learners. It all looked so easy.
‘I’ve caught something!’ shouted Peter and raised his net. Seaweed straggled like ripped rags then slipped with a splash back into the pool.
‘Just seaweed. The pools further down would be better,’ said Janet looking purposefully seaward.
‘We’ll go and see, Aunty Janet, but I think it would be best if you go back and look after our things,’ said Susan in a motherly fashion.
Janet patted Susan’s hair, her hand bouncing off the bow that flapped like a belligerent butterfly on one side of her head. ‘What a sensible girl.’
A wave of affection washed over her as the two small figures picked their way over the pebbles and rocks, their nets waving like flags above their heads.
After drying her feet and putting her stockings back on behind the privacy of a large towel, she settled down, her back braced against the wall. She glanced at her watch. Five minutes to one. He would be here soon. She wondered again at the importance of what he had to say to her. He had stressed the need for privacy, but surely the cafe where they usually met was private enough or, at least, it had been. Just lately the people there had become friendlier, had started asking them their names, where they worked and where they lived. Janet had told them. Jonathan had not.
The hamper was full of good things, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat until he’d arrived. She stretched her neck every so often just to check what the children were doing. They were engrossed in fishing the rock pools, vying with each other to make the best catch of the day. In between checking on them, she looked over her right shoulder along the promenade one way, then looked over her left shoulder to check the other direction.
It
was past two. The promenade baked and the smell of fish and chips drifted from the cafe up by the pier. Shadows began to lengthen. The afternoon grew older.
He’s not coming!
No, she mustn’t think that. Of course he was coming. It was his idea to meet her here.
What if something much more important had come up – a crisis at the hospital? He wouldn’t come then.
Well! If that was the case, so be it! She’d enjoy herself anyway. The children would compensate for her disappointment. It wasn’t quite true. She loved the children, but Jonathan made her feel normal again. The fact that he talked so openly to her about medical matters helped compensate for her new job’s shortcomings. And she’d never felt frightened of him. Although they’d kissed he’d never tried to take advantage. It wasn’t because he didn’t fancy her – she was pretty sure of that. Jonathan was not like Dorothea’s Henry, the sort who’d pull a car over into any dark spot, try it on in a taxi or a shop doorway. The proper time, she thought, remembering what Jonathan had said when she’d asked him why he didn’t go direct to the hospital board with a view to them listening to his ideas and currying favour with an eye on promotion. ‘I can’t do things that way,’ he’d replied. ‘I like everything to be in the right place at the right time, like you going to the pictures with your friend Dorothea on a Thursday, attending your fencing class on a Friday, going dancing on a Saturday and making sure you visit your grandparents on a Sunday. A proper timetable so that everyone knows where they are.’
Most of what she’d told him had been a lie, but she’d been determined not to show how much she looked forward to seeing him on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Telling him she sat at home most nights was too pathetic for words. Lies sufficed.
Tired by so much watching and waiting, she dozed. The sun and the sea breeze took it in turn to warm and cool her face. The coolness lingered. At first she thought the sky had clouded over. When she opened her eyes Jonathan was looking down at her. Before she could move he was down on his hands and knees planting a kiss on her forehead then on her lips.
He was dressed in light flannels, a sleeveless pullover and a long-sleeved shirt. His tie was firmly knotted despite the warmth of the afternoon. A Panama threw a shadow over his eyes.
He slumped down beside her, his money jingling in his trouser pocket and spilling out onto the blanket as he made himself comfortable.
‘I didn’t think you were coming,’ she said and immediately wished she didn’t sound so in need of him. Men took advantage of such adoration.
He picked up the coins. ‘Now that’s a silly thing to say.’ He shifted one hip and shoved the coins back into his pocket.
Placing one arm around her shoulders, he drew her close and looked deeply into her eyes. She felt like a film star on a poster advertising the big film. ‘I had to come.’ He kissed her again. The tips of her breasts brushed against his chest briefly enough to arouse, but not long enough to gain accusing stares from anyone likely to see.
Rakishly, he shoved his hat onto the back of his head. ‘What’s in the hamper? I’m absolutely starving.’
The opportunity to answer and to ask him what he wanted to see her about was swiftly lost.
Slap, slap, slap! Peter was galloping his ever-present charger across the concrete. He trailed his fishing net behind him, slapping soggily against the ground with each prancing stride.
Seeing they had company, Susan retrieved her dress from her knickers, eyed Jonathan as though she’d half-expected him to be there, and said, ‘Hello. Are you a doctor?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you know that?’ Janet asked.
‘I heard my mum tell my dad that you were going out with a doctor. And she told your mother, she said, and your mother was annoyed because you hadn’t told her.’
Janet felt her face reddening.
Jonathan intervened. ‘We’re just good friends.’
She smiled at him. ‘That’s right,’ she said and was surprised to see a relieved look in his eyes, as though agreeing that they were friends rather than lovers had taken a weight off his mind.
‘I’m hungry,’ Peter howled.
‘Starving I should think,’ said Janet. ‘I notice that Trigger came to a very abrupt halt without making a sound.’
‘He’s hungry too,’ Peter explained.
Jonathan raised his eyebrows. ‘Trigger?’
Janet smiled and handed him a sandwich. ‘Peter’s horse.’
Both children tucked in with more gusto than either she or Jonathan. Once they were full they went back to the beach.
Janet tidied up quickly before reclining against the wall next to him, waiting to hear what he had to say. He made no move. Narrowing her eyes she fixed her gaze on the beach, the gulls, the horizon. The sea was a counterpane of gleaming diamonds dancing in the sunlight over a rippling sea. She felt exasperated, but knew he was teasing her, waiting for her to ask him what he’d wanted to see her about. Two, she decided, could play at that game. There was one subject above all others that would get him talking.
‘How’s your mother?’
His response was immediate. ‘Did I tell you she painted? I think I did.’
He hadn’t, but Janet did not contradict.
‘A local gallery in Lavenham is putting on an exhibition of local watercolour artists. Three of Mother’s paintings have been chosen. She’s bucked to bits, even says she’s going along on crutches to see it.’ There was a smile on his face and a look of pride in his eyes. ‘My, but she’s a wonderful woman. I’m lucky to have someone like her as my mother.’
It struck Janet as being an odd thing to say, almost as though he’d won her in a raffle. Perhaps it’s me, she thought. All this sea air is enough to make anyone light-headed. She flicked residual crumbs from the blanket. ‘I’m glad she’s well.’
It was a case of now or never. She took a deep breath and took the plunge. ‘So what did you want to see me about?’
‘Ah!’ he said pointedly. ‘The big question.’ His eyes were closed, his arms folded and his long legs stretched out in front of him.
Janet stopped brushing crumbs from the blanket. Seagulls screamed as they soared overhead, their keen eyes waiting for the crumbs to be scattered at a safe scavenging distance. ‘Do I get the big answer?’ she said jokingly but as calmly as she could. It wouldn’t do to sound too enthused.
‘Have you thought more about finding another job?’
Janet sat back on her haunches as Jonathan wagged his feet in time to the tune coming from the bandstand. They were playing ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’. At least it wasn’t Doris Day, thought Janet. She would always associate anything sung by her with that awful night when she’d walked home alone.
She composed herself. ‘I can’t stop thinking about it and asking myself what exactly is it I want from a job or from life in general. I remember when I was younger that I told my mother I was not going to strive for a career. All I would do was get a job and get married. Life, I’d decided, was too short and too perilous. We had just come through a war after all. But now I’m not so sure. The job I’ve got now seems so empty without any patient contact. I’m interested in people, not laundry lists!’
She reached for a pebble, its golden surface shiny and smooth beneath her fingers. ‘A job’s come up in the main typing pool so Dorothea tells me. It’s a downward move, but I was thinking about applying for it until I saw that Miss Argyle would be in charge of the interviews.’
She flung the pebble as far as it would go, telling herself that if it hit the water it meant something wonderful was about to happen. Unfortunately it landed among the rest of its kind, one pebble among many. She hadn’t made a provision for that, at least, not a conscious one.
‘Professor Pritchard needs a secretary.’
His statement pulled her up short. A belligerent breeze chose that moment to blow a lock of dark hair into her open mouth. She swept it aside. ‘What did you say?’
He opened one eye and look
ed at her sidelong. ‘At Salt-mead.’
‘It’s a long way …’
‘A flat comes with the job. Are you interested?’
He opened his eyes and leaned closer, a considerably unnerving thing to do. She felt the warmth of his body through the sleeve of his shirt.
‘I think you’d enjoy the job and would learn so much. And I would appreciate you being there, I can assure you of that.’ He said it so matter of factly, like one professional to another.
Janet thought of the grim office she now shared with piles of boxes and supply demands. ‘Will my office have a decent view?’
‘Every window in Saltmead has a decent view. We’re surrounded by trees and open fields.’
‘Didn’t it used to be an American Army base?’
‘A prisoner of war camp after that. It can’t be bad; no one ever tried to escape from there. I won’t say that it’s the most beautiful place in the world, but we are making improvements all the time.’ He grimaced, then grinned ruefully. ‘Though it would improve a lot more if I had my way. A lick of paint here and there wouldn’t hurt. Illness doesn’t mean you have to do without colour or interest in your life – that’s what my mother says.’
His mother! What about his father?
For the first time, she was suddenly aware that he rarely mentioned his father to her.
She should have known there and then that his life was not his own, that his career, his matter of fact way of dealing with things and his attitude towards women, were dictated by his relationship with his mother.
It was easy to say ‘yes’. In fact, there was no reason for saying anything else. She would see more of Jonathan, less of Dorothea. It also meant she would no longer be under the same roof as the foreigner her mother had moved into her house who she avoided if at all possible.
‘Today Clevedon is wonderful – even with the tide out.’ She could even forgive the smell of frying fish, which overpowered that of the brine soaked rocks.
‘So you’re interested?’