The Last Dance

by Carolyn McCrae

  One month she had gone to a matinee at The Globe to see the latest Noel Coward production but it was too painful to see people she had studied with doing the things she had so wanted to do herself, so she had left at the interval.

  She would always return to the hotel in time to change and rest before dining again with Max in his room.

  She would again soak in her suite’s luxurious bathroom and again watch the dancing lights reflected on the river. She always enjoyed the bath on the second night more than the night before. She was so aware that it would be back to the tiny cold bathroom at the little house the next day.

  She never thought that what she was doing was either wrong or reprehensible. It was a perfectly satisfactory arrangement between friends. It suited them both and, as long as Elizabeth did not know, they hurt no-one. They were good friends. They did not love each other, they did not need to. They knew each other well enough to know that their relationship would never be made formal.

  On the second morning on those visits they would breakfast together and then he would leave for his office and she would walk back along the Strand to Northumberland Avenue and catch the bus back to Surrey.

  On the Wednesdays they did not meet a Harrods or a Fortnum & Mason van would drive along the Pilgrims Way, stop outside the little house and a food hamper, or a hatbox, or a crate of champagne would be delivered to the door. Alicia got to know the delivery men and would often offer them a cup of tea or coffee sitting at the table in the kitchen warmed by the boiler, Montmorency the cat trying to ingratiate herself by winding herself around their legs. Sometimes it was the nearest she had to company for days on end.

  It was an unwritten rule between them that Alicia would never ask Max for money nor would he offer any. She tried to save some from her monthly allowance so she could give Charles and Susannah a good time when they had their weeks together, but whatever she did it seemed never to be enough for them.

  She did find ways to earn some money. It came in small sums; £10 here for singing at a wedding in the local church, £20 there for a small watercolour for the vicar’s wife, £50 for a portrait of the local estate agent for his office, £100 for one of his dog and children.

  She hated painting in watercolour but it was what people wanted, and if Alicia had learned anything over the years it was that she could give people what they wanted.

  She had tried to get a small class of local children together to teach them dancing, but there was a much larger and more professional outfit in nearby Dorking. She did teach elocution to the children of the more ambitious social climbers in the area but the classes didn’t take off. She had never completed her courses at the Academy and she had no formal qualifications.

  Occasionally, very occasionally, she would accept payment for the more personal services requested by the fathers of these children.

  However much she earned, though, it was never enough. More than once she tried to pay the monthly milk bill with a bottle of champagne that the milkman would reluctantly accept.

  The last of the monthly cheques from Roberts and Jones arrived in March 1958. Her written and telephoned requests had been fobbed off by receptionists.

  She couldn’t ask Max.

  Henry had died in February. He had been drowned as he walked back from Hilbre Island one Sunday afternoon.

  What was commented upon at the time was that it was a walk he did regularly. He knew how quickly the tide came in and how treacherous the gullies and channels of the incoming water were. Although the sands appear to stretch evenly and easily to the islands there are actually a maze of dips and hollows where the tide ran, sometimes parallel to the shore, sometimes apparently flowing back to sea as it races in over several miles of sand twice a day. The only way of knowing the exact state of the tides was to read the tide tables. It was impossible to gauge the tide by looking from the mainland or the island as the sea retreated miles across the sands. It was a dangerous place, especially in winter, no one could survive long if they were caught by the tide. Henry would have known that.

  There was talk that he had taken his own life.

  In the weeks that had followed his death things came to light that made that very likely. An audit of the books was ordered and it was obvious that someone had been embezzling money from his cousin’s firm. The likelihood was that it was Henry. He must have felt he had to find the money to look after Kathleen in the manner she was becoming accustomed to as she was spent more and more time with Carl and Arnold at Millcourt. Maybe his wife’s relationship with his cousin made him wonder about his whirlwind romance and the cooling of his relations with Kathleen so soon afterwards. Did he guess that Kathleen had been his cousin’s mistress all those years. Perhaps he had known all the time but had gone along with the charade to gain the family life he had always wanted.

  Did he wonder whether Carl was, indeed, his son?

  He had so many reasons why he might have taken his own life but it was entirely possible he had simply forgotten how quickly the tide came in.

  His body was found in open water by a local fisherman within a day of his going missing. People said he was lucky to have drowned so cleanly, as he could easily have been caught in quick sands – arguably a far worse death than a simple drowning.

  Kathleen showed appropriate regret at the death of her husband but without too much discussion, and without too much concern for what people would, and did, think, she and her son moved permanently into Millcourt at the beginning of April, just over a month after Henry’s death.

  There were some people who believed that there was nothing between Arnold and Kathleen, not many, but there were some.

  When he felt the need to explain his actions to anyone Arnold described the arrangement as a charitable one. Carl could grow up with the other children, they were all, after all, virtually cousins. It would be a great arrangement for all.

  Charles, nearly 16, realised exactly what was going on. Arnold had never made much effort to act as if he cared for his elder son and had rarely spent any time with him but with Kathleen and Carl living at Millcourt he made no pretence of caring at all.

  Charles withdrew into himself spending any time he wasn’t studying or bird watching with Monika.

  Over the years their relationship had changed.

  After he had returned from boarding school he began to relax and soon his night problem ceased. With that he slowly began to gain some confidence. He liked his new school and, although he didn’t make close friends he got on with his classmates well enough. When at home, he spent much time developing his knowledge of ornithology.

  He began to call Monika by her name when he was 15, feeling he was far too old to have a ‘nanny’. He began to think of her as his friend, she helped him and learned with him.

  He had pestered her for years about her life before she had come to Millcourt, but it was only now, as she saw how much Carl’s permanent presence in the house excluded him, that she began to tell him something of her childhood and the war.

  As he grew older he understood more of what Monika told him about her early years, how her father and brothers had treated her, how the men and boys in the villages she had passed through during the war had used her and the ways in which she had managed to survive after it was over – before she was rescued by Max Fischer and brought to England to look after him and his sister.

  Perhaps she told him too much because, despite their age difference, he began to think of her as his responsibility – roles were reversed as she was no longer the adult with responsibility over him.

  He knew about his father and Kathleen, he knew enough to see that it was unusual that she and Carl spent so much time at Millcourt. He could see that whenever Henry had been there as well, which had not been very often, he had been shut out just as they shut out everyone.

  And he didn’t like Carl. He didn’t like him because everything came easily to him; and even though he was four years younger he was as tall and as strong as Charles.

 
And he didn’t like the way Susannah was always happier when Carl was around.

  Susannah had started at a new school the previous year and still had no friends.

  She travelled to school on the bus with lots of other girls but they never talked to her. She couldn’t speak about it with anyone except Carl. She’d tried to tell Monika but Monika had no idea what school was like or why she wasn’t happy there. She couldn’t tell her brother, she didn’t think he would understand either, he liked school. And she certainly couldn’t tell her father. So she just left the house every morning looking and feeling miserable and every evening, when she got home, she would get on with her homework and not talk about her day at all.

  Unless Carl was around.

  He understood, he listened as she told him about all the little cruelties of her life at school. With Carl she would escape the household, they would walk along the shore collecting pebbles and grasses, they would play in the garden together. They talked of escape, of leaving home, running away together. They conspired to spend time together doing the things they wanted to do, rather than the things they were told to do. They began a count down to when they were 16 and could leave.

  “Only four years to go.”

  “One thousand, four hundred and sixty days.”

  “Plus leap years.”

  “Not long really.”

  “Then we can get away from this place.”

  There were always arguments in the house. Whatever the argument was about, whether it was something silly such as when to turn the television on, or something more important like whether Charles should give up his bedroom, the arguments polarised the household: on the one hand Arnold with Kathleen, on the other Charles, knowing that Monika would support him if she could. Carl and Susannah tried to stay quiet or be somewhere else when trouble brewed.

  Most of the arguments stemmed from the changes Kathleen made in the household. She started telling Cook what to buy and where to shop. Cook had always had that responsibility even before Alicia left.

  And she stopped Charles and Susannah eating their meals in the nursery. The ‘nursery’ was really a suite of rooms on the first floor where the children had their bedrooms, there was a sitting room and a small kitchen and Monika ruled. It had been the nursery when the children had been small and they had never stopped calling it that even though it now bore no relation to what would be thought of as a ‘nursery’. Charles and Susannah had their own rooms decorated as they wanted, with posters of rock and roll stars, the music that played most of the evening on the gramophone was more likely to be Elvis Presley than Beethoven. But since Arnold never ventured onto the nursery floor it hadn’t mattered.

  Kathleen changed all that.

  When they got in from school they were to spend two hours doing their homework or reading. They then changed for dinner, which was now held around the main refectory table with Cook and Monika serving and clearing away. They all would then retire to the drawing room and sit listening to Arnold’s choice of music for an hour when they could escape back to the nursery floor.

  No one liked the new arrangement apart from Kathleen. Conversation was never free flowing or spontaneous, questions were asked by the adults and responded to, in as few words as possible, by the children who wanted to get back to their own rooms as quickly as possible.

  Charles had wanted to tell his mother about it all when she called in May, but when it came to it he hadn’t managed to find the words.

  She had chosen a difficult time to call. The day before she had called Charles his father had broken the silence at dinner by telling them that Monika was no longer required and would be leaving that week. He told them in the same tone of voice he would have used to say someone or other was coming to dinner the following week.

  Charles looked at his father and then to Monika who had just cleared away the plates and must have heard. She half turned round, briefly catching Charles’ eye before leaving the room. “What?” he said, rather too loudly.

  “Don’t say ‘what’ like that Charles, it is very rude.” Kathleen never resisted an opportunity to impose standards on the family.

  “I would have thought even you could grasp that Charles,” Arnold could be very sarcastic when he chose “There are no longer children in the house who would require a nanny.”

  “What about Susannah, she’s only 11 she needs Monika.”

  “She has needed a woman in the house, you are absolutely right, but now she has Kathleen.” He looked past Charles on his left and Carl and Susannah on his right to Kathleen, sitting at the other end of the table.

  “Indeed. I will be a mother to you Susannah. You don’t need a Nanny any more do you? You’re far too grown up for that.”

  “Of course Auntie Kathleen.” Susannah still liked to do what would please others, all her life she had tried to avoid confrontation.

  Carl was no help to him either.

  Charles was suddenly frightened. If Monika were to be paid off he would have no one. He had to do something. He could not give in so easily.

  “And what do you suggest she does?”

  “I don’t believe that is my problem.”

  “Don’t we owe her anything? How long has she been with us? I’ll answer that, 10 years. She’s looked after us and nursed us and loved us when no one else has for 10 years, and you just want to let her go.”

  “She is not required any more. She will have to go. That is an end to it.”

  “We may not have a legal responsibility towards her but sure as hell we have a moral one.”

  “Don’t swear at the table. Your father has no such responsibility. She has, no doubt, been well paid for her time here. If your father says she is to go then she will go.”

  Charles ignored Kathleen.

  “If she goes I go.”

  “Don’t be so ridiculous. You’re being too emotional. I blame....” Arnold always accused his children of being ‘too emotional’ if they ever voiced any opposition to him.

  “Yes I know. You blame our Mother. If there is anything, ever, that we do right it’s because of you or her.” He stared at Kathleen. “All the things we do wrong it’s because of Mother. It’s stupid. I mean it. If Monika goes I go.”

  Before Arnold could respond to his son’s words Kathleen spoke “Melodramatic, you are truly your mother’s son.” She couldn’t keep the dislike out of her voice. “But what a good idea. That way we get rid of both of you troublemakers – absolutely wonderful.”

  “You’re a bitch. You deserve each other.”

  “Go to your room. You will not speak to Kathleen like that.” It wouldn’t have occurred to him to take his son’s side.

  “I’m practically16 now, you can’t treat me like a child”

  “I can and do when you act like one.”

  Charles could have gone up to his room, he could have sat down in his window seat, looking out over the golf course calming himself down. But since April he had been watching them and had become more and more certain that Carl was his father’s son, his brother, half-brother. He couldn’t be 100% certain, but he was pretty sure. His father had chosen Kathleen and Carl over him and Susannah, well he would choose Monika over them all.

  He could have left the room, but he didn’t.

  “You just want us out of the way so that you can play happy families with her and Carl.”

  “You will be quiet young man. Your father has been very kind to Carl and me.” Kathleen tried to impose her authority.

  “He’s only being kind to you because you’re…” he hesitated and tried again “because Carl’s his….”

  Arnold had walked around the table and interrupted him with a sharp slap on the side of his face.

  It was the first time his father had struck him for years.

  It was the first and only time Charles hit him back.

  It wasn’t much of a punch and it probably didn’t hurt Arnold a bit as it connected weakly with Arnold’s cheek. Charles was immensely disappointed at the
lack of impact and turned and ran from the room. Susannah and Carl took the opportunity to escape.

  “Good God!” Arnold sat down and tried to calm himself down.

  She went over and put her hands on his shoulders. “Leave it to me, my dear. I’m going to talk to Monika.” Kathleen was not going to let Arnold give in now they had got this far. “I’m going to fire her now. She’ll leave immediately and if Charles goes with her then good riddance. How could he say those things!”

  Arnold did not argue.

  He had let the conversation go this far this evening as he had been distracted. He didn’t want to have to tell Kathleen any more than he had to and if he started discussing Charles’ future he would have to explain rather more than he wanted to. As Kathleen left the room she noticed he had closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands.

  It was as if his life was falling apart.

  He must have known then that the business was nearly insolvent. It had been going downhill ever since he had taken it over. He was not a businessman and should never have been made to give up what he would have done well, his mother should have let him be a lawyer. He would have been a good one. But because of the business he had had to spend his life doing something he hated. Henry had stolen so much money from the business but he it hadn’t been spotted. He was such a bad businessman that his weak and insignificant cousin could steal all that money from him and he hadn’t known.

  But it couldn’t all be Henry’s fault. The war had been good for the business but now times were different, there was little place for small family run firms as new technologies became more and more essential and more and more expensive. Competition from the Far East meant he could not charge what he needed to and so quality was cut and as soon as quality deteriorated he began to lose the customers he had. He knew he had never been a good manager, he knew he was not doing a good job but he also knew he was not capable of doing any better. He found that the people who had been his friends, his brother masons, his political supporters, had all been very nice to him when he had just inherited his father’s money; now, as things looked more and more bleak, they were no longer around. He forgot his political ambitions and tried only to stay afloat.