by Anna King
‘Look, Becky, there’s Uncle Richard with some woman. I wonder who she is.’
Before she could stop herself, Rebecca’s head had swivelled around to look in the direction of Amy’s gaze. True enough, there was Richard, sitting at the far end of the restaurant, in the company of an attractive woman Rebecca had never seen before. The thought of the odious Richard having a lady friend had never entered Rebecca’s mind; the image was too revolting to contemplate. Yet at his age it was only natural he would seek female companionship. The question was, how had he managed to acquire it? In a few, brief seconds Rebecca had quickly taken in Richard’s companion, and though she was loath to admit it, the lady in question looked very presentable.
Jimmy too had quickly taken stock of Richard’s lady friend. Like Rebecca, he was surprised at the lady’s, appearance. If he’d had to imagine a woman who would choose to be seen in Richard Fisher’s company, he would have conjured up a rather different picture to the one he was witnessing.
‘Don’t stare, Amy,’ Rebecca muttered. ‘He might come over. Don’t give him any encouragement, please.’ The last thing she wanted was for Richard to join them, and ruin a lovely evening. The thought was so appalling that Rebecca lifted her glass involuntarily, downing the champagne in one swift gulp.
Jimmy’s eyebrows rose in surprised amusement. Refilling the empty glass, he bent over the table and remarked archly, ‘I don’t think you need worry. After our brief meeting today, I very much doubt your uncle will be attempting to join us.’
As he spoke, Jimmy glanced over at Richard’s table and saw the portly man begin to rise from his chair, a hovering smile on his thick lips. Jimmy’s face darkened. Leaning back in his chair, he directed a warning look across the room and immediately Richard dropped back onto his seat, his fat face flushing in awkward confusion. Conscious of the silence that had fallen, Jimmy’s eyes flickered around his table. The girls looked flustered and uncertain, and even Amy had stopped chattering. Charlie, on the other hand, used to seeing his governor in a temper, was keeping a low profile.
Mindful that his abrupt change in behaviour was causing the sudden embarrassing atmosphere, Jimmy quickly lightened the mood. Pouring out more drinks, he launched into a hilarious anecdote that soon had the occupants laughing and at ease once more; Amy in particular, who, taking advantage of Rebecca’s distracted state, was now drinking her second glass of champagne.
When, at ten-thirty, Jimmy called for the bill, all four of the party were in a relaxed and merry mood.
Stopping off at the cloakroom before their journey home, Rebecca and Amy anxiously studied their faces in the long, gilded mirror that hung over a small line of washbasins adorned with gold-plated taps.
‘I hate eating vegetables if I ever go out anywhere,’ Amy was busily examining her open mouth. ‘I’m always afraid I’ll get a bit of cabbage stuck in my teeth, and everyone will be too polite to tell me. Do you remember that time I had to arrange the flowers in the café, and I got all that horrible brown stuff from the stalks all over my face? Nobody said a word, the rotten sods! I was walking around all day like it, and I didn’t have a clue until I got home and you told me. Do you remember, Becky?’
Rebecca chuckled at the memory. ‘Oh, yes, I remember. You looked as though you hadn’t seen a bar of soap for a week, and you were so happy because people had been smiling at you all day. Looking back, it was quite funny at the time.’
Amy made a face in the mirror, her lips twitching with laughter. ‘It might have been funny for you, but I… Oh, sorry, am I in your way?’
Amy stepped to one side as a tall red-haired woman emerged from a small cubicle behind them and approached the washbasins.
‘That’s all right, it isn’t very big in here, is it?’ The woman smiled graciously and turned on the taps. ‘I always try and get in here before eleven if I can. After that time, I prefer to wait until I get home. It’s a lot quicker.’
Both Amy and Rebecca made a smile of agreement, as if they too were familiar with the restaurant’s washroom facilities.
Carefully arranging her hat over her thick, plaited hair, Rebecca was about to secure it with three hatpins when she paused, uncomfortably aware that the red-haired woman was deliberately scrutinising her from head to foot. Her face and neck colouring under the woman’s watchful eyes, Rebecca cleared her throat and asked tersely, ‘Have we met before. I don’t seem to recall your face, though I’m sure you’ll know mine again if we meet in the future.’
The woman looked up at Rebecca with cold, green eyes, a mocking smile touching her full, painted lips. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. I was admiring your costume. Did you buy it from one of the big department stores, or was it made for you?’
The colour on Rebecca’s face deepened. The woman, for some reason, was openly taunting her. Drawing herself up straighter, Rebecca replied sharply, ‘I made it myself. Why! Are you looking for a seamstress?’
Listening to the conversation, Amy silently groaned. Not again, Becky, she pleaded mutely, her generous nature not recognising the spite behind the stranger’s words.
The woman finished washing her hands and raised her eyebrows in feigned surprise. ‘Dear me, have I offended you in some way? If so, then I apologise. I meant no harm.’
Rebecca looked at the beautiful face staring at her and found her own gaze faltering. Maybe she had been mistaken and had taken slight where none was intended. Yet she was usually very astute in judging people’s moods and character. Then again, it had been a very long day, and a very unusual one, so she was prepared, for Amy’s sake, to give the woman the benefit of the doubt. After all, she told herself, what was the point in making a fuss, especially now, when they’d had such a wonderful evening? Then again, there was no need to fall at the woman’s feet in grovelling apology either. The last hatpin in place, Rebecca stepped back from the mirror to make sure her hat was straight, turned slightly to where the woman was drying her hands on a soft, white towel, then stopped. The woman was still watching her, the large, green eyes calculating Rebecca’s every move, like a bird of prey studying its victim before pouncing. Bewildered by the stranger’s hostility, Rebecca mentally shrugged tiredly. Some women were just born spiteful and Rebecca, suddenly feeling the strain of the day beginning to take its toll, refused to be goaded any further; the woman, whoever she was, wasn’t worth the effort.
‘Come along, Amy, we’ve wasted enough time in here.’
Only too glad to leave, Amy glided to the door, followed a few moments later by Rebecca. As she made to leave the cloakroom, the woman’s husky voice floated after her.
‘Oh, will you give my regards to Jimmy? Tell him Heather was asking after him… Goodnight!’ The door slammed shut in her face. Still smiling, the woman studied herself in the mirror, nodding at the reflection in approval. Humming a popular tune under her breath, she remained where she was long after the cloakroom door had closed.
Joining the waiting men, Rebecca and Amy let themselves be helped into their coats, all the while chattering away happily. But beneath her happy façade, Rebecca’s stomach was churning. So that was the reason behind the woman’s hostility. She was obviously one of Jimmy’s old lady friends. No wonder she had acted as she had. Jealousy! That’s what that unpleasant scene had been about. Pure jealousy. For some reason that thought gave Rebecca enormous satisfaction. As for the woman’s message… Well, it was late, wasn’t it, and her memory often played tricks after a long day.
As it was Charlie’s night off, Jimmy hailed a passing cab, and within minutes they were heading back in the direction of Hackney, the red-haired stranger and her message, like Richard and his lady friend, pushed to the back of Rebecca’s mind.
*
‘I thought you were going to introduce me to your wards and their companions, Richard. After all, seeing as we’re going to be family soon, I would have liked to meet the girls. And Mr Jackson. I’ve never met the man personally, well, I wouldn’t, would I? But I’ve heard of him. Tho
ugh I must confess I’m surprised that you and he are such good friends. He’s not the sort of man I would have associated you with, but I keep forgetting you’re a man of the world now and have a wide variety of friends to match your status. I wonder why Mr Jackson didn’t come over to say hello. Maybe he was being thoughtful, and didn’t want to interrupt our meal. I’m sure I’ll get another opportunity to meet him. After all, he’s bound to want to meet the future wife of his closest friend, isn’t he, Richard dear?’
Ivy Harris looked intently across the table at the squirming, red-faced man opposite, her skilfully made-up face disguising the sarcasm behind her words. She knew only too well that a man such as Jimmy Jackson would have no time for the likes of Richard. Taking a sip of her red wine, Ivy continued her silent perusal of her future husband. She had left him high and dry twenty years ago to marry a man old enough to be her father, with a thriving business and a three-storey house in Stoke Newington. Widowed six years later, Ivy had married her late husband’s partner, Albert Harris. Her second marriage had lasted almost twelve years, which had been eleven years and ten months too long to Ivy’s mind. Now here she was, back where she’d started, engaged to Richard Fisher; well, maybe not officially, but that would soon be remedied. Ivy thought of the man Richard purported to be his best friend, then took a closer look at the overweight man with receding hair and heavy jowls that would soon be husband number three, and sighed inwardly. Oh for the chance of marrying someone like Jimmy Jackson, or even bedding him for that matter. Twenty years ago Ivy would have stood a chance of the latter, but she had been too eager to get a ring on her finger and the security that it entailed to waste time looking for someone she could truly love and respect.
Looking back, Ivy realised her mistakes. At eighteen she’d had plenty of time, and as pretty as she had been, she could have had her pick of men. Maybe if she had waited, she might have ended up with someone like Jimmy Jackson, but it was too late for regrets now. Again Ivy sighed. Whoever said youth was wasted on the young had been right, and it would always be so. For the young never imagine themselves old, and therefore would never heed the warnings or advice of their elders, until they too aged and tried to pass on their life’s experience only to have it ignored. And so life would always be, with youth never to be appreciated until it was too late. That fact, to Ivy’s mind was one of the biggest tragedies of life.
Now she was nearing forty and still without a child to call her own. Richard Fisher was her last chance of becoming a mother. Ivy had always laid the blame of her inability to conceive at the door of her late husbands, telling herself that they had been too old, while knowing that a man is never too old to father a child. But it was more of a comfort than to confront the possibility that the fault might lie within herself. And Richard wasn’t a bad sort when all was said and done. He was certainly the best she was going to get at her time of life, and Ivy was determined Richard wasn’t going to get away a second time. With this thought uppermost in her mind, Ivy swiftly skirted over the topic of Jimmy Jackson, a subject that was obviously disconcerting to Richard. Reaching out, she took hold of the pudgy hand and tenderly stroked the fat fingers with as much affection as she could muster.
‘Why don’t you call for the bill, Richard, dear,’ she murmured seductively. ‘I feel like an early night… Don’t you?’
Gazing into the adoring eyes, Richard’s chest visibly swelled with importance, his manhood restored once more. Settling the bill, he escorted Ivy from the restaurant, his hand tightly gripping her arm. Richard had been a long time between women, and he was anxious to get Ivy home before she changed her mind. His mind clear of everything but the urge to get Ivy into bed, Richard forgot about his cousins and Jimmy Jackson and concentrated instead on the delights to come.
Chapter Eleven
Hidden from sight of the street behind the thick bedroom curtain, Maude sat in the darkness, her anxious eyes peering out every now and then into the night, her ears alert in case Phil should take it into his head to visit her. Though that was highly unlikely. He had brought her up a cup of tea over two hours ago, and that, to Phil, was what he termed looking after her. No, Phil wouldn’t be back up unless she called for him and she had no intention of doing that. Normally she would have had him running up and down the stairs all evening, but after her last run-in with Rebecca, Maude was desperate to be on her best behaviour. Yet after a lifetime of being waited on hand and foot, and having someone at her beck and call at any hour of the day or night, Maude was finding the task she had set herself increasingly difficult; and it had only been a few hours.
At the sound of an approaching carriage, Maude shrank back from the window, hiding her massive frame behind the heavy curtain as she listened intently to the voices coming from the street. Her heart was beating so fast, Maude was afraid the people below would hear it. Berating herself for her stupidity, she nevertheless scurried as fast as her swollen legs would carry her back to the warmth and safety of her bed. Once propped up on the mountain of pillows, she assumed an expression of what she hoped portrayed patient resignation, and waited. One of them would be up soon. Either Rebecca or Amy always came straight to her room whenever they had been out of the house for any length of time. The minutes ticked by slowly, and her door remained closed. Shuffling about in the double bed Maude endeavoured to make enough noise to remind her young cousins of her presence, but the bed, although old, was a good one and no satisfying squeaks or groaning springs were forthcoming. Changing tack, Maude knocked over the stool resting by the bed, exclaiming loudly, ‘Oh, dear, what have I done now?’ in what she hoped was a genuine voice of regret, quickly assumed the look of martyrdom once more and waited. The door remained closed.
The high, laughing voices of the people down below rose, and Maude’s thin lips tightened angrily. The bloody bitches. They were deliberately ignoring her and she was helpless to do anything about it. Maude had never worried what Richard or the Bradfords thought of her, or that silly, simpering cow Ada Gates from next door; their opinions didn’t matter. But she had always been desperately afraid of showing her true colours to anyone she deemed important; and Jimmy Jackson was just such a person. Those few hours he had spent with her on the day the girls had been attacked had been the highlight of Maude’s sad and wasted life. That was why she had been so enthusiastic about Rebecca seeing him again. Maude had envisaged a life in the company of a man she could look up to and respect. A man she could spend the rest of her life with, without the contention of marriage. But Rebecca had soon put Maude right on that eventuality. Maude’s black eyes narrowed as she thought back to that particular encounter, then her mind shifted to the sealed box hidden in the framework of the bed she rarely left. A satisfied smirk touched her lips as she conjured up a vision of the contents of the hidden box.
She had managed to put away quite a bit over the years. Rebecca had never asked if Richard contributed to the household, instead she had managed on whatever money Phil and then Amy brought into the house. Rebecca was also unaware that the rent money she paid Richard every week was duly handed over to her bedridden cousin in an effort by Richard to assuage his conscience regarding his sister; but if Richard ever found out about the money she had stashed away Maude knew his conscience would trouble him no further. Clasping her hands over the mountain of bedclothes, Maude peered at the closed door. Well, then. It was just as well she’d taken the precaution of looking out for herself, ’cos it was looking like no other bugger was going to. A feeling of deep resentment and self-pity flooded Maude’s body. Two fat tears rolled down the plump face and Maude made no effort to wipe them away. They would serve to strengthen the unassuming and pitiful role she hoped to portray.
‘I’ll have to go up in a minute, the suspense is killing me. Normally she would be shouting the house down by now. She’s obviously being on her best behaviour because you’re here, but it can’t last.’ Rebecca smiled shyly at Jimmy then glanced upwards.
The five of them were seated in the sitting r
oom around a blazing fire, enjoying each others’ company. To Rebecca’s mind the scene was idyllic. Even Phil was talking amiably with no trace of subservience in the face of their visitor. As for Amy… Rebecca’s eyes flickered over to the battered, comfortable armchair where Amy was curled up, the ever-grinning Charlie at her feet, her young face beaming with happiness and contentment. If it wasn’t for that one upstairs… Rebecca sighed and got to her feet. ‘It’s no good, I can’t ignore her any more.’ Stifling a laugh, Rebecca looked at Phil and said, ‘You didn’t smother her while we were out, did you, Phil?’
Her brother grinned back. ‘No, worse luck. Though if I’d thought about it, I might have been tempted.’
Moving to the foot of the stairs, Rebecca paused, a hint of suspicion crossing her face.
‘You have been up to see her, haven’t you, Phil?’
Phil waved his arm airily. ‘Of course I have. I brought her up a cup of tea earlier on.’
‘How long ago is earlier on?’
Phil shrugged. ‘I don’t know. A couple of hours ago maybe, but I was listening out for her,’ Phil hurried on as he saw the look of concern flash over Rebecca’s face.
‘You’re hopeless, Phil. A person could be lying dead for days before you noticed. Oh… Never mind, I’ll go and check.’
Jimmy stirred lazily in his chair. ‘I doubt if your cousin would be so obliging as to die without making some kind of fuss. She didn’t strike me as that type.’
Heartened by what he saw as Jimmy’s support, Phil added, ‘Jimmy’s right, Becks. If Maude was ill, she would soon have let me know about it.’
Hurrying up the stairway, Rebecca stopped outside Maude’s door. Reaching out, she grasped the door handle and paused. What if Maude had really taken bad and she, Rebecca, hadn’t been here to care for her? Taking a deep breath, Rebecca turned the handle.