‘We’re taking the scenic route,’ Theo called to her. The scenic route meant a journey in excess of three hundred and fifty miles, so Tia had to do her share. As she’d driven farm vehicles along narrow lanes from the age of twelve, the extra width of the van didn’t worry her.
With her thick mane of hair in a pony tail and her legs clad in those abbreviated jeans, Tia Bellamy looked like a very tall five-year-old except for her rather magnificent upper body. She felt Theo’s eyes on her. He put her in mind of a starving child whose nose is pressed against the window of a baker’s shop; his experiences of physical love were probably few and far between. She had plans for him, and he had been untypically quiet of late.
Theo tried hard not to stare at her while she drove, but his disobedient eyes were clearly riveted to her by some irresistible force, and he found it impossible to concentrate on the lush green beauty of England. ‘What about London?’ he whispered. ‘Rosie’s asleep, so she wouldn’t see much.’
‘Later in the week or on our way back,’ was her reply. ‘My arms ache.’
By the time they reached their destination, dusk had begun its descent. Theo parked the van and heaved a heartfelt sigh of relief. ‘Come on, sleepyheads, we’re here,’ he called, mischief in his tone.
Maggie blinked and stared through the window. ‘You never said Chaddington Green was at the seaside.’
Theo and Tia grinned at each other.
Nancy woke. ‘I’ve dropped a stitch,’ she grumbled.
‘You never said it was seaside,’ Maggie repeated.
‘That’s because my home isn’t at the seaside,’ Tia told her. ‘This is beautiful Broadstairs. Your hotel, the King’s Albion, is here on the front. Everything’s paid for, and your spending money is in Rosie’s case. You are expected. The manager will tell you about the sights and how to get to Deal or Ramsgate or Margate. There’s even transport to Dover and the famous cliffs.’
The hotel was massive, white, and lit up from the outside as well as on the inside. ‘That looks a bit expensive for the likes of us,’ Maggie mused quietly.
‘It’s a lovely place,’ Tom said, looking out at the harbour. He wondered whether there might be fishing trips, though he wasn’t sure about leaving his Nancy to worry in case he fell overboard and drowned.
‘You’re right.’ Nancy had apparently ceased to worry about a dropped stitch. ‘Yes, you’re right, Tom. It’s so pretty.’
‘We’ll pick you up on Thursday morning,’ Tia announced, ‘because we may have a meeting in Canterbury on that day. You’ll love Canterbury.’
‘Have you been here before?’ Tom asked Theo.
The American-born Anglophile frowned. ‘Yes, I have been here before, but I had a limited aerial view. Battle of Britain. This was known as Hellfire Corner. I was flat on my belly pumping bullets into Nazis. Make your own memories of Kent, because mine aren’t all happy. I killed people on the ground, too. If I took a German plane down, it didn’t always fall into the water. Grim.’ He shook his head as memories of war filled it. ‘Still, I got my medals. Some people below got a casket and a funeral. I was one of the lucky ones.’
Tom disagreed. ‘You were one of the few, according to Churchill.’
Rosie opened her eyes at last. ‘Is it Blackpool?’ she asked. ‘I can smell the sea – I can hear it, too. It’s licking the sand.’
A glance passed between the two teachers; this little child was probably going to be one of Theo’s miracles. Licking the sand? That was surely a symptom of a good imagination.
Maggie held her granddaughter close. ‘No, Rosie, this isn’t Blackpool. It’s warmer, better weather down this end of the country. We’re sleeping here for five nights – it’s a surprise from Mr Quinn and Miss Bellamy.’ She spoke to Theo. ‘Are you and Miss Bellamy staying?’
‘No.’ His eyes slid momentarily towards Rosie. ‘We’re seeing Dr Heilberg’s father about that check-up and making sure that a certain actor isn’t on the loose. But Rosie will see Bartle Hall and the priest holes, we promise. Come along, folks, let’s get you inside.’
A liveried young man with a porter’s trolley took the suitcases while Tia prepared to book in Mr and Mrs Atherton and Mrs and Miss Stone. As Tunstall’s attempt at adoption had ended with his death, Rosie had reverted to her mother’s maiden name. She was wide awake and smiling now; she was at the seaside.
Tia led the way into the hotel.
Little Rosie, awestruck by such opulence, walked into the foyer and stood on thick, royal blue carpet. She was the last of the group to enter, because her eyes and ears had been concentrated on the sea. She stood very still and took in her new surroundings. It was the most beautiful place she had ever seen.
As well as the reception desk, there was a bar, and tables with chairs were dotted about the huge space. Two opposing staircases, both curved and both covered in the same blue carpet, rose out of the entrance to the first floor. There were paintings and gilded alcoves with little statues or vases of flowers in them. Every table had a posy in a white pot, and the chairs were painted gold, their upholstered seats the same blue as the carpet. ‘It’s like a film,’ she said, ‘really, really posh.’
Tia squatted down. ‘You can play on the sands, go for coach trips all over Kent, have ice cream with raspberry sauce, take a ride in a boat.’
‘But you won’t be here?’
‘No, I have things to do. Now, come with me. We’re going with your nana up in the lift to your room. Nancy and Tom will be next door to you. Teddy, will you go in the other lift with them?’
Rosie loved the lift and wished she could go up and down a few times, though she doubted that grown-ups would accept that as a good idea.
Her mouth dropped open when they reached their destination. It was all pale blue and cream with twin beds and thick, soft, cream towels piled in the small bathroom, and toilet paper folded to a point, all fancy, and tiny soaps shaped like flowers or butterflies, and sweets on a little dining table in the bedroom, and the sea just across the road, and a bowl of fruit next to the sweets, and fat pillows on the beds, and reading lamps, and towelling robes to wear after a bath, and she was happy. The happiness almost spilled down her face; this was as good as Buckingham Palace, she felt sure.
Tia blinked hard and smiled at Maggie. ‘I think Rosie likes it,’ she said. ‘Mr Davidson, the manager, says you may phone the hospital as many times as you like – Teddy and I will pay the bill. We want you relaxed, Maggie, for your own sake as well as for Rosie. Tom and Nancy are right next door in number seventeen.’
‘It’s lovely,’ Maggie said at last. She was afraid of touching anything, since it all looked brand new.
Of course, Rosie had to dash into the next room to give it the once-over. It was the same as hers and Nana’s except for the double bed. This was how rich people lived. Rich people had baths with taps and didn’t need to get a wash and clean their teeth at the kitchen sink.
Mr Quinn was smiling at her and telling her that if she left her shoes outside the door, someone would clean them during the night. They had a table in the dining room downstairs, or they could have food delivered to their rooms if they preferred. Rosie didn’t prefer; she wanted to look at the rich people. She had five new dresses, two pairs of posh shoes, a handbag, a suit, two blouses, a very pretty skirt and two cardigans knitted by Mrs Atherton. Oh, and if the weather went cold, she had a brand new coat, so she could look pretty and well dressed, and nobody would know that she was poor.
Tom emerged from the bathroom and grinned at Theo. ‘This is the life, eh? Rosie, you’d best pass your scholarship exams and get a proper job, then you’ll be able to live like this all the time.’
‘Is that how they do it?’ Rosie asked.
‘Sometimes they inherit money,’ Theo explained. ‘It gets left to them when people die.’
She thought about that. ‘We haven’t got nobody to leave us money. I’ll have to make money for me and Mam and Nana.’ This, she decided, would involve hard work and
huge responsibility. ‘I’ll be a doctor. Our doctor’s got nice clothes and a car, so he must be well off.’
Theo groaned inwardly. Colin Duckworth’s latest career path was meandering down the medical route. Could a headmaster cope with a pair of them? ‘Miss Bellamy and I are leaving now, Rosie. She’s given your nana the telephone numbers of Rose Cottage and Bartle Hall, so if you need us, call. If we’re out, a Mrs Melia at Bartle Hall will take a message.’
Tia and Theo returned to the van. ‘You know the way,’ he said. ‘You drive.’
For once, she found no clever reply, as she was too busy thinking about Rosie and the others. ‘Do you think we’ve overwhelmed them, Teddy?’
‘They’ll get used to it. Very few Scousers become overwhelmed by circumstance. From what I’ve heard and read, they were magnificent during the war. That city carried every bullet and every bomb through its transport systems. Oh yes, they had their own Hellfire Corner. You know, they never cease to amaze me. Somebody gets ill and ends up with enough food to cater for the whole street. Very few die alone, because it isn’t allowed. Neighbours sit round drinking tea and eating biscuits, talking about everyday matters and making death a part of life. It’s heart, Portia. Liverpool has a strong heartbeat and a healthy gut.’
She nodded her agreement. ‘Yes. It’s almost impossible to feel lonely. Right. Rose Cottage, here we come.’ When the engine was started, she glanced at her companion. ‘Nervous?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Are you equipped?’
‘Yes.’
‘Afraid of me?’
‘No.’
She drove off. If he was going to become monosyllabic, she would ask no further questions. Yet she couldn’t resist having the last word. ‘Why couldn’t I fall in love with somebody uncomplicated?’
Theo managed a grin. Madam Portia, a multi-faceted jewel, was far from uncomplicated, a mile away from predictable. She was a precious nuisance; perhaps they were designed for each other.
Jack Peake drained the last drops from his tea mug, which, when full, held a pint of the drink to which he was addicted. He raked his fingers through thinning hair, shoved his feet into old brown slippers and answered the door. When he looked at the unexpected visitor, he rolled down his shirt sleeves and wished he’d had a bit of a wash, because the man facing him was very smart. Jack knew the face, but couldn’t place it immediately.
‘Mr Peake? Caretaker of Myrtle Street School?’
‘Yes, that’s me.’
The man looked up and down the street. ‘May I come inside for a few minutes?’
Jack hesitated for a second or two before opening the door properly. His house wasn’t in too bad a state, though it lacked the decor usually enjoyed by people as well dressed as this fellow.
‘Thank you,’ said the elegant, middle-aged intruder as he entered the front room. ‘I’ll come straight to the point. I’m looking for my daughter, Portia Bellamy, often known as Tia. I found out through Civil Service contacts of mine that she’s accepted a post at Myrtle Street.’
Jack shook his head. ‘I’m just the dogsbody,’ he said. ‘I don’t have anything to do with the teaching side of things.’
‘I understand that. But have you met my daughter?’
Jack’s mind was spinning. ‘There’s a new teacher starting in September, but I don’t know the name.’ He recognized this bloke’s face now that he’d studied it for a few moments. Like the rest of the population, he’d read the lurid tales about his behaviour, about his wife leaving him after pretending for months to be dependent on drink.
‘The head teacher’s name is Quinn, I gather.’
‘That’s right. You were in that film, Forty Braves, weren’t you? Mr Quinn was in the real thing, Battle of Britain.’
Richard Bellamy sat down without asking permission. ‘Yes, I’m Richard Bellamy. Do you have Mr Quinn’s address?’
Jack had no alternative but to follow instructions. ‘Yes, I have his address, Mr Bellamy, because if anything happens at the school, he is my first contact. But I can’t give out that information. The fact is that the school is closed now till September. Oh, and another thing, I happen to know that Mr Quinn set off on his travels early this morning. He sometimes goes home to see his family during the summer.’ That wasn’t a lie.
‘Where?’ Richard asked.
‘America. New York, I think.’
Richard Bellamy’s expression darkened. He had been used to getting his way in most situations, though he was beginning to suspect that Isadora had been the key. The country, the industry and possibly the world had turned against him. He tried a different tack. ‘My health is deteriorating,’ he said.
‘Sorry to hear that.’ Jack, inured to the top-drawer accent employed by Tia, was not fazed by her father’s gobful of plums. ‘You should go and see a doctor, or try outpatients at a hospital.’
The unwelcome actor rose to his feet. ‘A sick man needs to see his family,’ he stated.
Jack shrugged. ‘From what I’ve read in the papers, your family might not want to see you. Sorry I can’t help you, but Mr Quinn’s address would be no use, because he isn’t there.’
‘And who do you contact in his absence?’
‘I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anybody.’ Miss Cosgrove, Theo’s deputy, would probably swoon if Richard Bellamy landed on her doorstep. She was man-hungry, and this particular man probably knew how to play on a woman’s weaknesses.
Richard thanked Jack, though there was sarcasm in his tone. He left, closing the door none too quietly in his wake.
Jack dashed to the window and watched while the adulterous menace drove away. ‘Right,’ he said to himself. ‘Pull yourself together, Peake. Bike, Allerton, Miss Bellamy’s flat.’ He dashed out to the back yard and collected Old Faithful, a ramshackle mode of transport he had used for years. Bellamy might well be lying in wait or parked round a nearby corner, so Jack pedalled through alleyways and back streets too narrow for cars, doubling back on himself and taking a circuitous route to his destination.
When he finally reached the villa, he knew he was alone. Wheeling his bike up the side of the house, he sprayed medication into his mouth before hiding Old Faithful and pushing Miss Bellamy’s doorbell. ‘Stay calm, Jack,’ he murmured. He heard footsteps muffled by carpet, followed by a voice similar to Tia’s but younger and more lightweight. ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s Jack Peake, caretaker from Myrtle Street School.’
‘Just a moment.’
He heard bolts being drawn back. When she opened the door, Jack stared above her head for a fraction of a second. She looked very like her sister, though she was tiny. ‘Hello,’ he said, after lowering his eyes to her level. ‘Sorry to disturb you, but I need to speak to you and your mother.’
Juliet widened the gap and allowed him to enter the small ground-floor hallway. ‘I’m Juliet, Tia’s sister,’ she told him before leading the way upstairs. ‘A visitor, Ma,’ she announced. ‘This gentleman is Theo’s caretaker at the school.’
Jack stood in the presence of Isadora Bellamy. A thin woman sat beside her on a sofa; she was holding Tyger-Two, the kitten that had replaced Theo’s old cat. ‘Sorry to disturb,’ he repeated, ‘but as your daughter said, I’m caretaker at Mr Quinn’s school, and I’ve just had a visit from your husband.’
He noticed that the thin woman’s face blanched, while Mrs Bellamy gasped and put a hand to her mouth.
Jack continued. ‘I am one of the few who know you’re staying here. Theo left my address for you, I understand, in case you need any help. Well, your other half found me about half an hour ago. Some crony of his, probably at government level, managed to find out that your daughter will be working at Myrtle Street from September. I told him nothing.’
Isadora closed her eyes for a moment. ‘How can anyone learn about Portia being in Liverpool?’ she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
‘My guess is some big-gob pen-pusher in the Ministry of Education, Mrs Bel
lamy. So, however it happened, the fact is her dad knows that Miss Bellamy is starting work at the school. I suppose somebody from the Lady Streets told him where I live, and he knocked at my door. He has a car.’
‘Rented, probably,’ Juliet said. ‘Please sit down, Mr . . . sorry, I’m hopeless with names.’
‘Jack Peake.’ He sat in an armchair.
‘Were you followed?’ Isadora asked.
‘I don’t think so. I used back alleys and lanes too narrow for cars. Oh, and he says he’s ill and needs to see his family.’
‘Did he look ill?’ Juliet was genuinely concerned.
‘No, he’s a picture of health.’ Jack paused. ‘I can get rid of him easy if you like. I can tell the Echo he’s in Liverpool.’
‘No,’ the kitten-holding woman muttered. ‘He’ll go south and start looking for Portia if he’s chased from Liverpool. London’s no hiding place for him just now; even his agent’s been fired.’
‘He’ll find another, I’m sure,’ Isadora whispered.
Juliet perched on the sofa’s arm and held her mother’s hand. ‘Try not to worry, Ma.’ She turned to Jack. ‘We thought he was in Ireland.’
Isadora made a decision. ‘We mustn’t tell Theo or Portia or any of the others that Richard’s here. Rosie and Maggie need that holiday, so we can’t have them dashing back just because Richard has resurfaced. With any luck, he might disappear until September.’
Jack shifted uncomfortably. ‘Some in the Lady Streets know where Theo lives, and they might know that Miss Bellamy rents this flat. It’s only a matter of time.’
‘You’re sure he isn’t ill?’ Juliet asked.
‘I’m as sure as I can be, miss, though I’m no doctor.’
Joan, having had a short rethink, spoke again. ‘Then let him find us, Mr Peake. He’ll rant and rave like the child he’s always been, but he won’t dash back to Kent immediately and disturb the others. I am in a privileged position here, because I can threaten to sue him for attacking me in front of many witnesses. The magistrates bound him over to keep the peace, that’s all. If anyone needs to know why I didn’t sue him there and then, I shall tell them I needed to get away from him, that I feared him. Now that he’s here, I’m terrified. He and I can create a stand-off situation with Izzy acting as peacemaker.’
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