A Time of Hope (Part Five of The People of this Parish Saga)

by Nicola Thorne

  “And what will your ‘other sons’ say about this?” Alexander’s tone was sarcastic.

  “I’m sure they’ll be pleased. We are all pleased now that it is out.”

  “Well, I am not pleased. I don’t see why you should think you can claim me that easily. How am I to forgive you for the fact that I could have met my poor mother while she was alive instead of seeing her standing at the window gazing at me? I could have given her some comfort, eased her last days.”

  “She never stopped loving your father,” Lally murmured. “He was with her constantly. That was a great comfort to her. You see, darling, we all thought it was for the best. Even she did.”

  “Well, she was wrong. You all were. It was not for the best. It was grossly deceitful and hurtful to her, and until I can compose myself about this matter I prefer not to see either of you again. I shall take Mary up to London today and stay there.”

  As Alexander crossed to the door, Carson hurried after him and seized him by the arm. “Alexander! Please don’t leave in this way. I beg of you not to do something you might regret. We have said we are sorry; that what we did was wrong.”

  “Nothing can put it right.”

  “Except that you can forgive us and understand why we did what we did. You were a young man at university and we did not want to cause you distress, because we thought it would distress you. We underestimated the strength of your feelings.”

  “Lally knew how much I wanted to know about my origins.” Alexander looked across at Lally who, eyes averted, didn’t reply.

  “I did not know for sure that I was your father until three years ago when Nelly died, and Lally did not know either, or that Nelly was your mother. We didn’t know how you would respond to the news that a sick and dying woman was your natural parent. Even Nelly did not ask to meet you. She left you on Lally’s doorstep all those years ago because she knew she was a good woman and would bring you up well, which she has. You have turned into a splendid young man and we are all proud of you. We love Mary. We are overjoyed you are to become a father. Please, Alexander, show that magnanimity of mind, that breadth of vision we have come to expect of you and let us make a fresh beginning. Let us be a united family, as before.”

  For a moment Alexander seemed to hesitate. Then he roughly removed his arm from Carson’s grasp, opened the door and raced across the hall and down the front steps to his car.

  Mary was indeed worried. When Alexander returned it was dark and the snow lay thickly on the ground. When she heard the car she ran to the door and hurried down the steps.

  “I was so worried about you,” she cried as Alexander emerged. Then, seeing he was alone, she looked into the interior of the car. “Where is your mother?”

  “She is not with me.” He took her arm and walked with her up the steps. “She is not my mother. Now pack your things as quickly as you can. We are going to London.”

  “But Alexander ... look at the snow.”

  “The main roads will be clear. If necessary we can spend the night at a hotel en route but I can’t stay a second longer than is necessary in this place.” He gave her a swift kiss. “As soon as we’re on the road I’ll tell you everything, darling. Now hurry.”

  ***

  Alexander Martyn and Mary Sprogett were married at the parish church of St Marylebone by special licence, the consent of Mary’s parents having been obtained without difficulty. Alexander got a copy of his birth certificate from Somerset House which stated that his mother was Nelly Allen, servant. The name of his father had been left blank. The witnesses at the wedding were Pieter Heering and Jeremy and Nora Sydling, the financial director of the Martyn Heering Corporation and his wife. They were the only people present except for a few onlookers who had come into the church mostly to get away from the cold.

  Pieter took the small wedding party to lunch at the Ritz Hotel. It was rather a solemn gathering, more like a funeral, and seemed an inauspicious start to married life.

  Eliza felt they were being paid back for being so secretive about the birth first of Elizabeth, and now of Alexander. The family had managed to alienate two people they loved but, in many ways, Alexander seemed the worst loss of all.

  He had been so loved, so lovable. His reaction, even if it was understandable, had stunned them. It seemed extraordinary for one normally so full of compassion and understanding. It was somehow quite out of character.

  They knew about the wedding, but none of them had been invited, not even Agnes who had aided and abetted their elopement. She managed to let it be known she was very hurt. The effect on Lally had been devastating. She had grown pathetically thin and had even stopped dying her hair which was slowly reverting to grey. She seemed to have lost all will to live and had no interest in life or the world about her.

  Dora, on a visit to her mother, was concerned about Lally.

  “People do die of a broken heart, you know,” she said.

  “Oh, don’t say that!” Eliza looked appalled. “Maybe I should go and speak to Alexander?”

  “You could try.”

  “I was always close to him.”

  “Yes you were. But be prepared to be snubbed.”

  March 1934

  Mary Martyn, as she now was, felt lonely and miserable in London with Alexander away all day. Her heart fell when she heard the front door close after him in the morning and his car starting outside. Sometimes she would hurry to the window and watch it drive away and vanish out of sight. She counted the hours until his return.

  Alexander was off to the bustle and excitement of work that he enjoyed, which occupied him all day, and sometimes all night, as he wrestled with a problem which prevented him sleeping. She knew he was anxious to make up for the time he had had off and, in a way, she felt guilty and blamed herself. Events had happened so quickly. They had got out of control and she knew that if she hadn’t threatened to run away none of this would have happened.

  But then they wouldn’t be married either. She would be languishing in an expensive finishing school in Switzerland, and he would probably be doing pretty much what he was doing now, only his mother, or his ‘adoptive mother’ as she was now coldly called, would be here looking after him. She might never have captured Alexander’s heart and away from her he might have met someone else.

  As it was, she was now a married woman expecting a child for which she felt totally unprepared, and he was alienated from the family that he’d loved.

  In many ways, rather as she’d feared, Mary hadn’t felt happy since her return to England. Too much had happened. At the beginning it had been all right: Lally and the Woodville family had welcomed them home (but not of course her mother), and Grandma Agnes had come over to greet them, rather proud of her part in their flight. But that had only lasted a few days. Even as Alexander had made preparations for the wedding in Wenham Church the truth about his birth had come out, and everything had changed.

  In her opinion it had changed for the worse.

  Mary knew that her attitude was unreasonable. She had everything she wanted, could possibly want. She had only to ask for something and it was hers. But money couldn’t buy you family and friends and, except for Alexander, she had neither.

  In the morning after a leisurely toilet she would consult with cook about dinner. Of course, she had no ideas of her own and always left it to cook. She knew that cook despised her because she was always dropping remarks about Lally and how good she was at everything, how skilled in all the ladylike arts.

  Having been snubbed by cook she then cooled off with a walk in the park, came back for a light lunch served usually by Gladys, with whom she enjoyed a chat. Mary would have liked to tell Gladys to take off her uniform, or put a coat over it and come to window-shop with her in Oxford Street.

  But, of course, she didn’t dare, so she went on her own. Down the length of Oxford Street and then Regent Street, though sometimes she would cut down along Bond Street where there were all the marvellous little boutiques selling jewellery, perf
umes, shoes and couture clothes. Sometimes there would be just one dummy in a window showing off some gorgeous garment, usually with a fox fur draped over one shoulder, with a long cigarette holder in its hand.

  Arriving in Piccadilly she would go to Swan & Edgar on the corner of the Circus where she looked around and had a cup of tea. Then it was time to wander home again, her spirits soaring at the thought that, in a hour or two, Alexander would come home and they would have that precious time together until he left again in the morning.

  This particular day in early spring they were having a dinner party that evening: something she dreaded. She felt so useless, so out of place with Alexander’s business friends and their wives – older, sophisticated people – who she was sure were so nice to her because they despised her; despised her youth, her inferiority, her poor dress sense, her shyness, her lack of knowledge about world affairs and her general awkwardness. She would have preferred to have stayed upstairs and had a tray in her room, but of course, it was out of the question. She had to be the hostess because Alexander wanted her there, and she was so anxious to do what he wished.

  She wanted to be a credit to him. She had had a long session with cook that morning, understanding nothing, approving everything without question and had then spent some time with Gladys discussing what she should wear. Now she was getting bigger nothing fitted or looked nice. So she hadn’t gone to the park in the morning but had a stroll there after lunch before visiting her hairdresser in George Street. She got home a little after four in time for tea.

  To her surprise Roberts opened the door as soon as she began to mount the steps and held it open for her.

  “Is there anything wrong, Roberts?” she asked.

  “No, madam.” The butler gave her a reassuring smile. “Mrs Parterre arrived a few minutes ago. I asked her to wait in the drawing room, madam.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely,” Mary exclaimed excitedly, as Roberts helped her off with her coat. Throwing her hat and gloves on the chair in the hall, she flew into the drawing room where Dora, arms outstretched, came to greet her.

  “It’s wonderful to see you,” Mary said as Dora hugged her and, for a few moments, the two women stood locked in a close embrace. Then they drew apart and gazed at each other.

  “You look marvellous,” Dora said.

  “You do too.”

  Dora, the customary cigarette in her fingers, wore trousers and a cashmere sweater over a man’s open-necked shirt. Her blonde hair was cropped and the little make-up she wore subtly applied. Mary thought she looked wonderful: vigorous and strong, as she wanted to be.

  “How’s Louise?”

  “She’s fine.” Dora sat down as Mary pointed to a chair. “And Jean?”

  “He’s fine too.”

  “Are they with you?”

  “No, I came over to see Mother and do a bit of shopping in London. I’m staying at Brown’s for a few days and thought I’d look you up. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. I’m thrilled.” Mary turned to Roberts who stood hovering in the doorway.

  “I’m sure Mrs Parterre would like tea, Roberts.”

  “Of course, madam.”

  “And is everything all right for the evening?”

  “I think everything is in order, madam.”

  “We’re having a dinner party,” Mary explained. “I do hope you can stay.”

  “Well ...” Dora looked down at her trousers. “I’ll have to go and change. Are you sure it will be all right?”

  “Of course. Pieter Heering is coming and some nice friends of ...” Mary hesitated for a fraction of a second “... of Mrs Martyn’s called the Schwartzes. He’s an art dealer. Then Jeremy and Nora Sydling. Jeremy is the financial director of the group and they were witnesses at our wedding. Oh, Dora,” Mary held out her hands again, “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. I miss ... well, I do miss family.”

  Dora nodded understandingly as Roberts and Gladys appeared with the afternoon tea.

  “This is Gladys.” Mary pointed to the young maid. “She’s a great friend and advises me on my clothes. Gladys, this is my cousin Dora.” Gladys coloured and bobbed in Dora’s direction. “Afternoon m’m.”

  “Good afternoon, Gladys.” Dora smiled.

  Gladys, covered with confusion, scuttled out of the room. Roberts, his face expressionless, said, “Should I pour tea, madam?”

  “I think we can manage, Roberts, thank you.”

  “Milk and sugar?” Mary asked standing by the tea tray.

  “Milk, no sugar, thanks.” Dora looked up as Mary brought her cup over to her.

  “Have you no other friends, Mary?”

  “Not yet.” Mary gave a rueful smile. “The wives of Alexander’s business colleagues are so much older than me, though everyone is very nice.”

  “So what do you do all day?”

  “I don’t do very much, frankly. There’s not very much for me to do. I go walking in the park or window-shopping along Oxford and Regent Street, and I wait for Alexander to come home. That’s all.”

  “I see.” Dora paused for a moment to drink her tea. “And how is Alexander?”

  “He’s very well. Very busy.”

  “Delighted about the baby?”

  “Oh, yes.

  “And are you well?” Dora looked at her keenly.

  “I am very well. The doctor has been a few times to check me over.”

  “Will you have the baby here, or in a nursing home?”

  “It’s not decided. Dora.” Mary hesitated and then suddenly the words came tumbling out, “I am very sorry about the rift between Alexander and his family, our family. I didn’t want it and I don’t think it’s necessary.”

  “It is very sad,” Dora agreed and put her cup and saucer back on the small table by her elbow.

  “Is that why you’ve come? To try and build a bridge?”

  “Not at all. I was in London and I wanted to see you and Alexander. I’m very fond of him.”

  “And he of you. He often talks about the way you taught him dressage. And, Dora, I do see the family’s point of view, but Alexander is very stubborn, he won’t see it.”

  “The family did behave –” Dora began, when the door opened and Alexander walked in. He stood for a few moments on the threshold taking in the scene. Then he gave a broad smile.

  “Dora, what a lovely surprise.” She rose and he crossed the room to kiss her. “How long have you been here?”

  “Not long.” They remained holding hands as she went on. “I’m visiting London for a few days and came on the off-chance. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “Of course I don’t mind. You must stay for dinner. We’re having a few people round. You know Pieter Heering, don’t you?”

  “Of course.” Once again she looked down at her trousers. “I shall have to go back to the hotel to change. In fact,” she glanced at her watch, “I think I’d better do that now. What time do you expect your guests?”

  “Seven thirty.”

  “That will give me time to bath and change. You’re sure I shan’t be in the way?”

  “Of course you won’t. It will be lovely to have you.”

  Dora could remember many dinners at this house in Montagu Square. It seemed very odd not to have Lally presiding at one end of the table, a consummately gracious hostess quietly overseeing the serving of the dinner while taking full part in the conversation and contributing to it. She was an intelligent, cultured woman who took a great interest in current affairs. She read The Times daily and was interested in the theatre and quite passionate about art. Dora had heard of the Schwartzes, but had not met them before. Tonight they had brought their daughter, Irene, an interesting-looking woman of about twenty-two or three with short black curly hair and piercing dark eyes. She wore a lot of make-up, a flamboyant, short, brightly-coloured dress and a number of pieces of chunky costume jewellery.

  Alma Schwartz, had obviously once been a beauty and had the quiet dignity of advanc
ing age. Her hair was softly waved and greying. She wore a long-sleeved black velvet dinner dress with a double choker of pearls at her throat.

  The talk at the dinner table had mostly revolved round Germany and the threat posed by Hitler, which some people took very seriously indeed, Pieter Heering among them.

  “Germany is re-arming at a much greater rate than was agreed under the Treaty of Versailles. She is also increasing the number of troops she is supposed to have.”

  “When I last saw you you talked of pulling out of Berlin altogether,” Alexander said to Reuben Schwartz. “Have you done that?”

  “I have transferred most of my assets, but while Irene is at art college there I have to have a home for her. I am hoping that she will come and settle in London with us, maybe finish her studies at the Slade School.”

  “I have all my friends in Berlin.” Irene, who like her parents, spoke fluent English, shrugged. “I don’t want to leave them.”

  “You will soon make friends in London.” Her mother tried to sound persuasive, but there was no hiding the concern on her face. “It would make us very happy, Irene, if you would agree to move here. Then we can leave Germany for ever.”

  “But I don’t want to leave Germany for ever,” Irene said indignantly. “Berlin is my home. I can’t believe that Hitler won’t be overthrown soon.”

  “That is not the view of my business colleagues.” Pieter Heering sounded solemn. “Many of them are shutting down their businesses in Germany.”

  “Then what will happen to the German people if everyone deserts them?” Irene protested. “They will be poorer than they are now, and that will give more power to Hitler and those who support him.”

  “But you must take this anti-Semitism seriously.” Jeremy Sydling had been silent for most of the conversation but had listened carefully. He was a quiet, rather solemn man who, as director of financial affairs, had enormous influence in the Martyn-Heering business. Beside him, his wife Nora took an intelligent interest in the conversation without contributing very much to it.

  Mary, however, in Dora’s opinion, appeared lost, quite out of her depth, as the conversation progressed. She gave no silent directions to the staff, as Lally used to, but left everything to Roberts whose many years of experience meant that he was perfectly capable of dealing unaided with the situation. Courses came and went with almost military precision: soup, hors d’oeuvres, the entrée of roast English lamb, a variety of cheeses and finally dessert. The carefully selected wines – a Chablis with the first course, a fine claret with the lamb and a Sauternes with the pudding – were impeccably prepared and served.