‘Well, do me a favour,’ said Nick, ‘you work round yours with the help of your dad, and then find out if I could come and ask her if three pounds a week would be enough.’
‘Enough for what?’ asked Annabelle.
‘Four pounds would be a lot better, of course,’ said Nick.
‘Better for what?’
‘Roses round the door?’
‘Nick?’ Annabelle’s colour sprang, flushing her face. Her brown eyes swam with light.
‘Well, I like the sound of it myself, don’t you? It’s an old saying, of course, but it still sounds all right. If your mum thinks three pounds is enough as a starter—’
‘Never mind my mum, what about me? Say it to me.’
‘Well, I’m asking you, Annabelle, would three pounds a week be enough for someone special? You’re very special.’
‘Oh, I do agree, Nick, I am.’ Annabelle laughed. ‘But so are you. Are we going to be very special together?’
‘I thought if we could get officially engaged on your eighteenth birthday, and married in five years when I’ll probably be earning a fiver a week, which is a lot of oof—’
‘Five years? Blow that for one of your funnies,’ said Annabelle, ‘it’s going to be early next summer. You mean it, don’t you?’
‘Yes, seriously.’
‘Oh, that’s nice, isn’t it nice? Love me, do you?’
‘Yes, seriously,’ smiled Nick.
‘Well, seriously,’ said Annabelle, ‘on twelve pounds a month we could get a mortgage on a lovely little house.’
‘And you wouldn’t mind about my Pa’s unfortunate record?’
‘Nick, I’ve told you and told you, that’s got nothing to do with you and me,’ said Annabelle. ‘It’s his problem, not ours.’ In any case, Nick’s father was doing an honest job now, and Mrs Harrison always said he wouldn’t have gone off the straight and narrow if he hadn’t unfortunately got himself mixed up with common miscreants. He was never common himself, she told Annabelle, just unlucky. And then, Annabelle quite liked him, he was a real charmer. Her mum would come to like him too once she’d accepted Nick as a son-in-law. ‘Nick, can I have a forthcoming engagement kiss?’
He gave her one, a warm and lingering one. Her knees went wobbly, so he gave her another to help her recover, but it didn’t do a great deal for her knees. Still, he did help to keep her on her feet. She made a faint-voiced suggestion that he’d now better face up to the whole family.
‘Face up to them?’ said Nick. ‘Why, are they going to chuck things at me, then?’
‘If they do, I’ll chuck them back,’ said Annabelle. ‘No, you silly, you’ve first got to speak to my mum and dad and ask them if they mind you marrying someone very special. Me. My dad won’t give me away as if I’m a set of cigarette cards, you know. Tell them about your rise, that you’ll be able to afford a mortgage on a nice house, that you’ll jump off a bridge if you can’t marry me, and – oh, yes, tell them we want a knees-up.’
‘A knees-up? Now? Tonight?’
‘No, at the wedding reception, you silly. It’s a family tradition.’
Nick laughed, put his arm around her waist and they went to find her mum and dad.
Lizzy gave in gracefully. Ned didn’t have to give in. He’d accepted months ago that Annabelle wasn’t going to have anyone but Nick.
Chapter Ten
It was late Sunday afternoon and cloudy when Polly arrived in Albert, having caught a morning ferry out of Dover. She pulled up outside the estaminet. Patrons sitting at the outside tables glanced at her with interest as she alighted.
‘Bonjour, messieurs.’
‘Bonjour, ma’moiselle.’
She was known.
Entering, she saw Eloise, serving a customer with coffee. The girl glanced and an immediate smile danced.
‘Ma’moiselle! You are back so soon?’
‘It seems so, doesn’t it?’ said Polly.
‘Uncle Jacques, see who is back already!’
Jacques came out from behind the bar and shook hands with Polly.
‘To stay a little while with us again?’ he said.
‘No, no, I won’t impose on you this time, Jacques, it wouldn’t be fair,’ she said. He and his wife did not run an inn or a pension de famille, only their wine and coffee bar. ‘I’ve reserved a room at the town hotel.’ She had decided, in view of Boots’s arrival on Tuesday, that the hotel would suit her better. Exciting things might happen, for she had also reserved a room for him, by arrangement.
‘You are as welcome to stay here as before, ma’moiselle.’
‘I know, Jacques, and thank you,’ said Polly, ‘but this is a rather special visit.’
‘How special, ma’moiselle?’ asked Eloise.
‘Special for me, and perhaps for you and Jacques,’ said Polly.
‘Ah?’ said Jacques.
‘I’ll speak to you sometime this evening, Jacques,’ said Polly. ‘Now, if you please, I’d like some coffee.’
‘Yes, ma’moiselle,’ said Eloise. ‘Have you come back to tell me you’ve found out who my father was and if I have English relatives?’
Polly smiled.
‘We’ll see,’ she said, and sat down. Eloise brought her the coffee, and Polly took her time to enjoy it, while the girl and Jacques attended to their patrons, who gradually began to depart for their homes for early dinner, after which families would take their traditional summer Sunday evening stroll. Before returning to the hotel, Polly received a not unexpected question from Eloise.
‘Ma’moiselle, are you able to tell me something about my father?’
‘I want to talk to you about him tomorrow, Eloise, when perhaps as it’s Monday, your least busy day, your uncle will let me take you out for another picnic. Then we can enjoy a long talk.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he will spare me for a few hours,’ said Eloise. ‘We’re both so pleased to see you again.’
Polly dined at the hotel, and when she was on her way back to the estaminet, Albert was bathed in soft warm twilight, and people were sitting at the pavement tables of cafes. Polly, gregarious, did not take long to establish herself at an inside table with some of Jacques’ old-established patrons, who welcomed her with some extravagant Gallic flourishes. She was in a quite different frame of mind from her previous visit, she was much more her usual self, extrovert, brittle and amusing.
Later, a lot later, when Eloise had retired to bed, and Madame Duval had intruded her quiet self for a few seconds to say good night to the returned visitor, Polly was given the opportunity to talk to Jacques before he too retired. She had decided it would be the right thing to speak to him first. Jacques listened, absorbed in her story of Eloise’s English father. Sometimes he nodded, sometimes he shook his head, sometimes he rubbed his chin, and sometimes he made a brief comment.
‘Ah, yes, the war.’
‘One accepted such things.’
‘Astonishing, astonishing.’
And so on.
At the end he rubbed his chin again, and said, ‘Remarkable, ma’moiselle, and all because you decided to come and see me a little while ago. And now, of course, you wish to tell Eloise?’
‘You are her uncle, you’ve given her a home, and you and Madame Duval have looked after her since her mother died, and you have both shown how much you care for her. When I tell her about her father, and that he’s coming to see her, it will mean, won’t it, that you might have to face losing her.’
‘That will be for Eloise to say, that will be her decision,’ said Jacques. ‘Either she’ll wish to go or to stay, and I shall say nothing to move her one way or the other, but allow her to choose for herself. Monsieur Adams, who you say will make an admirable father, is her father, Ma’moiselle Polly, and it’s his right to speak to her and to ask if she would like to be with him and his family. And it’s her right to make up her own mind. I would only suggest you emphasize the reason why Monsieur Adams did not return to her mother.’
Polly, Boots’s ambas
sador, said, ‘I’ll do that, Jacques. Eloise mustn’t be given the impression that he didn’t care enough for her mother. You’ll let me take her out tomorrow so that I can talk to her without any interruptions or distractions?’
‘But of course,’ said Jacques, his demeanour that of an unworried man, which made Polly think he had little fear of losing Eloise.
Albert was sunny but quiet the following day, Monday. Many shops were closed. Mondays in French towns could be very much like an English Sunday. Polly motored into the rolling countryside with Eloise, and with the girl’s knowledge of the area they found a very pleasant and secluded spot for their picnic, which Jacques and his wife had insisted on putting together. Not until it was over did Polly begin to cater to the girl’s ever-present interest in the English sergeant who had been her mother’s lover.
‘Yes, yes, Eloise, I’m going to tell you everything about him.’
‘Ma’moiselle? Do you know everything about him, then? If so, how do you know? You said you never met him.’
‘Not during the war, no. All the same, your father, Eloise, is a very old and dear friend of mine.’
‘Is? Is?’ Eloise’s mouth fell open.
‘Listen,’ said Polly, and told her story carefully and at length. Eloise had a hand over her mouth, smothering little exhalations of startled and astonished breath, her eyes dilating, her expressions indicative of every kind of emotion. Polly was very careful indeed to explain exactly why Sergeant Robert Adams had not gone back to see Eloise’s mother after he had survived the Somme. He could not, he was blind, and unable to offer her anything but the responsibility of looking after him. He had no work, nor could he do any, not even if her mother’s parents had been willing to offer him a farm job.
‘Ma’moiselle, oh, how terrible, to have been blinded. But could he not have written, or have someone write for him?’
‘He thought it best not to, Eloise. If your mother loved him, perhaps she would have replied saying she didn’t mind his blindness. Your father, not knowing about you, didn’t want her to sacrifice herself, and so he took himself out of her life.’
‘There, that showed, didn’t it, that he loved her?’ said Eloise. ‘He gave her up because of his blindness, because he thought he would be a burden to her. Ma’moiselle, I think it was he who made the sacrifice, don’t you?’
Oh, ye heavenly gods, thought Polly, am I now to say greater love hath no man for a woman? This dear child is never going to think of Boots in any prosaic way. How on earth did he climb out of the back streets of Walworth and become what he is? He was already a fascination to a girl who had never laid eyes on him, even though he was her father.
‘I have to tell you, Eloise, that he married a young woman who lived next door to him and was willing to be his comfort and his eyes.’ Those words, of course, almost stuck in Polly’s throat.
‘Yes, I see,’ said Eloise, ‘and I understand. But how sad that he did not know about me, and yet how wonderful to know he’s alive.’
Polly finished her story by telling the flushed, entranced girl that her father eventually had an operation that gave him back the sight of his right eye. His left eye, however, responded only partially to the operation, and was almost useless. It had a very lazy look that was part of his extraordinary charm.
‘Charm, ma’moiselle? Extraordinary?’
I’ll give my stupid self away in a moment, thought Polly.
‘Oh, perhaps that’s the wrong word, Eloise. Gigolos and matinee idols are charming, but don’t appeal to all of us. Eloise, your father will be here tomorrow, to—’
‘Tomorrow? He’s coming to Albert tomorrow? My father?’ Eloise put a hand to her mouth again. ‘Is this true?’
‘Yes, Eloise, he wants to see you and to talk to you.’
‘Oh, the blessed saints,’ breathed Eloise, ‘how am I ever going to sleep tonight? Am I to put my best dress on tomorrow, and have my hair done?’
‘I don’t think he’ll ask you to do that, I think he’ll be happy just to see you as you are most days of the week,’ said Polly. ‘What do you say, Eloise, to meeting him where he met your mother, by the farm? That would be better than in the estaminet, don’t you think, where there’ll be distractions?’
‘Ma’moiselle, do you think my knees will hold me up if I meet him there?’
Polly laughed.
‘I’m sure they will,’ she said.
‘Ah, you yourself may be sure, ma’moiselle, but I tell you, even now my knees are shaking.’
‘Eloise, I think your father is going to like you,’ said Polly. ‘And he’s going to ask, of course, if you wish to go to England with him.’
Eloise sighed.
‘Ma’moiselle, there are my Aunt Marie and my Uncle Jacques.’
‘I know,’ said Polly, ‘and your father knows too. But he doesn’t want you to worry. He wants you to do only what you wish to do yourself. But you understand, don’t you, that now he knows about you he can’t resist meeting you.’
‘Oh, I’m glad he wants to see me, very glad,’ said Eloise. ‘Does he have children at home?’
‘A son and a daughter, Eloise.’
‘I have a brother and sister?’
‘Yes.’
‘How am I ever going to sleep tonight?’ said Eloise again.
Chapter Eleven
The car slipped out of the traffic in Westminster Bridge Road and turned right into Lower Marsh. It slowed and stopped. Out stepped Sammy. Street kids, still on holiday from school, materialized like magic.
‘Cor, is that yer own car, mister?’
‘Right first time,’ said Sammy. They eyed him speculatively. He eyed them knowingly. He had a soft spot for street kids. He’d been one himself. An urchin, in fact, with Chinese Lady going on at him about disgracing her by looking like a ragamuffin. He always tried to make her understand that a ragamuffin look made nice old ladies feel sorry for him and give him errands to do for a penny a time. The soft spot he felt for street kids related not only to the old days in Walworth, but also to the fact that he was now an established dad. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I’ve got a call to make, so while I’m gone can I trust you not to nick me wheels and me lamps?’
‘Mister, we don’t ’ardly do any nickin’,’ said a girl kid.
‘We’ll look after it for yer, mister,’ said a plump boy kid.
‘Just for a penny each,’ said the girl kid.
‘Sounds fair,’ said Sammy. ‘Let’s see, how many of you?’
‘Six,’ said the plump lad.
‘Seven,’ said the girl. ‘Well, there’s me bruvver as well, ’e’s just round the corner somewhere. I won’t let no-one touch it, mister, I’ll bash any of ’em that tries to.’
‘Are you in charge?’ asked Sammy.
‘Not ’alf she ain’t,’ said a skinny boy, ‘she ain’t called Basher Bunty for nuffink. She give Georgie Peacock a shiner yesterday for standin’ on ’er foot.’
‘I’ll give you one in a minute, Ernie Spriggs,’ said Basher Bunty, a fearsome ten-year-old. ‘Mister, shall us mind yer motorcar for yer?’
‘You’re on,’ said Sammy, and fished in his pocket. He brought out five pennies, a sixpence and a threepenny bit. ‘See that?’ he said, the coins resting in his palm.
‘Crikey, it’s real money,’ said Basher Bunty.
‘It’s tuppence each,’ said Sammy, ‘includin’ your brother round the corner somewhere, and you’ll get it when I come back. Fair?’
The kids decided not to quarrel with that kind of offer.
‘Cor, yer a sport, mister, a toff,’ said one.
‘Right,’ said Sammy, ‘keep your mince pies on me roadster, then.’ He put the money back into his pocket, lifted three parcels out of the car, gave the kids a smile and walked away. He knew about street kids, he knew they liked a deal. It was born in them. Of course, mutual trust had to be established first, and mutual trust was born of the right kind of dialogue.
Mrs Rachel Goodman, answering a ring on the
doorbell, went down to answer it. Sammy, laden with the parcels, smiled at her.
‘Mrs Rachel Goodman, I presume?’ he said.
‘Sammy? What a pleasure, ain’t it?’ said Rachel, whose finishing school education had never prevented her cockney origins from surfacing at appropriate moments.
‘Excuse me not raisin’ me titfer to you,’ said Sammy, ‘but I’m lumbered.’
‘I can see you’re wearing a string of parcels, Sammy, but not your titfer,’ said Rachel.
‘So I’m not,’ said Sammy, ‘left it in the car, didn’t I? It’ll be all right, I’ve got some kids keepin’ an eye on things. Listen, can’t stop, so might I dispose of the parcels by placin’ them in yer gracious arms?’
‘Of course you can stop,’ said Rachel, lustrous, velvety, and a high-class picture of health and beauty. ‘I should let you disappear when you’re on my doorstep? Not likely. What’s in the parcels? No, never mind, come up first, lovey.’
‘Five minutes, then,’ said Sammy, stepping in. Rachel closed the door, and he followed her up the stairs to the spacious and well-appointed flat she and her family shared with her father. Her father, Isaac Moses, was out, her husband Benjamin at his office. Her two daughters, Rebecca, ten, and Leah, seven, were also out, with friends, she said. ‘Do I take it you’re alone, Mrs Goodman?’ said Sammy, placing the parcels on a settee.
‘Not now you’re here, Sammy,’ said Rachel, ‘I get lucky sometimes.’
‘Well, Rachel,’ said Sammy, ‘on the grounds that our wedded respectability will be better off if I push off immediate, I’ll do that.’
‘My life, have I ever taken advantage of you?’ asked Rachel.
‘I don’t recollect same,’ said Sammy.
‘And have you ever taken advantage of me?’
‘Would I?’ said Sammy.
‘You could try,’ said Rachel. Her affection for him was deep-rooted. Had it not been for her religion, she would have chosen him long ago as her lifelong partner. But whereas Polly was an ever-present danger to Boots and his marriage vows, Rachel never had been and never would be a serious threat to Sammy and Susie. She was a faithful wife and caring mother. However, that did not mean she never had the kind of thoughts about Sammy that she kept to herself. In her younger days and in the vernacular of the time, Sammy had been her one and only. Sammy had always been a character, and was now so sharp that even Old Nick himself would find it hard to put one over on him. But he was also a man in the best sense of the word, as were all Chinese Lady’s three sons in Rachel’s opinion. She wondered how they would react and how they would fare when another war with Germany landed on the doorsteps of Britain. Her father was convinced it would happen, that Hitler was intent on conquest, and that Britain and France would have to fight him. Rachel asked why. For the sake of humanity and to save the Jews of Europe, said her father. Some are already saving themselves, he said, by coming to Britain or going to America. Hitler, he said, is evil personified. Rachel, dismissing uneasy thoughts, said lightly to Sammy, ‘Such sighing nights I had in my teens, lovey, that you never took even the smallest advantage of me.’
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