by Maggie Ford
“I don’t want you to leave.” It sounded like pleading. “I don’t think I could manage without you. But I can’t continue being your boss, Will. I’ve been thinking. I want you to come into the business. We will get a really good man in to take over your job, but you will stand alongside me.”
For a while Goodridge said nothing. He stood, taller than Edwin, gazing around the lively restaurant, taking his time. Finally, he said, “Your family would never stand for it.”
“I’ll make them,” burst out Edwin. “We’re meeting here on Boxing Day, the whole family. I will raise it then.”
“I think not, Mr Edwin,” said Goodridge. “It’s very sad, but I can see no way out but for me to leave. It’s not only the manner in which we address each other. You and I know what our relationship is. The problem is, so will all the staff in time, and that would make for very unhappy working conditions. But don’t worry, Mr Edwin, I shall not go away. I will be there, in my own flat, if you need any advice from me.”
“But you won’t be here when a crisis arises.”
He felt Goodridge’s eyes bore into his. “Isn’t it about time you faced up to the fact that all of us must stand alone in the end? Your uncle did. So did your father, for all his ways. We are but little people, Edwin. The world dictates to us and all we can do is hope we do our best. Some try to manipulate it and think they do a good job, but in the end it just goes on without us. The world isn’t going to wait for you. I’m not saying take what you can and run. I’m saying work with what you’re offered – in your case learning to stand on your own and not rely on others. We all have to finally learn to come to terms with what life has in store for us and face it, alone. Work hard at it, have faith in your own abilities and – what is it they say – nail your colours to the mast. You have Helen to work for now. This is your restaurant. Be your own man, Edwin. You’ll manage well enough and make it what it was destined to be.”
“What will you do?” repeated Edwin as the long speech ended.
“I’ll find something.”
“I intend to make sure you’ll be absolutely comfortable, Will. And I still intend to speak to my family, no matter what you say. You deserve some recognition of what you’ve done for this place and I’m going to make sure you get it.”
He heard the determination ringing in his own voice, but even if he hadn’t, it reflected in the older man’s eyes, and at that precise moment he knew he could stand alone, that he had indeed become his own man. Goodridge would live to be proud of him.
Eight
Time was going so quickly, her mind taken up with her fast approaching wedding day. Already the end of April. Everything else merely skimmed over the surface of her mind – talk of a grand new motorway, the newspaper strike, Churchill resigning, Anthony Eden taking over as prime minister.
What did concern Helen was not the preparations for her September wedding, but the wedding dress, still to be chosen, and here lay a nagging question. If what she suspected was correct it wouldn’t even fit by the time she walked down the aisle, carrying all before her as the saying went.
Last month she hadn’t come on. She’d put it down to nerves even though a little devil in her head kept saying something else. She and Edwin had always played it safe after that first mad moment last November. And when nothing happened as a result, Helen felt she could breathe again. So when, after so long being careful, another mad moment had came over them in February – the weather terrible with thick snow and ice even in the capital, she relenting to going with Edwin up to his warm, cosy penthouse – she’d felt confident that as she hadn’t fallen that first unprotected time, she wouldn’t this time. But she must have. This month’s period hadn’t arrived either.
Low-spirited, she huddled up to the electric fire she had put on in the living room, feeling cold from the inside out despite a balmy April evening that held promise of a fine summer to come. Beside her, Edwin held her hand protectively, as if that could help. He was as worried as her. This was to be a society-type wedding, newspapers, cameras, the history of Letts and its young owner emblazoned over inside pages not too far from the main headlines.
“If my reckoning is correct,” she whispered, “I’ll be seven months. I shall look like a galleon under full sail.” It sounded like a joke, but didn’t feel like one. “Everyone talking, pointing, smirking, I can’t go through with it, Edwin.”
He took in a deep, alarmed breath. “You mean you don’t want to marry me?”
“Of course I want to marry you. But September – darling, we can’t wait until September.”
He was staring into the two glowing bars of the four-bar electric fire, not looking at her. She too stared at them, her face flushed and hot from their dry radiation. She and Edwin were alone, her father at the restaurant, having agreed to retirement next month with a more than generous pension suggested by Edwin.
“Darling, we’re going to have to bring the date forward.” She was still whispering, feeling oddly loath to have the whole room hear her voice.
“It’s all more or less arranged,” said Edwin, inadequately, causing a small stab of anger to rise up inside her. She turned to face him.
“Oh yes, we must go ahead as planned. Doesn’t matter about me being the laughing stock of the century.”
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Then why say it? Surely we can cancel things, bring the date forward and no one will argue. God, Edwin, you’re laying out enough on this wedding; I’m sure the caterers and the people doing the venue, and everyone else, can bend a little, considering the money they’ll be making.”
He met her angry hazel eyes, his own filled with wretched indecision. “But are you really sure you’re pregnant? If we do all this and then you—”
Her voice interrupting him rang out loudly enough for all the neighbourhood to hear. “For God’s sake, Edwin, I should know! I’m the one who’s pregnant. I’m always as regular as clockwork. It has to be that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Then we’ve got to do some thinking before it’s too late.” Now he was beginning to be decisive. With that new attitude he put his arm around her shoulders and drew her to him, in charge now.
“First thing in the morning I’ll start sorting things out. Don’t worry yourself, darling. It’ll all be done. We’ll bring the wedding forward to June. You’ll only be four months if you are—” He paused, then hurried on lest she had noticed the error. “You won’t be showing enough for people to notice and you could have your dress designed to help disguise anything.”
Again he paused, this time to regard her with something like fear. “Unless you had it in mind to do something about it.”
“No!” She knew what he meant. “Did you?” she challenged.
“No, not if you want it. I just see it as a symbol of our love, Helen. I would have been devastated if you’d said you wanted to get rid of it. I don’t really mind what people say. It’s ours and we’ll cherish it.”
His arm about her tightened, bringing her even closer until their lips almost met. “Now I’m getting used to it, my lovely darling, I’ve realised it’s what I want. One of the things I want. I want you for my wife and I want our baby. So don’t fret any more. I’ll sort it all out.”
With that their lips met, and with nothing to lose they made love, free of constriction, in front of the blazing electric bars that seemed hardly needed now, and it was the best yet, Helen thought as she gave herself up to him.
* * *
“I don’t know what’s the matter with Hugh. I’ve still not heard from him and it’s only one week to the wedding. I can’t understand it.”
Edwin had sent out all the revised invitations to family and friends, his excuse for bringing it forward that September had seemed the wrong month for weddings, that June was preferable. He’d apologised for any inconvenience, requesting replies from those still wanting to come. Everyone had replied, agreeing innocently to his choice, with the exception of Hugh, who not only hadn’t res
ponded to either invitation but had blatantly ignored Edwin’s request that he be best man.
“Perhaps he’s moved,” said Helen. “Theatre people do move around.”
“He’s in touch with the rest of the family,” said Edwin. “Aunt Victoria told me when I saw her last month. He had moved, so maybe he didn’t get our first invitation. But he knew from the family we were getting married and that I wanted him as my best man. She gave me an address in Birmingham so I wrote there, but not a damned peep! I can’t think what’s got into him. We’ve never been all that close, but I don’t know what I’ve done to him to make him ignore me like this.”
Helen kept silent. Edwin was perplexed but deep down she felt she knew the reason. Hugh had taken that episode at Christmas much more to heart than she’d thought. She still had his ring somewhere at the back of a drawer. Had it been given in the spirit of a Christmas present she’d have shown it to Edwin, exclaiming how generous his cousin was, but they’d both known there had been more to it than that. But surely he must know that with the wedding a week away there was no hope for him and that he had to accept the fact with good grace and honour her special day. She was angry, even as she smiled comfortingly at Edwin and said, “We’ll hear from him soon.”
* * *
In the flat upstairs over the restaurant, the phone rang.
Edwin, getting ready for church on his big day and still hurting from his cousin’s continued silence, a friend named Gordon Greaves whom he’d known for years having stepped into the breach as best man, irritably answered its harsh summons.
“Yes?” he blasted while Gordon stepped away from him to fiddle with the double white carnations to go into the buttonholes.
“Edwin, old man!” an animated voice blared in his ear. “Sorry I’ve not been in touch earlier. So much is happening. Listen, I’ve landed a part in Mother Courage – Theatre Royal, Stratford. Not on Avon – East London. I want you to come and see it. I’m in London at the moment.”
“Hugh, it’s my wedding day,” Edwin reminded him.
There came a moment of silence, then, “Yes, I know, old man. I should have replied to your invitation, I know. But it completely slipped my mind. But I’d love to come and see you married. I’m just round the comer at the moment, and I’ll be at the church to witness it all.”
“I asked you to be my best man, Hugh. Can you imagine how I’m feeling, you not responding in any way?”
“I know. I’m sorry, old man. I can’t apologise enough. But I had my reasons. Listen, we’ll be there, God’s honour!”
“We?”
“Glenda and I. Oh, I didn’t tell you. Glenda is an actress. Pretty good one too. Glenda Dearing. Well, she and I have got engaged. I should have told you, old man, but there. I’ll introduce her to you at the church. She’s a real cracker! Anyway, see you in church, Edwin. Best of luck!”
“Hugh!” burst out Edwin, but the line had already gone dead.
* * *
Circulating among the hundred or so guests attending the reception, Helen was tired but happy. It had gone really splendidly. Not one hitch. It had been a great relief to see Hugh turn up out of the blue, a woman on his arm whom he declared to be his fiancée. As tall and slim as any model, and as stunning as any film actress, she clung to him as though fearing he might vanish.
“We hope to follow you in a few months from now,” he said brightly, “but it’ll probably be in a registry office – neither of us are particularly fond of all that hoo-ha church stuff.” And he’d invited them, as already mentioned to Edwin on the phone, to see him and Glenda at the Theatre Royal.
“Show you what I’m made of.” He’d winked at Helen, a little too suggestively for her liking, ending with, “Acting-wise, that is.”
Left wondering if he really fancied the girl he said he was going to marry, and made a little uncomfortable by the way his wink had brought a funny feeling to her stomach, Helen shrugged it off and congratulated herself that her wedding dress had been a total winner, all things considered.
It seemed her slim figure was the type that wasn’t going to show her condition for ages. No one would have cottoned on to her pregnancy, though she had striven to choose a suitable dress, much to the consternation of the saleswoman in the exclusive boutique Edwin had made her go to. “Wouldn’t madam prefer something more clinging?” she had enquired, as though her customer’s choice of the billowy, lacy creation was an affront to her personally. “With such a lovely figure it seems a pity to hide it.” But Helen had been adamant.
She’d also chosen her going-away outfit with care. In pale grey silk, the coat was long and loose, leaving one still able to visualise the slim figure inside it.
“By the time the baby’s born,” she said to Edwin after they had departed for their honeymoon in the Channel Islands, “people will have forgotten when our marriage was.”
“By then who’ll care?” he replied flippantly, his arm around her in the chauffeur-driven car taking them to Southampton for the boat they would catch. It was to be a simple honeymoon. In accordance with her wishes, he had played down the wedding, with no publicity they could help though one or two news reporters had turned up – Letts had become popular enough again for its young owner to be worth a small column in the society pages.
“I wonder what I will have,” murmured Helen as she snuggled a little closer to Edwin.
She hoped it would be a girl, but guessed Edwin would wish for a boy, to carry on the business. He was obsessed with his business. Even being absent from it on this week’s honeymoon, Helen suspected, tore at him, but she smiled indulgently.
She’d bidden a tearful goodbye to her father, saying she’d visit him immediately they came back. How would it be for him, on his own from now on? For the time being she and Edwin would live in the penthouse. He did intend for them to get a house. “But a really nice one,” he said. “I need to take my time.”
Edwin was one to do just that, steady, reliable, but so thorough she sometimes thought of a snail – getting there, even if he was a little slow about it. These past months she had noticed it even more. Again she smiled. She had a good husband here.
She’d thought Dad was exacting and deliberate enough, but Edwin beat him hands down. Fortunately he and Edwin had grown more at ease with each other. Edwin had told her of his initial awkwardness, not sure what to call him. Now that they’d settled for first names, it meant that her father no longer felt the need to leave Letts. She was glad and relieved. What would he have done with nothing to work for? Letts was his life.
Edwin too was thinking about William. A week before the wedding he had made another attempt to try to get the family to allow his future father-in-law into the business.
“After all,” he told his Aunt Victoria at her home, her husband Harold and her daughter Sheila, minor shareholders, also present, “we owe it to him. Without him I’d never have brought that place back to life. It’s thriving and all thanks to him.”
Hugh should have been here. Edwin hadn’t bought all his shares off him. Yet he was showing his worth by not even bothering to reply or be present. Edwin glowered around the dining-room table at the remaining three.
His aunt had been aghast by Edwin’s suggestion – aghast and abrupt. “You want an outsider brought in? This is a family business, and it should remain so. No, Edwin, quite out of the question.” She was so like her own mother, his grandmother, whom he’d heard had been a veritable matriarch of the Edwardian type. Aunt Victoria either took after her or aimed to be like her. But it cut no ice with him and he’d glared back at her.
“Are you enjoying this year’s profits, Aunt?” He didn’t wait for her reply. “It’s not my doing. It’s William Goodridge’s doing. He holds it together. I’m still learning. He deserves some recognition.”
“Then promise him a substantial retirement pension,” came the retort.
“I want more than that. And anyway, he should have a say in the business. Uncle Henry gave him a few shares years ag
o, and you agreed to that.”
“Because we were railroaded into it,” put in Harold, leaning forward to emphasise the point. “He pushed until we finally gave in – saying the amount was too negligible to argue about.”
“As I’m saying now,” Edwin pointed out. “He still has those few shares.”
“It was very remiss of Henry to have made so much of the man. But, no, I won’t have this Goodridge coming to family board meetings putting in his say. Tell him that we thank him very much for all he has done in the past, and let it go at that.”
“Thank him!” Edwin had retorted. “You should be going down on your knees in gratitude to him.”
But in the end he had come away with no agreement reached. Now though, it didn’t matter so much. William was staying on, as restaurant manager and his adviser and friend, as he’d once been to Uncle Henry, and he seemed content enough with that – maybe even relieved at not being included in family meetings, aware that he would always be considered an outsider.
Nine
“Edwin! Darling! I think it’s started.”
Edwin awoke from a deep sleep to the sound of Helen’s voice and of her hand shaking him by the shoulder. For a moment he could not think where he was, what time of day or night it could be.
“You’ve got to get up, darling!” Helen’s frightened voice broke through his befuddled senses. “I think the baby’s coming. What’s the time?”
Now he was fully awake, ripped into consciousness in the way an animal is when presented with a fight or flight situation. He sat bolt upright in bed, his mind alert. He shot a glance at the bedside clock.