скачать книгу бесплатно
‘I was the one who talked him into having the op. The tumour had grown to the point it was going to kill him or leave him severely impaired. If he dies now I shall be left wondering if he might have had a few more months if he’d refused …’
Angela’s heart went out to him. She suspected he wouldn’t take the death of a friend easily and she wished she could have gone with him to support him. However, Mark would never have allowed it.
She was reaching for her jacket, ready to leave for the evening, when the phone rang. Angela hesitated and then reached for the receiver. ‘Angela Morton here.’
‘Angela, my love,’ her father’s voice came down the line. ‘How are you? I’m planning to pop up to town this weekend, and I thought perhaps dinner and the theatre later? I can stay overnight and we’ll have lunch the next day before I go back.’
‘Oh, Daddy, it is lovely to hear from you, and I’d love to go out to dinner with you on Saturday. I’ll try to get tickets for a show. Shall I book them and a room for you?’
‘No, I’ll see to the room,’ he said. ‘It’ll be good to see you, and we need to have a talk. It’s about your mother – but we’ll discuss all that when I see you.’
‘Is something the matter? Mother isn’t worse, is she?’ Angela’s mother had been drinking heavily for months before her breakdown the previous Christmas, when it had all come out. It had taken months to persuade her to go to a special clinic in Switzerland for treatment, and in the end it was Mark who had persuaded her to do so.
‘No. In fact from the sound of it she’s feeling better. I’ll tell you all the news at the weekend. I won’t keep you.’
‘Yes, all right. Lovely to hear from you. I’ll look forward to the weekend.’
She frowned as she replaced the receiver. Her mother’s behaviour had been erratic for some time, but the breakdown last Christmas had come as a shock. Despite his attempt at reassurance, Angela couldn’t help feeling anxious about whatever it was her father wanted to tell her.
Mark had known of Mrs Hendry’s illness for months but he hadn’t told Angela – and she’d been angry with him for that. Perhaps that was one of the causes of this rift between them. Angela had been in the wrong; Mark could not betray a confidence, and it was her father who should have told her but he’d kept it to himself. In the aftermath of the breakdown Angela had offered to give up her work at St Saviour’s, but her father wouldn’t hear of it.
As she set off homeward along Halfpenny Street, Angela’s thoughts were preoccupied with things she could do nothing about. She turned the corner and passed the newly restored and recently reopened pub with its hanging baskets bringing a touch of welcome colour. The scent of the blooms was no longer overpowered by the tang of city drains, thanks to the efforts of the road sweeper who’d been hired to keep the pavements and gutters clean. He was an ex-soldier – his limp a relic of the war, if she was not mistaken – and he never failed to tip his cap in greeting whenever they passed on the street.
She could hear the tooting of a car horn somewhere and out on the river there was a hooter blaring from one of the barges. The vacant spaces left by Hitler’s bombs made the area seem more rundown than it actually was, but some headway had been made in clearing the rubble and one or two new buildings were going up, bringing a sense that things were moving on at last. There were still shortages, and rationing had yet to be lifted on essential items such as sugar, butter, canned and dried fruit, chocolate biscuits, clothing and petrol. Yet there was a growing feeling, encouraged by upbeat newspaper reports, that they were finally leaving those dark years of war and devastation behind.
More and more of late, Angela was aware of a vague sense of wistfulness, of needing something more in her life. She longed to be going somewhere nice for a change instead of another charity meeting. It would probably be very dull, since the housing charity was made up of a few well-intentioned people who wanted to contribute but seemed incapable of actually doing anything. Until Angela had taken over as secretary, their meetings had been spent going round and round in circles, talking endlessly and never reaching a decision. By sheer force of energy, she’d managed to galvanise them into approving funding for new housing to be built on the site they’d acquired. Now if she could only get them to come to a decision on which builder would carry out the work …
The Methodist hall, with its walls clad in dark oak wainscoting and drab grey paint, and a permanent odour of musty old books in the air, was not the most welcoming of venues. As usual, the old-fashioned radiators were proving unequal to the task of heating the draughty interior, and Angela was debating whether to hang her coat on the hallstand or keep it on for the duration of the meeting when she was hailed by Stan Bridges, Chairman of the Housing Society.
‘Angela, just the person! I’d like you to meet Henry Arnold,’ he beamed, ushering her towards an extremely attractive young man. ‘Henry, this is Mrs Morton, one of the unpaid angels who keep our little charity run—’ He broke off as the door opened to admit another new arrival, then hurried over to greet them, Angela and her new companion immediately forgotten.
‘Mr Arnold, I had no idea you would be coming tonight,’ Angela said, extending her hand to him. ‘I knew we had whittled the list of prospective builders down to three, but I thought it was to be decided this evening …’
‘Please, call me Henry,’ he said, giving her a smile that lit his blue eyes with a dazzling brilliance. ‘I think I precipitated things rather. Stan Bridges is the director of a firm for whom I have recently built a block of offices and he mentioned over a drink that this project was open for tender.’
‘So you thought you would jump the gun and present yourself uninvited?’
The note of annoyance in her voice was too pronounced to be mistaken, and Henry Arnold’s expression betrayed a flash of pique that gave way to amusement. ‘You’ve got me wrong, Angela,’ he said, a faint northern accent discernible. ‘Stan asked me to come this evening to meet you and some of the others. You see, he thinks my proposition is too good to be missed.’
‘And what is your proposition, exactly?’ Angela replied coolly. She didn’t care for his presumption in using her first name without invitation.
‘I’ve been invited to pitch my plans to you this evening,’ he said. ‘Basically, I’ve told Stan that I will not only match any offer from my rivals, I’ll take twenty per cent off it – and give as good quality or better.’
‘And what will you get out of it?’
‘The pleasure of knowing six families will have decent homes to live in at rents they can afford,’ he replied. ‘I’m a wealthy man, Angela. My father made a fortune up north from his mills – and I’ve taken up where he left off. Since I came out of the Army I’ve gone into building on my own account and there’s more work than I ever dreamed of. Once the brick ovens really get going again, we’ll see houses shooting up all over the country. We’re building a better Britain, and everyone must benefit from that – I hope you’ll agree?’
‘Yes, I do agree that we want decent homes at affordable rents,’ Angela said, wondering why she’d immediately felt hostility towards this man. She knew the charity board would be likely to agree to his proposals – how could they refuse such an offer? Yet she wondered what the catch was – what he hoped to gain. He struck her as altogether too smooth, too good to be true. ‘But why should you offer us such a bargain?’
‘I make my money from the rich men who can afford large office buildings in the centre of London and other big cities. My firm is delighted to take every penny we can from them, but when it comes to deserving causes, I’m a different animal. I like to help those who need it – and I’m told you’re the same.’
‘I support good causes, but I don’t have the kind of fortune I imagine you have at your disposal.’
The corner of Henry Arnold’s mouth lifted in what she took to be a superior smirk. ‘Not many do, Angela. My father gave me a damned good start and I’ve built on his work. I dare say I could live in comfort for the rest of my life without lifting a finger – but why should I? Particularly when I can use some of my money to help those that need it.’
‘I can’t think of a single reason,’ Angela conceded, realising she was beaten. He seemed insufferably arrogant, but she supposed he had every right to be given his wealth and his good works. ‘I suppose I must thank you for coming to our aid. Twenty per cent is a lot of money – but I intend to get those other estimates, Mr Arnold. I will specify exactly what we want, and I shall expect to get it.’
‘Naturally. I wouldn’t expect anything less of you. I’ve been informed you’re very efficient – a dragon lady, I’m told, when it comes to protecting your children at St Saviour’s.’
‘A dragon lady? I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m only too happy to go into battle for the home and do whatever I can to help Sister Beatrice. Now she is a dragon lady if ever there was one.’
‘So I hear. I know the builder you employed at St Saviour’s – he swears he’d never work for you again even if the alternative was going broke. Sister Beatrice questioned every last thing he did – and he caught the sharp edge of your tongue a few times, I believe.’
‘Indeed?’ Angela glared at him. ‘I merely pointed out various areas where the work was not up to standard and refused to pay until it was finished to my satisfaction.’
‘And will you do the same where I’m concerned?’
‘Certainly I shall.’
‘Good. If any of my men let you down, they won’t work for me again I can promise you. You’ll find my standards are as high as your own, Angela.’
She was about to disabuse him of the notion that they were on first-name terms, when the chairman called everyone to take their seats so the meeting could begin.
‘I’ll call in and see you,’ Henry Arnold whispered to her as they moved towards the committee room. ‘I want to see where you work. I know you’re always looking for funds for your orphans and I might be able to help …’
Angela did not answer. Something told her that he’d come to this meeting in order to meet her and yet she couldn’t for the life of her think why. Perhaps she was imagining it, but she felt he’d deliberately provoked her, trying to gain her interest. If so, his plan had backfired. She was in no mood for arrogant men who thought they were more important than everyone else.
Suddenly a meeting that had promised to be dull and tedious had Angela alert and eager to hear every word. This man would bear watching; his promises sounded generous but all too often when something seemed to be too good to be true, it was. Well, if he thought he could pull the wool over her eyes, he was mistaken. She didn’t care if he were as rich as Croesus, when it came to St Saviour’s she would brook no interference.
SEVEN (#ulink_7a5afa2c-e05a-5067-8acc-1c3976128a55)
‘It’s so lovely to see you, Michelle,’ Alice said as she welcomed her into the ground floor flat that her husband had rented for them. ‘Bob’s away at the moment – the Army sent him to protect someone at a political conference in France – and it feels strange being here on my own with the baby.’
‘I expect you miss him.’ Michelle gave her the small posy of flowers she’d bought in the market on her way over. ‘How are you in yourself?’
‘I’m really well. I get tired when she cries all night, but I know all babies do that and it’s to be expected.’ Alice sighed, feeling scruffy and lacklustre, especially when she looked at Michelle, who was as slim and attractive as ever. Her blue-black hair gleamed with health, whilst Alice felt hers looked dull and lifeless. ‘My sister came by yesterday. She tells me I should be happy that I’ve got a nice home and a good husband, but Mave doesn’t understand how lonely it gets when he’s away.’
‘I can see how you would feel a bit miserable sometimes,’ Michelle smiled. ‘But you’ve got an adorable baby girl and a devoted husband, when he’s home.’ She laughed as Alice pulled a face. ‘Cheer up, love. Angela told me to invite you to the Church Hall on Saturday. She’s having another one of her clothing sales, and she’s putting food on. I said you might help out by making tea – that is, if you felt able?’
‘I’d love to,’ Alice said and hugged her. ‘Mave might lend a hand too, if I ask her. You could both come back here afterwards for a fish and chip supper.’
‘I’ll be on duty in the evening,’ Michelle said, ‘but I’ll have supper with you another time, when I’m back on days.’ Then, after a pause, ‘You are managing all right? I mean, you’re not short of anything?’
The sudden question made Alice laugh. ‘Bob makes sure I have enough money. I’m better off now than I ever was at home, Chelle. Mave asked me the same, offered me a few bob, but I’m all right. I can cook and I’m good at managing my money – but I should like to learn to sew better. Mum couldn’t never be bothered to show us how to do it properly. I thought I might go to lessons at night – it’s two and sixpence a week, but that’s not too bad.’
‘Why don’t you let my mother teach you? She’s a trained seamstress. You could come round ours, chip in for supper – and then, if I’m home I’ll walk back with you.’
‘Would your mum teach me? I could pay her the two and sixpence …’
‘Do that and she’ll chase you off with a chopper,’ Michelle teased. ‘She might be little but she’s pretty fierce if you get on the wrong side of her. No, seriously, bring some fruit or cakes. You’re a good cook, Mave said so at the wedding; you can make cakes. Our Freddie never has enough of them.’
‘I’ll do that, then,’ Alice said. ‘You’re my best friend, Michelle. Thanks for standing by me through all this. Everyone from St Saviour’s has been so good to me. Nan has invited me for tea this Sunday.’
‘I love Nan. Everyone does, she’s like a second mother to us all – but Sister Beatrice … well, I respect her, especially the way she keeps going whatever …’ Michelle hesitated, then went on, ‘I know you won’t say anything – but I think she might be unwell.’
‘Sister Beatrice, ill? I don’t believe it – unless you mean a cold or something?’
‘No, it’s worse than that …’ Again, Michelle paused as if unsure whether to continue. ‘I’ve seen her flinch like she’s in terrible pain – and sometimes her face goes very white.’
‘Has she said anything? She ought to see a doctor if she’s in pain.’
‘I don’t know whether she has seen one or not,’ Michelle said. ‘I daren’t ask. You know what Sister Beatrice is like. And she’s so irritable lately, I’ll probably get my head snapped off.’
‘Well, she would be touchy if she’s in pain. Someone ought to say,’ Alice said. ‘Why don’t you mention it to Angela? She won’t mess about – if she thinks you’re right, she’ll go straight in and say.’
‘Yes, she would,’ Michelle agreed. ‘Where angels fear to tread, Angela charges in regardless. I’m hoping she can help my father get the job of caretaker. She hasn’t said she can for definite, but if his tests are all right, and he’s not got TB, he’s in with a chance.’
‘It’s time your family had a bit of luck, Michelle. Are you hungry? How about I put the kettle on and we’ll have a slice of my coconut cake?’
‘Good idea,’ Michelle said as Alice filled the shiny new kettle one of the girls from St Saviour’s had bought her as a wedding present; it had a whistle that let everyone know when it was boiling. Alice set it on her modern gas cooker, which Michelle envied on her mother’s behalf. ‘I like coconut cake – especially if it’s moist and chewy.’
‘It’s moist,’ Alice said, then added doubtfully, ‘but I’m not sure it’s chewy – it isn’t one of those pyramid things you make with condensed milk. It’s a proper cake with a lot of coconut. I bought a bag of the desiccated stuff at the Home and Colonial. Isn’t it lovely that things are beginning to come back into the shops again?’
‘Best not eat too many cakes, even if you can buy them,’ Michelle teased. ‘If you want your figure back …’
‘Never was as slim as you,’ Alice said and laughed. ‘I’m so glad you came round, Michelle. You’re a real tonic.’
‘That’s what friends are for. I’ll always be your friend, Alice. We have to stick together, be there for each other.’
‘I know.’ Alice embraced her. ‘Don’t worry about your dad too much, love. I’m sure he’ll be fine.’
‘I hope you’re right. He’s ever so miserable since the doctor put him on that diet.’ Michelle sighed. ‘Oh well, he’s got an appointment at the hospital tomorrow for some tests, so we should know what’s wrong in a couple of weeks …’
Leaving Alice’s house two hours later, Michelle was lost in thoughts of her father as she walked through the narrow streets towards her tram stop. She was vaguely aware that several of the streetlights weren’t working, but when the moon disappeared behind a cloud it suddenly became difficult to see. A shiver ran through her, and Michelle registered that it wasn’t so much the cold night air that had caused it as the sense that she was being followed. She glanced over her shoulder and saw a man some distance behind her. When he noticed her looking at him, he stopped walking and bent to tie his shoelace.
Michelle walked on. Determined not to let on that she was afraid, she deliberately slowed her pace. Her shadow did the same. He was following her; she wasn’t imagining it. She turned into the next street, which was busy with people and traffic, then suddenly stopped within sight of her tram stop. Once again he stopped too, loitering outside a newsagent’s and pretending to be interested in the window display. When he turned to look at her, Michelle saw that he was uncertain what to do.
‘Why are you following me? What do you want?’
‘What makes you think I’m followin’ yer?’
‘We both know you are …’ At that moment Michelle saw a police constable approaching on his bike. He was within hailing distance. ‘Tell me what you want and go or I’ll scream and tell that policeman you threatened me.’
‘Bitch!’ The man grabbed her arm, his fingers pinching her flesh. ‘I’ve been told to give yer a warnin’. We ain’t forgot yer, Alice Cobb, even if yer are married to that bloody Army boy. One of these days Mr Lee will be payin’ yer a visit and you’d best tell him what yer know or you’ll be sorry.’
‘Tell Mr Lee he should look after his own affairs instead of employing idiots who don’t even know the person they’re supposed to be following. I’m not Alice and I’m not frightened of you or your Mr Lee.’ She glared at him. ‘Now take your hand off my arm and crawl back into whatever rotten hole you came out of. If you ever come near me or my friend Alice, I’ll be talking to the police about you and your Mr Lee.’
The policeman had seen them now and he shouted something. Michelle wrenched away from the man, who glared at her but then glanced nervously in the direction of the constable and set off at a brisk pace, disappearing into a nearby alley. The constable wobbled to a stop beside her, putting his feet to the floor. His trouser legs were clamped with bicycle clips, exposing shiny, thick-soled black boots; beneath the helmet that was firmly strapped under his chin, an anxious pair of eyes peered out at Michelle. He looked so young and inexperienced, she doubted that he would have been much use against the brute who’d harassed her.
‘Was that man annoying you, miss?’
‘Oh, it was a case of mistaken identity. He thought I was someone else.’
‘You don’t want anything to do with the likes of him. He’s a nasty piece of work, that Big Harry. Did he upset you?’
‘He gave me a bit of a shock,’ Michelle admitted, ‘but he didn’t hurt me. I think his intention was to give me a warning, but I told him he had the wrong person.’
‘His kind don’t care who they threaten,’ the constable said. ‘You be careful, walking alone at night, miss.’
‘It’s all right, I’m catching my tram now; it’s coming round the corner.’
‘Off you go then. And don’t worry – we’ll keep an eye on him. If he bothers you again, tell us and we’ll soon sort him out.’
Michelle smiled inwardly as she thought of the constable trying to sort out Big Harry, but she thanked him for coming to her assistance. Then, seeing her tram arriving, she excused herself and ran for her stop. It wasn’t until she sat down that she realised how shaken the experience had left her.
She wondered why Butcher Lee and his gang still thought Alice would know something about Jack Shaw – the East End bad boy that Alice had been soft on but who had left her high and dry. After all, she was married to someone else now, and Jack hadn’t been seen since the night he broke into the boot factory with Arthur Baggins, intending to rob the safe. Someone had set fire to the building while they were inside; Arthur had escaped, but Jack was presumed to have died. If by some chance he had escaped, he surely wouldn’t risk returning to London knowing the Lee gang were out to kill him.
Michelle was pretty sure Alice knew no more about Jack’s fate than she did, otherwise she would certainly have mentioned it. Still, if Lee thought otherwise she’d have to warn Alice to be on her guard.
The morning after Michelle’s visit, Alice returned from the market to find a letter waiting for her. The sight of it sent a tingle of apprehension down her spine: it was addressed to Miss Alice Cobb rather than Mrs Manning, and she was almost certain she knew the handwriting.
For a moment she considered putting it straight in the bin without opening it, but something wouldn’t let her. Though she knew she ought not to read it, she couldn’t resist slitting it open and taking out the contents.
I got a mate to deliver this, Alice love. He said he knew where you were living and I daren’t bring it myself. I can’t come to your home, but I want to see you. I should never have left you. I think of you and my kid all the time, and now I’ve got things sorted we can go to America. My ship leaves in three weeks and I want us to be on it together. Please meet me, Alice. It’s too dangerous for me to come to you, but if you take the train to Southend, I’ll meet you by the pier. Come next Saturday and I’ll be there every hour from twelve until nine at night. I’ve put in £2 for your fare, and the key to a locker at Euston Station. I need you to fetch a parcel for me, Alice love. No one will notice you and it’s important … do that for me, Alice, and you’ll never regret it, I promise.
I still love you, Alice. I’ve never stopped thinking about you, but I had to keep moving around. People were looking for me, and I couldn’t let you know where I was until now.
So he was alive! Alice sat down on the nearest chair, feeling sick and shaken. Her hands trembled as she was caught by a surge of disbelief mixed with elation. He was alive, despite what everyone had told her. She felt overwhelming excitement followed almost as swiftly by despair, for it was too late. Tears stung her eyes and trickled silently down her cheeks, as she realised that she still cared for him.
She’d never quite given up on Jack Shaw, even when everyone said he was dead, but now she felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. Alice looked at the two one-pound notes Jack had sent, staring at them as if they would burn her. She held the small key with a numbered tab in her hand and frowned. What was it that Jack wanted her to fetch? It must be important to him or he wouldn’t have asked. As glad as she was to learn that he hadn’t died in the fire, she knew she couldn’t trust him. He’d probably put some of the stuff he’d stolen in that locker and Alice wanted nothing to do with his ill-gotten gains.
Had this letter arrived only a few months ago she’d have gone to Jack without a second thought, even though she knew he couldn’t be trusted. Part of her longed to go to him even now, in spite of the way he’d abandoned her and their daughter to fend for themselves, but she couldn’t. She was married to Bob now, and she wouldn’t hurt him, not after all he’d done for her. He was a good, decent man and she was fond of him.
But fond wasn’t the kind of all-consuming love she’d felt for Jack. A bitter sense of loss filled her and she knew that, despite everything, she still loved Jack; he was still there inside her head and her heart, even though he’d let her down. She’d tried to forget him but all it took was this letter to start up that aching need inside – but she couldn’t go to him, she couldn’t leave Bob.
She shoved the money and key in her apron pocket, feeling the tears sting her eyes and the angry hurt well up inside her as the shock started to wear off. If he came knocking on her door she would give him back his money and that key. It was the only thing to do – the decent thing.
Alice wouldn’t be on that train on Saturday. She was going to keep her promise to help out with the teas at Angela’s charity sale. She wouldn’t meet Jack in Southend, she wouldn’t see him ever again – but a part of her wanted to. A part of her wanted to take her child and run to the man she loved. Regret surged, and she wished that she’d never agreed to marry. If only she’d turned down Bob’s proposal and stayed with Nan, then she would be free – but for what? What sort of a life was Jack offering her?
Hearing her baby cry, Alice went into the kitchen and picked her up, looking down at her with love. Her heart felt as if it were being torn in two as she held Susie to her breast and rocked her. She was Jack’s child, but did he have the right to know her after the way he’d deserted them?
Besides, it was too dangerous. The Lee gang were still watching her; every so often someone would follow her when she went out with the baby, and only this morning she’d noticed a man staring at her in the market. Thus far, no one had approached her and she’d hoped that after a while they would realise it was a waste of time and give up.
No, it was stupid even to think of Jack. If he’d truly wanted her, loved her, he would have kept his promise to send for her a long time ago. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she suspected that the only reason he’d got in touch was because he needed her to fetch whatever was in that locker.
Bitterness swept through her as she remembered the way Jack had broken his promises in the past. He was no good, just as her father had warned at the start.
EIGHT (#ulink_d70f7a83-91f2-5902-ad5a-27a4b6470081)
