A Daughter’s Ruin
Kitty Neale

Copyright

Published by AVON

A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2020

Copyright © Kitty Neale 2020

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Cover photographs © Gordon Crabb/Alison Aldred (figure), Shutterstock.com (background)

Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008270940

Ebook Edition © February 2020 ISBN: 9780008270957

Version: 2020-01-22

Dedication

For my three beautiful great grandsons – Mikey, Kobi and Finley.

Gorgeous boys who I couldn’t be prouder of!

Even though I don’t get to see you as often as I’d like, I want you to know how very special you are. You mean the world to me and I love you dearly.

I know you’ll each grow up to become talented young men with kind hearts – you make the world a better place.

All my love,

Grandma xxx

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Kitty Neale

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

London, Clapham, July 1964

‘Constance, how dare you come down to dinner with bare legs?’ Henrietta Burton Blake chastised her seventeen-year-old daughter on Friday evening.

‘Oh, Mother, surely with just the three of us there’s no need for formality.’

‘I don’t care if there are three or thirty for dinner, standards must be kept.’

Constance could hear the slight slur in her mother’s voice and guessed she’d been drinking. It was the only clue. She was sitting rigidly upright, wearing a dated brown silk dress and her usual pearls. Her grey, tightly permed hair was immaculately groomed, but with grey eyes too, she looked colourless. It felt warm and stuffy in the dining room, but her mother appeared cool and composed, whereas Constance felt a trickle of perspiration running down her neck. ‘Mummy, it’s too hot for stockings.’

‘Please don’t argue with me. Now go back upstairs and dress properly for dinner.’

Constance sighed heavily but did as she was told and reluctantly returned to her bedroom. Her room was on the third floor of their imposing four-storey house, and her window overlooked Clapham Common. It was almost eight o’clock in the evening but still light as Constance looked briefly out of her window. She saw families with children and dog walkers enjoying the lovely summer evening. She longed to be out there too, but instead would have to sit in with her parents. She knew she’d be bored, her evening spent watching her mother getting steadily more inebriated, and her father showing increasing disapproval until he’d leave to go to his club.

After rummaging in the top drawer of her dresser and refusing to even contemplate wearing a suspender belt, Constance found her stockings and peeled them up her legs, fastening them just above her knees in a twisted, untidy knot that would be covered by her calf-length plain blue dress. With only her parents to see her, she didn’t care if the stockings wrinkled, and once summer was over she hoped to be allowed to wear tights. They were the in thing now, not silly stockings with girdles or suspender belts. She knew her mother still wore a boned corset, no doubt accounting for her rod-like stance, but as she was stick-thin Constance thought it ridiculous and unnecessary. With the way she dressed and her overbearing manner, it felt to Constance as though her mother was still living in the 1940s instead of the ’60s. The girls at college wore modern column dresses that fell just above the knee, or Capri pants, but Constance knew her mother would never allow her to wear them. There was one concession to modern living – a television – but it was only allowed on after dinner, and for about an hour before they retired for the night.

‘At last,’ Henrietta snapped when Constance appeared in the dining room. ‘Mary, you may serve us now.’

‘Yes, Madam,’ answered Mary Flinch, a fifteen-year-old girl with frizzy hair who had come to them from a nearby children’s home. She slept in one of the rooms in the eaves on the top floor and was very subservient, but strangely enough, Constance had found, Mary seemed happy to be working for them.

They also had a cook, Ethel Jones, who had a small flat next to the kitchen in the basement. Ethel had worked for the Burton Blakes for many, many years, along with her husband, who had been their gardener and handyman until his premature death six years earlier. Constance was unsure of Ethel’s age but guessed she must be around sixty. Short and tubby with salt-and-pepper hair, rosy cheeks and a ready smile, Ethel radiated warmth – a stark contrast to Constance’s mother’s coldness.

Constance twisted a strand of hair around her forefinger as she thought back to her childhood. She’d always felt unwanted or in the way, and had often fled her mother’s bad moods by sneaking down to the basement to find comfort in Ethel. The woman would make a fuss of her, offering cuddles and giving her the affection she craved.

‘How many times have I told you to stop habitually doing that to your hair?’ her mother barked, snapping Constance from her thoughts.

‘Sorry, Mother,’ she replied dutifully and sighed heavily as Mary placed a bowl of soup in front of her. Though no longer a child, Constance still loved to escape to the basement. Without the confidence of other girls her age, and after years of being belittled by her mother, she was excruciatingly shy. This had led to her being picked on at school, and now at college she kept herself to herself, finding it difficult to form relationships.

Henrietta looked at her brown-haired, plain-faced daughter and she too sighed. She had been forty, and had given up on having children, when Constance had been conceived. Instead of being overjoyed, she’d found motherhood trying, and Constance an inconvenience. It hadn’t helped that Charles, her husband, had refused to employ a nanny so she’d been forced to give up many of her social events to care for the child. On top of that, when Constance was old enough, Charles refused to send her to boarding school, saying that for a girl it was an unnecessary expense. Henrietta felt that he was punishing her for not giving him a son, though, much to her distaste, they had continued to try. The efforts had proved impossible. Now she was fifty-seven and Charles sixty-four, they were no longer intimate. That suited her, but she still found his cold and distant manner towards her difficult.

‘Mary, wake up,’ she snapped, taking her angst out on the servant. ‘Clear these soup bowls then bring our second course.’

At least Mary rushed to do her bidding, Henrietta thought with some satisfaction. She might not have been able to give Charles a son, but he couldn’t complain about the way she ran the house. Once Mary had cleared the bowls she took them out to the dumbwaiter, sent them down to the basement kitchen and waited for it to return with their next course.

‘Constance, you could have made more of an effort with your appearance,’ Henrietta complained. ‘You wouldn’t look so plain if you did something with your hair. Instead of letting it just hang straight down to your shoulders you could try putting it up, or waving it.’

‘That’s a bit harsh, Hettie,’ said Charles. ‘I wouldn’t call Constance plain.’

‘Well, she’s hardly a raving beauty, and if she wants to attract a husband she’ll have to make herself more presentable,’ Henrietta replied as she scrutinised her husband. As always, Charles was immaculately dressed, in a grey suit, white silk shirt and tie. He was a tall man, grey-haired and green-eyed, his bearing imposing. Henrietta thought to herself that Constance hadn’t inherited his looks, or hers, and she could only describe her daughter as mousy.

‘Constance is still at college and is far too young to think about marriage,’ Charles said firmly.

‘I don’t approve of young women in commerce. That leaves marriage, and I want her to marry well. She may be young, but it wouldn’t hurt to consider some suitors and arrange introductions.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Hettie, those days are gone. Nowadays young ladies pick their own husbands, and I am sure when the time comes Constance will choose wisely,’ Charles said as the lamb and vegetables arrived already plated. He frowned with disapproval. ‘What’s this, Hettie? The meat should be on a platter and the vegetables in serving dishes.’

‘I’m well aware of that, Charles, but as we only have two servants now, certain standards are impossible to maintain. Cook has time to rest between preparing our meals, but Mary has been on duty all day and she still has to wash the dinner dishes before she can retire. Therefore, the less washing-up she has to tackle, the better.’

‘It’s what she’s paid to do.’

‘So you think that working from eight in the morning until ten at night is acceptable?’

‘Come now, Hettie. Mary doesn’t work those hours. She has every afternoon off.’

‘She used to, Charles. But since you insisted that I get rid of the other cleaner, Mary has had to take on her duties too.’

‘I have to pay for a gardener and a handyman when necessary so I must cut back on household expenditure,’ Charles said grumpily, rising to his feet and throwing his napkin on to the table in disgust. ‘If you insist on employing another cleaner again, go ahead. However, her wages will have to come out of your allowance.’

‘But … but …’ Henrietta blustered. Her allowance was paltry as it was, and if Charles cut it she’d barely be able to afford the smallest of luxuries.

‘It’s either that or you do the cleaning yourself, Hettie. Now I’ve had enough of listening to you whining. I’m going to my club.’

With that, Charles marched out of the room and Henrietta was left sitting with her mouth agape. What did Charles mean when he said he was having to make cuts? Was he having money problems? No, of course not, she told herself. He was an investment banker on a high salary, advising a top City of London financial organisation. There was also this house and the sizable amount of money he’d inherited when his parents had died. He was just being mean, as always, still punishing her for not giving him a son. But how dare he suggest that she take on the cleaning! That was going too far, and she wasn’t going to put up with his miserly ways any longer.

Charles left the house and immediately his mood lifted. He wasn’t going to his club. Instead, he was going to Battersea to see his mistress. He climbed into his Bentley and, before driving off, patted his inside pocket. The necklace hadn’t cost the earth, but he hoped it would pacify Jessica. She had been his mistress for four years now – four years during which her demands had cost him a pretty penny. To add to that, his investments were not performing as well as he’d hoped, so like it or not he’d been forced to rein in his expenditure.

As he reached Clapham Junction, Charles was deep in thought. When it came to Jessica Cottle, he was no fool. He knew she was only with him for what he could give her, and so far that had been substantial. He paid the upkeep on the opulent flat in Battersea he had purchased for her to live in, opposite the park in a sought-after area. He also gave her a very generous allowance, five times more than he gave his wife, but despite that Jessica often ran up bills on his Harrods account. Charles knew he had to put a stop to her spending, but feared losing her. She enthralled him, held him in the palm of her hand, and though he was no spring chicken, she was still able to arouse him to sexual heights that he had never experienced before.

When he arrived at the flat, he parked, smiling in anticipation.

‘Charles,’ said Jessica, jumping up from the sofa as he let himself in and walked into the lounge, ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘I can see that,’ he replied, frowning at the young man who had obviously been seated beside her. His eyes then went back to Jessica and, seeing that she was only wearing a red silk robe, he felt a surge of anger.

‘Charles, this is Eric, my brother. I don’t think you’ve met. He’s a merchant seaman and as he has a bit of shore leave he called round to ask me out to dinner. I was just about to get ready.’

Charles relaxed. Yes, of course, he could see the resemblance. Both had almost black hair and eyes, though Jessica’s glossy locks hung almost to her waist. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Eric.’

‘Nice to meet you too, but I’d best be off. Perhaps we’ll see each other again some time.’

‘Please, don’t leave on my account.’

‘Nah, that’s all right. I only called in on the off chance that Dai … Jessica wasn’t busy.’

‘I’ll see you out, but come round again before you go back to sea,’ Jessica said quickly, escorting him out of the room and into the hall.

Charles could hear fierce whispering and once again frowned. He felt he’d arrived at an inopportune moment and had interrupted something. He just didn’t know what.

‘Bloody hell, Daisy,’ hissed Eric, ‘that was a bit too close for comfort.’

‘Don’t call me Daisy. I hate that name and changed it to Jessica. It sounds a bit more classy.’

‘If you say so, but you’ve been Daisy to me since we were kids.’

‘Yes, well, we’re not kids now and I’m on to a good thing here. I don’t want you ruining it for me.’

‘I won’t do that, but I ain’t seen you in years and you’re as gorgeous as ever. It was a bit of luck bumping into you.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ she whispered. ‘Charles might hear you.’

‘I nearly choked with laughter when you introduced me as your brother. It was quick thinking though and he obviously fell for it.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s the first thing that I could think of. Now bugger off or Charles might wonder what’s keeping me.’

‘When can I see you again?’ Eric asked, persistent.

‘You can’t. It’s too risky.’

‘It needn’t be. Look, I’ll go for a drink and then hang about until he leaves.’

‘No, Eric.’

‘I ain’t taking no for an answer. I’ve fancied you for years, and when I signed up for my first trip with the Merchant Navy, I was gutted when I came home to hear you’d buggered off.’

‘Can you blame me? You know what my parents were like.’ Jessica cast her eyes to the ground.

‘I heard rumours, talk of your dad being violent, but that was all.’

‘He used to take his belt to me, or use his fists, but I ain’t got time to go into that now. Please, Eric, you must go,’ she pleaded with urgency.

‘All right, but after a dodgy marriage I’m footloose, fancy free, and not about to lose sight of you again. I’ll see you later,’ Eric said, walking out and closing the door behind him.

Jessica sighed. It had been lovely to see Eric and he was as handsome as ever, but she’d made a silly mistake inviting him to the flat. If he came back she’d have to send him away again. As she had told him, she was on to a good thing with Charles, and after years of living in poverty and worse, she wasn’t about to give it up.

Chapter 2

Constance watched her mother make another gin and tonic, but said nothing. She’d learned a long time ago that the less said when her mother was on at least her third drink, the better. The gin affected her in two ways: she’d either become snappy and argumentative or turn maudlin, lamenting her lost youth and difficult life.

Constance quietly left the room and went down to the basement kitchen. She didn’t usually disturb Ethel during her time off in the evenings, and hoped she wouldn’t mind. She walked in and frowned when she saw Ethel sitting on a chair with her swollen feet raised on a stool. Poor Ethel, she thought. The woman’s life was a stark contrast to that of her mother’s, who’d known nothing but luxury. ‘Oh, Ethel, your feet,’ she exclaimed.

‘Don’t worry, love. Once I’ve had them up for a while the swelling will go down.’

‘I’ll have a word with my mother. You’re working too many hours, as is Mary.’

‘No, Miss, please don’t say anything,’ Ethel said worriedly. ‘At my age I’m lucky to still have a job, and one with accommodation too. As for Mary, she’s young and can manage.’

Constance wasn’t satisfied and bit her lower lip. Despite her father suggesting it, Constance knew her mother would never contemplate doing any cleaning. However, she might allow her to help Mary in some way. She still had many weeks left before she returned for her last year at college, and even then she was home early enough to help with the housework, and of course during weekends. Constance wasn’t sure what she could do, but maybe a bit of dusting or something like that would take a small amount of the burden from Mary. There was a knock on the basement door, startling Constance out of her thoughts, especially when Mary opened it to a very good-looking young man.

‘Albie, what are you doing here?’ Ethel asked, sounding surprised.

‘I’ve just popped in to see how you are,’ he said. His eyes travelled to Constance. ‘Well, well, who’s this then?’

‘Albie, this is Miss Constance, the daughter of the house, and I’d thank you to mind your manners.’

‘What do you take me for, Gran?’ he quipped with a twinkle in his blue eyes. ‘Of course I’ll mind me manners.’

‘Miss Constance, this is my grandson, Albert Jones, but he likes to be called Albie.’

‘How do you do,’ Constance said shyly. ‘It is very nice to meet you.’

‘Likewise. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a sight for sore eyes?’

‘Albie!’ Ethel snapped.

‘What, Gran? I’m only speaking the truth. She’s tasty and I’ve always fancied a bit of posh totty.’

‘Albie!’

‘Albie … Albie,’ he mimicked. ‘Gran, I think you’re turning into a parrot.’

Mary giggled, drawing his attention. ‘Hello, Mary. You’re so quiet, like a little mouse, which is more than I can say for my gran.’

‘Don’t be so cheeky,’ Ethel admonished, ‘and listen here, my lad, I’m fine so there’s no need for you to stay.’

‘What’s this? Trying to get rid of me, are you?’

‘On this occasion, yes. Miss Constance isn’t used to the likes of you with all your blarney.’

‘It’s all right, Ethel,’ Constance said hurriedly. ‘I’m going back upstairs now.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Albie said, flashing her a smile. ‘I hope we meet again.’

Constance felt her cheeks flush. She’d never met anyone like Albie before and when she looked at him her stomach fluttered. ‘Yes … err … bye,’ she stammered and then quickly turned to flee upstairs.

‘Now look what you’ve done, Albie. You embarrassed the girl,’ Ethel said, but her tone was light.

‘How old is she, Gran?’

‘She’s only seventeen, and far too young for you.’

‘Leave it out. I’m only twenty-four.’

‘Constance has had a very sheltered life and she’s an innocent, so whatever it is you’re thinking, forget it. Stick to your own class.’

‘Come off it, Gran. Those days are long gone. It seems funny that this is the first time I’ve met her. Where’s she been hiding?’

‘She wasn’t born until you were seven, and her mother didn’t allow her below stairs to mix with us. By the time she started sneaking down here behind her mother’s back, she was about ten and you’d left school to start work.’

‘It still seems funny that despite me popping in to see you, we’ve never met. I reckon you’ve been keeping her from me,’ he said jovially.

‘Miss Constance doesn’t usually come down to disturb me when I’m off duty. Anyway, now that you’ve met, I don’t want you sniffing around her. If her parents found out I could lose my job.’

‘Looking at the state of your legs, that would be the best thing for you. It’s time you retired.’

‘My flat goes with the job, so where am I supposed to live if I retire?’

‘With us.’

‘Huh, and your mother has suggested that, has she?’

‘Well, no, but I should think it’s taken for granted.’

‘Albie, you know me and your mum don’t get on. The last thing she’d want is me moving in.’

‘I know she can be a bit hard at times, but she wouldn’t see you homeless.’

‘I’m not so sure about that.’

‘Gran, I’m asking you again, why did you fall out? I’ve asked Mum loads of times too, but she won’t say.’

Ethel glanced across at Mary and said, ‘You’ve done enough for one day. Go on up to bed, love.’

‘I’m all right. I’m not tired,’ Mary protested as she wiped her nose on her sleeve.

‘You must be, and anyway, I need to talk to my grandson in private.’

‘Gran, we could go into your sitting room,’ Albie suggested.

‘Huh, the walls are so thin that we might as well be talking in here.’

‘I’ll go and sit in the garden for a while,’ Mary offered.

‘Thanks, love. We just need ten minutes,’ Ethel said, and waited until the girl left by the back door before she spoke again. ‘Albie, I don’t think your mum would want me to tell you why we fell out. Suffice to say it was my fault, and she’s never forgiven me.’

‘Your fault? I can’t believe that.’

‘It happened a long time ago, and at the time I thought I was doing the right thing. It wasn’t, but I’m not saying any more about it so don’t ask questions.’

‘Was it because she wouldn’t let me be evacuated during the war? I know it was dodgy with the bombing raids on London, so did you have a go at her for that?’

‘No, it was her decision and though I didn’t agree with it, I didn’t interfere.’

‘So why did you fall out?’

‘Albie, that’s enough. I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Bloody hell, you’re as bad as my mother.’

‘Language,’ Ethel admonished.

‘Sorry, but you and Mum are enough to make a vicar swear. I hate it that you don’t talk to each other. It means we never get together as a family and that ain’t right, especially as there’s only the three of us, what with Dad getting killed during the war, and Granddad gone.’

‘I know, love. I’ve tried to talk to her but Dora can’t forgive me.’

‘I’ll sort her out, tell her she’s out of order.’

‘No, Albie. What I did to your mum was unforgivable, so please don’t blame her. Stirring things up will just make things worse. You never know, one day she might soften. It’s the best I can hope for. Now, enough said on the matter. I don’t know about you but I could do with a nice cup of tea.’

As though on cue the back door opened and Mary poked her head inside. ‘Is it all right to come in now?’

‘Yes, love, and you can make us all a drink,’ Ethel said, relieved to bring the conversation with her grandson to an end. She had treated her daughter harshly, and was thankful that Dora had never told Albie the truth. If she did, Ethel knew she would probably lose Albie too. He was a bit of a rogue, but she loved him dearly and couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again.

Albie stayed for a little while longer and, as always, his gran began to reminisce, her happiness remaining in the past.

‘Do you remember when me and your granddad lived close to you and your mum during the war?’

‘Yeah, vaguely, on the next street, I think. It was such a long time ago, but I know granddad used to bring me to your house.’

‘That’s right, and do you remember the toys he carved for you?’

‘Not really, though I think there was a car.’

‘Yeah, that’s right. You loved that little car.’

Albie had been born in 1940 and had mixed emotions about his childhood. He knew from talk of the war that there’d been air raids and bombs falling, but he had little memory of them. Maybe it had been so horrific that his brain had shut out the sights and sounds. Other memories remained though, and he said, ‘More than the car, I can remember that I loved being with you and Granddad.’

‘We loved having you. You were our only grandchild, and still are, so we cherished any time spent with you.’

‘I didn’t know what happened at the time, or why things changed, just that you moved here and I saw a lot less of you.’

‘As I’ve told you before, it wasn’t out of choice. We were down the local pub when a doodlebug took out our house. We were left with nothing, not even a pot to piss in, so seeing a job offered with accommodation was like a godsend.’

‘A pot to piss in,’ Mary said and giggled. ‘I ain’t heard that one before.’

‘Well, you have now, but it doesn’t sound very ladylike and I shouldn’t have said it.’

Albie smiled. He didn’t care if his gran sounded ladylike or not. He loved her just as she was. ‘I suppose I must have been about three years old when your house was hit.’

‘Yes, that’s right, and then once a month, on his day off, your granddad would bring you here. The Burton Blakes were kind enough to let you visit us as long as it didn’t cause them any inconvenience.’

‘Huh, big of them,’ Albie said sarcastically. One day off a month, and his gran talked about the Burton Blakes being kind. He wondered if Constance was as bad as them, stuck up and considering herself a cut above those who worked below stairs. Maybe she was different – at least he hoped so – because now that he had met her, Albie intended to find a way to see her again. The attraction didn’t come from her looks – with straight, shoulder-length, mousy brown hair and a face devoid of make-up, she wasn’t his type. It was the way she spoke, her posh voice and demeanour, that fascinated him. Even the way she dressed was different. There had been no pencil skirt, or the Capri pants that all the girls were wearing now. Instead she wore an old-fashioned dress and wrinkled stockings that made him smile.

Thought not strictly the truth, it was as he’d told his gran. He’d always fancied a bit of posh totty, and though Constance didn’t fully fit the bill, she seemed ripe for the picking. Albie wanted to better himself, to rise above his roots, and he could learn a lot from Constance Burton Blake.

Constance sat on her window seat, twirling a strand of hair out of habit, as she waited to see Albie leave. He’d said that she was a sight for sore eyes, and she’d been unable to believe her ears. Constance knew she was plain, her mother had told her often enough, and Albie was the first boy who had spared her a glance. Of course, she realised he was just being kind, and that had been sweet of him, but he still fascinated her. He was tall with vivid blue eyes and blond hair that flopped onto his forehead, and she thought him very handsome. Ethel often talked of her only grandson, who was a long-distance lorry driver, but this had been the first time they’d met.

She recalled Albie’s remark about posh totty and, unoffended, she smiled. She hadn’t heard that said before, and hoped it meant he would try to see her again. Maybe she could ask Ethel when he was likely to visit next, and then make sure she was there at the same time.

It was dark outside now, but by the light of a street-lamp she saw Albie leave. He looked up at the windows as though aware he was being watched, and she quickly moved back, her face flushing. As he turned to saunter off, raising an arm to wave, Constance heard her mother shouting from below.

‘Constance, where are you, girl?’

She ran onto the landing and from the top of the stairs called, ‘I’m up here, Mummy, in my room.’

‘I’m not feeling well.’

Used to this, Constance ran down to help her mother. Despite the way she was treated, she longed for her mother’s love and craved her affection, but it had never been forthcoming. Now, with an arm around her mother to give support, she guided her to the first floor and into her large and luxurious bedroom at the front of the house. Her mother was leaning on her, legs wobbly, as Constance led her to the large double bed. ‘There you are,’ she said gently as she sat her down. ‘Would you like me to help you to undress?’

‘Certainly not. Go now. I can manage.’

Though her mother was attempting an imperious tone, her words were indistinct. Constance did as she was told and left the room. She knew from experience what would happen now. Her mother would lie down, fully dressed, and when her father came home he would see the state of her and sleep in another room. In the morning her mother would wake up, bathe and dress, and then come downstairs for breakfast as if nothing had happened. Constance knew that nothing would be said, and their breakfast would be perfectly civilised, as always. She could never understand why her father tolerated this behaviour.

Back in her room, Constance undressed and slipped into bed. No wonder her father spent most evenings at his club, she thought – he was driven from his own home by a drunken wife. Constance wished she too could escape, permanently, and prayed that one day she would be able to do just that.

Chapter 3

Despite intending to keep Eric Dobson at arm’s length, Jessica had found him impossible to resist and had been seeing him for the past two weeks. After so many years keeping an old man happy in bed, it was nice to feel a young man’s body and to be brought to a climax.

Jessica had escaped her parents’ home in Hackney, running away when she was sixteen. She’d lied about her age and had found cash-in-hand work as a barmaid in Fulham. For three years, she’d lived there in a tiny bedsit. Working behind the bar all that time, she was used to men ogling her, and had been out with many of them, but was sick of being wanted for just one thing – her body. She’d been a fool, mistaking sex for love, but as she’d never known affection before, it had been a trap she’d stepped into. It had caused her to gain a reputation and she soon found that decent men didn’t want anything to do with her.

At nineteen, she’d moved to Battersea and, hoping to make a fresh start, she had changed her name to Jessica Cottle. Shortly after, she’d got a job in a pub frequented by city fellows, and almost immediately met Charles. He’d been different, a proper gent, and in a very sweet way he’d courted her. He’d taken her to nice restaurants, given her lovely gifts, and almost from the start he’d been honest, telling her that he was married. It hadn’t stopped her seeing him. She wanted a better life, so when Charles had asked her to be his mistress, she’d agreed. He had purchased this luxury flat for her to live in and, with her generous allowance, she’d never before known such riches. Charles had made only one stipulation – that she remained exclusively his – and until now Jessica had been happy with the arrangement.

‘Come here, my beauty,’ Eric said huskily, gathering her into his arms. ‘I’ve only got a few more days on shore before my next trip, so let’s make the most of them.’

‘We’re lucky that Charles is at work, but it worries me that he might be due to retire soon. When that happens, he’s sure to visit me during the day, as he does at weekends.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Sixty-four, and I think he’ll retire at sixty-five.’

‘I’m surprised he’s still got lead in his pencil. You’re too young to be an old man’s plaything. You should leave him.’

‘No, Eric. I told you from the start that I’m on to a good thing here and I won’t give it up.’

Eric’s expression darkened as he got out of bed and began to get dressed, his mouth twisting with disgust as he said, ‘So you’re happy to prostitute yourself for an old man’s money?’

‘How dare you! I’m not a prostitute. Charles is the only man I sleep with.’

‘Yeah, but you still get paid for it. Now that you’re sleeping with me too, will I have to fork out for the privilege?’

Jessica seethed, but she also felt sick inside. She really liked Eric and thought he felt the same way about her, but he clearly had no respect for her and had just used her for sex. ‘Get out,’ she said venomously, ‘and don’t come back.’

‘All right, but how about another freebie before I leave?’

‘I said, get out!’

‘Yeah, I thought you’d say that. I was hoping that we had something going, that you’d agree to leave the old git, but it seems that money is the only thing that’s important to you,’ Eric spat as he threw on the last of his clothes and left.

Jessica wanted to run after him, to ask him to come back, but as a merchant seaman Eric could never provide her with the life she had with Charles. There would be no luxury apartment, no designer clothes or expensive jewels. Yes, there would be great sex, but that didn’t pay the bills, or keep her company when Eric was at sea.

She slumped onto a chair, fighting to harden her heart. She’d been happy enough until Eric turned up, and surely she could be happy again?

‘Will Albie be coming to see you soon?’ Constance asked.

Ethel sighed. Miss Constance had been down twice this week and though she thought a lot of the girl, she didn’t appreciate the intrusion into her time off. ‘I don’t know, Miss. You asked me the same question the other evening, but nothing has changed. Albie just drops in now and again when he’s got a bit of spare time.’

‘I likes Albie,’ Mary piped up, wiping her nose on her cuff.

‘Yeah, a lot of girls do,’ Ethel told her. ‘He’s like a sailor, but instead of one in every port he’s probably got one in every delivery destination.’

‘I’d be his girl, and if he asked me to marry him I’d say yes,’ Mary said, hugging herself and swaying.

‘Huh, fat chance of that,’ Ethel snapped.

Mary looked hurt and, feeling that she’d sounded mean, Ethel said, ‘It’s not that there’s anything wrong with you, love. The problem is with Albie. He’s my grandson and I think the world of him, but I can’t see him settling down. He’s been out with more girls than I’ve had hot dinners, and left a trail of broken hearts.’

‘I still likes him,’ Mary said and wiped her nose on her cuff once again.

‘How many times have I told you to stop doing that?’ Ethel said. ‘Use a bloody hanky.’

‘Yeah, sorry.’

Ethel sighed. Where Albie was concerned she’d thought there was only Miss Constance to worry about, but now it seemed Mary had a crush on him too. Of course she could understand why: her grandson was a handsome bugger, but a heartbreaker, and she didn’t want to see either Miss Constance or Mary hurt, especially as she’d be the one who’d have to pick up the pieces. Not only that, she was worn out and in no mood for this. All she wanted was to put her feet up, have a nice cup of cocoa and read her book, the perfect way to unwind before she turned in for the night. ‘Mary, take my advice and forget about Albie, and, Miss Constance, I’m sorry, but I’m not fit company for you this evening. I’m feeling a bit tired.’

‘Oh, dear,’ Constance said, sounding concerned. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘No, love, I just need a bit of peace and quiet, that’s all.’

‘Right, I’ll leave and you have a nice rest,’ Constance said, and after saying goodnight she went back upstairs.

It was just in the nick of time too. There was a knock on the basement door, Mary opened it and in walked Albie, grinning widely. ‘Wotcher, Gran.’

‘Well, look what the cat dragged in,’ Ethel greeted him.

‘Yeah, me, and it’s just as well I’ve brought you a bottle of stout. You look like you need building up.’

‘Thanks, love. It’s good to see you. So, tell your old gran what you’ve been up to.’

‘I’ve been doing a lot of long runs, and taking on a bit of overtime too. I’m saving up to buy a car.’

‘What’s wrong with your motor scooter?’

‘Gran, a Vespa is hardly conducive to courting. A car offers much more scope,’ he said with a cheeky wink.

Ethel shook her head, but had to smile. Albie always had this effect on her, the ability to lift her spirits, but nevertheless she chastised him. ‘I hope you’re not going to get up to mischief in this car when you get it.’

‘Who, me?’ Albie said, rounding his eyes in innocence. ‘Of course not.’

‘Yeah, and pigs might fly.’

Mary giggled, and Albie turned to look at her, saying, ‘Yeah, my gran’s funny. She makes me laugh too.’

‘Albie, I’m being serious,’ Ethel said. ‘I don’t want you getting a girl into trouble.’

‘Gran, I’m not stupid, and I’m always careful.’

‘Good. Now let’s change the subject. I don’t think this conversation is appropriate, especially with a young girl in the room.’

‘Yeah, sorry, Gran.’

‘How’s your mum?’

‘She’s all right, the same as ever.’

‘Is she still working in that paint factory?’

‘Yeah, but I don’t know how she stands it. I’d hate to be cooped up in there all day.’

‘She must like it, or she’d leave.’

‘I think it’s just familiarity. Mum likes routine, and she’s a stickler with the housework, everything done on its designated day. She’s a bit obsessive about it, and woe betide me if I move something out of its place, even the food in the larder.’

‘It’s good that she keeps a nice house, and you should be thankful. Surely it’s better to come home to a clean and tidy home than arrive at a dump?’

‘Of course it is. I just wish she’d lighten up a bit, that’s all.’

‘Maybe she needs another interest.’

‘Like what?’

‘I dunno, Albie, but I think it would be nice if she met someone, a chap who could take her out and about, instead of being stuck in at home.’

‘There’s no chance of that. She’s told me enough times that my dad was the only man for her and that no one can ever take his place.’

Ethel hung her head as again she was swamped with guilt. She’d done this – she was to blame – but there was nothing she could do to put it right.

Constance couldn’t settle when she went back upstairs. Her mother had been drinking heavily and was now asleep on the sofa, snoring, and her father was out, as usual. The house was so quiet, too big for just the three of them, with eight bedrooms on the first two floors, another four small ones in the eaves, and only a few of them in use. And of course there was the basement flat too. They had no other family; her parents were both only children. She had vague memories of grandparents, especially a jolly grandfather, but sadly both sets had died far too young. She sometimes longed for siblings, brothers or sisters, to hear the house ringing with noise and laugher, but sadly she too was an only child.

For a while Constance tried to read, but the story failed to hold her attention. She untucked her legs from under her and wandered over to the window, looking outside to see a Vespa scooter parked against the wall at the top of the basement steps. Her heart skipped a beat. There was Albie! Her first instinct was to run downstairs but, worried that it would annoy Ethel, she decided to go outside and sit on the steps that led to their front door. When Albie left he was sure to see her and maybe he’d talk to her. At least she hoped so.

It was half an hour later when Albie appeared, and Constance held her breath. If he didn’t see her, she’d have to call out to him, but what if he just waved at her before driving off?

Albie saw her and a wide smile appeared on his face. ‘Hello, Constance, I was hoping to see you again,’ he said, striding up to the steps and sitting down beside her.

‘Hel–hello, Albie,’ she said shyly.

‘What are you doing sitting out here?’

‘I … I’m just getting a bit of air,’ she said and, finding the courage to look at Albie, caught her breath. He was so close, so handsome, and she swayed towards him involuntarily.

Albie’s arm immediately went around her shoulders, and she pulled away, startled. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind.’

‘I … I don’t. I was just surprised,’ she said, amazed at her bravery as his arm went around her shoulders again.

‘It’s nice, sitting here like this,’ Albie said, ‘and don’t worry. I don’t bite.’

Constance fought for something to say, something interesting that would keep him there, but instead found herself tongue-tied.

‘You must like living opposite the common,’ Albie said.

At last she found her voice, ‘Err … yes … and sometimes if feels as though we’re in the country instead of London.’

‘Yeah, it must do. You’re lucky – all I see from my house is the ones on the other side of the street.’

Constance wanted to tell him that she didn’t feel lucky, that most of the time she just felt lonely, but she didn’t want to frighten him away by being maudlin. ‘Do you live far from here?’

‘I live in Battersea, the next borough. Battersea Dogs Home is close by, and the park.’

‘It sounds nice.’

‘Nice! Blimey, you wouldn’t say that if you saw it.’

They heard the sound of voices approaching and a young couple walked past, hand in hand and laughing at something one of them had said. Constance envied them their happiness, but then inwardly chastised herself for being mean. It was as if seeing them broke the spell, and her heart sank when Albie spoke.

‘Well, I’d best be off. It was nice seeing you again.’

‘It … it was nice seeing you too,’ she said as they both rose to their feet.

For a moment they stood facing each and then Albie leaned forward to plant a kiss on her cheek. ‘Bye, Constance,’ he said softly, then lightly ran down the steps to his Vespa.

Constance stood, dazed but happy, her heart thumping in her chest and her hand raising to return Albie’s wave as he drove off. He had kissed her. Albie had actually kissed her. Did that mean he liked her? She dearly hoped so.

Chapter 4

The following week Constance spent every evening looking out for Albie, but it was eight days before he turned up to see his gran again. She waited until he’d been downstairs for some time before going outside to sit on the steps again, thankful for once that her mother was drunk and had passed out on the sofa.

‘Hello, Constance,’ Albie said, grinning when he at last left the basement and saw her sitting there. ‘We meet again.’

‘Hello, Albie,’ she returned, thrilled when he came to sit beside her. She turned to look at him, once again struck by his looks. She couldn’t believe that someone so handsome was showing an interest in her. Constance wasn’t blind, she knew from her mirror that she was nothing to look at, so it was silly to think that Albie was interested in her. Yet here he was, looking happy to see her, so dare she hope?

‘My gran’s legs look in a state again, and I keep nagging her to retire.’

‘Oh, Albie, I’d miss her so much if she left.’

‘Yeah, well, I’m just thinking about me gran.’

‘Yes, of course you are, and that’s commendable.’

‘I love your use of words. Commendable, what does it mean?’

‘I suppose “worthy of admiration or praise” would be the best way to describe it.’

‘So you admire me?’ Albie said teasingly as he raised his eyebrows. ‘I like that, and I admire you too.’

Constance felt the blush flooding her face and lowered her head, but then swiftly lifted it again at Albie’s next words.

‘I must go. I’ve arranged to meet someone. Bye for now, Constance.’

‘Bye,’ she said softly, wondering if it was a girl he was meeting and feeling a pang of jealousy.

Albie bent forward to kiss her cheek again and this time he also gave her a swift hug, leaving her reeling as he drove off. For a few minutes she just stood on the step, replaying the hug, before she ran happily indoors.

It was now close to the end of August, and though nearly nine-thirty in the evening, it was still warm. The drawing room felt stifling, the book she was reading failed to hold her interest again, and impulsively Constance decided to go for a short walk. If her mother was awake she probably wouldn’t allow it, but sick of the constraints put on her, Constance rebelled for once, deciding she’d enjoy the freedom of other girls her age.

The sun had set, but street-lamps offered ample light as Constance strolled along. She wished she could go dancing, to the cinema, or roller skating in the park – all activities she was usually denied. Instead she was over-protected and kept almost a prisoner in her own home, her only freedom when she was in college.

Constance continued to walk but after half an hour, worried that her mother might wake to find her gone, she turned back. It was then that her heart skipped a beat. Albie Jones was walking towards her and as he drew close, he smiled widely.

‘Well, well, fancy bumping into you. Are you on your way home?’

‘Yes, I am,’ she said shyly, desperately trying to think of something else to say. ‘Have … have you been to see your gran? I didn’t see your scooter.’

‘My Vespa is in for a minor repair so I came by bus. If you’re not in any hurry, we could go for a walk.’

Constance threw caution to the wind and surprised herself when she answered, ‘I’d like that.’

‘Come on then,’ Albie said, taking her hand and leading her across the road onto the common.

As they strolled along a narrow path, Constance looked up at the sky, and though there were a few clouds she could still pick out some stars. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I think I can see Orion’s Belt.’

‘I’m not interested in astrology. I think it’s a load of tosh,’ Albie said.

‘Yes, I think so too, but studying stars is called astronomy.’

‘Blimey, yeah, of course it is. I must sound like an idiot.’

‘No, you don’t. We all get our words mixed up at times,’ she said, then she pointed at the moon. ‘NASA’s space exploration programme fascinates me, and I really think that one day in the not too distant future men will walk on the moon.’

‘Yeah, and pigs might fly,’ Albie quipped.

‘But I really think they will,’ Constance insisted.

‘Yeah, well, I’m not as clever as you so you could be right. I left school at fifteen without any qualifications, whereas my gran tells me you’re at college and may go on to university.’

‘Further education doesn’t make me your intellectual superior.’

‘See, that’s what I mean. As I told you before, I love your use of words and how you say them, posh-sounding. It really does turn me on.’

Albie was still holding her hand and squeezed it as he spoke. Constance was thrilled. When they came to a copse of trees he urged her to sit on the grass. She did so readily, and when his arm slipped around her she shivered with a strange excitement. His close proximity was intoxicating. She slowly turned to look at him and almost gasped as he leaned forward to kiss her. Constance had never been kissed on the lips before and found herself responding, loving the feel of his lips on hers. He continued to kiss her, and then began to fondle her, his hand slipping inside her blouse to cup her breast. She knew she should stop him, but felt unable to resist the feelings that ripped through her body. Before she knew it, Constance found herself lying on her back with Albie on top of her, and what happened soon after made her yelp with pain.

‘It’s all right,’ Albie soothed as he continued to penetrate her.

Constance knew she should have stopped him – thrown him off – but after the initial pain she found herself responding to his movements until, with a sudden groan and a gasp, Albie collapsed on top of her. She was left strangely wanting something that seemed just out of reach, but felt a surge of shame too. She wasn’t stupid. Her parents were over-protective, but she’d heard enough talk at school and college to know that she’d just lost her virginity. ‘Oh, God,’ she wailed. ‘What have we done?’

‘Bloody hell, I’m sorry, love,’ Albie responded as he rolled off her, adjusting his trousers, ‘but if you didn’t want it to happen you should have stopped me.’

Constance pushed her panties back into place, feeling sticky, uncomfortable and overwhelmed with shame. She rose to her feet, and began to hurriedly walk back along the narrow path.

‘Constance, wait,’ Albie called, and he came up alongside her. ‘You ain’t going to tell anyone about what happened, are you?’

‘What! No, of course not. I dread to think what my parents would do if they found out.’

‘Yeah, my gran would do her nut too. She’d blame me, of course, say I took advantage of you, but I didn’t. You was willing. You didn’t say no or do anything to stop me.’

‘I know that, but all I want now is to go home,’ Constance said huskily, close to tears. She knew she’d allowed it to happen, and was still swamped with guilt as they emerged onto the road from the common.

‘I’d walk you to your door, but I don’t think we should risk being seen together,’ Albie said. ‘Are you all right with that?’

‘Yes,’ Constance croaked.

‘Right then, I’ll go,’ Albie said and swiftly walked off in the opposite direction.

Tears fell readily then. Albie didn’t want to be seen with her and she couldn’t blame him. What sort of girl was she? A bad girl, a tart, for allowing him to make love to her so easily. With her head low Constance hurried home, relieved to find her mother still asleep on the sofa. She went up to her room, flung herself across the bed and sobbed until sleep overwhelmed her.

Chapter 5

August ran into September and Constance’s eighteenth birthday passed with hardly any celebrations. She was given a locket set on a fine gold chain, and her mother had instructed Ethel to make her a cake, but that was all. In the basement Ethel had felt a little sorry for Constance and had made a bit of a fuss of her, presenting her with a pretty scarf. She’d been pleased to see that Constance had liked it.

However, it was now the end of September and Ethel was worried. Albie hadn’t been to visit for over four weeks, which was unusual. Previously the longest he’d gone without coming to see her was a fortnight. She wished she could go to her daughter’s house to ask if there was a problem, but no doubt Dora would slam the door in her face. Ethel’s forehead creased with worry. What if something had happened to Albie? He drove long distances and could have had an accident, but she had no way of knowing. She didn’t even know the name of the company he worked for and now wished she had asked him. Ethel slumped on a chair at the kitchen table, deciding that if Albie didn’t turn up soon, she’d go round to Dora’s whether her daughter liked it or not.

‘The mistress has got company and wants a tea tray,’ Mary said at noon as she ran down to the basement, ‘with some of those dainty cakes you made.’

‘Who’s called to see her?’ Ethel asked, glad to have something to turn her thoughts from Albie.

‘I don’t know, but she’s ever so posh.’

‘In that case, we’ll use one of the best tea services. Get the silver teapot out and the Royal Doulton china, along with the cakestand.’

Mary ran to do her bidding, while Ethel’s thoughts turned to Constance. The girl had returned to college weeks ago, setting off every morning on her bicycle, and she rarely came down to the basement now, but that was probably because she was studying hard for her exams. On the last occasion Ethel had seen her, Constance hadn’t mentioned Albie, and Ethel was relieved that the girl’s crush on him seemed to be a thing of the past. Mary probably still fancied him, but she could handle her, and if Albie took a shine to her, they were of the same class so it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Not that it was likely to happen; Mary wasn’t his type, she was a mousy little thing, and come to that, Miss Constance wasn’t much to look at either. Albie had jokingly said he fancied a bit of posh totty, and that was probably the only attraction.

With the tea made, Ethel arranged the cakes on the stand, then put the tray in the dumbwaiter while Mary ran upstairs to unload it. She was a good girl, worked hard, and though she was not the sharpest tool in the box, Ethel was growing fond of her. Mary had no parents, or any family that she knew of, but she seemed happy enough and never complained no matter how much work she was given to do. Ethel knew that Miss Constance had offered to help Mary with some housework, but the mistress wouldn’t hear of it. Of course that was no surprise – Mrs Burton Blake would never allow Constance to do menial work. She would consider it beneath her daughter, who was expected to marry well.

Constance found it difficult to concentrate at college and was glad when it was time to go home. Over a month had passed since that night on the common, and she was still ashamed of what had happened. Albie had made no attempt to see her again, and, though she was hurt at first, the hurt had turned to anger. Albie had just used her, and once he got what he’d wanted she’d been discarded.

The anger had gradually cooled and Constance had come to realise that if Albie didn’t want to see her again, it was probably for the best. Even if she’d wanted a relationship with him her mother would never have allowed it, so instead of moping she had thought about what she wanted to do with her life. The law drew her, with a view to becoming a barrister, but so did medicine. So far she’d been unable to make up her mind. There was no hurry, she had to swot for good exam results first, ones that would gain her entry into university.

‘Constance,’ her mother said as soon as she arrived home from college. ‘We have guests for dinner this evening and I want you to dress exceptionally well. Do something with your hair too – wear it up. And I suppose, on this occasion, it wouldn’t hurt if you wore a little make-up, perhaps some lipstick and powder.’

‘Why? Who on earth is coming?’

‘Elizabeth Willerby and her son, Rupert. Elizabeth came to have tea with me this morning and the arrangements for this evening were made.’

Constance groaned. She couldn’t stand Rupert, a namby-pamby mummy’s boy and an absolute bore. ‘Can’t I just stay in my room?’

‘Don’t be silly. The Willerbys come from old money and Rupert would be a good catch.’

‘Catch? As in a husband? No, Mother, I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on earth!’

‘You are hardly a catch yourself and can’t afford to be choosy. Anyway, we aren’t talking marriage yet. You’re still too young, but it can’t hurt to look at your options.’

‘Rupert isn’t an option, Mother. He looks like a horse.’

‘If you’re going to be picky you’ll never marry and you’ll end up an old maid.’

‘Does Daddy know about this?’

‘Yes, I rang to warn him we have guests for dinner and the reason why, so don’t think complaining to him will make a difference.’

Constance knew she was beaten. Like it or not she was going to have to spend an evening in the Willerbys’ company. However, there was no way she would consider marrying Rupert. She’d found little enjoyment in what had happened with Albie, and the thought of doing the same thing with Rupert turned her stomach. Constance knew she wasn’t much to look at, and that suitable men would never be queuing to marry her, but better to be an old maid than stuck with a man she couldn’t stand the sight of.

In fact, Constance thought as she went upstairs, it was better to concentrate on a career in the law or medicine and forget about marriage altogether.

Charles wasn’t in the best of moods when he arrived home. Hettie had called to say they had guests for dinner, which meant he wouldn’t be able to visit Jessica that evening. Instead he’d be stuck entertaining Elizabeth Willerby and her weakling of a son, both of whom he found utterly tiresome.

‘Hettie,’ he snapped when he walked into the drawing room, ‘I’m not happy about this evening.’

‘Oh, and why is that?’

‘I had other plans and don’t like being presented with a fait accompli. In future I want to be consulted first before you invite anyone to dinner.’

‘What were these other plans?’

Charles didn’t like being put on the spot and blustered, ‘I was going to my club.’

‘As you go there most evenings I’d hardly call it plans, whereas I’m trying to ensure our daughter’s future. Rupert would be an ideal suitor for Constance.’

‘Suitor? What on earth are you talking about, woman?’

‘I should have thought it obvious. Suitor, as in husband material.’

‘Not this again. As I have said before, Constance is too young to think about marriage.’

‘She’s eighteen now, it won’t hurt to look at her options.’

‘You can’t seriously think that Rupert is an option? The boy’s a fool.’

‘He is not! Nor is he a boy. Rupert is twenty-three.’

‘Is Constance happy about this attempt to marry her off?’

‘That isn’t what I’m doing, at least not yet.’

‘In that case, why have you invited him to dinner?’

‘Constance is gauche and needs to learn social skills if she’s to eventually find a husband. This evening will help her, at least I hope so, but she’s being rather belligerent.’

‘I can’t say I blame her, but as our guests will be here in about an hour, I should get dressed for dinner.’

‘Yes, me too,’ Hettie said, rising to accompany him from the room. ‘I’ll just have a word with Ethel about the menu, and I want to make sure that Mary is wearing a clean apron when she serves dinner.’

Charles was hardly listening to Hettie’s prattle, his mood still foul as he went upstairs. As far as he was concerned inviting the Willerbys to dinner was a waste of time. Rupert was totally unsuitable for Constance: the young man was a nincompoop, and if his daughter had any sense she’d realise that too.

By almost nine-thirty, Constance was fighting to hold back her mirth. She’d told her mother that Rupert looked like a horse, and when he guffawed at something he’d said – which he obviously felt was rather funny – he snorted, making him sound like one too. Worse than that, all he’d talked about so far were their stables, the horses he kept, the stud he had just acquired and his hopes for an Ascot winner.

‘I know the Queen loves horse riding too, and of course she always attends Ascot,’ Hettie said.

‘Yes,’ Elizabeth agreed, ‘and of course Rupert and I go to Royal Ascot too. It’s high up on our social calendar.’

‘I’m sure Constance would love to go, wouldn’t you, dear?’

Elizabeth was the one to answer, sounding amused as she said, ‘As Ascot was in June, Constance would have to wait until next year.’

‘Yes, yes, I realise that,’ Hettie blustered.

‘Of course you do,’ Elizabeth remarked, a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

Constance hated her supercilious attitude and said bluntly, ‘I have no interest in horses or horse racing.’

‘Really? Then what does interest you?’ Elizabeth asked.

‘Medicine, and I intend to study it.’

‘Constance,’ her mother said, sounding aghast.

Elizabeth looked amused. ‘Goodness, Hettie, your daughter is quite the bluestocking.’

‘I think it’s commendable,’ Charles said firmly. ‘Many young women nowadays are not content to be just wives and mothers. They want careers, and in choosing medicine, my daughter will have a chance to make a difference. This is the first I’ve heard of this, Constance, but well done, my dear.’

Constance could hardly believe her ears. Her father rarely praised her, and most of the time he seemed hardly aware of her existence. ‘Th–thank you, Daddy.’

‘I don’t approve of young women with frivolous careers,’ Elizabeth commented.

‘I’d hardly call medicine frivolous,’ Charles retorted, ‘and even if it were, I don’t think my daughter needs your approval to pursue a career.’

‘My son wouldn’t approve either. He wants a wife to run his home, entertain his guests and, of course, provide him with an heir.’

‘I’m sure he’ll find a suitable brood mare, but it won’t be my daughter,’ Charles snapped, throwing down his napkin before rising to his feet. ‘I’m going to my study to smoke a cigar.’

‘But, Charles,’ Hettie protested, ‘we have another course. Mary is about to serve it.’

‘I’ve heard enough. Finish dinner without me,’ and with that, Charles left the room.

‘Your husband is rude and obnoxious,’ Elizabeth snapped angrily as she too surged to her feet. ‘Come, Rupert, I think it’s time to leave.’

‘But—’

‘Mummy, let them go,’ Constance interrupted hastily.

Henrietta drew in a breath, stood up and held herself erect. ‘Mary, please get Mrs Willerby’s wrap.’

‘Yes, Madam,’ the girl said, scurrying off and returning moments later.

The woman didn’t thank Mary, her manner haughty as she said a curt goodbye, Rupert doing the same and then following his mother out. As soon as the front door closed behind them Constance saw her mother go to pour herself a gin. It wasn’t her first, but so far there was no obvious sign that she’d been drinking. With some idea of what was coming, Constance braced herself.

‘Well, Constance, you really excelled yourself this evening. Your behaviour was appalling.’

‘In what way?’ Constance found the courage to ask.

‘All that talk of studying medicine.’

‘But why is that appalling? It’s something I’ve decided I’d like to do, that or law with a view to becoming a barrister.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. And if you said medicine to put Rupert off as a suitor, you certainly succeeded.’

‘Good, I’m glad she did,’ her father remarked as he walked back into the room, ‘and as I said, if Constance wants to study medicine I think it’s commendable.’

‘I’m considering law too, Daddy.’

‘Yes, I overheard, but you have plenty of time to make up your mind. In the meantime it wouldn’t hurt to look into what qualifications you’ll need and that might clarify things for you.’

‘Charles, I can’t believe you’re encouraging her.’

‘And I can’t believe you’re lining up fools like Rupert Willerby in an attempt to marry her off. Who’s next? Another idiot son of one of your so-called friends?’

With tempers rising, Constance felt it would be prudent to leave and said, ‘I’m sorry, but I’m a little tired and I think I’ll go to bed. Goodnight, Mummy, goodnight, Daddy.’

Her mother, tight-lipped, didn’t answer, but she received a smile and a goodnight in return from her father.

As she went upstairs Constance was still reeling from her father’s attitude. He rarely showed any interest in her, and she’d assumed that, like her mother, he just expected her to marry well. The last thing she’d expected was his support of her ambition to study medicine or law, and with him as an ally against her mother, she might just succeed.

For a while, Constance stood gazing out of the window. She saw someone passing the house by the light of a street-lamp, and unbidden thoughts of Albie sprang to mind. She’d been infatuated by his looks, taken in by his charm, and had foolishly given herself to him. She recalled Ethel saying that Albie had had a lot of girlfriends, leaving a trail of broken hearts, and now she was just another one on his list. Yet in all honesty she didn’t have a broken heart. It was more her pride that had been hurt – that and the fact that she had foolishly lost her virginity.

With an impatient shake of her head, Constance turned away from the window. She had better things to think about now, more important things, and a successful future beckoned. She would have to study hard, put all her efforts into her exams, good results being the first step in her chosen career. She decided she wouldn’t give Albie Jones another thought.

Chapter 6

Several more weeks passed, and it was now almost November. Albie still hadn’t visited and Ethel was going almost out of her mind with worry. On her afternoon off, unable to stand the stress any longer, she decided to go to her daughter’s house, hoping to at least get news of Albie before the door was slammed in her face.

It was cold outside and Ethel tucked her scarf under her chin as she waited for the bus that would take her to Battersea. Her daughter lived on Kibble Street, near Battersea Dogs Home, her house one of a row of two-up-two-downs with small back yards. It wasn’t the prettiest of streets, and the houses were poky, but as they were all owned by the Borough Council, the rent was cheap.

Taking in a deep breath to steady herself, Ethel knocked on the door, her fears proving unfounded when Albie answered it.

‘Gran, what are you doing here?’

‘You ain’t been to see me for a long time and I’ve been worried about you.’

‘I’ve been away, Gran. I’ve only just got back. I was planning on coming to see you tomorrow.’

‘Away where? It’s been nearly eight weeks.’

‘Erm … erm … I was working.’

Ethel frowned. She could always tell when Albie was fibbing and asked, ‘Where have you really been?’

‘Tell her the truth. Go on, spit it out and then she can bugger off.’

Ethel couldn’t see Dora but knew her voice that dripped with venom, and guessed she was hovering behind the door out of sight.

‘Mum, for goodness’ sake, shut up.’

‘Don’t tell me to shut up,’ Dora shouted, suddenly appearing. ‘You ain’t telling her, so I will.’

‘No, Mum.’

Ignoring Albie’s appeal, Dora spat, ‘You ain’t seen your precious grandson ’cos he’s been in the nick.’

‘What! No, surely not. Why, Albie?’ Ethel asked.

‘It was nothing much, just a bit of petty theft, that’s all, but I got caught and sent down for three months. I got out a bit early for good behaviour.’

‘Oh, Albie.’

‘Don’t look at me like that, Gran. I’ve learned my lesson and it won’t happen again.’

‘Right, you know where he’s been now so get lost,’ Dora said, pushing her way in front of Albie to shut the door.

Ethel was shocked by her daughter’s appearance. She’d been a beautiful young woman with blonde hair, a heart-shaped face and blue eyes. Now she looked thin and worn down, older than her years, but there were still traces of the beauty she used to be. Worried, Ethel asked, ‘Dora, are you all right?’

‘Yeah, but no thanks to you. Now just bugger off.’

‘Mum, I ain’t standing for this,’ Albie said, forcing himself to the front again. ‘I’m not going to let you shut the door in my gran’s face.’

‘It’s all right, Albie. I’m going now, but are you still coming to see me tomorrow?’

‘Yes, I’ll call in at around eight-thirty.’

‘Right, I’ll see you then. Bye, Dora.’

Ethel was unsurprised when her daughter didn’t answer. She gave Albie a wan smile before he closed the door, still shocked by what she’d heard as she made her way back to Clapham. She knew her grandson was a bit of a rogue, but this was the first time he’d been in prison.

She just hoped it was the last.

Jessica stood at her window, looking down onto Battersea Park, still missing Eric Dobson and their afternoons of lovemaking. She was finding it increasingly difficult to feign a response when she was in Charles’s arms; the feel of his flabby body was repulsive after Eric’s muscular frame. To compensate she’d been shopping again, but the new designer clothes were just strewn across her bed, doing nothing to fill the aching void. With an impatient shake of her head Jessica turned away from the window to look at the clock. It was only just after three and if Charles was going to turn up it wouldn’t be until around nine that evening. Hating the thought of being alone for more long hours, she made an impulsive decision to visit her old neighbourhood. As long as she kept away from the street where she’d been born and her parents still lived, she should be safe.

Jessica grabbed her handbag and left the flat, hoping to soon spot a taxi. It had been years since she’d used public transport so it didn’t occur to her to catch a bus, yet that had been the means she’d used to leave Hackney, vowing never to return. On that thought, Jessica froze. What was she doing? Why on earth was she going back? It was too risky. But of course deep down Jessica knew why. She knew Eric’s parents had left the area, but he still had friends there so she was hoping to hear news of him, though that was clutching at straws. She had no idea where he lived but doubted it would still be in Hackney. It couldn’t be, it was too far away and he’d been to see her every day on his last leave from duty. Anyway, he’d signed up for another trip so was probably still at sea.

With no way to contact him, Jessica fought back the tears that blurred her eyes. All she could hope for was that on his next leave, Eric would come to see her. But after the way they’d parted, she doubted that would happen, and now her shoulders slumped with defeat as she disconsolately made her way back to the flat.

By eight that evening, Jessica was ready, any trace of tears long gone and her make-up immaculately applied as always. It was over an hour later when Charles arrived, and she fixed a smile on her face to greet him. ‘Hello, darling. Would you like a sherry?’

‘Yes, please,’ he replied, looking very happy as he took the glass from her. ‘Though maybe we should be toasting with champagne.’

‘Really? Why’s that?’

‘I retire at the end of November and you know what that means?’

‘No, Charles. What does it mean?’

‘That you and I can spend more time together. I’m already planning to take you on a trip to Europe. You’ll love France, and Italy, especially Florence.’

Jessica forced a smile while inwardly dreading spending so much time with Charles. ‘That’s sounds lovely, but how are you going to square it with your wife?’

‘Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. You leave it to me and I’ll make sure that you’ll be seeing Paris in the spring.’

Once again Jessica managed a smile, and when Charles pulled her into his arms, she forced herself to feign pleasure.

Albie was well wrapped against the cold and was deep in thought as he rode his Vespa to visit his gran. He just hoped that Constance wouldn’t be around. He’d planned to learn from her, to be able to mix with the toffs, but instead the last time he’d seen her she’d humiliated him. He’d hidden it well, but her superior knowledge on the subject of astronomy and the space programme had made him feel like a fool. Of course he’d soon put that right through exerting his power over Constance, proving what a man he was as he thrust into her. Albie scowled. What a joke. It hadn’t proved anything. Constance had been too easy. He’d expected her to put up a bit of a fight, but she’d lain, compliant, beneath him. It hadn’t been much fun, but at least afterwards she’d agreed to keep her mouth shut.

Once he realised she would be of no use to him, Albie lost interest. She wasn’t much to look at, but it was mostly because she was too well educated, and talked about subjects he knew nothing about. He didn’t want to sound stupid every time he took her out, so he decided to leave posh totty alone in future.

His gran was pleased to see him, telling Mary to pour him a cup of tea as she cut him a piece of fruit cake. He loved his gran’s cooking and demolished it, but then she got rid of Mary and the interrogation began.

‘Right, Albie, you said you’d been arrested for petty theft. What did you take and from where?’

‘It wasn’t much, Gran. I was making a delivery to a warehouse, and just nicked a carton of cigarettes, that’s all,’ he told her, trying to make light of it, but as well as getting caught and doing time, he’d lost his job. With a record now and no reference it would be hard to find another one, and once his savings ran out he’d only have his dole money to live on.

‘I know you’re a bit of a rogue, Albie, but I never took you for a thief.’

Albie hated it that his gran thought badly of him and said, ‘I’m not. It was a one-off.’

‘I hope so. I suppose you’ve lost your job now?’

‘Yeah, but don’t worry, I’ll find another one. There’s a job going in a factory, but it’s the night shift and I don’t really fancy it. Mind you, I can’t afford to be out of work for long so I’ll take it if nothing else comes up.’

Ethel rose to her feet, hobbling as she went towards her bedroom, saying, ‘I won’t be a minute.’

Albie frowned. His gran’s ankles were so swollen that they hung over the sides of her slippers. It wasn’t right. She should retire, but no matter how many times he suggested it, she shot him down. Of course he understood that her accommodation came with the job, but she couldn’t go on like this. He’d have a word with his mother again, tell her that Gran needed to stop work, and this time he’d be more forceful in insisting that they give her a home.

When his gran returned she held out an envelope and said, ‘Here you are, love. This should help you out.’

Albie opened it and immediately handed it back. ‘No, Gran, I ain’t taking your money.’

‘Look, I hardly touch my wages. I have my home here, my food, and as there isn’t anything else I need, I’ve saved a substantial amount.’

‘Good, you’ve earned every penny and I’m glad to hear it.’

‘Please, Albie, take this. I don’t need it.’

‘No, Gran.’

‘Call it a loan then. Once you get a job you can start paying me back.’

‘Gran, I don’t need your money. I was saving for a car, remember? So I’ve still got a few bob tucked away.’

‘Well, if you’re sure, but if ever you need a bit of cash you know now that I can help you out.’

‘Thanks, Gran,’ he said, as Mary came back into the room. The girl’s eyes went straight to the envelope as she rubbed her nose on her cuff and Albie wondered if she’d been listening to their conversation from behind the door.

‘Sorry, I forgot my comic,’ she said, and after scurrying to pick it up she hurriedly left the room again.

‘Gran,’ he whispered. ‘Where do you keep your savings?’

‘In an old bag in the bottom of my wardrobe. Why?’

‘It’s not safe there. You should pay the money into a post office savings account.’

‘There’s no need for that. The money is fine where it is.’

‘I’m not so sure. Mary was interested in that envelope.’

‘You don’t have to worry about Mary. The girl isn’t very bright and she doesn’t show any interest in money. When she gets paid, all she wants to buy is sweets and her silly comics. I’ve managed to get her to save the rest so she certainly doesn’t need to steal my little hoard.’

Albie lowered his head in thought. So, Mary had a stash of cash too. If his money ran out before he got another job it could be easy pickings.

‘Do you want another bit of cake, love?’

‘No, thanks, Gran, I’d best be off. You look worn out and I think you need an early night.’

‘There’s no need to rush off. I ain’t seen you for ages.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll call in again in a couple of days,’ Albie reassured her.

‘In that case, I must admit I wouldn’t mind turning in.’

‘Right then, see you soon,’ he said, leaning down to kiss the papery skin on Ethel’s cheek.

His gran waved goodbye, her smile warm, and on his way home Albie was still determined to have a talk with his mother about taking her in. She might have enough saved to rent a place, and no doubt she’d have her pension, but he worried she was getting to the stage where she might be unfit to live alone. It was time for her family, small as it was, to step in.

As soon as her son walked in, Dora tensed. She knew what was coming. Every time Albie visited his gran it was the same old thing and she was sick of fobbing him off. She leaned forward to turn up the radio, the sound of the Rolling Stones’ hit single ‘It’s All Over Now’ filling the air.

Albie walked up to the radio, turned the volume down and said, ‘Gran looked rough again and her feet are badly swollen.’

Dora didn’t answer, her head low over her knitting.

‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘Yes, and there’s no need to shout.’

‘I’ve told you before, she needs to retire.’

‘And as I’ve told you before, your gran isn’t my problem.’

‘But she’s your mother.’

Unable to take this any more, Dora croaked, ‘You have no idea what she did to me.’

‘Then tell me. I’m not a child, Mum. I’m twenty-four years old and it’s time you told me what happened between you.’

Dora put down her knitting and said quietly, ‘I don’t know where to start. It happened a long time ago and it’s a long story.’

‘Try the beginning, Mum.’

Dora was sick of her son thinking badly of her, and maybe he was right – maybe he was old enough to be told the truth. With a sigh, she gathered her thoughts and began, ‘I was only sixteen when I met your dad, but as soon as I saw him I knew he was the only man for me. Billy was nineteen and we saw each other as often as we could. On my seventeenth birthday, he proposed, and insisted on talking to my dad, who I think would have agreed to us getting married. My mum, though, she was dead set against it. She said I was too young and that I needed to see a bit more of life before I thought about settling down.’

‘I can see the sense in that,’ Albie mused.

‘The following week war was declared, and being the young man he was, Billy was quick to sign up for the army. He was sent to a training camp, and then all I had were his letters, until …’

‘Until what? Don’t stop now, Mum.’

‘Until a couple of months later when I had an accident and broke my leg. It was put in plaster and I was soon allowed home, but at the same time I realised … I realised that I was pregnant. I was too scared to tell my parents but I wrote to your dad, asking him to get urgent permission to marry me before he was deployed.’

‘So that’s what all the secrecy has been about. You were already pregnant when you and Dad got married. It doesn’t bother me, Mum. I should think there were lots of so-called early babies born during the war,’ Albie said, then frowned. ‘It still doesn’t explain the animosity you have towards Gran.’

Dora rose to her feet. She’d always dreaded this, but Albie had to find out at some time and it might as well be now. ‘I’m just going to get something. I won’t be a tick.’

‘What’s this?’ Albie asked when she returned and placed a folded document in front of him.

‘It’s your birth certificate.’

‘Oh, right,’ he said and quickly scanned it.

‘Look at where it gives your father’s name.’

‘William Edward Anderson,’ Albie read out.

‘Look at the document again. Doesn’t anything strike you as strange?’

‘Like what?’

‘Read my name.’

‘Dora Alison Jones. I didn’t know you have a middle name. Alison, I like it.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Albie. Do I have to spell it out?’

‘All right, there’s no need to lose your rag. Just tell me what you’re getting at.’

‘Hasn’t it ever struck you as odd that our surname is the same as your gran’s?’

‘No. Why would it? You’re her daughter.’

‘Yes, but if I married, I’d take on my husband’s name. You and I would be Andersons.’

At last the penny dropped and Albie surged to his feet, his face suffusing with anger. ‘So my dad never married you! The bastard! No, it makes me the bastard! It’s just as well he’s dead, ’cos if he was still alive I’d bloody kill him.’

‘Calm down and don’t blame your father. It wasn’t his fault. It was down to your gran,’ Dora said, and, urging her son to sit down again, she continued. ‘As I said, I had a broken leg when I wrote to your father to tell him I was pregnant. He didn’t reply to my letter, so I sent another one, and then another, becoming more and more frantic, but I never heard from him again.’

‘I don’t see how that’s down to Gran.’

‘Please, Albie, let me finish,’ Dora said.

‘Yeah, sorry.’ Albie looked at Dora directly for a moment before she broke eye contact and continued her story, looking down at the floor.

‘When I was close to five months pregnant I couldn’t hide it any longer and had to tell my parents. My father was appalled, but surprisingly, my mother was marvellous about it. She made me some baggy clothes to cover my tummy, and then at seven months she sent me to stay with her sister in Kent.’

‘What about my dad? Did you hear from him?’

‘No, and when I went to Kent I was so distraught that he hadn’t replied to any of my letters that I stopped writing to him. Then, by the time you were born, my parents had moved to another area and so I was able to live with them again. As far as our new neighbours were concerned, I was a war widow.’

‘Was that when you found out that my dad had been killed in action?’

‘No, Albie. I assumed he was still alive. It was my father who insisted that I get in touch with his regiment, asking the commanding officer to tell Billy that he now had a son,’ Dora said, tears threatening.

‘And did he?’ Albie asked.

‘No doubt if he’d received the letter he would have,’ Dora said bitterly.

‘Why wouldn’t he have received it?’

‘Because it was never sent. And nor were any of my letters to your father. Yes, I can see you’re confused, but it’s the reason why I’ll never forgive your gran. You see, with a broken leg, I relied on her to post my letters – the ones telling your father I was pregnant. She also offered to post the one to his commanding officer.’

‘How did you find out she hadn’t posted them?’

‘It was by sheer chance. I was looking for my own birth certificate to compare it with yours. I wanted to see if it was obvious that I hadn’t married your father.’

‘I didn’t spot it until you pointed it out to me.’

‘Yeah, well, I knew your gran kept important papers in an old bag at the bottom of her wardrobe. If she’d had the sense to get rid of them I wouldn’t have found out, but there they were, all my letters, unopened and unposted.’

‘So my dad didn’t know you were pregnant?’

‘No, Albie. He didn’t have a clue.’

‘But … but I don’t understand. Why didn’t Gran post your letters?’

‘As I told you, she was against us getting married, and if Billy wrote to me she must have intercepted his letters. No doubt she hoped that if he didn’t hear from me, he’d think I had found someone else. Of course she had no idea that the letters I asked her to post were to tell Billy that I was pregnant.’

Albie frowned and Dora could see that he was struggling to understand. ‘But … but months later, when you had to tell her you were pregnant, surely she’d have wanted Billy to marry you?’

‘You’d think so, but I know your gran. She wouldn’t have wanted my dad to find out that she hadn’t posted my letters. He’d have gone mad, so she kept her mouth shut, preferring me to be an unmarried mother and have you born a bastard than admit the truth.’

‘I can’t believe Gran did that.’

‘Well, believe me, she did. Your father died never knowing that he had a son, and that’s all down to your gran,’ Dora told him as emotional exhaustion washed over her. She had managed not to break down in front of Albie, but now just wanted to go to bed where she could vent her feelings in private. Albie knew the truth now, and maybe he’d stop nagging her to take her mother in. She would never do that – never live under the same roof as her again. Not only had the love of her life died not knowing he had a son, he had died not knowing that she still loved him, and always would.

Chapter 7

‘Miss Constance hardly touched her dinner again,’ Mary said on a Saturday at the end of November as she carried dishes from the dumbwaiter to the sink.

Ethel was sitting in a fireside chair, her feet up, and feeling guilty that she was leaving all the work to Mary. Yet there was no way she could help the girl – if she stood up, she doubted her throbbing and swollen feet would support her.

‘Madam didn’t eat much either,’ Mary continued. ‘Not that she ever does. She lives mostly on gin.’

‘Mary, that’s disrespectful and I don’t want to hear you talking about the mistress like that again.’

‘Sorry, Ethel. The master was talking about when he ret … ret …’

‘Retires,’ Ethel finished for her.

‘Yeah, that’s the word. When he retires in a few days.’

‘What did he say about it?’ Ethel urged. She found out about the goings-on upstairs through Mary; the girl was so quiet and unobtrusive that when she served the Burton Blakes they seemed to forget she was there.

‘He said he’ll still be doing work as a private consul …’

‘Consultant,’ Ethel offered.

‘Yeah, that’s it.’

‘What did the mistress say about that?’

‘She didn’t say much, and if anything she looked happy about it.’

‘I suppose she’ll be glad that he won’t be under her feet all day,’ Ethel mused.

‘Yeah, ’cos if he was, he’d put the kibosh on her drinking.’

‘Mary, what did I just tell you about being disrespectful?’

‘Yeah, sorry,’ Mary said as she ran water into the sink. ‘I’d best get stuck into these dishes.’

Ethel was tired, worn out, her feet more swollen than ever. She knew that Albie was right when he said it was time for her to retire, but that meant leaving her apartment. She’d have to find somewhere else to live, but with only her pension to support herself, the rent would have to be cheap. She had no idea where to start, or how to go about finding a flat, but was sure that Albie would help her. He might be able to suggest somewhere near to where he lived with his mother in Battersea. Living closer, and not working such long hours here, she’d be able to see him more often.

Ethel shifted in her chair, her thoughts still turning. Though she wasn’t overly worried yet, it had been weeks since she’d seen Albie. Maybe he’d found a job, like the night shift one in a local factory that he’d mentioned, and if that was the case he’d have little time to visit her. Still, no doubt as soon as he could, Albie would call in – and when he did, Ethel would tell him that she was going to take his advice and retire. She knew that he was worried about her, so he’d be chuffed and she was sure he’d be happy to help her.

The view from Constance’s bedroom window changed with the seasons. In autumn the leaves on the trees had turned from green to various shades of gold, red and brown. Now, at the end of November, the branches were mostly bare, skeletal, though the darkness hid the bleak vista until morning.

Her mood bleak too, Constance had left her bedroom door ajar, waiting to hear Mary go up to her room on the fourth floor. She needed to speak to Ethel but it had to be in private.

When Constance finally heard Mary retiring to bed at just after ten-thirty, she sneaked downstairs, pleased to see that her mother was asleep on the sofa. Softly closing the drawing room door, Constance went down to the basement to find it in darkness. Ethel must have gone to bed too, and Constance stood, biting her lip, before desperation led her to rap on the woman’s bedroom door, whispering, ‘Ethel … Ethel, are you awake?’

‘What? Yes. Hold on.’

Shortly after, Ethel appeared, the light behind her showing her in a pink hairnet and dressing gown. She asked worriedly, ‘What’s wrong, Constance? Is it your mother?’

‘No, she’s fine,’ Constance said hastily. ‘I … I just need to talk to you.’

‘Talk to me?’ Ethel protested. ‘At this time of night?’

‘I’m sorry, but it’s important and I don’t know who else to turn to.’

Ethel signed heavily but said kindly, ‘All right, but let’s go into the kitchen. With the fire banked up it’ll still be warm.’

At Ethel’s soft tone, Constance almost broke down, but she managed to stem her tears and followed Ethel into the kitchen, where the woman sat down at one side of the hearth, gesturing to her to sit on the other.

‘Right, now, what’s this all about?’ Ethel asked.

‘I … I had dreamed of a career in medicine, or the law, but that’s going to be impossible now.’

‘Why? What’s changed?’

‘Something has happened and … Oh, dear, I really need to talk to Albie.’

‘Albie? What for?’

‘I … I need to tell him something. Will he be coming to see you soon?’

‘I dunno. I haven’t seen him in weeks.’

‘Please, Ethel, can you tell me where he lives?’

‘Look, love, I know you like Albie, but you shouldn’t go chasing after him. If he was interested in you he’d have let you know. As he hasn’t I don’t think he’d want me to give you his address.’

‘Ethel, please, you don’t understand. I must see him.’

The woman’s tone changed. ‘I think you’d better tell me what this is all about.’

Constance felt tears flooding her eyes as she croaked, ‘I … I’m having a baby.’

‘You’re pregnant?’ Ethel said, her eyes now wide with shock.

‘Yes and … and, now do you understand why I have to see Albie?’ Constance asked, juddering for breath and struggling to speak.

‘What for?’ Ethel asked, but then her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not trying to lay this on Albie, are you? If you are, you can forget it, young lady! He only spoke briefly to you once and you weren’t alone. I was there, as was Mary, so don’t you dare try to name my Albie as the father.’

‘But he is, Ethel. I saw him more than once and one evening he took me for a walk on the common. That … that’s when it happened.’

‘My God,’ Ethel wailed. ‘You’re not saying that he rap—’

‘No, no,’ Constance quickly interrupted. ‘I … I was willing. I should have stopped him, I know that, but well …’

‘Oh, you silly girl,’ Ethel cried, then sat up straight again. ‘Your parents! Have you told your parents?’

‘NO! I can’t. They’ll go mad.’

‘How far are you gone?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ve missed a few monthlies so does that mean I’m about three months?’

‘Yes, it does and your parents will soon see for themselves once you start to show. At three months gone, you won’t be able to hide it for much longer.’

‘I know, and that’s why I have to talk to Albie. Once he knows I’m pregnant he’s sure to marry me and … and if we do it quickly …’

‘Constance, unless your parents know about the baby, I don’t think they’ll agree to the marriage.’

‘Mother would agree to anything when she’s drunk.’

‘Yes, I suppose that’s true. But first things first, you’re right – you have to see Albie. It’s Sunday tomorrow and he’ll probably be at home in the morning. I’ll give you his address along with directions. You should aim to be there before midday.’

‘Ethel, please, will you come with me?’ Constance asked hopefully. She didn’t think she’d have the courage to go alone.

‘No, love, I can’t. I’m not due any time off until next week.’

‘We could go in the evening, after you’ve finished work for the day.’

‘He may not be in then and it would probably be a wasted journey.’

‘You could ring him, tell him we’re coming,’ Constance suggested, desperate for Ethel’s support.

‘Ring him? Do you mean use a telephone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Miss, my daughter hasn’t got a telephone.’

‘She hasn’t? Why?’ Constance asked incredulously.

‘Not everyone can afford to have one installed, or to pay the rental.’

Constance twisted her hair and frowned. She took having a telephone for granted. In fact, she took everything for granted: her parents paid for the clothes she wore, the food she ate, the home she lived in. Plus, they gave her a little allowance on top of that. When she married Albie all that would change and now she felt a shiver of apprehension. What would her life be like when they were married? Would they be poor, unable to pay for something as simple as a telephone? Desperately, she blurted, ‘Ethel, is there any way I can get rid of the baby?’

‘There are lots of old wives’ tales, such as sitting in a hot bath while drinking gin. I’ve never heard of that working, which only leaves an abortion. A doctor could arrange one under certain serious criteria but I don’t think you fulfil any of those. That just leaves an illegal abortion, but I’ve heard of women dying after letting some old crone butcher them.’

Constance shuddered. With no other choice and her future uncertain, she took Albie’s address from Ethel. Surely he’d agree to marry her? She desperately hoped so.

Ethel went back to bed, her mind in turmoil. She’d made excuses not to go with Constance to see Albie, knowing that if she was there her daughter wouldn’t allow them over the doorstep. She couldn’t believe that Albie had taken advantage of Miss Constance, but then again, the girl had said she was willing.

She tossed and turned, worrying about how the Burton Blakes would react when they found out that Constance was pregnant. Would they disown her? If so, it would leave the girl totally dependent on Albie. If he was working in the factory, Ethel doubted he earned much, and it would be a struggle to support a wife and child. Of course, his mother would probably offer to give them a home, but living in that tiny terrace in such a run-down area would come as a shock to Constance.

Ethel shifted her painfully throbbing feet as she thought about her own position. When it all came out, the Burton Blakes were sure to ask her to leave. They wouldn’t want to employ a servant who was related to Albie, but as she’d already decided to retire, Ethel wasn’t worried about that. In fact, if Albie could find her a decent-sized flat in this area, he and Constance could live with her.

Yet even that would still come as a shock to Miss Constance, who was used to this large, beautiful house with staff to do the work. Ethel would have to teach Constance how to cook and clean, along with helping her care for the baby. Ethel smiled. It was a scenario she’d love. She’d be part of a family again, and now she was determined to put her idea to Albie as soon as she saw him.

Ethel closed her eyes, her worries eased, and a soft smile of anticipation on her face now as she fell asleep.

Chapter 8

‘Mummy, I’m going to see one of my friends from college,’ Constance said as soon as they’d finished breakfast.

‘Friend? What friend?’

‘Felicity Cunningham. You haven’t met her.’

‘I hardly think calling on someone at this hour of the morning is acceptable.’

‘Felicity won’t mind. She’s very clever and I need a bit of help with a maths equation.’

‘What about her parents? Surely they won’t approve of callers at this hour?’

‘Felicity lives alone in a flat on the other side of the common.’

‘A young woman living on her own. I don’t like the sound of that.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Hettie,’ Charles said as he stood up to leave the table. ‘Constance isn’t a child and there is no harm in her visiting a friend.’

‘But—’

‘Off you go, Constance,’ Charles said, interrupting his wife.

She smiled gratefully at her father, though felt a surge of shame that she was deceiving her parents. There was no other choice. She couldn’t tell them the truth, and after putting on her shoes, along with a warm coat and scarf, she hastily left.

Constance waited ages for a bus, her feet turning as cold as ice before one finally arrived. She sat looking out of the window, so deep in thought that she hardly noticed the passing scenery. In reality, she didn’t really want to marry Albie, but life as an unmarried mother would be impossible. Her parents would disown her and probably throw her out, and she’d be left on the streets with no money and nowhere to live. She wouldn’t be able to raise a child penniless and alone, so like it or not, marriage was her only option.

When the bus reached her stop, Constance frowned at the run-down area. It wasn’t hard to find Kibble Street and Constance paused as she took in the grey and dismal surroundings with no sign of any greenery, the narrow, flat-fronted terraced houses without front gardens. Albie’s house was about halfway along and she stopped outside for a moment before knocking, wondering how he would react when he saw her.

At last, drawing in a breath to steady herself, she knocked and it seemed only seconds later that the door opened. Albie’s brow rose when he saw her and she blurted, ‘I need to talk to you.’

‘What about?’ he asked, making no attempt to invite her in, ‘and who told you where I live?’

‘It was your gran. She knows how important this is.’

‘Yeah, well, you can tell my gran that I’m finished with her. I’ve found out what she did to my mum and I never want to see her again. Now what do you want?’

Constance looked swiftly from side to side, then sputtered, ‘I … I’m having a baby.’

Albie’s expression hardened, his voice harsh as he said, ‘So? What’s that got to do with me?’

‘It … it’s yours, Albie.’

‘No, I ain’t having that. There are loads of blokes at that college you go to, and for all I know you could have had it off with any number of them.’

Constance looked down to her feet and quietly responded, ‘But I haven’t. You were the only one.’

‘So you say, but can you prove it?’

‘No, but … but …’

‘Nah, I thought not. Now bugger off ’cos you ain’t laying this at my door.’

‘Alb—’ Constance was cut off as the door was slammed in her face, and though she knocked on it again and again, it wasn’t opened. ‘Albie,’ she shouted, but there was no response.

Curtains twitched, and a couple of women stood on their doorsteps surveying the scene, but Constance was hardly aware of them. Finally, she turned away, tears running down her cheeks. She had no idea what to do now. Albie had said she couldn’t prove the baby was his, and it was true, she couldn’t.

Devastated by Albie’s reaction, Constance made her way home. She was lost, destined to be an unmarried mother, and with no other choice there was only one man she could turn to now: her father.

‘I heard all that,’ Dora said to her son. ‘Are you sure the baby ain’t yours?’

‘Of course I’m sure,’ Albie said, though he failed to meet her eyes. ‘She’s the first one who’s tried that tack, but I don’t suppose she’ll be the last.’

‘You’ve made a show of us with the neighbours. You should keep it in your bloody trousers.’

‘Leave it out, Mum. I’m a man and it’s what men do.’

‘That’s no excuse, and if you don’t take precautions it’s always the girl that gets lumbered. I feel sorry for her. I know what it’s like to be an unmarried mother, and I hate to think that poor girl’s baby will be born a bastard.’

For a brief moment Albie closed his eyes, but then he snapped, ‘Like I said, it ain’t my problem.’

‘Did you mean what you said about not seeing your gran again?’

‘Yeah, I meant it. I still can’t get my head around what she did. Why didn’t you tell me before now?’

‘I was tempted, many times, but you’ve always been so close to your gran and I didn’t want to spoil that for you. Even now, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.’

‘I was close to her, but that was before I found out what she did to you … to us. Now enough about the old cow. I’m gonna get dressed and go down the road for a couple of pints before lunch.’

‘Albie, are you sure that baby isn’t yours?’

‘I’m sure,’ he said resolutely as he turned to walk out.

Dora’s eyes followed her son as he left the room. She wasn’t convinced that he was telling the truth, and though she hadn’t seen the girl, she didn’t sound like she was from around these parts. She’d sounded posh, upper class, so goodness knows where Albie had met her. He’d had so many girlfriends, none of them lasting for more than five minutes. Easy come, easy go, that was Albie, girls falling for his good looks. He was blond like Dora, but his features were his father’s, and she smiled sadly at that thought. Never had a day passed that she didn’t think about Billy, but at least she had Albie, his son.

What Dora dreaded now was the day that Albie decided to leave home, and then she’d be alone – alone with nothing but her memories.

It was past midday, Constance wasn’t yet home, and Hettie was glad when Charles had gone to his study. No doubt he’d be going out soon, but that didn’t bother her. She went over to the cabinet and poured herself a large gin, and then another after she gulped the first down. She strongly suspected that Charles had a mistress, but she didn’t care. In fact, it suited her. She’d always found sex distasteful, and at least this mistress kept Charles from her bed.

It was his sexual demands that made Hettie take to gin in the first place; at least when she was in an alcoholic daze it wasn’t so bad. When Constance was a child, Hettie had only drunk in the evening, but nowadays, disappointed with life and her daughter, and often bored, she found comfort in alcohol at any time of the day.

She was still determined to find Constance a suitable husband, and a wedding would be something to plan and look forward to, though it wasn’t going to be easy. Her friends had vivacious, attractive daughters, socialites who drew the attention of suitors, whereas Constance was plain, with no social skills or conversation. Hettie blamed Charles for this; he should have sent her to finishing school, but no, he seemed to prefer it that his daughter was a bluestocking who was more interested in studying for university than socialising.

Hettie poured herself another drink. In a pleasant haze she began to fantasise about the wedding she would throw for Constance. It would be the social event of the year, her friends green with envy at the lavishness of the occasion, but then Hettie came down to earth with a bump. Charles was being very mean with money nowadays and would insist on a modest affair. Her friends, instead of being envious, would be tittering behind her back.

She frowned as she questioned what friends she even had nowadays. Only one or two bothered to visit and then only on rare occasions, and invitations to call on them were few and far between. Hettie searched for a reason, but failed to realise that nowadays she was usually under the influence of alcohol by midday.

Half an hour later Hettie stood up, intending to go to the bathroom, but she stopped in the hall and pricked up her ears. She was sure she could hear her daughter’s voice, but it sounded as though it was coming from the basement and she wondered what the girl was doing down there. She carefully opened the door and stood at the top of the stairs, listening.

‘Miss Constance, you’re back sooner than I expected,’ Ethel said, ‘but you look a bit pale. What happened?’ There was a pause then Ethel added, ‘It’s all right. We’re alone. It’s Mary’s afternoon off and she went out ten minutes ago. Now what did that grandson of mine say?’

‘He … he doesn’t believe that the baby is his. He told me to go away and then shut the door in my face.’

Hettie heard her daughter’s words, but at first couldn’t take them in.

‘I can’t believe my Albie said that. Didn’t you tell him that he was your first and it had to be him?’

‘Yes, but he still didn’t believe me.’

‘You leave this to me, Miss. I’ll go and have a word with him. I’ll insist he accepts that the baby is his.’

‘Ethel, you … you can’t. Albie said to tell you that he knows what you did to his mum and that he never wants to see you again.’

‘Oh, God, no! Oh, God!’

Hettie heard the sound of a chair being scraped back, and then her daughter’s voice again. ‘Ethel, you look dreadful. Sit down and I’ll get you a glass of water.’

Stunned and sobered by what she’d heard, Hettie turned white with shock. Constance was having a baby, and the father was Ethel’s grandson. No! No! It couldn’t be true! She suddenly felt strange and came over all dizzy. Her vision began to blur and, within moments, her legs gave way. Hettie tumbled down the basement stairs and landed with a thump at the bottom.

‘Mummy!’ Constance cried when she turned at the sound to see her mother in a heap on the floor. She ran over to her and was relieved to see that, though she looked sheet-white, she was breathing.

‘Yo … nyum … ha …’

‘Ethel, she can’t seem to speak, and look, her face looks strange,’ Constance said, panicked and confused.

Ethel struggled to her feet and joined her, saying, ‘I think it might be a stroke. Quick, run upstairs and fetch your father.’

Constance jumped up, but had to step over her mother to get to the stairs. She dashed up them as fast as she could, panting when at last she found her father in his study. He looked dressed to go out and frowned when she blurted, ‘Daddy, come quickly.’

‘Why? What’s wrong, Constance?’

‘It … it’s Mummy. She fell down the stairs and … and she looks odd.’

Constance was relieved when her father didn’t pause to ask questions, but instead hurried into the hall. ‘Where is she?’

‘In the basement, Daddy.’

‘What?’ he asked, looking momentarily confused, but paused for only an instant before he took the basement stairs.

‘I think it’s a stroke, sir,’ Ethel told him without preamble. ‘You’d best call an ambulance.’

‘Hettie. Hettie my dear, are you all right?’ Charles asked, crouching with difficulty beside her.

‘Nu … yo … co …’

‘I think you’re right, Ethel. Her words are unintelligible and her face looks strangely lopsided.’

‘Like I said, sir, you should call an ambulance.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. Constance, stay with your mother,’ he ordered as he struggled to his feet and went back upstairs.

‘Ethel, this is all my fault,’ Constance cried. ‘She must have heard us talking.’

‘There’s no point in blaming yourself, Miss.’

‘But it must have been such a shock.’

‘Maybe, but that wouldn’t cause a stroke. Now come on, no tears. It might take your mother some time to recover, and she’s gonna need you to be strong.’

Constance sniffed, and dashed the back of her hand across her wet cheek. Her mother still looked dreadful, her eyes full of fear and befuddlement, but Ethel had spoken of recovery so at least that meant she wasn’t going to die. She held her limp hand, praying that an ambulance would arrive soon. Her father returned to wait with them until at last they heard the vehicle’s bell.

Chapter 9

Constance and her father had sat in the waiting room for what felt like hours before the doctor had come to speak to them. He confirmed that her mother had suffered a stroke, and then her father insisted that she was transferred to a private hospital. The doctor had agreed, but asked that they wait a few days, as moving her at that point might affect her recovery.

They had been in to see her, sat by her bed, but she hadn’t responded when they’d spoken to her. After five painfully quiet hours, they’d returned home. Still feeling sick with guilt, Constance flopped onto a sofa while her father went to the drinks cabinet to pour himself a whiskey.

‘Your mother seemed fine this morning. You saw that for yourself before you went out.’

‘Yes … yes, she was, but … but …’ Constance stammered, and then unable to hold it back any longer she blurted, ‘It was my fault, Daddy. My fault that Mummy had a stroke.’

‘Don’t be silly. Of course it wasn’t.’

‘But it was,’ Constance insisted, racked with guilt.

‘Explain yourself,’ her father demanded, his brow now knitted.

Constance hung her head in shame and struggled to find the words.

‘Well?’ her father snapped impatiently.

His sharp tone jolted Constance and she looked up at him, holding her breath as she tried to think of the right thing to say.

‘She … Mummy … She heard me talking to Ethel,’ Constance said and paused as the words seemed to get stuck in her throat. She’d dreaded this moment and now the terrible news she was about to break was made even worse by her mother’s stroke.

Constance swallowed hard, her mouth dry with nerves and under the scrutinising glare of her father, she anxiously continued. ‘Mummy heard me talking to Ethel about the baby,’ she said in almost a whisper and then braced herself for her father’s reaction.

‘Baby! What baby?’

Constance chewed on her bottom lip. She wanted to cry or run from the room. She wished she could turn back time and make this all go away. But she couldn’t, so after drawing a long, deep breath, she summoned the courage and finally said, ‘I … I’m pregnant, Daddy.’

Charles’s eyes widened in shock and then he ran a hand through his grey hair as he said angrily, ‘I can’t believe this. First your mother has a stroke, and now this.’

‘I’m sorry, Daddy,’ Constance uttered, fighting to hold back tears.

‘Sorry! It’s a bit late for that,’ he barked. ‘Who’s the father? He’ll have to marry you.’

‘He won’t, Daddy. He refuses to accept the baby is his.’

‘The scoundrel. I’m not standing for that. What’s his name and where does he live?’

Constance had known her father would want to know the man responsible for this but she hadn’t wanted to tell him. But with no other choice she said, ‘His name is Albie Jones and he lives in Battersea. He … he’s Ethel’s grandson.’

‘Ethel! Ethel our cook?’

‘Yes, Daddy.’

‘My God, this gets worse, but like it or not, he’ll marry you, I’ll see to that,’ he said, with barely contained fury.

‘But I can’t prove it’s his …’

Constance watched as her father quickly drank his whiskey before pouring another, and downed the second glass too. He then drew in a deep breath as though to calm himself and said, ‘Right, I’ll have a word with Ethel.’

Constance ran after him and called out, ‘Ethel didn’t know, Daddy. She’s as shocked as you are.’

Her father didn’t pause as he pulled open the basement door and went downstairs, Constance in his wake.

‘Oh, sir, how is your wife? Is she going to be all right?’ Ethel asked worriedly as she rose with difficulty to her feet.

‘I hope so, Ethel, but I have other pressing matters to talk to you about. My daughter tells me that she’s having a baby, and that your grandson is the father.’

‘I know, sir. Constance told me earlier, and it came as quite a shock.’

‘Quite so, but worse, it seems the young man is refusing to accept responsibility.’

‘Constance told me that too, and I’m stunned. I never would have thought it of my Albie.’

‘The young man is clearly a good-for-nothing wretch, Ethel, but I’ll see to it that he marries Constance, and when he does it will make your position here untenable.’

‘Yes, sir, I realise that. And anyway, it’s time I retired.’

‘Good. I’m glad we understand each other.’

‘But that’s not fair, Daddy,’ Constance interjected. ‘None of this is Ethel’s fault.’

‘I didn’t say it was. The fault lies with you and this young man. Now come, Constance,’ he demanded, turning to go back upstairs.

Reluctantly, Constance followed her father and once back in the drawing room she asked, ‘Why can’t Ethel stay, Daddy?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? She’s related to the man you’re going to marry, so we can hardly employ one of his relatives as our cook. Now give me his address and I’ll go to see him before I return to the hospital.’

Constance felt tears welling in her eyes as she wrote it down, guilt once again swamping her. She still felt she was to blame for her mother’s stroke, and now there was the added anguish that she had caused Ethel to lose her job.

‘What do you want?’ Albie asked suspiciously, eyeing the smartly dressed man and the black Bentley parked outside. The bloke didn’t look like a debt collector, or CID. He looked like a nob.

‘Are you Albie Jones?’

‘Who’s asking?’

‘My name is Charles Burton Blake. I’d like to talk to you about my daughter, Constance.’

‘Yeah, well, I don’t want to talk to you. I know what she’s accusing me of, but that baby ain’t mine,’ Albie said defiantly.

The man’s reaction wasn’t what Albie expected. Instead of arguing, or anger, he said dismissively, ‘Well, in that case I’m sorry for disturbing you. I do hope I can find the father though, because I intend to see that whoever marries my daughter will gain a great deal financially.’

Albie liked the sound of that, and as the man turned to leave he quickly said, ‘Hold up. Come in and we can have a chat.’

Charles smiled sardonically as he followed Albie into the living room. Albie’s mother Dora surged to her feet. ‘Mum, this is Mr Burton Blake and we’ve got a bit of business to discuss. It might be best if you leave us alone.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Charles said. ‘After all, what I have to say concerns your mother too. Do sit down, Mrs Jones.’

Albie didn’t like it that this posh geezer was taking control of the situation, nor how his mother was looking at him agog. Unlike her, he wasn’t intimidated and said, ‘Why don’t you sit down, gov, and let’s hear what you’ve got to say.’

‘Thank you,’ Charles answered politely as he took a seat and looked around the room.

Albie saw his lips curl in distaste which immediately got his back up. They might not be rich, but his mother kept the place immaculate. ‘Right,’ he snapped, ‘let’s get down to business.’

‘If you admit to being the baby’s father and marry my daughter, I will offer financial assistance.’

‘I’m quite capable of supporting a wife and family,’ Albie said defensively, though in truth he was very interested in the man’s offer.

‘Yes, I’m sure you are, but getting married and having a child is an expensive business. I’m sure a couple of thousand pounds would help.’

‘Two grand! Are you kidding?’

‘I can assure you I’m not.’

Albie lowered his head in thought. He didn’t want to get married, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that this arrangement might have its uses. Constance wasn’t much to look at – and intimidated him with her intelligence – but two grand! By the look of the Burton Blakes there was a lot more where that came from, and that could set Albie up for life. Surely, once married, he could tame Constance, put her in her place and show her he was the boss. There’d be no more of her going to college. She’d have to settle down to domestic life, do the cooking and cleaning, and that was sure to bring her down a peg or two. He still wasn’t sure though and shook his head, unable to come to a decision. ‘I need to think about it,’ he said.

‘Alfie, if this baby is yours you must marry the girl,’ his mother urged. ‘Surely you wouldn’t want your son or daughter to be born a bastard.’

‘Like me, you mean,’ he snapped, then, seeing the look on his mother’s face, he instantly regretted his words. It wasn’t his mother’s fault, it was down to his gran. ‘Sorry, Mum. I shouldn’t have said that, and you’re right, I don’t want my kid born a bastard.’

‘Then marry the girl, Albie.’

Struck by other benefits that could come his way by marrying into a wealthy family, Albie said, ‘All right, Mr Burton Blake, I’ll marry your daughter – but I want the money in my hand before I say any wedding vows. Also, as your daughter is unlikely to fit in around here, it’s probably for the best if we move in with you.’

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. My wife is ill and in hospital at the moment. When she comes home she will require complete quiet and rest. The last thing she needs is any disruption, so it will be down to you to provide my daughter with a suitable home.’

Albie was disappointed. He’d quite fancied living in that posh house with servants, until the thought struck him that his gran was one of them. The last thing he wanted was to have to see her, so he said amicably, ‘Fair enough. I’ll find us a flat.’

‘Good, and I think you should make the arrangements to marry my daughter as soon as possible.’

‘Yeah, all right. I’ll go the registry office in the morning.’

‘As soon as you have a date, please let Constance know.’

‘OK. I’ll call round tomorrow evening.’

‘Very well. And of course, you’ll be able to see your grandmother, though she sadly is soon to leave my employment.’

‘I don’t give a shit about me gran,’ Alfie spat, annoyed that he hadn’t known that earlier.

The man’s brow rose. ‘Have you had some sort of disagreement?’

‘Yeah, you could say that.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that, but I must go now. It’s close to visiting time and I want to get something to eat before I visit my wife.’

‘I can make you a sandwich,’ Dora offered. ‘I’ve got a nice bit of pork left over from our Sunday dinner.’

‘That’s very kind, but no thank you. I’ll call in at my club.’

Alfie hid a smirk. His club. Blimey, what a toff, but if he played his cards right he could be joining their ranks soon. After all, he was marrying into money and he’d ensure that a lot more of it came his way.

Charles had fought his anger and had planned what he was going to do if Albie Jones refused to accept responsibility for the baby. As he’d expected the young man had soon changed his tune when an offer of money came into the equation, and that spoke volumes about his character. Albie, as Charles had suspected, was indeed a scoundrel.

Once the arrangements had been made, Charles had been glad to leave. The small house had felt claustrophobic, and though clean, the furniture was very tatty and old. Albie had said he was capable of supporting a wife and family, but from what he’d seen, he hadn’t done much for his mother.

After a sandwich and a glass of whiskey at his club, Charles left for the hospital, finding when he got there that there was little change in Hettie’s condition. Her eyes opened and she tried to speak, but the words were slurred and impossible to decipher. He held her hand and told her that that she had no need to worry. He’d arranged for Constance to be married, so their good name wouldn’t be sullied, but he had no way of knowing if she understood. Of course, Hettie wouldn’t be happy about the family Constance was marrying into, but surely that was better than her being an unmarried mother.

Half an hour later, and feeling totally ineffectual, Charles left. He was aching to see Jessica, and to find consolation in her arms, yet he still had to talk to Constance so could only stay for about an hour. He hated this disruption to his routine, the inconvenience of his wife being in hospital, and the distasteful meeting he’d had with Albie Jones. He didn’t like the young man, and was determined that once he and Constance were married, neither of them would set foot in his house again.

When he arrived at Jessica’s flat, he let himself in as usual, smiling at last as Jessica rose to her feet.

‘Darling, you look dreadful. What’s happened?’ she asked.

He pulled her into his arms burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair. ‘It’s been an awful day. Hettie had a stroke and I found out my daughter is pregnant.’

‘Oh, goodness, sit down, I’ll get you a drink and then you can start at the beginning.’

‘Just a coffee. If I have another whiskey I won’t be fit to drive,’ Charles said, sinking onto the soft plush sofa with a sigh. He told Jessica all that had happened, comforted by her sympathy. She led him to her bed, where, at least for a while, he could drown himself in her beautiful body and forget the horrors of the day.

‘Daddy,’ Constance cried, running up to him as soon as her father walked in the door. ‘You’ve been gone for such a long time. What happened?’

‘Allow me to take my coat off,’ he said abruptly, and after hanging it up he marched into the drawing room.

‘I thought you’d take me to see Mummy. Is she all right?’

‘After talking to Albie Jones, I didn’t have time to come home again before visiting hours. Your mother is about the same, with no perceptible change, and as for Albie, he’s going to the register office in the morning to arrange your marriage.’

‘Oh, Daddy,’ Constance said, ‘how did you persuade him?’

‘How do you think? With money, of course. And let me make this clear: as soon as you’re married you are to leave this house.’

‘No, Daddy, please, do I have to marry him?’ she asked desperately.

‘Of course you do. You’re pregnant with the man’s child.’

‘What if I refuse?’

‘I can’t force you to marry him, but if you don’t I will not support you, nor will I allow you to live here.’

‘But …’

‘No buts, Constance. I have to admit I don’t think much of Albie Jones. I have no time for a man who has to be bribed to accept his responsibilities, but nevertheless you have made your bed and now you must lie in it. It’s up to him now to provide you with a home and you will no longer be welcome here.’

Constance reeled with shock. ‘But can’t I come to visit you, and Mummy?’

‘I doubt your mother will want to see you, but when she recovers I’ll leave that decision to her.’

‘But … but the baby. It’ll be your grandchild.’

‘Yes, but when I think about the type of man who fathered the child my stomach crawls with distaste. Once you’re married, he too will never be welcome in this house. And as for your wedding, I won’t be attending.’

With that her father walked out of the room, leaving Constance sobbing. She wished she’d never set eyes on Albie Jones, but now she would have to marry him. Worse still was the thought that he’d had to be bought – her father had to pay him to wed her. Feeling desolate, with no one else to talk to, Constance went down to the basement, hoping that Ethel could reassure her about the future.

Mary had learned that if she kept quiet and stayed in the background, people seemed to forget she was there. It had served her well in the children’s home and saved her from many a beating at the hands of the other kids. It worked here too as she was able to listen in to a lot of interesting and revealing conversations. When Miss Constance came downstairs, Mary kept to a dim part of the kitchen and stood quiet as a mouse.

‘Oh, Miss Constance, you’re crying. What’s going on? I’ve been waiting ages to find out. Is it your mother? Has she taken a turn for the worse?’

‘I haven’t seen my mother, but my father said there’s no change in her condition.’

‘Well then, surely that’s a good sign?’

‘I hope so, and as for Albie, he’s agreed to marry me.’

Mary stiffened. This was the first she’d heard of the arrangement and it seemed a bit sudden. Surely they barely knew each other.

‘Thank goodness,’ Ethel said.

‘Yes, but he had to be bribed, paid to marry me.’

Mary’s eyes widened. None of this made sense to her, but her ears pricked again when Ethel spoke.

‘I can’t believe it. I never thought my Albie would behave like this, first denying that the baby is his and now taking money from your father.’

For Mary, everything fell into place. She wasn’t as thick as they thought, or as daft. She knew about sex – boys in the kids’ home had been fond of trying it on, but thanks to seeing another girl kick them where it hurt, she’d learned to do the same and they would back off in pain, holding their tackles. Now, if it had been Albie trying it on, she wouldn’t have minded. She would have happily had sex with him, but instead he’d been with Miss Constance.

‘My father said that Albie is going to the register office in the morning. Ethel, I know he’s your grandson, but I wish I didn’t have to marry him. I wanted to finish my education, to become a doctor or a barrister, but that’s impossible now. There’s no point in going to college any more and anyway, as I’ll be showing soon I don’t think I could stand the gossip and sniggers.’

‘I’m sorry, love. Though I’m not happy with the way Albie has behaved, taking money and all, he isn’t a bad lad and he’ll treat you right.’

‘My father said that as soon as I marry him, I’ve got to leave this house.’

‘Well, we’ve got something in common then. I’ll be leaving too.’

Mary once again stiffened. Ethel was leaving! Her stomach sank at the thought of it; Ethel had become like a mother to her and she didn’t want to stay working at the house without her.

‘I’m so sorry, Ethel. Where will you go?’

‘Don’t worry about me, Miss. There’s a letting agency just across the common and I’ll ask them to find me a nice little flat to rent. I’ll have my pension so I’ll be all right.’

‘I expect Albie will rent us a flat too.’

‘Yes, I should think so, and as your father is helping him out financially, he won’t have a problem finding a deposit.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ Constance said disconsolately.

Mary couldn’t understand why Constance was so unhappy. She was having Albie’s baby, he was going to marry her, and it sounded like they’d have a few bob too. She wished she could swap places with Constance, but after hearing what Ethel said at least she had thought of a way of getting out of this house too. She waited until Constance had gone upstairs and then quietly approached Ethel and said, ‘Can I talk to you?’

‘Bloody hell, girl, you made me jump. I’d forgotten you were there.’

‘I heard all that. I can’t believe that Albie is going to marry Miss Constance. She isn’t his sort and if you ask me he’s off his rocker.’

‘Look, I know you like him, but Miss Constance is having his baby and I wouldn’t want it born a bastard.’

‘Why not? I was.’

‘Sorry, love, I didn’t know.’

‘It doesn’t bother me. Most of the kids in the home were bastards and anyway, that isn’t what I want to talk to you about. I heard you say you’re leaving,’ she said, wiping her nose on the cuff of her sleeve.

‘For Gawd’s sake I’ve told you before, use a hanky,’ Ethel said, pulling a clean one from her apron pocket and passing it over before continuing. ‘Yes, I’ve been asked to go, but I don’t mind. With my legs in this state I was going to retire anyway.’

‘Would you take me with you, Ethel?’

‘What? No, I can’t do that.’

‘Why not? I heard you saying that you’re going to find a flat. I could share it with you, get a job to pay my share of the rent and surely that would be better than living alone.’

Ethel’s brow rose and then she smiled. ‘You’re not as daft as you look, are you? I must admit it sounds like a good idea.’

‘What do you say then?’

Ethel cocked her head to one side, obviously thinking it through and then said, ‘Well, my girl, despite that nasty habit of using your cuff as a hanky, I must admit I’ve grown very fond of you.’

‘I’ll stop doing it. I promise I will.’

‘Make sure you do, and as for moving in with me, I think that’s a lovely idea.’

Mary did a little jig of delight. All she had known was sharing a dormitory with lots of other girls, followed by sleeping in the little room at the top of this house. Now for the first time in her life she would be living in a proper home. Her smile was wide as she bent to kiss Ethel’s papery cheek. ‘I’m fond of you too. You’re like a mother to me.’

‘At my age, more like a grandmother, but I think we’ll rub along nicely together.’

Feeling choked up, Mary sniffed back tears of happiness as she looked forward to the future.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.