Dreams of another day, p.29
Dreams of Another Day, page 29
‘No,’ agreed Connie, ‘and yet she loves the Gentileschi. Odd that. It seems rather foreign to her comfortable, sensible, sybaritic character.’
Ming swivelled in her chair and looked again at the fair, ferocious woman hammering a tent peg into the head of her sleeping enemy.
‘I’m not surprised,’ she said, ‘after what happened in the war.’
‘What did happen?’ Connie put down the sandwich and looked so puzzled that Ming understood her indiscretion. She was rather surprised that Flixe, who loathed secrets and considered that they caused inordinate trouble, had never told Connie about the night when she had been set on and half-strangled in the blackout.
‘Oh, just the general violence and beastliness. She knew quite a lot of people who went into occupied Europe and had … had a bad time. Don’t let’s talk about it, Connie.’
Knowing a little of what Ming herself had done, Connie dropped the topic at once.
‘We’re going to have to decide about the case today,’ she said. ‘Julia wanted to know straight after Christmas. What do we do?’
‘It’s mainly your magazine, Connie, and I do see your point of view. It would be a very expensive way of showing Roger Sillhorne what we think of him. I admit I’d like to put him through the wringer but there’s not much point. I’m not going to force you to change your mind and risk it all. I’ll plead guilty if you think it’s better.’
‘Thank you. I’ll ring Ratterley now.’ Connie dusted the crumbs off her black-and-white tweed skirt and stood up. With a hand on the telephone receiver she added: ‘I know I’ve said it before, but I’m very glad you’re with us.’
Ming smiled while Connie dialled the number of Mr Ratterley’s office to give him the news.
‘Very wise, Miss Wroughton,’ he said drily. ‘I’ll tell Mrs Wallington. There’s no need to have Counsel in the magistrates’court. I can act for you there if you’d like. We can brief Mrs Wallington, but it seems hardly worth it.’
‘No, I agree. Will you tell her and thank her for her advice?’
‘Yes, of course. Goodbye.’
‘That’s that then,’ said Connie, turning back to Ming.
‘Yes. I’d better go back to Max’s and deal with the corrections you both want to the retrospective.’
‘I’ll drive you, Ming.’
‘Don’t bother, Connie. A walk will do me a lot of good. I can work off some of my rage.’
‘All right. Give me a ring when you want to go back to the station.’
When Ming let herself into her flat that evening, much more tired than she usually was after one of Max’s Tuesday meetings, she heard the telephone bell ringing.
‘Hello?’ she said breathlessly when she had picked it up, hoping to hear Mark’s deep voice.
‘Ming? Julia Wallington here. Ratterley has just been on the telephone and I wanted to say that I think you’re very sensible. It sticks in the craw a bit to let Sillhorne get away with it, but taking the case to trial could have ruined you and Connie Wroughton.’
‘It sticks in my craw too,’ said Ming frankly, ‘but Connie’s persuaded me that it’s only sensible. You sound very worried. Is it about this?’
‘Do I? No. Your case should be easy now. I’m just a bit bothered about one I’m prosecuting at the moment.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Ming, answering the almost despairing tone rather than the unemotional words. ‘Is it particularly difficult?’
‘No. Very straightforward, but I hate them. It’s a young man who tried to commit suicide. He slit his wrists in the bath and – unfortunately for him – his landlady found him before he’d bled to death. Now he faces life imprisonment if I do my job properly.’
‘Julia, I am so sorry.’
The warmth in Ming’s voice and her obvious sincerity got right under Julia’s guard. She found that she couldn’t speak.
‘How long will it take?’ Ming asked.
‘Not long. It will probably be finished by the end of tomorrow.’
‘It’s hard to know what to say: I can hardly wish you luck. The poor man.’
‘I know. Thank you.’
‘We must meet soon, Julia.’
‘I’d like that. Goodbye now.’
Ming spent the next morning reading the bundle of letters Max had given her and trying to think of an angle for her new article. She quite understood why he had wanted to keep the letters from her when she was so newly unhappy, but she found herself getting passionately angry as she learned about the letter-writers’ lives. Remembering the arguments she had had with Flixe’s stockbroker about the rights of married women to work and earn their own money, she wished that she had had some of the letters with her then.
Of all of them, the admiring, the angry and the sad, the one that seemed the most heartbreaking to Ming was from a young mother living in Hampstead:
I was going to be a doctor when we met, but I gave it up when we got married. My husband wanted me at home and I was so ignorant that I wanted it too. I spent a few blissfully happy months.
But it didn’t last. Now I spend all my days mending, cooking, cleaning, taking the children to and from school. My whole life is taken up with work that bores me so much I’ve come to hate it. My husband gives me generous housekeeping, but disapproves of what I spend. He has no idea how much food costs, and whatever I do, he criticises as extravagance. It’s got to the stage when I feel that I have to wear my clothes to rags before I buy anything new, and then he accuses me of looking ‘drab’. I don’t think he has any idea how his antagonism buries me, or how hard I struggle to keep going.
I can hardly bear to think that now I might be a doctor in my own right, with my own money to spend as I chose. I wouldn’t be without the children or my husband for anything, but the cost in my own happiness has been very high. I wish it had been possible for me to have both family and work like the woman in your article. Does she know how lucky she is?
Remembering Julia’s depressed voice on the telephone the day before, Ming managed to smile. Her own telephone rang and she picked it up.
‘Ming, is that you?’ said Mark, making her heart begin to bump.
‘Yes. How are you? Did you have a good Christmas?’
‘It was fine, thank you. But I’ve a problem today. I haven’t been able to come to London after all and so I can’t meet you at Searcy’s. I am sorry.’
‘Not at all,’ said Ming automatically while her mind shrieked protests and regrets and frustrated emotion. ‘Perhaps we could do it some other time. Have you any plans to come up?’
‘Nothing fixed. But I’m sure I will be able to find a day soon. May I telephone you?’
‘I should like that, Mark.’
‘Good. Well, goodbye, Ming. I am sorry.’
‘Mark,’ she said, but it was too late. He had already cut the connection.
Admitting that it was all too late, Ming tried to think who else she might see so that she could keep her mind away from Mark and remembered what Julia had told her. It occurred to her that she could go to the Old Bailey, meet Julia as she emerged from her unhappy trial and take her out to tea. Quickly looking at her watch, Ming saw that she had at least three-quarters of an hour before the court was likely to be adjourned and she hurried to change and call a taxi.
Walking up the front steps of the Old Bailey half an hour later, Ming was slightly breathless. When she could speak, she asked a uniformed man where she should go to meet Julia.
‘If you just wait here, madam, you’ll be able to catch her when she comes out,’ said the man.
Ming thanked him and sat down to wait on a leather-covered seat in the round, multi-coloured hall. Five minutes later a crowd of people streamed down the central staircase. In the middle of them Ming saw Julia, black-robed and wigged, talking to a man dressed in striped trousers and a black coat, and so she merely stood up, hoping that Julia would recognise her without her having to interrupt.
The little group swept right past Ming, but she caught Julia’s eye. Looking a little startled, Julia disentangled herself from her colleagues and the instructing solicitor and walked over to Ming’s bench.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Definitely. I just remembered what you said about this case and thought I’d come and see if I couldn’t whisk you away to somewhere like the Ritz for tea to cheer you up. Has it ended?’
‘Yes. Badly for the young man.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Thank you. It’s horrible to know what my professional success means for him.’ Julia shook her head and before Ming could say anything more added politely: ‘And thank you for coming. I’d have loved to have tea with you, but I promised the children I’d be home to have it with them today.’
Ming suddenly realised how peculiar her approach must have seemed. After all, she and Julia could hardly be said to be friends. She felt as though she had been both impertinent and intrusive, and she tried to think of a graceful way to extricate them both from the situation she had created.
When she saw Ming’s face fall, Julia made herself remember that Ming had just as much to worry about as she herself did.
‘But why don’t you come, too? The children would love it, and so would I. Will you?’
‘Well, that would be nice, if you’re sure,’ said Ming, the doubts in her face chased away by a smile.
‘Give me a minute to get rid of these,’ said Julia, gesturing to her legal fancy dress, ‘and get my hat and coat, and I’ll join you.’
They discussed Julia’s case as they went back to the Kennington house by tube and then spent a happy couple of hours in her kitchen, having tea with the two children and the housekeeper. Ming watched with amusement as Julia ate just as many honey sandwiches, chocolate biscuits and slices of fruit cake as her children.
Afterwards, since it was the nanny’s half-day, they all played pelmanism on the drawing-room floor. Amanda was already past the stage of having a perfect memory for the cards and it was interesting to watch her struggle to come to terms with the fact that her younger brother was able to beat her easily. She obviously hated it, but had enough will-power to stop herself protesting and, to Ming’s admiration, actually managed to congratulate him.
Julia dropped a kiss on Amanda’s dark head at that.
‘Well done,’ she said. ‘And now it’s bath time.’
‘I’d better go,’ said Ming, conscious that she might have outstayed her welcome. As a shadow crossed Julia’s face, she added: ‘Unless you’d like a hand? I’m quite used to bathing Flixe’s brood.’
‘I’d be eternally grateful,’ said Julia above her children’s heads, ‘if you really mean it.’
All four of them trooped up to the children’s bathroom at the top of the house, where Julia watched in admiration as Ming turned bath time into an extension of the games. Amanda clearly loved it, behaved beautifully and sat happily on her mother’s lap to be dried. As soon as the two children were safely in bed Ming said that she ought to go. Julia offered her both drinks and supper, but Ming stuck to her guns and left the house.
As soon as she had gone, Julia poured herself a glass of sherry and dialled the number of the Suvarovs’house.
‘Flixe?’ she said when the telephone was answered. ‘Julia here.’
‘My dear! How are you? How was Christmas?’
‘Fine. Lovely. And I was ringing to say that the more I see of your little sister the more I like her.’
There was the sound of warm laughter down the telephone and Julia smiled instinctively. Despite their very different lives and their continuing argument about the upbringing of their children, they were the best of friends.
‘I always thought you would,’ said Flixe cheerfully. ‘Has she managed to cast out all your doubts?’
‘No,’ answered Julia with all her characteristic honesty and self-knowledge. ‘Because it was never her that I doubted. I know that she’s not been in love with David.’
‘And he?’
‘He still thinks she’s marvellous and he’s terribly worried about the effect the case will have on her and …’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Flixe’s voice was dry.
‘No. And he’s started having nightmares of her in prison. He knows a bit too much of what Holloway is like. But don’t worry, Flixe,’ Julia added, quickly remembering that they were talking about her sister. ‘It’s most unlikely to come to that.’
‘I hope to God you’re right.’
‘Even if it does, Flixe, she’ll pull through. She’s much tougher than you think.’
‘You’ve said that before,’ said Flixe. ‘But I’m not sure you’re right. I thought she was looking particularly vulnerable at Christmas. But I am glad you like her – and that you’re defending her.’
‘I wanted to say something to her,’ said Julia, ‘to make up for my less than charitable thoughts in the summer, but we’re not on the sort of terms that would let me be frank.’
‘Don’t worry, Julia. I’ll convey something to her. We must meet.’
‘Yes, indeed. Things are horribly busy in chambers. May I ring you when I’ve a gap so that we could have lunch or something?’
‘Lovely. Thanks for calling. ’Bye.’
Flixe smiled as she replaced the white telephone. She was in the process of changing to go out to dinner with Peter and had too much to do in too short a time to telephone Ming then, but she made a mental note to do it soon. With her husband and children in as good a state as they had ever been, Gerry reasonably happy again after Ming’s unfortunate suggestion that she adopt Jack Hazeldene’s children, and Julia back to her accustomed sanity, there was really only Ming left to sort out. Flixe thought that might be difficult but she was determined to try.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was not until the day before the magistrate’s hearing that Flixe decided what to do about Ming. Abandoning all subtlety, she had come to the conclusion that a direct attack was the only way of breaking through her sister’s reserve. As soon as she had dealt with her household, given her husband and children their breakfast, and handed the children to Brigitte, Flixe put on a hat and her fur coat and walked down to Kensington High Street to flag down a taxi. Having given the driver her sister’s address, Flixe sat back on the creaking leather seat and tried to decide exactly what to say.
Ming’s charlady opened the door to Flixe’s ring.
‘Ah, good morning,’ said Flixe, a trifle disconcerted. ‘Would it be possible to see Miss Alderbrook?’
‘Well, I don’t know. She’s working. Shall I go and see?’
‘Yes, please. I’m her sister.’
‘Flixe, is that you?’ Ming’s voice called from the back of the flat. ‘Come on in.’
There was the sound of footsteps and Flixe saw her sister, looking distracted and uncharacteristically messy, with a large smear of ink down one porcelain cheek. Mrs Crook disappeared and Ming came forward to kiss Flixe. Ming was still cross with her for tattling to their parents, but as usual the sight of Flixe herself made her sister smile as pleasure overtook her anger.
‘I’m obviously disturbing you. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be silly, Flixe. It’s lovely to have another distraction. I’m only working this hard to try to take my mind off what’s going to happen in the magistrates’court tomorrow.’
‘Poor you. But surely there isn’t anything to worry about. It’ll just be a formality now you’ve decided to plead guilty.’
‘Probably. But I can’t help worrying a bit, and so I’ve been wrestling with a piece for the magazine about female finances as a distraction. Would you like something? Coffee or sherry?’
‘Coffee would be lovely. Breakfast feels as though it was hours ago.’
‘How impressive! Come into my writing room and ignore the mess. I’m trying to persuade poor Mrs Crook to leave it like this just for today, but she hates the thought.’
Flixe sat down on the one comfortable chair in the tiny room, looking at its wrapping-paper decoration with amusement. It had still been full of old boxes and cobwebs when she had last seen it. Since then Ming had put her flat-topped desk under the small window. At one side of it she had hung a glass-fronted corner cupboard to house a collection of ruby-coloured Hull glass, and diagonally opposite that was the deeply-cushioned armchair in which Flixe was sitting. Bookshelves covered the wall opposite the window and a simple swivel chair stood in front of the desk.
There were no pictures or looking glasses on the walls, only the glowing chestnut-coloured wallpaper that was patterned with gold fleur-de-lis.
Flixe herself would have used the decorations to make the room lighter or at least prettier, but she could see the attraction of the gilded richness of the walls. She was impressed by the fact that her sister was taking her writing work seriously enough to devote a room to it.
‘Max Hillary is trying to teach me to make coffee as he does, but mine never seems to come out as rich-tasting,’ said Ming as she carried in a tray.
‘Now, what can I do for you, Flixe?’ she asked, putting it precariously down on top of a pile of paper. She poured the coffee and handed a cup to her sister.
‘Nothing at all,’ Flixe said, watching Ming over the rim of the flowered porcelain cup. ‘I was in Knightsbridge first thing this morning, trying to find something for Fiona to wear at parties now that she’s grown out of her velvet, and I was so disheartened by the selection that I thought I’d drop in and see you.’
‘How very nice!’ Hiding her surprise, for Flixe had never dropped in on her before, Ming sipped some coffee. ‘I saw Julia a few days ago.’
‘Yes, I know; she rang me after she’d seen you and said among other things how much she likes you,’ said Flixe, delighted to have the subject introduced. ‘How was she? Last time I saw her she seemed to have got over her anxieties about David.’
‘She seemed to be depressed about her case, but otherwise all right. I never could imagine why she ever had doubts about him. There was never the remotest breath of gossip about him in the House in all the years I was there. He’s always seemed devoted to her.’
