A wing and a prayer, p.16
A Wing and a Prayer, page 16
Helen’s heart gave a jolt. So she had been right after all – but it didn’t make any sense. She then read the short letter that accompanied the photos.
Dear Alice,
We thought you would like to have these photos. Maybe, one day, it will be time to reveal the truth, but for the moment it is better to leave things as they are.
With kind regards,
Robert and Pamela.
Curiouser and curiouser, thought Helen. What did it all mean? Her head was spinning with the mystery of it all. But she had other things on her mind which were a distraction from this problem. She would be seeing Matthew again in a couple of days. He was traveling to Scarborough on Saturday and would call to see her in the afternoon. He had suggested, tentatively, during his phone call, that she might like to accompany him there and assist him in his search to find somewhere to live. She was not sure how serious he was about the suggestion. Was he assuming she could take some time off work? As it happened her boss had already told her that she was due a few days’ leave as she had now worked there for four months.
And so she had applied for three days off the following week. She would tell Matthew the news when he arrived. She would also tell him about her discovery of the letter and photos and ask his opinion. She was in a quandary as to what she should do. Clearly Robert Kershaw was involved in some way. But how?
Matthew phoned soon after she arrived home on Friday to say that he would arrive at her home at around one o’clock the following day, if that suited her.
‘Perfect,’ she replied. ‘I’ll prepare some lunch; maybe soup and sandwiches. Will that do?’
He replied with the same word. ‘Perfect. Thanks, Helen … Have you thought any more about coming to Scarborough with me?’
She hesitated for just a moment before saying, ‘As a matter of fact, I have. I’ve got three days’ leave due to me, so I’m free for Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. But I wasn’t sure how serious you were about it, whether you … really meant it.’
‘Of course I meant it. I never say things I don’t mean. That’s great! I’ll ring up and make a booking at a little place near the castle that’s been recommended to me. I could have booked earlier but I wasn’t sure that you would agree.’
Helen laughed, ‘Well, I do. It’ll be lovely to spend a few days in Scarborough.’ She thought to herself that neither of them had wanted to appear too eager; they had both decided to be cautious.
‘OK, then. See you tomorrow. I’m glad you’re coming with me. Bye for now, Helen.’
‘Bye, Matt. See you soon …’
He arrived almost on the dot of one o’clock. He kissed her cheek in a casual but friendly manner. ‘Good to see you again.’
‘You too,’ she replied. ‘Make yourself at home. I’ve made some ham sandwiches. What sort of soup would you like – tomato, oxtail, chicken …? It’s out of a tin, I’m afraid.’
‘Really? I thought it would have been made by your own fair hands … Only joking! Tomato, please. You can’t beat good old Heinz, can you?’
They dined casually in the newly fitted kitchen. ‘Very nice,’ said Matthew, looking round approvingly at the pine units and the fresh yellow and white gingham curtains hanging at the window. ‘They’ve made a good job of it. Your bathroom’s very posh as well. You’re all shipshape now, are you?’
‘Yes, there’s been quite enough upheaval. I can settle down in comfort now. I hate being in a mess.’
‘So … what’s new? How’s the detective work going?’
‘It’s getting more and more mysterious …’ She told him about her latest discoveries, and when they had finished lunch she showed him the letter and the photos.
‘There seems to be no doubt about those two young men,’ he said, looking at the wedding photo and the one of Tony in RAF uniform. ‘Father and son, you presume? And the babies, they are …?’
‘Jennifer and James Kershaw, Robert and Pamela’s children. They are grown up now, both at college. They’re lovely young people and Aunt Alice left them both some money. She used to babysit for them; she was very friendly with the family.’
‘And do you see any resemblance there?’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t know them well enough.’
‘But you are quite friendly with Robert and his wife?’
‘Yes; they are in the church choir and in the operatic group as well. But they haven’t so much as hinted at any connection.’
‘Well, I think you will have to take the bull by the horns and ask them, or you will go on worrying about it forever. But before that we are going to have a lovely few days in Scarborough. Try to put it to the back of your mind for the moment.’
And Helen knew that that was what she really must do. She brought down her travel bag and they set off. Trixie was already settled with the next-door neighbours, who were willing to have her any time.
It was quite a short journey to Scarborough, not much more than half an hour. Matthew knew the place much better than did Helen. They came in on the back road, passing the railway station, then he drove up a steep hill that led towards the castle. They drove past an imposing hotel that stood on the headland overlooking the sea.
‘Ours is less grand, I’m afraid,’ said Matthew. ‘Just a B and B, but my friend says they do a good hearty breakfast, which has to be a priority. Don’t you agree?’
‘Absolutely!’ said Helen.
He stopped at a much smaller place where there was parking space for a few cars. ‘This is it,’ he said. ‘Hilltop House. Well we can’t disagree with that.’
A smiling, middle-aged woman answered the door at their knock and led them into a small hallway with just enough room for the reception desk. The place felt warm and homely with a richly patterned red and gold carpet on the floor.
‘Mr Townsend and Miss Burnside,’ said Matthew. ‘I phoned earlier to reserve two single rooms.’
‘Very good, sir. Rooms three and four, on the first floor. Here are your keys.’ They were old-fashioned ones with the numbers written large on the heavy metal tags. ‘I’ll get my husband to carry your luggage.’
‘No, it’s OK, thanks,’ said Matthew. ‘I’ll take them; we’ve not brought much with us.’
He had brought only enough for a few days, intending to bring the rest of his belongings – which were now at his mother’s house – when he had found somewhere permanent to live.
‘Very good, sir. I hope you’ll be comfortable here. Folks usually are. I’m Mrs Porter by the way. Breakfast is any time from eight o’clock until nine. And I make a cup of tea in the evening if you would like one. So … enjoy the rest of your day and I’ll see you later.’
Matthew carried their luggage up the stairs to their rooms at the front of the house. They overlooked St Mary’s Church and churchyard on the opposite side of the road. The rooms were smallish but adequate with single beds and simple light oak furniture. They were both en-suite, with a cubicle containing a toilet, a washbasin and a small bath with a shower attachment. This was indeed a bonus. Many of the older hotels and B&Bs didn’t yet provide this facility although more and more clients were starting to expect it. Mrs Porter was obviously keeping up with the trend and would no doubt reap the benefit.
‘See you in a little while,’ said Matthew, ‘then we’ll go and explore the town.’
Helen felt happy and excited at the thought of the next few days. She intended to travel back on Wednesday afternoon on the service bus, leaving Matthew to spend some time on his own before starting work the following Monday.
‘What a lovely old church,’ said Helen as they crossed the road on leaving the hotel, ‘and a perfect setting for it as well. So picturesque; I’ve seen it on postcards, of course.’
The grey stone church of St Mary with its square tower was surrounded by trees in full leaf, with a well-tended graveyard, and a view of the rooftops of the old town and, in the distance, the sea.
‘Anne Brontë is buried here,’ said Matthew. ‘Her grave is in the annexe a little further along. Let’s go and have a look, shall we?’
Their walk took them past the churchyard, up to the ruined castle at the top of the hill. From there was a magnificent view of the curve of the South Bay, with the Grand Hotel, the most imposing one in the town, dominating the scene from its position on the headland looking out across the North Sea. There were still a few people on the golden sands making the most of the sunshine.
Matthew took her hand as they made their way down the steep path, then the steps that led down to the promenade. It was almost six o’clock, the time when visitors and residents alike had gone home for their tea or whatever they called their evening meal. This part of the town, usually a hive of activity, was almost deserted.
‘This is – what shall I say? – the less salubrious part of Scarborough,’ said Matthew. ‘The posher part is on the other side of the Spa Bridge where there are the bigger hotels and gardens.’
‘I’m not too bothered about “posh”,’ said Helen. ‘I’m just enjoying it, all of it. This part reminds me of the Golden Mile at Blackpool where the visitors all congregate, but there’s a posher part there as well, up at North Shore.’
‘It’s the opposite way round here,’ said Matthew, ‘with Scarborough being on the east coast. The sun rises over the sea here, whereas in Blackpool that’s where it sets.’
‘Yes, there are the most glorious sunsets,’ said Helen. ‘If you’re on the promenade to see them. We won’t see that here.’
‘Well, you can’t have everything. On the other hand we could get up early and see the sun rise, if we felt inclined …’
Helen laughed. ‘Probably not.’
Reaching the end of the north promenade they walked through a cliffside garden to the area near the Grand Hotel. A blue plaque on the wall marked the place where the Brontë sisters had stayed, in a small guest house which was there before the hotel was built. Nearby was the town hall with a statue of Queen Victoria in her later days.
‘If I remember rightly there’s a good fish and chip place near here,’ said Matthew. ‘I’ve just realized how hungry I am.’
There it was, tucked away in a corner, a small café with just a few tables. There was one other couple dining there. Helen and Matthew sat at a corner table covered with a green and white checked cloth, and they both ordered haddock.
Helen smiled. ‘It’s delicious.’ She felt that she had never enjoyed a meal more than this one.
‘Let’s walk a bit further,’ said Matthew when they had finished their food and he had paid the bill.
Dusk was falling and they headed back to the castle area where they found a quiet pub. They stayed for an hour or so, chatting companionably, as though they had always known one another, drinking a pint of bitter for Matt, and Helen’s favourite Martini and lemonade.
‘I’m so glad we met,’ Matt said. ‘To think that we’ve lived all this time without knowing one another!’
‘Yes, I’m glad too,’ said Helen.
Matthew took her hand as they walked back through the quiet streets to their lodgings. Mrs Porter appeared as she heard them enter the house.
‘Would you like a cup of tea, or coffee? No extra charge; it’s something I like to do for my guests if they want it.’
They looked at one another and nodded. ‘Yes, thank you,’ said Matthew. ‘Tea for me.’
‘And tea for me as well,’ added Helen.
Mrs Porter opened the door to the dining room. ‘Make yourselves at home. I’ll be with you in a jiffy.’
At one end of the room a few tables were already set out for breakfast, and at the other end there was a settee and easy chairs, and a small television set. There were, however, no other guests in the room.
‘How very kind of her,’ said Helen. ‘She certainly knows how to make her guests feel welcome.’
When Mrs Porter returned with a tray laden with tea and chocolate biscuits, they spent a pleasant few minutes in conversation before she left them on their own, saying that she would clear the pots away later.
‘What a nice, friendly woman,’ said Matthew. ‘Do you know, I think I might stay here for a while until I find somewhere suitable to live. Even if I find a place in the next week I might not be able to move in straight away. Anyway, I’m ready to turn in now. How about you?’
‘Me too,’ said Helen.
They turned out the light and walked up the stairs, pausing outside the bedroom doors, which were next to one another.
‘Goodnight, Helen,’ said Matthew. ‘We’ve had a lovely day.’
He looked at her, smiling in a fond and friendly way, then he put his arms around her and gently kissed her on the lips.
‘Goodnight, Matt,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve enjoyed it too … See you in the morning.’
‘Yes; about half past eight for breakfast? Is that OK? I’ll knock on your door when I’m ready.’
‘Yes … fine,’ she replied, a little breathlessly.
Matt nodded then turned and entered his room.
Helen felt her heart beating faster. She smiled to herself as she undressed and got ready for bed. That was a good beginning, but it was as well not to rush things …
FOURTEEN
There was the promise of a fine day when Helen drew back the curtains. She washed and dressed and was ready when Matt knocked at eight thirty.
There were two other couples, middle-aged people, seated at small tables when they entered the dining room. They all smiled and nodded at one another, saying ‘Good morning’. Mrs Porter appeared promptly, with a welcoming smile, to take their breakfast order.
‘Now, would you like tea or coffee? Brown toast or white? Fruit juice or cereal, or both if you wish. The full cooked breakfast is bacon, sausage, fried egg, mushrooms and tomato; take your pick of whatever you fancy.’
‘Wow!’ said Helen. ‘I think we’re spoiled for choice.’
They finally decided, and Mrs Porter went away seeming to remember it all without writing it down.
‘So, what shall we do today?’ asked Matt. ‘Any ideas?’
‘What about Peasholm Park?’ said Helen. ‘I think I went there when I was a little girl but I don’t remember it.’
The church bells of St Mary’s were ringing as they set off. After they’d strolled through the park they had a sandwich lunch at a small café before driving up to Flamborough Head and then, after a brisk walk that made their hands and faces tingle with the cold air, they sought the warmth of the car and drove on to Bridlington and then back north to Filey, stopping a while at each town for a walk along the promenade. They were both popular seaside resorts but they lacked the charm and the picturesque views to be found in Scarborough.
When they returned there it was early evening, and they were both feeling more than a little hungry. They found an Italian restaurant at the top end of Newborough. The place was not busy, so they lingered for well over an hour over their lasagne and ravioli, served with tasty garlic bread, and accompanied by a bottle of red wine. The delicious meal ended with Neapolitan ice cream and dark fragrant coffee.
Helen sighed contentedly. ‘I’m having a lovely holiday, but we’re supposed to be house hunting as well, aren’t we?’
‘We’ll start in earnest in the morning,’ said Matthew. ‘It’s ages since I enjoyed a break so much. I went on a camping holiday earlier this year with a mate from work; roughing it, you know, but it was great fun. This is different, though. Thanks for coming, Helen.’
‘It’s a pleasure,’ she said, aware of his intense gaze. She reached for her shoulder bag. ‘Now, let me pay my share. You can’t pay for everything.’
He agreed as she was quite persistent. ‘Now we’d better make a move, or we’ll be overstaying our welcome.’
Dusk was falling as they drove back to Hilltop House. Matt said that he intended to read for a while, and invited Helen to join him.
When she went into Matt’s room he was sprawled in the bed, leaning on a pillow. She sat on the basket weave chair which, with a couple of cushions, was quite comfortable.
‘What are you reading?’ she asked.
‘Bernard Cornwell; one of the Sharpe novels. I’ve read them all before but they’re like old friends to me now. What about you?’
She smiled. ‘The Crowthers of Bankdam. Have you heard of it?’
‘Yes, I think so, a while ago. It’s about a mill owner, isn’t it?’
‘Yes; since I came to live here I’ve been reading novels set in Yorkshire. I’ve read South Riding by Winifred Holtby and Inheritance by Phyllis Bentley; all about the Luddites and the history of the woollen mills. It’s a great story. No doubt our ancestors were mill workers way back in the last century. I’m getting quite engrossed in it all. It makes a change from Jilly Cooper and Jackie Collins!’
They read in silence for a while. Although she was concentrating on the story, Helen’s mind strayed now and again to Matthew and their friendship, wondering how – or when – it might progress a stage further.
‘Do you fancy a nightcap?’ he asked after a while.
‘Yes, if you like. Do you mean … we should go down and have a cup of tea?’
‘No, I’ve got something better.’ He grinned as he opened a drawer and took out a hip flask of brandy. ‘No posh glasses, I’m afraid. We’ll have to manage with the ones in the bathroom.’
Helen laughed. ‘I’ll go and get mine then.’
When she returned he poured a half inch or so into each glass and added a little water from the tap.
‘I’ve got a box of crackers as well,’ he said. ‘Help yourself.’
Helen found that the brandy helped to settle the butterflies in her stomach that she had been aware of since entering Matt’s room. She glanced at his bedside alarm clock. It had turned eleven o’clock; time she was making a move. She stood up.
‘Thanks for the nightcap, Matt; I’ll say goodnight now – we have a busy day tomorrow.’
He stood up and, as he had done the previous night, put his arms around her and kissed her, a little more fervently, on the lips before she retired to her own room for the night.
