All The Days of My Life (73 page)

“Ho,” he said, startled and deterred by the sight of Molly, red-nosed in a grey sweater, flat on her back in bed beside the large, snuffling baby. “Well, well. Isabel said you were ill when she let me in – I thought I'd just slip over and make my New Year visit to the family.”

“Come here ratting every March, do you, Charlie?” Molly said, annoyed at being caught looking so demoralized by a smartly dressed Charlie Markham. “You're in luck. There's one creeping into the kitchen at night.”

“Don't take on, Molly,” remarked Charlie. “I'm a visitor – and you can't see many of those. I've brought a bottle of Gordon's from Simon Tate. And I did a sweep at Fortnum's before I set off. And Simon's sent his christening present for little Fred, here.”

“Oh,” Molly said, encouraged. “Well, you go down into the kitchen and keep warm. Put the kettle on, if you can find it. I'll be down in a minute.”

As she scuffled into her grey flannel trousers and combed her dried-up hair hopelessly before the mirror, she thought that Charlie was right. Any visitor was welcome, even if he would turn nasty as Charlie probably would.

By the time she had changed the baby's nappy Charlie had already made the tea. She settled Fred in the pram by the kitchen range and said, “Where's Isabel?”

“She said she was going up for a rest – she'd see me later,” Charlie told her. “It's the cold – it's enervating.”

“Fucking country life,” declared Molly. “Look at me – my hair's dried, my hands are all cracked and wrinkled – I'm coming apart at the seams.” She coughed.

Charlie ignored all this and asked, “What are those big parcels in the hall?”

Molly explained to him that they contained an order for toys. She told him she was trying to decide whether to continue, which might mean expansion, or put a stop to the business. If it expanded she might have to get several electric sewing machines. Charlie, though unsympathetic, was sensible, and because she had no one else to talk to she told him that she was trying to decide whether to go back to London or not.

“At the moment,” she said, “the money from the toys and the rent from Meakin Street and everything else are just going into shoring the collapse. It just keeps it all ticking over for a bit longer.”

“Can't see you getting any money out of a bank on the basis of what you have here,” Charlie said. He cut himself another slice of the cake he had brought. In his suit, collar and tie, chewing happily on the cake, he looked like a large schoolboy.

“I suppose you were the joker who told Tom I was a wealthy heiress,” Molly challenged him. “I hope you're satisfied.”

Charlie had obviously heard about this from Tom. He said coolly, “Do me a little justice, Molly. I wouldn't say anything like that without checking. It was a rumour at Frames, where some of the older clientele still take an interest in your affairs. I think Tate started it – he thought it was true and he didn't realize anyone would be mad enough to believe it and act accordingly. I didn't know what he was thinking.”

“You wanted him married to me, though,” Molly said.

Charlie frowned at her. “I take it,” he said, “that Tom isn't giving every satisfaction, matrimonially speaking?”

“You know damn well he isn't,” exclaimed Molly. “And you could have bloody warned me.”

“How did I know?” Charlie said. “He was all right with his other girlfriend, the one he nearly married. Or, I suppose he was. It sounded all right. And, be reasonable, Molly – I thought you were old enough to know what was what. I just wanted to see him settled. How was I supposed to know that he thought you were a millionaire and you'd not – well,” he said impatiently, “I never thought you'd let the bells ring out before you'd run him up the course – got a rough idea of his form, so to speak.”

“I was rattled,” Molly told him. “I'd just lost Joe – I'd just had a baby–”

Charlie said unsentimentally, “Water under the bridge, now. But, quite honestly, Moll, I don't think you're giving him a chance. You're a handsome woman underneath the chilblains but are you really trying? I mean, you're getting rough and tough, you're all bills and invoices and with Tom being a wee bit frail – I mean, it's not all that encouraging –”

“There isn't a lot of scope here for lying on sofas in nothing but a light spray of Diorissimo,” Molly said in annoyance.

“Yes, well,” Charlie said evasively, “well, that may be true, but after all, I'm Tom's cousin – not that I don't see your point of view. On the other hand, you took on a man you didn't love, I think you'll admit that, and poor old Tom, not robust at the best of times, has to compete with Endell's ghost and Endell's child – boy child, just to make it worse – a man would have to be Tarzan –”

“And Tom certainly isn't Tarzan,” Molly said philosophically. “Still – there it is. It's a disaster.”

“Things could perk up,” Charlie said, “in the summer –”

“Shut up, Charlie,” Molly said emphatically. She knew part of him was enjoying the collapse. “The fact is, you shouldn't have encouraged Tom – you should have warned me. You didn't stop either of us from making bloody fools of ourselves –”

“Look,” said Charlie. “I'm opening the gin – I just want to say this before Isabel comes down –” He unscrewed the cap from the bottle of gin. Molly found some tonic. He lifted his glass to her. “It's this,” he said. “I'm not plunging on the Allauns, family or no family. I already got Tom a job, which he messed up, then jettisoned, then I had to make embarrassing explanations. Now he's doing it again and I've had enough. But you seem to be thinking. The toys are nice. If you ever come up with a sound idea and want capital I'll give it my earnest consideration.”

Molly was stunned by this. Charlie, hooligan and sado-masochist, was sitting there offering her money. She asked, “Can you do that – I mean, have you got the power?”

“Power?” Charlie said. “I'm on the board of a twenty-million-pound group of companies. I'm the director of three.” He handed her a piece of pasteboard and said, “Tuck that in your bra in case you need it. And not a word to anybody else here.”

“Right,” Molly said, taking the card and hiding it in a tureen on the
top shelf of the cupboard. “Why me?” she asked.

“Blood's thicker than water,” Charlie told her.

“I don't believe you,” Molly said.

He leaned forward. “Your rather eccentric career has taught you a lot. You're up against it now. I've got a feeling that your lessons in the hard school of life – under teachers like the Rose brothers, and poor old Ferenc Nedermann, etc, etc – will stand you in good stead. And anyway,” he told her, “I've always been fond – very fond – of you, Mollikins. I've thought of you with yearning many times. Now I realize our little fracas that time –” His hand was now on her knee.

“Charlie,” Molly said quickly. “It's bleeding cold in this place. It's enough to put off a sailor who's been at sea for three months. And on top of that, I hear Isabel's feet on the stairs.”

“Fair enough,” Charlie said and, as Isabel came into the kitchen he added, in a bonhomous, nephewly voice, “Tea's ready, Aunt Isabel. And cake. Sit down, do.”

And ten minutes later Tom came back early from London and they all sat chatting in the warm kitchen. Not long after it was time for drinks. Out came the gin again and a bottle of whisky and the Allauns all had a glass or two and began to enjoy themselves. They ate supper in the kitchen and later Charlie went back to London.

It had not been a bad day but Molly, still slightly fevered, lay in bed that night, with the baby breathing stertorously in his cot beside her, and thought about the future. It was not likely that Charlie Markham would run about holding board meetings in order to find the capital for her plan to convert the old stable block into a toy factory. The scheme was too chancey, and unlikely, even if it succeeded, to bring in high profits. Instinct also told her that it was men who had all the money and that they were less likely to invest readily in a woman's business, making items connected with women. I'd have to tell them I was digging for oil in the lake, she thought, or making artificial rhinoceros horn or a chemical cure for death or working on transistorized robots – any bit of rubbish that would get them out of the nursery and into a man's world, anything which would create a fantasy – triumph over nature – fast fortunes – huge sexual potency – immortality. If I stay with the toys, she brooded, no one will back me until it's so successful I don't need the money. I need a project, thought Molly Allaun, a bright idea – and she fell into uneasy dreams and woke in the cold room to a baby's cry and an Aga which had gone out overnight.

But a fortnight later the sun came out at last, throwing a slightly
warmer light over Allaun Towers and its affairs. Molly felt better, packed up the baby and went to see Ivy in Beckenham. She had been ill and even now, when she said she was better, Molly thought she looked frighteningly grey and weak.

“Have you seen the doctor?” she asked anxiously.

“For flu? What can they do for flu?” Ivy demanded.

“For a check-up,” Molly suggested.

“Check-up? Rubbishy things,” said Ivy. “I'm not some nervy executive suffering from too many business lunches. It's just the end of winter. Be better when the sun shines.”

“You're obstinate,” Molly told her. “I'm going to tell Sid.”

“I expect I'm getting old,” Ivy said, coughing and lighting another cigarette.

“Sixty-one?” Molly said. “In California you'd just be getting married again.”

“Well, this isn't California,” said her mother. “Thank God. You're all on your feet, one way and another, you and Jack and Shirley. That's the chief thing. And four grandchildren – six, if you count the little blackies – I'm not complaining. Not that I'm cheering either. Jack's marriage has gone for a Burton and Shirley's on the phone all the time complaining. She seems to be doing all right with her accountancy, though.” Ivy laughed. “She's made the family pay for that course or they'd never have let her go. But they got all excited about having their own free accountant when she's finished and putting her out to work for other people, so they did it as an investment. But my idea is that the minute she's qualified she'll take the children and go.”

Molly was marching the child round the kitchen holding his arms up as he paced forward. She said “Phew” and sat down. The baby struggled off her lap and set off across the room at a fast crawl. “He's very active,” Ivy said. “Still, at least he doesn't keep climbing up, like Josephine did. She was climbing up from the moment she could move. I'll never forget her and kitchen dresser falling down together. I thought she'd been killed, but she was lying underneath it, laughing.” She sighed, “I had some energy in those days. I couldn't do it now. Still, he looks very well. It must be the country air.”

“It's kill or cure,” Molly said. “I've never been so cold in my life. It can't have been as cold as that when I was a kid. It must have been though – there was fuel rationing.”

“I expect they got round that all right,” Ivy said. “People in the country always do. Anyway, I can't imagine Mrs Gates letting you get
cold. That woman wouldn't have left a splinter in your finger for more than two minutes. She was one of the good ones. They don't make them like that any more.”

“She never got anything for her pains,” Molly said. “Dead child, hard work – and dies in the stables. She might have been alone if I hadn't been there. Isabel wasn't worrying. She said she had no idea that it was so serious – that was afterwards – but I wonder. She's a world expert in not letting herself know the truth.”

“You could always go back to Meakin Street,” said her mother.

“Don't think I haven't thought of it,” Molly said. “But after all, I let it to Sam. He'd go, I expect, if I asked him to, but it isn't fair. Anyway, I'm all right as long as I know it's there. But I don't fancy it – too many memories of Joe and all the thoughts of how badly I've managed everything – and then what do I do? Work? – What do I do with Fred? Go on Social Security? You know what that's like for a woman. Not enough money to go round – you can't work because they don't let you and there you are on your own, pinching and scraping and then you start brooding and the next thing, it's Valium – you're half conscious all day. If you're one of the lucky ones you get a knock on the door and lo and behold it's Johnnie Bridges or his double. And he knows, and you know, you've no right to anything decent in your position, so then the trouble starts. And unless he starts keeping you you're penniless because they cut off the Social Security. I'm better off as I am.”

“Maybe,” said her mother.

“I can't go till Easter, anyway,” Molly said. “George Messiter's finished his course and got a job. But Cissie rang up and said he was looking peaky and could he come on holiday for a week. He can fix a few items while he's there – why don't you and Sid come, too? It'd do you good. Country air,” she said encouragingly. “I'd like to see you looking better.”

Ivy said, “I'll talk to Sid. Let's give this baby an early tea. We'll have time to get to Bromley and buy you a dress before you go. You need perking up. You may be living in the country but there's no need to let everything go to pot.”

“I left everything in the attic at Meakin Street,” Molly told her.

“If you wanted to become a nun why did you get married again?” Ivy said tartly. “Honestly, Molly, I think you sold poor Tom Allaun a pig in a poke there. You don't seem to care about yourself any more.”

“There isn't any money, Mum,” Molly told her. “And it's been so bloody cold in that house –”