Better Days Will Come (42 page)

Visibility was down to three to four yards and as they turned into the high street a wall loomed out of the fog. Bob slammed on the brakes. Fortunately, all the passengers were seated but Rita was propelled at breakneck speed down the aisle.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ Her concerned passenger was a middle-aged woman in a thick Harris Tweed coat buttoned right up to her neck. She and her companions had been swapping horror stories about London pea soupers.

‘I’m fine thanks.’ Rita straightened herself up and tugged at her jacket to put it back in place. She had been tipped sideways, but fortunately the moneybag had stayed upright, which was a relief. The thought of scrabbling around on the floor for loose change wasn’t very appealing. She made her way back to the back of the bus and got off.

‘Everybody OK?’ Bob asked as she stood outside his cab.

‘Yes. You all right?’

He was busy rubbing his right hand. ‘Bashed my finger on the wheel.’ Bob looked around. ‘I’m all over the road. Can you see me back?’

‘Are we still going on?’

‘I think we have to,’ said Bob. ‘It’s further to go back than on. Just help me get straightened up.’

Rita made her way back to the platform and told the passengers what was happening. Leaning out on the pole so that Bob could see her in the mirror, she waved him on calling, ‘Wowah!’ when he’d finally reached the right side of the road. Bob straightened the steering wheel and they set off again.

As he pressed his foot on the accelerator to go through the village, a car careered out of the fog on the wrong side of the road. Bob swerved but, being a little uncertain of the contours of the road, his nearside wheel hit a low wall and the bus came to another abrupt halt. He heard several passengers cry out in panic and the middle-aged woman leapt up and banged long and loudly on the window of his cab.

Bob tut-tutted. Passengers were not supposed to distract the driver. Irritated, he glanced in his mirror and gasped with horror. Rita lay sprawled across the pavement, her head against a red pillarbox.

By the time Bob had leapt down from his cab and got to her, several passengers were already leaning over Rita.

‘Excuse me,’ said Bob pushing them out of the way. ‘You all right, Rita?

‘She looks as if she’s fainted,’ one passenger observed.

Bob said anxiously, ‘Somebody get an ambulance, will you?’

Rita could hear Bob’s voice close to her ear as she struggled to make sense of her surroundings. The back of her head was throbbing and she had a thumping headache.

‘It’s OK, Rita,’ Bob was saying. ‘Keep still. We’re getting some help.’

Rita opened her eyes. Where was she? She wasn’t in the bus. She was outside, on the pavement with everyone from the bus crowding around. What had happened? Panic rose in her chest. Bob was leaning over her with an anxious frown. She could feel him stroking her hair with the tips of his fingers and she relaxed.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ It was a woman’s voice. Rita looked above Bob’s head and the middle-aged passenger in the Harris Tweed coat leaned over him. ‘That was a nasty knock you had.’

Rita tried to get up.

‘Don’t move!’ Bob yelled, then seeing her eyes widen he added in a softer voice, ‘You’d better stay where you are, Rita. You don’t know what damage you’ve done.’

She shivered. Bob pulled off his jacket and put it over her.

‘Well, it can’t be doing her any good lying about on the wet pavement,’ the Harris Tweed woman remarked. ‘She’ll catch her death.’

‘I’m all right,’ said Rita struggling into a sitting position. As well as a headache, her shoulder hurt too.

‘Bring the young lady inside,’ called a man’s voice somewhere in the distance.

‘That’s Wilf Barber,’ the Harris Tweed woman said. ‘He runs the Black Horse.’

‘I’ll get you a drop of brandy.’ Wilf Barber was closer now. ‘Brandy’s very good for a bit of a shock.’

‘We’ve all had a bit of a shock,’ said the Harris Tweed woman, ‘if you’re offering.’

‘You’re welcome to come in,’ said the landlord.

The Harris Tweed woman smiled. ‘Here,’ she said to Rita, ‘let me help you up, dear.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Bob. ‘I’ll take her.’

‘No,’ Rita protested feebly, but before she could stop him, he had swept her up into his arms and was carrying her towards the Black Horse.

‘I’ve picked up all the money,’ someone else said. ‘I’ll bring it in for you.’

The small party of passengers followed hard on Bob’s heels.

Rita’s head was banging like a drum and she felt a bit sick. Her heart was pounding but she couldn’t make up her mind if it was as a result of her fall or the fact that she was in Bob’s arms. She looked up at his face and felt her heart strangely warm.

Once inside, he laid her gently on one of the horsehair benches in the snug while the rest of the party headed for the bar.

‘It’s OK,’ said Bob curtly to one of the passengers. ‘I’ll see to her now.’

‘Thanks for picking up the money,’ Rita whispered.

The swing door closed and they were alone. Bob took his coat and rolled it into a pillow. Lifting her head, he pushed it gently underneath.

‘God, Rita, I had such a fright when I saw you on the pavement like that.’

Their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity. Rita’s heart was racing but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

‘Rita,’ he whispered. He bowed his head towards her. ‘Oh Rite … I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.’

His first kiss was as light as a feather on her lips. Closing her eyes in a moment of pure ecstasy she told herself she was helpless to stop him but that wasn’t true. She could have stopped him if she’d wanted to …

When she opened her eyes again he was still looking at her. She made no protest, no attempt to stop him, so he bowed his head once more. His kisses were full of passion and she responded. She felt like a giddy schoolgirl. She had never been kissed like this before, certainly not by Emilio. Her blood pounded in her head and her heart felt as if it would burst out of her chest. Then the judge’s face swam before her eyes and Rita pushed Bob in the chest, turning her head away. ‘No, Bob, no.’

He looked down at her with a look of mild surprise.

‘You … we mustn’t,’ she said helplessly. ‘I’m still married to Emilio.’

‘But I thought you said you were getting a divorce,’ said Bob.

‘Who told you that?’ she snapped angrily. He looked away. ‘It was my mother, wasn’t it?’

‘Sorry, Rita,’ said Bob. ‘It was just that when you moved back home, I thought …’

Her expression softened. ‘When I’m free …’ she promised.

‘Oh, Rita …’ he said huskily.

They heard a movement by the door and the landlord burst in with two glasses of brandy. ‘Here you are, son.’

Bob stood up quickly. ‘Thanks.’

‘What happens now?’ said Wilf. ‘I mean, you can’t carry on with an injured conductress.’

Bob shook himself into action. ‘I’d better ring the depot. They’ll send a relief bus and an inspector.’

‘The coppers will be here soon,’ said Wilf. ‘The wife phoned up as soon as the crash happened.’

‘Did you see what happened?’ asked Rita.

‘Some lunatic came out of the fog on the wrong side of the road,’ said Bob. ‘Where is he now?’

‘Gone,’ said Wilf, with a shrug.

‘I didn’t stand a chance. He was driving like a bat out of hell.’

Rita pulled herself onto her elbow and sipped some brandy. She probably shouldn’t be drinking it, not with a head injury, but it was warming.

‘I’d better not have a drink,’ said Bob apologetically. ‘It’s really decent of you to offer but if my governor thinks I’ve been boozing on the job …’

‘Never even thought of that,’ said Wilf. ‘Anyway, the wife is making some tea.’

No sooner had he said it than a grey-haired woman with a blanket over her shoulder came into the room carrying a tea tray. Putting the tray onto a table, she arranged the blanket over Rita. ‘Now you just stay there nice and quiet until the ambulance comes.’

The Harris Tweed passenger put her head around the snug door. Her cheeks were flushed and she held a sherry glass in her hand. ‘The poleesh are here,’ she slurred as she left again.

‘That lot must be costing you a fortune,’ said Bob.

Wilf chuckled and jerked his head. ‘She hasn’t looked at the clock. It’s already opening time and she’s paying.’ He turned to go. ‘You’d better come with me and tell the coppers what happened.’

Bob glanced down at Rita. ‘I’d rather stay here with my colleague.’ He reached for her hand but Rita slid it under the blanket. She didn’t dare be alone with him again.

‘You go,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’

He hesitated, still staring down at her. Rita closed her eyes, pretending to be sleepy. She opened them again only when she was sure he was leaving the room. Gazing longingly at his receding back, Rita sighed. Oh Bob, she thought. What a fool I’ve been. I never knew … I never knew.

Norris went straight to Central Station. As soon as Manny had a moment, they went into the broom cupboard together.

‘If that letter falls into the wrong hands,’ Norris grumbled, ‘the police will be all over me like a rash. I’ll be ruined.’

Manny grabbed Norris’s lapels and pushed him against the wall. ‘You’d better keep your mouth shut about me,’ he threatened. ‘If you blab about anything we’ve done, I’ll make damned sure you hang with me.’

Having a car in the street caused quite a stir. Grace knew something was happening when she heard the kids shouting ‘Hurrah’, as they ran alongside it. She glanced out of the window and was surprised to see it pull up outside her own house. A posh-looking lady climbed out of the passenger seat and headed towards the little gate. Grace wiped her hands on her apron and whipped it off. Stuffing it behind the breadbin, she looked frantically around her kitchen. It was clean and tidy but she would have made more of an effort had she known someone was coming. Who was she anyway? She seemed vaguely familiar and yet she couldn’t place the face.

There was a gentle knock at the door. Grace opened it and her jaw dropped. Mrs Finley was the very last person she would have expected to come to her house, but politeness allowed Grace to step back and let her in without a word.

‘Mrs Finley,’ said Grace.

‘Mrs Rogers,’ said Mrs Finley.

‘Has something awful happened?’ said Grace, her thoughts immediately going to John.

‘No, no, please don’t concern yourself on that score, Mrs Rogers.’

There was an awkward silence then Grace said, ‘Please, do sit down. What can I do for you?’

They sat opposite each other at the kitchen table. Mrs Finley took off her gloves. ‘I’m afraid this is not going to be an easy occasion for either of us, Mrs Rogers,’ she said with a sigh, ‘but you have been done a grave wrong and I must put it right.’

Grace looked startled. As Mrs Finley began to adjust her jacket, Grace remembered her manners. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Here, let me take your coat. Can I offer you some tea?’

‘That would be lovely, Mrs Rogers. I have just driven down from London and I’m feeling quite parched.’

‘I have some cake,’ said Grace. ‘Or some biscuits, although I’m afraid they’re only broken ones.’

‘Tea would be fine, thank you.’

Grace made the tea with a trembling hand. She’d never actually come face to face with Mrs Finley before. Twenty-five years ago, when the deed was done, it had been behind closed doors. The only glimpse she’d had of her son’s new mother had been from the window of the home when he had been handed to Mrs Finley sitting on the back seat of a car. The two women had both locked eyes for a split second and then John was gone from her life.

It was only when she’d placed the cup and saucer in front of Mrs Finley that she began to talk.

‘Mrs Rogers, all those years ago, did you ever actually sign an adoption paper?’

Grace shook her head. ‘Please call me Grace.’

‘Grace,’ smiled Mrs Finley. ‘My husband is very anxious to get hold of a certain letter Mr Edward Finley wrote to you. I believe your daughter took it with her when she left home.’

Grace gasped. ‘How did you know that?’

‘I have been in contact with Bonnie.’

Grace clutched at her throat. ‘You have? How is she? Is she well? Where did you find her?’

Mrs Finley held her hand up. ‘One at a time, Grace. By the time I leave this house I promise you will know everything there is to know.’

With supreme effort Grace calmed herself and waited.

‘My son is engaged to Dinah Chamberlain. As soon as your daughter realised who he was, she put two and two together and realised that he was her half brother. What she didn’t know was that my husband falsified John’s birth certificate. He had him registered as our natural-born son.’

‘Can you do that?’

‘It’s a criminal offence,’ said Mrs Finley, ‘but nonetheless, my husband did it.’ She sipped some tea. ‘He’s been trying to keep it under wraps ever since.’

Grace touched her lips with the tips of her fingers anxiously. Her mind was struggling to put all the pieces together.

‘The wrongdoing was done on the part of my husband,’ said Mrs Finley. ‘Please don’t concern yourself that you will be in any kind of trouble. He persuaded me that I was as involved as he was, and so all these years I have kept my silence.’ She touched Grace’s hand. ‘My dear, I am sorry.’

Grace avoided her gaze. This was a lot to take in.

‘It gets worse,’ said Mrs Finley. ‘Sebastian and I have been going through my husband’s papers because I want to get a divorce. We have discovered that Norris and I never formally adopted John because you had been left some money. It was only payable to you while you had the boy. Unfortunately for him, Norris has been unable to cream it off because it was tied up in such a way that the payments had to be put into an account with your name. Norris was executor of his father’s will but he’s never passed it on to you, has he?’

Slightly bemused, Grace shook her head.

‘I thought not.’ Mrs Finley continued. ‘It appears that my husband was content to let it accumulate, because when John is twenty-five, any residue would pass to the Finley estate.’