Blue Moon (17 page)

‘I don’t know how you do it,’ said Lily. ‘Such long hours, and having to go back again in the evenings. You have to stay so late. You can’t go dancing or to the pictures. I’d hate it.’

‘I do go to the pictures,’ Ruby chuckled. ‘I don’t always see the whole film, but I do go to the pictures.’

They had started putting Bea’s best china back into the bottom of the sideboard.

‘What about May?’ asked Lily.

‘Seven years old?’ Ruby grinned. ‘She’s a bit young to send out to work.’

‘Uncle Nelson wanted her to have piano lessons and stuff,’ said Lily.

Ruby was brought up short. ‘Did he?’ This was the first she’d heard of it. How come Cousin Lily knew something she didn’t? Suppressing her irritation, she said, ‘How do you know?’

‘I was there when he told her,’ said Lily. ‘She was very excited.’

Ruby straightened up and closed the sideboard doors. ‘I don’t know how we’re going to manage that, without Father’s income,’ she said. ‘May will have to wait a while.’

‘Is she still with Susan Marley?’ Lily called, as she took the dirty tea towel into the scullery and lobbed it into the copper, ready to boil.

‘She comes back tomorrow,’ said Ruby. ‘Mum didn’t want her upset by the funeral.’

‘But she knows her father is dead?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘My mum can’t understand why Percy’s not here,’ said Lily. ‘I must say, I’m a bit surprised too.’

‘We can’t find him,’ said Ruby. She knew it sounded like a lame excuse, but Jim had assured her that he had been back to the BUF building in Warwick Street time and time again, but no one knew where Percy was … or they weren’t saying.

Ruby and Lily smiled at each other awkwardly. They’d been together for all the big events of life – births, weddings and now a funeral – but they had little in common. That wasn’t to say they didn’t like each other. They got on well enough, but their conversation was stilted and awkward. Their mothers, who were sisters, had a rather volatile relationship, which might have explained the cousins’ awkwardness. Bea and Vinny were always terse and abrupt when they met, but let anyone criticize the other behind their back and they would fly. It seemed they loved each other fiercely, but found it hard to show it. Nobody really understood why, nor did they trouble to find out. It was just the way it was.

Ruby was looking at Lily’s dress. There was a rustle every time she moved. It clung to her body like smoky
clouds and the fabric rose on her hip, giving it an air of sophistication. Even in deepest black, Lily was pretty. Ruby knew that the dress was most likely second-hand but, with her trim figure, Lily was able to pick up some choice frocks.

‘Can I go up and see Aunt Bea before I go?’

‘She may be asleep,’ Ruby cautioned.

‘I won’t be a minute,’ said Lily, grabbing her handbag.

Ruby didn’t argue. She was feeling tired herself and wanted to sit down for a while. It had been a long and exhausting day, but she’d wanted to write to Miss Russell to thank her for the two pounds she’d given her the last time they’d met, only she couldn’t find her address anywhere. It was a shame because Imogen’s generosity meant that Nelson’s funeral costs were all but met.

‘I’m sure I left it on the dresser,’ she told herself. ‘It was right here, by the teapot.’ She moved the best teapot to one side, lifting the lid and peering inside, but the slip of paper wasn’t there. Frustrated, she sighed. If she’d lost that address, she couldn’t write to Miss Russell and eventually they’d lose touch altogether.

Bea was lying on the top of her bed, but she wasn’t asleep. She lay staring at the ceiling. She had taken her mourning dress off, and it was thrown carelessly over the chair. She was in her petticoat, with the floral eiderdown pulled over her to keep herself warm in the chilly bedroom. They only heated one room in the house, although today there was a fire in the front parlour as
well. She turned her head as Lily knocked on the door softly.

‘Are you off now?’ asked Bea. ‘Thank you for your help, dear.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said Lily. She hesitated for a second, then came right into the room and shut the door. ‘Aunt Bea,’ she began awkwardly.

‘What is it?’ said Bea, suddenly anxious.

‘You remember the day of the inquest,’ Lily went on. ‘When I came out of the Town Hall, someone gave me something. A letter.’

Bea sat up. ‘A letter?’

Lily opened her purse and handed her the envelope.

‘Who gave it to you?’

‘A man,’ said Lily. ‘I’ve never seen him before. He was nicely dressed, with fairish hair. You must have known him a long time ago because, when he saw you, he asked me who Ruby was, so he didn’t know her.’

Bea touched her mouth with her fingers and her eyes grew wide. ‘Did he tell you his name?’

Lily shook her head. ‘But he said, when you read the letter, you would know who had given it to me.’

‘What’s in it?’ Bea said.

Lily shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I can’t read, remember? The letters always move about on the page.’

‘Thank you, dear,’ said Bea, relaxing. She put the letter on the chest of drawers next to the bed and lay back down.

‘Aren’t you going to read it?’ Lily couldn’t hide her disappointment.

Bea yawned. ‘Later. I’m too tired right now. Thanks for bringing it to me, and for all that you’ve done today.’

As Bea closed her eyes, Lily leaned over her and kissed her cheek. With one last glance at the propped-up envelope, she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

CHAPTER 12

Bea looked up at the Savoy Private Hotel. It was small and, unlike the giant Warnes Hotel across the road, it had a homely look to it. She had timed her visit so that there was no danger of bumping into Ruby. Right now she knew her daughter was at work, so there was no chance of seeing her on the street.

Bea had dressed with care. Under her dark-brown woollen twill coat with its sheepskin collar and trim, she was wearing a dark-green dress with a wide vintage-lace collar. Her head was covered by a close-fitting hat in a light-brown jersey, which teamed up nicely with her suede lace-up shoes and matching handbag. She was still in mourning, so she had a black armband on the sleeve of her coat. Taking a deep breath, she walked briskly up the front steps.

A woman sat behind the desk in the foyer. She leaned forward and smiled as Bea entered the hotel. ‘Good morning, madam.’

‘Good morning,’ said Bea. Already her heartbeat had quickened. It was strange being treated as a guest, for Bea was more used to the role of a servant who bobbed
a curtsey at important people. Although she had never been inside a private hotel before, she knew how to behave. ‘I’m here to enquire about a guest,’ she began. ‘I believe he is staying here.’

The woman waited, her artificial smile fixed.

Bea took another breath. ‘Dr Rex Quinn.’ There – she’d said it. She’d said his name aloud for the first time in eighteen years. Nelson had forbidden her to mention his name ever again, and she had given him her promise. Well, Nelson was dead now, so she was under no obligation to keep it secret any more. It felt so deliciously wonderful that she almost wished Nelson was still alive to hear her say it. She could almost picture his face, purple with rage and indignation.

The receptionist was running her finger down the register. Bea was caught a bit off-guard. The hotel wasn’t that big; surely she would know which room Rex was in, without having to look it up?

‘Dr Quinn left town on Sunday,’ she said, looking back up.

Her words hit Bea in the chest like a hammer-blow. She had to stop herself from crying out.
Gone?
He had been here, and now he was gone? Oh no, no … This was too cruel … too much to bear.

‘He was here for eight days,’ said the woman.

Bea clutched at her chest. She had come as quickly as she could. If only Lily had given her the letter straight away. ‘Did …?’ she began in a quavery voice.

‘Are you all right, madam?’ said the woman, glancing
at the armband on Bea’s coat. ‘Would you like to sit down? Shall I get you a glass of water?’

Bea struggled to regain control of herself. ‘Did he leave a forwarding address?’

The receptionist shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, madam.’

With as much dignity as she could muster, Bea turned to leave.

‘Madam,’ the woman said again, ‘please rest for a minute.’ She came round the desk and guided Bea to a chair. It was next to a potted plant, which obscured her from the road. Her nose was tingling and she had a lump in her throat. She fumbled for a handkerchief. ‘Wait while I get the proprietor,’ said the woman.

Bea was vaguely aware that the receptionist had rung a bell as she came round the desk, but as she pressed the handkerchief to her mouth to stop a scream from coming out, everything else disappeared. He’d gone; she’d missed him. Why hadn’t he come to the house? She shook her head. Don’t be silly. He doesn’t know your address. He only knew you lived in Worthing. If he had been here for a week, why hadn’t he spoken to her at the inquest? It was unbearable to think that they’d both been in the same room, but she hadn’t seen him. If only he’d come up to her then …

Someone else appeared at her elbow. She was holding a small glass of something the colour of amber. ‘Here, dear,’ she said kindly. ‘My name is Miss Taylor, and this is my hotel. You’ve had a bit of a shock. Have a little drop of brandy to steady your nerves.’

‘She was asking for Dr Quinn,’ said the receptionist.

‘Did you give her the note?’ Miss Taylor asked.

‘What note?’ said the woman.

‘What note?’ Bea repeated.

‘Really, Iris, you never listen to a word I say. I clearly remember telling you about it. I put it in the pigeonhole.’

‘The blue envelope?’ asked Iris.

‘Yes,’ said Miss Taylor. ‘Well, go and get it. Don’t keep the lady waiting.’ Bea sipped the brandy. ‘That girl will be the death of me,’ said Miss Taylor and then, seeing the black armband on Bea’s coat, her face coloured. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean anything …’

‘It’s all right,’ said Bea. ‘You’ve been most kind.’

Iris reappeared with a blue envelope.

‘Before I give it to you,’ said Miss Taylor, ‘may I ask for your name?’

‘Mrs Beatrice Bateman,’ said Bea, not once taking her eye from the envelope.

Miss Taylor handed it to her. Bea’s hand trembled as she took it, and she instantly recognized the copperplate hand. She pressed it to her chest and stood up. The blood drained from her head, and Miss Taylor cried out as Bea wobbled precariously. ‘Oh, my dear …’

‘I’m all right,’ said Bea as her head cleared. ‘I just stood up too quickly, that’s all. I’m fine, really I am.’ Calling out a thank-you, she headed for the door.

‘You really should take your time, dear,’ Miss Taylor called after her, but Bea wasn’t listening. All she wanted was to get home and read his letter. She dropped it
inside her bag and, despite the two-inch heels on her shoes, almost ran home.

Once back in her kitchen, Bea didn’t even bother to take off her coat before she tore open the envelope:

An anguished cry roared from Bea’s mouth.
A year – another year …
No, no, he couldn’t do this to her. A whole year … Oh God, this was too cruel. It was too much. She couldn’t bear it. She was filled with pain and despair and suddenly heard this terrible howl that went on and on.

The back door burst open and her other neighbour, Florrie Dart, rushed in. ‘Oh, Bea,’ she cried. ‘It’s hit you at last, hasn’t it? There, there, my dear. It will get better,
I promise. Let’s get you upstairs and into you bed, and I’ll send for the doctor.’

A postcard from Miss Russell!
Ruby took it down from the mantelpiece and turned it over:

Ruby turned the postcard back and looked at the picture of the Eiffel Tower reaching up into the sky. If only she could see it for herself …

Someone tapped on the window, making her jump. When she opened the front door, Isaac Kaufman snatched his hat off.

‘Hello!’ she cried. ‘Come in, come in.’

He stepped inside hesitantly.

‘Sit down,’ said Ruby, taking him into the kitchen. ‘Let me get you some tea.’

‘I came to offer you my condolences,’ he said. ‘Mr Searle told me of your loss.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ruby.

The reminder of her father’s death was never far away, yet it still brought her up short when someone mentioned it. The weight of guilt because she hadn’t cried was beginning to lie heavily on her chest, like a jagged canker. She should have cried by now, shouldn’t she? When she’d seen his coffin again in the church
she’d felt as if she couldn’t breathe, but the tears had refused to come.

She put a match under the kettle and lit the gas. ‘It was so kind of you to come,’ she said. ‘I know I’ve only had a couple of lessons, but I may not be able to carry on with my classes, and I was just thinking that I should let you know. You’ve saved me having to write you a letter and putting the stamp on the envelope.’ Her laughter was both brittle and sad. She was prattling, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. ‘I’m sorry to let you down.’

‘No, no, dear lady,’ he protested. ‘It is
I
who am sorry.’

She looked at him helplessly. She wanted to ask him for her money back, but how could she? He probably needed it more than she did. But, whatever happened from now on, she couldn’t afford to carry on with the lessons. It would be hard enough trying to keep going, without paying for such unnecessary luxuries.