Deception and Desire (34 page)

‘Nothing.' Would she never tell him? He wanted to catch her, shake it out

of her, but he knew he could not do that. One day, in her own

good time, she would tell him. Until then he would have to be

patient.
‘Will you marry me, then?'
She buried her face in his chest. ‘Oh Van, I love you so much!'
It was, he thought, not quite the answer he had expected, but

he knew that for the moment it was the best he could hope for.

They drove home next day. Dinah was very quiet but also very loving, her hand resting on his thigh as he drove, her head against his shoulder.

They did not talk about marriage again. He would give her time to get used to the idea, he told himself, and besides, he could use a little time to get used to it himself! Reaction to the hasty decision had begun to set in; he didn't regret it, no, certainly not that, but he did want time to adjust to the enormity of what he had done.

They ate
en route
at a country pub, and he loved the fact that they were treated as a couple. Back in Over Stowey he drove her to the little terraced house where she had her digs and stopped outside.

‘Thank you,' she said, oddly formal.

‘Thank
you
,' he replied, ‘for the happiest few days of my life.'

‘At work … will we … ?'

‘Tell anyone? We will tell them just as soon as you are ready.'

‘And the boots? Do you think they will be all right?'

He frowned. The boots were, at that moment, the furthest thing from his mind.

‘I'm sure they will be. The basic design is good and the experts can work on the technical details.'

‘Mm.' She nodded. She looked, he thought, satisfied.

‘Do you want me to come in with you – carry your case?'

‘Oh no, better not. Mrs Brooks is a funny soul.'

‘Mrs Brooks is going to have to get used to me – for a little while, anyway.'

‘Yes,' she said reflectively. ‘Yes, I suppose so. But not tonight.'

He placed her case on the doorstep, then took her by the shoulders to kiss her lightly.

‘Goodnight, darling.'

‘Goodnight.' It was almost a sob, and then suddenly she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Embarrassed, he tensed. He was too old and too sophisticated for such a public display of passion. But before he could even attempt to extricate himself she released him again, picked up her case and turned away. Her key was in the door and she did not look round at him. But somehow he had the impression that she might be crying.

‘Dinah …' he began to say.

‘Goodnight, Van,' she said again, and he wondered why for one ridiculous moment he thought she had said not ‘goodnight' but ‘goodbye'. Then the door had closed behind her and there was nothing left for him to do but return to the car and drive home.

Next day Dinah did not turn up for work. Van had arrived early – he always did, but today he had even more reason than usual for wanting to get to the factory; he was anxious to put the modifications for the walking boots in hand, and he wanted to see Dinah. But her place was empty and her clock card in its wallet remained unmarked.

Van was puzzled but also almost unnaturally worried. All very well to tell himself that the likeliest reason was that she was not well and taking a day off – he was sickeningly certain it was more than that. All very well to rationalise that since Mrs Brooks had no telephone, if Dinah was poorly she would not feel like walking to the kiosk at the end of the street to call in sick, yet still all his instincts clamoured alarm. All thoughts of tackling his father about the production of the boots were forgotten. At eleven o'clock Van told his secretary he was going out; took his car and drove to Wellington Street.

The weather had taken a turn for the worse. This morning it was drizzling and beneath the overcast sky the terrace of grey stone houses that gave directly on to the street without even the smallest of gardens looked depressing and unwelcoming. A couple of worn-out looking women laden with shopping in plastic bags turned to stare curiously as the Jag drew up outside Mrs Brooks's house. A Jag here was not a common sight.

Van rang the bell. For a long while there was no reply, then he heard slippers shuffling across the lino. When the door was opened it was obvious that Mrs Brooks was in the middle of the weekly wash. Her hair hung limply across her thin face, the sleeves of a shrunken cardigan were pushed up to her raw-boned elbows and she was wiping puffy red hands on the skirt of her wraparound overall.

‘Yes?' she snapped.

‘I'm sorry to disturb you, Mrs Brooks. I've come to see Dinah.'

The woman sniffed, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

‘Huh! You'll have a job to do that.'

‘Isn't she well?'

‘She's gone.'

‘Gone?' Somehow he had known it already and yet it was still a shock. ‘Gone where?'

The woman shrugged. ‘How should I know? All I can tell you is that she packed up and left, first thing this morning. It's a good thing I take my rent in advance, I must say.'

‘You mean … she's not coming back?'

‘That's what I said, isn't it?' She peered at Van suspiciously. ‘Do you know anything about it? Who are you, anyway?'

‘I'm her employer,' Van said. ‘Did she leave a forwarding address?'

‘No. I asked her what I should do if there was any post for her and she said there wouldn't be. Well, if there is I shall just put it back in the box marked ‘‘Gone Away''. I'm sure I can't be bothered if she can't.'

‘Could I see her room?' Van asked.

The woman looked taken aback. ‘What for?'

‘In case she left anything.'

‘She didn't.'

‘I'd like to check for myself all the same.' Van spoke with authority and Mrs Brooks reluctantly gave in.

‘I've stripped the bed, mind you,' she said, leading the way up the stairs. ‘I'm washing the sheets and pillowcases right now.'

As Mrs Brooks had said, every one of Dinah's personal possessions had gone. Without them, and with the bed stripped, exposing bare, stained mattress, it had a bleak impersonal feel that made it impossible to imagine that it had been Dinah's home for almost as long as he had known her. Van checked the drawers, each lined with yellowing newspaper, and opened the wardrobe, empty but for a jangling collection of wire hangers.

‘You see?' Mrs Brooks was watching from the doorway, an expression midway between satisfaction and pained outrage on her thin, worn face. She was torn between annoyance at her lodger's sudden departure and pleasure at seeing him thwarted, he decided, and realised with a sense of hopeless frustration that there was no point pressing her any further.

‘Miss Marshall doesn't owe you anything, I take it?'

‘I told you, I take a month's rent in advance. Mind you, I should have been given notice! I might have trouble letting again,' she added hastily.

Van's lips tightened with dislike.

‘You might indeed,' was all he said.

Van sat behind the wheel of his Jaguar, staring into space. He was unaware of the mean street now, oblivious to passers-by staring curiously. He was still in shock, his mind reeling with unanswered questions. Where had Dinah gone – and why? Yet at the same time there were facets he could see with startling clarity – Dinah with tears in her eyes, Dinah clinging to him, Dinah walking away from him without a backward glance: ‘Goodbye, Van.' He was certain now that that was what she had said – not ‘goodnight', but ‘goodbye'. Part of him had known it even then but he had refused to accept it. But why?
Why?
Because they had made love? Because he had asked her to marry him? If she didn't want to she had only to say so. Or did she think working with him afterwards would be impossible? That could be it. She had not wanted to hurt him by outright refusal and had taken fright at the thought of having to face him again. She had not after all said she would marry him. The omission had jarred on him then and it jarred on him now. But she had said she loved him and he believed her. So why should she pack her bags and go without a word to him or anyone? It did not make sense, but instinctively he knew it had to do with that part of her that he had never been able to reach and the shadow that came between them.

What was it she was hiding? Some secret sorrow? Something she was ashamed of – her background, perhaps? Whatever it was he couldn't imagine it could be anything so very terrible. Knowing Dinah and her ingenuousness she had probably exaggerated whatever it was, built it up in her mind until it assumed unacceptable proportions. He would find her, worm the secret – whatever it was – out of her and assure her that nothing was more important than their being together.

Van started the car, driving automatically in the direction of the factory. Already he felt the loss of her like a physical pain, an emptiness growing and spreading to touch every part of him. But shocked and hurt though he was, he had no doubt but that he would find her again and make right whatever it was that was wrong between them. He needed her, on both a physical and an emotional level, and also as the catalyst for his dreams for the future. Dinah, with her elusive talent, was the other, missing half of his ambition. Together they would move Kendricks into a whole new dimension. That was the way he had planned it – that was how it would be. Her disappearance now was merely a hiccup.

Van, with his dynamism and determination, would refuse to allow it to be otherwise.

Mary Colbourne, née O'Sullivan, put her baby son Patrick down for his afternoon nap and went back into the house. In the cluttered but homely kitchen Dinah had just finished drying the lunch dishes, now she stood, still twisting the damp tea towel between her hands, staring listlessly out of the window into the small sunny backyard where the tall scarlet and pink geraniums in their terracotta pots made splashes of brilliant colour against the grey, and the coach-built pram, protected by a cat-net, had been parked in what little shade was provided by the side of the house.

Mary looked at her friend sadly and shook her head. Dinah was under a great deal of strain – and it showed. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes puffy, and beneath the cheap cotton shift, patterned with flowers the same shades as the geraniums, the bulge of her spreading waistline was clearly discernible.

‘Dinah, we have to talk,' Mary said. ‘We have to decide what you are going to do.'

It was almost a week since Dinah had arrived on her doorstep, and one look at her had told Mary that something was dreadfully wrong. Dinah had confirmed it – she had left her job and her digs and had nowhere to go. Could Mary take her in for the time being until she sorted herself out?

Mary had agreed. She had a spare room and Dinah was welcome to that as long as she needed it, she said. She was certain that Bob, her husband, would not mind – he knew how lonely she got since being confined to the house with the baby while he worked long hours and all the overtime he could get in his trade as a plasterer to make enough money to pay the mortgage. But she was puzzled. The last she had heard from Dinah was when she had thrown in her college course and gone to work in a boot factory – a very odd thing for such a talented student. Now it seemed that that too had gone by the board. And Dinah was clearly distressed – and, thought Mary, suspiciously plump. It did not take her long to get Dinah to admit she was pregnant – with her spreading waistline there was little point in denying it. But any details of her predicament were a closed book.

‘I don't want to talk about it,' Dinah would say, and Mary had let things ride, not wanting to upset her more by pressing her further. But a week had gone by and Mary did not feel she could wait any longer. Bob was beginning to ask questions – and in any case Dinah, for her own good, had to be made to face up to the fact that she was pregnant.

‘Din, we have to talk,' Mary repeated, but Dinah continued to stare out of the window. It was the pram with little Patrick in it that she had focused on, Mary realised. She sighed.

‘I'm going to put the kettle on and make us a cup of tea,' she said firmly. ‘ Then, whether you like it or not, we are going to talk.'

‘Oh Mary, I don't want to! Not in the way you mean. Let's talk about the old days …'

‘Dinah, in case it had escaped your notice, you are expecting a baby. Ignoring the fact won't make it go away. Have you seen a doctor?'

Dinah shook her head.

‘Well you
must
see a doctor. You could be endangering your health and the baby's too.'

Dinah was staring unseeingly into the middle distance.

‘Do you think it's too late for me to have an abortion?'

‘Dinah!' Mary was shocked. ‘You mustn't even think of such a thing! It's illegal, immoral and probably dangerous. And any fool can see it's far too late for that now. How far gone are you?'

‘Five months.'

‘Far too late.'

‘I wish I'd thought of it earlier.'

‘Dinah Marshall, will you stop talking about abortion! It's a wicked thing even to think of taking human life. That's what you would be doing. Killing a baby, your baby – a baby just like little Patrick.'

‘All right, all right, don't go on about it! It's too late, like you said. I've just got to go on and have it.'

‘Dinah.' Mary took the tea towel from her hands and steered her to a chair, sitting her down. ‘I'm your friend. We've always been friends, haven't we? Won't you tell me about it?'

Dinah shrugged. ‘There's nothing to tell. I got drunk and let things happen. That's all there is to it.'

‘What about the father? Does he know you are pregnant?'

‘No, and I don't want him to know.'

‘What about your grandparents?'

Dinah laughed hollowly. ‘I certainly don't want
them
to know!