Illusions of Happiness (8 page)

‘I . . . I don’t know,’ she stammered, trying to collect her wits. ‘I came here on the Underground with some friends but they’ve all left and I’m not sure of my way home. I’ve not lived in London for very long you see,’ she explained and saw his face clear as he smiled down at her.

‘Then if you would allow me to escort you for the sake of your safety? I am not a threat, my dear,’ he continued as she made to draw back. ‘I am a married man, or was . . . a widower now. I assure you I am quite harmless.’

He looked harmless and anything was better than randy-minded Joe. Madeleine nodded, almost grateful to find herself guided gently through the growing noise of the bar.

‘My limousine is outside, a short distance along the road,’ he said softly. ‘That also is safe as my chauffeur will be with us.’

The last thing Madeleine noticed as the crowds in the bar closed in behind her was Joe standing like a surprised dummy in the centre of the saloon and she couldn’t help feeling a moment of triumph that he would be left without any physical relief to his feelings this night.

Helped by her self-appointed escort into quite an imposing vehicle similar to her father’s but bigger, she sat very still as he moved in beside her, to her relief keeping his distance.

For a while he remained silent as the motor gained speed. Finally he said: ‘May I say that for someone who speaks as well as you, it seems a rather odd address to have. I hope you don’t mind my saying but I rather thought it would have been some finer part of London. You appear to be a well brought up young lady and if you would pardon my rudeness, may I ask you what an obviously well brought up young lady is doing living in such a poor area?’

For a moment she felt herself rebel at his questioning but something about him had filled her with such a desire for a sympathetic ear, even from a stranger, that tears begin to prick her eyes.

Without any prompting she found herself telling him all about herself; how she, an innocent at eighteen had been rejected by her father for falling in love with someone he did not approve of, a humble tradesmen’s son; how to her despair her mother had felt bound to support her husband in his harsh decision, how her young man had then let her down and forsaken her.

He sat listening so attentively, saying nothing that finally she touched on the true reason for her father’s deep anger, of having being packed off to a place for unmarried mothers, the child taken away. At this point her resolve to merely state the facts as they were gave way. The next thing she knew she was crumpled in his arms sobbing her heart out.

‘You poor child,’ she heard him say through her weeping. ‘What a dreadful tale. And you are all alone, my dear, with no one to turn to.’

Against his shoulder she nodded unable to speak for sobbing.

At the wheel, having been issued with directions as to her address, the chauffeur drove deaf to the emotion going on behind him, remote, his uniformed back stiff, his eyes on the road ahead. Like her father’s own staff, he held no opinion of his own, would hear nothing, a mind centred on his duties and nothing else.

Madeleine had managed to recover her composure as far as possible, realizing how foolish she must seem collapsing into the arms of a complete stranger. She sat up, fishing feverishly into her handbag for a handkerchief to hastily dab her eyes.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she managed to mumble.

‘There is no need to feel sorry, my dear,’ he said very quietly. ‘It is my guess that you have told no one of your true feelings for a long while and I feel myself privileged to have been the one you chose to tell. After all I am a stranger to you and perhaps that is a good reason for you to confide in me; no axe to grind, you might say.’

He was speaking brightly now. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Ingleton – James Aric Aylward Ingleton. My work is in the City. I deal in stocks and shares to put it simply. I have a place in Belgrave Square near Knightsbridge but I’m seldom there, my work being more in the City. I find Knightsbridge a lonely place these days. I prefer to work, my evenings mostly occupied by work although I do frequent the odd little public house where people are human. I loathe clubs.’

He was talking rapidly as if to cover some awkwardness. Suddenly he stopped, staring across to her in the darkness of the motor car. ‘Forgive me, if I appear impertinent, and please tell me if you feel I am, but would it be in order for me to ask if I may take you to dinner one evening. After what has transpired I feel it uncaring if I merely leave you never to see you again.’

As Madeleine shot him a cautious look, he drew himself upright in his seat. ‘Well, I see not,’ he said simply.

Instantly Madeleine galvanized into action. ‘No!’ she burst out. ‘I’d be quite happy to see you again. That would be really nice!’

A thought came to her. He had to be at least forty years older than she and far from her idea of a romantic image. But befriended by a man of obvious wealth, influence and prestige, such a man might help her find her child where alone she might never do so.
I’m not manipulating him
, came a small voice inside her.
But you are thinking of using him
, said a second voice.
But I don’t care
, came the first voice,
I need all the help I can get and here is someone who might gladly give it.

‘It would be the only way I can think of to thank you for all your kindness,’ she said in a deliberately meek tone.

She heard his breath escape him as if he had been holding it in.

‘Then may I call for you tomorrow evening, take you to dinner, nothing too grand, somewhere pleasant?’

‘I would like that,’ she said simply as the motor car turned into the street where she was living, slowing to a stop at the tenement she indicated. She felt no shame about its shabby appearance. He already knew she had been well brought up, accustomed to money. If things went well she would know money again.

‘I would like that very much indeed,’ she repeated as an afterthought as he helped her alight from the vehicle to kiss her hand.

‘Eight o’clock?’ he asked.

Holding her excitement inside herself, Madeleine nodded, keeping her smile as calm and as sweet as she could. Yes, he could be very helpful.

She could hardly wait to tell Dolly about her encounter. She waited up but there was no sound of her returning unless she’d crept back in. Though now she strongly suspected she wouldn’t be back until morning. Dolly struck her as that kind of girl though who was she to judge, she who’d so stupidly let one man take advantage of her leading to her own downfall? But never again would she be caught out. She was no floozie and vowed never to let any man touch her until he married her, no matter how much she was in love.

James Ingleton, however, had behaved impeccably and would, she was sure, carry on treating her with respect even though he had listened to her story. He hadn’t blamed her but rather the man for taking advantage of a young girl’s innocence. But if that reassurance did hide some secret hope for his own ends, he would be sent packing at the least suspicion of improper behaviour. That too she vowed.

All next day she found herself in a growing fever of pent up excitement at the thought of seeing him again. She’d have liked to have told Dolly but there was no sign of her all that day. Saturday was still a workday for Dolly, so maybe she’d already crept off to work, or she might have spent the night with that George and gone off to work from there. In a way Madeleine was a little relieved, Dolly maybe seeing it as being any old port in a storm thing.

That evening she chose her only other nice dress, the salmon pink, in which to meet James Ingleton. Struggling into it without the help of a maid, she finally managed with her supple arms to fasten the buttons at the back, thanking God there was no longer call for the restrictive stays of a couple of years ago having to be laced at the back to give a woman an hourglass figure. At least the war had brought freedom of dress, hems also giving some opportunity these days for pretty ankles to be on show as well as a more natural body shape. Her hair too had no need to be fought with and piled up any more. To be in fashion, she had taken the scissors to her own long tresses so that now her hair was free to curl gently about her ears.

In fact James had been surprised and approving, saying, ‘My dear, your new hairstyle looks so utterly charming. It suits you very much.’

She’d felt so happy sitting with him in expensive theatre seats and afterwards a lovely supper in a good restaurant. And now, six weeks later, she hardly ever thought of him as being in his late fifties. Seated opposite her at some restaurant table, he looked at times so much younger despite greying hair which, thick still, had been dark judging by that still remaining in his moustache. Only a fraction taller than herself, although slightly robust and broad of face, he was very well preserved for one his age. On top of that he was a gentleman in every way. She always felt well looked after, felt utterly at ease with him, in some ways even drawn to him for all he’d never so much as kissed her or put an arm about her. The most was to take her elbow to help her in and out of his limousine, or up and down theatre stairs or those of whatever restaurant they visited. Bringing her home he would help her from his car, not waiting for his chauffeur to do so, would kiss her hand and always watch her go indoors before leaving, his brown eyes full of concern.

Every Friday and Saturday he would take her to dinner or a theatre and supper afterwards. Sundays, he’d show her London, perhaps a museum or other places of interest; if the weather was fine a stroll in one of London’s parks. All the while she had been compelled to alternate between her few garments, wearing one of her two gowns for evening, and for day alternating between her three blouses and skirts. Often she despaired.

This Saturday evening while enjoying supper, after seeing
Pygmalion
at a small theatre he’d taken her to, he said: ‘Forgive my asking, my dear, I hope you don’t think me impertinent, but why do you insist on wearing the same two gowns of an evening?’

The question put her back up a little and without thinking she heard herself snap at him. ‘Because these are all I have!’

Instantly she regretted her outburst as he looked chastened. ‘I am so sorry, my dear,’ he began, quickly adding, ‘not for hearing that they are all you have but for embarrassing you with such a thoughtless question.’

Madeleine too became apologetic. ‘I’m the one who should say sorry. I should not have snapped at you.’

He shook his head waving away her apology with a slight movement of his hand before returning to his meal, she to hers. The rest of the evening passed through intermittent silences, his remark and her reply having become a tiny barrier like a little ghost standing between them.

Her worst fears were confirmed when despite his tender kiss on her hand as they parted, he told her that he would be unable to see her on the Sunday as he had to go up to the Midlands for a few days. He didn’t say why, nor did he speak of seeing her the following weekend; this worried her and she went to bed feeling wretched.

After a miserable, sleepless night, she spent the Sunday in her room staring out of the window at the row of tenements on the other side of the yard that separated hers from them. Those few words had obviously marked the end of her association with James. Something told her that some time next week a letter would arrive to say that he would not be seeing her this coming weekend, nor would he be able to see her for some time to come.

Sick and dejected, she knew that when she next saw Dolly she would have to confess that her relationship with James Ingleton had ended.

Dolly would be pleased. Whenever she spoke to her of James, Dolly had behaved quite distantly. Jealousy no doubt, a rich escort able to take her here wherever he, or she, liked. But then it hadn’t mattered; she had James and life had been quite wonderful. Now of course, that was over.

No doubt when she was forced to tell Dolly, the girl would cheer up instantly, ask her to join her and her friends on Friday nights. Madeleine did not particularly fancy doing so but what else was there for her?

So far she had survived six weeks in this awful place with James’s help. In his company she’d eaten well, had thus managed to save a little on the pitiful allowance her father had provided. Fretting about her lost baby had also diminished a little. Now without him it was all coming back, making her want to weep at any unguarded moment.

Without James life threatened once more to become a hand to mouth existence. To eat and pay her rent she was going to have to somehow find work and the thought appalled and terrified her. How did someone go about finding work and to what skill could she turn her hand? Absolutely nothing.

Monday crawled by. On Tuesday she caught Dolly coming out of her door on her way to work. Dressed in men’s breeches, a linen coat reaching to her knees with patch pockets and tied in the middle with a belt, her hair hidden under a man’s cap, she was so thin that she looked more like a young man than a girl – she, like many, was covering a man’s job while he fought for his country.

‘Seeing your swell bloke then this weekend?’ Dolly asked, her tone touching on the sarcastic.

Madeleine fought to steel herself. ‘I think it might be all off,’ she said, trying to sound casual but it caused Dolly to pause, her expression changing to one of interest that looked almost eager though she was obviously trying to disguise it.

‘Why, what’s happened?’

‘Nothing has happened,’ Madeleine said lightly. ‘I just thought it best not to let things get too serious. He is a bit old, you know.’

Dolly laughed, back to her old self with her neighbour. ‘I wondered why someone like you who could’ve had her pick of blokes would’ve wanted an old chap like that.’

‘He was nice, I suppose, that’s all,’ Madeleine answered blithely. Dolly gave a shrug.

‘Well in that case might see you on Friday. Come out with us. Me and that George haven’t seen each other since. He went back to his ship, wrote to me but only the once. A girl in every port they say! Still, it don’t matter, had a couple of good times since. See you Friday if I don’t see you before. Bye!’