Live to Tell (27 page)

Feeling ravenous, he realised that apart from a sandwich tasting like cardboard that he had on the plane, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. And that was? God knows what time. So, instead of going to The Mall, he made his way to Villiers Street nearby. Villiers Street is a narrow, cosmopolitan but rather down-at-heel road that runs downhill from The Strand to Embankment underground station and the River Thames. Ben knew several cafes and bars there and felt automatically at home. Reaching a familiar bar, he sat down and ordered a large beer. Then he called his home number again. Still no-one in.

Seated on stools a few feet away were two women and a man. They all looked the worse for drink and one of the women kept trying to light a cigarette.

“Sorry, Madam, not in here,” the barman said. “It’s the law now.”

Angrily she tossed her head and stuffed the cigarettes back into her bag. “Come on, Hugo. Let’s get out of this insufferable place. Take me home.”

Aiming a misplaced kiss at the other woman, she slid off her barstool and pulling the man behind her, walked out. The woman who was left behind looked about her wildly and slipped off her stool as well.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said to no-one in particular.

“Oh, no,” said the barman. “Out you go.” He yanked at her arm and propelled her out of the door and onto the street.

Ben looked up. “Hey, hold on. That’s a bit rough.”

“It’s alright for you sir, if you don’t mind. You don’t have to clean it up.”

“Even so.”

Ben knocked back the remains of his drink and followed the woman out. She was leaning against the wall and looked as if she was about to slide down it onto the pavement. To support her weight, he put his arm around her.

“Come on. Can you walk?” He knew that the strip of road beside the River Thames was a quick cut-through for taxis. “I’ll get you to The Embankment where you should be able to get a cab. Easy now. Okay?”

She nodded and they staggered together down the road and through the booking hall of Embankment station. In the road on the other side, Ben hailed a taxi. A black cab screeched to a halt at the kerb beside them but as soon as the driver saw the woman’s condition, he sped away again.

“Oh, bugger. Listen my love; you are going to have to make an effort to stand up straight. Otherwise I’m going to have to call an ambulance. Okay?”

She nodded and drew in her breath.

By waving a twenty pound note in the air, Ben managed to persuade a taxi driver to take them to the woman’s home. It was not far from Old Street underground station in a run-down, red-brick mansion block. Ben looked around. The neighbourhood was a strange mixture of decaying residential and light industrial buildings. Together they reached the entrance to her block but he knew he would have to accompany her inside just to ensure her safety. Resigned to his lot, he helped her mount the staircase.

Wonder if Julia’s back yet. Must get there soon, even if I have to let myself in. Perhaps I could spend the night in a hotel. Don’t want to make things any worse.

With difficulty, his charge unlocked the door to a musty, second story apartment. The warm air inside was infused with the smell of stale perfume and Ben heard the noise of a train rattling through the night. Cutting the silence, it sounded high up as if on some distant viaduct.

As soon as he managed to get the woman inside, he wanted to leave. She seemed a bit brighter now more coherent—and he was sure she would be able to manage, once some coffee was inside her. She stumbled off into the kitchen to make it and Ben called out, “I’ll be off then. Take care, er, Madeleine.”

He heard a crash. “No. Don’t go,” she wailed. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you. You’ve been so good to me.”

She launched herself back through the open kitchen door, ricocheted off the wall, and flung her arms around his neck. “Please don’t go. Please. Everybody leaves me. Why? What’s the matter with me? Am I ugly or something? I want you to stay. Please.”

“No, of course, you’re not,” he said, patting her hair, “and I’d love to. It’s just that I have a lot to do and I have to get home. You’ll be alright after a good night’s sleep, as good as new,” he lied. “Be a good girl now, and let go.”

A shadow moved across the floor boards. God, is that a mouse, he thought.

“I like you. You’re my bit of rough.”

Bit of rough? I’m a major in the fucking Army for God’s sake. What’s she talking about? He tried to prise her fingers away from his neck but she hung on tighter. Danny Powell’s words, “I like Dainty,” came back to him. Yes, I think I prefer dainty too, he thought. But looking at her properly for the first time, he noticed she had almond shaped eyes and was really quite attractive, although too tall and slim for his taste.

“I want you to stay with me not go—look after me. Please stay. It’ll be alright, I promise.” She put her fingers to her lips. “Hush, come. It’s this way. This is the way we go.” She pulled Ben behind her into the darkened bedroom and ran her hands inside his sweatshirt.

“Look, you’re a lovely girl,” he said trying not to hurt her fingers as he moved them away, “very pretty, but I can’t stay.”

“Don’t you like me?” She pressed her pelvis against his and slowly kissed him. He hadn’t been kissed like that for at least a year.

It was 0500hrs Greenwich Mean Time, 0600hrs British Summer Time, but Ben’s body clock told him it was nearer eight. He always found it hard adjusting to the different time zones but today he was grateful for the discrepancy. He hadn’t meant to stay. He wasn’t quite sure how it came about and now he cursed silently trying not to wake her as he pulled on his jeans. What should he do? He didn’t have the time to linger but thought just leaving quietly, without a sound, was the coward’s way out. He gently shook her bare shoulder.

“Madeleine, Madeleine,” he called quietly. She stirred. “Look, Madeleine. I’m sorry, but I have to go. I don’t live in Britain and I have to go to Paris today. Look, I’m booked on Eurostar and I have to change my clothes. I’m sorry to leave you in the lurch but I’m really short on time.”

She threw her arms around his neck again.

“No,” he said, “I don’t have time for this.” He could tell from her eyes that she must have a terrible hangover. “You just go back to sleep. You’ll feel better then.”

She let go and lay back. “Everybody leaves.”

“Look, I’m sorry. Believe me, you’re a great girl.”

“They all say that,” she whimpered.

“Oh no. I’d better see the medic when I get to Paris. That would be just my luck, pick up some STD.”

“Look Madeleine, last night I was worried about you but you’re a great girl. The trouble is I don’t live here and I’m married—well getting divorced actually—but anyway, you can see the situation, can’t you?”

“It’s alright. I understand.” She sounded resigned.

“Look, next time I’m here shall I take you out to dinner. Give me your number.”

Once more outside without having even stopped to take a shower, Ben set off for Old Street. I don’t believe it. I tried to stop some low-life taking advantage of her condition and it turned out to be me. Bugger Julia’s sensibilities, he thought. I’ve got to get my clothes.

“Hello, Mrs Powell. Did everything go well in Dorchester? I’ve dealt with some of the mail that’s come in since you’ve been away, but I’ve left the rest on your desk.” Angela beamed at me and looked genuinely pleased to see me back under her protection. She had obviously visited a hairdresser recently as her usual shoulder length bob had been highlighted and trimmed.

“Yes, thanks. I like the hair. Really suits you.” Most of the people we work with were men, so we often exchanged feminine pleasantries of this kind.

“Thanks. I felt a bit depressed because of Princess Diana, so I decided to treat myself. I can’t believe she’s been dead for a week.”

If anything, the mourning for the late princess seemed to be intensifying. While I was away from my family and work colleagues I felt a bit removed from everything. Now that I was back in London, it seemed the only topic of conversation.

“Mum and I,” she continued, “are going to watch the funeral on TV with my sister. She has created a small shrine in her sitting-room with a photograph and a bouquet of lilies. It’s very pretty. I hope I don’t cry. I shall feel such a fool.”

I smiled at her. “It doesn’t matter if you do. You won’t be the only one.”

I’ll ask Mum if she would like to do something similar, I thought, after Angela left my room. She is probably worried the funeral will bring back un-welcome memories. I must give her a call.

As well as the case I was working on for James, the firm in Dorchester wanted advice concerning the financial affairs of two of their other clients. I knew that Stephen, who was always keen to encourage new business, would not mind my being away longer, especially since we charged by the hour. I ended up spending three nights and four days away.

I was not back at my desk long before Dad put his head around my door.

“Angela gave me permission to disturb you,” he said. “That lass is a real treasure. I called by because I was hoping to take you out for a drink tonight—after work.”

“Okay,” I said feeling surprised. I smiled at him. “Is this a celebration?”

“I’ve got to pick up some tickets at the Royal Festival Hall. They’ve got a nice wine bar, facing the river, and I don’t like drinking alone. Shall I see you in there about six?”

Puzzled, I smiled again. Dad must be the only Yorkshire man living who doesn’t like pubs, I thought.

When I arrived at the riverside bar at the concert hall, he was already ensconced at a table facing the lazily flowing water. In the diminishing daylight the river twinkled at us from reflected lights of passing boats. Two glasses and an opened bottle of red wine were in front of him.

“So, what are these tickets for,” I asked, kissing the top of his head.

“An evening of Shostakovich,” he answered. “I thought I’d surprise your mother. She doesn’t get out much.”

I laughed and settled into the seat next to his.

“Now then, my girl, don’t make fun of the old folk.” He filled the glasses and passed me one. “This is a rare treat. We don’t have much time together anymore, do we, you and I? Since you left home, I miss our little chats and I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately. He leaned across and gave my shoulder a squeeze. Now, I know you’re settled in that flat but it’s not up to much, is it? It might be perfectly adequate now but twenty years down the line, you’ll wish you’d upgraded, people always do. It’s a good time to get a mortgage and you’ve got a head start with your pension as well as your salary.”

Of course he was talking about the small army pension I received since Danny died. I would continue to get it as long as I didn’t re-marry and there was no chance of that. Presumably, the thinking was that if I did marry again, some other poor soul could take over responsibility for me.

“Dad, I’m not sure yet, if…” I began.

“It would give you some purpose in life. Something to do apart from work and going to that gym of yours three times a week. You know, your Mum and I, nothing would make us happier than for you to get married again, try to put the past away. You shouldn’t grieve forever. It isn’t right. But whatever you do, you need somewhere nice to live. I’d rather hoped that maybe one day, you and Adam would make a go of things, but well, obviously it wasn’t meant to be.”

I smiled at him and took his hand. “Dad, I know. I noticed.”

After Danny’s death, whenever he was in the area, Danny’s best man Adam came round to see us. He helped Dad with various projects, tried to be a stand in son-in-law, I guess. But that was all it was. There could never be anything between us. Then, when he introduced us to his new fiancée and later invited us to his wedding, Mum and Dad finally realised he was just a good friend.

“Sorry. Was the matchmaking a bit obvious?”

“Just a bit, but I know you meant well.”

“Top up?”

“Thanks.” I hesitated. “The trouble is,” I said, “I can’t contemplate life with anyone else. I was very lucky, meeting Danny when I did. At least we had a few years.”

Dad stared silently out across the river and shook his head. “Such a waste, such a terrible waste,” he said. “Who’d have known, that day you got married that it would all end the way it did.” He sighed and squeezed my hand. “Anyway, getting back to property matters, please think seriously about this. Conditions are perfect and I’ve worked out how much you can afford. These are only some rough figures but will help you know what to start looking for. This time of year you can sometimes pick up a bargain.”