Meet Me at the Pier Head (39 page)

‘No,’ the kitten-holding woman muttered. ‘He’ll go south and start looking for Portia if he’s chased from Liverpool. London’s no hiding place for him just
now; even his agent’s been fired.’

‘He’ll find another, I’m sure,’ Isadora whispered.

Juliet perched on the sofa’s arm and held her mother’s hand. ‘Try not to worry, Ma.’ She turned to Jack. ‘We thought he was in Ireland.’

Isadora made a decision. ‘We mustn’t tell Theo or Portia or any of the others that Richard’s here. Rosie and Maggie need that holiday, so we can’t have them dashing back
just because Richard has resurfaced. With any luck, he might disappear until September.’

Jack shifted uncomfortably. ‘Some in the Lady Streets know where Theo lives, and they might know that Miss Bellamy rents this flat. It’s only a matter of time.’

‘You’re sure he isn’t ill?’ Juliet asked.

‘I’m as sure as I can be, miss, though I’m no doctor.’

Joan, having had a short rethink, spoke again. ‘Then let him find us, Mr Peake. He’ll rant and rave like the child he’s always been, but he won’t dash back to Kent
immediately and disturb the others. I am in a privileged position here, because I can threaten to sue him for attacking me in front of many witnesses. The magistrates bound him over to keep the
peace, that’s all. If anyone needs to know why I didn’t sue him there and then, I shall tell them I needed to get away from him, that I feared him. Now that he’s here, I’m
terrified. He and I can create a stand-off situation with Izzy acting as peacemaker.’

‘My father hurt you?’ Juliet was clearly incredulous.

‘Yes, Juliet, he did.’

Juliet closed her eyes as if trying to block out thought.

Isadora spoke. ‘Darling, he threw her to the floor at the Punch Bowl – how apt that name is – and was about to stamp on her. The locals tied him down. He was drunk; Joan and I
were not.’

The youngest of the Bellamy girls swallowed hard; it was indeed a bitter pill. ‘How will you stop him going back to Kent?’ she asked. ‘How will you keep him here?’

Isadora smiled enigmatically. ‘Joan and I will cope if he isn’t imprisoned,’ she said. ‘He needs us far more than we need him, my love. It’s just a case of allowing
him to believe that he’s getting his own way. We praise him and placate him.’

‘But how?’ Juliet asked.

Joan gave the answer. ‘By pretending to negotiate, by pretending to be reasonable. He can stay in Theo’s flat, then we can keep an eye on him. He needs to be contained like the wild
animal he is.’

‘I told him I thought Theo had gone to America,’ Jack said.

‘Good man. We’ll convince him that Portia is touring in France with a friend,’ Isadora said. ‘I don’t need to ask you to keep quiet, do I?’

‘No.’ Jack stood up. ‘My boss is a good man, and your daughter’s a lovely young woman, Mrs Bellamy. They need some time, too.’

Juliet agreed, though she made no remark. Tia and Theo were clearly drawn to each other, and Juliet was glad for them and for herself, since she was now able to spend time with a man she’d
loved for years. ‘Will you still divorce Pa?’ she asked her mother.

‘Yes, but like Mr Peake, I’ll take a detour up a few dark alleys. Whatever it costs in terms of time, we need to ensure that the visitors in Kent are not disturbed. Things may change
after Thursday. I’ve arranged a meeting for Portia and Theodore. They will, I hope, take the first step towards securing a safe future for Rosie. She’ll be having X-rays and so forth,
because we need to keep her away from her mother by finding evidence of old injuries.’

‘So what must we do now, Ma?’

‘Nothing. Someone will point your father in the right direction. He will come here looking for Portia, and we must manage him for a while.’

Joan shivered. ‘Can’t we just put arsenic in his food?’ She winked at Juliet in an attempt to take the sting out of her words.

Izzy laughed. ‘No, we must be clever, lull him into a false sense of security for a while. I know it may sound cruel, Juliet, but we need to get our priorities right. Theo and Portia want
to keep Maggie calm and Rosie happy. In order for that to happen, your father must stay away from Kent. So I’ll pretend to consider reconciliation while Joan behaves as if he terrifies her.
He’s easily confused and easy to please. The way to that particular man’s heart is not through his stomach – it’s via his narcissism, which needs regular massage.’

Juliet shook her head. She disliked lies, hated dishonesty of any kind. But Pa had lived the dishonest life, so she had to appreciate her mother’s position in this situation. Two actresses
and one journalist were purported to have given birth to Pa’s children. His professional life was suffering because he was unwilling or unable to keep up with trends in the job. Deep down,
Juliet knew why; it was because he appeared to have no sense of humour whatsoever. When it came to laughing at himself or responding to jokes directed at him, he froze.

Jack stood up. ‘I’d better get back,’ he said. ‘The lights on my old boneshaker don’t always work. If you have any problems, come and get me. You have my
address?’

‘Yes, thank you very much,’ said Isadora. ‘See Jack out, Juliet.’

‘This is just day one,’ Joan said when the two women were alone. ‘It’s almost as if he timed it, as if he knows Theo isn’t here to protect us.’

Isadora laughed, though the sound was far from happy. ‘You know I can manage him. Why do you think he went to pieces when I played the alcoholic? He needs a strong-minded woman behind him,
not a dipsomaniac. We have to keep him here, Joan.’

‘For Rosie, yes,’ Isadora’s faithful companion said.

‘And for Portia and Theo. They are blinded by infatuation, and they need this time to decide whether or not it’s love.’

‘I think it is, Izzy.’

‘So do I. Oh, I do hope it is, Joan. He’s a very special man, and she’s a precious girl. They look right together.’

Rose Cottage looked completely different. The outside sported a fresh coat of paint, and all ancient roses had been removed. Tia lingered for a while in the rear garden. It
would be years before the house might live up to its name, because new roses seldom thrived where old ones had been recently removed. To compensate for this, tubs containing miniature roses and
tumbling lobelia had been placed at each side of exterior doors front and back. The rest of the land was laid to lawn with little paths running hither and yon. The gypsy caravan remained, all
freshly painted and colourful. ‘Rosie will love that,’ she said. ‘She’ll want to sleep in it.’

Theo yawned, as did Mickle.

‘Am I boring the two of you?’ she asked.

‘No, I’m just exhausted, though I can’t speak for my dog. It was a long drive, I’m ashamed to say. As an American citizen, I know of people who drive over a hundred miles
to work. Maybe living here has made me nesh.’

‘Nesh?’

‘Scouse to describe a moaner.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s like a totally different language.’

‘Language develops almost of its own accord,’ he advised her. ‘Wales is near – perhaps that’s where we got the guttural sound at the end of words such as black or
sock. Many incomers were Irish, and foreign travellers from all over the world moved to Liverpool. A Birmingham accent came from God alone knows where, and what about Cockneys? It’s the same
in America, where accents change every couple of hundred miles or so.’

She was laughing.

‘What?’ he demanded.

‘You. You’re a zealous lecturer.’

‘I’ll shut my mouth, then.’

Inside the cottage, all buckets and bowls for collecting rainwater had disappeared. Mickle, presented with her famous blanket and an old bolster from Theo’s flat, settled down and fell
asleep within seconds. All she needed was her master and, since he had chosen to travel to this place, it was good enough for her.

‘The roof’s been mended,’ Tia said, almost to herself. The little house was so pretty. Ma had made sure that everything would be ready for them. There was a new cottage-sized
suite, and all soft furnishings were clean and fresh. ‘My mother’s a clever girl,’ Tia mused. ‘It’s a honeymoon cottage.’

‘We’re not married.’

She laughed. ‘You just lost your lecturer status, Teddy Bear. You should be teaching me stuff I don’t already know.’

She knows everything, Theo. She knows what she wants, and she wants to try you like a new shoe. Here you are with a box of French letters stashed in your case, because she’s going to
put you through your paces. Are you ready?

He got the feeling that Madame Guillotine might give him marks out of ten or a gold star if he came anywhere near top of the class. He wondered vaguely which part of his body might be removed by
the sharp edge of her wit if he didn’t come up to scratch.

‘Light the fire, Teddy,’ she suggested. ‘It’s the only source of hot water, I’m afraid. I’ll dig about in the kitchen, see if I can find something to eat. We
both need a good bath, I think.’ Having left the sitting room, she called from the kitchen, ‘Everything’s clean or new in here, too.’

The fire had already been set. He grabbed a fancy matchbox from the mantelpiece and set the flame to light newspapers. It was a good flue, and the wood was burning within seconds. After claiming
the small sofa, he lay down, bent his knees, put his head on a cushion and fell asleep almost immediately. Just before nodding off, he allowed himself a slight smile. She would not be pleased.

But she was pleased. She knelt by the sofa and stroked his hair, smiling when light from the fire illuminated the red-gold bits in his sideburns.
I’ll have a bath tonight, and he can
get clean in the morning. Just look at those disgraceful eyelashes, Tia; such a tragic waste on a chap. And it’s a strong face on a strong man who needs love; you have a lot of love to give,
madam.

What will happen on Thursday, I wonder? Oh, go and have a bath, you lovelorn loon. He’ll still be here in the morning. God, please make him want to be with me every morning. He has
captured my heart. Look at it this way, God. If we take each other out of general circulation, we won’t damage any other people, and that has to be a good thing. Think about it, please. Oh,
yes – Amen. I almost forgot that bit . . .

When Maggie woke on her first morning in Broadstairs, there was no sign of her granddaughter in the bedroom or bathroom. A note on Rosie’s pillow announced,
I gon for
brEkfuss, lovE form ROsiE.
Form was probably from, and Rosie would be mithering folk downstairs, making a nuisance of herself, no doubt. Oh, God. The child was probably interviewing the rich
about how they got their money, or talking to the hotel staff, or running across the road to watch the sea. Running across the road? She was probably running the bloody hotel by now. Theo had
warned Maggie that intelligent and gifted children were often unpredictable and that Rosie might be hard work from time to time.

She threw on some clothes, dragged a comb through her hair and went down the stairs – she didn’t trust lifts. As she descended one of the sweeping staircases that led to the large
reception area, she spotted her only grandchild perched on a stool between two young women at the reception desk. Early risers on their way out were stopping and handing keys to Rosie, who passed
them on to one of the staff. Maggie failed to suppress a giggle. Little Lady Rose had been in town for five minutes, and she already had a job.

As she got nearer, Maggie heard her clever-mouthed key-grabber talking to a guest. ‘I’m Rosie from Liverpool and I hope you have a lovely day.’

‘What is she like?’ Maggie mumbled to herself. ‘She’s showing me up something terrible – I’m ashamed.’

The two young women on the desk were delighted with her. ‘Mrs Stone? She’s had us doubled over laughing. So sweet, and what a wonderful accent.’

Rosie eyed her grandmother. ‘I’m not being a doctor any more; I’m going to have a hotel like this one. Your key, Mrs Stone?’ she asked, her expression deadly serious.

‘I haven’t got it, Rosie. I came looking for you, didn’t I?’

The child shook her head slowly. ‘You can’t go outside. You can’t go out without giving your key in. It’s hotel pollisty.’

Maggie sighed and spoke to one of the real receptionists. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘She’s a bit . . . precocious, I think the word is. Come on, Rosie, let’s get some
breakfast. And it’s policy, not whatever you said, princess.’

Rosie led her nana towards the dining room. ‘You have to get your own breakfast from the sideboard. That’s because posh people in posh houses do that. The other meals get served by
servants, but you let the servants go and eat their brekky while you have yours.’

Maggie chuckled quietly. When Rosie got her stately home, she would know how to run it. ‘What’s this?’ she asked, lifting the lid from a dish.

‘It’s kedgeray or a word something like that,’ Rosie replied. ‘I had some, and it’s horrible. There’s kippers further down, then bacon and eggs and porridge
and toast and there’s two kinds of marmalade and some jam on the tables and—’

‘How many breakfasts have you had, Rosie Stone?’

‘Two,’ was the reply. ‘I had bacon and eggs with Mr and Mrs Beresford. They sell jewellery in London and I think she was wearing most of it. Then I had toast and jam with a
lady called Miss Forrester. She’s a private sacristary for the Foreign Sacristary.’

‘Secretary,’ Maggie said.

‘Oh, right. I’ll just get some more toast. Tell me what you want, Nana, and I’ll fetch it for you.’

Maggie watched her precious charge as she walked the length of an endless sideboard filling a plate for her grandmother. Everybody spoke to her; it was clear that word had spread and that people
were looking out for a pretty little Liverpool girl in a red and white gingham dress and shiny red shoes.

Tom and Nancy joined Maggie. ‘Hello, love,’ Tom said. ‘Is this our table?’

‘I think so. But our Rosie eats at any table she fancies. People like her.’

‘That’s right,’ Nancy pronounced. ‘Everybody likes Rosie.’ She placed her badge of office – her knitting bag – on the floor.

After serving her nana, Rosie told Tom and Nancy what was available. She didn’t mention the kedgeree, but she went off to bring their bacon and eggs. At a hatch in the far wall, she
shouted, ‘Tea for four, please, table sixteen,’ before returning with Nancy’s plate. ‘It’ll be a big pot,’ she told Tom. ‘Somebody will bring it for you.
I’ll go for my bro-chewers. If you want coffee as well, tell that lad in uniform. He’s the only one not having his own breakfast. His name’s Alan, and he gets his breakfast when
the dining room closes.’