Paper Doll (27 page)

‘We’ve decided to call him Benjamin after my father, though we’ll probably call him Ben . . . and Latham as a second name, after my husband.’

‘A fine name indeed. I’ll go and see Mr Miller, give him the news and share a glass of brandy and a cigar with him while Nurse Robertson cleans you up. We can do the paperwork. Mr Miller will be pleased to know that baby Ben has inherited his looks.’

Julia doubted that he had. Ben was made in the image of Martin Lee-Trafford. But she wasn’t worried. Like the doctor, Latham would see only what he wanted to see.

Latham came through later, after the nurse had cleaned her up and made her comfortable. Ben had been cleaned, and oil applied to his skin. Although Fiona had wanted to put him in his crib, Julia wouldn’t allow her to.

She twisted a spike of his hair around her finger, turning it into a curl. ‘I’m not parting with him yet. He needs to get to know me.’

There was a touch of disapproval in Fiona’s next words. ‘You’ll spoil him, cuddling him like that, Mrs Miller. Children need to be trained right from the beginning.’

‘They need to know that they’re loved right from the beginning, so they feel secure.’

There was a knock at the open door and Latham came in. He nodded to the nurse, who left the room, then sat on the edge of the bed and gazed at the baby. A smile softened his mouth and he pushed the shawl away from Ben’s face with his finger. Julia held her breath. ‘The doctor said he looks like me . . . yes, I can see a strong resemblance.’

She pointed out, ‘Ben’s eyes are blue.’

‘I recall that my mother’s eyes were blue,’ he said, which saved Julia from having to lie about the colour of her own mother’s eyes.

‘May I hold him?’ he said.

She giggled at that. ‘Of course you may.’

She placed him in Latham’s arms and he sat there stiffly, as though the boy was made of porcelain and any movement might shatter him.

‘Relax a little, Latham. He won’t break.’

Ben yawned, and giving a small yelp, he burrowed his nose into Latham’s pullover.

Alarm appeared on Latham’s face. ‘Here . . . it’s no good doing that, young man. Your mother sees to all that sort of thing.’

Ben’s eyes opened and he gave a loud wail.

Latham grinned. ‘I don’t think he likes the look of me.’

‘His reasoning isn’t that far advanced, as yet. Besides, I doubt if he can see you clearly. The nurse said it might take several weeks before his eyes are able to focus. They go more on sound, touch and smell. If you handle him and talk gently to him he’ll soon begin to recognize you.’

‘Hello, Ben, my boy; I’m your father,’ he whispered, and kissed his dark head. When Ben pursed his mouth his cheeks bulged and a frown creased his brow.

Latham exchanged a smile with her. ‘I hope I’m better looking than that.’

‘Not when you’re cross. He’s just a bit squashed from the birth. He will be quite handsome when he’s recovered.’

The glance Latham bestowed on her was surprisingly prideful. ‘He really does look a lot like me.’

She didn’t allow her relief that Latham had accepted this little cuckoo in the nest to show.’It won’t hurt to hope, I suppose. It’s early days yet . . . He’s more interested in learning how to feed, I think.’

Latham handed him back, then undid her nightgown and placed the boy’s mouth against her nipple. Ben curled his tongue under her nipple and began to suck.

Pushing the flimsy cotton fabric over her other breast aside Latham gazed at her. He pulled her arm aside when she went to cover herself. ‘Your breasts look lovely like that, so full and so swollen.’ He gently kissed the unengaged nipple then covered it. He stood and gazed down at her. ‘You look tired.’

‘Giving birth is hard work, and I have reason to look tired . . . but Latham . . . I’m so happy I could burst from it. Ben’s such an adorable baby and I just love him.’

‘Do everything the nurse tells you then. She was right about not spoiling him; boys need discipline.’

She protested, ‘Ben’s a newborn baby; he needs love.’

‘He will be loved, but I’m given to understand that babies thrive on a regular regime. To start with he can have his feeds at regular intervals, not when he feels like it.’

Perhaps she was being sensitive, but there seemed to be a faint threat contained in his words. Latham had told her he loved her on several occasions, yet he found it necessary to question and ill-treat her. To Latham, love meant possession. Holding her helpless infant close to her heart she was filled with dismay. She was too weak to defend Ben at the moment, should she need to. Yet she tried.

‘What does Fiona Robertson know? She’s not a nanny.’

‘You could have had a trained nanny, Julia . . . It’s not too late.’

She didn’t want to argue with him, not now, but said anyway, ‘I want to look after him myself . . . do everything for him.’

‘And you will eventually. That’s why the nurse is staying on, to make sure you know what you’re doing. She’s worked out a schedule for the next three months and I’d like you to follow it. By that time you will probably be ready to resume your place by my side. We’ll spend more time in London, and take in a play every now and again.’

Fiona was a nice, well-meaning woman and Julia liked her, but how could someone who’d never been a mother teach
her
how to be one? Babies were individuals, and mothering them an instinct that was both emotional and protective, not something one learned to do from a book.

Already she could feel a connection forming between herself and Ben. It was a thin thread, and the more she handled her infant the stronger that would become. She didn’t want him attaching himself to a woman who would be gone from his life in a few weeks.

But it seemed that there was no choice being offered to her. For her lying-in period the baby was brought to her at regular intervals to be fed. When Ben cried during the night she could detect the hunger and need in his cry, and her heart bled for him.

She felt out of sorts, but accepted the congratulations, cards and gifts from visitors, who were advised not to stay too long, and could only view the infant from afar, and when Fiona was in the kitchen and Julia had charge of him.

Irene arrived. She looked healthier than the previous time Julia had seen her. She gazed at Ben for a long time, her eyes calculating as they finally darted to Julia. She gave a small, knowing smile that sent a chill running through Julia. ‘He looks more like you than he does Latham.’

‘Nonsense, he’s the image of Latham, everyone says so.’ She felt the urge to prick back. ‘He also looks like my father. You remember him, don’t you? I’ve called my baby after him. A pity he didn’t live long enough to see his grandchild.’

Her barb hit home because Irene looked away and mumbled, ‘Of course I remember your father.’

‘You can hold Ben if you’d like to.’

Irene shuddered. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it, darling. I know you think he’s the gnat’s buzz and all that, but to be frank, he smells of sour milk and so do you. It’s rather unpleasant.’

‘All babies smell like that.’

‘Well, I’d rather not smell like it so I’ll get a wet nurse to feed mine . . . and don’t ask me to become his godmother.’

Now it was Julia’s turn to shudder. ‘I wouldn’t dream of asking you.’

Irene’s eyes flew open at her retort. ‘For heaven’s sake, why not, pray?’

‘Since we’re being frank, Irene, a godmother is responsible for a child’s morals. I don’t think you have many of your own, and you need to grow up.’

Irene laughed. ‘You’re certainly stretching your claws now, and you’re no fun any more.’

‘Life isn’t all fun, and bringing up a child is a responsibility. You have to make the proper choices.’

Irene said a trifle wistfully, ‘Oh, I don’t blame you for thinking that way, and you’re right about me being immoral. Actually, you’re a much better person than I’ll ever be . . . a pity you’re so self-righteous with it.’

‘Am I? I don’t mean to be.’

Irene chuckled. ‘Sincerely, Julia, you’d be the first person I’d approach if my child ever needed support. In fact you’d be the only person I would trust. However, that doesn’t mean I think you’re perfect, and you’re being an absolute mother superior at the moment, as well as a ruddy prig.’ She held out a package. ‘Here, I bought Ben a gift . . . a teddy bear. It growls when you tip it forward. Listen.’

The package gave a muffled ‘Maaaaaa’ and Julia laughed. ‘It sounds like a lamb being strangled.’

‘I think it needs some air. I’d better go now before I contaminate your dear boy.’

Words, Julia thought. That’s all it was, and she wouldn’t allow herself to be fooled by them. She knew when she was being manipulated. ‘Oh, do shut up with the conscience-pricking stuff, Irene. Thank you for the teddy bear.’

Irene grinned as she kissed her cheek. ‘I brought your clothes back. I gave them to Ellen to wash.’ Her eyes gleamed with malice. ‘Now I shall go and find Latham, have a cup of coffee with him and chat about old times. He must be getting tired of playing the doted husband and father.’

Bitch, Julia thought.

Two days later Latham went back to London. ‘The baby disturbs my sleep and makes me tired during the day,’ he said by way of excuse.

Julia got out of bed as soon as the car drove off.

Fiona protested. ‘Mrs Miller . . . it’s only been ten days. The doctor advised three weeks. Look how weak you are; what will Mr Miller say when he finds out?’

‘He won’t find out if you don’t tell him. Stop fussing. I haven’t exercised my muscles so I’m bound to feel weak at first.’

She also felt strangely thin, as though she were made out of paper and was balanced on legs made of stalks. That wasn’t going to stop her from reclaiming her child and exercising her rights as a mother though, and she had noted that Fiona took sleeping pills.

The very next time Ben cried in the night she lifted him from his crib and took him through to her bedroom. There she sat in the nursing chair in front of the window. Tucking a knitted rug around them both, she put him to her breast and hoped the nurse didn’t wake while she sang softly to him. It was cruel to miss this feed out and keep him hungry in an effort to train him to sleep during the night.

Ben snuggled against her; his initial gulps frantic as he worked to take the edge from his hunger. She enjoyed her baby’s mouth tugging at her breast – enjoyed his little sighs and mews of contentment, and most of all enjoyed their private moments of togetherness.

It was early morning and there was a full moon riding across the sky in her window. The landscape was painted in luminescent white – the grass and summer flowers were drenched in heavy dew, so it looked as though it was sprinkled with pearls. A faint mist diffused the light.

She caressed her baby’s soft skin, marvelling at him. There seemed to be nobody but the pair of them alone in a world filled with moonlight.

As Ben’s stomach distended with her milk his tension left him. She laid his floppy body against her shoulder and he deflated with a loud, rasping belch.

‘I’ll always love you,’ she whispered to her son, because her parents had made sure she knew she was loved, and she wanted that security for Ben.

She’d said exactly the same thing to Martin. ‘I’ll always love you.’ And she always would.

She carried a memory of Martin like a soft ache inside her. Although that ache was filled with the sadness of loss, she would rather carry it with her than not. And she had his son as part of her body and her heart. She whispered, ‘Where are you now, Martin; are you well and happy?’

She would write him a note and tell him about the baby – send it to that lawyer to forward to Martin so he could celebrate her joy.

There was a quiet bark and something moved in the shadows. She narrowed her eyes in on a fox, which turned to stare at her through gleaming eyes when she gave a little gasp. It stood there unafraid and untamed – off to raid a chicken house somewhere, or to lay in wait for an early morning rabbit to emerge from its burrow to frisk about in the early morning dew.

Only the fox didn’t take what it needed to survive. It killed and maimed for the pleasure of it. Suddenly, its ears pricked up and it turned predatory eyes towards the woods. It was gone in a moment, a streak of fire across the garden in the cool glow of the moonlight.

The child in her arms gave a soft murmur and showed signs of waking. Julia placed him on the other breast and allowed him to top himself up before taking him back to his crib to tuck him in.

‘There, that should last you until six o’clock. Sweet dreams, my love,’ she murmured, and kissed his soft, pink cheek.

M
artin didn’t know whether to laugh or cry when he read the letter from Julia, so he did both.

June 1923

Martin, dearest,

I know we decided it was better not to remain in touch, but I was desperate to share my news with you. I have given birth to a son. Benjamin Latham is so sweet, so greedy and so very basic and special that I’m convinced he’s the most perfect specimen of an infant in the entire world.

I can almost hear you laugh at that. Yes, I do know all new mothers must think such thoughts of their firstborn, but in Ben’s case it’s the absolute truth!

He is named in honour of my father, and after my husband. Ben is so adorable, and I know you would love him.

Martin, please don’t answer this letter as it will make life awkward, and I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances. I just needed to share this special moment with you . . . only you would know how much. I will not write again, my love, but will leave you in peace to get on with your life. Please be strong for both of us.

Wherever you are, I wish you every happiness and success. Know that I think of you often. Give my regards to Clarence and Billy Boy. I do hope they’re behaving themselves and affording you pleasure as companions.

Much love always.

Julia.

A son! Martin had delivered several first sons over the past six months, and yes, they were all special to their mothers. So were the daughters. The women from these parts had nothing much to look forward to except a hand-to-mouth existence. Every penny was stretched to the limit, every rag had its use. Hems went up and down with each successive child and clothes were patched and darned. For the most part the locals were decent, hardworking, honest – and perpetually hungry.