The Chandelier Ballroom (32 page)

‘Did you see that woman who was here?’ she asked David when they had closed the door on their last departing guests, those living round about with not far to go.

‘What woman?’ he asked as they went back into the big room to begin gathering up empty glasses, plates, paper napkins and some of the more perishable remains of her spread. The rest of the clearing up could wait until morning, both too tired to worry about it now.

Having borne what they’d collected to the kitchen, they decided to wash everything up in bulk after a night’s sleep. It was midnight after all.

‘I don’t know who she was, standing all on her own,’ Eileen said wearily as they went upstairs. ‘She was dressed funny, sort of old-fashioned.’

‘Who?’ David asked as he mounted the stairs ahead of her.

‘The woman I told you about. I don’t think she had anyone with her. I thought you might know her – someone from your company perhaps?’

‘I only asked one or two who work closest to me,’ he said absently as he opened their bedroom door for her, ‘My accountant John Worthington and his wife, and my company secretary, Bill Summers and his wife. But I didn’t invite any young woman.’

She leapt instantly on that last remark. ‘How did you know she was a young woman?’

He frowned as he began taking off his tie. ‘I thought you said she was.’

‘No I didn’t.’

He wasn’t looking at her. He was concentrating on unbuttoning his shirt. ‘I just took it she probably was young, whoever she was you saw.’

‘I didn’t say a young woman. I merely said a woman. She could have been elderly for all you knew.’

His frown had deepened. He paused in undressing to look sharply at her. ‘Well, I never saw her. I just assumed she was young.’

His tone too was sharp. Seldom short with her, she felt her concern heighten. Why had he become so edgy, he of such a placid temperament?

Every day for ten hours or more he was away from her. She had no idea what went on in his business, apart from knowing that he would often attend quite a few meetings to do with its everyday running.

He never brought his work or problems home. When she happened to ask about his work he’d say he was just glad to be home and forget it for a while. She never pushed him, believing in her old-fashioned way that unless a man needed help or advice from a wife, her only role was to look after her husband and be with him when he came home to relax.

Now she was querying what else went on during those hours he was away from her. Yet she couldn’t start probing, accusing him of hiding things from her. Nevertheless, it now bothered her so strongly that she could hardly keep herself from asking. But if she were to, it would raise all sorts of nasty feelings and she couldn’t have that, especially if those foolish thoughts that came to her now were quite wrong. David wasn’t a philanderer, she was dead sure of that.

Shrugging off the thought, she gave him a goodnight peck on the cheek and turned over, his deep sigh and sleepy remark that the party had been a thorough success thanks to her, calming her stupid thoughts. She heard him yawn and whisper sleepily, ‘It’d be nice to do it again soon.’

Immediately her mind flew to that next time and a vow to keep a lookout for that woman he’d so glibly told her he hadn’t noticed. If she was at the next social evening which she was quietly planning for the Easter, she’d know then, wouldn’t she?

The thought made her heart thud and her mind whirl until finally it melted into a nonsensical dream in which she was following him endlessly across fields and Jennifer Wainwright of all people was at her elbow saying, ‘I said there was a woman … He’s in love with another, prettier woman …’

Next morning, things having a totally different look to them, she could laugh at such a silly dream, even as she cringed to have thought David could be unfaithful – steady, dependable David. What a fool she was!

Sunday, the piles of dishes and the need to clear away the debris of twenty-five or so people and restore the place to tidiness helped all the more to take away the previous evening’s needless concern. She was sure now that whoever the woman was, she’d been someone who’d trespassed on an interesting party, easy in a place like this; someone driving by, irresponsible enough to see an opportunity to enjoy a bit of fun and free food. It now came to her that perhaps the woman might have had a friend with her who’d kept a lower profile so he or she hadn’t been noticed.

Whatever, it was over and she would forget all about it and enjoy the day with David, who’d decided that instead of her cooking again they’d drive to Brentwood and have Sunday lunch in an old and very popular inn they’d found there.

Indeed she hadn’t looked forward to cooking Sunday lunch and was now seriously thinking of acting on Jennifer Wainwright’s suggestion that she employ someone to cook and clean. Not to live in, but someone from the village who’d come daily or at least three or four times a week. She spoke to David about it while they were enjoying their meal and he seemed all for it.

‘But let’s get Christmas over, then we can sort it all out,’ he said, to which she readily agreed.

She’d have to pick carefully, but it would be nice to have someone around to talk to when he was away. One couldn’t always be running off to local meetings and groups, sometimes in wet weather and soon maybe in the snow, just to while away the hours until David came home.

‘Maybe I’ll begin looking around once we get New Year over,’ she said, to which David seemed happy enough.

‘You need to find someone reliable and that might take time,’ was his parting shot.

To her surprise it didn’t take as long as she had expected. Five days on from the New Year, she was in the village shop, its only customer at that moment and with a few minutes to herself, Mrs Evans asked how she and her husband were finding life here?’

Encouraged, Eileen smiled. ‘We’re settling in very well, thank you, and we like the village. At least I do. Mr Burnley doesn’t see much of it, working in London, but I hope when the better weather comes he might get out a little more.’

‘Well, there are plenty of social activities, we’ve a good cricket club, and there’s a well-attended bowling green and a tennis club.’

‘I’m afraid he might be a little too old for tennis.’

Florrie Evans laughed. ‘You should see some of
our
players!’ she quipped easily, making Eileen chuckle a little, becoming suddenly talkative.

‘David is something of a cricket person and bowls would be nice for both of us. As to myself, I’m enjoying the clubs I’ve joined here and seem to be fitting in. Someone mentioned I might help out at the infant school, perhaps standing in for any teacher who might be absent through sickness. I was a schoolteacher before I was married, you know.’

‘So I heard. It must be a very absorbing profession.’

‘Yes. I was sorry to give it up, but a wife’s duty is to her husband first and foremost and my school were disinclined to have married teachers—’

‘I’m sure a tiny village school wouldn’t let that bother them,’ the woman broke in. ‘I think they’d be pleased to have you, should—’

‘The trouble is,’ Eileen interrupted in her turn, ‘if I were to take up such an offer, with a big place like Crossways, I couldn’t manage all the housework that needs to be done, cook meals and help out in a school.’

Mrs Evans was thoughtful for a second then her brow cleared.

‘Why don’t you pay someone to do the cooking for you? In fact I know someone who’d be more than eager to take on something like that. She’s a widow, lost her husband before the war. She lives next door to this shop, just a hop from you.’

Florrie Evans’s eyes almost danced at her good idea as she rushed on. ‘Her husband left her quite comfortably off but she’s often said she’d like to do a little job that doesn’t entail full working hours. She’d be just right for you. Her name is Edna Calder. She has a daughter of fifteen who left school last year and hasn’t yet found work. Well, she isn’t the brightest of girls …’

She broke off to lower her voice. ‘I don’t mean she’s silly, just that she’s not clever enough for a clerical job and her mother doesn’t want her working in a factory. But she’d make a good housemaid and it might be the making of her, help get her started in the job world. And what with you being a schoolteacher, you might be able to help her along, some tuition perhaps.’

For a moment, Eileen felt herself draw back mentally. Here was the catch – free tuition on top of wages. Certainly not! But the very next moment her interest was awakened. Her teaching instincts had always been strong, so strong that her blood surged at the idea. Instead of charging a fee, as one should, the girl could work off the cost of tuition by taking a much lesser wage. It was a perfect arrangement, but more it was something to which she was warming by the minute. She’d be teaching again.

‘Perhaps your neighbour and her daughter would like to come over, maybe tomorrow or Friday,’ she suggested, ‘so that we can discuss it.’

Edna Calder was a small, dumpy woman, plainly dressed, no trimmings. She indeed looked every inch a cook, about Eileen’s own age. She instantly felt a rapport with the woman.

The daughter Evelyn, however, was a surprise, in fact a shock. Totally different to what she had expected and so unlike her mother as to hardly seem her daughter at all.

Eileen had expected her to be of short stature, a tendency towards plumpness like her mother, maybe round-faced with straight, straggly dark hair and that slightly vacant expression of uninterest some young people tended to bear these days.

Instead she was tall, almost willowy, a young woman looking much older than her fifteen years. Short fair hair curled about her ears, framing a stunningly pretty face and wide blue eyes. She probably took after the father she’d lost.

But it was her mode of dress that shook Eileen. Her mother had obviously spoiled her daughter dreadfully, allowing her to wear such clothes, far too mature for a girl of her age – heels too high for any fifteen-year-old, the blue jacket with its nipped in waist and tremendously full skirt making her look eighteen at least.

Introduced by her mother, her response, ‘I’m fine, thanks,’ to Eileen’s ‘How-do-you-do?’ rather gave her a start. High-pitched, breathless, almost seductive; with a voice like that she could land herself in trouble came the thought. How was she expected to tutor such a girl, whom she now saw as more wilful than dim, one used to having her own way – rather than being unsuitable for any job, she no doubt saw herself as being too good.

Recovering herself, Eileen led them into the lounge where they’d be more comfortable. Edna Calder seemed to be perfect, but she needed to scrutinise the daughter a deal more closely. Could she take one without the other or would Mrs Calder say that she couldn’t really come here without her daughter?

To Evelyn she said, ‘It certainly won’t be heavy work. The house was completely redecorated when we moved in, so there’ll be little to do other than keeping it tidy, dusting, vacuuming, on odd occasions cleaning a few windows, and also giving your mother a bit of help in the kitchen by clearing and putting things away, general matters, you know.’

To her relief, the girl listened quietly to all she said, both mother and daughter nodding occasionally as each chore was explained.

‘I’m sure she’ll be more than happy with that,’ Mrs Calder finally said, speaking on her daughter’s behalf, at the same time bending her eye upon her with an emphatic, ‘won’t you, dear?’

It was said with a deal of firmness, to which Evelyn nodded silently. Instantly Eileen saw where the problem lay. Allowing her daughter to dress so precociously, maybe the plump, dowdy mother wanted to see the person she wished she’d been, in her own meek way ruling the girl?

Blessed are the meek for they shall be obeyed
, she misquoted to herself, and fell to wondering what this girl might have been like had she been left to be herself. Her every thought taken care of for her, no wonder she looked to others as being somewhat dim.

Often a mother hanging on to her only offspring would do her best to keep that child a child for as long as possible. This woman was doing the opposite, and Eileen found herself wondering what the girl would be like when finally her mother let go of her. She had a good idea that the moment she found her feet she’d kick over the traces without ever looking back, even becoming quite unmanageable. The poor woman was in for a shock one day.

‘So do you think Evelyn will be able to do the work needing to be done here?’ Mrs Calder was saying, bringing Eileen’s thoughts back to the present.

‘I can’t see any reason why not.’ She’d have preferred to address Evelyn personally, but found herself discussing the girl as if she wasn’t there. ‘I think she will be fine.’

The woman’s relief appeared immense. ‘I’m so glad. And I’ll make sure she does all she’s told.’

‘I’m sure she will,’ Eileen said, then collecting herself looked directly at the girl, adding, ‘I’m sure you will, won’t you?’

To which Evelyn nodded vigorously, which actually did seem to make her appear dim-witted. Yet Eileen had a sneaking suspicion that she’d prove as sharp as any, maybe too sharp.

She turned to the mother. ‘So when do you feel you could start?’

‘We could start any time you wish, Mrs Burnley,’ came the ready reply.

‘Would Tuesday do you?’

‘That would be fine with us,’ said Mrs Calder, giving her daughter a light tap on the arm to prompt the girl into adding her nod of consent.

Evelyn had kept very quiet during all this, though Eileen had a feeling that out of her mother’s earshot she could prove quite vocal, wasting time talking instead of working. But it was best to see how it went before jumping to any conclusion.

Sitting in the lounge chatting over coffee, this was the first time Jennifer Wainwright had been invited to Crossways Lodge since the Christmas party a few months ago, but she’d only seen the old ballroom then. Until now they’d always gone to the tea shop, but Eileen was eager to show her the improvements they’d done to the house since moving in.

Jennifer Wainwright stole a furtive glance around the lounge. It was quite different from the last time she’d sat here. That had been before the war. She’d quickly dropped Joyce Johns-Pitman after that awful incident, when in a jealous frenzy the woman had plunged a knife into her husband’s neck. Whether intentional or accidental was never really proved, except that she’d been committed to an asylum for treatment.