The Factory Girl (40 page)

‘No!' It wasn't repulse. Had things been different this would have been wonderful. But she was married, no matter what Tony had been up to. Two wrongs could not make a right and for all she was totally in distress at what Tony was apparently doing, she couldn't start doing the same thing and then think to condemn him.

Alan had released her the moment she drew away and it occurred to her in some disembodied way that another man might have pressed his needs if he felt as she had in that moment, which she could see by the tension in his face that he had. A strange love surged through her at that knowledge, one that she curbed instantly.

‘I'm sorry, Alan. I shouldn't have … I didn't mean to …' She got up from the settee. ‘I'd best go. I have to go home.' She would have to confront Tony, she knew that now.

Alan got to his feet as well, looming over her. Without her leave he grabbed her to him, bending over her to kiss her hard on the lips.

‘You know how I feel about you, Gel,' he rasped as he put her away from him. ‘I love you. I'll always love you. I'll always be here if you ever want me, want help from me, anything. I shan't push meself on to you, ever. But don't hesitate ter come ter me if yer need 'elp, you understand? No matter what it is. Do yer understand, Gel?'

‘Yes,' she said simply.

There were no more words to be said as she fitted her cloche hat awkwardly on her head, her short hair disappearing beneath it. In silence he conducted her to the door, saw her into the vehicle then got in beside her. He said nothing as he drove, she sitting next to him, her head in a whirl of muddled thoughts – about him, about Tony, about this need to see her marriage stay firm, be mended if it needed to be; about what she'd do if it couldn't. If Tony had been unfaithful, would she pretend, try to make it work for appearances' sake? She could hear Mum saying, ‘I told yer so,' and, ‘People like you don't mix with people like him, but yer wouldn't listen, and now you've come a cropper.' Mavis turning up her lips in a sneer if she didn't come right out with it like Mum would; Dad embarrassed, not saying much, but embarrassed; neighbours looking sideways, wondering, pointing fingers. ‘Marriage broke down, y'know. That's what yer gets for trying to get above yer station.' Clara looking sorry for her, which would be every bit as bad to her mind as any sneer might be.

Lastly there was she and Alan, the feelings that had passed between them, sealing something, declaring something that should never have been declared. How could she go to him now? Her conduct had lost her a good friend. Though had it truly? It remained to be seen. But above all she did not want her marriage to fall apart. She wanted to think of Tony as honest, loyal, the vicious rumours about him just chaff in the wind, going to show what piecrust friends he had if they could spread rumours like that, happy to see her marriage fall apart.

Alan didn't take her back to his yard. Instead he took her as far as Liverpool Street and put her on a bus to go along Oxford Street where she could get off and go back home to her flat.

‘Don't forget,' were his parting words. ‘I'll be here if you need me, always.'

Tony wasn't in when she arrived home. To some measure it was a relief – the way she felt at this moment it would have been impossible to speak to him.

With both he and herself being away, she still helping out now and again, the part-time assistant he'd recently employed for when he had to go out appeared to be coping well enough with just one customer studying the necklaces and pendants behind the glass of a display cabinet. As Geraldine paused to look in on her way to the door that led to the flat, the assistant, Mr Bell, glanced up. ‘Afternoon, Mrs Hanford.'

His tone was full of cheer. She smiled wanly and came into the shop. ‘I take it Mr Hanford isn't in?'

‘Went off around lunchtime. Said I was to give you this note.'

Fiddling briefly around the edge of the till, he extracted a folded note and held it out to her. She unfolded it, read the few words Tony had written, very scrawled as though he'd been in a tearing hurry.

‘Had to go out suddenly. Not sure when I'll be back. Could be late.'

No word of endearment, no explanation. She looked up, keeping her expression bland. ‘Did Mr Hanford say where he was going?'

‘Afraid not. Said for me to close up at the end of the day.'

Again she nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Bell.'

The customer was approaching the counter, one arm raised in the direction of the cabinet he'd been gazing into, indicating that he had made a choice and wished to view it and perhaps purchase. With the assistant's attention diverted, Geraldine made her exit without another word. She now needed to be alone, to think.

The flat lay silent. She hated coming home to this sense of emptiness. Even when here on her own all day it never felt this way, and definitely not when she and Tony came home from being out together. There would be the feeling that it had been alive in their absence, a living thing waiting only for them to come home. But coming in all by herself always brought a sense of being unwelcome, a chill as if the whole place had died – utter deadness.

Geraldine shivered and hurriedly turned on the gas fire. It wasn't a chilly day but the small warmth would help take away some of the empty feeling. In the kitchen she busily filled the kettle, put it on the stove, lit the gas, chinked together the cup and saucer she'd got down from the cupboard, banging the cupboard door after her – anything to fill the vacuum with the sounds of life.

While the kettle boiled she went to wind the gramophone, selecting a cheerful tune, put it on the turntable and set it going, fitting the needle into the record's groove. The room instantly filled with music. That should make her feel better – but it didn't.

After a cup of tea, having to force down a couple of biscuits because she hadn't eaten all day and felt a little weak, though not at all hungry, she sat in the once more silent living room with no will to fill it with music from yet another record. Her head ached from all that crying; her eyes were heavy, her whole body heavy, her throat aching each time she swallowed. If she didn't have this business out with Tony the second he came home she would die.

But Tony didn't come home. He came in around six the next morning saying he'd been out of London, had been detained on business and had to put up at a hotel. But she knew instantly where he had been. A hotel? Certainly. Alone? Definitely not. And as he passed her to go off to get ready to go downstairs to his shop, she caught the faintest trace of perfume.

Intent on her purpose, Geraldine followed him into the bedroom, there to stand gazing at him. It did the trick. He began to look uncomfortable.

‘Something wrong?' he queried, a sickly grin on his face.

‘Maybe you could tell me,' she offered tartly and saw him frown as if perplexed, then saw his face clear.

‘Oh, if you still mean me being unable to get home. I'm sorry, you must have felt lonely last night. You did get my note of course?'

‘I got your note.' Again she let her response fall tersely, flatly.

‘Good.' Tony sat on the edge of the bed, bending down to lace up his shoes. A good ploy so that he wouldn't have to look her in the eyes. ‘I'm sorry, darling, it was quite unavoidable, too late to get home by then. I did want to come home, but … well, you know how business takes over.'

‘What sort of business?'

‘I can't explain at this moment. It was a bit involved.' Shoe laces tied, he got up, still avoiding her eyes and began adjusting his tie, doing up his waistcoat.

‘Was your accommodation all right?' she persisted, arms folded as she stood in the doorway, to all intents and purposes barring his way.

Seeing it, Tony gave a silly laugh, his hands gesticulating ineffectually while making small oblique movements of the head meant to convey some unavoidable situation, much as people do when at a loss for words to explain something or other. He turned casually, too casually, to explain how unbearable the hotel had been, how poor the food, how wretched the room, how lumpy the bed, and he all on his own with nothing to do.

Geraldine said nothing. She remained facing him aware that her lips and cheeks had grown stiff, and could almost feel the guilt and the need to bluster oozing from him like treacle from a spoon.

She felt she couldn't much longer stand that fixed smile of his, that effort to appear at ease with himself, and blameless. Any minute now she would burst out, ‘Liar!' and confront him with all she knew. It must have been the way she was staring at him, the tense way she was standing, her refusal to move from the doorway that was alerting him to the fact that she knew he'd been keeping something from her, for he began to frown, his lips grow tight. He stood rigid before her, a creature on the defensive but ready to fight if needs be.

He'd had no idea that hot midday in Egypt that Geraldine fainting would change his life.

He'd seen the girl somewhere before, realised later that it had been at some party in London months back. Having noticed her from afar he dimly recalled a passing thought on how stunning she looked, much as any man might, but after that had given it no more thought. Until that day in Egypt.

She'd appeared as from nowhere and as she bent over Geraldine's wilting form to help him hold her up, he'd caught a whiff of her perfume. It had gone to his head. Afterwards, when they'd got her into the shade of the refreshment kiosk, bathed her forehead with a handkerchief soaked in water and given her something to drink, she had spoken of possible heatstroke and of getting Geraldine back to her hotel room. The sound of her voice had been like a tinkling stream in that parched place they called the Valley of the Kings. He'd been captivated by the sound of that voice.

When Geraldine had been compelled to remain in her room for the next two days, a couple taking pity on him had suggested he join them for an hour or two in the evening – such a shame coming all this way only to sit in a dull hotel room and surely his wife would prefer to be alone to rest, and would understand. Geraldine had understood, had preferred to be alone, had urged him to take up the couple's offer, saying she'd feel guilty otherwise. So he'd gone with them.

Diana Manners's company had been enervating. She had the most fascinating, tinkling laugh that washed over him and almost made him feel giddy. Her hand stealing into his as they went with the others to dine at a nearby restaurant had felt so small, so warm, and he hadn't withdrawn his because of Geraldine. In fact he forgot to think of Geraldine at all as the conversation sparkled around the table.

Later, the couple who had invited him went their own way leaving him to return to the hotel. He had returned but not until a couple of hours later. Being in Diana's company was so terrific that he hadn't wanted it to end. She had such a scintillating way with her, made him laugh, and the way she snuggled up to him as they walked made him feel like he owned the world.

It had meant nothing, he told himself, a holiday thing, an hour or so of enjoyable company. They'd done nothing underhand, hadn't even kissed though he had wanted to as she leaned close against him while he talked of this and that. It was the following evening, the one before they were due to leave for home, that Geraldine, needing to have an early night, told him to go out and make the most of it, so he and Di, as she wanted to be called, did kiss, or rather he kissed her and she allowed it, seductively teasing, saying he was a very naughty man. That kiss stayed with him the whole way home.

He hadn't seen Di Manners again until he saw her come into the hotel bar where he'd been with a couple of his so-called business friends. She was with another party and as their glances met she'd smiled across at him just as though no one else at all was in the room – such a meaningful smile that as he returned it, he was conscious of a movement in his groin, an excited twinge down there.

Her short fair hair was secured by diamanté head band and she was wearing an orange-coloured dress that should never have gone with fair hair but oddly did with her. The loose front panel of the dress was caught into a band on the hips to drop away in folds below, the whole thing kept up by two of the thinnest shoulder straps imaginable. Slave bangles adorned her upper arms and long pendant pearl earrings brushed the bare flesh of those shoulders with an almost seductive touch whenever she moved her head so that he'd squirmed anew.

It had been difficult to present a calm face to his companions as he went on nodding to what they were saying. Even the nature of their talk, concerning a heist in which he was expected to eventually play his part, being truly in their hands and worried though he always did well out of it, even that failed to quench the excitement he'd known seeing Di Manners again.

When he came down into the hotel foyer ready to go home, there she was, seated on a sofa, having obviously ditched her own company so as to make herself available to him. Seeing him she stood up. A gauzy, orange cape with a large, black fur collar dangled from one hand, it's hem dragging the floor, he remembered, as she came towards him. The other hand held a tiny black and diamanté evening bag by its thin gold chain. He even noticed that her shoes with their sharp toe points and high heels matched her dress perfectly. Black and orange – dramatic. She'd looked the true society girl.

They'd gone on to another hotel for a drink together, he driving a little way out of London in case he was recognised. It would make it late before he got home, but it hadn't seemed to matter – Geraldine would be none the wiser as she was used to him returning home late, though at that time he hadn't bargained on how late.

He couldn't remember what he and Di had talked about, but he could still recall his eagerness for her – that very first time. His need of her became so strong he'd hardly been able to contain himself as she too indicated some willingness. He could still recall how hard his heart had pulsed, the pulsing being matched thump for thump down below, as still happened whenever he knew what he and Diana were about to do. With her clinging to his arm he'd booked a room, he laying out a veritable stack of pound notes to acquire the best one, and in the luxury of a bed with soft sheets and a silk coverlet, he'd exploded inside her.