The Factory Girl (46 page)

She was jabbering on faster and faster, her voice threatening to break into sobbing again. Alan lifted a gentle hand to her lips to stop the flow of words.

‘When was this?' he asked, noticeably holding back anger.

‘Last night. Then he stalked out. I haven't seen him since.'

‘What were yer doing all night on yer own? Why didn't yer come to me?'

‘I was too shocked to do anything, even to move. I ended up falling asleep in an armchair.'

‘And got yerself in a state all over again this morning.'

‘No, there's more.' The need to tell him everything and feel safe again was why she was here. It was an effort to control the wavering of her voice. Nor did she care to watch her accent any more. ‘I was woke up this morning by someone ringing the doorbell. I thought it was Tony come back. I was so angry by then that I rushed down to tell 'im to bugger off – I didn't want to see 'im ever again. But it wasn't him. It was two men he deals with. One called Sam Treater and one called William Schulter. They barged their way in and then began threatening me.'

In halting tones she forced herself to recount what had occurred. It felt as if she was going through it all again. It was telling on her but each time she faltered, she was urged on. Alan's expression was as dark as a thundercloud and almost as frightening. It felt as though she was as much helpless in his hands as she had been in those of her callers that morning and it came to her suddenly that her own will was being taken from her, taken from her first by the vileness of those intruders and now by the love of a man looking only to protect her, but either way that she was being reduced to a weak and babbling female. Her reaction was immediate, her voice sharp.

‘I don't want to say any more. I think I've said all I need to say.'

Alan seemed to come out of some sort of coma, shaking himself like a wet dog. ‘Good God!' was all he said, and looking at her with something like incredibility at what she'd been telling him, said again, ‘Good God!'

What else he might have said, maybe his resorting to cursing and ranting, didn't happen. It seemed that by a physical effort he was controlling all that was seething inside him. When he spoke his voice shook for only a moment or two, then steadied.

‘What I think we'll do is take yer to yer mum's—'

She drew away. ‘I don't want to go there. I don't want 'em to see me like this.'

‘I'll be with you, love. I won't leave yer until yer've settled. Yer mum is the person yer really want at this minute.'

He didn't know her mum. ‘I only want you, Alan.'

‘Well, you've got me. I'm coming with yer. And I won't leave yer.'

It was said with such simplicity, coupled with a light kiss on her lips, so instantly comforting, that she bowed her head and let him take her to his van, he threading her arm through his in a firm grip against his side as he called across to his somewhat bemused foreman to carry on while he was out.

‘Now, who's that this time in the morning?' asked Hilda Glover to the empty air as a knock came at her street door.

It was coming up to nine-thirty. Everyone gone to work ages ago, she was sitting over a nice, well-earned cup of tea and a biscuit after having got up early, done sandwiches, made toast all round for breakfasts, called up time and time again for Evie to get herself up, lazy little cow, her father gone well before daylight, his present job at the West India Docks doing well, decent money coming in once more after a bout of short time.

Fred too never needed calling twice, so enthusiastic about his job with the
News Chronicle
paper, reckoning on going places. Had a steady girlfriend now, Alice, nice little girl, she was. Him obviously very much in love, Hilda just hoped all this soppiness of his wouldn't get between him and his job and dampen all that enthusiasm. But if he was that serious he'd need to save for the future. It did look serious because he'd been going with her for nearly seven months, taking her here, taking her there, the two of them cycling off for miles into the country – Epping Forest, Ongar, even all those miles to Southend – and where they got the stamina from beat her. Before that he'd had a new girl every few weeks or so.

With the breakfast things washed up and put away, this time was for her before going off shopping, and she meant to relax, for the last half-hour or so trying to avoid gazing around the kitchen and seeing something she ought to be doing instead of sitting here idle-like.

After shopping she'd call in at Mavis's, taking in a bit of grub for their midday snack. She never went there empty-handed. Mavis's Tom was in work but only just and money was tight with three kiddies to look after, Simon now five, Barbara four, Edie now two, and now Mavis was carrying again. The only thing Tom seemed good at was giving a woman babies. It'd be nice if he was as keen at keeping a job as he was at his bits of diddly-diddly in bed. Still, he didn't drink away what he did earn, like some men, she had to say that for him, and he wasn't a violent man with his family either – in fact, too easy sometimes. Mavis always nagged on at him being blessed useless, except of course when it came to the other, then it seemed he was God's gift judging by the times she'd fallen pregnant. Four kids in six years after this fourth one came in four months time. Now there were newfangled means of controlling births, you'd think she'd learn. Though, of course, such methods did cost.

‘In my day,' she addressed the kitchen between sips of tea, ‘in my day you 'ad ter learn 'ow ter keep yer man at bay, say yer was at that time of the month even if yer weren't, if yer could get away with it. Yer learnt ter give any excuse what come to 'and, yer know, and learn quick or yer'd be always 'aving babies. No books on birth control then. ‘Ad ter 'ave yer wits about yer an' that was all. 'Course, some never did. That's why—'

The double knock on her street door put a stop to her soliloquy to ask, ‘Now, who's that this time in the morning?'

She wasn't expecting anyone. Someone peddling a load of rubbish no doubt – well, she'd soon see them off. She hadn't money to throw around on brushes and dustcloths. What she had was there to keep her family.

Yanking open the door to send them on their way, her words, ‘Not terday, thanks,' died on her lips seeing Alan Presley and Geraldine standing there, his motor van drawn up in the kerb. Neither of them looked all that happy. In fact her daughter looked positively out of sorts, clinging to Alan's arm as though she might fall if she let go.

‘Sorry to call so early in the morning, Mrs Glover,' Alan began. ‘Your Geraldine ain't none too dusty. She's 'ad a bit of a fright. Can we come in?'

‘Well of course yer can,' were the first words out of her mouth. ‘Take 'er inter the back room. There ain't no one in but me.'

Seated in her father's wooden armchair, the only comfortable one in that room, Geraldine kept silent as Alan began to reiterate all she had told him. There was much more but she felt she could not bring herself to give tongue to it, the terror she'd felt, the way they had treated her, the fear of what she'd thought her intruders might do to her, the humiliation of being spanked, her silk combinations being on show to those men. These were things she could never tell anyone.

‘So you see, Mrs Glover,' Alan concluded, ‘I thought she ought to come to you, 'er mum. Gels need their mums at times like this, don't they?'

‘Yes, they do,' came the reply, and Geraldine was conscious of her mother looking across at her. In response she lifted her eyes to meet those older hazel ones, expecting to see them hard and unforgiving. Instead she saw only concern and suddenly her eyes brimmed with tears.

Leaving Geraldine with her mum, Alan let himself out – his quest, that swine Hanford, his purpose, to put him straight on a few things.

Neither of them had noticed him much after he'd told Mrs Glover all he knew of what Geraldine had been through that morning. He'd refrained from mentioning her husband's infidelity having read the look of pleading in her eyes as he began to touch on the subject of Tony and had immediately switched to something else. The relief and gratitude that replaced the trepidation in those lovely, wide, hazel eyes of hers went straight to his heart. He wanted so much to spend the rest of his life with her, see her happy again. He knew he could make her happy, though the money he made would never come up to that which her husband made. Then again, his money was honestly come by, Anthony Hanford's never had been, so it seemed. Honest money carried no fear with it, and from what he'd gleaned from Geraldine, she'd been in constant if not heightened fear of his illegal dealings being discovered and he being sent to jail.

All this and more went through his head as he got into his ramshackle van and turned it in the direction of the West End. If he could prevent it, Geraldine ought never again to set foot in that flat of hers, to be forever reminded of all the unhappiness it held: the loss of her baby which he suspected she had never really got over; discovering her husband's affair with another woman and how it must have felt; now those crooks barging into her home, roughing her up, frightening the living daylights out of a helpless woman. Never mind the good times she'd had in the company of her society friends. She'd be better off out of it and he intended to see that she would be. It was the only way forward for her really.

It wouldn't be easy dissuading her from going back there, knowing her. She was a survivor, refused to let anything put her down, would hate herself in allowing it to. He could already hear her excuses – the business had to be kept going, bills had to be paid, the part-time shop assistant would need his wages, and so on.

Could he convince her how dangerous it would be to go back there? He wanted her safe from harm. And another thing, he needed to talk her out of this notion of revenge on her husband. Not pursuing her first impulse to go to the police and shop him – she'd been well frightened off that idea – but this other thing she'd spoken about, this refusal to divorce him in mistaken hope of making him suffer. What about her, cutting off her nose to spite her face? And what about himself? She remaining married to Tony Hanford left him with no chance.

He gnawed at his lip as he drove. He was in love with her, had always been in love with her. Could it be that despite all that had happened she still loved Hanford, still clung to the secret hope of winning him back, and he was merely deluding himself? Surely he couldn't have misinterpreted that day they'd made love. Or maybe he had. She'd never once spoken of loving him, not even during their climax. Maybe she had allowed it to happen out of frustration, a need to be loved and comforted, he happening to be handy. Yet he couldn't believe that of her. But if she did go through with divorce would she ever want to marry again, once bitten twice shy so to speak?

Not only that, but how could he offer marriage to someone who'd had everything? Oddly enough it had always been this thought that had driven him on to make something of himself, otherwise he would probably have remained a builder and odd-job man.

None of this could he confide to anyone. He had no close friend – he'd striven too hard to make good to go out and make friends. Taking his parents into his confidence was also out of the question – they'd tell him not to be so silly chasing after a married woman, and indeed he would feel silly. There was only one person he could think of to whom he could talk without being made to feel a fool and that was Geraldine's own mother, strangely enough. He'd always felt comfortable with Mrs Glover. Surely she would listen, even offer help.

His head full of fanciful hopes helped dull some of the anger against her husband, until finding himself in Bond Street outside Hanford's shop, not having truly concentrated on driving there, it came flooding back.

The place was closed. Probably a day off for the assistant, and with Geraldine running terrified from the place of violence the shop would have been the last thing on her mind. It hadn't occurred to him that Hanford might not be there and for a few moments he sat in the van pondering what to do, the other traffic passing him by unnoticed, slow in the busy street. He'd been a fool, as always, rushing off half cocked. The only thing to do was to turn round and go back the way he'd come. At least he could try the bell on the door beside the closed shop. Someone might give him an idea where the owner was.

Bewildered, Tony stared at the disordered lounge. He'd called to Geraldine as he came upstairs but there had been no answer. He'd not been surprised at her not being here, in fact felt relief, not having to defend himself against the tirade he was expecting. It had taken courage to come back to apologise for hitting her like that. It was against his nature to hit a woman, but she'd so frightened him, anyone would have lashed out under those circumstances.

Angry and hurt though she must have been, it was unlike her to walk out leaving behind a mess, a hard chair left in the centre of the room, two cushions on the floor, slippers left beside the armchair where she normally put them away tidily in the bedroom before leaving to go out. She must have been enraged indeed.

She would be even more enraged to know that the real reason behind apologies was to talk her into accepting that their marriage was over, that he could never come back and the only solution was for them to part company. He was willing to do the decent thing, give her grounds for divorce, no blame attached to her whatsoever, even have his solicitor draw up a contract for the business to be split down the middle, her half of all profits sent to her.

He'd offer Bell a full-time job, the man would jump at it in these times of huge unemployment although things were beginning to improve. As for Geraldine, he couldn't very well throw her out of her home. He'd let her stay in the flat until she found somewhere else, which he hoped would be quick – the last thing he'd want after the divorce would be to bump into her if he had to come here on business. He'd pay whatever she wanted for another place and you couldn't say fairer than that. But he'd dreaded this getting down to brass tacks, and now that she wasn't even there, in a way he felt almost cheated after having rehearsed it all.