The Glass Lake (25 page)

“No, Clio, but she sort of trusted us, didn't she?”

Clio thought about it. This way there was some importance attached to the momentous piece of information they had just been given. If they were guardians of a huge and privileged piece of information that no one else knew, then Clio Kelly could just about keep it to herself. “I suppose so.”

“Imagine her telling us. You and me,” Kit said in wonder.

Clio liked that. “She knows we wouldn't let each other down,” she said.

They walked home companionably and came up from the lake by Paddles' bar. Paddles was standing at his door. “When will you ladies be old enough to frequent my premises?” he asked.

They giggled. “Ah, it'll be a few years yet, Paddles,” Clio said.

“Well, the place will be honored, Miss Kelly, when you're ready for us.”

They clutched each other with laughter the whole way home. Imagine, whatever age you were, wanting to go into Paddles' bar!

“Maybe you could have your thirteenth birthday there. We could send out invitations. Miss Kit McMahon will be launched into society at Paddles' bar on June second 1953.”

They laughed so much they had to hold on to the wall of the Central Hotel to stop themselves falling.

“You're having great fun.” Philip was very envious.

“We're planning Kit's birthday party,” Clio said.

“Are you having a party?” Philip brightened up.

“Of course not. She's in mourning,” Clio snapped. “But that's no reason why we couldn't have a laugh over it.”

E
VERYONE
in London was getting ready for the Coronation. There would be bunting on the houses in the street. Ivy was getting hers ready. She had had some since the end of the war, kept as a sort of souvenir from the really memorable days down in the King's Head.

“It'll be a great day,” she told Lena.

“I suppose so.”

“Sorry, I keep forgetting you're not all that interested, being Irish and all.”

“No, it's not that. Of course I'm interested. I keep forgetting it…I'm working so hard these days.”

“Don't I see it. You're home later every night.”

“Well, so's Louis…”

“Don't work too hard, love.” Ivy's face was full of concern.

And she was right, of course. Lena did stay later and later at the agency, writing letters to large companies explaining the kind of screening techniques they used, how Millar's did not just send any applicant for any job. She also had a mailing list of schools and secretarial colleges. A Millar's girl would get much more than a list of job opportunities. She would get career advice and more intelligent women would assess her potential, giving young applicants the necessary confidence to prepare them for interviews and for their early working careers.

Mention was made of the low-price hairdressing and makeup services and of the fashion suggestions. Business was increasing at a great rate. Mr. Millar had doubled her salary in six months. Lena had insisted on a similar rise for Jessie Park.

“We're a team, Mr. Millar. I couldn't work without Jessie,” she had said.

Mr. Millar's eyes were sharp. He saw the changed image and new confidence of Miss Park, who had been the most mouselike of employees. If Lena Gray could do this for the woman that she had outstripped a hundredfold and still remain loyal and supportive, then she was indeed a treasure and must be humored. Anyway, profits were looking very good. He could afford to pay Jessie as well.

He had met Mrs. Gray's husband once, a strikingly handsome Irishman. A hotel manager, it appeared. She was very quiet and uninformative about her private life. Which made a refreshing change to the daily detail they got from Jessie Park.

“Mr. Millar,” Lena said. “Miss Park and I were wondering should we do a special window display for the Coronation?”

“But what would we say in our window?”

Jessie looked at them eagerly. Jessie didn't look so hopeless these days, she had a smartly fastened blouse with the modern cameo brooch. Instead of a picture it said “Millar's” in the blue and gold which had become the company colors.

The cushions on the new chairs were blue and gold, as was the decoration on their stationery, the fresh paint on the exterior, the frames for the pictures on the walls. Jessie used to wear floppy open-necked blouses until Lena had thought up this smart new uniform for them…a white blouse, a blue skirt, and a gold-looking scarf. Jessie's new hairstyle and the occasional application of makeup had transformed her.

Lena had even suggested that with an increased wage packet Jessie might pay someone to look after her mother on an occasional evening, and she could get accustomed to having some free time. It was such a relief to hear Jessie talking about how much she had enjoyed
Singing in the Rain
. Lena and Mr. Millar would have listened to every song and every line of the dialogue over and over rather than revert to Mrs. Park's eating difficulties.

The old Jessie would have agreed with Mr. Millar that she didn't know she was sure, but today Jessie spoke up. “In a way, Mr. Millar, our very colors are royal, you know. A nice blue and gold display in the window, with a picture of the new Queen…”

“Yes, that's a great idea,” Lena said. “We could put something like ‘Welcome to a New Elizabethan Age…from Millar's, who look to a great future for all of us.'”

They loved it. They were so excited. A lump came to Lena's throat at their eagerness. Were the English much more simple and less critical than the Irish? Or was it that she had never been able to play any part in the town where she had withered away for thirteen years?

         

“Do you think they should get a television in the hotel for the Coronation?” Louis asked.

“You mean they haven't got one? Not one in the whole place?”

“No. It sort of prides itself on being quiet.”

“It'll pride itself on being empty before long.” He looked at her in surprise. This wasn't the usual way Lena spoke. It was too sharp.

“Very well. I'll know not to ask in future,” Louis said. He had a funny tight look around his lips.

“Louis!” she cried in alarm. “Oh Louis, please don't sulk.”

“Sulk? Me! I'm not sulking. You're the one who bit the head off me.” He was really hurt.

“I'm sorry. It's all my fault.” There was a silence. “Louis, I had a rotten day.”

“Mine wasn't great either.”

She reached for him, but he pulled away. “Louis, please talk to me about the television set. I'm very interested, honestly. Truly, truly I am.” She was beseeching him now.

“No, Helena. It's all right. This time the Dryden Hotel will have to manage without your advice.”

She pleaded with him again. “I spoke quickly. I'm sorry. You often do too when you're tired. It doesn't mean anything, not between us. Does it?”

“No. Of course not.” He was frosty.

She bit her lip. She would do whatever it took to get him back to the way he had been before she had so stupidly snapped at him. Did it need more apology or was it better to change the subject? She decided to move on. “We've been having all kinds of debates about how to celebrate the day, too,” she began cheerfully.

“How interesting.” Louis spoke with a deliberate sneer. She had never seen his face curl up like that.

“Love?” She felt her face redden.

“No, go on. Tell me more tales of Mr. Millar and Jessie Park. I mean, these are really interesting people now. Not just dross like the poor fools that try to earn a living in the Dryden Hotel.”

“I must have sounded sharper than I meant to. I can't tell you how sorry I am.” Lena hung her head.

She hoped he would come over and put his arms around her, say that it didn't matter, that they were both overtired. Maybe he might say they would go out to the little Italian restaurant and they would be closer because of it. But he was a long time coming over to her and she began to doubt that this would happen.

She heard his hand on the door handle and looked up. “Where are you going, Louis?” she asked.

“Out.”

“But where out?”

“You told me, Helena, that the thing that drove you mad all those years in Lough Glass was when people kept asking you where you were going. Just out. Isn't that enough?”

“No, it's not enough. We love each other…don't go.”

“We don't want to stifle each other…”

“I won't stifle you. Please.” She was begging now.

Had Martin begged her this way? Louis came toward her and took both her hands in his. “Listen, my love. We're annoyed with each other. Let's cool off.”

“Let me go out too if you want to. That's what grown-ups do. We're grown-ups, remember.”

His smile was so loving, so much part of him…it almost hurt her to see it. She felt almost paralyzed. Did she want to flounce out before him? Could she plead with him once more? She said nothing. Not a word. He released her hands, and she heard the door close behind him. She would not cry. She would not go down to Ivy for consolation. But she would go out.

She bought an apple and a piece of cheese at the corner shop, and walked on toward Millar's Employment Agency. She let herself in, and looked around her with pleasure. This at least had been an achievement, something to show for her months in London. The little glass-covered notice board with carefully edited letters from satisfied customers, the blue and gold motif everywhere…the cushions covered by Jessie's mother, who had now found a role in life, the gold-painted tray with the blue mugs, where coffee was served to all who came in.

Lena sat down at her desk and took out her files. Exactly what she needed. A few hours on her own to sort things through. This was the time she hardly ever had to herself, so anxious was she to run home and have everything ready for Louis.

Louis. She would not think about him because it made her shake with rage at the injustice of it all.

The time flew past. She could hardly believe that it was eleven. She felt her heart jump. This was later than she had intended to stay. He would be long home by now, and there might be more words if she were to say she had gone in to the agency. But she couldn't pretend to have been wandering around London on her own all this time.

As she ran up the stairs she rehearsed what she would say, but first she would see what mood he was in. That was the secret. Respond to him, react, don't fire off herself. She opened the door and the flat was empty. Louis had not come back yet. When he'd said he was going out, he'd meant it.

Her eyes were closed when he came in, but she was wide-awake. It was twenty past three. He slipped quietly into the bed beside her. He did not reach for her, which was his automatic gesture whenever he got into bed.

Where could he have been until this time in the morning? He was too proud to go back to his place of work, he wouldn't have gone back to catch up on things like Lena had done. Which meant that he must have been in someone's house. Someone he knew well enough to entertain him until all hours in the morning. She made her breathing sound even, as if she were asleep.

Lena Gray could swear that she slept not a wink that night.

Her head was full of pictures, but none of them were dreams. She pictured her daughter Kit. It would be her birthday on June 2nd, the day of the Coronation. She would be thirteen years of age, a girl whose mother was dead. If only she had been able to write to her even. Suppose Martin had let them think that she was far away and never coming back, but that she could still write them letters.

And as the light came up on London, and the yellow blinds on their window started to turn a pale color rather than seeming black like the night, Lena knew that was what she would do. She would write a letter to her daughter. Pretending to be someone else. The thought of it made her feel exhilarated. Nobody seeing her get up and dress would have thought that this was a woman who had not slept all night. Louis was surprised, she could see that.

“Less angry with the world today?” he asked, head on one side, waiting for her to apologize yet again. But he got no apology.

“Weren't we like a pair of Kilkenny cats last night?” she said, marveling at it.

Louis paused. This wasn't what he had expected. “What made us like that do you think?”

“As you said, crowding each other out.” She was anxious to be gone, it was written all over her.

So now naturally he wanted her to stay. “I didn't mean that it was bad crowding out,” he began. It was as near to a climb-down as she would get.

“No, no. Of course not. See you this evening…”

“I didn't wake you when I came back.”

“Lord no. I was asleep. Out like a light.” She kissed him quickly on the forehead, and he pulled her back to his lap.

“We don't kiss like that. That's for old people.”