Anna Jacobs (17 page)

It was the expression on his face as he said that which relieved her mind, rather than the words themselves. The longing showed quite clearly, a longing she had shared for years. “Oh, yes. Though I had Frank when he wasn’t at boarding school, and we got on really well, even though he was five years younger than me. I still can’t believe he’s dead.”

“Nothing can take away the years you had together.” He hesitated then took a strand of her hair and fingered it. “And perhaps we could do something about your hair as well as your clothes? Have you ever thought of having it bobbed? You’ve so much hair it sort of swamps your face, even though this style is better than that damned hard knot you used to screw it up into.”

She could feel herself stiffening. Did he think she
wanted
to look like this? Especially now. “Yes,
of course
I’ve thought of having it bobbed. What modern woman wants to struggle with this much hair? But
he
held very strong views on women’s hairstyles.”

“Is that why you’ve dressed so—”

“—dowdily?” she finished for him. “Only in part. The main reason was that I didn’t want to make it easy for him to find me a husband.” She looked at him and couldn’t help smiling as she added, “Apart from the infuriating laugh that makes people wince, I can be extremely dull and boring about my church activities and my worries that the church needs new hassocks and prayer books.”

He chuckled. “Sounds a very sensible thing to do, given the circumstances, though I hope you’ll stop using the laugh from now on. But what about the
real
Serena? What’s she like?”

She hesitated. She’d asked herself that so many times and never found an answer. “I don’t think I even know. I’ve never been able to—to be myself, you see, have always had to be on guard. All I clung to was that once I turned thirty, I could become an independent woman.”

He seemed to understand what was worrying her. “I shan’t chain you down or dictate to you, I promise. I’m not like that.”

She gave him a little nod and a shy smile. “No, I don’t think you are.”

“Right then, let’s make a start today on finding out who you are.” He tucked her hand into his arm and began walking. “They told me at the book stall that the best shops are on Yorkshire, Henshaw or High Street. And there must be a hairdresser’s there too, surely?”

She’d never been inside a hairdresser’s shop, because like most women, she dealt with her own hair. First her mother then Ruby had cut it for her, chopping off the bottom inch or two every few months. Some women never cut their hair and were proud of being able to sit on it, but hers grew so thickly and fast it was too heavy, so she’d had it cut as short as she dared.

She’d lingered outside the one hairdresser’s in Tinsley sometimes after it had been bought by a woman who had trained as a hairdresser in London. Madame Clara’s Salon had looked so splendidly modern under its new owner. The former owner had made most of her money selling false hair pieces or buying “heads of hair” from poorer women in desperate need of money, and had sent out her customers with masses of hair piled on their heads in the old-fashioned way.

But with the new owner you could get your hair washed, trimmed or bobbed into the short modern styles some younger women were adopting. Sadly, a flattering hairstyle had been the last thing Serena wanted then, but she wanted one now, wanted it quite desperately, to show Marcus she wasn’t as dowdy and plain as the mirror had told her each morning.

Fleming had said that only women of a certain sort frequented such places as hairdressing salons or painted their faces, but that wasn’t true. Several of her mother’s friends went to Madame Clara’s and used rice paper on their cheeks, too.

Serena and Marcus strolled along, looking in the shop windows, and that in itself was very pleasant, especially when other women looked at her enviously because of her companion. The scars on his face didn’t stop him being tall and strong-looking, and the beard lent him a certain mysterious charm. They found several ladies’ dress shops and studied the contents of the windows, settling on a particularly nice one on High Street.

After she’d tried on several ready-made garments, they decided on a tailored costume in navy blue. It had a box pleated skirt which should have ended several inches above the ankle but was longer on Serena. There was a matching jacket with belt, also with a pleated skirt to it that reached to about sixteen inches below the waist. Unlike the garments she was wearing it didn’t make her look lumpy, but emphasised her slender waist.

Serena watched in amazement as the owner, who had said at first that it’d take several days to have the skirt shortened, succumbed to Marcus’s cajoling and to the idea of dressing the bride of a returned soldier, promising to have the skirt shortened for her within a couple of hours.

They took the jacket with them and went into a blouse maker’s, where they bought two blouses one pink and one pale blue. There was a milliner’s nearby and as they lingered to look at the hats displayed in the window, Marcus said, “Not till after you’ve had your hair done. And the minute you do have a pretty hat, I’m going to throw away that lumpy object you’re wearing on your head.”

The hairdresser’s had a picture in the window of a young woman with bobbed hair. “Shall we see if they can help us?” he asked and went in with her to make sure of that.

Two hours later Serena looked up shyly as he came back to pick her up. He stared at her, not saying a word, and indicated with a twitch of his fingers that she should turn round. This made her worry that she looked even worse now.

Marcus was astounded to see the pretty younger-looking woman who had emerged from her disguise. Serena’s hair was a lovely shade of brown—why hadn’t he noticed that before? The shorter style suited her face and the horrible frizzy fringe was gone, leaving only a light feathery fringe which showed off her fine blue eyes with their long, dark lashes.

“There, sir. What do you think of her?” the hairdresser asked.

“I think she looks wonderful. You’ve done marvels.”

The woman beamed at him.

Serena turned to look into the mirror again and finger the hair at the side. She hardly recognised this new woman. The hairdresser had cut her hair to hug her head and lie neatly in the nape of her neck before turning up a little. It had enough natural curl for that, revealing a glimpse of her neck.

“I didn’t realise—” he began, stopped, then said it, “—that you were so pretty.”

“I am?”

“Yes, truly you are.” He saw tears well in her eyes and heard the hairdresser give a sentimental sigh. “Your father was wrong to insist on you keeping your hair long.”

She smiled at him, such a wobbly, uncertain smile, he guessed then what a big step this was for her, and on top of a hectic couple of days, too.

He held out the parcel from the dress shop. “They’ve done the hem. Is there somewhere here that you can change?”

The hairdresser smiled from one to the other. “Come through to the back, miss.”

When Serena returned, the transformation was almost complete. In the new tailored costume she looked trim and very feminine. The only jarring note was the hat. He stepped forward, removed it from her head and trampled it underfoot.

The hairdresser giggled.

Serena looked down at it in dismay. “But I’ll have to walk down the street without a hat!” She’d never done that in her life, not even when she was a child.

“Better that than put the ugly blob on again,” he said firmly. He brushed a piece of fluff off one of her lapels. “I shall be proud to marry you tomorrow.”

They hurried down the street to a milliner’s shop and there Serena found a very flattering hat, with a wide brim and neat crown, and a fluffy feather to one side of the crown.

“We make these especially for the ladies with bobbed hair,” the milliner said with a smile. “You don’t need such wide crowns without all the hair to tuck under them.”

“She’ll have that one,” Marcus said firmly. “Perfect for our wedding.”

“Very good choice, sir.” The milliner turned back to Serena and studied her. “You look very smart and modern now, miss, if you don’t mind me saying so. I saw you looking in the window earlier. I wish you both happy.” Tears stood out on her lashes for a moment as she added quietly, “My husband didn’t make it back, but we had a few happy years together, at least.”

Serena couldn’t help hugging her, she looked so sad. And hugging a stranger was something the old Serena would never have dreamed of doing.

As they walked down the street, she stole glances at herself in every shop window they passed. He’d said she looked pretty. And she did look—rather nice.

“We’ll pick up our luggage and catch a cab at the station,” Marcus said.

“Are you sure we should impose on your friend?”

“Very sure. He and I served in the same regiment all through the war. That makes the survivors as close as brothers, believe me.”

As they sat in the cab he took her hand again. “There’s something I have to tell you about my friend.”

“Yes?”

“Den’s a doctor. He’s been staying with his parents while he recuperated. His father’s also a doctor and—well, I think it’d be a good thing for them to check you carefully while we’re there, so that they can swear there’s nothing wrong with you. That would give us two doctors against one, if your father ever makes it necessary, which I hope it won’t be.”

The euphoria of her transformation into a modern young woman left Serena abruptly and reality returned to sit heavily on her shoulders. “Oh.”

“Even after we’re married, I want you to be safe. You say your father won’t give up easily. And if he
is
in serious financial trouble and wants your annuity, well, who knows what he’s done with your inheritance? We’ll ask Justin Redway to check up on that. And we’ll leave your mother’s jewellery in the bank for the time being, shall we? We’ll have enough to live on with my money, if we’re not extravagant.”

She nodded, but he could see the sparkle had gone out of her.

“Ah, Serena, I hate to see you look like that. I won’t let him get hold of you, I promise.” Marcus took her hand and they sat quietly for the rest of the journey.

He was such a kind man. And he did seem to like kissing her.

But not nearly as much as she liked kissing him. She wished he’d taken the opportunity to kiss her again.

* * * *

The Rawlins house was a commodious residence to the south-east of the town centre, situated on Queen’s Road and overlooking Alexandra Park.

“Wait here. I won’t be long.” Marcus slipped out of the cab, closing the door quickly but still letting a gust of chill air inside.

As Serena waited, she worried about them turning up without warning like this. And what would these people think of her, running away to get married at her age?

The front door of the house opened and Marcus came out, accompanied by a man who was his opposite in many ways, being short and sturdy with gingerish hair. He was beaming and gesticulating as the two walked along the path, clearly happy to see his friend, so she immediately felt better about being here.

Marcus flung open the cab door. “Here she is! Serena, my dear, this is Den Rawlins, my very good friend.”

She got out of the cab and was pulled into a hug by this complete stranger, who then held her at arm’s length and asked, “What on earth’s a pretty girl like you doing getting married to this ugly devil?”

She couldn’t help smiling again, his cheerfulness was so infectious. “It seemed the kindest thing to do.”

He offered her his arm. “Let’s leave Marcus to supervise the bags and get you inside out of this chilly wind. My mother’s out but she’ll be back soon, then she’ll find bedrooms for you both.”

“Are you sure it won’t be too much trouble?”

“She loves having visitors, especially friends of mine. Says they keep her young. You’ll see.”

They went into a chaotic sitting room which looked as if people used every inch of it.

“We aren’t a tidy family,” Den said with a grin. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“I love it. I come from a rigidly tidy home. This feels much more comfortable.”

They sat down and within minutes a smiling maid brought them a tea tray. Serena poured, content to listen to the two men catching up with each other’s news.

When they’d finished the tea, Marcus looked at her. “All right if I tell Den about your little problem?”

She could feel herself going stiff and could only manage a nod.

When Marcus had finished his explanation, Den looked at her, his expression serious now. “This must be dreadful for you.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about your father.”

She couldn’t bear to call him that any longer, so out it came again, the fact that Ernest wasn’t her real father and the name of the man who was. She also found herself telling Den how she’d made herself look unattractive for many years and even how she was terrified of bringing trouble to Marcus now. When the words ran out, she sat there with her head bowed, unable to face the two men who would, she was sure, think her a foolish creature—if not worse.

Marcus stood up. “I’ll leave you with Den for a few minutes, Serena.”

As the door closed behind him, she looked at the doctor apprehensively, wondering what this was about. Surely Marcus didn’t think she was really unstable mentally?

Den came to sit on the sofa next to her and clasped her hand in his. “You must be a very strong person to have survived a life like that.”

She blinked in shock.
“Strong?”

“Yes. To have coped with it—and survived—and managed to escape. You’ve done so well.”

This was the last things she’d expected to hear. “You really think so?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. What I wanted to ask privately was whether you feel forced to marry Marcus or whether you’d feel better if we made some other arrangements and you didn’t have to marry anyone until you were ready?”

“Oh no! I
want
to marry him!” Doubts suddenly shook her. “Unless he’s asked you to—to tell me
he
doesn’t want to.”

“From the way he looks at you, I think he’s very happy to be marrying you, and both as friend and doctor, I’m delighted to think of him having someone of his own. He had a very lonely boyhood, you know, and it wasn’t till he joined the Army that he made lasting friendships.”