Ellie (88 page)

Four days later, John telephoned to say he was coming home on the next flight. The call came on a bitterly cold afternoon when the girls were sitting by the fire with Camellia sleeping in her crib in the corner.

They had devised a routine between them. Ellie prepared the meals, did the lighter jobs and gave Camellia the night feed. Bonny fed and changed her by day and did the washing and cleaning. Camellia was a model baby, sleeping from feed to feed, and although Bonny had insisted on doing the night feed too at first, she had soon discovered how exhausting it was and happily agreed to let Ellie do it as she always woke anyway.

Ellie was feeling better, physically at least. She took herself off twice daily for a brisk walk, the soreness was gone and her appetite had returned. She felt too that she was slowly adjusting mentally. Bonny had proved herself to be a natural mother: she could soothe Camellia as if born to it, she was unflappable and resourceful. Though it hurt Ellie to see her baby responding faster to Bonny’s voice than her own, in her heart she knew this was a good thing.

Ellie answered the telephone, just as she had ever since they got back, partially to vet calls, especially the daily ones from Mrs Phillips, but in the main to create the impression that Bonny was still finding it hard to move about quickly. John had sent many loving telegrams to the hospital and telephoned the first day they got back home. But the moment Bonny took the receiver from Ellie’s hand, her bright smile vanished and she turned pale.

‘The next flight?’ she said. ‘Oh John you mustn’t, your company won’t like it.’

Ellie guessed from the expression on Bonny’s face that John was claiming his wife and baby were more important than a mere job and although Bonny did her best to sound pleased, she was quivering with fright.

Just the thought of John arriving back so soon made Ellie’s heart race alarmingly. She wasn’t ready to face anyone yet, especially him. But she and Bonny were in too deep now to change anything, and Ellie knew it was her turn to support her friend.

‘We’ll manage,’ Ellie reassured her, once Bonny had put the receiver down. She put her arm round her and led her back into the sitting-room. ‘I know we didn’t plan on him coming for some time, but look on the bright side, at least it will deter your mother from coming for a bit. She’d be a great deal nosier than John.’

‘But look at you,’ Bonny said, touching Ellie’s stomach. ‘You’re tubby, you’re still waddling a bit. He’ll notice.’

‘He won’t,’ Ellie said firmly. ‘I’ll wear my corset again, and I’ll stop myself from waddling. Besides, he’ll only be looking at you and his baby.’

Ellie found it odd that she could talk about John as if he were Camellia’s real father, yet found it almost impossible to refer to Bonny as ‘Mum’.

‘I’m scared,’ Bonny sobbed. ‘What if I slip up? What about my flat stomach? John’s bound to know women’s tummies are all wobbly after a baby.’

‘You won’t slip up,’ Ellie reassured her. ‘If you can get through two weeks at Bankside without once saying anything suspicious, you can manage it with John. As for your tummy, you just don’t let him see it. Wear a big warm nighty. He won’t be expecting to make love to you for weeks yet.’

‘But your hair, Ellie!’ Bonny took hold of a strand, her eyes filling with tears. ‘You can’t possibly wear that wig, John would know what it was immediately.’

John’s concerned, loving voice had reactivated the part of Bonny’s brain which she’d chosen to switch off some time ago. For weeks she’d been cocooned in a happy, dream-like state, seeing her own and Ellie’s problems as solved to everyone’s satisfaction. But now she was reminded of the vow she’d made to herself on her wedding day, and she felt as if that threatening, fiery sword was about to come down from the heavens and strike her for reneging on her promises.

She loved little Camellia as if she were her own, but she loved John too. He knew her so well and he was very perceptive. Did she really think she could fool him with this wicked deception?

‘I’ll go into Bristol first thing tomorrow and get it put back dark,’ Ellie said, sensing a little of what Bonny was feeling. ‘Now stop worrying, everything will be fine.’

‘I knew you’d regret it madam.’ The hairdresser shook her head sorrowfully. ‘I couldn’t think what possessed you to want to be a blonde when your hair was so beautiful. It’s easy enough to bleach hair, but putting it back!’ She sighed deeply as if she didn’t want to attempt it.

‘I had a boyfriend who liked blondes,’ Ellie said airily. ‘But I’ve finished with him now. Can you do it?’

Ellie had disliked this woman at their first encounter. She was a hard-faced Marcel-permed, pencil-thin shrew who ordered her assistants around the salon as if they were lower than the off-cuts of hair on the floor.

‘I can’t just dye it black,’ the woman said. ‘I have to take it through several gradual changes, blonde to gold, gold to red, red to brown, otherwise it will turn green.’

‘How long will it take?’ Ellie asked, refusing to think about ending up with green hair.

The woman shrugged her bony shoulders, her small mouth pursed like a cat’s behind. ‘All day,’ she said. ‘And I can’t guarantee it will be in good condition at the end of it.’

Ellie felt sick. She was already missing her baby, she hated the smell of perm lotion wafting around the salon and she had a feeling the woman wouldn’t try particularly hard to make it perfect. ‘Look,’ she said, fixing the woman with her eyes in the mirror. ‘I’m an actress. I’m about to start filming. If you make a good job of my hair I’ll tell everyone you are the best hairdresser in England and give you a good tip. If not …’ She tailed off, leaving the threat in the air.

‘An actress! A film star?’ The woman’s superior expression changed immediately to subservience. ‘Oh, how wonderful!’

‘It won’t be wonderful unless you give me black shiny hair again,’ Ellie said wryly. ‘Now, can we start?’

It was nearly seven in the evening when Ellie got off the bus at the bottom of the lane. Once the bus had pulled away she was left in pitch darkness, except for an eerie glow from the frost on the hedges.

As Gloria the hairdresser had said, it had taken all day. Her scalp felt as if it were on fire and the ends were so damaged she’d had three inches taken off the length. But it looked natural, at least, and when she looked in a mirror it was good to see the real Ellie again. The day had taken its toll on her, though, giving her a preview of what she could expect when she finally had to leave The Chestnuts. Camellia had been on her mind every minute, wondering if Bonny had cooled her bottle enough or remembered to put the zinc cream on her bottom; at one point she’d even visualised Bonny falling down the stairs with the baby in her arms.

As she walked up the narrow lane, each and every tree trunk seemed to have an evil, leering face. She felt frightened and terribly alone. Ellie was no stranger to loneliness, but never before had she felt menaced by it as she did now. It made no difference that just half a mile onwards, Bonny was waiting for her eagerly, or that a bright new future was only weeks away. Somehow she knew she would never regain true happiness. This empty feeling she had now was something she would have to live with for ever.

‘John’s here!’ Bonny called up the stairs three days after Ellie had visited the hairdresser. ‘Have you braced yourself?’

‘Stop worrying about me,’ Ellie yelled back. ‘Open that front door and run out to meet him!’

Ellie had heard the taxi as she was putting on lipstick. The face that stared back in the mirror was the one she’d seen a million times in dressing-rooms, not the muddy-complexioned blonde who’d given birth to Camellia just twenty-two days ago. Since her hair had been recoloured and cut, she’d mastered the art of rolling it up round a sausage of horsehair, a sophisticated style copied from fashion magazines. Her lipstick was the same crimson as her new mid-calf wool dress, her eyelashes were curled and heavily mascara’d, she’d given herself a fashionable beauty spot on her right cheek and her eyebrows were plucked to a mere pencil line.

She thought she looked the part she intended to play for John: the glamorous actress well on the way to stardom. He wouldn’t know her hour-glass figure was held in by the hated corset, or that just yesterday she’d been shuffling around in old slippers instead of these ankle-strapped high heels.

‘You’re an actress,’ she reminded herself, adding just a touch more rouge to her cheeks. ‘As Camellia’s aunt you must hold back, be a little inept when you pick her up, tease Bonny for being mumsy, even first a little with John. You must never let him see that hunger in your eyes.’

She walked over to the window and watched John embracing his wife out on the path as the taxi drove off. She hoped Bonny could carry off her part too. She had perfected the slightly slovenly look of a harassed new mother. She wore a dark wool skirt which she’d taken in to make too tight, her jumper had a nappy pin stuck into it, she’d tied her hair up with a ribbon so it looked carelessly tousled and left off her makeup. But would she remember that new mothers always had their ears pricked for their baby, that they talked about them incessantly and always put them first?

John looked just as he had at his wedding, in a sober dark suit. His hair was cut very short and neatly parted, his lean face tanned, moustache trimmed just so. The only evidence of his long journey was a shadow of dark stubble on his chin.

‘Welcome home, John,’ Ellie said as she swept down the stairs, just as he and Bonny came into the house hand in hand. Bonny looked tense, two over bright spots of colour on her cheeks, but John would just put that down to natural anxiety. ‘I’m so glad to see you – perhaps Bonny will give me a rest from all the cleaning in your honour. Can I make you some tea, or something to eat? It will keep me occupied while you see your baby.’

Ellie had never thought of John Norton as really handsome, even though she’d told Bonny he was, not until that moment. He normally frowned a great deal, his serious nature colouring his looks. But now his smile was warm and wide, his brown eyes sparkled with excitement and he looked dashing.

‘I don’t believe you’ve really been doing cleaning with those hands,’ he laughed, looking at her crimson nails. ‘But yes, I’d love some tea, and thank you for being such a good friend to Bonny.’

Ellie stayed in the kitchen, spinning out the tea-making. She could hear John cooing over Camellia in the sitting-room and she steeled herself for the moment when she must go in and join them. She felt hot, then icy cold, and was sure she would trip over in her high heels. She wished she could excuse herself today and rush off to London, but she knew she should hang on until John almost pushed her out.

‘She looks like my mother,’ John said, as Ellie came tripping in with the tea tray. ‘It’s her eyes, I think, or maybe the nose.’

‘Was your mother impossibly beautiful?’ Ellie said lightly. She’d often seen Polly in her baby’s face. John was sitting in one of the winged armchairs, holding Camellia awkwardly across his lap, Bonny beside him on a leather pouffe, seeming more relaxed now.

‘Not exactly.’ John grinned boyishly. ‘She always looked weather-beaten and old to me, but there is a likeness.’

‘I think she looks like you,’ Bonny said, putting one hand on John’s cheek affectionately. ‘Her eyes are going to be brown and her hair’s just like yours.’

‘Poor thing,’ John said as he smiled adoringly at Bonny. ‘Why couldn’t she take after you?’

‘I’m glad she’s not blonde,’ Bonny said, glancing at Ellie. ‘Brunettes have much nicer natures.’

‘Are you really set on calling her Camellia?’ John frowned. ‘It’s a bit grand for a baby.’

Ellie bristled, turning away so John wouldn’t notice.

‘She’ll grow into a grand lady,’ Bonny said sweetly. ‘And if you think I’m going to call our baby something drippy and common like Susan or Margaret, you’re mistaken. Besides, Ellie chose it. She saw a Camellia once in Kew Gardens and she thought it was the most beautiful flower ever.’

John looked at Ellie and smiled. He didn’t want to offend her after all she’d done. ‘I suppose we could call her “little Ellie” or “Melly” while she’s tiny,’ he said. ‘By the time she’s old enough to go to the pictures, her aunt is going to be very famous, I’m told. I bet she’ll get a kick out of being named by you.’

Ellie gulped. She loved John for being so big-hearted and despised herself for deceiving him. ‘Let me pour the tea,’ she said quickly. ‘I thought I’d go out for a walk and leave you on your own for a bit. I’m sure you’ve got a great deal of catching up to do.’

As Ellie walked down the lane wrapped in her coat and scarf, she tried to turn her thoughts to the script of
Soho
. Megan had a baby too, which was taken from her at birth. She knew she’d need little rehearsing for the emotion in that scene.

She thought too of Sir Miles, who’d never known he had a daughter, and who now had a granddaughter too that he would watch grow up, not knowing she was his.

Then there was Edward! She was longing to see him, yet so afraid she wouldn’t be able to conceal the sadness within her. Had she learnt enough about Canada from a couple of books to convince him she’d been there? What if he or anyone else asked awkward questions? She’d prepared so many stories about her fictitious Auntie Betty, leaning heavily on memories of Charley’s mother, but she’d never been a convincing liar.

Then there were Amos and Dora. She hadn’t written to say she’d left
Oklahoma
. She couldn’t claim to them she had an aunt in Canada; they knew better.

‘When will all these lies be done?’ she asked herself.

The wind was strong and icy. Ellie walked fast, for once barely noticing the bare trees and forlorn winter fields. She was reluctant to go back to the house too soon. John and Bonny needed time alone.

*

‘Stay another week?’ Bonny pleaded.

Ellie put down her hairbrush and turned on the dressing-table stool, looking sadly at Bonny. ‘I can’t. You know why,’ she sighed. ‘John’s been home a week and I can barely cope with him. Your parents coming will just be too much.’

Ellie couldn’t tell Bonny how painful this last week had been for her. John rushed to Camellia the moment she cried and had taken over doing the night feed. There was no place for her now. In the evenings she felt John’s need to be alone with Bonny, and she often excused herself and went to bed with a book. He was there while Bonny bathed the baby, he trundled her down to the village in her pram, he even boiled the nappies and put them through the mangle.