Justice Is a Woman (37 page)

him, saying brusquely, “Getting rid of some of these. They can raffle them; bring a little in for something

or other.”

“But why?” Joe approached him slowly.

“Why now?”

“Do you need to ask? But I bear you no hard feelings, lad, not about Betty.”

“Thanks, Father.”

They stared at each other for a moment longer;

then Joe hurried out and down the stairs.

It was as he crossed the hall towards the front door that he heard Elaine speaking on the telephone in the

study, and as he went through the door he heard the click of the receiver.

When he was half-way down the drive he saw David hurrying towards him.

“I’m sorry, Joe.” David said, “I’m on duty at half-past seven, so I’ve got to go. I’ve been looking

round for Martin. He was out in the back with Elizabeth; she’s just come in and said he ran off. He must

have gone back to the house.”

“I’ve just left it; he wasn’t there. Anyway, you go on; I’ll look for him.”

They parted, and Joe hurried behind The Cottage and through the vegetable garden, past the

greenhouses and into the woodland, calling now, “Martin! Martin!” But he got no reply.

He then spent

almost ten minutes searching the grounds, and as he was nearing The Cottage again he

saw a taxi entering

the drive and thought to himself:

That’s what she was phoning for.

He entered the cottage by the back door calling,

“Is he there. Hazel?” And both Hazel and Elizabeth came hurrying from the sitting-room.

“No. No, Joe.”

He was on the point of asking Elizabeth if Martin had said anything out of the ordinary to her before he

had left, when the wail of a siren brought their eyes upward, and Hazel cried fearfully,

“Oh, dear.

It can’t be an air-raid, surely; not in daylight. “

“Get into the shelter!”

Joe was reaching out to bustle them through the room when the back door was thrust

open, and they

turned to look at Martin standing there, panting.

“It’s ... it’s the siren. Father.”

“Where do you think you’ve been?”

Joe almost sprang on him and gripping him by the shoulders he shook him, demanding,

“Why did you

run off like that?”

“I ... I ...”

“Well?”

“If ... if you’ll stop shaking me I’ll ... I’ll tell you.” The answer was so unexpected that Joe took his

hands from his son’s shoulders and stared at him, while the boy stared hard back at him before

answering defiantly, “I ... I wanted to see mother ... just to see her.”

“Well, did you?”

“No. I mean yes. She ... she saw me from her bedroom window when I was crossing the

drive. She

shouted to me to stay there, that she was coming down immediately.”

“Well?” Joe now watched the boy shake his head

before allowing it to droop on to his chest.

“I didn’t stay; I ran into the garden.”

“Why did you do that?” It was a gentle question and Martin answered quietly, “I ... I didn’t want to go

with her she was making arrangements to take me with her but ... but I thought I’d just like to see her.”

Joe’s hand went slowly out and cupped the boy’s head, and now he asked quietly, “But

where have you

been? I’ve searched the whole place, shouting for you.”

Martin’s head remained down while he answered, “I know; I ... I heard you. But ... but she came after

me into the garden. I hid behind the thicket near the fence. And I saw her going up the wood path. She

.. she was dressed for going away.”

The wail of the siren had died, but now the sound of the car on the drive outside caused Martin to lift his

head and the eyes of the others to look towards the sitting-room.

It was Elizabeth who ran through the room, to return after a moment and say, “It’s a taxi.

It’s gone.”

At this point Joe heaved a deep sigh of relief, then said briskly, “Come on; let’s get into the shelter.”

As he again went to hustle them from the room there came the sound of nearby anti-

aircraft fire, which

was followed almost immediately by a distant but nevertheless ominous thud.

“My God! they’re at the town.”

Soon they were all scampering down the back

garden and into the air-raid shelter; at least, all but Joe, who stopped at the top of the steps and looked

down at the three faces staring up at him and said, “Now stay put. Don’t worry about

David;

he’ll be all right. I must go up to the house to see to Father. Even though there’s no hope of getting the

old fool to leave that floor, nevertheless . “

His words were cut off by another earth—shattering thud, this time closer by.

Joe looked up into the sky and as he heard the unmistakable drone of planes he

exclaimed, “God!

they’re almost overhead.”

“Come in, Joe!” Hazel screamed, at the same time grabbing hold of Joe’s trouser leg. But before he

could move either one way or the other the earth gave a mighty shudder and he almost

fell backwards on

top of them. A second later they were all huddled together in a heap in the narrow space of the shelter,

with both he and Hazel lying on top of Elizabeth and Martin.

After what seemed an eternity they slowly raised themselves. Joe didn’t speak: he was filled with a great

fear, the fear of going up the three steps and of what he would see when he emerged from the shelter.

It was Hazel who said, “Those last two were near. Why would they want to drop bombs

out here,

three miles or more from the docks?”

Joe made no reply, but slowly he went up the steps and into the open.

He had hardly straightened up before he cried aloud, “The house!

Hazel. The house! “ and then

he was tearing over the vegetable garden, through the gap in the hedge and on to the

drive. But before

he rounded the bend he knew what he would find, for he couldn’t see the sky for the

cloud of dust.

When he reached the rubble that had been his house he folded his arms tightly around his waist and

hugged himself in an agony of despair as he whimpered, “Oh! Father. Father. Oh no! No!

Father.

Father. Oh my God!

No, no. “

The house had taken a direct hit and the blast had spread the rubble to three times its area.

He looked

down at the block of masonry at his feet, the clematis leaves still clinging to it. The spire of the

observatory was wedged downwards like an ice-cream cone in the forks of an oak tree.

of the drawing-room was standing, the mantel shelf protruding above the rubble, and

above it, hanging at

an angle, the picture of a Dutch interior. He could only make out the frame, but in his mind’s eye he saw

the housewife and the child and the wonderful perspective of the tiled floor.

A burst of flame to his right brought his head slowly round to where the kitchen had

stood .. Mary would

be at that end.

He wasn’t aware that anyone had joined him until he heard Martin whimper, “Oh!

Grandpa. Grandpa.”

Joe turned slowly and looked speechlessly at Hazel and Elizabeth. The girl was crying and for a moment

he envied her: he wanted to cry, he wanted to fling himself down on the ground and beat his

fists into the earth. Oh! Father. Father.

Why hadn’t he insisted on his father’s living downstairs ? But would that have made any difference

now? Why hadn’t he stayed with him a little longer this evening and helped him pack

away the efforts of

a lifetime? Well, there had been Elaine. Elaine. Elaine. Always Elaine.

Blast her! Blast her to hell! He recalled the look on Mike’s face: it was as if he had known what was

coming.

They all turned slowly away from the smoking rubble and looked down the drive from

where was

coming the sound of a heavy vehicle and also the ringing of an ambulance bell.

The twilight was deepening when they lifted the last piece of timber from across Mike.

The beams

supporting the tower must have struck him immediately. He was all grey from the hair on his head to his

slippers. Even the blood from his neck, which had soaked his clothes, was dusted with grey.

It was Joe and David, with the assistance of two Local Defence Volunteers, who carried him over the

tangle of debris and laid him on the grass verge.

As if in respect, the men walked away towards the ambulance, to leave the father and son together for a

short time. What they didn’t know was that there were two sons looking down on their

father, and it

was David who spoke. His voice deep, yet scarcely above a whisper, he said, “It’s the first time I’ve

touched him in my life.”

Joe said nothing. He was weighed down with sadness, yet David’s words pierced it with a thread of

condemnation: “It’s the first time I’ve touched him in my life.” How would he have felt if his father hadn’t

acknowledged him? David hadn’t known that he was the son of the boss until after his

supposed father

had died, when Frank Brooks had left him the truth in a letter.

He himself had come to the truth through his mother. He was eight years old when he

knew that David

was his half-brother.

A voice behind them said now, “If you don’t mind, sir,” and both he and David stood

aside to allow the

two men to lift the twisted body on to a stretcher; and they had reached the ambulance with it before Joe,

seeming to come to himself, hurried to them and asked, “Where are you taking him?”

“To the hospital mortuary, sir, at St. Margaret’s.”

He nodded at them, then watched them close the doors on the man he had loved and

pitied.

As the ambulance drove away he turned to where David was still standing and he said

quietly, “Don’t

hold any bitterness against him, David. He thought of you. Most of the time he thought of you. It lay

heavy on his conscience. He watched you; he had pride in you. You know he would have

done things

for you years ago if you would have let him.

Don’t be bitter. “

“How would you feel in my shoes?”

“Much the same as you are feeling now, but the past is something that can’t be relived.

What

we can do, though, in the future is to let it be known what we are to each other. “

David made no reply; he simply turned to look towards where the kitchen had been and

muttered,

“We’d better find Mary.”

Four days later they buried Mike. There had been quite a number of people waiting in the cemetery,

and the little chapel had been full.

Joe and David stood side by side at the open grave; Martin stood on Joe’s right, and next to him was

Betty.

When the first clods of earth were thrown on the coffin, slowly, one after the other, they turned away.

But instead of returning to the cortege, they followed the minister down the centre drive of the cemetery

to where Mary was now being borne to her place of rest ..

Then it was over and they were in the car again being driven back to The Cottage.

For the last four nights Joe and Martin had slept in the tiny spare room in The Cottage, and for the past

three nights Betty had put up at an hotel in Fellburn.

They were all silent until they entered the sitting—room, and then in a burst of activity Hazel set about

making the tea and talking rapidly as she did so.

“Get your things off and sit up; it’s ready.” She pointed to the table that was set for a cold meal.

“The kettle won’t be a minute.

Elizabeth, take Miss Betty’s things. David, fill that scuttle, will you? The

fire’s getting low. What a change in the weather this last two days. “

When there came a knock on the door Hazel stopped her prattling and looked towards it, and then at

David, saying, “See who that is, will you?”

David opened the door to a uniformed boy, who offered him a buff-coloured envelope.

“It’s ... it’s for a Mrs. Remington. The house is down but I thought .”

David turned and handed the telegram to Joe and he, after staring at it for a moment, opened it and read

it.

“Tried to ring you. No reply.

Uncle T worried. L. “

“Is there any reply?”

Joe looked at the boy, then said, “No. No.” He now handed the telegram to David; then, after a

moment, he said, “What does it mean?” and for answer David said quietly, “But she

returned to London,

didn’t she?”

“Yes, yes.” Joe nodded slowly.

“She took a taxi.” He looked at the telegram again.

“Uncle T worried. L.” He knew who L. was. And it wouldn’t be Uncle Turnbull who was

worried; no

doubt he had gone to the uncle’s and found she wasn’t there ..

When he raised his eyes and met David’s questioning stare, he shook his head and said,

“No, no;

she definitely took a taxi. “ He now turned swiftly towards Martin.

“Did you see your mother get into the taxi?”

“No, Father.”

“When did you last see her?”

“When ... well, I told you, when she was going back towards the house dressed for out.”

“Dear God!” Joe turned his head to the side and looked down towards the floor. What if she hadn’t

got into the taxi and gone into the house again! They had only looked for two people, his father and

Mary.

Ella had escaped, for it was her day off.

“Whose taxi would it be? Fowler’s?”

Joe lifted his head and looked at David, who nodded at once, saying, “Either him or

Rowland’s,

whichever was available. Well, we’d better get on to them and see. You can ring from the call-box at