Paid Servant (21 page)

“Sure, why not?”

“I think it would be the best thing for you and the children if they remained where they are until you have been freed and settled into whatever it is you wish to do. Meanwhile you could write them as often as possible, and visit them when you are able.”

“Yes,” he agreed, too quickly. “You're right; that would be the best thing to do.”

He left soon after, taking with him, as gifts for the children, some books and toys from a collection kept at the office for exactly that purpose.

Next morning I had a telephone call from the Matron at Falconbridge; Mr Cosson had appeared as planned; the children were somewhat shy with him at first, but eventually they had got along quite well. Except for the eldest girl; her father's visit seemed to have unsettled her and Matron had heard her crying during the night and went in to her. Things were now back to normal. I got the impression that Matron would be happier if Mr Cosson's visits were even fewer.

I did not see Mr Cosson again; he telephoned me from the railway station just before getting his train back North, to express his thanks again for everything which had been done for him. When I visited the Redmonds to pay them for Mr Cosson's board and accommodation, they expressed their complete satisfaction and delight with him; they had found him thoughtful, courteous and a delightful companion and were willing to accommodate him on any future occasion. I was very pleased to hear all this, but inwardly hoped that there would be no repeat occasion. In the report I submitted on the case and Mr Cosson's visit, I expressed the opinion that there seemed little likelihood of any change in the circumstances of the Cosson children; the best that could be hoped for was that Mr Cosson would keep in touch with them.

T
WO DAYS LATER THE
Supervisor called me to her office.

“Trouble,” she said, as I came in.

“Roddy Williams?”

“I'm afraid so.”

“What's the latest development?”

“Middlesex still won't play. Just as I feared, the situation does not look very hopeful. It's the old argument about creating a precedent which they believe will adversely affect their programme.”

“Do they appreciate that this is the only chance we have had, so far, to place the boy in an ordinary home?”

“Oh yes, they are in possession of all the relevant information on him, but I suppose there is some justification for their arguments.”

I suppose she was right, but I had not yet acquired the technique of maintaining a certain distance from each case, the better to view it with clarity and objectivity.

“Suppose we suggest to Middlesex that they find a family willing to accept their terms and provide a home for him?” I could not quite keep the bitterness and disappointment out of my voice.

“No, that would never do,” she replied, in her usual careful, level tone. “We must press on with it until they either give in or finally commit themselves to the unpleasantness of refusal. Don't forget, from their point of view, an equally important matter of principle is involved. However, let's not resign ourselves to defeat while the battle is still joined; we've still a few more strings to pull in high places.”

Somehow I did not feel disposed to share her lightheartedness. “So what do I say to the Tamerlanes?”

“Why say anything to them about it until we know something definite one way or another? I'd be inclined to let things go along as they are now for a while. We'll soon know what the final word is, but, don't forget, we're being supported at very high level. And don't worry too much,” she advised.

I went out to the Tamerlanes' home on Saturday afternoon, having heard from the Matron at Franmere that Roddy would be spending the afternoon with them. They were all in the backyard, John and Ella sunning themselves in deck-chairs while the children romped with the dog on the grass between bouts on the swing. I was soon in the thick of being hugged and kissed as June, Jackie and Roddy simultaneously tried to bring me up to date on everything they had done, each one screaming “Uncle Ricky” in my ears. Warm, frantic and wonderful. Roddy fitted into it all so naturally, it seemed unthinkable that anything could happen to interfere with this heaven-sent chance. I finally disengaged myself from the children and sat on the grass beside the parents.

“We've a surprise for him,” Ella whispered to me. “Matron agreed that if everything went well we could keep him over the weekend and take him back on Sunday night or early Monday morning.” Her delight in the seeming success of the venture radiated from her face.

“That's good.” But my worry must have got through to them.

“Has anything happened?” John asked.

As the Supervisor had advised, there was no sense in making them uneasy. “Don't get alarmed. I just want to remind you that we're still waiting for the green light from Middlesex, and where bureaucracy is concerned anything can happen.”

“Is that all?” said Ella, relieved. “For a moment you sounded like the voice of doom. Anyway I've some news that might cheer you up. Your friend Miss Keriham is coming to tea.”

John pointed to the oak-tree. The three children had climbed out along the lowest branch and were hanging upside down by their knees several feet above the ground. Ella instantly tried to rise, but John restrained her.

“Leave them alone,” he said, although his voice betrayed his concern. As we watched, one by one they righted themselves and climbed down to the ground. Although smaller than the girls, Roddy seemed well able to match their tomboy exploits.

“Come on, everybody, time to get washed,” Ella called, masking her relief with a flurry of domestic activity. The girls scampered off upstairs, and Ella busied herself laying the table for tea, while John and I sat idly in the sitting-room.

“Somehow I've got the feeling you're holding something back from us,” he began. “You seem to be anticipating some difficulty we know nothing about.”

“No, not really. We're still working on the Middlesex people and there is no way of knowing how it will be. The boy seems so completely at his ease here, it would be a shame if we can't go through with the plan.”

“And what about the girls, not to mention Ella and me? They've already made up their minds about him. How can we tell them he couldn't come to live with us? Would it help if I wrote to the Middlesex people?”

“There's no need for that just yet, anyway. I suppose I'm worrying unnecessarily and communicating my fears to you. Let's just forget about it until we have some definite news.”

There was a ring on the doorbell and John answered, returning with Olga. As usual she was smartly though simply dressed. At the sound of her voice Ella came from the dining-room and I introduced Olga to them. Ella returned to her chores, but soon the children descended upon us and became more excited with Olga, who had to be taken on a tour of the house and backyard, hand in hand with Roddy, who thus masterfully underlined his relationship to Auntie Olga.

Tea was a happy though somewhat noisy affair, but much of the time I watched the two women, who, though going through all the motions of relaxed friendliness, seemed to be carefully feeling their way around and towards each other. Ella had changed into a bright gingham dress of tiny black and white squares, set off by a wide belt of red leather drawn tightly at the waist to emphasize her full yet girlish figure. Her thick brown hair framed her face in loose, soft curls, but the large grey eyes above the high cheekbones indicated maturity and resolve which was further supported by her dimpled yet aggressive-looking chin. Against the background of her home and family her naturalness and assurance were easily equal to the smooth elegance with which Olga managed to invest the simplest gesture, and I marvelled at the odd turn of events which had brought them together.

Roddy was the centre-piece of the group and seemed to know it, yet, so well had he been taught at Franmere, that though he was literally bubbling with the excitement of his first really family tea-party, each request began with “please may I have,” and there was a sweet, bright-eyed “thank you” when helped; Ella beamed at this, very much as if she had been responsible for it, while the girls tried to outbid each other waiting on him. After tea John, Olga and I were pushed into the sitting-room to talk while the others cleared away and washed up.

I rode back to London in Olga's car.

“Looks as if your worries about Roddy are over,” she said. “He seems to have fitted in very well with the Tamerlanes.”

“I'm not too sure. There's one large fly in the ointment, but we're working on it.”

I told her about our difficulties with Middlesex, and the cause of them; after all, she was as involved with Roddy as were the rest of us, so there was no point in being secretive on that point. As we drove she questioned me on ways and means of circumventing that difficulty, hinting rather broadly at the possibility that some ‘interested party' might be willing to contribute the difference between the Middlesex rate and the amount agreed on by the Tamerlanes. I explained why such an arrangement was impracticable and expressed the view that there were so many pressures built into the situation that eventually Middlesex would probably capitulate.

“I'll be keeping my fingers crossed for you,” she said. “You know, I sort of have the feeling Mrs Tamerlane is not too keen on me seeing the boy.”

“Why do you say that? Has she said or done something?”

“No, it's just a feeling I have.”

In the silence that followed I became aware of the late afternoon traffic rushing about us, and the sounds which somehow had not invaded the little sanctuary in which we were smoothly rolling, as Olga weaved easily along, completely familiar with the puzzling complexities of London's streets. Her red-gloved hands rested lightly on the wheel, in pleasing contrast to the tanned skin of her forearms and the pale shiny linen suit she wore. Now and then one hand would fall lightly on to the gear lever, and the gear change would be effortlessly made.

“Right now, right this minute, I'd give up a hell of a lot just to have a boy like that. No, not any boy, just him.”

She said this very quietly, but with such feeling that I wished it were possible for her to do just that. A funny remark popped into my head, but I decided against saying it, it would have been too much like an intrusion on something very private.

We drove through the City to Liverpool Street Station where I could take a train for Ilford.

“I hope you won't let anything keep you from seeing him whenever you can,” I said, as I was leaving her.

“You mean the Tamerlanes? Not unless she comes right out and tells me I'm not welcome, and I have an idea she's too well bred to do that.” The smile was back on her face and the laughter in her voice.

Mrs Bentham called to see me on Monday. When the telephone operator mentioned the name of my visitor I had visions of further difficulties in the Bentham household, and went downstairs mentally preparing myself to meet whatever it might be. She was standing near the operator's cabinet, looking taller and lovelier than I had remembered her, probably because of the extra inches from the high stiletto heels of her neat black pumps, and the lipstick. She wore a one-piece costume of dark blue, light-weight wool, which hugged her comely frame affectionately, and as I led her to one of the interview rooms I noticed how easily, effortlessly she moved, like a professional dancer, swinging smoothly from the hip in a continuous blending of controlled musculature and accommodating cloth. Only big women with good figures are able to achieve that kind of movement.

As soon as we were seated she spoke, as if impatient to tell it quickly before the fermented pleasure exploded within her.

“We've got a house.” Her eyes were literally aglow in her face. “Jim's firm has transferred him to Harlow where they're doing a lot of building, and they helped him to find a house.”

“Congratulations,” I said, “are you renting it?”

They were buying it, she explained. They had paid the deposit and would be able to move in soon. The people at Jim's firm were helping with the arrangements, and Jim would be able to pay so much each week. She had been down to see it last weekend, and quite obviously she was thrilled with it.

“I think you need a drink,” I said, “but you'll have to settle for a cigarette.” I offered her one, and lit it.

“When we move down you must come and see it,” she went on, the cigarette held lightly in her large, firmly-shaped hands which were cupped together on the table. My mother used to sit like that when anything pleased or excited her, her hands at rest as if patiently waiting for the excitement in the rest of her to work itself out, so they could resume their careful, considered activities.

She described the house. It was new, with lots of cupboard space, so that there was no need to buy wardrobes and things like that. It had three bedrooms, two big ones and a little one which, she said, would be wonderful for the baby.

“Sounds very comfortable,” I said.

It had a little garden in front, for roses, and a back garden where Jim would be able to plant tomatoes and other things. And the neighbours seemed to be very nice. One had been hanging clothes on her line while they were in the backyard and they had got to talking, and she had invited them in for a cup of tea. It was all so different from the other place.

I had the feeling she'd soon run out of breath.

“Any news from the baby's mother?”

“Oh, her? Like I told Jim right from the first, we won't hear another word from her. She was glad to dump the child and be off, probably back to her old habits again.”

“I think it might be advisable for Mr Bentham to make inquiries about adopting the child legally,” I suggested, “against the chance that she might suddenly reappear one day to claim the child. If he can prove that she has left the child in his care it might not be difficult for him to adopt her; then the mother could not come back to claim her. I'm not familiar with the processes involved, but a lawyer would be able to advise him.”

“That's been worrying me, I must tell you. As soon as Jim comes in tonight I'll tell him. I'm not going to let her take it away now, not after all the trouble she's caused with Jim and me.”

“Where have you left her?”

“With a friend in Aldgate. I didn't take her to the nursery today because I'm having the day off from work. When we go to Harlow Jim says I must stay at home and look after the baby. I'll like that. He's earning good money, so there's no need for me to go out to work. You should see her now, big and lovely as anything, and so cute! You know, I wish she were really Jim's. Still, she's ours now—but I wish we could have one of our very own.”

“You never know, anything can happen,” I said. An idea had suddenly come to me.

“Sure, with a little help.” The mischief twinkled in her eyes.

Impulsively I put it to her. “How would you like to take care of two babies instead of one?”

“Oh, ho! What have you been up to?” she teased.

“Nothing yet, but there's a little boy who needs a home and I think you would make him a wonderful mother.”

“Tell me about him.”

It was now nearly twelve-thirty.

“Why not let's have lunch together and we could talk about it?”

“You and me?”

“Of course, unless you wouldn't care to eat with me.”

“You're joking. Of course I'd love to.”

We went to a small, rather old-fashioned restaurant nearby, generally frequented by local office staff. We were the only black couple there and attracted some attention. Mrs Bentham took it well in her stride. As we ate: “I bet they think we're married,” she whispered, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Now tell me about your little boy.”