Paper Doll (28 page)

He couldn’t help but wonder how Julia would fare with her son living in an environment such as Colifield. But it wasn’t his business to compare. Status was mostly an accident of birth. If he’d been born here he’d likely have gone down the pit at the age of fourteen. But having been raised in the same sort of environment as Julia, he’d been given a good education and encouraged to enter a profession that would not only bring him respect, but also had the potential to provide him with a comfortable living for life.

Martin loved his profession, which gave him a great deal of satisfaction now he knew his mind had healed. Ideally, he’d also like a wife and children, someone to go home to every night, someone to listen to his complaints and grumbles – to argue, and to laugh and cry with him. But if he couldn’t have Julia, he’d remain single.

He slid the letter into his waistcoat pocket, knowing he would leave these grim surrounds when his contract was up. He would hand the job over to Mrs Seeble’s youngest son, who was currently at medical school in Edinburgh. Her two other sons ran a law practice with their father.

Godfrey Seeble assisted Martin while the Tomlinsons took a well-earned break. The experience would afford him valuable training on the job. Godfrey, who had the calm and capable nature of his mother, had been quick to learn, and enthusiastic. For him it was truly a vocation.

Between them they’d made it through the month, and the practice was now about to revert to normal.

‘It’s a bit humbling to learn one can so easily be managed without,’ Jack said with a wide smile. ‘If I’d known I would have stayed away for another month.’

‘You’re just back in time for an outbreak of measles. I doubt that the Philips’ youngest daughter will survive it. It’s affected her lungs. The child was weak and sickly to begin with and she’s got no strength to fight it off with.’

‘Nature is selective sometimes. Have you warned her parents there’s not much hope?’

Martin nodded. ‘I’ve also informed the priest on their behalf. I’d like a second opinion on Adele Brown as soon as possible.’

‘What am I looking for?’

‘Ovarian cancer, which has spread into other areas of her reproductive system.’

‘Left it too late, has she?’

‘I’d say so. A total hysterectomy might prolong her life but I think the cancer is well established. She’s a widow with four young children.’

‘She has a sister, I recall. Will she take the children?’

‘Apparently not. The sister has several children of her own and can’t afford to take them in. They’ll have to go to the orphanage.’

Jack sighed. ‘If she’s a catholic the local priest will see to that. They have some scheme that sends orphans to Canada. There are many organizations that have orphan migration schemes to Australia and New Zealand, including Barnardo’s and the YMCA. The lads work on farms as cheap labour while the girls are trained in domestic skills.’

‘You know, Jack, most of those children will be used as free labour, and many will be abused.’

‘It can’t be helped, and they could also be abused here. Some people take advantage of the weak. Organizations are doing what they think is best by relocating them and giving them a future to look forward to. It might not be an ideal one, but there’s nothing left for them here except to live on the streets and break the law to support themselves. Do you have a viable alternative for the thousands of orphans created by the war and the Spanish influenza?’

‘Unfortunately no.’

‘You have a soft heart, Martin, but you must try to separate your emotions from your job. We can’t take everyone’s troubles on to our shoulders. We’re qualified to heal our patients’ physical ailments, and are just a small cog in the wheel. There are others more fitted to help the helpless, hopeless and homeless.’

Martin laughed. ‘And some of them happen to be working in this practice.’

‘Ah, you noticed, did you?’ Jack said with a faint smile. ‘The difference is that our emotions don’t bleed as much as yours do. You have a nurturing soul, Martin. You should get yourself a wife and some children to care for.’

‘There’s only one woman for me, and she happens to be married.’

‘That will break a few maidens’ hearts around here. Is that why you came here?’

‘Partly. For her sake I made a clean break. I thought it would be such a busy area that I wouldn’t have time to think of her.’

‘And?’

‘I find her impossible to forget. But she wasn’t the only reason I came here. Hugh said you’d be a good teacher, and you are. I’ve learned a lot, especially from you and your wife’s attitude towards those in your care. Your patients trust you. I can’t hope to emulate that, but I’m grateful.’

‘You’re more than competent at your job, Martin, and have rightly earned a great deal of respect . . . and you never know what’s around the corner. You might find a good woman yet.’

Martin left Colifield a year later, the train transporting him rapidly away from the grey smoky air. There was a touch of regret in him at leaving, mostly because of the friendships he’d left behind, but he was looking forward to the future with some enthusiasm.

The further south he went the greener the land became. He’d forgotten the power of the colour green, a soothing balm for the eyes. And he’d forgotten the sight of the rich gold undulation of wheat in a summer breeze, the redness of poppies, the purple blue of harebells and the crowded, but cheerful spills of golden rod in the hedges.

Clarence and Billy Boy were travelling in a large wire-fronted crate in the goods van. Godfrey Seeble had moved into the flat he’d just vacated, and had offered to look after them, but Martin couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them behind.

‘I promise you that this is the last time you’ll have to go on such a long journey,’ he told them when they reached London.

They seemed surprisingly calm as he exchanged a damp wad of a Newcastle newspaper in their prison for the more sedate London Times. He rubbed their chins and left them in the care of a kindly keeper in the station luggage office along with his suitcase, while he bought himself a small Morris tourer that hadn’t seen many miles.

He paid the keeper a florin for the care of his cats and loaded them into the back seat. He would have liked to let them out for some exercise before he motored down to Hampshire, but he didn’t dare in case they took fright and fled.

He spoke soothingly to them when they began to fret. ‘It won’t be much longer, I promise. You’ll like Bournemouth. It will be quite genteel after Colifield, and there’s a conservatory which you can have the free run of until you get used to the place.’

After half an hour on the road the cats resigned themselves to another journey in captivity, and they fell asleep, waking every so often to plaintively voice their complaints.

It was a warm August evening and the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon when he entered his childhood home.

Overseen by his lawyer, his goods had been taken out of storage, checked against the inventory, and delivered earlier. The house had been cleaned ready for his arrival and he could no longer smell his childhood in it.

There were letters on the sideboard. Eagerly he picked them up and shuffled through them. One was from his lawyer. It contained a short welcome home message, and a long account for the recent business done on Martin’s behalf. The basics had been bought and were in the larder, the note said. There was a letter from the medical board and a bill for the gas that the tenant should have paid. It was a small one, so he wouldn’t bother to chase them up for it. The final letter wasn’t in Julia’s handwriting. But why should he expect a letter from her when she’d said she wouldn’t write again

‘What did you expect after all this time?’ he said, and didn’t have an answer. He hoped she was happy with her baby to love as he opened the letter. It was from a handyman-come-gardener offering his expertise. The place would certainly need one before too long. He threw the letters back on the sideboard to read at his leisure.

He filled a dirt tray for the cats, opened a tin of sardines and gave them a saucer of milk, and another with water to wash everything down with. He set them free in the conservatory. They cautiously emerged from the cage and sniffed their way around. Billy Boy got to the food first and hooked a sardine out of the dish. Clarence followed suit. When the food was gone they began to clean themselves. They could sleep in the travelling crate until they got their bearings, and Martin left them to it.

He went through to the two front rooms running along one side of the hall. They had an adjoining door. One would be his consulting room, the other the waiting room. He’d have the front room partitioned off to make space for a reception area, and the patients could use the downstairs cloakroom if they needed to.

He was tired after all that travelling. He made himself a jam sandwich and washed it down with a cup of tea before he went upstairs. He pushed open the window and the room was filled with warm air sprinkled with the tangy smell of the sea. Fully clothed, he fell on to the unmade bed. The sea gave a soft hush as it ran up on to the sand, soothing him.

A ship was anchored off shore and a woman waded ashore. Her evening gown of gold lamé shed the water as she emerged and he noticed that she wore a fox fur around her neck. Its mouth was open, showing a pink tongue and sharp white teeth, as though it had died taking its last breath. He reached out and touched its gleaming eye, then jerked as its teeth closed around his hand.

His father appeared. ‘She’s nothing to you, son.’

‘She’s my mother.’

‘Not any more.’

‘She’s my mother,’ he insisted.

‘If she’d loved you she would have written.’

He woke with a start to broad daylight, the words falling from his tongue. ‘Perhaps she has written, and my father kept the letters from me.’

And he remembered the boxes he hadn’t opened, and the documents files he hadn’t got around to sorting out.

But although he searched through them he found nothing.

It was Julia’s twenty-third birthday and they were in Surrey. Latham had thrown her a party in the garden. The French doors were opened to give access to the patio and the garden was a riot of summer colours.

Agnes Finnigan had made her a birthday cake. Robert was dispensing drinks and keeping an eye on Ellen, who trotted around serving the guests with snacks and wine. She sent Robert the occasional smile. Julia smiled, having noticed before that the pair were interested in each other, and she was watching the romance blossom with interest.

Latham was showing off Ben. Her son was getting a bit fractious. Latham nodded to Fiona Robertson, who had stayed on as nanny despite Julia’s protests.

‘We’ll put him on a bottle,’ he’d said. ‘I need you in London from time to time to act as hostess.’

‘But I want to feed him myself.’

‘For God’s sake, Julia, he’s over a year old. You’ve fed him for long enough and have begun to make a fetish of it. Nurse Robertson said a feeding bottle is just as good, and more reliable.’

As usual, Julia had been overruled. Latham plied her with the best clothes and jewellery money could buy and she became the perfect sparkling hostess. She hated being in London with him, hated her role, that only required her to look elegant, smile and agree with everything Latham said – when she wanted to be with her son. In private her life was hell, unless she did exactly what she was told – but there was still a spark of rebellion in her that wouldn’t be subdued.

Irene wasn’t at the party. She now lived in France. Latham had taken up with her again; Julia could smell Irene’s perfume on his clothes. Julia pretended she didn’t know what was going on, and only mentioned her now and again.

‘She’s given birth to a girl,’ Latham had told her when she’d asked him if he’d heard.

‘What’s her name?’

‘Lisette.’

The next time Latham was going to France she bought Lisette a sweet little doll dressed in a pink velvet dress and bonnet, with ribbons and lace. ‘Can you remember the father’s name for the card,’ she asked Latham, simply out of devilment, and his eyes narrowed and she thought he was going to lash out at her.

‘Jacques,’ he said shortly.

She wrote on the card,
To Jacques and Irene, congratulations on the birth of your daughter Lisette. Best wishes from Latham and Julia Miller.

That had been six months ago. She’d been tempted to take Ben and leave Latham, but she had nowhere else to go and he controlled all the money. Besides which, he would hunt her down, and he’d find her and take her back. He might even separate her from Ben. Then her life wouldn’t be worth living.

She’d wondered how much longer they would all keep up the charade. Why couldn’t he just be satisfied with one woman – preferably Irene, who loved him?

The past year had been difficult. No matter how hard she tried to be the wife he wanted her to be, Latham had gone back to his old habits.

Now he rapped a spoon against a glass and the guests gathered around. He beckoned to her and slid a sapphire and diamond ring on her finger.

‘To the mother of my son, my beloved wife . . .’

She could sell her jewels.

‘who is more precious to me . . .’

. . . and her mother’s silver fox fur coat as well.

than life itself.’

. . . and her father’s car
. . .

‘Would you please raise your glasses . . .’ His fingers tightened against her already bruised skin. ‘ . . . to my beautiful wife, Julia.’

‘To Julia!’

The gasp she gave when he pinched her was lost in the cheers, and she managed to pull a smile to her face as she made the required response. ‘Thank you, darling, how very sweet. You’re much too kind and generous.’

He took her face in his hands and kissed her mouth until she felt like gagging. Releasing her he gazed into her eyes, his hooded and bland, as always. ‘Nothing is too good for my Julia,’ he said.

He’d kill her if she left him, and she’d never see her son again. As it was, Ben was beginning to turn more and more to Fiona for the meagre amount of mothering he got! It must be easier to look after a child when the deepest of emotions were not involved, she thought.