Sing as We Go (41 page)

‘Thank you, Mr Wainwright.’ As she turned to go, he said, ‘Oh, Miss Burton, please feel free to use the sitting room whenever you wish. I shall be spending very little time in there. More often than not I shall be working in my study in the evenings. And please use the radio whenever you wish, though I’d be glad if you’d keep the volume turned low so that it does not disturb me.’

Kathy was tempted to say that it was unlikely she’d have the radio playing so loudly that she would not be able to hear James. Instead she thanked him politely and carried the little boy up to his cot in the nursery. Clutching the knitted rabbit, he settled down at once and his eyelids closed as soon as she had tucked the covers around him.

She set the nightlight and tiptoed into her own room and glanced around it. It had been furnished as a bed-sitting room. The bed was in one corner, with a bedside table and lamp on it. Nearby was a dressing table and wardrobe, but near the window that looked out over the back garden of the house, an easy chair and low coffee table had been placed. There was even a bookcase to one side, filled with a variety of books. Kathy ran her finger along the titles and smiled. There was a battered copy of
Pride and Prejudice
. She took it from the shelf, sat down in the chair and opened the book. On the flyleaf, in scrawling handwriting was written, ‘To dear Beryl on her fifteenth birthday from her loving Aunt Mary’.

Kathy smiled. By the appearance of the book, it had been a treasured and much-read possession. Something else she had in common with Beryl Wainwright.

Thirty-Nine

The Wainwright household settled happily into a routine. Mrs Talbot did most of the housework and cooked evening meals during the week for the master of the house. Kathy had usually eaten by the time Mr Wainwright came home, for it coincided with James’s bedtime ritual. On the days Mrs Talbot did not come – at the weekends – Kathy cooked for both Mr Wainwright and herself and they both ate a little earlier, at six o’clock instead of seven. For the first two weeks Kathy ate in the kitchen with James while Mr Wainwright took his meal alone in the dining room.

On the Sunday evening of the third weekend, Mr Wainwright came into the kitchen. Kathy jumped to her feet at once. ‘Is there something—?’

He put his hand out, ‘No, no, please, don’t get up. I was just thinking—’ He paused and eyed James sitting quietly in his chair, his brown eyes regarding Mr Wainwright solemnly. ‘Is he a good boy? I mean, at mealtimes? At the table?’

Carefully Kathy said, ‘Usually, yes. I’m trying to teach him the way to behave. I – I don’t think one can start too young.’

Mr Wainwright looked pleased and nodded. ‘Quite right. To be honest, Beryl was a little lax with him at times.’ A pause and then he went on. ‘What I was thinking was that it seems a little silly for you to be sitting in here and me in there – on my own. In the week, of course,’ he added hastily, as if not wanting to give away too much of his privacy, ‘it’s better to keep to James’s routine, but at weekends when you do the cooking – for which I’m very grateful incidentally, as that was not part of our original agreement.’

‘I don’t mind. I enjoy it. And James sits in his chair watching.’

‘I was thinking we might all eat together in the dining room at weekends.’

‘That would be very nice. Thank you, sir.’

‘Of course, if I have guests . . .’ He never entertained, so Kathy couldn’t understand him even mentioning it, but dutifully she said swiftly, ‘Of course. A proper dinner party is no place for a child.’

He nodded. ‘Right, that’s settled then. And – er – please call me “Henry”.’

So a slightly altered routine was established. During the week, Mr Wainwright – or rather Henry as Kathy now must think of him – ate alone, and the only time he encountered his son was when Kathy took him downstairs, bathed and dressed in his pyjamas. At weekends, the three of them ate in the dining room together, Henry at the head of the table, Kathy at one side with James’s chair beside her. For the first three weeks things passed calmly enough, but on the Saturday night of the fourth weekend, James was fractious. He was whimpering as Kathy sat him in his chair, and as she tried to feed him with a spoon his cries increased and he turned his head away.

‘Is something the matter with him?’

‘Perhaps he’s getting another tooth.’ It pained her to admit it even to herself that she wasn’t sure at what age children cut their various teeth. ‘See how red his cheek is?’

‘Are you sure that’s all it is? He hasn’t got a temperature, has he? He looks awfully hot.’

‘That’s because – if it is a tooth coming through – his gums are hurting and he’s cross.’

She tried James with another spoonful but he screwed up his face and pushed her hand away, spilling the food from the spoon on to the carpet. Kathy mopped it up at once with her napkin, but it left a dark, wet stain on the floor.

Henry’s face was thunderous. ‘Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all.’

Kathy rose, leaving her own meal untouched. ‘I’ll take him upstairs.’

‘But what about your own meal?’

‘I’ll just put him in his cot and come back.’

‘Very well.’ Henry carried on with his own meal and didn’t even speak to or look at the child as Kathy carried him out.

She laid him in his cot. ‘Poor little man,’ she murmured. ‘Is that nasty old tushypeg hurting, then? I’ll be back in a jiffy. I must just go down and clear our plates away. I’ll be right back.’

She ran lightly down the stairs and went back into the dining room. ‘I’m so sorry about that,’ she said. ‘I’ll mind not to bring him to eat in here if he’s fractious.’

She began to pick up her plate and James’s dish.

‘Aren’t you going to sit down and eat your dinner?’

‘He’s crying. I must get back to him.’

A look of annoyance passed over Henry’s face. ‘Let him cry. It won’t hurt him for once.’

‘No,’ Kathy said quietly, hoping that defying her employer would not bring about her instant dismissal. ‘It’s not naughtiness. If it was I’d be the first to let him cry out his paddy, but he’s got toothache.’

‘As you wish,’ Henry said stiffly. ‘I see now that you’re as soft as Beryl when it comes down to it.’

‘Not when it’s naughtiness, I assure you. Only when he’s so obviously in pain.’

With that, she gathered the dishes and left the room, returning only to move James’s chair back into the kitchen.

Henry Wainwright continued his meal in stony silence, a churlish look on his face. Kathy was smiling as she ran back up the stairs. If that same look had been on James’s face, she would have classed it as mardy.

They continued to dine with Mr Wainwright when James was sunny-natured and well-behaved. If he showed the slightest sign of ‘playing up’, as Mrs Talbot fondly called it, they ate in the kitchen. Kathy still waited on her employer, serving him his dinner and then clearing away and washing up after James was in bed and asleep.

One evening about ten o’clock, when she was putting away the last cup and saucer in the cupboard, Henry wandered into the kitchen carrying two brandy glasses. He held out one towards her. ‘A nightcap.’

She smiled and took it. ‘Thank you.’

‘Is the child asleep?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s go into the sitting room.’ He turned to lead the way, but Kathy hesitated. She didn’t want to anger Henry – he seemed in a particularly mellow mood – but she couldn’t be sure of hearing James if he cried.

As if reading her thoughts, Henry said over his shoulder, ‘You can leave the door ajar. You’ll be able to hear him then.’

Breathing a sigh of relief, she followed him into the room and sat, a little self-consciously, on the sofa while he took his usual armchair by the fire. He swirled the brandy around in the glass and looked across at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Tell me about yourself.’

Kathy’s heart missed a beat. It was the sort of question she’d dreaded him asking. She’d begun to feel safe here. Henry Wainwright seemed so wrapped up in his work, with little interest in his adopted son and even less in her, that she had been lulled into feeling secure.

‘I – there’s not much to tell, really. I was brought up on a farm but I wanted to see a bit more of life, so I went to work in Lincoln.’

‘So how did you come to join the concert party and end up visiting this town?’

Unwittingly, he had made it so easy for her. Put another way, the question could have been impossible to answer truthfully. As it was, she could say honestly. ‘Mr Spencer, who formed the concert party, used to be the conductor in a choral society I belonged to in Lincoln. He asked me to join him.’ It was the truth, if not the whole truth.

‘And are you quite happy here? I mean, it doesn’t seem much of a future for a pretty young girl like you just to be looking after one child.’ He paused and eyed her keenly. ‘I mean, what about marriage? Wouldn’t you like to get married one day? I thought that was the ambition of every young woman.’

‘Perhaps one day,’ Kathy said carefully, but her heart was hammering painfully. The questions were getting a little too personal and any moment she expected him to ask something that would trap her.

‘Have you never had a young man?’

‘I . . . there was someone, but – but he went into the RAF. He – he was a fighter pilot.’ She knew her face looked bleak, her eyes haunted.

‘So,’ he said softly, ‘you’ve lost the one you loved too, have you?’

Wordlessly, she nodded.

‘I’m sorry to hear it, Kathy. Very sorry.’

Life might have continued in much the same way in the Wainwright household if the concert party had not returned to Saltershaven in June. Kathy saw the advertisement in the local paper, and on the afternoon of their first concert she wheeled James in his pushchair to the cinema knowing the cast would be rehearsing for the evening performance.

‘Kathy, my dear girl.’ Ron greeted her with open arms as she walked down the aisle towards the stage carrying James in her arms. ‘Hello, young man.’ He beamed at the child, and tickled him under the chin to be rewarded with a wide smile from James. ‘He’s a handsome little chap, isn’t he?’ He lowered his voice and winked at her. ‘But then, of course, he would be, wouldn’t he? How’s it all going? Are you happy?’

‘Yes, Ron, I am. I get to be with him all the time. Mr Wainwright isn’t very interested in him. It seems it was his wife who really wanted children. I think Mr Wainwright is married to his job, if you know what I mean.’

Ron laughed. ‘I do. I’ve met a few like that in my time. Oh well, my dear, as long as you’re happy.’

‘Have you seen anything of Miss Robinson?’

‘Mabel gets a letter now and again. But I expect you do, don’t you?’

‘Yes, we write to each other regularly, but I miss
seeing
her. Do you think she’ll ever go back to Lincoln?’

Ron shrugged. ‘I doubt it. They’ve laid a few off at Hammonds. Business for them just isn’t the same as it was before the war. You can’t expect it to be. Folks haven’t got the money – or the coupons! I don’t think she’ll even try to go back there. She’s still with Ted and Betty. She seems happy enough.’

And why shouldn’t she be? Kathy thought. She’s with her son too.

Forty

‘Kathy, I have something to ask you.’

Ron was standing in the kitchen of Henry Wainwright’s house, twirling his hat nervously in his hands. On the day she had been to the theatre to see him, he’d promised to come and see her before the party left town and now here he was. But she hadn’t expected this.

‘What is it?’

‘I wondered if you’d come back to the party . . .’ As she opened her mouth to refuse, he put up his hand. ‘Don’t answer straight away. Hear me out – please.’

‘Sit down, Ron. I’ll make a cup of tea.’

‘If you’re sure. It’s a long walk here.’ He sat down gratefully but then added, ‘What about the little feller?’

‘Mrs Talbot’s gone into the town shopping and she’s taken him in his pushchair.’

‘Ah, that’s all right then.’

When they were both sitting at the table with a cup of tea in front of them, Ron cleared his throat. ‘Now, I’ll quite understand if you say “no”, my dear, but I would just like you to think about this very carefully. We’ve been asked to give a series of very special concerts and I’d really like you to come with us. It’d only be for a couple of weeks, I promise.’

‘I thought Melody had taken my place with her impressions?’

‘That’s right,’ Ron said carefully. ‘But she’s very young and – and – well, I don’t think she’d cope with the circumstances very well, seeing as what happened at that hospital near Newcastle. You remember?’

‘Oh, I see. It’s another hospital, is it?’

‘Yes, but a very specialized one. Have you heard of Archibald McIndoe?’

Kathy stared at him. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I read an article in the paper only the other day. He’s the plastic surgeon who’s helping solders and airman with – with facial disfigurements, isn’t he?’

Ron nodded. ‘Especially – fighter pilots.’

‘Oh Ron . . .’ Kathy didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘That’s a low blow. You – of all people – resorting to emotional blackmail.’

‘Sorry, my dear. But I so want you to come. We’ve been asked to go to the Queen Victoria Hospital in East Grinstead and also to the convalescent home where the airmen go between their many operations. You could cope – you’ve already proved as much – with whatever we’re going to see. It won’t be easy, but I know you could hide any – any embarrassment you might feel. We all need to go in there and take absolutely no notice of their terrible injuries and the operations they’re undergoing. There are some weird and wonderful methods being used, so I’m told, but the marvel of it is they’re working. These poor fellows have a future, thanks to a very clever and dedicated man.’

‘I’d like to but – but I don’t see how I can leave James. I mean, you know how very much this job means to me.’

‘I know. I’ve been thinking about that. You told me that Mr Wainwright isn’t all that interested in your – I mean – his son?’

Kathy nodded. ‘He wouldn’t want to be left with him. That I do know. He’d get someone else and I – I couldn’t bear that, Ron.’