Sins of the Father (27 page)

‘Oh, right, we’ll leave you to it then,’ Dick said, eyeing the man as he came into the hall.

‘Good evening,’ Maurice Derivale said.

‘Evening,’ Dick said shortly. ‘We’re just off.’

‘Oh, you needn’t leave,’ Emma appealed.

‘We’ve got a church meeting to go to,’ Mandy insisted.

Emma was disappointed, but walked them to the door, her brother hissing, ‘Are you sure about this, Em? I mean, you’ll be in the house alone with the bloke.’

‘He won’t be my only lodger, Dick. I’ll be fine.’

‘Yeah, of course you will, and at least your money worries will be over. I’m chuffed for you, Em.’

She smiled her thanks and said goodbye, lifting her hand in a small wave before closing the door behind them. Then, turning to Maurice Derivale,
she said, ‘If you’d like to follow me upstairs, I’ll show you the rooms.’

Emma showed him the nicest double room and then two singles, her fingers crossed behind her back as he looked around.

‘I think this single would suit me just fine. How much is it?’

‘With meals included, I was hoping for two pounds a week.’

‘Is linen included?’

Emma swallowed. Linen, goodness, she hadn’t thought of that, but surely it was expected that clean sheets were provided? ‘Yes, of course,’ she said, trying to sound more assured than she felt, ‘and the bathroom is just along the landing.’

‘How many lodgers do you have?’

‘Er…none at the moment, the advert is new.’

‘I’d like to take the room, with meals. Is it all right if I move in now?’

‘Well…’ Emma hesitated. Dick was right, she knew nothing about this man, yet he’d be living under her roof.

As if sensing her hesitation, he broke in, ‘I’ve only just arrived in the area and at this hour I don’t want to spend more time looking for accommodation. I work for an insurance company and have a reference if you’d like to see it.’

‘Yes, please,’ Emma said.

He withdrew a letter from the inside pocket of
his suit and she took it. The headed paper was that of an insurance company, the details stating that Mr Derivale had been with the company for five years, along with a testimony to his good character. Emma handed it back. It would take time to verify the reference, but if she refused to let Mr Derivale move in now, he’d find somewhere else to stay and she’d continue to be penniless.

She met his eyes, found them honest, direct, and came to a swift decision. ‘Thank you, Mr Derivale, that’s fine, and yes, you can move in now, though I must insist on a week’s rent in advance.’

He took out a brown leather wallet and extracted two pound notes.

‘I know this is a bit of a cheek and it’s too late for dinner, but I’ve had a long journey and could do with something to eat. Is there any chance of a sandwich?’

‘Er…well, yes, I suppose so. In fact, I know it isn’t much, but I could heat up a bowl of vegetable stew, if you like?’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ he said, his smile charming.

Emma stood awkwardly, and as he threw his suitcase onto the bed she said, ‘I’ll leave you to settle in.’

She rushed back downstairs, clutching the two pound notes, a smile on her face. Things were
looking up–a lodger at last, and maybe there’d be more to follow. As Emma heated up the stew she was humming, but nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice spoke from behind her.

‘Is it all right if I come in?’ Mr Derivale asked.

She spun round. ‘Yes, of course, and if you don’t mind eating in the kitchen, please sit down.’

‘The kitchen is fine,’ he said, pulling out a chair from under the table.

Emma had made a pot of tea, and she poured it, her hands shaking slightly. It felt strange to have a man in the house, and this was only one lodger. One to make breakfast and dinner for, but when all the rooms were let she’d have another four or five. Emma pursed her lips. She’d have to be organised. Arrange set times for meals, and also lay down some rules. For one, she wanted a room to herself that was out of bounds to her lodgers. Maybe she could turn the study into a sort of communal living and dining area, keeping the drawing room private.

Maurice Derivale sipped his tea, his eyes roaming around the kitchen. ‘This is a lovely house.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Is this the first time you’ve taken in lodgers?’

‘Yes, is it that obvious?’

He smiled. ‘I’ve moved around the country quite a lot and must admit that you aren’t a typical
landlady. This house is a cut above others too. It’s rather grand. I’m curious. Are you a widow? Is that why you’ve decided to take in lodgers?’

Emma wasn’t sure that she liked this man’s questions, or how she should answer them. Her tone was clipped in response. ‘No, Mr Derivale, I’m not a widow.’

‘Oh dear, I can see I’ve upset you. Please forgive my assumptions. I let my curiosity get the better of me and had no right to probe your private life.’

He looked so contrite that Emma had to smile. ‘It’s all right, you haven’t upset me.’ She moved to the stove, pouring a good helping of the stew into a bowl, and placed it and a chunk of bread in front of him.

‘Thank you, it looks wonderful.’

Emma saw her lodger tuck in with appreciation, but when he had finished he rose immediately to his feet. ‘That was delicious, and again, thank you. It’s been a long day and I think I’ll turn in. Good night, Mrs Bell.’

‘What time would you like breakfast in the morning?’ Emma’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh dear, I’m afraid I wasn’t expecting anyone to move in this evening and I haven’t much to offer you.’

‘Don’t worry, something simple will do, and perhaps at half-past seven. Will I meet your husband in the morning?’

‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Emma said, desperately
searching for an excuse and gratefully stumbling upon an old one. ‘I’m afraid he’s away on business.’

‘Oh well, maybe when he returns then…’

‘Good night, Mr Derivale,’ Emma said dismissively, unwilling to compound the lie.

One eyebrow lifted but then, with a charming smile followed by a small salute, he left.

Emma washed the dishes whilst wondering what she could offer Mr Derivale for breakfast. She had a little porridge, plus a quarter loaf of bread if he’d like toast, but no preserves. It would have to do until she went shopping, but she’d need to start planning the meals.

It was an hour later before Emma went to bed, and as she reached the landing, her eyes went to Mr Derivale’s door. Although it felt odd having someone in the house, and she disliked his questions, Emma decided she liked her first lodger well enough.

When Mr Derivale came down to breakfast the next morning, Emma was holding Tinker in her arms.

‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘This is my daughter, Patricia, but she goes by the nickname of Tinker.’

‘What a lovely little girl,’ he said, ‘and just like her mother.’

Tinker buried her head in Emma’s neck, and bashful at the compliment, Emma was glad of the
distraction. ‘I’m afraid I can only offer you porridge or toast.’

‘Porridge, please,’ he said.

As she had no high chair, Emma had pulled the pram into the kitchen, placing Tinker in it with a cushion behind her back, and strapping her in. She then poured her lodger a cup of tea before going on to prepare his breakfast. Usually a contented child, Emma was surprised when Tinker squalled, and turned to see Mr Derivale approaching the pram.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said hastily, ‘I’m afraid my daughter isn’t used to strangers.’

He backed away, but Tinker continued to cry, her arms out in appeal to Emma. ‘In a minute, darling,’ she placated, relieved when the porridge thickened. Maurice Derivale had sat down again. Quickly dishing up his breakfast, Emma placed it on the table before taking Tinker out of the pram.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Derivale,’ she said loudly over Tinker’s cries, ‘I have to see to my daughter.’

He nodded, his smile charming, and as Emma left the kitchen she said as an afterthought, ‘Please help yourself to more tea.’

Tinker’s cries had almost stopped by the time Emma reached the drawing room. She laid the child on the sofa to change her nappy, tickling her toes, her daughter starting to chuckle and her sturdy little legs kicking wildly.

‘Well, that’s better,’ Emma told her, ‘but as we might have more lodgers soon, you’d better get used to strangers.’

When the nappy was in place, Tinker struggled to get off the sofa. Emma lifted her to the floor, amazed when instead of going on all fours her daughter took a few tentative steps before crumbling. ‘Oh my God! Tinker, you walked!’

Emma jumped to her feet, sweeping the child up, hugging her with delight, but then without warning, the door opened, Mr Derivale poking his head into the room.

‘I’m off now, Mrs Bell. I’ll see you this evening.’

Emma was annoyed that the man hadn’t knocked, and seeing him, Tinker started to squall again. Emma decided she’d have to have a word with the man, tell him to respect her privacy, but not wanting to lose her first lodger, she’d need to do it gently. With Tinker squirming in her arms, she knew it would have to wait until this evening so, forcing a smile, Emma said, ‘Goodbye, Mr Derivale.’

With a small wave he was gone, and as the door closed behind him, Emma decided to put her plans for privacy in place before he returned. She’d rearrange the study, move a few more chairs in there, and she’d put some sort of sign on the drawing-room door.

Mr Derivale’s eyebrows had risen when he saw the ‘Private’ sign on the drawing-room door, but had been appreciative of the study. There were already two rather worn leather wing chairs, placed each side of the hearth, and Emma had dragged an old table out of the scullery. She covered the scratched surface with a chenille tablecloth, tucking a few rather old but serviceable chairs underneath.

Emma was pleased that Mr Derivale now largely kept out of her way, and as nearly a week passed, she became more relaxed in his company. Tinker remained a problem, though, crying every time she saw him, and to overcome this Emma had insisted that he eat his meals in the study.

At eight o’clock that evening, when Emma had settled Tinker for the night, she went to the study to clear the table, finding Mr Derivale sitting in one of the wing chairs.

‘Thank you, Mrs Bell, dinner was very nice.’

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’

‘When are you expecting your husband to return from his business trip?’

‘Er…I…I’m not sure,’ Emma spluttered.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I was just trying to make conversation.’

Wanting to divert the topic, Emma picked up his plate. ‘Is there anything else I can get you?’

‘If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d love a cup of tea.’

‘It’s no trouble,’ Emma assured him, worried about her dwindling supply, but glad to leave the room. She was sure that Maurice Derivale was only being friendly, but she wasn’t ready to admit that Horace had left her.

When the drink was made she carried it through to the study.

‘Thank you,’ he said, then, lifting his book, added, ‘Have you read this?’

Emma saw it was by someone called Leslie Charteris and called,
Saint Errant
. ‘No, I’m not familiar with the author. I’m afraid I don’t have any modern books, only classics.’

‘Charteris is now an American citizen and writes mystery fiction. He’s best known for his creation of a character called Simon Templar, alias, the Saint. This one’s very good. I’m on the last chapter. If you like, I’ll pass it on to you when I’ve finished.’

‘Oh, yes, please,’ Emma replied. She had been so busy of late that she hadn’t picked up a book in weeks, but had gone through nearly all those in Horace’s collection.

‘Who do you like to read?’

Emma perched on the edge of a chair, naming some of her favourite books. Mr Derivale was well read and they went on to discuss one author after another, Emma loving the lively debate. She also found herself enjoying his company, maybe too much. During a lull she rose to her feet. ‘Goodness, look at the time and I haven’t washed the dishes yet.’

‘I’ll give you a hand.’

‘Please, there’s no need.’

He waved her protest away, following her into the kitchen, and as Emma washed up, he dried, the two of them chatting the whole time. Oh, he was nice, Emma decided, glad that she had found such a pleasant lodger. She hoped she’d have more soon and that they too would be as nice as Mr Derivale.

There were no enquiries for rooms over the next few days, but Emma hadn’t grown despondent, sure that if Mr Derivale had seen her advertisement, others would too. She would have to be patient, but it wouldn’t hurt to check that the card was still in place in the newsagent’s window.

A routine had developed and each evening, after
settling Tinker for the night, Emma would make a pot of tea, joining her lodger in the study. Mr Derivale was always polite, and, unlike Horace, treated her as an intellectual equal. Emma’s wide knowledge, gained from reading on a range of subjects, now came to the fore. They spoke of the acclaimed author George Orwell’s death the previous year, going on to exchange political views. Emma expressed how pleased she was that Clement Attlee returned Labour to power, albeit by a small minority, and instead of belittling her political views, Mr Derivale enjoyed the lively debate.

She was laughing at something Mr Derivale said one evening when there was a knock on the street door, and excusing herself, Emma hurried to answer it, hoping it was another enquiry for a room.

‘Hello, love,’ Doris said as Emma opened the door, ‘I thought I’d pop in to see how you are.’

Emma grinned widely. ‘It’s lovely to see you. Come on in.’

Doris stepped into the hall, her face caked in make-up, skirt tight and blouse low. At the same time Maurice walked out of the study and her brow lifted.

‘Well, well, and who’s this then?’

Emma quickly made the introduction. ‘This is Mr Derivale, my first lodger.’

With a cheeky wink, Doris said, ‘Watcha, ducks.’

He didn’t return the greeting, his look disdainful, and as his eyes flicked to Emma he said curtly, ‘I’m going to my room.’

They watched him climb the stairs, Doris saying when he was out of earshot, ‘Bit stuck up, ain’t he?’