Threads of Silk (16 page)

A hysterical giggle, hastily disguised as a cough, bubbled in her throat as in her imagination she saw herself manhandling a huge bale on to the bus at the end of the working day. Even a single bolt would be too heavy for her to carry by herself.

I wish he’d get it over with, she thought, standing up. She straightened her shoulders, determined to take it bravely. She wouldn’t let him see how much his lack of trust hurt her.

To her surprise he smiled. ‘What an obnoxious young man,’ he said, jerking his head in the direction of the door. ‘And what, I wonder, have you done to make him dislike you so?’

Ellie couldn’t find the words to reply. She was still trying to take in his abrupt change of mood.

Alex leaned towards her. ‘Never mind. I want to apologize, Ellie – for putting you through such an ordeal. I could hardly believe it when I confronted him with your figures and he immediately tried to shift the blame to you.’

‘You don’t believe him, then? You’re not accusing me?’ Ellie didn’t know whether to be relieved or angry. He had certainly given her – and Michael – the impression that she was about to be dismissed.

‘Of course not. You’re perfectly entitled to take the offcuts – and use them in any way you like. And if the other girls are willing to let you have their share, that’s their business.’ He smiled at her. ‘It’s very enterprising of you – and if this is a sample of your work’ – he held up the scarf – ‘I’m most impressed.’

‘So why did you practically accuse me of stealing?’ Ellie wasn’t ready to be flattered into letting the matter drop.

‘It was Michael Turner who did the accusing,’ Alex said, leaning towards her. ‘I’m sorry, Ellie – I can’t apologize enough. I checked all your figures and I’ve been keeping a close eye on young Turner, waiting to catch him out. When he accused you, I knew he was only trying to shift the blame. He couldn’t know, of course, that thanks to you and your vigilance, I was well aware that the thefts had been going on for some time – long before you came to work here.’

‘So you let him think you believed him….’

‘In the hope that he would convict himself – yes.’

‘Why did you let him go, then?’

‘Don’t worry – Donald is keeping an eye on him. I’ve got a feeling he’ll try to get rid of the evidence. We discovered a bale hidden in the old mill – down by the stream. His car’s parked round the back there and he’s probably loading it right now.’

‘Will you get the police?’ Ellie asked.

‘There’s nothing I’d like better than to see that young man in gaol where he belongs. But, for the sake of his father, I’ll just see him off the premises with a strong warning as to what will happen if I ever clap eyes on him again.’

‘Poor Mr Turner,’ Ellie murmured, remembering how kind the old man had been when she first came to work here.

Alex stood up. ‘I’d better go and see what’s going on. I just felt I owed you an explanation.’ He paused at the door. ‘I really am sorry for putting you through this.’

‘I understand,’ Ellie said.

His grey eyes sparkled, lighting his face in a smile. ‘Am I forgiven, then?’

Ellie nodded. She liked and respected Alex Cameron, although for a few moments that feeling had wavered as she came under his cold scrutiny. Now that she understood the reason for his play-acting, it wasn’t hard to forgive him. In fact she admired the way he had handled the situation, as well as the consideration he’d shown for Michael’s father. She had thought any human feelings he had were overridden by his passion for his work and his dedication to his experiments. It gave her a little warm glow of pleasure to think that she might have been wrong.

Harry was wet and cold and thoroughly miserable. This wasn’t how he’d planned to spend his life – standing under a dripping awning gazing out at equally wet, cold and miserable people. But at least it was a job of sorts.

As a lad he’d loved working the market with Sid, but joining the army had broadened his horizons. For the hundredth time he wished he hadn’t given in to the impulse to cut short his army career. If he’d stayed on he’d have finished up with a proper trade. He’d learned a lot about engines and vehicle maintenance, but it wasn’t enough to get him taken on as a mechanic and now he was too old to do a proper apprenticeship.

Now, here he was, weighing out potatoes and trying to summon up enthusiasm for the bananas and oranges which had once been luxuries but which now seemed to be available all year round. Not that many of the people round here could afford them and if they could, they weren’t hanging around on such a grey day.

There weren’t even any kids around whom he could ask to keep an eye on things while he went for a warming cuppa at Bob’s Café.

He looked across at Maisie Jones, who was already packing up her second-hand clothes stall.

‘You might as well do the same, love,’ she called. ‘Can’t see many more customers turnin’ out in this lot.’

‘I’ll hang on a bit – just till the factory shifts turn out. Gotta try and keep things going for Sid,’ Harry said.

‘How is the old sod then?’

‘Doin’ OK – though it’ll be a while before he’s out of hospital.’

‘Might pop in and see ’im later – if ’e ’asn’t got anyone else goin’ in.’

‘Only me,’ Harry said. ‘I go every day – just to put his mind at rest about the stall.’

‘Will you carry on here when ’e’s back on ’is feet?’ Maisie asked.

‘Don’t know – depends on Sid, I suppose.’ Harry didn’t really want to, he had been thinking of joining up again. It would be different if he only had himself to think about but he couldn’t leave Mary now she was so poorly. Since Ellie had run away, she had really gone downhill. He sighed and peered up through the awning at the louring sky which really matched his mood today. He wondered sourly if Bert would be there when he got home and if he would be sober. Fat chance, he thought.

He’d thought he’d be happy, back on his home ground, surrounded by his family and old friends. But Bert’s drunken behaviour had worsened and it was all he could do to stop himself lashing out when he saw how his foster mother was treated. He didn’t know how much longer he could put up with it and he felt the familiar churning in his stomach at the thought of what he was going home to.

He managed to summon a grin as Maisie, the contents of her stall already packed away into the handcart she used, came and thumped him on the shoulder.

‘Cheer up, mate. It might never ’appen.’

‘It already has,’ Harry groaned.

‘No word from the council yet, then?’

Harry shook his head. He’d put their names down for a flat as soon as he got back to London, hoping that he could persuade Mary to leave Bert, but there was a long waiting-list for people without children. Besides, deep down he knew that wasn’t the problem.

Everywhere he went there were reminders of Ellie. People still asked if there was any word and each enquiry sent a fresh dagger through his heart. Why had she done it? he asked himself, as he had so many times. She was naïve and inexperienced but surely that one kiss hadn’t been enough to drive her away.

He sighed and turned away to serve a customer. When the woman had gone, the rain-swept street was almost deserted and he decided to call it a day. Maisie stayed to help, packing boxes with the fruit and vegetables still fresh enough to be sold the next day. The wilted and speckled items went into another box to be left under the stall. They’d be gone by morning. There were still people eking out an existence in the narrow streets and alleys of Bethnal Green for whom the chance of free food was a godsend.

When the van was packed he offered to pull Maisie’s handcart through the streets to its nightly berth under the railway arches. He’d come back for the van later.

Maisie grinned at him from under her shaggy mop of grey hair. ‘I ain’t past it yet, son,’ she said. ‘Besides, I ain’t goin’ ’ome yet. I’m gonna pop into Bob’s fer a bite to eat. Come and have a cuppa with me.’

‘Why not?’ Harry said. What did he have to go home for?

They squelched their way through the puddles and debris of the market to the comforting warmth of the café on the corner. Bob greeted them with his usual grin, plonking two thick mugs of strong tea down on the counter.

Maisie led the way to a table in the corner and leaned back in her chair with a sigh. ‘It’s good to take the weight off me dogs,’ she said. ‘This weather really gives me the screws.’

Harry hardly noticed Maisie’s chatter as he took a sip of his tea and looked out of the steamy window at the darkened street, now bustling with home-going workers. It all looked so normal. Nothing seemed to have changed since he went away – and yet, everything had.

He sighed, drinking his tea without tasting it, pondering the changes in his family since he’d been away. Sheila and Tommy were married now with two children, living in their big posh house out Chingford way. They had two little girls and Mary doted on Vickie and baby Debbie. But she’d never really forgiven her daughter for taking up with a married man and being the cause of his divorce – a fact blazed across the Sunday papers, to Mary’s intense shame.

Harry was worried about his foster mother. She’d always been quiet, stoically enduring her hard life. Being married to a no-good bastard like Bert Tyler didn’t help. But she’d got worse since he’d been away – and he knew why.

Ellie. His stomach churned painfully as he allowed her name into his thoughts, into his heart. Where was she? Why had she never got in touch with them? How could she do this to her mother – to him? He was furious with her and if she were here he’d shake some sense into her, although he knew he was as much to blame as anyone. But despite his anger, he understood and with all his heart he hoped she was well and happy. But it was agony not knowing.

He’d left Sheerness and the army with no regrets, glad to be going home. Back in London he could search for her. He had never given up hope that she’d turn up one day, reluctant to believe, as so many had hinted, that something dreadful had happened to her. He had to hang on to the belief that, confused by her feelings, she’d run away from him. And one day, she’d come back.

Maisie leaned back in her chair, her hands clasped for warmth round the thick china mug. Harry looked up to see her gaze fixed on him, sympathetic, kind, as if she knew what he was going through.

‘Life’s a bitch, ain’t it?’

‘Too right – still we just have to get on with it, don’t we?’

‘Something worrying you? It helps to talk, mate.’

He was tempted to pour it all out, but he couldn’t tell anyone, least of all Maisie, the biggest gossip in the market, how he felt about Ellie.

‘It’s Mary,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t complain but she looks ill and she seems so tired all the time.’

‘Not surprising, considering what she’s gone through the last couple of years,’ Maisie said. ‘Bad enough losing her mum, and all that business with your Sheila. But it must have nearly killed her when your Ellie disappeared.’

Harry stared into his mug, unable to speak. Ellie again.

‘You’d think she’d write – let her mum know she’s safe,’ Maisie stopped abruptly, her hand over her mouth. ‘You don’t think anything’s happened to her, do you?’

Harry reassured her, although the thought was never far from his mind. ‘She sent a card not long after she left. Said she had a job and was staying with nice people. Twice she’s written – but we’ve heard nothing for ages. And she didn’t put an address.’

‘So you’ve no idea where she is, then?’

‘No, the last one was postmarked Colchester – but that doesn’t mean she’s there. She could have got someone to post it for her.’

‘Have you tried to find her, then?’

‘Wouldn’t know where to start,’ Harry said, draining his mug and standing up. He didn’t want to discuss it. Of course he’d tried to find her, written to the Salvation Army, the
News of the World
. But nothing. What more could he do?

Ellie
was
happy – or so she managed to convince herself, as long as she didn’t allow thoughts of her family and former life to intrude.

It was easier these days, with Michael Turner out of the way and her friendship and respect for Alex Cameron growing daily. Her work at Turner’s Mill was interesting and, best of all, her new hobby was satisfying her artistic instincts.

The cottage at Little Howe was her home now and she missed the noise and bustle of London less with each day that passed. If sometimes she woke in the night, ears straining for the rattle of trains over the bridge at the end of Kendall Street, the mournful hooting of tugs from the river – well then, it was just a dream, she told herself.

Her days were filled with activity, whether at the mill or at home working on her designs. After the confrontation with Alex over Michael’s dishonesty, she found herself looking forward to the time she spent with him, discussing his experiments. Gradually she confided her own ideas and ambitions.

Her confidence had grown so much that one day she summoned the courage to ask Alex whether she could buy a bolt of silk from the mill. The scraps and offcuts were no longer enough for her. She had bigger things in mind. When he agreed good-naturedly she seized the moment and asked if she could try some of the dyes they used in the mill. The craft shop in Colchester only stocked small quantities.

He smiled indulgently. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to take over the whole mill for your enterprise,’ he said with a laugh.

‘I wouldn’t mind just a little bit of it,’ she said, surprising herself. The idea had just that second popped into her head.

His eyebrows rose and for a fleeting second she thought his eyes hardened to that flinty greyness she’d seen before when he was angry. Perhaps she’d gone too far. But he laughed and said ‘Perhaps we could discuss it over dinner.’

She laughed too, then realized he was serious. Her stomach fluttered a little at the thought of going out with the boss. But it would be a chance to discuss what she wanted to do – purely business of course – and he might be able to help. She wondered fleetingly what her workmates would think. But it was none of their business. Swallowing her misgivings, she smiled and agreed when Alex arranged to pick her up from the cottage later that evening.

‘I’ll deliver the silk and the dyes at the same time,’ he said. And Ellie relaxed. Alex was a businessman and she was not only a colleague, but a customer now.

When she told Norah she was going out with Alex that evening, the little woman couldn’t hide her pleasure. ‘You deserve an outing – but what will you wear, love?’

Ellie hadn’t given it a thought. Despite her flair for design and her interest in fabric and colour, she rarely thought about clothes for herself. She had her serviceable dark-blue costume and a selection of smart blouses that she wore for work, a couple of summer dresses and cardigans. And that was it.

‘I’ll just wear my blue cotton dress with my costume jacket. That’ll look OK,’ she said. After all, it wasn’t a proper date.

Norah wasn’t so sure. ‘He might take you somewhere posh. You don’t want to let him down.’ She disappeared, leaving Ellie to survey her meagre wardrobe. In seconds she was back, a long midnight-blue dress over her arm. ‘I haven’t worn this since Bob died,’ she said, holding it up against Ellie. ‘Good job you’re slim round the hips.’ She indicated her flat chest with a laugh. ‘I had a bit more up top in those days too, so it should fit. Try it on, love.’

After a token protest Ellie slipped the dress over her head, smoothing it down over her hips. She was a lot taller than Norah and the soft folds of the chiffon layers reached only halfway between her knee and her ankle.

‘That looks lovely, Ellie,’ Norah said, stepping back and surveying the girl with satisfaction. ‘It could have been made for you. Even the length’s right – they don’t go in for full-length dresses so much nowadays.’

Ellie went through to Norah’s room to look at herself in the wardrobe mirror. She felt a bit overdressed but, she had to admit, the colour suited her and with her hair washed and curled and a little bit of powder and lipstick, she’d do.

Norah was standing behind her and Ellie smiled at her reflection. But the image wavered and, in its place she could see her mother’s proud face, telling her how grown-up she looked all decked out in her finery for the opening of Tommy’s Paradise Club. That was the last time she’d seen Mum, apart from that one brief glimpse at the hospital just after Gran had died.

She gave a little gasp and tears spilled through her fingers as she covered her face with her hands. She sank on to the edge of Norah’s bed, leaning against the little woman, whose arms comforted her as she sobbed.

Norah was still patting her back, murmuring meaningless words, as the last of her tears were shed. She was still shaking but she sat up straight and tried to smile. ‘Don’t know what got into me – it was the dress. It reminded me….’

‘You don’t have to tell me, love. I know from the little you’ve let slip that you had a hard time at home. But that’s all behind you now.’ She patted Ellie’s back, then stood up. ‘Wash your face and let me do your hair for you. Mr Cameron will be here soon.’

‘But I can’t wear this dress’ – Ellie almost started to sob again – ‘and I can’t go out with him.’

‘Don’t be silly, girl. You can’t spend the rest of your life shut away here with just an old woman for company. You’re young, with the rest of your life in front of you – and it’s time you started living it.’

Ellie almost managed to smile. ‘You’re not old,’ she said.

‘Go on with you.’ Norah gave her a little push.

As she sat at the dressing-table letting Norah brush and coax her hair into smooth waves, Ellie wondered if she was doing the right thing. Maybe Norah was right and she should start living a little. She had tried to block out the past but it kept intruding – just little things would set her off. But wasn’t it time she began to accept that what had happened in the past was over? Bert could no longer hurt her. Neither he nor Tommy Green had any power over her. She could live her life as she pleased, work to fulfil the dreams she thought had been thwarted by her father’s selfishness. And if Alex Cameron could help her achieve her ambitions, what was wrong with that?