The first thing Peter Simmonds did was to call Jim into his own tiny office and tell him everything. He stressed it was in confidence, but he knew Jim would tell Lily, as Peter would tell his wife. Both knew the real reason for Robert’s return must go no further. Speculation within the store about why Robert was back, and any gossip about his separation from Evelyn when that became public, was to be stamped out as quickly as possible.
When Jim told her that evening as they walked home, Lily was aghast – but not for Robert or even Evelyn’s sake.
‘Oh Jim! You know what this means, don’t you?’ she burst out, before lowering her voice. ‘Robert’ll be up to his old tricks again, and expect you to get him out of the mire when they go wrong!’
‘He won’t get the chance to get up to any tricks,’ Jim assured her. ‘Between us – me and Peter that is – we’ve got to see to that.’
‘Good luck with that!’ Lilly tossed her head. ‘You know he’s as slippery as an eel in axle grease!’
‘Not this time,’ swore Jim. ‘He’ll have to be squeaky-clean.’
At that very moment, Robert’s father was laying out his terms too. He’d already explained the visitation he’d received that morning.
‘I realise now that any hope of reconciliation with Evelyn isn’t on,’ he said. ‘Sir Douglas made that very plain.’
‘I could have told you that myself,’ said Robert petulantly. They were in the study again, Robert sitting crossways in his armchair, his legs hooked over one arm. Cedric, standing, had to resist the desire to shake him. Instead, controlling himself, he carried on.
‘However, I was able to get him to agree to reverse, if you like, the course of events. We agreed it would be better for everyone that way.’
‘Reverse?’
‘The story will be that, sadly, the stresses and strains of wartime led to a breakdown in the marriage, and therefore it was thought best by everyone that you should leave the job with Sir Douglas. That way, we salvage a little dignity all round.’
Robert sighed sulkily.
‘Terrific! Not for me, if I’m to be an object of pity!’
‘What, you’d rather be the villain of the piece?’
‘The devil does have all the best tunes,’ reflected Robert wryly. ‘Still, if that’s the way it has to be …’
‘It is.’
Try to think of someone other than yourself for once, Cedric added silently.
‘We’d better start looking to the future then.’ Robert swung himself round on the chair and got up. ‘What have you come up with for me to do? I know you think I’m useless, so giving out leaflets at the door, perhaps? Cloakroom attendant in the Gents, grovelling for a halfpenny tip?
‘You’ll be Peter Simmonds’ assistant on the ground floor,’ said Cedric.
‘Goodness!’ exclaimed Robert. ‘A proper position!’
‘Just … do your best,’ said Cedric wearily. ‘For me?’
So the next day and the ones that followed, Robert swaggered into the store in a waft of cologne and cockiness. The juniors and younger salesgirls, who hadn’t previously experienced the full force of the Robert Marlow effect, went all swoony when they learnt about the breakdown of his marriage and wondered if they could be the ones to help him to mend his broken heart. Robert, of course, lapped it up, and positively encouraged them. Even Nancy, who should have known better after what she’d told Lily about men who chanced their luck during the war, seemed interested.
‘A cat may look at a king,’ she pronounced. ‘Or a future Queen.’ And when Lily looked puzzled, she added: ‘Princess Elizabeth and her handsome naval lieutenant!’
‘What, Philip of Glucken-whatever? He’s still a prince, even if he hasn’t got a country!’ Lily objected. ‘And Robert Marlow’s no king, prince, or anything else, trust me. And what about Derek? And Frank?’
Nancy wrinkled her nose. ‘I haven’t heard from Frank in ages, and Derek’s getting a bit stifling.’
Beryl, who knew Robert of old, certainly wasn’t tempted. And she didn’t buy the story that they’d all been told for one moment.
‘Stresses and strains of the war killed that marriage? What’s so stressful about living in the lap of luxury bankrolled by Daddy?’ she demanded.
Lily sighed inwardly. She couldn’t tell Beryl the truth, much as she wanted to. But Beryl, as shrewd, or cynical, as ever, had guessed it for herself.
‘There’s been some funny business somewhere,’ she said. ‘Fast cars, fast women – there’ll be something. We all know what he’s like.’
Beryl did know, to her cost, and she was about to have it rubbed in.
At that very moment, there was a managers’ meeting taking place at Marlows and Robert, unfortunately, had to be invited along. The store’s maintenance manager had delivered his update on the plate-glass situation. The order was progressing: it would be through in a few weeks – before the end of Beryl’s notice period.
‘Good,’ said Cedric. ‘The Red Cross shop has already closed, the clock mender and the shoe repairer are back in the store, so we can get on.’
‘Not straight away, sir,’ Peter Simmonds spoke up. ‘There’s the bridal shop. The owner still needs to find new premises.’
‘Yes, I didn’t mean—’ Cedric began.
‘Well, that’s just too bad,’ Robert interrupted. ‘Once we’ve got the glass, we should chuck her out. We can’t let one gimcrack little business hold up the whole enterprise.’
‘I wouldn’t call it gimcrack,’ Jim intervened. ‘She’s worked very hard to build it up.’
‘Really? Tatty old second-hand frocks?’ Robert sneered. ‘I know you and your missus are pally with the owner – are you sure that’s not distorting your judgement?’
‘That’s got nothing to do with it.’ Jim felt indignation flame his cheeks. ‘She’s been given her notice and she’s entitled to take it.’
‘Yes, we can’t go back on an agreement,’ Cedric agreed. ‘She could take us to court. We’ll take delivery of the glass – we don’t want to lose it – and wait for, what is it? – Beryl’s Brides to move out.’
Robert sulked for the rest of the meeting. When it had finished, he went straight down to Beryl’s shop.
‘Hello, Beryl,’ he greeted her as the shop bell pinged.
Beryl, a wedding dress in her hand and a pincushion on her wrist, was immediately on her guard.
‘I’m expecting a customer in ten minutes,’ she said. ‘For a fitting.’
Robert picked up a lacy garter and examined it.
‘Make the most of it,’ he said. ‘You’ve still got nowhere to go, I gather. Pity. If only you’d taken me up on my offer when you first opened this place, you could have saved on the rent and you’d have a lot more money behind you to help you find somewhere new.’
‘It’s you I want behind me, Satan,’ flashed Beryl. ‘Now get out before I call the police!’
Robert laughed and left, but Beryl was so shaken that she could hardly pin her customer’s hem straight. She ended up stabbing her finger and almost got a spot of blood on the fabric. Robert Marlow, the proverbial bad penny. Would he never be out of their lives?
Across town, Bill was having much the same thought about Gladys’s gran. She’d spent almost all the winter holed up in her room, but it had hardly been out of sight, out of mind – nor had her absence made Bill’s heart grow fonder. Her demands on Gladys had taxed even her granddaughter’s patience, and what grieved Bill most was that with working away so much, he couldn’t be around to help or to defend his wife.
‘You want to tell her,’ he said as they had their tea; Florrie’s had already been carried upstairs on a tray. Bill had got a week’s work in Hinton for once, shoring up half a row of terraced houses that had been affected by one of the mercifully few bombs the town had endured.
‘Oh, Bill, not again,’ sighed Gladys. ‘And, please, not in front of the children.’
Victor and Joy were in their high chairs and feeding themselves, more or less, with their mince and mashed potato. They were doing a lot more for themselves altogether, notably climbing the stairs when Gladys went up to Florrie and sliding down on their bottoms, which terrified her. The stairs were steep, and the hall, which was tiled, wasn’t exactly a soft landing.
‘Bill,’ she began. ‘Now you’re home for a bit, do you think you could see your way to making those little gates we talked about and fixing them at the top and bottom of the stairs? You could get hold of a bit of wood from work, couldn’t you? Pay for it, I mean—’
‘Give over, Glad,’ Bill snapped. ‘You’ve asked me I don’t know how many times!’
‘Sorry.’ Gladys backed off. ‘Only—’
‘The cobbler’s children go ill shod, is that what you were going to say? I’ll do it, OK, one day when I’m not fagged out from slogging my guts out for that mini-Hitler of a foreman—’
‘I know the work’s hard—’
Bill threw his knife and fork onto his plate.
‘It’s worse than hard! When I was near freezing to death on the Arctic convoys, I never thought it’d ever look like the best time of my life, but compared to freezing to death clearing a bomb site or digging a drain in an English winter, it was a—’
He had to stop himself from swearing, Gladys could tell.
‘—it was paradise!’
The twins had stopped eating and were looking at their father, mouths open, eyes wide.
‘Is that what I was fighting for?’ Bill went on, his voice rising even more. ‘Why me, Glad? Look at Jim and Les, exempted or invalided out of the Army, secure in their good, safe jobs! And Sid too! He had a cushy war, let’s be honest, ended up with another stripe, a job and a rank, and look at me, chucked on the scrapheap!’
‘Bill, you’re not!’ Gladys reached for his hand. ‘You’re doing your very best, you’re supporting a family, and we love you! Sid’s got none of that, has he? There’s no comparison!’
But Bill wouldn’t be told. He snatched his hand away, shoved his chair back and stood up.
‘I’m sorry, Glad. I’ve got to get out of here.’
‘Where are you going?’
Bill pulled on his jacket.
‘Out.’
Gladys closed her eyes as the back door banged.
‘Dada shout,’ said Joy.
‘Never mind, soon better,’ said Gladys brightly, not believing it for a moment. ‘Eat up your nice tea. Carrots and all, Victor, please, or there’ll be no afters!’
Bill was back within the hour to apologise: he’d only been for a walk. Gladys thanked the Lord he wasn’t a drinker, though he couldn’t have been even if he’d wanted to – everything he earned went on keeping them, she knew. Bill went up to bed early, but Gladys stayed downstairs. She was dead tired too, but she had the knees of Victor’s dungarees to patch and the cuff of Joy’s cardigan had come unravelled. You had to keep on top of these jobs.
But instead of her mending basket, she got out their photo albums. Carefully she raised the covering tissue and turned the pages of their wedding album, Bill so handsome in his sailor’s uniform, Gladys on his arm, both of them radiating happiness. Then she opened their family album: the studio portrait they’d had taken when the twins were a few months old, snaps that Jim had taken on his camera – picnics in the park, the twins on a rug; a couple taken in the backyard with Gladys holding one twin and Lily the other. Then, of course, their holiday in Weston, and the one Lily had commented on, of Bill leaning against the promenade railings, the sea behind him, looking for all the world as if he were back on the deck of a ship. ‘In his element!’ they’d said at the time. Would he ever be that happy and carefree again? Would they?
Over the next couple of weeks, everything that Jim and Peter had dreaded about Robert’s return to the store played out. He loathed what he saw as the mundanity of the daily round at Marlows and the need to dance attendance on the customers. Peter hadn’t allotted him any responsible tasks, but Robert neglected even the simple ones he’d been given. He was more likely to be found leaning on a counter to chat with a simpering salesgirl or exchanging racing tips with the commissionaire than doing any real work.
In the evenings, he was rarely to be found at home with his father. Being under his eagle eye all day – because Cedric kept a check on him as well – was more than enough. Instead he took himself off to what he sarcastically called the fleshpots of Hinton – basically the White Lion or the cinema – or beyond. Now the domestic petrol ration had been restored to some degree, he could drive out to whatever country pub he fancied, or even go back to his club in Birmingham, where he was thought to be a bit of a card, and there was always a warm welcome. There was an even warmer welcome at a certain house in Birmingham that he knew. It was the ultimate in respectability from the outside, but you could spend the evening in the company of a willing and attractive girl for a small consideration. He didn’t go back to the poker school though. Even he realised there were limits to his father’s tolerance.
One night in early April there wasn’t much doing. Robert hadn’t felt like going far, so he’d remained in Hinton. But at the Gaumont, They Knew Mr Knight, a torrid potboiler about a financial scam that landed someone in jail, was a bit too close for comfort. He left the cinema at the interval and with no one to chat to except the barman in the White Lion, he left there after an hour. But when he stopped his car outside his father’s house – he wasn’t sure where he called ‘home’ these days – a taxi was standing on the drive. Robert let himself in.
‘Dad?’ he called.
Cedric emerged from the sitting room: at the same time, the door of the downstairs lavatory opened, and a woman he instantly recognised as Daphne Tunnicliffe came out. Robert was momentarily thrown, but he hoicked his eyebrows back from their skywards direction and recovered himself.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said smoothly, ‘if I’m interrupting. I can easily go back out again, it’s early yet—’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Robert.’ His father, coming out of the study, cut in. ‘There’s no need for that.’
Daphne Tunnicliffe came forward. She was wearing a dress of mauve crêpe with a double strand of pearls at her neck and matching earrings.
‘I was just leaving,’ she smiled.
Robert wasn’t letting them get away with that.
‘I believe I saw you in the store at the shopping evening before Christmas,’ he said.
‘Yes, it was a very enjoyable evening.’
‘It was, wasn’t it?’ said Robert smoothly. ‘Sadly we weren’t introduced,’ he added pointedly. ‘I was on my way over to speak to you both when you disappeared into the crowd.’
Cedric stepped in.
‘That’s easily rectified. Daphne – this is my son Robert. Robert – Mrs Tunnicliffe.’
Daphne held out her hand.
‘How do you do,’ she said. ‘I’d heard you were back, of course.’
I bet you have, thought Robert, wondering how much detail his father had confided in her. The full story, no doubt – he would have put money on it. He smiled his most winning smile, but his words had a steely edge which neither Daphne nor Cedric could miss.
‘Indeed I am!’ he said. ‘The Prodigal Son! Well, I’ll let you say your goodbyes in private. It was so nice to meet you properly at last. If you’ll excuse me …’
He went into the study and shut the door behind him. Going to the drinks tray, he poured himself a whisky and drank it, quietly fuming.
After a good ten minutes of low murmurings, of doors opening and closing, and the taxi grinding its gears and setting off, his father came in. Robert, by this time on his second glass, started on him straight away.
‘So this is what you get up to when my back’s turned! A nice little affair you’ve got going here—’
Cedric held up his hand.
‘Just one moment, Robert. May I remind you that this is my house, my home, and I can entertain anyone I like, at any time I like, in it.’
‘Funny you’ve never invited her round when I’m in!’
Cedric never raised his voice: instead there was a firmness in it when he said:
‘But you never are in, are you? Do you want me to sit here on my own every evening in the expectation that you might grace me with your presence? Because I suspect I’d have a very long wait! I did and do have a life of my own, you know. I enjoy Daphne’s company very much – and I intend to continue doing so. Goodnight.’
It was rare, almost unheard of, for Cedric to get the better of Robert in a confrontation, and Robert was left stunned and furious. He’d been so wrapped up in himself, so intent on pursuing his own pleasures, he hadn’t been policing what he’d suspected back before Christmas. His father had formed an attachment – and to a widow! If this carried on, what was that going to do to his future prospects?