The prospect of having David as escort made Ella look in the glass and decide to have her hair done.
This was unexpectedly difficult.
She had slept deep and peacefully and woken with relief to an uncluttered mind, but found now that she had expected too much of sanity; it had brought with it a lassitude which made picking up the telephone and fixing an appointment with the hairdresser a formidable task.
Come on. She had only to check the number in the phone index, lift the handset, press seven numbers, wait, say, ‘Ella Ferguson here. Can Lilian give me half an hour today or tomorrow morning? I know it’s short notice …’
She mastered the task, one step at a time, found that Lilian could fit her in at 3 o’clock, and was remarkably cheered to find that people were still getting their hair done in a world where things went on as usual.
The next call was easier.
‘Pam, I need a new outfit. Do you have anything that would be suitable for a visit to a solicitor?’
‘Oh.’ From the heartfelt tone it was clear that Pam had been waiting for this moment. ‘I have the very thing. It’s been hanging in the stockroom since the new season’s stock came in. I wouldn’t put it out on the rack. I’ll be down with it in ten minutes. If it won’t do, you can come back to the shop with me and try on a few things, but I’m pretty sure you’ll like it.’
Pam arrived twenty minutes later with the promised outfit sheathed in a drycleaner’s bag and draped over her arm.
‘It’s a two-piece, cardigan top and straight skirt, medium weight, but you could put a skivvy under it for winter. Just your shade of blue. When I unpacked it, I saw you in it straight away. Don’t you love that braid?’
Meanwhile, she was unsheathing the prized object and holding it up to view.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Ella agreed. ‘How much?’
‘Eighty-five.’
‘Don’t lie to me.’
‘Cost. Oh, come on. Let me do it just for once.’
‘Well, thank you. Just this once, mind.’
Watching as Ella tried on the new outfit, Pam said, ‘I’m sorry for the occasion, but there’s a lot to be said for a new dress when you’re down.’
‘I don’t want to shame David. He’s taking time off work to go with me.’
‘You may be unlucky in other ways,’ Pam said with a note of sadness, ‘but you’re certainly lucky in that son of yours.’
‘Your turn will come,’ said Ella. ‘Wait till you’re a grandmother. It’s sheer joy.’
‘You look very nice, Mum,’ said David as she stepped into the car. ‘Is that new?’
‘Yes. So do you look nice.’
‘I was sent home to change into my gent’s suiting. The head approves of dutiful sons.’
There was an undertone there.
‘So do I,’ said Ella, with a different undertone.
Starting the car, David gave her a sidelong look and a meaningless wink which she took as an expression of embarrassment. He would have to put up with that. There were things that must be said when the chance came.
When he had stopped for the first red light, he spoke with his eyes still fixed on the road ahead.
‘Mum. About the car. Dad crashed it. I don’t think it was so very bad, nobody was hurt.’
Ella was thinking, furiously, If it was that day, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.
David was not eager to tell anything.
‘I don’t know the details because I don’t like to ask. I couldn’t understand at first why Dad was being so cagey about the car. It was always yours, to use at least. I couldn’t believe that he meant to keep it. Then she … Louise told me not to go on about it.’
It was that day and she blames me, thought Ella without pain.
‘I should have told you before but it’s all too embarrassing. It shouldn’t be long now. We should have it back next week.’
‘A lot of things are embarrassing.’
‘You’re not wrong, you’re right,’ he answered, as they travelled on in a shared silence.
There was nothing wrong with Mary Duckworth. It was not her fault that the interview proved so depressing.
She was a tall, blonde woman with a small waist and a handsome, bony face which bore marks of honourable wear and so appeared pleasantly shabby, like her office. She had, too, a look of sympathy felt and withheld which set Ella, after the first moments of wretched exposure, almost at ease. She accepted without surprise Ella’a ignorance of financial affairs, saying only, ‘I’ll have the necessary searches made and get back to you.’
It was David who appeared to be diminished by the situation.
‘I’m the one who wants the information. I’m … I want to represent Mum in the negotiations. I can let her know what’s going on. You understand …’
But what Mary was supposed to understand, he could not say. He seemed to be searching for words in a way that was quite unlike him.
‘Does the other party have legal representation?’
‘No. Not so far. Dad and I …’
Should he be saying ‘Dad’ or ‘My father’?
The question was plain on his face. Ella suffered for his embarrassment.
‘We think we can work it out together, but I have to know what Mum’s legal rights are and how much we can expect.’
‘I see.’
One could not guess what Mary Duckworth saw when she looked at him. It was the moment when he should be showing confidence and authority, but they were not visible.
‘So I get back to you and you report to Mrs Ferguson.’
‘That’s right.’
She said to Ella, who seemed to be the other half of an odd pair, ‘I’ll get you to sign a fees agreement and I’ll be in touch.’
When Ella had signed her name to the document, the interview was over.
David drove her home wearing an expressionless calm which indicated deep depression. Was he humiliated by his appearance as mother’s boy? Dutiful son?
But I couldn’t be expected to face those creatures myself, she thought.
Martha had said, ‘He would feel worse if he didn’t do it.’
It came down to right and wrong again. If doing the right thing made him look rather silly, tied to his mother’s apron strings, that discomfort would pass.
There were so many causes for depression that his silence required no comment.