Chapter 8

Monday 29 June 1914

Henry has been wondering a lot lately whether, seven years ago, Clara had trapped him. He is wondering this now as the train rattles along the Central Line towards his station at Bank. It is such a nice day that he was tempted to take the omnibus and sit upstairs in the sunshine, but in the end habit won out. Henry likes his routine. If he arrives at one of the milestones on his daily journey earlier than usual, it gives him a little lift; if later, he becomes concerned. Not that he is ever late for work. He believes his punctuality, a record as firm as the Bank of England itself, was one of the factors when they considered him for promotion earlier this year and when he subsequently was given the title ‘manager.’

He joined the firm as a clerk. His first step up the ladder was when, still as a clerk, he was given responsibility for all of the company’s stationary requirements. They already had a contract with Clara’s father so Henry’s job was just to make sure it ran smoothly. He liked the old man, despite his somewhat gauche country ways. He was honest, easy to deal with, every bit as predictable and reliable as Henry could have wanted and things ran like clockwork.

Except that, one day, quite unexpectedly, they ran out of claims forms. It was during the winter – a particularly cold one – and there had been a lot of water damage from burst pipes and so a surge in claims. Henry probably would admit that he had become a bit complacent after six months in charge of stationary. The old man seemed to do most of the work. It was a cushy number. Except that Henry did have to do some work and one of his tasks was to ensure that there were always plenty of forms on hand. He had been careless, lax. Somewhere in his head a little voice had been saying, ‘The old man’s taking care of it’ with the result that he hadn’t noticed how quickly the stockpile of claims forms had gone down. It was only when another great batch disappeared and he discovered there was only a handful left that Henry realised he had a problem. A big one.

It was a sticky situation. Even now, whenever he thought back to that dreadful day, he felt a momentary chill. It could all have gone so horribly wrong. Work in the claims department could have ground to a halt and it would have quickly become apparent where the fault lay. He’s convinced they would have let him go – it had happened to people for less – and without a reference.

Trying not to look like he was panicking, Henry stepped out and hurried round to the stationary store. It was a bleak rainy day with a high wind and he was in a cold sweat. When he discovered that Clara’s father wasn’t even at the shop, Henry reckoned the game was up.

‘Can I help at all?’ the girl behind the counter asked.

It was almost as though he hadn’t seen her up until then. Trying to keep the tremor out of his voice, Henry explained that he knew that a delivery of claims forms wasn’t due until late next week, but he wondered if, by any chance, there were any already printed, since a sudden, unexpected need had arisen. The girl said she would check.

While she disappeared into the back, Henry prayed that she would find some forms. Even ones that maybe had been printed and hadn’t quite come up to the old man’s exacting standard. Even these. Please God, the old man hadn’t thrown them in the bin. Henry looked out unseeing as the rain ran down the plate glass window of the shop. People hurried past. Umbrellas were blown inside out. It was the end – he knew it, could feel it. Even the weather knew it. He pictured himself returning to the firm empty handed and praying that the tiny remaining pile of claims forms would hold out, all the while knowing that they wouldn’t. Like a fuse burning its way towards a keg of gunpowder, the last one would finally be taken. Then somebody would ask – brightly, cheerily, in a completely routine sort of way – ‘Any more claims forms, Henry?’ and then he would have to own up. After that he would be called into Mr Faber, the managing partner’s, office. And after that? After that would come his hat, coat and the door, stepping out into rain-lashed, end-of-the-world London.

‘How many do you need?’

He spun round. The girl carried several thick, heavy blocks of forms wrapped in brown paper.

‘They’re all printed,’ she said. ‘You just need to tell me how many you need. And we’ll have to find some way of keeping them dry while you get them back to the office. Or I can have them delivered,’ she added with a smile.

In that moment, Henry felt he had never seen a more beautiful woman. He could have kissed her. The relief he felt would literally stay with him for days. It would remain the first and only time he made such an error. After work he hurried to the nearest pub and downed three whiskies, and it was only when he was going home to the room he rented that he remembered the pretty girl in the stationary shop. She was short with blonde hair and really quite the loveliest face. He recalled her perfect skin and soft blue eyes.

Henry was quite surprised by the effect the incident had on him. His self-confidence soared. Even though he clearly had played no real part in the solution to the problem, he found he walked around the office with something of a swagger now. It was a swagger, which if anything, further increased when Mr Faber said to him one day, ‘Seem to be keeping on top of all that stationary business, Kenton.’ It was the closest Faber was ever likely to get to a compliment.

The following week, when the old man was supervising a delivery, Henry thanked him for having had the foresight to have extra batches of claims forms on hand.

‘Think nothing of it,’ he replied. ‘That’s what we’re here for.’

‘That nice girl in your shop was very helpful,’ continued Henry.

‘Ah, you met Clara,’ said Mr Jordan. ‘She’s a good girl is Clara. She’s m’daughter, don’t you know.’

Henry did it all as it should be done. The old man already knew him, which was an advantage. The next time he met the old man, Henry asked if Clara had a young man in her life. When Clara’s father confirmed that she didn’t, Henry asked if he might take Clara to tea, perhaps on Saturday at lunchtime, after he’d finished work for the week.

‘I don’t see why not,’ said the old man amiably. ‘But you’ll have to ask the lass herself – it’ll be her decision.’

And that was how it began.

She said yes and they went for tea at an ABC. If he had expected her to be shy or diffident in any way, he was to be surprised. She was confident and, if anything, it was he who came away from their tea feeling somewhat intimidated and inadequate. As well as being pretty, she was well read and seemed to have the same head for business as her father. But all of this only reinforced his desire to pursue her. He could still remember how much he had admired her self-possession and poise. Now, though, as the train clanked along, he wondered if what he had seen as self-confidence wasn’t actually the reaction of an animal that has seen its prey and now needed to bring it down.

At the time, he thought that their courtship was the happiest he had ever been in his life. Now he couldn’t help feeling that it had all been orchestrated by her, telling him the things he wanted to hear, deferring to him, doing things he wanted to do. Everything had just fallen into place – even the death of Clara’s father six months into their courtship. Not that Henry hadn’t been sad to see him go. On the contrary, he had been very fond of the old man.

Obviously Clara had no part in the old man’s death, but that event too had helped to propel Henry to the altar. Clara’s mother had died several years before her husband. Clara had an older brother and, even if she did have lots of aunts and uncles, Henry felt that it was up to him now to take care of her. Clara’s brother inherited the stationary business; she inherited the house in Acton and some money. So now they had a place to live. They were married within the year.

At first it had been blissful, particularly when Clara got over the worst of the grief after her father’s death. Any fears Henry might have had about the physical side of married life were also quickly dispelled. In the pub he and the other men from the office might laugh uproariously about wives, saying things like, ‘Somebody has to hold the beastly thing’ but Henry often wondered how many of them were actually joking. Clara had no such reservations – she was uninhibited in a way which, again, he found somewhat daunting. There were times when it was almost as though she was the man. This affected Henry so much so that, for about six months after they were married, he had difficulty getting it up. Again, what he saw then as Clara’s understanding and patience in helping him through it had really been her continuing to get what she wanted from their relationship.

But the main thing, the thing that overrode everything else – Henry is now in the lift taking him up to the station exit – was that somewhere along the way, she stopped loving him. That’s if she ever had.

He can’t pinpoint where this happened. Was it when she gave up working in the shop, which she did almost immediately after they were married? Or when she was pregnant with Ursula? Although, almost all through that pregnancy, she still wanted to have sex. In fact, he had been the one who had been uncomfortable with the whole idea.

‘Won’t it be able to see us?’ he asked, to which she had laughed that laugh of hers that, at the time, he loved so much, but that now grated on him whenever he heard it. At the time he had found it lusty, hearty, full of joie de vivre. These days it just sounded rather common.

It is a short walk to the office. It is getting near the time when he must put these thoughts to one side and concentrate on his work. Being a manager has brought with it heavy responsibilities and he will not make the mistake he made before with the stationary – of taking his eye off the ball. These days he gives it his full attention and is often thinking about it long after he has returned home.

They are due to go to Devon on holiday in mid-August. They are going to stay by the sea. It is the first time since their honeymoon that they have been able to afford such a luxury. This morning at breakfast, Clara announced that she was coming into town to pick up some necessities for their trip. She suggested that she and Henry meet for lunch – even if it was only a quick one. However, he demurred, explaining that he would be too busy, by which he really meant he didn’t want to be distracted from the task at hand.

But there is a second reason why Henry demurred, and this is also the reason why he is not particularly looking forward to their holiday in August. Because Henry has a secret.