Memories of You

Helen took a tram to the Central Station. She had reserved a seat on the morning Pullman. When she was queuing for a paper at the newsstand she saw one or two of the porters eyeing her uncertainly. She knew it wasn’t the fact that she only had one suitcase; it was the state of that suitcase that made them doubt whether she would be able to tip them well.

The case had been given to her mother by one of the rich ladies that she had cleaned house for. It was a trifle shabby-looking but Helen had never seen the need to buy a new one. Eventually, one of the porters, who perhaps had recognized the quality of the case and knew that many well-off people kept their expensive luggage for years, approached Helen with a polite smile. She didn’t really need a porter but she handed him the case and when he had escorted her to her table in the carriage she tipped him generously.

Helen surveyed the tables set with snowy linen, each one illuminated by a pink-shaded lamp. She was pleased to see that none of the other three seats at her table was reserved. For that she was thankful. She hoped no last-minute arrival would take one of them. She wanted to read her paper and drink several cups of coffee while the train steamed southwards. She did not feel like engaging in polite conversation with a fellow traveller. As soon as she was settled a steward handed her the luncheon menu and told her that coffee would be served when the train was underway.

She looked out at the busy scene on the platform: people hurrying to catch their trains, couples and sometimes whole families saying goodbye. She glanced across the carriage towards the other windows. A train had been stationary on the other line ever since she had boarded. She saw the blinds were closed and guessed that this was the night train from London, the sleeper, and she wondered briefly about the people who had made that journey. As usual she found herself speculating about the lives of total strangers and wondering whether they would make interesting stories.

After a blowing of whistles and a slamming of doors the engine released a great hiss of steam and the train began very gently to pull out of the station towards the High Level Bridge. The rhythm of the wheels on the tracks changed as they left the station behind and after they had crossed the River Tyne Helen sat back and gave way to imaginative speculation about the sleeping train.

What if there was a young couple on that train? she thought. A couple running away from the police like in The Thirty-Nine Steps . . . Matthew had taken her to see the film and they had both enjoyed it, although they agreed that Alfred Hitchcock had taken many liberties with the novel’s original plot.

Matthew . . . Was it fair of her to come here without telling him? But once she started telling him her family history it would be difficult to know where to draw the line. If she thought he was really committed to her it would be easier, but as it was she’d kept everything to herself for so long that it had become a habit that would be hard to break.

The snack bar on the platform was crowded and Perry found them the only table left vacant. Elise drew back. ‘It’s by the window,’ she said.

Perry smiled, ‘Don’t worry, darling, no one knows us here. No one is going to go rushing to tell your father where we are. Now we’ve at least an hour before our next train so I’m going to order bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade and a pot of tea.’

‘She may be right, but right now you need to keep your strength up.’ He cocked his head to one side. ‘Can you smell that bacon frying? Don’t say you aren’t tempted.’

Perry made a show of taking the money reluctantly but Elise suspected that he had spent more than he could afford on their berths on the night train and also that he was the one in need of a substantial breakfast.

He went to the counter to give their order and his tall, slim figure seemed to merge into the haze of steam coming from the water boiler on the counter. Elise was aware of customers at nearby tables giving her speculative glances. She supposed it was because of the way she was dressed. She knew very well that her clothes were noticeably expensive here in this cheap snack bar where people came because they could not afford the restaurant in the hotel.

Flushing slightly with embarrassment, she turned to look out of the window at the train from which they had recently disembarked. People were still sleeping there or being woken up with trays of tea or breakfast to keep them going until they reached Edinburgh. Perry had explained that it was easier for them to change trains at Newcastle and he had been astonished at her reaction.

For a short while she had not been able to answer him but she refused to give way to indeterminate memories. She shook her head. After all, what did Newcastle mean to her? It was years since she had any thoughts whatsoever about the place where she was born and where she had spent the first nine years of her life.

Elise watched as men wheeled trolleys along the platform and loaded bread and milk and other provisions on to the train. Soon it pulled away, and as it snaked around the curve of the platform and out of the station, Elise saw that the Pullman, with its distinctive dark red carriages, which had been standing on the next track, had gone.

Back to London, she thought. The people on the Pullman are going to London. What am I doing here? On impulse she rose from the table and turned towards the door. She was standing there hesitantly when Perry returned.

‘Poor darling. You’re exhausted, that’s all. I heard you tossing and turning in the bunk below for most of the night. I wanted to climb down and get in beside you and take you in my arms and comfort you. But the damn things are too narrow for two to sleep comfortably so I lay there feeling guilty instead.’

Perry smiled down at her. ‘Yes. Guilty for loving you so much. Guilty for wanting to marry you. Guilty for making love to you. Guilty for stealing you away from the bosom of your family when I know how much your mother dotes on you.’

Suddenly Elise felt all right again and she returned his smile. ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ she said. ‘It’s Bertie she dotes on. Not me.’

Elise ate with every indication of enjoyment. She was young, she was healthy and she had obviously begun to recapture the feeling of adventure and excitement that had spurred her on to agree to elope with him. Thank goodness for that. A moment ago Perry had been worried that she was going to bolt. If she’d been determined he would have had to let her go. He could hardly restrain her physically; that would be kidnap, wouldn’t it?

And if she had gone? Would he have been heartbroken? Of course not. He was surprised to discover that despite the dire circumstances he found himself in he might even have felt relieved. He knew this was a hare-brained scheme and if he had not been so desperate he would have waited, courted her, even tried to win the approval of her parents by being a faithful suitor.

And there was always the possibility that Hugh Partington might have paid him off, given him a large sum of money to stay away from her. That would have dealt with his immediate predicament but in the long term he would end up penniless again. No, the sort of money Elise Partington would one day inherit was worth waiting for. And even if her father lived to a ripe old age he would surely have too much pride to allow the daughter of one of the wealthiest industrialists in Europe to live in poverty.

It had not been too difficult to make Elise fall in love with him. She was completely inexperienced as far as the opposite sex was concerned and a bit of flattery combined with the excitement of their secret meetings had convinced her that theirs was a special relationship. The original plan had been to make sure that she did not fall in love with anyone else and to wait until she was eighteen before asking for her hand in marriage. If her father had refused permission then they would have had to wait until she was twenty-one, when almost certainly there would have been some sort of trust fund maturing.

‘Are we going to the dogs again?’ Tom Chapman would joke when he came up to town on leave. It was Perry who had first discovered dog racing and introduced it to his old friend. The two of them would dress in old coats, caps and mufflers and pretend to be ordinary working men, adopting atrociously false Cockney accents that fooled no one, least of all the men they placed their bets with.

Tom, being cautious, stuck to the Tote, the official betting facility. But Perry was fascinated by the course bookies with their blackboards showing the odds they were offering on the various dogs. After checking the form in the racing paper he would then look at the race card to see how individual dogs had done in their previous races. He kidded himself that he was quite an expert, but after an initial run of good luck, he began to take risks on outsiders because the odds were good. It was a good way to lose your money.

Bad gamblers get desperate. They take bigger and bigger risks to recoup what they have lost. Perry was no different. Instead of cutting his losses he got into very muddy waters. He had found it all too easy to borrow money from dubious characters he met in the bar and their ‘hail fellow well met’ attitude soon evaporated when he began to lose in a big way.

He owed them much more than the actual sum he had borrowed, of course, because they expected interest, and their rates were extortionate. When he couldn’t pay them back the threats started.

One night when he had been to the track without Tom, a car pulled up alongside him as he was walking home. A rear door opened and a smooth voice said, ‘Get in.’

Perry peered through the darkness and as his eyes adjusted he saw a bulky man with a fedora pulled down, concealing most of his face. The little he could see was badly pockmarked. He had a cigar clamped in his mouth and the aroma of tobacco mingled with that of an expensive cologne.

‘No, it’s some of my friends you owe the money to and they’re beginning to lose patience with you. They’re little men. They can’t afford to go on backing losers. So, being a good friend, I compensated them.’

For an answer the man grabbed Perry’s arm, took the cigar out of his mouth and stabbed it on the back of Perry’s hand. ‘No need for you to know names.’

‘Not if I don’t have to. By the time the scar on your hand fades I hope you will have settled your debts and then we’ll all be happy. Now get out,’ the man said. ‘I know your situation but I also know that you have a chance to get your hands on some of the Partington fortune. Good luck to you. I’ll be sending someone along to collect.’

The driver opened the door, dragged Perry unceremoniously out of the car and shoved him violently down to the ground. Perry heard the car door slam. As he hauled himself to his feet it sped away. He had twisted his ankle when he’d fallen and jarred his wrists when he’d attempted to save himself. The back of his hand was throbbing with pain.

There was no one else in sight. How long had it taken for his world to become a very frightening place indeed? While he was in the car time had seemed to become suspended.

In this state he couldn’t face public transport and he didn’t have enough money left for a taxi. He limped the weary miles back to his apartment, snivelling like the coward he knew himself to be. By the time he got home he had accepted that his only hope was to persuade Elise to elope with him as soon as possible.

However, the problem proved to be that although she loved the idea of being in love and had been thrilled when he playfully suggested that they should elope, she hadn’t really taken him seriously. And that was why, even though he had promised himself that he would not, he had had to seduce her.

It was raining. Rain fell on the tracks as they hurried over the bridge and made their way to the platform where their train had just pulled in. There was no shelter here and the people disembarking looked gloomily up at the sky and unfurled their umbrellas. The few passengers waiting to get in turned up their coat collars or held newspapers over their heads.

Perry had waved away a porter and was carrying the luggage himself. Elise, feeling guilty because she had two suitcases whereas he only had a travelling bag, said, ‘Don’t worry, I can tip the man,’ but Perry had hurried on.

Once on the train he had somehow struggled along the narrow corridor until he found an empty carriage and then hurried inside, sliding the door closed after them.

‘I thought we’d be all right at this time of day,’ he said. ‘People are coming in to town rather than heading for the country. I don’t think we’ll be disturbed.’ He stowed the luggage in the overhead racks and then turned to look at her.

Seeing her rather pinched expression as she stared out of the rainstreaked window, he took her in his arms. ‘Isn’t this exciting?’ he said. ‘In years to come we’ll have such stories to tell our children!’

Elise broke away and flung herself down on to the seat. He understood at once that he had said the wrong thing and he sat down beside her and took both her hands in his. They were cold. He rubbed them and then raised them to his lips and kissed them.

For a moment he wondered if she had seen through him, come to realize that he was no more than a fortune hunter. Glancing at the scar on his hand he felt sick with fear. But her next words surprised and reassured him.

‘If that’s what you truly believe then I’ll never forgive myself. I love you, Elise. I intended to marry you one day whatever happened. The fact that we got carried away and that I could have made you—’

‘Not that again, Elise. I don’t think you’re cheap, my darling. We did what we did because we love each other.’ Perry controlled a spurt of irritation. His child bride – his prize bride – was proving hard work. It seemed she needed constant reassurance. ‘Why don’t you sit back and try to relax,’ he said. ‘Look, I bought you this magazine when I got my paper. It’s called Potpourri and it seems very amusing.’

Elise took the magazine and turned the pages listlessly. Perry opened his newspaper. After a slamming of doors and a whistle the train began to pull away from the station. The final stage of their journey had begun.

Elise did not want to disturb Perry. Men liked newspapers, she knew that. Her father, patient and kind though he was, never liked to be disturbed when he was reading his paper. She flicked through her magazine but found nothing to interest her. She thought Potpourri a strange name for it. As far as she was concerned a potpourri was a collection of dried flower petals, leaves, herbs and spices that was used to scent the air, and the only article in the magazine that was remotely connected with that was a piece about flower arranging.

She closed the magazine and looked out of the window. The wind had risen and the rain was slanting across the glass. The countryside sped by in a watery blur. She closed her eyes. She was tired and the rhythm of the wheels on the track along with the warmth rising from the pipes under the seat was making her drowsy. She was too overwrought to sleep but she allowed herself to fall into a dreamy, trancelike state while she relived the circumstances that had brought her here.

‘You’ll like it,’ he’d told her. ‘It doesn’t look much from outside but inside it’s very cosy. I often pop in for a snack. And sometimes even for breakfast.’

‘Not too far, and it opens very early in the morning. Some of the customers haven’t been home to bed at all and they sit there in their evening clothes devouring bacon sandwiches washed down with strong sweet tea.’

Elise had been intrigued and she had gone along willingly. Then on the way it had started to rain. A gentle shower that became a torrential downpour. Thankfully they reached the café before she was completely soaked. Perry went ahead to open the door but turned straight round again and grabbed her arms.

Before Elise could respond Perry took her hand and they ran through the rain, laughing like children until they reached the apartment block where he lived. Wind had blown rain across the tiled floor of the entrance hall and Elise almost fell as they skidded to a stop. Perry caught her and kept his arm around her as they waited for the lift.

She was out of breath and excited. She knew this to be a daring thing to do. To go to a man’s apartment. To be there alone with him. The girls in the cheap romances that her school friends passed around the class nearly always had cause to regret being so reckless. Or so naïve.

The front door of the apartment opened into a tiny vestibule with dark oak panelling. Perry hurried them through into what turned out to be the living room. Brought up for most of her life in luxury she was surprised and dismayed at what she saw. The furniture was cheap and merely functional and to be honest the place looked none too clean. Perry must have seen her expression of dismayed surprise. He shut the door behind them and crossed to a table, gathered up some dirty dishes and disappeared into what must have been a scullery.

Elise had never had to think about the domestic situation at home. There were maids and menservants, a cook and a gardener and other people whose function she did not even know.

‘But you can’t just stand here,’ Perry told her. ‘I’ll show you the bathroom. At least my towels are clean. You can get dried off and I’ll find you something to wear.’

Bemused, Elise allowed herself to be led to the bathroom. Perry left her there. She took off her outer layer of clothes, dried as much of herself as she could and towelled her hair. She sensed the door opening and peered out from under the edge of the towel to see that a hand had appeared. The hand was holding a dark blue silk dressing gown.

And indeed when she returned to the living room it did not look so shabby. Perry had drawn the curtains and lit some lamps with pretty shades. The gas fire, its ancient elements popping and spluttering, gave the room a cosy glow. There was a clean cloth on the table, a teapot, milk jug and cups and a plate of bread and jam.

Perry smiled ruefully. ‘A bit like a nursery tea, I know,’ he said, ‘but I don’t keep much food here. Now let’s sit down and enjoy our little feast.’

Perry laughed as he spread his arms to show off the black silk robe he was wearing. ‘I was wet too, you know. You wouldn’t have wanted me to get pneumonia, would you?’

Elise tried to come to terms with and make sense of the strange situation she found herself in. She acknowledged that she was completely out of her depth. Her clothes were draped over a couple of chairs near the fire and steaming gently. Fleetingly she wondered what one of the heroines in the cheap romances would have done. Maybe the girl would have grabbed her dripping clothes, put them on and run out into the rain. Later, her virtue intact, she would catch pneumonia and die.

Elise had decided that she could at least wait until her clothes were dry enough to put on before leaving. And eating bread and jam was surely no threat to her virtue.

‘Well, I’m glad you’re happy.’ Perry poured the tea and added something to the cups from a silver flask. ‘Just a spot of something to warm us up and chase the chills away.’

Whatever it was in the flask it did more than chase the chills away. Elise let go of any lingering doubts and began to enjoy the simple meal of bread and jam as if it were a banquet. She had a second cup of tea into which Perry emptied what was left in his flask. She still had no idea why exactly everything had seemed so amusing, but Perry had been so funny and so sweet and it had seemed entirely natural for her to go through to the bedroom with him and lie in his arms.

At one point she had turned away from him and curled up drowsily. She had felt his hand stroking her shoulder. ‘How can I wake you up, my Sleeping Beauty?’ he had whispered.

‘Why not try a kiss?’ she replied. She had begun to laugh and for a moment she thought she could not stop, then Perry turned her to face him and kissed her. What happened next had been so wild, so exciting, that Elise had wanted it to go on and on. Never to stop.

When Perry had told her that her clothes were dry and he would get a taxi for her and she must go home she had pleaded with him to let her stay.

‘No, my sweet. When you get home you can tell your mother that you took shelter somewhere until the rain stopped. I’m sure that sounds reasonable.’

Reasonable or not, she couldn’t help seeing that Perry looked anxious and she was touched. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said. ‘It will be all right.’

And it had been. It had been perfectly all right. Her mother had not even noticed that she was late home. Her feeling of exhilaration lasted until bedtime and it was only when she was lying alone in bed that the excitement began to dissipate. For no reason she could think of she began to cry. She thought of all those silly heroines in those novellas again and realized that she had indeed been one of the foolish virgins.

He’ll think I’m cheap, she moaned to herself. He won’t want to see me again. How could he possibly love a girl that gave up her virginity so easily?

Elise didn’t answer her. She couldn’t. Her friend’s question had reminded her of something that might be a consequence of what she had done. The day dragged on and after school when she went to their usual meeting place in the park she was fully expecting him not to be there.

When she saw him she started weeping with relief. She saw that he was smiling the same tender smile as always. It’s all right, she thought, he still loves me.

Perry saw that Elise’s eyes were closed and he relaxed a little. He stared out at the rain-drenched countryside. Rain, he thought, the blessed rain. He had always planned to take Elise home that day. First he was going to take her to the café but he’d never had any intention of actually going in. He would have told her that he’d spotted someone he knew and then persuaded her that, as they’d come that far, they might as well go to his apartment. Once there he’d had every intention of seducing her but he had not been confident that she would succumb. The rain had made things so much easier. It had been perfectly natural for him to suggest they go home and get dry.

He looked at her now through half-closed lids. Who would have thought she would have responded so enthusiastically? Admittedly she had had a little help from the generous dash of whisky he had added from his flask. But even there he had taken a chance. Alcohol can relax your sexual inhibitions but equally it can inhibit them. He had been lucky. The inexperienced schoolgirl had revealed a passionate depth to her nature that you could never have guessed at from her cool, almost glacially beautiful exterior. He marvelled to remember how he had not found her sexually attractive. That had changed. Even though she would need constant reassurance, being married to Elise might not be such an onerous task after all.

It wasn’t until after Helen had finished her lunch of Lamb Noisettes followed by Plum Pancake that she opened her newspaper. She had asked for a second pot of coffee and once the table was cleared she eased her shoes off – no one would see her feet under the table – and opened the Daily Chronicle.

The national news was depressing, with more shipyards closing in the North-East and unemployment rising. The international news was even worse, with reports from Spain of continued fighting between the Nationalists and the Republicans resulting in massacres and bombings. Young men from England who felt strongly about the cause were actually going to Spain to fight on the side of the Republicans.

Helen thanked God that Matthew was no longer a foreign correspondent. Once he would have been there in the thick of it, risking life and limb to report the truth of what was going on. Although it made him impatient sometimes, Helen considered it a blessing that the wound inflicted in Afghanistan had never healed satisfactorily and had left him with one leg shorter than the other and a pronounced limp when the weather was bad.

Sometimes she was not so sure that it was any safer being a crime correspondent. There were so many dangerous criminals in London and other big cities these days and when Matthew was investigating a story he seemed completely fearless.

DOG TRACK BETTING FEAR
Matthew Renshaw
Crime Correspondent

After months of inactivity due to the investigations of the police, rumours are circulating that the doping of greyhounds has started up again. Bookmakers as far afield as Birmingham, Manchester and Newcastle are reporting unusual betting patterns, with complicated bets on the same named dogs.

This is not petty crime. There are indications that the men behind this are out-and-out gangsters with one particular ‘Mr Big’ being one of London’s most notorious criminals. This reporter will be conducting his own investigation. Watch this space.

Helen’s smile was rueful as she closed her paper. Watch this space, indeed! Suddenly she realized how much she had missed him. His reluctance to fully commit was infuriating – agonizing – but what could she do? She loved him and, although it hurt her pride, she knew she was prepared to wait for as long as it took. She could never leave him.

Danny closed the newspaper and stared ahead thoughtfully. He was sitting at Myra’s kitchen table where he had just finished eating his midday meal. Joe had already gone back to the kennels and Myra was washing the dishes in the steamy scullery.

Danny didn’t reply. He had already gone. Despite what the dust and straw would do to his chest, he had to get along and see his brother straight away. He would have to tell Joe it was time to make plans.