Book Two
1965 -1970
To Linda’s relief she miscarried in the fourth week of her pregnancy. Two weeks later Tim told her with awkward candour. ‘I’m sorry Linda but our marriage was a mistake. Now you’ve recovered I’m leaving, and I would suggest you seek an annulment.
The copious amount of tears she shed left Tim unmoved, as did Eddie Renfrew’s ranting threats. He’d been accepted at Dartmouth naval college, and nothing was going to stop him from following her chosen career.
The Brown family dropped Linda. Wendy Brown made friends with a girl at the hairdresser’s salon where she was apprenticed, and studiously avoided her when their paths crossed.
Stuck up cow, I’ll show her! Linda thought angrily.
Within a month Linda had persuaded her father to pay for a secretarial course. For once, she diligently applied herself while Eddie arranged the annulment of the marriage.
Conveniently forgetting the failed pregnancy Eddie convinced himself and the powers-that-be that his daughter’s marriage had never been consummated.
Six months later Linda was free and she’d learned enough to land a job as a receptionist in an accountant’s office.
Andrew and Robert Pitt, Accountants was a small, but exclusive partnership of two brothers. Their offices were the epitome of good taste with leather chairs, wood paneled walls and the company name discreetly advertised on a small brass plaque outside.
She shared the office with Miss Frobisher, a spinster secretary of straight-laced disposition, who’d been there since the stone-age. Under her eagle eye Linda answered the phone, made appointments, did the filing and kept the staff and clients supplied with tea and biscuits.
The job suited her. Before too long she managed to charm herself into the good graces of the Pitt brothers, as well as Miss Frobisher.
Then she set eyes on Martin, the son of Robert Pitt, who was in his final year at university. He was rather ordinary looking with straight sandy hair and eyes a muddy mixture of green and brown. His hooded eyelids and long lashes gave him a sexy look. More importantly, Martin Pitt was a good prospect. He drove a nice car, spoke with a cultured accent, and always had money in his pocket.
When he invited her out to dinner she didn’t hesitate. She did hesitate when he wanted to kiss her goodnight. She’d learned that a girl had to hold back if she wanted respect from men. There would be no sex without a ring on her finger from now on. Fluttering her eyelashes a little she said in a breathless voice. ‘I’m not that sort of girl, Martin.’
Martin knew exactly what sort of girl she was – one who had her eyes on the main chance. He was heir to both partners. His father and uncle were establishment and they expected him to marry. Linda’s virtues had been pointed out to him. Had they known his time in Cambridge had revealed to him a side of his character, they’d have been deeply ashamed.
Martin was confident of his ability to live a double life with Linda. All he need do was produce a child – and he could manage that.
So he didn’t press the point with Linda. Let her play her stupid games. If she believed he loved her at the end, so much the better.
* * * *
Sarah Wyman was furious.
‘Damn Charles,’ she said to Noel Patterson. If he thinks he’s getting half of my investments, he can think again. He can take me to court.’
‘Up to you old girl,’ Noah said affably. ‘It will be more money in my pocket. But take my advice and accept it. He has enough on you to keep the gutter press in copy for the next century.’
‘And where did he get it from ... Eddie bloody Renfrew, that’s who.’
‘Don’t be tiresome, Sarah. Nothing in the diary or photographs has surfaced. All Charles has got he’d picked up over the past three years. My guess is he’s had a private investigator on your tail. You should have agreed to a divorce a couple of years ago. He said he’d provide you with grounds.’
‘Some trumped up assignation with a prostitute, I suppose. How stupid would that make me look?’ Sarah chewed on her fingernails. ‘Isn’t there something you could do?’
‘Like what? Charles is being more than fair under the circumstances. Same grounds, everything split down the middle. In addition you get this house and the Paris flat, while he gets to keep his estate. It’s nice and clean if you ask me. No scandal.’
‘No scandal?’ Sarah shrieked. ‘What about the film taken in the brothel? Renfrew arranged that. What’s to say he didn’t tip of Charles.’
‘Stop being a bore, Sarah. Charles wouldn’t pass the time of day with a piece of dirt like Renfrew, and if you will play the whore ...?’ Distaste clouded his eyes when she took out a rectangle of cellophane and laid a line of white powder on the glass tabletop. ‘You should knock that lot off.’
‘Mind your own business’ she snapped, already snorting it through a straw as he headed for the door.
Her teeth worried at her lower lip. Renfrew had got rich at her expense, and what had she got from it? Nothing! He’d rejected her every overture. She’d made a fool of herself the last time, though at one stage she thought she’d discovered his vice. Her eyes narrowed. She knew men, and Renfrew was a misogynist as well as predator.
She wondered if Renfrew was still a client of William Reith. Perhaps William could be persuaded to throw a spanner in his works. But just at this moment she had a pressing need.
Why not combine the two? William had made several blatant overtures to her in the past. Feeling good she dialed his number. ‘Can you come, William, I’ve got a bit of a problem.’
William’s voice was as smooth and as yellow, like camembert cheese. ‘I can come any time, but I’ve got a meeting with a client after lunch, sweetie.’
‘Cancel it,’ she said huskily. ‘I have this personal problem I thought you might like to help me with.’
He chuckled and his voice dropped to a whisper. ‘I can’t cancel this late in the day Sarah darling; he’s my most important client but I think I might be able to help you with that, Sarah darling. Perhaps we should meet in private; I have a nice little flat in Chelsea? I’ll be there in an hour and a half, that will give me time to put some champagne on ice.’
William turned out to be quite innovative. He gave her a key to the flat and they arranged a repeat of the exercise.
The following week Sarah left the house. She didn’t recognize William’s driver, a nondescript little man who barely rated a second glance. Tipping his hat he held the car door open for her.
‘What did you say your name was, driver?’
‘John Smith, Madam.’
‘Have you worked for Mr. Reith Long?’
‘No Madam ... I’m filling in for his regular driver who is taking his holidays.’ Closing the door he got into the driving seat.
Sarah had dressed appropriately for the occasion, having learned that William preferred whips and leather. Dropping her mink to the floor she stalked across to the other room in her high-heeled boots. Her smiled faltered when she pushed open the bedroom door and discovered Charles and his lawyer occupying two of the chairs.
Charles eyed her black, studded corset and the collar with contempt.
She gazed back at him. He’d lost none of the quiet elegance that had drawn her to him in the first place. A pity he’d turned out to be such a square.
‘Charles,’ she drawled, knowing this particular indiscretion was about to cost her a lot of money. ‘How lovely of you to join the party.’
‘Your lawyer will be here shortly, Mrs.. Wyman,’ the man with him said crisply. ‘In view of today’s events my client is not prepared to go ahead with previous terms of settlement.’
Sarah’s mouth dried. ‘If you think I’m accepting less you can go to hell.’
‘For God’s sake, William said piteously, adjusting a rather skimpy outfit that made him resemble an animated slave figure. ‘If this gets out it will ruin me.’
She gazed at Charles. ‘Will it get out?’ He turned to his layer and nodded.
‘My client has instructed me to inform you that he intends to sue for divorce on the grounds of adultery with William Reith, and several unnamed men who frequented an establishment in France in August 1962 and again in July 1964, namely a brother, where you prostituted yourself on several occasions. The owner of the establishment has agreed to give evidence in court. Then there were frequent assignations in the Paris flat, of which your husband is part owner –’
She glared at her husband. ‘How did you find out ... Edward Renfrew.’
‘Who is Edward Renfrew? The lawyer said, his astute glance settling on Charles.
His lip curled. ‘He used to be my wife’s secretary. Perhaps we should consider using if Sarah doesn’t agree to the terms, I imagine.’
So it wasn’t Renfrew. Her head slanted to one side Sarah considered for a moment. The relief chauffeur, Smith! He was the only one who knew about this place. For the life of her she couldn’t remember his first name or his face. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you, Charles.’ She gazed at William who seemed a bit green about the gills. ‘For goodness sake, Willie, go and puke if you’ve got to. Charles won’t make this public, he hasn’t got it in him.’
‘Just try me,’ Charles said rising as the doorbell rang. ‘That should be Noel Chatterton.’
‘What the hell’s going on,’ Noel said as he swept into the flat.
He stopped dead and surveyed the scene. Sarah could almost see his mind ticking over when he murmured, ‘William, you look ludicrous in that slave outfit. As for you, Sarah, I must admit you look absolutely divine in studded leather, you wicked creature.’
Charles coughed.
‘Oh, don’t look so po-faced, Charles. It’s a classic.’ Noel grinned affably at all present. ‘Right, I get the picture. I suggest we ... that is, your legal representative and myself, adjourn to my office to talk business and try and come up with a fair compromise.’
‘Don’t let Charles bluff you,’ Sarah called out as they left.
‘Be quiet or get yourself another lawyer,’ Noel said pleasantly and closed the door behind him.
* * * *
Janey washed the counter top and ran a glance over the tables and chairs. Everything was clean and ready for the morning. The chrome on the espresso machine shone and the juke-box had been turned off at the wall socket. She removed her frilly red apron, hung it on the peg and called out, ‘I’m off home now Mr. Levy.’
‘Samuel Levy will walk you home. Hammersmith is no place for a nice young lady to be wandering alone in at night. Wait till I fetch Winston, he can water the lampposts and make them grow.’
Janey dutifully laughed at the joke, but didn’t argue. In the two years she’d worked at the café her boss had always insisted on seeing her safely home when she worked late.
She bade him goodbye outside the bed-sitter she shared with Sandy Carter and let herself in.
She’d met Sandy on the train and they’d swapped similar stories before deciding to team up. She had flaming red hair, worked in a Soho club as a hat-check girl, and was going to be an actress.
The bedsit was situated over a tobacconist’s shop. The place consisted of one shabbily furnished room divided in half by a bamboo screen. The bedroom was behind the screen.
The bathroom was situated halfway down the stairs and shared with the tenant of the downstairs flat. They’d never set eyes on the occupant, but sometimes they heard the toilet flush and a door opening or closing.
Sandy thought a prostitute lived there.
‘What’s that?’
‘Haven’t you learned anything since you’ve been in London? It’s one of those women who sell sex to men.’
Janey’s blush made Sandy laugh.
They pooled their tips to buy food, and sometimes had enough to pay the rent as well. Janey saved as much of her wage as she could, and the small amount in her post office savings account had nearly tripled in the first three months.
Urged on by Sandy she enrolled in a part time arts course at a nearby college. Sandy joined the drama class, and dashed around London in her spare time, attending auditions.
One day Janey met the mysterious downstairs tenant. She returned from art class one evening in time to pick up the letters lying on the mat. Gas Bills! The one for the downstairs tenant was address to Mr. J. Smith, esquire.
There was a crack of light under his door and she listened for a moment. There was a violin concerto playing. It was lovely music. When she slid the bill under his door the music stopped and she heard footsteps.
Switching on the dim hall light she headed for the stairs and was halfway up when the door to the downstairs flat opened. Silhouetted against the light was a figure of a middle-aged man. He gazed up at here for a moment and then smiled. ‘Thank you Miss, goodnight,’ he said.
Sandy was disappointed that their elusive neighbour wasn’t what they’d imagined. Then she brightened. ‘Perhaps he’s a spy.’
Janey laughed. ‘What ... living in a Hammersmith bed-sitter? I might invite him to dinner on Sunday. He looks lonely.’
When Sunday came there was no sign of J. Smith, esquire. The next day a card was placed in the tobacconist’s window advising the flat was available for rental.
Two young men moved in. They painted the bathroom lilac, hung a perfumed atomizer in the toilet and sprayed the hall with air freshener. Both hairdressers, their names were Stephen and Dion.
‘Nine bob notes,’ Sandy declared, ‘and in case you don’t know what that means, they’re queers.’
Janey liked them.
Dion called out when she let herself in one evening. ‘Hello daahling ... there was a handsome spunk looking for you earlier. He said his name was Griffin Tyler.’ He handed her a note, adding slyly, ‘I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.’
‘I haven’t. Griff’s a friend from school.’ Hand going to her pendant she raced upstairs, experiencing a deep disappointment at having missed him Feverishly she unfolded the piece of paper.
Dear Janey, I’ll be starting work at Hackney Hospital in the New Year, when I will contact you again. Perhaps we could meet for coffee and a chat.
Best wishes, Griffin Tyler MD.
She puzzled over the MD for a few seconds, then her face split into a huge grin. Griff had finally become a doctor!
* * * *
That winter Sandy got her first job as an actress, chucking in the night job at the club on the strength of it.
‘It’s nothing much,’ she said, her casual tone at odds with the excitement in her eyes. ‘I’m a village maiden in a pantomime, and the understudy for the wicked witch.’
For weeks Sandy learned her understudy lines and rehearsed the songs and dance steps, dragging Janey along to rehearsals, and grumbling afterwards.
‘Did you see how that Barbara keeps trying to upstage me all the time? I’m going to kick her in the bum if she gets in front of me again.’
Finding it all bewildering, Janey sat near the back of the stalls, trying to be unobtrusive so the two men who directed the show, and sometimes ranted and swore at the actors would not see her and throw her out.
Come opening night the witch took sick, and Sandy was nearly tearing her hair out with stage-fright.
‘Just be yourself and you’ll be fantastic,’ Janey said.
‘Very funny ... just at this moment I wish I’d taken up dishwashing as a career.
Sandy’s nerves fled as soon as she hit the spotlight. She was marvelously nasty. The audience booed when she raised hooked hands and flung her arms about, cackling and casting spells over both players and audience. Her huge hooked nose, grey matted wig and blacked out front teeth made her look terrifying. When she got her just deserts there was prolonged cheering.
Susie would have enjoyed this, Janey suddenly thought as homesickness ripped through her. She’d received a letter from Pamela the day before. Linda had become engaged to her boss’s son, Martin. Eddie had been confined to bed with bronchitis for the past week. Susie was doing well at school. She’d sent her a drawing, a green stick man leading a mauve dog on a leash. Janey pinned it up over her bed.
Like the previous year, Janey intended to send Pamela some money for Christmas. She could use it to buy Susie something new to wear. Her father treated Susie only marginally better than he’d treated her all her life, it she read between the lines of Pamela’s letter correctly.
Only Edward Renfrew wasn’t her father, was he?
With a sudden shock she realized that Linda was only her half-sister, and Susie – her dear darling Susie – wasn’t related at all. An arrow of sadness shot through her. It was followed by curiosity. Who was her father, did Pamela know? She decided to take the train to Bournemouth on her next day off, and ask her.
A great choking lump settled in her throat. She was dying to see Pamela and Suzie again.
Sandy’s success inspired her to paint her portrait as a memento of her first theatre job. She painted in every spare moment, putting into practice techniques learned at her art lessons, like perspective and form. The bedsit was covered in canvasses.
You should try to sell some, it would put some extra cash in your pocket and give us more living space.’ Sandy said one day when she nearly tripped over Janey’s easel trying to get to the kitchen.
‘Sorry. I’ll make some space. ‘ She stack the canvasses under the bed. Janey toyed with the idea of selling some of them, but didn’t know how to go about it ... besides, she wasn’t good enough yet.
She put the problem aside when Christmas cards came from Phil Tyler and Griff, Charles Wyman and Brenda and Mary and Douglas Yates. Brenda had included a note saying she and Charles were marrying in the village church in April, and she was invited to the wedding.
There was also a card from Tim Brown. He’d run into Pamela in Bournemouth and had badgered her into giving him her address. He said he was being posted to Malta in the New Year, and would try and visit her before he left.
It would be lovely to see all her friends again ... including Tim, her former brother-in-law.
* * * *
To Janey’s disappointment Pamela was alone when she met her in Forte’s café.
‘Where’s Susie?’
‘I left her with a mother of a friend she made at school.’ Pamela glanced around her. ‘I daren’t let her see you love. If she let anything slip to your father there would be hell to pay.’
It seemed as though nothing had changed in her absence.
‘He’s not my father ... remember? Then as casually as possible, because Pamela had given her a perfect opening, ‘Do you know who is?’
Mouth open, Pamela stared at her. She’d worried herself sick after Janey had left, had imagined the girl in all sorts of dire situations, until she’d heard from her. Now she realized how resourceful the girl was.
She’d filled out a bit, though was still slender. Her figure was that of a young woman. Free of makeup, her hair was pulled back in a slide at the back of her neck. She wore the blue duffle coat over black drainpipe trousers, and carried a tartan drawstring bag. Odd ... it was the same coat that had been the reason for her leaving in the first place.
Remembering she and Mary had agreed to wait till she was eighteen, she sighed. After all, that birthday was only two months away. ‘Eddie didn’t tell me,’ she hedged. Swiftly she drank her coffee and stood. ‘Have you got time to visit the Yates? They’d love to see you.’
‘I intend to visit them before I catch the train back.’ She placed a hand of Pamela’s arm. ‘Must you go so soon? I’ve got heaps to tell you.’
‘I can manage another half hour. Eddie creates if I’m out too long, and I’ve got to pick Susie up.’ We could walk around the gardens.’
Janey paid the bill and they went outside. ‘Things haven’t changed then, she said, as they strolled amongst the winter bare flower beds.’
‘If anything it’s worse. Eddie can’t get rid of his cough and is bad tempered all of the time.’ Her fingers strayed to a yellowing bruise on her cheek. ‘I keep Susie out of his way as much as possible.’
Janey’s blood began to boil at the thought of him hitting Susie. ‘Why don’t you leave him? You could come to London and we could get a place together. Both of us could work.’
‘I daren’t. He threatened to take Susie away from me if I left him. Eddie never makes idle threats.’
‘What’s Linda doing these days?’
‘Working in an accountant’s office.’ Pamela sniffed. ‘She’s become all hoity-toity since she got engaged to the boss’s son.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Oh ... all right, but you get the feeling he’s looking down his nose at you. Eddie’s thinking of asking his advice about investments. Something went wrong and he lost some of his money. He wasn’t very happy about it.’
‘Serves him right for being such a scrooge.’
‘The trouble is ... he takes it out on me.’
Janey noticed the threads of grey in Pamela’s hair and the dark circles under her eyes. She looked older that the last time she’d seen her – sadder. She cheered herself by telling her about her job in the café and her art classes. When they were back where they started from she slipped some money into her hand. This is to buy Susie and yourself something nice for Christmas. I wish it were more.’
Janey hugged Pamela hugged tight for a moment. ‘I’ll always regard you as my mother and I want you to know that I love you.
She boarded the yellow trolley bus just before left, and when she looked back it was to see Pamela hurrying towards the nearest telephone box. She guessed that Pamela was about to warn Mary of her impending visit.
* * * *
Mary waited until Janey had nearly reached the end of her visit before she said, ‘I believe you want to know who your real father is.’
Puzzled, Janey gazed at her. What had Mary Yates got to do with this?’
Mary placed a photograph in her lap. ‘That’s your father.’
Janey stared at it for a moment or two then spluttered, ‘That’s John Gregory ... your brother.’
‘His name is John Gregory Bellamy,’ Mary said quietly, relieved the girl wasn’t taking it as badly as she’d feared. ‘Most people called him Jack.’
There was a cautious expression in the eyes that came her way. ‘Then you’re my aunt.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m glad. He’s in prison, isn’t he?’
‘Yes ... but–’
The photograph fell from her lap to the floor as she stood, her face suddenly strained. ‘I’d better go now. I don’t want to miss my train.’
‘He’s innocent, Janey. He didn’t do it.’
She closed her eyes for a moment, her fingers pressing lightly against her forehead. ‘Didn’t do what?’
‘Attack you.’
‘No ... he didn’t attack me. He ran me over? I’m afraid I really don’t really recall the incident, and don’t want to discuss it since it’s over and done with. I’ve got a headache.
‘Try, Janey,’ Mary urged.
Douglas came between them. ‘Leave it alone, Mary. Fetch your coat, my dear. ‘I’ll run you to the station.’
The station smelled of soot. Rain dripped from the edge of the roof and formed little grey puddles. The smell made her headache worse.
The three of them stood in an awkward knot until the train came rattling into the station and came to a screeching stop in a hiss of steam.
Brief hugs were exchanged. ‘You’ll write,’ Mary said.
She nodded, and then hesitated. ‘Thank you for the gift ... Aunt Mary.’
‘He’ll be out soon ... your father. In twelve months. He’ll want to see you.’
‘That’s impossible.’ Her head had begun to pound now and she wished Mary would go away.
‘Get on the train, Janey love,’ Douglas urged. ‘Don’t you worry about anything.’
The carriage was almost deserted. Douglas and Mary’s faces were pale, misty ovals through the steamed-up glass. They waved to each other as the train pulled out. When she could no longer see them she placed her head in her hands.
John Gregory was her father. Her father! She wished she hadn’t asked How could he have left her to die? And did Mary really expect her to see him after what had happened? She gave a little whimper.
A soft, drawling voice said, ‘Excuse me, are you feeling all right?’
The owner of the voice was a young man in a checked lumbar jacket leaning over her. He was tall with tangled light brown hair that reached down over his collar. His eyes were a clear, liquid green.
‘It’s a headache, that’s all.’
‘Look, I just happen to be in a Good Samaritan mood, and I have some aspirin and a flask of coffee in my pack. Would that help? You can tell me to go away if you like.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Mr ...?’
‘Darius Taunt, lately of New York in the United States of America.’ He chuckled as he threw his pack on the seat opposite and began to rummage through the contents. ‘My friends call me Drifter.’
Janey Renfrew.’ Her glance went to guitar case strapped to his pack. ‘Are you a musician?’
‘No, Ma-am, I just like to strum now and again.’ He shook two aspirin into her hand and poured some coffee from the flask into the plastic cup. His smile sent a trickle down her spine and made her feel shy and breathless.
Janey felt a bit of a fraud as she swallowed the pills because her pain had disappeared as suddenly as it had begun.