I'll Be There Read online

  Linda sidled to her feet and backed against the wall. ‘That’s right ... Stick up for her and not for me.’

  ‘Why don’t you belt up for five minutes,’ Tim shot at her. ‘This isn’t about you.’

  ‘Get out of my house you ungrateful madam. Join your mother in hell, and don’t bother coming back.’

  Head held high Janey left the room. She could hear her father coughing as she stuffed her clothes into two plastic bags. But no ... he wasn’t her father, she reminded herself. Someone else was. At last, something that explained his treatment of her.’

  There was a sense of unreality about the situation. She was free – free of his tyranny at long last! Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her and she felt deliriously happy as she took Lord William from the drawer and placed it in her pocket.

  Life was a journey Phil had said, and her journey was about to start.

  The house shook as a door slammed shut and her laughter stilled in her throat. How would Pamela manage without her?

  They were waiting for her in the hall. Pamela’s face was strained as she whispered in her ear, ‘Get word to me through Mary if you can.’

  Linda looked terrified. Ashen faced she was swaying on her feet as Janey gave Susie a hug. ‘You made him do that, Janey. You’ve always been a troublemaker, and I hate you.’

  ‘Take Linda to the bathroom, she’d going to be sick,’ she said to Tim.

  Tim ignored her words and followed her to the door, saying, ‘It was my fault. I’m so sorry Janey.’ He pressed a wad of money into her hand. ‘It’s not much. If you need any help contact Wendy at work. I’ll tell her what happened.’

  There was more to Tim than she’d first thought, though he’d shown appalling taste by marrying Linda.

  ‘I thought you were going to grow a beard and be a pirate when you grew up,’ she said, making him smile when she took his handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around his cut hand.

  He brushed a kiss against her bruised mouth. ‘And you had dreams of being a famous artist.’

  ‘I still have.’ She experienced a dangerous sense of freedom, as if this was a turning point in her life of some significance. ‘Now, perhaps I can be. I’ll invite you to my first exhibition.’

  She heard Linda throw up, and grinned. For once in her life she wouldn’t have to clean up anyone’s mess but her own.

  * * * *

  With not set plan to follow Janey spent the night in the unoccupied house of Mary and Donald Yates. One thing she knew, she was not staying in Bournemouth, where she might run into her father. She’d take a train, something she’d never done before. It would be an adventure.

  Before she left for the station wrote left Mary and Douglas a note, thanking them for their past kindness and explaining the situation. She promised to contact them when she was settled.

  Still with no set plan to follow she closed her eyes and stabbed a finger at the map on the railway station wall.

  ‘How much is the fare to London?’ she said to the man in the ticket office.

  Her heart began to beat overtime as she handed over the money. The thought of going to the capital city was rather frightening, but it was as good as anywhere to start her new life.

  Chapter Seven

  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 sm
iled. ‘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.’