Christmas for the Halfpenny Orphans Page 11

  As he turned away, Mark was frowning. He hadn’t been out much himself lately; it had taken him a while to get over the affair with Carole. It wasn’t that he’d been madly in love with her; in fact he’d only started going out with her when he’d thought his hopes of a relationship with Angela were dead in the water. He’d mistakenly believed that she might be in love with Nick Hadden, but she’d told him that had been merely friendship. Mark had been a fool to let himself be drawn into that flirtation with Carole, because that was all it had been to him. She’d claimed to be in love with him, but he suspected that was as false as her claim that she was having his baby. He’d only proposed to her for the sake of the child; he’d seen too many men shirk their duties, abandoning the infants they’d fathered – he’d seen the suffering it caused. No matter the cost to his personal happiness, he’d been prepared to go through with marriage to Carole so that his son or daughter would know what it was to have a father. Though it had come as a relief when Carole’s lie was exposed and the engagement was broken, there was disappointment too that fatherhood had once again been snatched away from him.

  Mark’s first marriage might have survived had their little boy been born healthy, but he died within days of being born. Edine, unable to have another child, succumbed to depression and recklessly neglected her health, dying in a diabetic coma. Ever since, Mark had felt empty, living only for his work – until he’d started seeing more of Angela after her husband was killed. He’d lost a good friend in John and out of respect and love he’d given Angela all the support he could without demanding anything in return – but perhaps he’d been wrong to wait so long before speaking. He wanted to speak now, to tell her that he loved her … but would she want anything to do with him after his affair with Carole? She would have every right to be angry, to dismiss his claims of having loved her for years. Looking back, he could not imagine why he’d fallen into Carole’s arms like an immature fool, when it was Angela he wanted – but perhaps it was because Angela had wounded his pride and Carole’s flattery had made him feel good. Mark wasn’t proud of the way he’d behaved, but honest enough to face the truth.

  He was too good an analyst to pity himself and had no illusions about what a fool he’d been. Mark was thoughtful as he got back in his car and drove home. He’d been a fool to delay. It was time he talked to Angela, made her aware of his feelings for her – but for that he needed to be alone with her, to spend time in her company. Recently, he’d been far too wrapped up in his work – and the fate of one of his closest friends. Alan had come to him complaining of severe headaches and worrying loss of memory. Suspecting a brain tumour, he’d sent his friend to see a consultant. Roberts had given him the bad news – the tumour was large and would eventually kill Alan unless he had a potentially fatal operation.

  Thwarted in his attempts to see Angela, Mark decided he would visit Alan in the private nursing home, as he had been doing every spare moment since the operation. Mark’s patients always played a large part in his life, but lately he’d been working flat out and the visits to his friend left him no time for a personal life.

  If Angela was annoyed with him for neglecting her, he would have to explain how busy he’d been. Once she knew, he was sure she would understand. Mark would send her some flowers in the morning and then he’d telephone and ask her out to dinner at the weekend …

  Angela frowned as the huge bouquet was delivered to her office. If this had come from Henry Arnold she had a good mind to send it straight back. However, when she opened the card attached she saw it was from Mark. He’d promised to ring her and spoke of dinner at the weekend. She smiled as she put the flowers in some water in a vase and stood it on her desk. Until this moment she’d been annoyed with Mark. He hadn’t told her about the seat on the Board being offered to a man she was unsure was right for the position.

  Her thoughts returned to the previous evening. Only when they reached the coffee stage had Henry Arnold unfolded the plan he had in mind. Angela’s first reaction was to dismiss his idea as ridiculous – move St Saviour’s to a brand-new home in the country and a large building designed specifically for the purpose? Nonsense!

  ‘Don’t you see, you will never be able to give your children the fresh air and space they need unless you move out into the countryside. These children are taken on visits to the zoo or a park sometimes, but in a new home in the country they would have so many advantages. Running in the clean air, for starters … but you could give them riding lessons at a local stable and take them swimming and lots of hikes around the beauty spots. You could teach them to play cricket and arrange football matches …’ Henry Arnold leaned towards her, the smile on his lips so charming and inviting that briefly she was swayed to his opinion despite her belief that now was completely the wrong time for such a move.

  ‘Billy Baggins would like that,’ Angela said, dazzled by the shining prospect he dangled before her eyes. When he chose, Henry Arnold could be a charming and attractive companion, she realised, and the children could do with better facilities for sport. But moving the home was too drastic a course for Angela to accept out of the blue. ‘Yet I’m not sure it’s what is needed – at least not for some years yet. We’ve only recently opened our new wing at St Saviour’s. Besides, we are at the heart of the problem where we are. The police bring us any children they find in trouble and …’

  ‘Sometimes that leads to more problems,’ Henry Arnold said, his direct gaze making the back of her neck tingle. ‘Some children aren’t right for St Saviour’s; they’re too damaged and violent, like the boy who attacked Sister Beatrice.’

  ‘I know, mistakes have been made in the past.’ Angela gazed into her delicate wineglass and thought of poor damaged Terry. It seemed bizarre to be discussing the poverty of the East End while dining at Simpson’s, one of the finest restaurants in London.

  ‘Had he been properly examined, you would have known that he was not a suitable child for St Saviour’s. While the local police continue to think of you as their own private depository for every destitute child they pick up, you will always be at risk of something similar. The children should be assessed first by a committee and then sent on as is considered appropriate to the right home.’

  ‘That’s rather cold and clinical, isn’t it?’ Angela looked at him in disgust. ‘St Saviour’s was set up on compassionate values and to meet the needs of the most vulnerable children. Mark was making arrangements for Terry to be moved to a suitable place as soon as possible …’

  ‘He should have sectioned him instantly he realised there was a danger.’

  ‘Mark would not agree with you. He believed it could send the child over the edge and wanted to avoid damaging his chances of a decent life … to give Terry every possible chance.’

  ‘I take it you also disagree?’ He nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘I would say that Sister Beatrice is a trifle old fashioned and might be replaced – but we need people like you to bring new ideas for the future. Perhaps she was at fault in her attitudes to the children—’

  ‘I think I’ve heard enough of this,’ Angela said. ‘It might interest you to learn that many people feel St Saviour’s could not operate without Sister Beatrice. She is considered to be the rock we all cling to.’

  ‘Surely that is not your opinion, Angela?’ His eyes mocked her. ‘I have heard that you find her authority irksome. Suppose I told you that in my home you would be my first choice as Warden for St Saviour’s?’

  ‘I do hope that you don’t expect me to jump at the offer,’ Angela said calmly. She might be itching to fly at his throat, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it. ‘For one thing, as far as I recall, St Saviour’s is an independent charity home; with some grants from the Government and generous donations – we hope to keep it that way. You may be rich, Mr Arnold, but that doesn’t give you the right to walk in and take over.’

  ‘Angela, there’s no need for us to quarrel over this …’ He reached to touch her hand. She pulled back as
if she’d been stung, knowing that she was physically attracted to him even though her instincts told her not to trust this man. ‘You know it is a generous offer. Now that I have a seat on the Board I shall make my views known and I think most of my fellow committee members will agree with me.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps they may in principle,’ she agreed, wondering why his touch sent a tingle down her spine. Surely she disliked him? ‘There may come a time when a home in the country might be the right move, but personally I feel that many of our children would resent being taken from the environment they’ve been brought up in. When they grow up, their lives will be in London – most of them have a good idea of what they want to be when they leave us. London has so many excellent opportunities for them.’

  ‘There you and I part company,’ Henry Arnold said. ‘I believe that away from the dirt and noise of the city they will learn to appreciate the better things in life. I am not saying the home should be built in a wasteland – I was thinking perhaps on the edge of a country town in Essex. They would then have the advantage of being able to choose whether they preferred rural or town life. Those who wished could return to London if they so desired, but many of them might become farmers or builders or even doctors rather than dock workers or labourers.’

  ‘Have you any idea of the kind of children we take in?’ Angela asked, smiling now. ‘I’ve tried to interest the older ones in trips to museums and the ballet, but few are interested; they prefer the zoo, Madame Tussauds or the picture house, followed by tea at Lyons. It is only now that they are beginning to take an interest in competitive team games and their own concert—’

  ‘So I understand and much of that is due to you. Until you arrived only their bodily needs were seen as important; their minds were left to stagnate. I grew up amongst the smoke and the factories of the North of England, Angela. My father started out as foreman of another man’s business and worked his way up. He sent me away to the right school to learn that there was another way of life – and I did. That is what I want for our children.’

  ‘Yes, I do too – to a certain extent,’ Angela agreed. ‘It’s possible that some of them may go on to something better, rise up from their humble beginnings and make a good life for themselves, but it isn’t possible for all of them. These children have a taste for fish paste, not caviar.’

  ‘Not as things stand, no,’ he said, a faint smile playing on his lips at her joke. ‘I have a view of a better future for all our children, Angela – and I mean more than the orphans at St Saviour’s. I want to see a revolution in education and living standards, to bring the lower classes up to a new level and give them a chance to be more … to open ignorant minds to the possibilities that are out there. There is a new world coming and it shouldn’t be open to just you and me and people like us – it should be there for all our children.’

  ‘I know there is so much to be done, and people like you and Mark – and me, in my own small way – we’re trying to help all we can, but it’s a huge job.’

  ‘And one mainly for the Government,’ he said. ‘I shall keep lobbying for improvements for the working man and his family through my connections with the unions – but we have to start with the children, to bring them up to recognise the failings in society that gave us slums and poverty …’

  Angela looked at him, seeing the light in his eyes as he spoke of his hopes and dreams of a better future. He was undoubtedly an attractive and dynamic man and he seemed to have the right ideas. Perhaps she’d misjudged him, due to his arrogance and his irritating manner of assuming that what he saw as right was automatically so. Yet she was level-headed enough to know that what he was describing was very difficult if not impossible to achieve – certainly in one man’s lifetime.

  ‘I agree with your principles,’ she offered at last, ‘if not with all your ideas.’

  ‘Well, at least I’ve made some headway,’ he said and looked pleased. ‘So I can count on your support when I raise the matter with the Board?’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Angela backed off as he threw the challenge at her. ‘I might agree to the home being moved one day in the distant future, but that isn’t now – and I could never agree to replacing Sister Beatrice as Warden. Everyone loves and depends on her too much. I’m sure you have no idea how much she does to help those in need.’

  ‘Well, Rome wasn’t built in a day.’ Henry Arnold’s stern features relaxed into a smile. ‘I think we’ve broken the ice at least. What do you fancy for pudding? I rather like the idea of spotted dick and custard; it always used to be a favourite of mine as a child …’

  ‘Coffee for me please. I couldn’t eat another thing.’

  After their meal, he’d driven her home but Angela hadn’t asked him in. She’d thanked him formally and seen the disappointment in his eyes. Henry Arnold had made no secret that he found her attractive, and she acknowledged that he was a sensual, good-looking man – but she had no wish to begin a relationship with him, despite the knowledge that she needed more than friendship in her life. She wanted love, a close physical relationship, but not with Mr Arnold: despite his undoubted charm, Angela simply didn’t trust him.

  She frowned as she put a new sheet of paper in her typewriter after mentally reviewing the previous evening. She’d thought about what he’d said and something was nagging at her, though she couldn’t put a name to it. In all his enthusiastic ranting about a wonderful new life in the future, Henry Arnold had neglected to mention what he hoped to get out of all this … and somehow something about him didn’t ring true.

  FIFTEEN

  Michelle was thoughtful as she walked through the deserted market. Rotten fruit lay abandoned in the gutters, slowly turning to a foul-smelling mess, and she thought how dilapidated the area looked; Bethnal Green was still showing signs of the war damage it had suffered. At least Alice’s home was in a fairly new block of flats, which is where Michelle would like to live if she ever had her own home, not that it was likely she would, given that there was no special man in her life. Alice’s cousin Eric had told her he was interested in marrying her, but she’d been holding him off for ages – even though she wasn’t sure why. Eric was decent and nice – but Michelle wasn’t sure how much she could trust him. She wasn’t sure she could trust any man again.

  Alan had let her down so badly and the pain of his lies and deceit had lived with her for too long. She ought to have been over it by now; it had been years since he came into her life, right at the start of the war, as she was finishing her training as a nurse. Michelle had been running for her bus one wet and windy day and she’d dropped her exercise books. Alan had saved them from being blown into the filthy water filling the gutters and handed them over with a flourish.

  ‘Thanks – those books contain three years’ work,’ she’d said, her breath catching as she looked up into his deep blue eyes. He was so handsome, she’d thought she would die, and his smile had caught her fast. It had pretty much been love at first sight, but only on Michelle’s side. Alan had been married, but he hadn’t told her that until she discovered it for herself – just as she’d been on the verge of going away with him for a long weekend.

  If someone hadn’t seen her with him and told her that he was married with a small son, Michelle might have found herself in the same boat as Alice: pregnant and shamed. Thank God for the nosy neighbour who’d made it her business to put Michelle right!

  Alan had denied it at first when she’d accused him of deceiving her, but she’d known he was lying. She’d seen it in his face, even though he kept telling her that she was the one he loved.

  ‘I’m getting a divorce. I promise you, I’ll leave her,’ Alan had said when she’d told him the weekend was off and she wouldn’t be seeing him again. ‘I love you, my darling; please don’t be like this. What does it matter? She doesn’t care about anything but the boy—’

  ‘And that makes it all right?’ Michelle asked, feeling cold all over. ‘What happens when you get tired of me – will you tell the ne
xt girl that I’m only interested in my children?’

  Alan had pleaded with her, tears running down his cheeks, but they’d been false. When he’d realised that he wasn’t going to get his own way, he’d sneered at her for being a fool. They’d parted badly and Michelle’s wounds had taken a long time to heal. It didn’t hurt as much now, but it had left her with a deep distrust of men in general.

  She crossed the road towards the block of flats where Alice lived and glanced over her shoulder, but no one seemed to be hanging around that night. Perhaps Butcher Lee’s thugs had got tired of their games.

  Alice let her in. She smiled and welcomed Michelle into her lovely flat; it was as clean as a new pin, everywhere smelling of polish and fresh washing, very different from the old house that Alice had been brought up in, which had always smelled of foul drains. For a moment Michelle envied her friend her lovely home, wishing her mother could have a place like this, but then she registered that her friend seemed tense, not her normal cheery self.

  ‘What’s wrong? Mum said you seemed a bit down when you came for your sewing lesson.’

  ‘Nothing … a bit fed up, that’s all.’

  ‘Bob was home recently, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, but …’ Alice caught back a sob. ‘I had a letter from Jack … he wants me to go to America with him.’

  ‘Jack Shaw? But I thought he died in the fire.’