The Londoners Read online

  ‘But can’t you tell me what my choices and decisions should be?’ Kate asked in rising anxiety.

  Miss Helliwell shook her head. ‘No, my dear. You will have to make up your own mind about the paths you will take. One thing you can take comfort from. You have a cross on your Mount of Jupiter which is very rare and very lucky. There, can you see it?’ With a rheumatically afflicted finger she pointed to two small lines forming a cross on Kate’s palm. ‘That indicates that at some time in your life a great and lasting love will occur, a love from which nothing but good will come.’ Gently she released Kate’s hand.

  ‘Is that it?’ Kate asked in surprise. ‘I thought you said that readings took a long time.’

  ‘Some do and some don’t,’ Miss Helliwell said, carefully avoiding Kate’s eyes so that Kate couldn’t see the troubled expression she knew was there. ‘Will you go and tell Caroline that I am ready to read her palm now?’

  Reluctantly, wishing that Miss Helliwell had been a little more specific about the nature of the heartache she was apparently to suffer, Kate pushed her chair away from the table and went in search of the conservatory.

  It was at the back of the house adjoining the kitchen and the instant she entered it Carrie leapt from the chair she had been sitting in. With a finger to her lips she indicated that Esther was asleep and then whispered urgently, ‘What happened? What did she tell you?’

  ‘She didn’t say much at all.’ For the first time in her life Kate was unwilling to share her experience with Carrie. Miss Helliwell’s odd attitude had deeply disconcerted her and she wanted to think over what had been said to her, before trivializing it by gossiping about it.

  Carrie’s dark, well-defined eyebrows rose high. ‘She must have said something!’

  Aware that she was going to have to at least partially satisfy Carrie’s curiosity, Kate said, grateful that one part of her palm-reading had been uncomplicated, ‘I have a Cross of Jupiter on my palm and it signifies great good fortune.’

  ‘Golly!’ There was envy in Carrie’s voice. ‘I wonder if I’ve got one as well?’

  ‘You won’t find out standing here, talking to me.’ There was impatience as well as affection in Kate’s voice.

  ‘That’s true,’ Carrie said, ever-practical. ‘I’d better be going, hadn’t I? Wish me luck.’

  ‘You’re having your palm read, not swimming the Channel!’

  Carrie gave an exaggerated shiver. ‘It may not be a plunge into the Channel but it’s a plunge into the future and I jolly well don’t want any nasty surprises!’

  With fingers crossed, she left the conservatory and Kate sat down in a battered cane chair near to Esther’s wheelchair. The younger Miss Helliwell, well into her seventies, was snoring gently, a worn tartan blanket covering her knees.

  Kate stared out into a rear garden as dense with blossom as the rose-drowned front garden, wishing she had never broached the idea of palm-readings to Carrie. She was an intelligent girl and she was well aware that her palm-reading had been brief because Miss Helliwell had been too taken aback by what she had read in her palm to have talked to her truthfully and at length about what she had seen there. Instead she had taken refuge in generalities.

  She looked down at her palm and at the faint web of lines forming a small cross below her forefinger. It hadn’t all been generalities. There had been utter sincerity in Miss Helliwell’s voice when she had told her that the cross signified great good luck and a lasting love. Some of the tension she had been feeling eased. Miss Helliwell had also been quite adamant that, beyond the heartache, happiness lay in wait for her. That being so, it was ridiculous of her to feel unnerved at being told she would have heartache and hard choices and decisions to make. Hard choices and decisions were, after all, something everyone had to cope with.

  As Faust padded into the conservatory, she gave a rueful smile. She had expected too much from the palm-reading, that was the trouble. And she had completely forgotten to ask Miss Helliwell whether or not she should apply for the job at Harvey’s. Faust sprang up on to her knees and settled himself comfortably and she knew that her forgetfulness didn’t matter. She didn’t need advice where the new job was concerned. Of course she was going to apply for it. Her future would be what she would make of it. And she had stayed in the typing pool long enough.

  On the following Saturday, as they walked towards the Heath where the church fête was being held, Carrie was still full of all the things Miss Helliwell had told her. ‘She was quite adamant that I had already met my husband-to-be and that I would be married long before I was twenty-one,’ she said, obviously highly delighted at the prediction.

  ‘But that was precisely what you didn’t want!’ Kate protested. ‘You didn’t want to marry someone you’d known since nursery days! You wanted to be swept off your feet by a tall, dark stranger!’

  Carrie grinned. ‘I did, didn’t I? However, I have exercised a lady’s prerogative and I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘But why on earth . . .’ Kate began, exasperated.

  ‘Because Miss Helliwell saw a uniform quite clearly and children with red in their hair. Danny Collins is quite obviously my fate. Don’t you think that wonderfully romantic?’

  ‘I think you’re crackers,’ Kate said starkly. ‘You can’t decide to marry someone just because of a palm-reading!’

  ‘Oh, I’ve a little more reason than that,’ Carrie said, a naughty sparkle in her eye. ‘He’s home on leave again and he’s been promoted to sergeant. Stripes suit him. He looked very tasty when I ran into him at the chippie last night.’

  Kate shook her head in mock despair and then began to laugh. Arm in arm, Kate in an ice-blue sundress that emphasized the blondeness of her hair, Carrie in her highly fashionable lavender crêpe dress, they walked out of Magnolia Terrace and across the main road and onto the Heath.

  The tiny section of the Heath given over to the fête was resplendent with flags and bunting. There were white-naperied tables laden with home-made jams, cakes and pickles. A long trestle table groaned under the weight of entries for the most splendid basket of home-grown vegetables. A large crayoned notice pinned to a festively decorated tent announced that Miss Helliwell, Palm-reader and Clairvoyant, was available for consultations.

  Clumps of balloons flew from every available anchorage. Donkeys plodded contentedly around a roped-off circuit, small children on their backs. There were bagatelle tables and pingpong tables. There was a section each for ninepins, quoits, skittles, darts and an impressive archery ground. A large bell-tent, the notice TEAS pinned to its entrance, was presided over by Hettie Collins. Nibbo was helping Kate’s father to hammer cricket stumps into position ready for the obligatory cricket match. Mavis was sprucing up her little daughter ready for the Bonny Baby competition. Miss Godfrey, wearing her habitual tweed suit despite the brilliant sun and cloudless sky, was busy selling last minute raffle tickets. Ted Lomax, Carrie’s quiet-spoken brother-in-law, was manhandling a barrel of sarsaparilla into place under a label proclaiming REFRESHMENTS.

  ‘Well I haven’t entered the home-grown vegetable competition and I don’t have an entry for the Bonny Baby Competition,’ Carrie said pragmatically, ‘so we can give those a miss. How about a shot at archery. Are you game?’

  Though she couldn’t possibly have heard Carrie, Mavis shouted across to her, ‘Don’t go skiving off when it’s time for the Bonny Baby competition, Carrie! I want you clapping your hands and stamping your feet on your niece’s behalf!’

  Carrie gave an exaggerated groan. ‘You’d think she’d have enough support with Mum, Dad, Gran and Christina.’

  ‘What is Christina like?’ Kate asked curiously as they side-stepped members of St Mark’s Boys’ Brigade Band who were practising for the display they were to give later in the afternoon.

  ‘Quiet. Though I think that’s only temporary. She’d had a long and tiring journey and I reckon the nervous relief, when she realized she was actually in England, must have been enormous. She’s here
somewhere with Mum and Dad and Gran and she’s dying to meet you and make friends.’

  From behind them a piercing whistle stopped them dead in their tracks. ‘It’s Danny,’ Carrie said without turning her head. ‘With a whistle like that he could earn a living as a railway guard!’

  The perm that had once made her hair look like a Hottentot’s had long since grown out and her hair now hung heavily and sleekly to her shoulders. As she pushed it away from her face and turned around, Kate saw a tell-tale flush of colour in her cheeks. Wryly she acknowledged that where Carrie was concerned, Miss Helliwell’s predictions had quite obviously been a hundred per cent accurate.

  ‘Fancy a shot at the archery?’ Danny asked, strolling towards them, Jerry and Jack Robson close behind him. ‘After all the rifle practice I’ve done this past few months I reckon I should be able to hit the bull’s-eye easily.’

  Not overly tall but broad in the shoulders, he had an engaging grin and the kind of pleasant, frank and open face that would be boyish well into middle-age. The boyishness was enhanced by the hint of red in his hair and the freckles that peppered his rather snub nose. Until now Kate had been mystified as to why Carrie was so taken with him but seeing him in uniform she had to admit that the stripes on his shoulders did give him a certain allure. Or perhaps, she thought reflectively as Carrie teased him about being so confident of his chances, it wasn’t the stripes but the self-assurance they had given him that was attractive.

  ‘Archery?’ Jack Robson asked as he and his brother joined them. ‘Where the hell did the vicar get the idea for archery from? Lambeth Palace?’

  Unlike Danny, there was nothing remotely homely about the Robson boys. Tall and hard-muscled, with thick shocks of unruly dark hair, they both possessed a reckless ‘damn-your-eyes’ quality that indicated they would be ugly customers in a fight and that they wouldn’t need much excuse to join in any fight that was going.

  ‘Archery is a very old and well-respected sport,’ Carrie said to him pertly. ‘It isn’t just for nobs. It was the bowmen of England that won the Battle of Agincourt for King Henry.’

  ‘Well, isn’t that nice to know?’ Jack said affably, not remotely impressed by her show of knowledge. ‘And leaving Henry out of it and talking about this afternoon, what prizes are being given for scoring bull’s-eyes?’

  ‘Knowing the vicar, it’ll be teddy bears,’ Jerry said glumly.

  Kate giggled. Though the Robson boys had a reputation for being rough and ready they were also amusing company and she secretly had a soft spot for Jerry, whose swagger was marginally less blatant than his brother’s. He said to her now: ‘Have we to go over to the archery then? I don’t want to hang around here. I might be asked to judge the Bonny Baby Competition!’

  They all burst out laughing and Kate saw Danny take hold of Carrie’s hand and tuck it proprietorially into the crook of his arm. ‘I think your mum and dad are over at the archery ground,’ he said to her. ‘Shall we go?’

  Carrie nodded, the sun glinting on the tortoiseshell combs holding her hair away from her face, the glow on her face radiant.

  Kate felt her throat tighten. Carrie really was in love with Danny. A pang of wistfulness assailed her. She, too, would have liked to be in love, or at least to be on the verge of being in love. Certain that she was far from being so and with Jerry at her side, she followed Jack and Danny and Carrie to the far side of the fête where the archery target had been set up.

  ‘This is the last time you’ll be seeing me for a while,’ Jerry said laconically, his hands deep in his trouser pockets. ‘I’m off to Spain tomorrow.’

  ‘Spain!’ Kate forgot all about not being in love. Ever since civil war had erupted in Spain it had scarcely been out of the news. ‘You’re going out there to fight?’

  She realized as soon as she said it that it was a stupid question and that of course he was going to Spain to fight. He nodded, saying with a lucidity and intensity of feeling that took her completely unawares, ‘It’s no use leaving things up to the League of Nations, is it? They didn’t stop Mussolini marching into Abyssinia and it’s quite obvious that where Spain is concerned they’re going to be just as ineffectual. If we want to put an end to fascism and to fascist bullies, we’ve got to stand up and be counted.’

  It was so unexpected a speech that Kate felt momentarily robbed of breath. She looked across at him, her eyes wide, realizing in stunned surprise that there was a great deal more to Jerry Robson than met the eye. Regret shot through her. It was a realization that had come too late. If he was going to Spain there was no telling how long he might be away for. Hoping with passionate intensity that he would return home safe and uninjured and wanting to prolong the conversation, she said, ‘Do you know that the Jennings family have taken in a German-Jewish refugee?’

  He nodded. ‘Jack was walking past the Jennings’ house the evening she arrived.’ His face split into a sudden grin. ‘He’s been pretty smitten ever since and he’s hoping she’ll be here this afternoon.’

  ‘She is,’ Kate said, intrigued at the thought of Jack Robson falling for the Jennings’s guest even before he had spoken to her. ‘And I think his luck is in. I can see Carrie’s mum and dad and a dark-haired girl over at the archery ground.’

  Ahead of them, across a scenic stretch of green turf, the archery target had been set up well away from the stalls and donkey circuit. Albert Jennings, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, his beer-belly protruding over the top of his trousers, was perspiringly pulling back the string of a large bow.

  ‘Come on Albert, it’s only a bow and arrow when all’s said and done,’ Carrie’s mother was saying exasperatedly. ‘I could do better with two broken arms.’

  Beside her a dark-haired girl watched, a bemused expression on her face. She was ethereally slender, verging almost on the malnourished, and there was a disturbing air of frailty and vulnerability about her. Kate’s first reaction was surprise that Jack should have been so drawn towards her and then, as they drew nearer, she understood. Christina Frank was beautiful. Tiny, delicate features graced a face filled with enormous dark eyes and a gently curving mouth.

  ‘Jack Robson,’ Jack was saying to her without waiting for Carrie’s mother to introduce him. ‘I saw you in the street the night you arrived.’

  A few feet away from them, Albert Jennings let his arrow fly free. It soared, but not in the right direction.

  ‘Lord help us, Albert!’ Miriam protested. ‘Another few yards and you’d have done for one of the donkeys!’

  Albert took no notice of her. Wiping the perspiration from his forehead with a large handkerchief, he said bluntly to Jack, ‘I thought you’d buggered off to Spain.’

  Well aware that it was his obvious interest in Christina that had put Albert’s back up, Jack grinned. ‘Not me, Albert. You’re thinking of Jerry and he doesn’t go till tomorrow.’

  Sensing that her father was about to suggest to Jack that he accompany Jerry, Carrie said hastily, ‘Christina hasn’t been introduced to anyone.’

  Without waiting for anyone else to do so, she proceeded to introduce Christina to Jerry and Danny, saying finally, ‘And this is Kate, my best friend.’

  Christina smiled a little shyly at Kate. ‘I’m very pleased to meet with you,’ she said in carefully rehearsed English and with a very heavy German accent. ‘You are going on the trip to Folkestone, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kate said, shaking her hand warmly. ‘Welcome to England, Christina.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Christina said simply. ‘It is good to be here. Very good.’

  As their eyes held, Kate saw with a stab of shock that Christina’s brave, shy smile was not reflected in her eyes. They were dark with grief and suffering – and stoic resignation. Immediately her thoughts flew to Christina’s mother and grandmother. Only her father had wondered about their whereabouts. Was the reason they, also, had not requested help from the Jennings family because they were being held in a Nazi concentration camp? Were they perhaps dead?
/>   With a heart full of compassion, she squeezed Christina’s hand wishing she could say something comforting, knowing that anything she said would be hopelessly trite and inadequate.

  ‘Come on boys,’ Miriam Jennings said robustly to Danny, Jack and Jerry. ‘Show us what you’re made of and try and get an arrow into the bull’s-eye. The Vicar’s already shot one in so it can’t be that hard!’

  Everyone laughed, even Christina, and for the next hour Danny, Jerry and Jack vied with each other for the highest score. It was Jerry who won and Jerry who, later on in the afternoon, won the official archery competition.

  When the vicar’s wife graciously presented him with the prize of a teddy bear, he turned to Kate, handing it to her and saying with a grin she found quite heart-stopping, ‘Look after him for me. I won’t have much use for him in Spain.’

  Later, still remaining together in a group that included Christina, they strolled over to the cricket pitch that Kate’s father and Nibbo had marked out earlier in the day.

  As they sat on the grass calling out encouragement to whoever was batting, Carrie’s hand rested snugly in Danny’s, Jack sat as close to Christina as was humanly possible and Jerry chatted almost exclusively to Kate.

  Years later Kate had only to close her eyes and she could conjure up every detail of that sun-scorched, carefree afternoon. Her father, a panama shading his head from the sun, batted as if his life depended on it. Nibbo shouting, ‘Well played, sir! Well played!’ Mavis’s euphoria as she told them that Beryl had won the Bonny Baby Competition. The universal amusement when Charlie Robson won the raffle and was obliged to accept the teddy bear prize from the vicar. It had seemed as if the only cloud marring the day was Jerry’s imminent departure for Spain. Then the cricket match had ended. They had all walked over to the tea-tent. And her father and the rest of the cricket team had joined them.

  ‘You put up a good show out there, Carl,’ Albert said, his shirt open almost to the navel, a pint pot of steaming tea in one hand, a buttered scone in the other. ‘I thought the last ball you hit was going to reach Dover!’