Opal Plumstead (39 page)

Mrs Roberts stood up, her face flushed. ‘I think it would be more sensible to hold your tongue, Opal, than expose your own ignorance of the cause,’ she said. ‘Now, do we have any more questions?’

I was left publicly snubbed, with no one taking up my points and debating them with me. The ladies on either side of me edged as far away as possible, as if scared I might contaminate them. I sat there trembling, going over my speech in my head, trying to understand why it had upset everyone so dreadfully. I had been rather forthright, perhaps too outspoken as a young newcomer to meetings. There were lots of points I didn’t understand properly. I hadn’t had to endure the horrors of force-feeding myself, but surely I could still offer a valid point of view . . .

At the end of the meeting the ladies gathered for their tea and biscuits, still giving me disapproving glances. Miss Mountbank came sweeping up, her hawk nose quivering.

‘I see you haven’t changed at all, Opal Plumstead,’ she said witheringly. ‘As full of yourself as ever, saying the most outrageous things simply to draw attention to yourself.’

I didn’t want to waste my time arguing with Mounty. I pushed my way through the women until I reached Mrs Roberts, who was still at the front.

‘Mrs Roberts,’ I said, putting my hand on her sleeve. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t deliberately try to be controversial. You know what I’m like. I often say things out loud without thinking them through. I thought any opinion was valid during a discussion. I didn’t mean to embarrass or upset you. I promise I won’t open my mouth at meetings again.’ I said it as humbly and sincerely as I could, but she still looked at me coldly.

‘I think you’d better run along now, Opal. I am busy talking,’ she said firmly.

‘Shall I wait outside with Mitchell and the car?’

She stared at me. ‘Why on earth would you do that?’

‘Why, because . . . because we’ll be taking the car to Fairy Glen for lunch,’ I stammered.

‘Not today.’

‘But Mrs Roberts . . .’ I didn’t know how to continue. ‘Surely this isn’t because I asked that question? I didn’t mean to offend you – you must know that.’

‘This is nothing to do with your behaviour this morning. I simply have other plans for today. Remember, my son is home for the holidays.’

‘But Morgan said he was looking forward to seeing me today,’ I said.

She flinched. ‘I’m sure
Mr
Morgan was simply being polite,’ she said. ‘Now run along.’

I trailed home, so burning with humiliation that I wasn’t even chilly in my light cream dress. Had Mrs Roberts suddenly turned on me because I’d embarrassed her at the meeting? Or had she never planned to include me today? I’d got into the habit of going home with her after meetings – I’d taken it for granted. Perhaps it had been terribly forward of me to assume an automatic invitation. But Morgan himself had invited me by implication, surely. I couldn’t have mistaken the message on his postcard.
Was
he simply being polite, sending a kind but meaningless message to an eager child? I was so wretched I nearly started sobbing in the street. It was worse when I got home because Mother wondered what I was doing there and asked all kinds of intrusive questions.

‘Why aren’t you off for lunch with your high and mighty friends? I thought Mrs Roberts always asked you home nowadays. And what’s happening with this son of hers? I thought he was meant to be your special pal. Have they got tired of you already?’ She went on and on until I wanted to scream.

I went up to my room, took off the cream dress and threw myself down on my bed in my petticoat. I wanted to cry, but I was burning too much. I couldn’t let go and allow tears. I lay banging my head on the pillow. I tried to go over all my conversations with Morgan, starting to wish I had never met him. If this was love, I had been wise to be wary of it.

I lay there for a long time, and then I was dimly aware of a knocking at the front door. I thought it must be some young woman with yet another baby for Mother to mind, so I stayed on my bed. Then Mother herself came rushing into my room.

‘For goodness’ sake, Opal, what are you doing lying there? And in your petticoat! Get yourself dressed at once.’

‘Why should I?’ I said wearily.

‘Because your Mr Morgan Roberts is downstairs, wanting to see you!’

‘
What?
’ I struggled up, wondering if Mother might be playing a cruel trick on me, but one glance at her flustered face told me she was telling the truth.

‘Oh my Lord!’

‘Do hurry! I can’t leave him down there on his own. Well, there’s Maudie’s child rioting around, but he’s hardly company. Be as quick as you can. I don’t know what to say to him. Why didn’t you tell me he might come?’

‘I didn’t think he would for one minute. Oh glory, all my hair’s tumbling down, and where did I kick my boots to?’

‘
Hurry!
’ Mother hissed, and went back downstairs again.

‘I am hurrying,’ I said, pulling on my dress and trying to do it up. My hands were trembling, which made it difficult. Morgan here! But, oh my Lord, was he simply wanting to tell me off roundly for upsetting his beloved mother? At this thought I was all set to rip my dress off again and cast myself back on my bed, but I couldn’t leave Mother in charge.

I tidied myself as best I could, tied my hair back in a childish plait with a cream ribbon because it kept sliding out of its topknot, and then pressed a cold flannel over my hot face.

I walked downstairs in a flurry of anxiety and went into the parlour. There was Morgan sitting on the sofa, giving the baby a ride on his knee. The child was in a paroxysm of delight, gurgling so much that a stream of saliva drooled onto Morgan’s fine trousers – but he was still smiling. Smiling at
me
.

‘Hello, Opal. My, that’s a lovely dress. Are you ready for some lunch?’

‘You’re very welcome to have lunch here, sir,’ said Mother, practically bobbing him a curtsy.

I prayed Morgan wouldn’t accept out of politeness – all we had was a pot of vegetable barley soup, yesterday’s bread and a morsel of mousetrap cheese.

‘That’s so kind of you, Mrs Plumstead, but I’ve made plans to take Opal to The Royal for lunch. If that’s all right with you, of course?’

‘Oh my, yes, certainly, sir,’ said Mother. ‘You lucky girl, Opal.’

I wished she would keep quiet and stop calling Morgan ‘sir’, but I couldn’t possibly frown at her. I even found myself smiling at the dribbling baby.

‘I’m ready, Morgan,’ I said.

‘Excellent,’ he said, gently dislodging the child. ‘Excuse me, my little man. Your horsey has to trot away to be fed.’

We said goodbye to Mother.

‘Aren’t you wearing a coat? It’s a bit chilly today,’ said Morgan.

‘I’m very warm,’ I said, truthfully enough. I was positively glowing.

‘I’m afraid we’ll have to walk into town. I didn’t feel I could use Mitchell under the circumstances,’ said Morgan as we went out of the front door.

‘The circumstances . . .?’ I said.

‘Oh, Mother and I had a little dispute,’ he said casually.

‘Over . . .?’

‘Over you, of course. There I was, waiting eagerly at home, with all kinds of plans, but Mother comes back alone. I look around for you and she tells me that she didn’t invite you, she thinks we will have a much cosier time just the two of us.’

‘Oh dear. I think she’s very angry with me because I said something untoward at the meeting and upset everyone.’

‘So I hear. But I think Mother made up her mind not to invite you long before the meeting. Our dining table was only set for two people, Mother and me. She suggested we spend the afternoon going through a whole load of old photographs to stick in some tedious book. I thought,
What do I really
want
to do?
So I’m afraid Mother will be lunching alone and sticking her photographs in by herself.’

‘Goodness. Oh, Morgan, I don’t want to make trouble for you. Your mother will be very upset,’ I said anxiously.

‘She’ll be fine,’ he told me. ‘I have to make a stand every now and then. She forgets that I’m not still a little boy. She wants to take me over and organize my life. I can’t let her do that.’

‘It’s probably because you mean so much to her. I expect you became very close after your father died.’

‘Mother has always felt particularly close to me – stiflingly so, if I’m honest,’ said Morgan. ‘As far as I remember, it was always Mother and me, with Father scarcely getting a look in.’

‘You should be grateful that your mother is so very fond of you,’ I said. ‘And she’s been exceptionally kind to me.’

‘I dare say,’ said Morgan, ‘but I’m not sure she’s feeling exceptionally kind towards you at the moment. She feels you might be trying to lure me away.’

‘Oh, that’s ridiculous,’ I said, blushing.

‘I hope you don’t think it’s too ridiculous,’ said Morgan. ‘I’m doing my level best to lure you. I say, you’re shivering.’

‘No I’m not,’ I declared stoutly.

‘We’ll find a cab when we get to the main road. I took one to your house to get me there as quickly as possible. I should have hung onto it. You must be feeling desperately hungry too. Don’t worry, Opal. In fifteen minutes we’ll be sitting in a warm restaurant ordering a lovely lunch.’

Morgan was as good as his word. The Royal Hotel was every bit as delightful as I’d imagined. I was worried that I wouldn’t know what to do or how to order, but he was wondrously tactful, whisking me past the supercilious head waiter, making sure I was comfortably seated, and talking me through the menu.

I became fixated on the word
honeydew
. It sounded heavenly, a meal suitable for my own fairies. I had no idea what honeydew would look or taste like, but I knew I wanted it desperately. There were all kinds of meat and fish to choose from, many that I’d never tasted before. I decided to ask for roast chicken, a tremendous treat.

‘Perfect choice,’ said Morgan. ‘I’ll have exactly the same.’

I was privately disappointed by my first glimpse of honeydew. It was a big watery fruit with a yellow rind. It tasted delicious, however, so I spooned it up hungrily. The chicken was even better, golden-skinned with succulent white flesh. We had chicken every Christmas (except this last one, when we’d had to make do with cheaper pork chops). But this chicken was served with bread sauce, roast potatoes, and a whole medley of vegetables.

When I’d finally cleared my plate, I was full and said I didn’t want any pudding.

‘Oh, you must have something! Don’t worry, I’m not going to force you to have a large helping of roly-poly. I don’t want you walking bent over all afternoon. How about something light? I know – raspberry meringues!’

They were quite marvellous: pale pink meringues with dark red cream. Each one disappeared in three mouthfuls.

‘This has to be the best meal of my life,’ I said.

‘Me too,’ said Morgan, though I was sure he’d eaten at any number of fine restaurants.

I caught a glimpse of the bill. It terrified me. There hadn’t been any prices on the menu. I’d known it would be expensive – at least twice the price of a Lyon’s Cornerhouse meal – but this was astronomical.

‘Oh my goodness! I didn’t think it would be that much!’ I gasped.

‘Please don’t worry, Opal. I’ve got more than enough on me, I promise,’ said Morgan.

‘Are you sure? I mean, you don’t yet have a salary.’

‘I have a generous allowance.’ Morgan looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Too generous. I should think it might make you despise me. You have to work so very hard and I just swan around in the holidays and do nothing very much. I don’t even work that hard at school – not unless the lessons really interest me. Yet I shall waltz off to Oxford for three years, then stroll into the factory and take over. It’s not at all fair, is it? Not fair on all the workers beavering away for very little.’

‘You sound like one of those trade union people. They keep giving out leaflets outside Fairy Glen,’ I said.

‘Well, my heart’s on their side but my head doesn’t want them to have too much power, for obvious reasons. You don’t want to join a trade union, do you, Opal?’

‘I don’t seem to be any good at joining anything. It looks as if I’ll be drummed out of the WSPU unless I learn to keep my mouth shut. Oh dear, I’m still worried about your mother, Morgan. I think you’d better go back home straight away now we’ve had our lovely lunch.’

‘I’m not going to do that. We’re going to spend the rest of the day together. Where would you like to go? Why don’t you show me all your favourite haunts? I want to find out about little-girl Opal.’

So we went for the strangest walk around the town together. Morgan carefully walked on my outside, offering me his arm. It was extraordinarily enjoyable to stroll along together. I was acutely aware that people were looking at us because Morgan cut such a fine figure and I didn’t look too much of a disgrace in my cream lace. I
was
too cold, though, and when Morgan saw that I was shivering he took me straight to Beade and Chambers, the biggest department store in the town. I had sometimes wandered through with Cassie or Olivia, but I’d never actually bought anything.

‘Why are we going in here?’ I asked.

‘I’m going to find you something to keep you warm,’ said Morgan. ‘The ladies’ accessories are this way.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Oh goodness, I trotted around after Mother many a time when I was a little boy.’

The shop assistants clearly knew who Morgan was and bobbed their heads at him. It seemed so strange that I wouldn’t be considered refined enough to work at Beade and Chambers, and yet here I was, shopping at my leisure with Mr Morgan Roberts.

I thought he might be considering buying me a muffler or maybe mittens, and I longed for this, even though I had a perfectly sensible muffler and mittens at home. But to my astonishment he smiled charmingly at the assistant behind the counter and said, ‘We’re looking for a cashmere shawl. It would be perfect if you had one in cream, to match the young lady’s outfit.’

‘Not a
shawl
, Morgan. And especially not cashmere. It’ll be far too expensive,’ I whispered in his ear.

But he insisted, choosing the finest they had, a wonderfully soft, luxuriously large shawl in a pale cream. It was a totally impractical garment because it would show the dirt dreadfully, but that made it even more glamorous. It was indeed dreadfully expensive, but Morgan still signed the cheque with a flourish. It made me feel very special. Of course, if I stopped to consider, it wasn’t really Morgan’s money because he wasn’t earning yet. It was Mrs Roberts’ money – which came from the factory. I worked for the factory. My fairy boxes were a big success, so I suppose a tiny percentage of the money came from
me
. It made it just a little easier to say yes. The assistant asked if we’d like the shawl wrapped or sent to a particular address.