The Fleethaven Trilogy (140 page)

Ella looked from one to the other, bewildered.

‘But what . . .?’ she began.

‘This way, please, Miss Hilton.’

Miss Hilton indeed! Ella could hardly contain her
laughter. What would her gran say if she could see her
now?

Ella was led into the hairdressing section where her hair
was washed, trimmed and set on huge rollers, her head
encased under a drier.

‘You’ve got the prettiest strawberry-blonde hair, dear,’
the assistant told her. ‘Why don’t you grow it longer?’

Ella stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair, combed
out into soft waves and curls, framed her face in a style
similar to pictures she’d seen of Marilyn Monroe, except
that it needed to be longer as the assistant suggested.

The head of department, who had met Ella and her
grandmother when they arrived, was at her elbow.

‘Now we’re going to take you to have a make-up
demonstration . . .’ and within minutes Ella found herself
sitting in a chair, with a girl smearing cream all over her
face, talking all the time she worked.

‘This is a moisturizer. You use it every day under your
make-up base. And this is a blemish concealer, just here
and – here . . .’

Ella gasped, stared and leant closer to the mirror. Before
her eyes, the birthmark had disappeared. ‘Oh,’ she said,
and again, ‘oh! However did you do that?’

The young assistant was smiling down at her. Gently,
she said, ‘Let me finish the full make-up and then we can
cleanse it all off and you can have a go.’

‘You mean, I shall be able to do it myself? Every day?’

The assistant laughed. ‘Of course.’

‘Oh, do show me how – please!’

It was the ardent ‘please’ that brought tears suddenly to
the eyes of the young assistant. By the time Ella stood up
from the chair, hardly able to take her eyes off the new
image of herself in the mirror, she was scarcely able to
recognize the face staring back at her. And, best of all,
however she twisted to right and left, lifted or lowered her
chin, she could not see the birthmark.

Her escort took her up to the next floor and into
the restaurant, leading the way through the diners to a table near the window where her father and grandmother
were sitting.

As they turned to look at her, Ella felt a sudden thrill as
she saw their mouths drop open and they gasped. ‘My dear
child. You look absolutely marvellous.’ Mrs Trent clapped
her hands together.

Her father stood up and held out a chair for her to sit
down but not before Ella had seen a sudden moistening of
his eyes. He cleared his throat and said strongly, ‘Now,
shall we order lunch?’

‘I don’t think I dare eat with this lipstick on.’ She
laughed, her voice a little unsteady.

‘Now, my dear,’ Mrs Trent leaned towards her, ‘the
secret of self-confidence is to take time and trouble with
your appearance, but once it’s done, forget about it. No
one likes to see women constantly fussing with their hair
or renewing their lipstick. And you’d better have something
to eat. We’ve a lot of shopping to do yet.’

Philip Trent laughed. ‘What a good job I brought my
cheque-book.’

By the end of the afternoon, Ella was completely
exhausted, but Mrs Trent seemed to be indefatigable. ‘Just
try this dress on, dear. It’ll look wonderful with your tiny
waist. Oh, I do wish I could wear these pretty cotton shirt-waisters.’

‘But, Grandmother, you’ve bought me so much already.
I can’t begin to thank you enough . . .’

‘Nonsense, child. I haven’t started yet.’

And another dress was folded neatly and placed in a
carrier.

‘Well now,’ Mrs Trent remarked, as they emerged at
last from the store, ‘I don’t know when I last enjoyed
myself so much. It’s much more fun buying for someone else, and such a pretty young thing too, rather than for an
old trout like me.’

There were tears in Ella’s eyes as she looked from one
to the other. ‘You’ve both been so kind and – and especially
about this . . .’ She touched her jawline where the cosmetics
now covered the birthmark completely.

As they climbed into the car, her father said, ‘I had a
chat with Doctor Lucas about that and there are operations,
you know, but he felt that if it would cover with
cosmetics, it would be much more satisfactory.’

‘Oh, it’s wonderful. I never dreamed . . .’

‘Have you never used make-up before, dear?’ came
Grandmother Trent’s voice from the back seat.

Ella could not hold in the smile. ‘No, Grandmother. It’s
not quite the sort of thing Gran would encourage.’

There was a disapproving snort from the back seat, so
like Esther Godfrey that Ella almost laughed aloud.

‘Just look at all these clothes, Aunty Peg. I feel almost
guilty that they’ve spent so much money on me.’

‘Well, don’t. They’ve obviously loved spoiling you.
Enjoy it. It’s you that isn’t used to being spoilt. And I do
like your hair like that, Ella. It makes you look older.’

‘Oh, good. I’ve got an interview for a job coming up
next week. And now I’ve got a smart new suit to wear
too.’ She held up a dark blue jacket and pleated skirt with
a soft, pink blouse to go with it.

Peggy looked at the label and nodded approval. ‘It’s a
very good make too.’

‘I know.’ Ella looked embarrassed again. ‘You should
have seen some of the prices . . .’

‘Now, now, there you go again . . .’ Peggy admonished her, but she was laughing, sharing in the young girl’s
delight.

Ella gathered up all her new clothes and took them
upstairs to put away.

‘I can see we shall have to invest in a larger wardrobe
soon,’ Peggy teased, when she came back downstairs and
they sat down to eat.

Ella glanced at the mantelpiece where Peggy always put
any letters that arrived for her whilst she was away in
York.

The space behind the clock was empty.

‘Isn’t there a letter from Grandpa?’ she asked, and
noticed a slight frown on Peggy’s forehead.

‘No. I can’t understand it,’ Peggy said and there was no
hiding the anxiety in her voice. ‘He’s always written to me
once a month, ever since he married your gran. Never
missed, not even all through the war. This is the first time
his letter’s been late.’

‘I’ll write after tea and tell him all about my weekend
and about all the things they’ve bought me. Perhaps he’s
too busy with haymaking to write this week.’ Already it
was June and Ella could picture the scenes at home. The
reaper criss-crossing the field whilst Esther raked and
spread the grass, looking up every so often to smile that
wonderful smile of hers at her beloved Jonathan. Maybe
Rob was there at weekends, helping too, stripped to the
waist, standing on top of the haystack, his lithe body
glistening in the sunshine. She could picture them laughing
together, her grandmother ruffling his black curling
hair.

She shook herself, burying the memories. She was back
in Lincoln where she had always wanted to be. She’d found
a father – and a grandmother – who loved her. She was being spoilt rotten with gifts lavished upon her, and
whenever she visited York the ever-attentive Martin
Hughes took her out to dinner, to the theatre . . .

Oh, she’d never had it so good, she told herself firmly.

‘Grandpa will write soon, Aunty Peg. They’re just busy,
that’s all. You’ll see.’

‘There you are, you see.’ A few days later Ella waved a
letter from her grandpa under Peggy’s nose. ‘They’ve been
busy with the haymaking, just like I said.’

Peggy took the proffered letter from Ella’s hand and
scanned the pages, a worried frown still creasing her
forehead. The letter, full of loving messages, was the same
as always and yet, as Ella watched her aunt, she saw that
the frown only deepened.

‘Well, he
sounds
all right, I’ll grant you, but . . .’ Peggy
bit her lip.

‘But what, Aunty Peg?’ Ella prompted.

‘Oh, nothing. I suppose I’m being silly, but his writing
looks, well, not as neat as usual, sort of – shaky.’

Ella looked again at the page. Her grandfather’s handwriting
was usually a beautiful copperplate, but she had to
agree that the breaks between the letters and the occasional
untidy slope of the writing was not quite to Jonathan’s
normal standard. ‘I expect he wrote it when he was tired.
But if you’re really worried, I’ll ring Uncle Danny. He’ll
know if anything’s wrong.’

‘Wouldn’t Danny ring you?’

Ella wrinkled her brow. ‘Can’t remember if I’ve ever
given him Rita’s phone number,’ she admitted. Peggy had
never had a telephone installed, but relied on being able to
use her neighbour’s in an emergency.

‘I’ll nip up to the box on the corner and give them a quick ring, just to put your mind at rest,’ Ella said and
privately added, And mine. I couldn’t bear it if Grandpa
was ill and not telling us, she thought.

‘Ella?’

Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected Rob to
be at home.

‘I’ve just come home for a few days after finishing
exams to help Dad with the haymaking,’ he explained
when she asked why he was at home.

‘How were your exams?’

‘Not bad, but I’ll be pleased to be home for good. Only
another couple of weeks.’

Suddenly an overwhelming longing to be with him,
walking along the beach or standing at the end of the Spit
or even just harvesting with him, swept through her.

‘El? You still there?

Pips sounded in her ear and she scrabbled to insert more
money into the slot. ‘Yes – yes, I’m here.’

‘How’s things with you, then?’ Was he really interested,
or merely being polite, she wondered. With the miles
between them and across a crackly telephone wire she
couldn’t tell.

‘Fine. I’ve a couple more exams then I’ve finished too.
I’ve an interview for a job soon.’

There was silence at the other end.

‘Rob . . .?’

She thought she heard him sigh as he said, ‘You’re
staying there, then? In the city?’

‘Well, yes . . .’

The pips sounded again and she pushed in her last coin.
‘Rob, listen. The reason I’ve rung. Is everything all right at
home? I mean, at Brumbys’ Farm?’

‘I think so. Why?’

Now she had to put Peggy’s fears into words, it sounded
foolish. ‘I just wanted to be sure they’re all right. Can you
take down Rita’s phone number and ask your dad to ring
me if ever – if ever they need me?’

‘Of course.’ Suddenly, there was warmth in his voice.
‘Wait a minute . . . Right, fire away.’

She told him the number and he repeated it back to
make sure he’d got it down correctly. ‘Don’t forget, Rob.
Ask your dad to let me know.’

‘You can count on it – and El, when can I . . .’

But the pips sounded once more and the line went dead.

‘Oh, damn and blast!’ she muttered and slammed the
receiver down, then allowed herself a wry grin as she
thought of what Gran would say if she could hear her
using such language.

The year’s secretarial course was almost finished and all
that remained was for Ella to await the results of the
examinations in shorthand, typing and elementary bookkeeping,
and find employment.

‘You know, I really thought you’d be moving to York
once your course had finished,’ Peggy said, and then added
swiftly, ‘Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to go.’

Ella smiled. ‘Thanks.’ Then she sighed and a small
frown furrowed her smooth forehead. ‘They have been
trying to persuade me to go and live with them in York,
but well . . .’

‘Well, what?’ Peggy prompted.

Ella wriggled her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. It – it just
seems so far away, you know.’

Peggy put her head on one side and regarded the girl
thoughtfully. ‘No, to be honest, I don’t know. York’s not
so very different from Lincoln, is it?’

Ella shook her head. ‘It’s not that . . .’

Peggy looked at her keenly. ‘You mean, it’s a long way
from Fleethaven Point, don’t you?’

Ella gasped and her eyes widened. ‘No! You know I
don’t care if I never see that place again.’

Peggy laughed and turned away, murmuring something
that sounded like, ‘“The lady doth protest too much,
methinks.”’

*

‘Aunty Peg, Aunty Peg. I’ve got a job!’

‘Oh, Ella, well done. What is it?’

‘You remember that interview I had a couple of weeks
back?’

‘At that firm of solicitors?’

Ella, her eyes shining, nodded. ‘Well, they’ve offered me
a three months’ trial from July to the end of September
and then, if my exam results are reasonable and I’ve proved
myself, they’ll make it permanent.’

‘How wonderful.’ Peggy clapped her hands. ‘I’m so
pleased. So you’ve definitely decided not to go to live in
York?’

Ella shook her head. ‘Well, not yet anyway. Maybe
one day. It – it depends . . . You don’t mind me staying
here?’

Peggy hugged her. ‘You know I love having you here,
silly.’

Ella put her arms about the older woman and for a
moment leant her head against her shoulder.

Peggy Godfrey did not press the matter any further, but
shrewdly she guessed that somewhere in the picture now
was a young man; but exactly which young man she could
not be sure.

‘Jonathan’s letter’s late again,’ Peggy said worriedly
towards the beginning of September. ‘You haven’t had
word from anyone else at Fleethaven, have you, Ella?’

Ella shook her head. ‘No, but Uncle Danny will write
or phone if there’s something wrong. You know he will.’

Peggy picked up her fork but only toyed with the food
on her plate.

Ella leant across the table and touched her hand. ‘You’re
still not convinced though, are you, Aunty Peg?’

‘I suppose I’m being silly but . . .’ she sighed, hesitating.

‘Tell me,’ Ella prompted gently.

The words came in a rush then. ‘I don’t like to say
anything against your grannie, you know I don’t, but . . .’
She stopped as suddenly as she had begun.