The Girl on the Cliff (23 page)

‘I’ve told Mrs Hawkins, the housekeeper, to give her t-tea. I th-thought that you and I should have a ch-chat. Can I come in?’

Mary nodded tearfully, then turned and walked back into the sitting room. ‘Jeremy, I don’t know what you want from me, but whatever it is, it’s not something I can ever give you. You don’t know who I am! I’m not a lady, as I said before. And your housekeeper knew it. I could see it in her eyes. I should be serving you, not being your
girlfriend
!’

Jeremy took out a handkerchief and offered it to her as she sank into a chair. ‘Mary, I’ve b-been in your company almost every day for months now. You are everything a l-lady should be. And as for your so-social position, I learned in the trenches that class has nothing to do with one’s c-character. As for the secrets you keep, I can only say I will l-listen. I’ve said to you before, there is nothing that can ever sh-shock me.’ He knelt down in front of her, wiping a stray piece of hair from her cheek. ‘And I believe that love can f-forgive and understand anything. Tell me, Mary, tr-trust me,’ he urged.

Mary sighed deeply, knowing that to tell him would perhaps be the end of their possible future. But to give that future a chance, she
had
to do as he asked.

Mary asked for help from up above. And, finally, she nodded.

‘I’ll tell you.’

Twenty minutes later, Mary wrung her hands. ‘The fact is, I have committed a sin against God. I’ve pretended Anna is dead and I’ve stolen her away. I’ve stolen a child. Oh, God save me …’

Jeremy went to her and held her tight in his arms. ‘Mary, Mary, please d-don’t punish yourself any more. Yes, you’ve done a wrong thing, but for the r-right reasons. You did it because you love Anna, and wanted her h-happy and safe.’

‘But did I do it for Anna?’ Mary looked up at him in anguish. ‘Or for me, because I needed her?’

‘From what you’ve t-told me, and the danger you’ll face if the secret is ever discovered, I would b-believe your motives were unselfish.’

‘You really think that?’

‘Yes.’ Jeremy took her hands and squeezed them hard. ‘I d-do. Mary, is it any different from telling a relative that their son d-died in the trenches painlessly, when in fact they were screaming in agony? And –’ Jeremy looked away, ‘perhaps taking days to die. Or a Platoon Captain sending his men over the t-top every day, knowing they were going to their d-deaths?’ Jeremy’s gaze fell on her once more. ‘You have done your best to pr-protect someone you love, and you should n-never be ashamed of that! Never! And I l-love you even more for what you’ve done.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes. You are brave and g-good and strong.’

‘Ah, Jeremy, I’m not. I’m so frightened of being discovered and Anna taken away from me. I look behind me every time I’m out of the flat.’

‘Protecting an orphan, just like yourself, is something to be proud of. B-besides,’ Jeremy smiled at her, ‘I just m-might be able to help you and Anna. If you m-marry me, that is.’

‘Even after all I’ve told you, you still want to?’ Mary was astonished.

‘More than ever, Mary. I p-promise you.’

Three months later, Mary Swan, orphaned child of parents unknown, became Mrs Jeremy Langdon, chatelaine of a large house in Kensington. The only other person present at the wedding was Anna Swan, a girl of ten.

In the following year, three things happened to make Mary believe there truly was a God protecting her. She found herself pregnant, which caused untold joy to all of them. Then Jeremy, through channels which Mary did not wish to know about, discovered that Lawrence Lisle had died nine months earlier of malaria in Bangkok. Elizabeth Lisle, so he’d heard, had miscarried her baby soon afterwards, but, equally, had lost no time in finding herself another suitable husband. Jeremy’s contacts had discovered the chap had been posted to Shanghai and Elizabeth Lisle had accompanied him.

‘You d-do understand what this means, Mary? It means you’re free. Lawrence Lisle can n-never come after you now. And from what I heard, I’d d-doubt Elizabeth Lisle would be interested.’

Mary crossed herself, feeling guilty at the relief she felt that Lawrence Lisle was dead. ‘’Tis sad news, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t part of me that’s happy. Mind you, Jeremy, I doubt I’ll ever be able to relax again.’

‘I know, darling, but he c-can’t get you where he’s gone,
I promise. Which means I think I should investigate going through the process of us officially adopting Anna.’

‘But she has no birth certificate. And not even a second name.’

‘Leave it to me, darling.’ Jeremy waved this away as a mere detail. ‘I may be a wreck of a man now, but C-Captain Jeremy Langdon can still call in a few favours at the H-Home Office. One chap in particular owes me his life.’ He patted Mary’s hand and gently moved it to the small, but visible, outline of the baby nestling inside her.

Six weeks before their own baby was due to be born, Mary and Jeremy signed the adoption papers which would legally make Anna their own child.

‘No one can touch her now, darling. Or take you or her away from m-me,’ he’d whispered softly into her ear.

Mary watched with tears in her eyes as Anna danced around the kitchen table with her certificate of adoption.

‘Anna Langdon,’ she mouthed in contentment, and then threw her arms around both of her new parents. ‘I’m so happy, I can hardly b-breathe!’

The baby arrived, much to Mary’s frustration, ten days late, but otherwise without incident. Mary lay in her beautiful bedroom, a baby to her breast, her beloved husband and newly adopted child cooing over both of them. She only wished that time could stand still, wished she could die at this very moment, because she could not feel any greater contentment. The baby, a plump, rosy-cheeked girl they named Sophia, after Mary’s favourite saint, was placid and happy. Mary watched with pleasure as Jeremy gently cradled his daughter in his arms.

She noticed how, these days, his stammer was barely discernible when he spoke to her. And the terrible nightmares he’d suffered – waking up screaming and drenched in sweat – were lessening as time passed. Mary had read all she could about shell-shock, knew it rarely disappeared, but could at least be controlled by a peaceful and tranquil existence. Jeremy rarely left the house, other than to stroll through Kensington Gardens on his way to buy a
Times
, but if he did so and they were in a noisy London street, he’d jump every time a horn sounded. Both his stammer and his shaking hands would become more acute for a while afterwards. Yet the restrictions placed on their life were not a problem to Mary. As long as her family was calm and content, so was she.

Jeremy took to painting and proved himself a more than adequate artist. When Mary looked at the black darkness of the trenches he reproduced, she shuddered, but she knew it was cathartic for him, an outward expression of all the pain, fear, loss and death he relived every single day of his life.

While Jeremy painted, Mary cared for her growing baby, taking both Anna and Sophia to the park on sunny afternoons, or sometimes up to Piccadilly so that Anna could browse through racks of the clothes she loved. It still amazed Mary that whatever Anna picked out she could purchase for her daughter, with no thought for the amount of money it would cost. She was a woman of substance, married to a wealthy gentleman.

Meanwhile, as the years passed in the tranquil cocoon of their comfortable home, Sophia learned to crawl, toddle, walk and then run through the house. And Anna’s passion
to achieve her ambition of becoming a ballerina grew apace. One evening, when Sophia had just turned four, Anna, starting to show signs of womanhood at fifteen, came into the kitchen where Mary was preparing supper.

‘Mother, have you heard that Ninette de Valois has opened her new ballet school?’ she asked.

‘No, I hadn’t, Anna.’

‘Can I go, Mother? Audition for her and see if she will teach me? Then perhaps one day I might be accepted into her company and dance at Sadler’s Wells. Can you imagine th-that?’ Anna sank gracefully into a chair, sighing in sheer pleasure at the thought.

‘But I thought you wanted to dance for Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes?’

‘I did, b-but how much better to be part of the first
British
ballet company.’ Anna stretched out a leg, flipped off her shoe and pointed a highly arched foot. ‘Can I go, Mother, p-please?’

‘Perhaps you should talk to your father and see what he thinks,’ suggested Mary.

‘It would mean I’d be d-dancing all day, with no time for English and arithmetic, but how much more can I learn? I can read and write and add up, which is as about as much as any d-dancer needs to do, surely? And I c-can tell you the dates of the Battle of Hastings, Trafalgar and –’

‘Anna,’ repeated Mary, ‘go and speak to your daddy.’

As Mary had suspected, Jeremy was putty in Anna’s convincing hands. It was agreed that she should go to audition for Ninette de Valois, to see if she could win a place at the Sadler’s Wells Ballet School.

‘It is doubtful that our darling Anna will settle to anything else, until she has at least t-tried this,’ said Jeremy, secretly proud.

Three days later, Mary accompanied Anna on the bus over to Islington where the Sadler’s Wells Royal Ballet School ran its classes. Mary had never been backstage at a theatre, and as she was led through the warren of passageways to a small room containing a barre and a piano, she felt both unnerved and excited to be entering a different world. Anna was asked a few questions about her previous training, and then Miss Moreton, the teacher, put her through her paces, first at the barre and then in the centre of the room. Mary could not help but marvel at the way Anna had improved over the last few years. She’d always had a natural grace and turnout, but her burgeoning maturity had added a new poise to her movements.

After the last
enchaînement
, Miss Moreton paused as she studied Anna. ‘You dance like a Russian, and you have the look too. Are you Russian?’

Anna stole an anxious glance over to Mary, who gave a small shrug and shake of her head.

‘No. I’m English.’

‘But she was taught by the Princess Astafieva and Nicholas Legat for a while now,’ put in Mary nervously, wondering whether this was a plus or a minus.

‘Well, it shows in your movements. As I’m sure you know, Anna, we here at Sadler’s Wells are of course Russian influenced, but as the first British ballet company, Miss de Valois is trying to develop our own style. You’re raw, but talented. Can you start on Monday?’

Anna’s dark eyes, so filled with anxiety, lit up with joy. ‘You mean I’m in?’

‘Yes. Now, I’ll hand your mother a list of practice clothes you’ll need, and you must buy your ballet shoes from Frederick Freed. We’ll see you bright and early on Monday morning.’

At home that night, there was much cause for celebration. Anna was beside herself with excitement, and the entire family was swept up in it.

‘Now you really w-will see me dancing Odette/Odile on stage, Sophia,’ Anna cooed in delight as she danced her little sister around the kitchen.

‘There’ll be no stopping her now, darling,’ Jeremy commented as he lay in bed next to Mary that night. ‘Let’s just hope she can achieve her d-dream.’

Over the next five years, it seemed Anna’s determination, dedication and natural ability was starting to pay off. She made her debut as the young Master of Treginnis on the stage of the newly opened Sadler’s Wells Theatre in Rosebury Avenue. Dressed in a little Lord Fauntleroy suit, and wearing a close-cropped wig, Anna’s character both opened the ballet and was left alone on stage at the end. Mary, Jeremy and nine-year-old Sophia clapped and cheered as the company took their curtain call. The part was far removed from Anna’s dreams of a frothy white tutu, but it meant that Ninette de Valois, the Queen of the company, was noticing Anna. Other small parts began to follow, such as one of the four Cygnets in Act II of
Swan Lake
and the Creole girl in
Rio Grande
.

In January 1939, just short of her twenty-first birthday,
Anna made her debut as Odette/Odile in
Swan Lake
. The Sadler’s Wells Theatre was packed – this was the first time that home-grown talent from England, rather than imported or exiled Russian dancers, would lead the cast of the British company. Word about Anna and her talent had started to spread through the balletomane world. Mary, in a new evening dress, with her hair professionally styled for the occasion, sat with Jeremy and Sophia in a box. The strains of Tchaikovsky’s poignant overture hushed the audience to silence. Mary held her breath, sending up a prayer that this moment, so long dreamed of by Anna, would be perfect for her.

Mary had no cause to doubt. As the bouquets rained on to the stage to crown the rising young star, she held Jeremy’s hand tightly and tears rolled down her face. The dressing room afterwards was packed with well-wishers, and Mary could hardly get through to congratulate her daughter. Anna, still in her tutu, her eyes huge with heavy stage make-up, made her way through to her family and threw her arms around her mother.

‘Ah, pet, I’m so proud of you. You said you’d do it and look at you! You have!’

‘It’s all due to you, Mother.’ Tears glittered in Anna’s eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, ‘thank you for everything.’

Mary looked back on the moment when Anna had achieved her goal with mixed emotions. In retrospect, she realised it was when she had begun to lose her daughter. The world Anna inhabited, full of colourful, artistic characters, with their exotic clothes, strange habits and sexual
proclivities, was far removed from Mary’s experience. As Anna was proclaimed the young queen of British ballet, and others gathered round her to bask in her reflected glory, she began to move away from the cocoon of her Kensington home.

Mary had always waited up for Anna to arrive home after a performance, wanting to hear how it had gone and provide cocoa and biscuits for her exhausted daughter. Now, often, she wouldn’t hear Anna’s footsteps on the stairs until three in the morning. Anna would talk the next day of a post-theatre dinner with her friends at the Savoy Grill, or dancing at a fashionable nightclub with no less than junior members of the royal family.