Promise Made (18 page)

‘Well, I'm not sure that's completely true,' Emily said. ‘But you're certainly entitled to your share of that property and you want to tell your lawyer to make sure that you get it.'

‘Yes, I shall, when I know what it is worth,' Frances agreed. She didn't add that she was curious to see just what it was about these flats that had made Marcus have a terrible row with his father.

Frances stood outside the block of apartments. It was bitterly cold now and the pavements were icy beneath her feet. She was conscious of a feeling of disappointment, because this side of the river had a lot of industrial stuff going on and they weren't exactly the luxury apartments she had been hoping to find. In fact they looked a bit rundown, even seedy, and she was surprised that Sam bothered to come up to London as often as he did. Surely they couldn't be that valuable?

She had employed a professional nanny to take care of Charlie and the dog for the morning, thinking that she might be quite a while, but now that she was here she didn't feel like going inside. She lingered at the entrance door, looking at the names above the bells. It was a moment or two before she realized that they were all a bit peculiar . . . and all girls' names. She read the names out to herself: Candy, Blondie, Sugar Susie and Mary, Mary Quite Contrary. There was a frown on her face as she tried to make sense of it. And then a man came and stood beside her. He pushed the bell with the name Candy on it and waited. After a few minutes a girl with bleached yellow hair, wearing what looked like a pink silk dressing gown, came down and let him in. She shot a look at Frances but didn't say anything as she disappeared up the stairs with the man following her.

Frances moved to a position across the street to watch. In the next half an hour six men came and rang the various bells, and six different girls came down to let them in. At first she thought it was her imagination, but she continued to watch and a steady stream of men rang and were admitted to the building at regular intervals. She had almost decided to leave when the door of the building opened and a girl came out wearing a bright red suit and high heels. She walked straight across the road to Frances, a challenging look in her eyes.

‘Have you seen enough? Or are you after a bleedin' job?'

‘What kind of a job?' Frances asked, feeling the sickness swirl in her stomach. Her feet were frozen and she was sure her nose had turned red. All she wanted was to be somewhere warm, but a stubborn need to know had kept her standing here, watching. She was fairly certain she knew what was going on, but she didn't want to believe it.

‘Don't give me that,' the girl said. ‘Are you after a job or one of them bleedin' do-gooders that keep tryin' to save our souls?' Her eyes narrowed, her red mouth thinning with dislike. ‘You ain't with the bleedin' coppers, are you?'

‘No, I'm not,' Frances said, her mouth dry. ‘How much do you get paid for doing . . . your job?'

‘Not as much as it's bleedin' worth,' the girl retorted. ‘The bloke what owns these flats takes a cut – and with the rent that's more than half we make. If I had my way I'd find somewhere else, but it ain't much different on the street. You need protection and you have to pay for that, see.'

‘Oh . . .' Frances felt a little faint. ‘You're sure it is the man who owns the flats, not someone else?'

‘He comes up to town regular to collect his money . . . and to have a bit of fun himself. Sam isn't so bad, but I don't reckon it's fair takin' all that money off us girls.' She narrowed her gaze. ‘So did you want a job then? I've got a spare room in my flat. We all let the rooms to friends to get a bit extra what Sam don't know about if we can.'

‘Thanks for asking,' Frances said. ‘I'll think about it.'

‘Don't wait too long then. I shan't have a spare room long. There's plenty of girls on the streets glad to get in somewhere like this . . . Sam makes sure we don't get any trouble and that's why we pay him.'

Frances walked away without answering. She was sickened by what she had discovered. How could Sam Danby do something like that? It wouldn't have been so bad if he had just let the flats to the girls, but to take a cut of what they earned . . . and to sleep with them himself!

It was so nasty that she didn't want to believe it, and yet she knew that Marcus must have found out about this himself. She could imagine how he had felt, discovering that the money, which had sent him to a good school and paid for his food and clothes as a child, had come from prostitution. Marcus would have hated that so much. He was like his mother. He thought himself a gentleman and above such things. He would have been shocked and angry with his father.

Frances knew she had discovered the reason for the quarrel with Sam. Marcus had already been addicted to heavy drinking when he came back from the war. Something like this must have knocked his pride, made him ashamed, forcing him to find solace in strong drink.

He had refused to take an income from the property. He hadn't even told Frances about the gift of a half share in the apartment block. It was quite possible that he would never have taken his share . . . but Frances was made of stronger stuff. She was angry that Sam Danby should pretend to be such a righteous man, a pillar of the community, when all the time he was involved in something like this. He had tried to rape her and he was involved in running what amounted to a brothel.

He should be ashamed of himself! Well, he could pay her for her share of the property – and he could pay her for what she knew too. It was his fault that Marcus had begun to drink more and more heavily. He had to pay for what he had done to Marcus and to her!

‘What are you doing?' Emily asked as she walked into the nursery and saw that Amelia was giving Robert a sticky pink bun with a glass of milk. ‘Where is Nanny? She gives Robert his tea – and I don't like him having things like that, Amelia.'

‘It won't hurt for once,' Amelia said. ‘We went shopping in the village and Robbie asked for a bun, didn't you, darling? Tell Mummy it's nice.'

Robert took a bite and pulled a face, putting it down on the nursery table. ‘It's too sweet,' he said. ‘Nanny gives me nice buns.'

‘He meant home-made fruit buns without all that icing,' Emily said. ‘I'll get Nanny to bring you one, Robert.' She glanced at Amelia. ‘Where is she by the way?'

‘Oh, she wanted an hour or two off so I said it was all right,' Amelia replied and wiped a sticky mark from Robert's chin. He shook his head and threw the bun at her. It landed on her silk blouse and she gave a little cry of annoyance, because grease stains were so difficult to get out of such a fine material. ‘You naughty boy! Amelia won't take you to see the swans tomorrow if you throw things at her.'

‘Robert, you shouldn't do that; it isn't nice,' Emily said. ‘Say sorry to Amelia please.'

He mumbled something reluctantly. Emily hesitated. She wanted words with Amelia, but now wasn't the time.

‘I came to take you to see the swans and ducks,' she told her son and picked him up. ‘Nanny might give you one of her buns when we come back – if you are good.' She shot a look at Amelia over her shoulder as she went out. ‘I shall speak to you later . . .'

Emily was feeling angry when she returned to the house. Amelia had gone too far, giving Nanny time off without asking her and feeding Robert sugary buns. She had put up with Amelia's behaviour long enough and she was going to have it out with her.

She left Robert with Nanny, who had returned and was apologetic for going off without speaking to Emily. ‘I think I ought to have asked you, madam,' Nanny said when she saw Emily. ‘Lady Vane said it was all right – but strictly speaking she isn't my employer.'

‘No, she isn't,' Emily said. ‘I would prefer that you refer to me another time, but we shall say no more about it.'

She wasn't going to say anything more to Nanny, but she had every intention of having it out with Amelia. It was time that they talked properly about this situation, instead of hinting at each other.

Amelia was sitting in the back parlour reading an Agatha Christie mystery when Emily walked in. She looked up, a slightly wary expression in her eyes as she put her book down.

‘Vane is back,' she said a little hastily. ‘I've ordered a tray of tea in a few minutes.'

‘Fine,' Emily said and closed the door. ‘Amelia, I didn't want to say much in front of Robert – but I would rather you did not give Nanny orders or time off without reference to me. And I like him to have a healthy diet, not too much sugar, if you please – it is bad for his teeth. When I took him to the dentist he said there was some decay and it was best to be careful.'

‘You make too much fuss over small things,' Amelia said. ‘Anyone would think I had done something dreadful.'

‘No, you haven't done anything wicked,' Emily said. ‘But please remember that I am Robert's mother and I like to know what is going on as far as he is concerned.'

‘You are becoming impossible,' Amelia said, an angry spark in her eyes. ‘Anyone would think you ruled the roost around here. Please remember that I am Lady Vane, and as long as my husband is alive I decide what goes on here.'

‘I do not interfere with the house,' Emily told her. ‘I am aware that I should be hopeless at doing what you do, Amelia – but Robert is my son. And I have the right to decide what is best for him.'

‘But who was his father?' Amelia said, clearly very annoyed now. ‘Supposing I tell Vane the truth . . . how long do you think it will be before he kicks you out? And your precious son? Think about that!' Amelia got to her feet and flounced out of the room.

Emily went over to the French windows, looking out at the magnificent view. She would miss this place if she left, but perhaps it might be for the best to get it over now. She still had a little money, not enough for the hotel she had in mind, but enough to manage until she found herself a job somewhere. It would ease her conscience, because Daniel was right. She had done something very wrong when she allowed Vane to believe that the boy was his grandson.

She turned as the door opened and Lord Vane came in. He smiled at her and her heart caught, because she had become very fond of him, and she didn't want to hurt him. However, she could not live with the threat of exposure hanging over her.

‘How are you my dear?' he asked and looked round. ‘Amelia not here? I thought we were going to have tea?'

‘I am afraid Amelia left because we had a little argument.'

‘Oh dear, I am so sorry. Should I inquire why?'

‘I'm afraid it was my fault. Amelia gave Nanny time off without asking me and . . . just little things. I got cross and we had a tiff.'

‘Yes, I see.' Vane sighed. ‘I have noticed that Amelia is a little possessive over Robert. She must remember that she is not his mother, however much she might wish it to be so.'

‘I shouldn't have made a fuss,' Emily said, because she felt a bit silly now. ‘I am sorry I upset Amelia . . .'

‘Not at all, my dear. I have thought you remarkably patient. I shall have a word with her . . .' His gaze narrowed as he saw her expression. ‘Something else on your mind?'

‘Yes, there is . . .' Emily took a deep breath. She had to do it because she couldn't continue the lie. ‘It's something I ought to have told you a long time back. I didn't want to hurt you then and I don't now, but perhaps you ought to be told.'

‘If it concerns Robert I prefer that you leave things as they are,' Vane said. ‘I may already know what you wish to tell me, Emily. I am not quite a fool, my dear, but still I prefer things to be as they were. In the eyes of the world Robert is my grandson, and that is the way I wish it to remain. I am hoping that you will continue to live here and allow us to share Robert – providing that Amelia remembers she is not his mother?'

‘Oh, Vane . . .' Emily's throat caught with tears because he was such a dear man. ‘Forgive me. I've been making a fuss about nothing.'

‘I doubt that, Emily. Amelia has it within her to become obsessive about the boy. She so wanted to give me a child and it wasn't possible – but we have our heir, don't we?'

Emily looked into his eyes. They were so gentle but also clear and knowing, and she could do no other than smile and nod. ‘If that is what you want. I certainly don't want to leave this house, Vane – but I couldn't go on living a lie. At least, I couldn't keep it from you.'

‘Then we shall forget this conversation ever took place,' he said. ‘And now I want to talk to you about the home. You know that the government want to finish their involvement. We cannot continue to run it as it is, of course. However, most of the inmates still in residence have nowhere to go and I am thinking that we should let them make the place their home. We shall have a greatly reduced staff, of course, and no further admissions – but I see no reason why the present occupants shouldn't finish their lives in comfort and peace. I doubt many of them have more than a few years to live.'

‘We would need to keep at least two of the nursing staff and some others,' Emily said, ‘but I am sure the local doctor would come in if necessary – and there are only five guests left.'

‘Yes, we will call them guests,' Vane said and nodded his satisfaction. ‘I shall make you a monthly allowance to cover the expenses, and I hope you will keep within its limits as much as possible, Emily – but you may come to me if you find it too difficult.'

‘I am sure I shall manage,' she said. ‘You need not continue to pay me. I have enough for my personal needs.'

‘I am going to set up a trust fund for you instead of the salary you have received,' Vane told her. ‘You will have the income for as long as I live. Afterwards, it will be up to you if you wish to take the capital.'