A Daughter's Choice (8 page)

‘What do you think?' he said.

‘Oh!' she groaned. ‘Why can't you accept I'm grown up?'

‘Because you're not,' said Ben, throwing his arms up in the air. ‘Doesn't what's just happened prove it?'

Patrick combed back his hair and stepped forward. ‘It wasn't her fault.'

‘I can believe that,' said Ben, shaking his head as he looked down at him. Dougie had made his exit. ‘But the last thing she needs is someone like you around. Now, hop it.'

‘Ben!' cried Katie, seizing his arm. ‘He didn't do anything. It was –'

‘Go on, blame Dougie,' said Eileen promptly. ‘You know you were flirting with this other fella.'

Katie was flabbergasted. What had got into her? She stared helplessly at Patrick, who gave her a twisted smile. ‘I wish it was true and you
had
been flirting with me.'

‘Leave it, Patrick,' called Bernie, who was standing a few yards away, huddled into her coat, ‘We'd best be going. You're going to get in trouble as it is with the state your jacket's in.'

He nodded but faced Katie once more with his hands firmly wedged in his pockets. ‘Sorry, love. I didn't mean for it to get out of hand.'

She smiled. ‘I know. Perhaps some other time … I live at the Arcadia Hotel.'

‘See you around then.' He returned her smile and walked away.

Katie sighed.

Eileen said, ‘Thank God for that.
He's
trouble.'

Katie turned on her and hissed, ‘And what do you know about anything, coming from the backwoods of Ireland? I'm really disappointed in you, I thought we were friends.' She tucked her arm into Ben's and said in forlorn tones, ‘Let's go home. And if Patrick does come round, you won't frighten him away, will you?'

‘I'll think about it. But really, you're too young, Katie, to be having boyfriends. Think of the Arcadia. You've got enough on your plate there.'

She nodded. But still hoped Patrick would call.

There had been no more anonymous letters and Kitty was hopeful Celia had had second thoughts about what she had written. Even so during the first wet weeks of June she was all for Ben's searching her out, which he was doing with the help of the Southport Guide. She needed to know what Celia was up to because not knowing was causing her continuous sleepless nights.

Ben had sacrificed several of his Sundays so far but without any success. Near the beginning of the Guide it stated that Southport came into existence in 1792 when a small hotel called The Duke's Folly opened. For his purposes it would have been better if the town had not grown so much since then. He ran a finger down a page, considering where to go next. He had never believed it would be easy tracing the hotel but neither had he thought it would be so difficult. From page thirty-seven to eighty-eight were listed hotel after hotel, and following on from those were the names of boarding houses.

He had already tried several of the grander places such as The Clarendon in Hesketh Park – terms: seven and a half guineas weekly, sea and golf course at rear.
Comfort our keynote, service our pride
! His mother would have been interested in seeing what they had on offer. He had also visited The Prince of Wales which was situated on Lord Street and had four stars, was AA recommended and fully licensed. He had tried numerous smaller ones, walking the length of Lord Street which owed much of its charm to its Victorian architecture and leafy appearance, and tramping in the rain along Argyll Street and the Promenade.

It was sunny for once as he walked up the drive of a hotel called the Seaview in one of the lesser roads. He went through its revolving doors and entered a quiet reception area carpeted in pine green with a gold leaf motif. Its walls were painted in eau-de-nil and white. Soothing and tastefully decorated, he thought.

Behind a pale oak reception desk sat a middle-aged woman with her head bent so close to an open book that her narrow nose almost touched its pages. She did not look up as he walked towards her so that for a moment he wondered if she had dozed off, but as he reached the desk she said, ‘Look at that figure! Would you say it's a five or a three?'

Ben's eyes followed her pointing finger. ‘Five,' he said.

Her brow knitted. ‘I thought it was three.' She slammed the book shut and blinked at him and he noticed she had a faint moustache. ‘What can I do for you?'

‘I'm looking for a Rita Turner. Does …?'

‘Is she a friend of yours?'

Ben was so surprised at getting a positive response it took him several seconds to answer. ‘So she does work here?'

‘A Miss Rita Turner works here.' She looked disapprovingly down her nose. ‘It's her day off, though, and I don't encourage followers.'

‘I'm not a follower.' Ben's smile had a singular charm. ‘Miss Turner knew my brother. He went missing during the war, was believed dead, and they lost touch. It's a sad story, Mrs …?' He paused.

‘Henshall. Mrs Jemima Henshall.' She thawed slightly. ‘I'm a widow and life can be so difficult for us widows. I've often wondered if Miss Turner lost someone. I've tried to encourage her to talk but –'

‘She clams up?'

‘A crude way of putting it, but yes. In fact, one could say she's downright secretive about her past.'

Ben felt a stir of excitement. Miss Turner and Celia had to be one and the same. He
had
to have her address but would Mrs Henshall hand it over? Perhaps if he laid it on with a trowel …

‘My brother Mick was badly wounded and his mind affected after being afloat in a boat on the North Atlantic for weeks. He gets really down and I feel sure some of it's due to losing touch with Ce—' He caught himself up quickly. ‘Er, Rita. Could you give me her address?'

Mrs Henshaw fixed him with an eagle-like stare. ‘I'm sorry, Mr …?'

‘Ryan. Ben Ryan.'

‘Mr Ryan, it is not my policy to give out the addresses of my staff, but I tell you what I shall do – I'll inform Miss Turner that you called and then she can get in touch with you.'

‘I'd much rather you gave me her address,' he said in what he hoped was a winning tone, but she was adamant.

‘I have to protect my staff. It is possible she no longer feels anything for your brother and your visit could be an embarrassment. Now, if you don't mind, Mr Ryan, I have work to do. Good day.'

Ben accepted his dismissal with a show of good grace and thanked her. If nothing else, when the woman told Celia about his visit it would probably put the wind up her. He just hoped she wouldn't do a bunk.

As he walked out by the revolving door Celia came out of the lounge with a duster in her hand. ‘Who was that?' she asked. ‘There was something familiar about him.'

‘He's no one you know, Celia,' said Mrs Henshall dismissively, adding sharply, ‘Just because I'm giving you extra hours, it doesn't mean you have to know everything.'

‘Yes, Mrs Henshall. I'm going off now. I need to darn some stockings.'

‘Yes, yes! You go. You're looking pale. Go along to the pier and get some fresh air. But I want you back this evening. Oh, I do so hate it when Rita has a whole day off! It constricts me and I don't like being constricted. If you see her on your travels, tell her a man's been here asking for her.'

A man? Celia wondered who it could be as she fetched her outdoor clothes. She tied a chiffon scarf over her hair and thought about what Mrs Henshall had said about being constricted because Rita wasn't there, and imagined a boa constrictor choking the life out of the woman. She had seen one at the zoo once and had never forgotten being told they could eat animals whole. It had fascinated even as it sickened her because she could not get out of her mind a picture of the animal dying all of a piece in the snake's stomach, unable to get out.

She walked towards the front and found Rita playing cricket with her landlady's two children.

‘Throw it! Throw it!' shouted the boy, Sammy, jiggling about on the sand as if he had ants in his pants.

Rita sent the rubber ball sailing through the air in the direction of the wicket and he caught it and sent the bails flying. He crowed with delight and Celia clapped her hands. ‘Howzat!' she cried. Rita glanced in her direction and waved.

‘It's not fair!' cried the boy's sister, Marie, dropping the bat and plonking herself on the sand. ‘I'm not playing any more.'

‘That's a relief!' said Rita, collapsing on to a towel. Celia sat next to her and gazed at the children, thinking of Katherine. She had lost her nerve after sending that one note to Kitty Mcleod but now could not stop thinking about her daughter.

‘I hope you're not here because you've a message from ol' Hennie?' asked Rita, pulling a cardigan about her shoulders.

‘She said a man's been in asking for you.'

‘A man?' The smile faded from Rita's eyes. ‘You must have made a mistake. I don't know any men who know where I work.'

‘Can I have a swim?' said Marie, tugging at her frock. ‘I'm hot an' sticky an' I need a swim.'

‘You can't swim here,' said her brother scornfully. ‘The sea's that far out, it's disappeared!'

‘It's too cold even if the tide wasn't out,' said Rita.

Celia looked towards where the sea should have been and thought that was what made a mockery of the hotel's name. More often than not there was no sign of the sea and that was something she missed. Just as she had missed her daughter growing up. Her gaze fixed on the little girl as she threw a handful of sand up in the air and dodged back. She said to Rita, ‘Wouldn't you like children of your own before it's too late?'

She shrugged. ‘Maybe. If I could have them without a man.'

‘The things you do say,' said Celia dispassionately. ‘How would you manage to keep them without a man's wage packet coming in?'

‘Widows manage.' Rita hunched her knees and wrapped her arms round them. ‘But I'm not going to waste my energies worrying about not having children. I have these two to play with and I enjoy my work, despite ol' Hennie expecting far too much for the money she pays me.'

‘At least you don't have to do two jobs. Don't I wish I could win the pools!'

Rita looked at her with interest. ‘I never knew you did the pools?'

‘I do a couple of lines, and I back the odd horse.' Celia got to her feet. ‘My gran was a great gambler but so far her luck hasn't rubbed off on me.'

Rita smiled. ‘You'll just have to keep on trying. See you tomorrow. Come on, kids,' she called. ‘Time to get going. Your mum gave me the money for just one go on the fair.'

‘Hurray!' shouted Marie, and Sammy did a somersault on the sand.

Celia watched them a few moments longer and then hurried home to her lodgings to darn the hole in her lisle stockings and make herself some cheese on toast.

She was back in the Seaview the next morning when Mrs Henshall almost leapt on Rita as soon as she entered the hotel. ‘There's been a man here asking after you. Says his name's Ryan and you know his brother.'

‘He's having you on,' said Rita, toying with a button on her green duster coat. ‘I don't know any Ryans. What did he look like?'

‘He seemed very positive he knows you,' said Mrs Henshall, glancing at Celia who had removed the bowl of flowers from the oval oak table she was polishing and was holding it in mid-air. ‘Don't drop that!' she said sharply. ‘Or it'll come out of your wages.' Then lowered her voice. ‘His name was Ben and he said he had a brother who was in the navy and you thought he was dead but he wasn't.'

Celia gave up all pretence at polishing and stared at Rita who was shaking her head. ‘Doesn't ring a bell.'

Mrs Henshall looked put out. ‘Well, if you're going to be secretive, I might as well be off! I'm meeting my sister and we're playing bridge this afternoon. Telephone me if there's anything urgent.'

Celia said breathlessly, ‘Did Mr Ryan say what his brother's name was?'

Mrs Henshall paused in the act of pulling on a pair of long white gloves. ‘I don't think that's any of your business, Celia,' she said haughtily.

Rita said firmly, ‘I'd like to know. His first name might jog my memory.'

Her employer stared at her hard. ‘I think it was Mick – Mick Ryan. Very Irish,' she declared and swept out of the lobby.

Celia sank on to a chair with her cheeks paper white.

‘What was all that about?' said Rita softly. ‘Do
you
know these brothers?'

Celia nodded. ‘I can't understand why they should ask for you, unless it has something to do with your going to the Arcadia that time?'

‘Do you want to talk about it?'

‘I couldn't! I'd have to –' She pressed her lips tightly together. Although they had become friends in the nursing home, she had never told Rita she had had a baby but let her presume she had lost someone in the blitz, just as Rita herself had.

‘Have to what?' asked her friend gently.

‘Nothing. Give me the pass keys, I've finished here.'

Rita handed them over without a word and as one of the guests came out of the dining room and approached the desk, no more was said between them.

Celia went upstairs and as she worked, the words ‘Mick's alive!' kept repeating themselves in her head. She had forgiven him when she had believed him dead but now she was angry with him all over again. Why hadn't he come looking for her? Her life could have been so different if he had. She could have been married and had a little house and Katherine with her and maybe more children. She would never have had to work so hard in this place. The letter … That must be the reason why Ben had come looking for her. Her heart quailed inside her and her hands shook. But why Ben? Was there something wrong with Mick as well as Katherine? What should she do?