Capital Sins (19 page)

'You look
peaky to me.'

Her lips
pressed together. 'I'm OK, Mr Jessop.'

He shrugged
and dismissed her with an abrupt wave of his hand. Try as he might, it seemed
that she didn't want to be friendly. Connie went out, softly shutting the door
behind her and went to sit down at her desk. The slip of paper lay before her
on the table ignored, and she didn't touch the telephone. She was remembering,
and trying not to. She stared out of the window sightlessly, chewing her bottom
lip, her mind filling with unwanted thoughts and images, feeling her body
stirring curiously as his face materialised again and again. When the intercom
buzzed a second time, sharp and demanding, she hastily flicked a switch.

'Yes, sir?'

'Are you
getting my calls?' He sounded irritable.

'Right away, Mr Jessop.'
Deliberately, she cleared her mind of everything but the present and
plunged herself again into her work.

Samuel
Jessop left the office for a luncheon appointment, but Connie stayed in to have
a quick snack before continuing. Slowly, the day wore on, was relatively quiet
and undisturbed, and soon all the letters were finished, forms were completed
and photocopied, and there was nothing else to occupy her thoughts. When the
silence and loneliness began to get unbearable, Connie took to sharpening all
the pencils she could find,
then
tidied out drawers.
Jessop, before he had left, had told her he wouldn't be back, so there wasn't
even his presence to occupy her attention.

Her
thoughts kept returning to Alan Ho, and hate welled up inside, almost choking
her. She clenched her jaw and, with her fist, banged the desk: top repeatedly,
as if it were his head she were pulverising. Bastard!
bastard
!
she
kept thinking, then paused, said it aloud, softly
and curiously. So am I. She felt herself drowning in a sea of desolation and
her heart ached with an intense longing for the mother she had never known.

Does she
ever think of what's become of her baby? Connie wondered bleakly. Does she ever
feel guilt or even sorrow for having abandoned me? Her throat ached and there
seemed to be a deep pit in her stomach; she laid her head on her arms. But
still the tears stayed inside; she couldn't cry.

She was
still in that position when Sheila Delaney returned. Connie did not hear the
door open, and Sheila looked at the girl's slumped attitude for a long while
until instinct made Connie raise her face. Sheila pulled off her gloves and
hurried over.

'Have you
been crying?' She placed her hands fiat on the table and stared into Connie's
face anxiously.

'Trying to.'
A nerve twitched under her eyes, and Connie flung back her hair which
had fallen over her shoulders, and rubbed her face tiredly. 'I was just
thinking,' she continued, 'but I've done everything you gave me to do.'

Sheila sat
on the desk, crossed her legs, and picked up the correspondence blotter.
Automatically, Connie handed her a pen and Sheila started to sign the letters.

'I've been
to see your landlady,' Sheila began, eyes on the typed pages in her lap. 'I
didn't think you'd want to go back there yourself so that she could gloat over
you. She's really a thoroughly unpleasant individual.'

Connie
didn't ask why Sheila should have gone there. All the letters signed, Sheila
bounced to her feet.

'I packed
your suitcase for you. Mrs Withers wasn't too keen to let me into your room at
first, said you owed her some rent, but when I argued and paid up, she just
handed me the key and let me get on with it.'

'I owed her
nothing,' Connie flared.

Sheila
grimaced. 'I didn't actually think you did, but the money doesn't matter.
Anyway.
I've taken your case over to my flat already so you
can come straight back with me now and get settled in. I hope I managed to pack
everything of yours.'

'It isn't
time to go yet,' Connie began, but Sheila laughed.

'I'm your
boss, and I say you're finished for the day. There's nothing to stay for, so
don't object. Come along, Connie, you can have a hot
bath,
get something hot inside you, then straight to bed. You look worn out.'

'Are you
sure I'll not be in your way?'

'Silly,' came the affectionate reply.
'You may stay with me as long as you like,
there's bags
of room and honestly, the divan is extremely
comfortable. I've already made it up, with sheets and blankets, so you'll get a
good night's sleep tonight.'

As Sheila
picked up her gloves, Connie planted a quick kiss on her cheek. Sheila
smiled,
understanding, and the two left Jessop House.

To her
surprise, the succeeding days flew by for Connie. The pain of the assault and
the empty feeling faded, thanks in a large part to Sheila's sympathy and
helpfulness. Samuel Jessop, on hearing about the arrangement, had expressed
surprise that Sheila's young assistant was living with her, but he didn't pry
or offer any comment. To himself he acknowledged that he was pleased, more than
a little relieved that Sheila had found someone else to mother.

After a
couple of weeks, Connie suggested moving to a place of her own. Sheila wouldn't
hear of it, but Connie insisted over Sheila's objections in paying for her
keep, overruling the objections with the argument that it would help to restore
her shattered self-respect. Connie was happy with the arrangement because
Sheila had the gift of making her feel that she was not a burden.
So both were happy.

The warning
signs arrived after about six weeks.

For a week
or more, Connie had been feeling off-colour but had kept her fears to herself
so that Sheila would not be alarmed. One Monday morning Connie woke with a
headache and raced to the bathroom when a wave of nausea overwhelmed her.
Sheila, laying the table for breakfast, looked up at Connie's pale face as she
entered.

'Again?'

A weak nod.

Sheila took
a deep breath. 'You know what's wrong, don't you.' It wasn't a question.

Connie
licked her lips. 'I know. I missed my last period. I wanted to wait: wasn't
sure at first, but there's no doubt about it now, I suppose.'

'Let me try
and find that man, Connie. He's got to know,' Sheila pleaded.

Connie
shook her head sharply. 'What good will
that do
? The
ship must've sailed weeks ago, and he can't do anything now.'

'It's
partly his responsibility.'

'No!'
Another spasm shook her, and Sheila leapt to her feet.

'Let me get
you a doctor, you look ghastly!'

'I'll be
all right in a second.' Connie wiped her damp forehead with a tissue, and
stretched her lips into a pathetic smile for Sheila's benefit. 'I wouldn't mind
a cup of tea, Sheila. Not strong, though.
Plenty of milk.'

Sheila
scurried into the kitchen and busied herself. Connie bent double as her stomach
heaved.

Sheila
returned bearing a tray on which there was a cup of tea and some slices of
bread and butter.

'Eat,' she
pleaded, but Connie shook her head.

'Just this,
thanks,' she said, taking the hot tea and sipping at it

warily
.

Sheila sat
down at the table and looked at Connie worriedly, ignoring the time. 'I don't
like to leave you in this state.'

'Don't
worry. I know you've got an important do this morning with all the top brass.
Samuel
Jessop'll
be there, and you know him, he'll
expect you to attend.'

'I can
phone and cancel.'

'That'd be
daft. What for? There's no point in both of us sitting around chewing our
nails, and I don't want to be the cause of any trouble between you and Mr
Jessop. It's bad enough that I'm not going in today, don't make it worse.
You've got your job to do, so you'd better do it.' She flapped her hand as
Sheila opened her mouth to protest. 'Now, don't argue! You'll be late if you
don't go now. I'm going to get dressed and go to see a doctor. No, you can't
come with me. I'll do this myself, and I'll be all right!'

Sheila
stared at the girl, a little startled. Connie, she knew, could be stubborn
sometimes, but she sounded quite different now; older, more authoritative
somehow, as if she had matured within a few weeks. It was a sad transformation,
especially in one so young, and Sheila sighed, but nevertheless stood up to go.
She slung a long silk scarf around her shoulders, brushed down her suit, and
reached over for her bag. At the door, she turned to look back at Connie.

'When you
know for sure, you... you won't do anything silly, will you?' she asked
hesitantly.

Connie eyed
her friend quizzically. 'Now what would I do?'

'I don't
know ... ' Sheila fumbled with her gloves, refusing to meet the challenge in
Connie's eyes.

'I wouldn't
be so stupid as to have a back-street abortion, if that's what you're implying.
These things can be done legally now, you know, and I've certainly got a case
for having it done legally, wouldn't you say?'

Sheila
smiled nervously, for Connie sounded so grim, hardly recognisable as the gay
and vivacious creature of so few weeks back.

'Anyway,
we're both being highly pessimistic,' Connie went on in a clipped voice. 'We're
thinking the worse and I may not be pregnant at all:
he
sickness may be due to something I've eaten, and I may not have come on yet
because I'm worrying about this. One of those false alarms, they do happen, you
know.'

Sheila took
a long, slow breath, unconvinced by the explanation but determined not to
convey it by her manner to Connie. 'Mm, well, when you get the results, let me
know.'

She went
out, leaving Connie to stare blankly at the closed door.

A doctor
examined her, took the necessary tests, and said he'd phone her when they were
ready. Impatiently, Connie told him she'd call later that afternoon. He'd
shrugged and let it go at that. She went from the clinic quickly, hating the
antiseptic odour of the place.

Connie
couldn't remember very clearly what she did to while away the next few hours.
She recalled getting on to a bus and paying a fare, and then somehow arrived at
one of the art galleries that she and Sheila had visited the previous week in
their lunch hour. She sat down in the cool, marble hallway, on a long, low, red
leather couch opposite a 'Madonna and Child'. This Connie fixed her eyes on
oblivious of the tourists and schoolchildren who passed by. Almost an hour
later she left the gallery and went to a cafe. She ordered a milk shake and a
sandwich, but left it uneaten on the chipped plate. When she had finished the
packet of cigarettes in her bag, she bought two more packets at a kiosk. She
walked along the sunny streets aimlessly, and ended in a park. She wandered
along a path, stopped briefly by an aviary. She circled a lake twice,
indifferent to the shrieks and laughter from the rowing boats, the cries from
the children's playground or the sun's warmth on her face.

Sunk in
bitterness, Connie glanced at her watch. The hour registered and she knew it
was time to call the doctor. But she didn't move yet. She sat on a bench by the
lake with her chin drawn into her neck, her eyes fixed on her hands gripped
together in her lap.

What shall
I do?
she
wondered. There's really no question of
keeping a baby – not that I'd want to, I'd hate the sight of it! Oh, God, why
did this happen to me? Her head moved in small, almost imperceptible motions.
At last, she stood up, and with slow, heavy steps, walked to the nearest
telephone box outside the park gates.

'Yes,
that's right. Constance Sands. I believe you may have the results of my tests
ready for me ... I'll wait, thanks.'

Her fingers
drummed against the glass windows as she gripped the receiver in her other
hand.

'Pardon?'
She rammed the phone nearer to her ear, mouth opening slightly. 'I see,
positive
... '

The voice
at the other end of the line droned on, but Connie replaced the receiver. Her
hand shook as she dropped it into the cradle, and she leant back against the
door, beads of sweat resting on her upper lip. Collecting her wits, Connie took
out from her bag a comb and mirror and tidied her hair, patted her skin with a
tissue, glad of the simple routine. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she swung
open the door and headed for the underground.

She stared
down at the electrified rail as if hypnotised and felt her senses reeling. The
train rumbled out of its black hole and screeched to a stop. The doors slid
open and, mechanically, her legs lifting robot-like, Connie stepped into the
compartment. Before she was even aware of it, she had arrived at Jessop House.
People who knew and recognised her smiled and asked how she was as she crossed the
floor, and Connie automatically returned their greetings. She left her stomach
on the ground as the lift whisked to the top of the building, and she nervously
gripped her clammy hands together, hoping that she wasn't going to be sick
right there on the floor.