Ellie (78 page)

The consulting rooms brought home the huge divide between rich and poor. John paying for this consultation meant she was seen at the appointed hour, in luxurious surroundings, with mahogany desks, thick carpets and no stigma attached to her unmarried status. Had she gone to a local doctor, she might have waited for hours in a waiting-room with chronically sick people, treated like a prostitute and dispatched as quickly as possible.

Ellie waited until he had gone back behind the screen, then took off the white gown and dressed again. She knew what the result was, even though he hadn’t confirmed it yet, and she wanted to get out of here before she began to cry.

‘You are indeed expecting a baby.’ The doctor smiled warmly at Ellie as she silently took the seat next to Bonny on the other side of his desk. ‘Just about eight weeks, and you can expect your baby at Christmas.’ He laughed softly at the last part of his pronouncement. ‘The best present anyone could have.’

Ellie gulped and tried to smile but it was impossible to feel any joy and a tear slid out.

Dr Rodriguez was surprised by her stricken face. He knew, of course, she wasn’t married yet, but that engagement ring on her finger and the caring tone of the man Norton who’d made the appointment suggested she would be long before her baby arrived. ‘It’s quite normal for an expectant mother to feel fraught at this stage,’ he said gently. ‘Especially if the baby wasn’t planned. But mother nature will take you in hand. In no time at all you’ll be looking forward to the birth joyfully. You are strong and healthy, Miss Phillips – you’ll make an ideal mother.’

Ellie didn’t even listen to the rest of what he said. All she could think of was that through one little accident, her career had gone down the pan and she had no one to lean on.

Outside in Harley Street both girls paused for a moment, Ellie holding on to the black painted railings for support.

‘Come back to my flat?’ Bonny suggested. She was concerned by her friend’s pallor and her stony silence. The street was busy with rush hour traffic and she thought Ellie might faint.

‘I don’t want to go anywhere with you,’ Ellie snapped at her, dark eyes cold with disgust. She pulled Bonny’s engagement ring off her finger and thrust it back at her. ‘Get a taxi, swan off back to the flat John’s found for you. Celebrate your “pregnancy” with champagne and plan your damned wedding. Just don’t invite me!’

‘Don’t be like this.’ Bonny tried to hold her, but Ellie shrugged her off angrily. ‘I meant what I said. I will help you. I can get enough money for an abortion. I’ll look after you.’

‘Get out of my life, Bonny.’ Ellie turned her back on her friend and walked away. Tears streamed down her face. She didn’t think she’d ever felt such utter misery, not even when her mother had died.

John sawed through the partly burnt pork chop, only half listening to Bonny’s excited prattle about wedding invitations. He had arrived back in London just two hours ago and he was still a little dazed by Dr Rodriguez’s note dated two days earlier, confirming that Bonny was indeed pregnant.

The flat in Harrington Road was clean and comfortable enough, but impersonal, with basic utility furniture. Unlike many of the big houses in the area, which had been converted to flats over the last thirty or forty years, this and the other three in the block had been purpose-built during the twenties. A living-room, one bedroom, a kitchen and bathroom, all decorated in a uniform beige with dark green curtains. Bonny was delighted by such luxuries as a refrigerator, constant hot water and a woman who came in to clean three times a week. Compared to the boarding-houses she was used to, it was heaven. John privately thought it was drab, the constant noise of traffic irritating, and he was a little hurt his godmother hadn’t offered to let Bonny stay at her big house in Ennismore Gardens. But then Penelope disapproved of him becoming engaged to a young dancer. She would be even more alarmed and suspicious when he informed her later tonight that the wedding would be taking place as soon as possible.

‘A big wedding isn’t appropriate,’ John said firmly. He was struggling with his conscience; he’d told Penelope a few white lies and soon they would turn to bigger ones. He wanted to do the right thing by Bonny, yet he didn’t like this haste or the feeling that he was losing control. He wanted to take her to bed right now, to rediscover all the magic of that weekend they had shared in London, yet his underlying prudishness suggested this was wrong under the circumstances. ‘Neither of us have many close relatives. What we have to think about is where the wedding will be. The banns have to be put up where one of us lives. That means if you want it to be in Dagenham or Amberley you’ll have to live there for the entire three weeks before.’

Bonny’s face fell. She had expected John to be joyful about the news, to sweep her up in his arms and take her either to bed or out to celebrate with champagne. Instead he’d gone down to the shops and bought pork chops for their dinner. He had a dark shadow of beard on his chin, his dark eyes looked wary and he’d already made it clear he would be sleeping at his godmother’s, tonight and every night he was in London. He didn’t even seem to be enjoying the chops, now she’d cooked them!

Bonny certainly didn’t want to get married in Dagenham, and although she liked the idea of the pretty church in Amberley, she didn’t fancy spending three whole weeks with Lydia either. She wanted to stay here, for a big London wedding, with write-ups in the
Tatler
, the list of guests reading like a page of
Who’s Who
.

‘Can’t we put up the banns here in London?’ she said quickly. ‘There’s a church just along the road in Queen’s Gate, and it would be far more convenient for your godmother and friends and better for my parents than Amberley.’

John pushed away his half-eaten dinner and wiped his moustache on a napkin. Buying chops had been a mistake; Bonny needed a few cookery lessons. ‘I must discuss that with your father,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think he’ll want you getting married from your home?’

A cloud passed over Bonny’s face. ‘You know I don’t get on with them, John,’ she said in a small voice, knowing she had to get over this hurdle at some time. ‘I suppose you’ll have to meet them, but let’s just make the plans and tell them it’s all arranged. Daddy couldn’t afford to pay for it anyway.’

John mulled this over for a moment. He was very curious about Mr and Mrs Phillips. He couldn’t really believe they were as odd as Bonny implied, and suspected she was just ashamed of coming from a working-class home. Yet Bonny’s suggestion suited him. It would be easier to arrange the wedding close by, and he had no wish to embarrass either Bonny or his future in-laws.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll see the vicar tomorrow, then we’ll drive out to Dagenham to tell them.’

‘Oh John! You are wonderful!’ Bonny’s face lit up again, relieved he wasn’t going to be difficult. ‘Where are we going to have the reception? Can I have a lovely dress?’

John smiled. She was such a child, but that made her even more adorable! ‘Yes, you can have a lovely dress, and I’ll arrange a small reception somewhere smart. But it’s not going to turn into a circus. Aside from the fact I’ve got to go back to finish off my work in the Gulf, which doesn’t give me much time to make arrangements if you want to be a June bride, we’ve also got to consider your condition.’

‘It won’t be showing that soon!’ Bonny said hastily. ‘You aren’t cross about the baby, are you?’

John got up from his seat, going round the table to kiss her. As he hadn’t seriously considered a baby until he saw the doctor’s confirmation, he found it hard to assess his feelings. She looked so pretty, her hair tousled becomingly, her face pink from the heat of the kitchen. ‘Of course I’m not cross,’ he said gently, remembering women needed reassurance at such times. ‘I just haven’t had time to fully adjust myself to being a father. But the idea’s growing on me already.’

‘We’re going to be so happy.’ Bonny jumped up and flung her arms round his neck, kissing every inch of his face like an excited puppy. She could handle John when he smiled; it was his long silences and deep sighs which worried her. If she could just persuade him to stay a few more hours this evening she’d soon have him as enthusiastic about married life as she was. ‘I can’t wait to see the house in Somerset. I’m so excited.’

She was terribly excited. Everything was working out as she planned. No more working, living in this nice little flat until the wedding, with nothing more arduous to do than buy a stunning wedding dress and a wonderful trousseau. As John would be working abroad until just before the wedding he wouldn’t know if she added a few more guests to the list. Then, after the wedding, there would be the thrill of doing up the house in Somerset. It was all just perfect. Except for Ellie.

Ellie was Bonny’s Achilles’ heel: the one person who really mattered to her. Although Bonny felt no guilt at fooling John, she was deeply concerned about her friend and the way she’d looked when they parted in Harley Street.

She hadn’t forgotten how Ellie stood by her when she had the abortion, and it turned her stomach to think her friend would have to go through the same agony. Bonny had been to the theatre twice, and called round to her digs, but Ellie wouldn’t speak to her.

However Bonny looked at it, Ellie was in big trouble. She was tough enough to go and have an abortion alone. But what if she died? If she didn’t get rid of the baby her career would be over and family history would repeat itself – a lone woman trying to bring up a baby in poverty.

‘What’s the matter?’ John sensed she was brooding on something. ‘Are you worried people might realise you’re pregnant at the wedding? Or is it because I’ve got to go away again?’

‘I suppose so.’ Bonny nodded, hoping he wouldn’t press her further. ‘It’s just a bit scary sometimes, especially when I’m alone.’

Two weeks after the examination by Dr Rodriguez, Ellie was outside 14 Sussex Gardens in Paddington, looking up at the house in alarm. Sussex Gardens was a notorious area for slums, crime and prostitutes. She hadn’t expected an abortionist to live in a nice place, but number 14 was the worst house in the entire terrace. The stone work crumbled around a front door which had huge cracks as if someone had tried to batter it in, stinking rubbish was piled up in the basement area and most of the windows were broken, stuffed up with rags and cardboard. Bright sunshine seemed to emphasise the squalor of the neighbourhood. Sickly-looking children were sitting on doorsteps, mangy dogs lolled listlessly in patches of shade and a couple of tramps were squatting in the middle of a bomb-site, drinking cheap sherry.

Ellie had been sick every morning now for over a week. Just the smell of cigarettes, coffee or fried food turned her stomach, and she couldn’t remember when she’d last felt like eating. Everyone in the cast had remarked how pale and gaunt she looked, but they believed her when she said it was nothing but nerves. She made made her début as Annie for the first time in public last Saturday. Everyone had said she was every bit as good as Betty Noble, and one critic had described her as ‘a feisty Aldo Annie, as if born for the part’. Sir Miles and Lady Hamilton had come backstage to compliment her, and she’d had good luck telegrams from Edward, Annie King and Amos and Dora. Bonny and John had sent her flowers. She was still so angry with Bonny, she felt like putting them in the dustbin but she hadn’t. They were, after all, her first proper bouquet.

Ellie hadn’t dared confide in anyone about her predicament. She’d only managed to find this abortionist through a friend of one of the other dancers, by pretending she was a go-between for someone else. She had been alarmed when the date and time were set by this Mr Cole without first meeting him; she had expected at least an examination before she committed herself. But she was told she was to send ‘her friend’ here with the ten pound fee and it would be done immediately.

All that had kept her going in the last few days was the knowledge that Bonny had done this and survived. So could she.

Taking a deep breath, she walked up the litter-strewn steps and rang a bell marked ‘Cole’. She heard it ring way back in the building and covered her nose so she couldn’t smell the rubbish wafting up from the basement.

The door opened a few inches, and a woman peered out. She had curlers in her hair and a crossover pinny, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth.

‘I have an appointment with Mr Cole,’ Ellie managed to say, her stomach heaving alarmingly.

‘You Miss Smith?’ the woman said without removing the cigarette. She had a thin, shallow face with slack, bloodless lips. She could have been any age between thirty and fifty.

‘Yes,’ Ellie croaked.

‘You’d better come in then.’ The woman opened the door a little further, then immediately turned and went back down the hall, her mules slopping up and down, exposing dirt-ingrained heels.

Ellie went in hesitantly, pausing after she’d shut the door behind her.

‘Come on then,’ the woman barked back at her.

The hall was gloomy, but not dark enough to hide the filth. An old battered black pram sat at the bottom of the stairs, many of the banister spindles were missing and the cracked lino hadn’t been swept, or washed for years. The woman went into a door at the far end of the narrow passageway and turned to beckon to Ellie to follow.

She found herself in what must have been the servants’ quarters in Victorian times. A few steps led to a narrow room, sparsely furnished with a table covered in a chenille cloth and a couple of easy chairs. A series of bells hung high up over the fireplace, wreathed in cobwebs. Bare wooden shelves covered one wall, perhaps once used for storing china or cooking pots, but now empty except for a couple of white enamel basins and a few cardboard boxes.

Through a second door ahead, Ellie could see a rusty cooking range and a white china sink. A man with greying, straggly hair was in there, his back to her.

‘Won’t keep you long,’ he called out. ‘Just sterilising my equipment.’

He was wearing black trousers and braces over a collarless shirt, slippers on his feet. He moved a couple of feet and Ellie saw a gas ring with a steaming saucepan on it.