Harbinger of Spring (24 page)

The names of the stations became more and more familiar, and she told herself that once she was outside the vast echoing cavern of Liverpool Street Station she would be where she belonged—in the great city where she
had been bo
rn
.

It was just past the peak hour of home-going traffic when Sara walked out of the station. She turned left, crossed the twin floods of traffic along Bishopsgate and moving at the same rapid pace that everyone else affected, swung into Houndsditch. A little way along that thronged street she stopped short, almost paralysed by the sight of an empty shop window with a large
‘
TO LET
‘
sign pasted on it. Their shop, empty and desolate, looking as if it had been so for years.

Her first thought was to turn and run back to the railway station, but she controlled the impulse. She had come here to talk to Des and to find out what had happened to the business. Perhaps she should have been wondering what had happened to
him
?
She had never heard him mention having any relatives. Perhaps he had been taken ill or had some kind of accident. Jose, who had a coffee bar a little further along, might know.

She hurried to the cellar premises with its dim lighting. It was empty as it usually was at this hour and the jukebox was silent. Jose greeted her from behind his bar.

‘
Hello. Thought you were in the sticks for good. What
’
ll you have?
’

‘
Just coffee. Have you seen Des around?
’

‘
Des? I thought he was up in this Norwich place with you.
’

‘
No. He did pay me a visit—just for the day.
’

Sara found herself wishing she had not come here to ask questions. She glanced about and for the first time thought how garish and seedy the place looked. She decided to drink her coffee and leave as soon as possible, but Jose wanted to talk.

‘
What made you and Des decide to pack up the business so suddenly? I thought you were doing well in the rag-trade.
’

‘
We were. I had to go to Norwich on some f
amil
y business.
’

‘
Des said you
’
d be back in a few weeks and he
’
d roped in Stella to help him. She
’
s a real doll.
’

Sara slid off the high stool.
‘
So I
’
ve been told. Well, see you again, Jose.
’

She hurried outside, then stood irresolute. Real doubts about Des were growing steadily. Why, in the circumstances, had he neither telephoned or written to her? Then her earlier thoughts about him came uppermost again. He must be ill. That was it. She looked about, hailed a taxi and gave the driver an address in the Whitechapel Road area. Within a few minutes she was standing outside an old Victorian house which had been converted into flats and bed-sitting rooms. She went in and climbed the stairs to the top floor. A knock on one of the doors brought an immediate response, but Sara was flustered when the door opened and she looked into the enquiring eyes of a girl about her own age.

‘
Er—I
’
m looking for
Mr.
Morris, Desmond Morris.
’

‘
He left a week ago. The day I moved in here.
’

‘
I suppose you don
’
t know—
’

‘
Except that he, left the place in a bit of a mess, I don
’
t know anything about him.
’
She looked sharply at Sara.
‘
Has he let you down in some way?
’

‘
Oh no. It
’
s just that I haven
’
t seen him lately and I wondered if he
’
d been ill.
’

‘
He was well enough to argue with the property company
’
s agent about a spare key there
’
s supposed to be. I can
’
t tell you any more than that.
’

Sara thanked the girl and left. There seemed not the least doubt that Des had left her in the lurch. She thought she ought to feel completely shattered by the thought, but somehow she was not. What should she do next? Go home to the comfortable St John
’
s Wood flat for the night, seemed the obvious answer. But if she did that she would have to confide in her father, and
although he would not say,
I you something like this would happen,
she could not bear to see the expression which would come on his face, nor could she stand the sympathy that would flood from
Mrs.
Worthing.

She decided to go back to Fenchurch Mill and face things from there.

The train on which Sara travelled back made more frequent stops than the other journey and had only a buffet car from which drinks and sandwiches could be obtained. However, she wanted neither and did the journey in a sort of vacuum. When she arrived in Norwich she forced herself to take notice of mundane things like the thin traffic on the almost deserted city streets. Beyond the city there were the brilliant headlights of other cars to keep her on the alert, but they became fewer after she passed through Wroxham.

Then, at a time when she could hardly think at all, she suddenly decided to try the road to the Mill instead of going to the boatyard and using the launch.

In the darkness she had some difficulty in finding the turn, but after that, beyond a little bumpiness, she had no trouble.

A new sound greeted her as she stepped out of the car, something between a sigh and a moan as a mounting wind searched the bare branches of the trees. The sound fitted her mood. A hopeless yearning for something she could not possibly have.

She opened the door and closed it behind her, but before she had even hung up her coat the silence of the old house seemed dreadful. When she turned the tap to fill the kettle the outrush of water was like the sound of Niagara Falls in her ears.

In a kind of panic she put down the kettle noisily and went through to the living room and switched on the television, turning up the volume control. She must forget Hugh. She must.

A blare of sound from a pop group filled the room. She turned the set off again swiftly and tried to think calmly. For the first time she realized that she was without any source of income. Up to now, money was something she had not thought about a great deal. During her growing up period her father had always been generous without encouraging extravagance, and when she had gone into business she had learned quickly to adjust spending to earnings. But a reserve was something to which she had not given much thought.

Automatically, she went through to the kitchen and made tea. The action made her feel hungry, so she made herself a sandwich from some cold meat still in the fridge, then carrying a tray into the sitting room she turned on the television again, feeling the necessity of breaking the oppressive silence. She had hardly done so when the pop programme ended and the News began, an item she very rarely watched, but anything was preferable to allowing her mind to dwell on Hugh again. But the News ended without any of it really penetrating her thoughts of him and a series of outside interviews had begun before a question held her attention.

‘
Tell me,
Mrs.
Smith, what is it going to be like for you, and hundreds of others like you, now that the shipyard has closed down and your husband will have no wages to bring home?
’

Sara watched the expression of the middle-aged woman change from one of dull apathy to fierce pride.

‘
We
’
ll manage,
’
she answered firmly.
‘
In these parts we
’
re used to unemployment and hard times. We just do the best we can without griping too much or asking for charity.
’

Sara stood up, feeling her throat tighten. The woman being interviewed was obviously in poor circumstances, but pride held her together. Something of the pride and courage which went with it was what she herself needed.

Looked at coldly, she was wallowing in self-pity. She could not have Hugh so she was feeling sorry for herself. Financially, she was shipwrecked, yet she was scarcely giving that any concrete thought at all. As for Des, it was no use worrying or speculating on his actions. Whether he was an over-optimistic fool in business or some sort of scoundrel, she did not know. She
did
know that she never wanted to see or hear of him again.

She switched off the television set and took pen and writing paper. To one side of it she put the small figure of her own bank account and on the other the money owed by the business. Underneath that she put down what the interest would be for one year on the loan from her lawyer. Other items were jotted down, mostly guesses.

A quarter
’
s bill for electricity; the same for the telephone ; what she could expect to pay for the loan of the car so far and the launch and sailing boat; the bill for opening up the roadway, and food for the remainder of the time she would be here.

All too quickly the total in the right-hand column mounted to a figure which alarmed her and she could see that even if she obtained some kind of work in Norwich the loan would have to be at least over a two-year period.

She set to work with a fresh sheet of paper and put down the higher wages she might be able to ea
rn
when she moved back to London.

London! She disliked the idea of going there even for a short visit, but it was practically unavoidable now. She could not keep the news of her near-bankruptcy from her father, he was too discerning, and once he did know of it he would certainly make some move to help her. And of
course she would be able to earn
much more money there.

How
?
she asked herself. Who would employ her when her only experience was running a boutique to the very
doors of the bankruptcy court? She could hardly call herself a professional dress designer. She had only started that for fun and later for her shop. Her designs had turned out profitably, of course, but she had no idea how to sell them to anyone else.

It was long after midnight when she went to bed, and beyond the fact that she must find herself a job she had resolved none of her problems. She slept only fitfully and was on her way to Norwich by eight o
’
clock the next morning. Entering the city, she realized vaguely that she was stepping into a world which was completely foreign to her—that of a person seeking employment.

It was ten o
’
clock by the time she had made her first step, that of securing an employment card. Then the official who was interviewing her looked doubtful.

‘
At this time of the year jobs are difficult. You see, you don
’
t fit into any of our categories except that of shop assistant, and I haven
’
t a request for one at the moment. I would say you would make a good receptionist, but you haven
’
t any experience.
’
He paused and thumbed through a file.
‘
Would you like to try light engineering? It
’
s very repetitive, but—
’

She swallowed.
‘
I
’
ll try anything.
’

She left the employment office without much hope, and half an hour later she was walking out of a factory office feeling even more depressed. She had not only been refused work but had had to listen to an aggrieved man giving his opinions of officials who sent him persons without any experience of factory work.

Driving back towards the city centre, Sara stopped and bought a local newspaper. She looked at the situations vacant column and saw in it only one ray of hope for herself, the name and address of a private employment agency.

Arriving at a pokey little office at the top of three flights of stairs she answered a lot of questions, was told
there was nothing exactly in her line and left her name, address and telephone number.

Sitting in the car again she reviewed a situation which seemed, at the moment, desperate. Hunger assailed her and she was tempted to find a coffee bar, but such little extravagances she knew she ought to deny herself. She could be back at the Mill in a little over half an hour, and coffee made there was much cheaper. The question was, could she use her time profitably if she remained in Norwich
?

After a few moments
’
thought she started the engine and drove homeward. Depressed though she was, the changing colour of the countryside forced itself upon her. Tree trunks which a few days ago had been encased in ice now showed distinct tints of green. The ends of twigs which had looked frozen to death were now filled-out buds, many of which were at bursting point, and overhead the sky was a softer blue with only a few traces of light, wind-shredded cloud.

She passed the spot where she had had the puncture and her thoughts went to Hugh again in a rush. She struggled against them, then gave in. There could be little harm in thinking and wishing. The process was a sort of opiate against the dead feeling which at present held her in its grip.

She drove on, comforted by her escape from the worries which beset her. As she turned into the track to the Mill she wondered whether Hugh would use it in preference to coming by river when he wanted to use the top of the Mill for his photography or sketching. She was getting out of the car when another thought occurred to her.

Once the house was leased he would have to ask the new tenant
’
s permission to use the Mill. Suppose that was not agreed to?