Swansea Girls (18 page)

‘Brian’s asked Judy out. We could make it a foursome.’

‘I’d still have to ask Mrs Evans. I’m staying with her and Lily until my mother comes out of hospital.’

‘I’ll check with Brian, and there’s the dance on Saturday. I know it’s only a youth club, but Tom and the others can do with all the encouragement they can get. It would be great if you could get the other girls to go as well.’

‘I’m not sure about Helen but I’ll ask Lily and Judy.’

‘So, it’s true?’

‘What?’

‘That Helen’s parents have locked her up after Saturday.’

‘Knowing Helen, it won’t last long. Her father never stays angry with her for more than a day or two. No one does.’ There was a touch of envy in her voice.

‘I don’t know why, she’s not half as nice as you – or pretty,’ he added quietly, after checking George wasn’t in earshot.

‘Oh, yes, I’m really pretty with tears blotching my make-up and a swollen ankle.’

‘I don’t say things I don’t mean, Katie, Have you got time for another tea?’

‘I ought to go back to Auntie Norah’s. She’ll want to know how the interview went.’

‘I’ll walk you. If Brian’s in I’ll talk to him about fixing a date. Shall I call in on you afterwards?’

‘If you like.’ She hadn’t meant to sound quite so offhand but there was something about Adam Jordan – his blond good looks and quiet self-assurance – that made her uneasy and she couldn’t quite say why.

Chapter Ten

Norah was peeling potatoes in the kitchen when Katie hobbled in. She looked up, smiled, and when Katie didn’t return her smile or volunteer any information, she ventured, ‘How did it go?’

‘Terrible. They didn’t want me.’

Drying her hands on her apron, Norah picked up the kettle and filled it. ‘I’m sure they didn’t say that to your face, Katie.’

‘They said they’ll let me know.’

‘It couldn’t have been that terrible. You were gone a long time, you must have a chance.’

‘I was gone a long time because my shoe broke. I twisted my ankle and bumped into Adam Jordan. He took me to the café down by the Albert Hall and they gave me a wet towel to bring the swelling down.’ Kicking off her broken shoe, she lifted her swollen foot.

‘That looks as though it needs an elastic bandage. Sit in the easy chair and rest your leg on this.’ Norah moved a kitchen chair in front of her.

‘The man who interviewed me practically told me I hadn’t got it because I’ve no experience.’

‘It’s your first interview, love,’ Norah murmured sympathetically from the depths of the cupboard where she was rummaging in the First Aid box. ‘It’s not so easy to get a job when you’re starting out and haven’t had a chance to prove yourself. Our Lily had to make three applications.’

‘She made three applications, but she still got the first job she interviewed for.’

‘And you’ll get the right job for you, you’ll see.’ Emerging with a roll of crepe bandage, Norah sat on the kitchen chair, gently drew Katie’s foot on to her lap and gingerly prodded the swollen joint. ‘This is a bad sprain, you’ll need to take it easy for a day or two.’

‘I have to work.’

‘Not tomorrow.’

‘They’ll dock me a day’s pay. Mam needs the money.’

‘Not in hospital.’

‘There’ll still be bills.’

‘Which are your father’s responsibility.’

‘Dad was right,’ Katie declared miserably. ‘Mam should never have spent all that money on shorthand typing lessons. I’m not going to get an office job in a million years. All I’ll ever be good for is washing dishes.’

Wise enough to realise that anything she said would only make Katie feel worse, Norah finished bandaging the girl’s foot, washed her hands and set about making tea. She wasn’t so old that she couldn’t remember a time when assurances that everything would turn out well only seemed to make disappointments a hundred times worse.

‘I think we’ve covered everything, Miss Griffiths.’

‘Thank you, Mr Thomas, Mr Butler.’ Helen left her chair as Richard Thomas pressed the buzzer on his desk.

‘We’ll see you at eight thirty Monday morning.’ Richard eyed Helen from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

‘Yes, Mr Thomas. Thank you, Mr Thomas.’ Helen’s heart sank. For all his brusque, businesslike air there was something creepy about Richard Thomas. A touch of the ‘sneaky old grubby eyes’ as Judy had christened the middle-aged men who slyly watched them and other young girls changing on the beaches around Gower.

He had scarcely allowed her to say a word. After a cursory glance at her certificates he had outlined her future duties, incidentally referring to his staff in an arrogant, derogatory way that suggested he had no compunction about bullying even the most senior of them.

The door opened and Isabel Evans walked in.

‘Miss Evans will show you around the office, Miss Griffiths. Miss Griffiths starts with us next Monday as office junior, Miss Evans.’

‘Yes, Mr Thomas. Congratulations, Miss Griffiths.’

‘Thank you,’ Helen murmured.

Accustomed to anticipating Mr Thomas’ wishes, Isabel held the door open. ‘If you’d come this way, please, Miss Griffiths.’ She stepped back so Helen could precede her down the corridor to the General Office and reception area.

‘Miss Mair Miles, our receptionist. Miss Miles, this is Miss Helen Griffiths. Miss Griffiths will be joining us on Monday as office junior. Miss Griffiths, Miss Cynthia Allen and Miss Belinda Jenkins, our secretaries ...’

Helen’s grin almost became a grimace as the names of her prospective co-workers washed over her. There were a bewildering number of them, a receptionist, a telephonist, a senior secretary, two junior secretaries and a typist. Mr Butler nodded briefly to her as he walked through reception to the opposite end of the building. His smile was reserved for Isabel. Was it her imagination or did a pitying look pass between them. She wondered what had happened to the last office junior; she couldn’t help noticing that there wasn’t a secretary young enough to have been promoted recently from the position.

‘You’ve a job where?’

‘Thomas and Butler,’ Helen whispered hesitantly. After Sunday she had thought Esme couldn’t get any angrier, but her mother’s face was contorted – ugly in the intensity of her rage. ‘Dad did tell you ...’

‘He didn’t or I would have put a stop to it. Your father has absolutely no sense. And I wouldn’t count on starting work there if I were you. I don’t know what he was thinking of.’

Confused, Helen charged upstairs.

‘More problems?’ John asked, as he hobbled into the hall in time to hear Helen’s bedroom door slam.

Esme turned furiously on him. ‘How dare you arrange for Helen to work in Thomas and Butler’s?’

‘I told you ...’

‘You most certainly did not.’

‘I did, and even if I didn’t mention their name they are a well-respected firm. They’re not only my solicitors. Your own mother ...’

‘Precisely,’ she broke in cuttingly. ‘Not only your solicitors but also my mother’s. Didn’t it occur to you that I wouldn’t want Helen working there?’

‘No.’ He shuffled over to the sofa. It was raining and on wet days his scars ached unbearably, not that he ever complained about the pain to Esme. He looked up at her. ‘Is there something you know about Thomas and Butler’s that I don’t?’ he asked quietly.

‘Of course not.’

‘Then why shouldn’t Helen work there?’

Refusing to meet his eye, Esme fumbled with the cigarette box. She had never revealed the identity of Joseph’s father to John and wouldn’t have, even if he had asked outright. But he hadn’t, not when she’d announced she was pregnant shortly after their marriage, or on the day Joseph was born when simple arithmetic would have made it clear there was no way he could have fathered her son.

Damn Helen for wanting a job and damn John for organising her one in the only office in Swansea she didn’t want Helen working in. But there was no way she could tell him the reason that lay behind her objections without betraying the secret she had kept for over twenty years.

‘Why, Esme?’ he repeated softly.

‘I would have thought it was obvious. Thomas and Butler deal with my mother’s affairs and Joseph’s trust fund.’

‘Helen’s starting as an office junior, not junior partner. Her duties will hardly include dealing with sensitive documents. Your family’s or anyone else’s.’

‘I suppose you think I’m overreacting.’ She forced herself to look at him. ‘Helen will be meeting the public. After what happened on Saturday she’ll be exposed to gossip of the worst possible kind.’

‘And the best way to deal with that is ride it out until it’s forgotten.’

‘I might have known you’d take that attitude.’

‘Esme ...’

‘I’ll see if Mrs Jones has actually remembered to prepare the vegetables for the evening meal for once.’ She almost ran into the kitchen, leaving John bewildered, confused and – suspicious.

He’d never asked Esme about Joe’s father because he’d always assumed he’d been one of her ‘set’. A boy too young to marry. For the first time he wondered if Joe’s father had abandoned her because he already had a wife. Peter and Amelia Butler had been his mother-in-law’s closest neighbours and Esme had babysat for them. Was Joe the result of the old cliché, the young virile husband with a wife recovering from childbirth and an attractive babysitter?

Like most of the businessmen in the town, Peter Butler had been a member of the Chamber of Commerce, but unlike the others, he’d been consistently polite and pleasant, always asking after Esme and Joe. Had he asked out of guilt at abandoning them? Did Joe resemble him? He tried to picture Peter but could only recall unremarkable features, brown hair and Esme’s uncharacteristic grief when she’d heard of his early death in a boating accident.

He would have to broach the subject with Esme again when she wasn’t so distraught and Helen and Joe were out. If only she’d said something. Now Helen was working with Peter’s son he knew he should push it, but he had never managed to persuade Esme to talk to him when she didn’t want to and he had a feeling he wouldn’t succeed now.

At the end of the working day Richard Thomas poured his customary whisky, left his desk and stood in front of the window. Sipping slowly, he watched the shop and office workers trudge up the hill from the town centre. He had almost forgotten Esme Griffiths – Harris – as she was, until John Griffiths had asked in a Chamber of Commerce lunch if anyone knew of an office junior vacancy that might suit his daughter. To his own amazement he had buttonholed John at the bar afterwards and offered the girl a job. Even now he couldn’t say exactly what had prompted him to do it. Curiosity to see Esme’s daughter? A desire still to be seen as a benefactor to his old friend’s family? As executor of Esme’s father’s will he’d had cause – and later excuse – to visit Esme’s mother almost every day. Esme had been a schoolgirl, a virgin and a very pretty girl. He might even have been tempted to forget the twenty-five-year disparity in their ages if he hadn’t been married.

He put the thought from his mind, just as he’d done over twenty years ago. He had been married then and was still married. Daisy was exactly the kind of wife that suited him and his needs, domesticated, dutiful, obedient and decorative, a competent hostess with none of the new-fangled ideas of female emancipation that set his teeth on edge. And she had agreed before their marriage – albeit reluctantly – when he had informed her he didn’t want children.

When Esme became pregnant he arranged a private abortion, expensive, discreet. No one would have been any the wiser if she had gone along with it. Instead, she’d avoided him and created a scandal by marrying seventeen-year-old John Griffiths after a whirlwind courtship. At the time he’d felt almost any other option would have been better for her. If she’d felt so strongly about having the child, she could have gone to a Salvation Army home and had it adopted. As it was, he’d felt duty bound to keep a discreet eye on the boy after the first time he’d seen him in his grandmother’s house.

Joseph had been a solemn three-year-old with dark eyes and hair and an intelligent look he was convinced the child had inherited from him. A son any father would be proud of. Shortly afterwards he began to filter more money into the trust fund Esme’s aunt had set up for Joseph than the old woman had seen in her lifetime.

He had continued to monitor Joseph’s career from a distance. He knew he had a part in a radio play being broadcast that night, a practically unheard-of honour for a temporary student researcher. If only he’d realised when he was younger how proud a man could be of his child’s achievements, but he and Daisy had lived the life he’d chosen – unencumbered, sophisticated, with holidays they would never have been able to afford if they’d had to pay school fees...

A knock at the door interrupted his reverie.

‘Come.’ He looked at Philip in surprise. ‘I assumed you’d left for the day.’

‘You do know that girl you just took on is the one involved in the incident with Laurence Murton Davies on Saturday night.’

‘Are you absolutely sure?’ Richard was adept at concealing shock.

‘I didn’t see her because I was at the hospital but I recognised the name. I rang the station and they confirmed the address.’

‘You should have said ...’

‘What?’ Philip questioned acidly. ‘You’d already given her the job.’

‘You told me you’d settled the Murton Davies incident.’

‘Not the gossip. That girl ...’

‘Looks and sounds right for this office. But mention it to Isabel and tell her to keep a close eye. The first sign of trouble and she’s out through the door. Thank you for bringing the matter to my attention. You will go over the Roberts’ case files tonight?’

‘I have them in my briefcase.’ Philip closed the door as he left the room.

Richard recalled what Philip had told him about the incident on Saturday night. It wasn’t difficult for him to imagine Helen naked, even given the amount of padding in women’s underclothes. She appeared to have much the same figure as her mother had had when he’d known her. He wondered if she had the same temperament. Esme had been fifteen when he’d seduced her – not that it had been difficult – and afterwards ... he smiled fondly at the memory. Who would have thought that an outwardly ice-cool blond exterior could have concealed such a sensual nature?

John Griffiths glanced around the bar of the White Rose. Seeing Roy Williams sitting in a corner, he limped over to his table. ‘Can I get you another, Roy?’

‘I was thinking of going home. It’s been a long changeover shift but seeing as how you’re already holding my glass I’ll let you twist my arm.’

John went to the bar and ordered two pints of best bitter.

‘I’d like to talk to you about Saturday night.’ John looked around to make sure no one could overhear as he returned and set two full glasses on Roy’s table.

‘Don’t ever quote me but that was a mess and not very well handled by the force. I’m sorry.’

‘I’m only sorry Helen was foolish enough to put herself in a position where a boy like Murton Davies could take advantage of her.’

‘We’ve all been young and foolish in our time,’ Roy commented philosophically. ‘You do know it’s Jack Clay you should be thanking. There’s no saying what might have happened if he hadn’t stuck his oar in.’

‘I know.’ John looked down into his glass. ‘Is Murton Davies really going to get off scot-free?’

‘I’m afraid so. For all our sakes I hope he’s learned his lesson and there’s no next time for some other innocent girl.’

‘Bloody crache!’ John swore with uncharacteristic vehemence.

‘If we had charged him and it had gone to court, Helen would have had to go into the witness box. I’ve seen similar cases and the girl never comes out unscathed. People like the Murton Davieses can afford to buy the best legal advice. By the time their barrister had finished with Helen, she – and the jury – would have felt as though she was the one on trial.’