Betty made herself a quick snack, and then stuffed a few slices of bread into a paper bag as her thoughts returned to her daughter. Unlike Anne, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a holiday. If she’d been treated fairly, she too could have gone overseas, but thanks to Richard it was impossible. It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t, but there was nothing she could do about it–Richard and his solicitor had seen to that.
Valerie Thorn was standing at her window, her gaze following Betty Grayson as she left the flats. The woman had moved in upstairs about a month ago and since then Val had taken every opportunity to surreptitiously observe her. She had contrived to bump into the woman earlier in Battersea Park and at least now knew her name. Betty was a short, stocky woman, with a sad expression and browbeaten manner. Her clothes were old–fashioned, her light brown hair tightly permed, and Val judged her to be in her middle fifties.
Was Betty a possible candidate? The woman certainly looked unhappy, lost, with few visitors, which boded well. When Betty said she lived alone, but not by choice, there’d been bitterness in her voice and it increased Val’s interest. With her first plan already in mind, she knew it would take a third recruit for it to work, and if this woman was suitable, her group would be complete.
She would contrive to bump into Betty again, to open another conversation and perhaps make tentative overtures of friendship. If she could discover a shared interest it would break the ice, give them common ground, and then, when the time was right, she’d make her move.
Softly, softly catchee monkey, Val thought, turning away from the window. She’d been too wound up to eat breakfast, but now feeling peckish, her eyes avoided the empty mantelshelf as she went through to her tiny kitchenette to make a sandwich. It was her birthday, but she didn’t have one single card on show. Her mother had died when Val was just twenty–six, followed only three years later by her father. He’d been hit by a lorry when carelessly crossing the road and she’d been left bereft.
As an only child there’d been no siblings to share her grief, just two distant aunts and a few cousins that she hardly saw. Heartbroken, she’d channelled all her energies into her career, and whilst gaining promotion she hoped that if her parents were looking down on her, they’d be proud of what she’d achieved. She’d been so busy with her career that she’d lost touch with her scant relatives, yet on days like this, when the postman didn’t deliver even one card, she regretted it.
Val tried to push her unhappiness to one side but found it impossible. It was always the same on birthdays or Christmas, when, unbidden, memories of her happy childhood filled her mind. She’d been surrounded by laughter and love–but she wasn’t a child now, she was a mature woman, and it was silly to let things like birthday cards upset her.
If her parents
were
watching over her, it upset Val that they would have seen her life destroyed–seen her foolishness and therefore her failure. Her unhappiness now festered into anger, the sandwich tasting like sawdust in her mouth. There were times when Val’s rage almost consumed her and with a grunt she pushed her sandwich to one side. It was no good, she had to get out, to breathe fresh air and, as her possible candidate had gone to the park again, she would use the opportunity to bump into her. Val picked up the dog’s lead, calling, ‘Treacle, walkies.’
The dog’s ears pricked up and he immediately ran to her side, and with his lead on Treacle eagerly pulled her towards the door. He was her one consolation in life and she didn’t regret getting him from Battersea Dogs’ Home. He might be a bit naughty, but he was loving and loyal–but then that thought brought
him
to mind again and her lips thinned.
Val left the flat, crossed the road to the park, her eyes peeled for Betty Grayson. It was still a glorious day and the park was full of people intent on making the most of the brilliant weather. She unclipped Treacle’s lead and the dog scampered off ahead of her, but so far there was no sign of Betty. Val walked the paths, her eyes constantly on the look–out, but it was half an hour later before she saw the woman. Betty was sitting by the duck pond, partly concealed by the fronds of a willow tree.
Val drew in a deep gulp of air, forcing her shoulders to relax. Take it slowly–just be friendly, she told herself. She called Treacle and, knowing that the dog wouldn’t be able to resist chasing the wildfowl that Betty was feeding, she clipped on his lead.
‘Hello again,’ Val said. ‘Treacle wanted another walk, but I didn’t expect to bump into you again.’
‘It was too nice to stay indoors and lovely to have Battersea Park opposite our flats.’
‘Yes, and with a dog but no garden, it’s a godsend. Do you mind if I sit down?’
‘Please do,’ Betty said eagerly, her smile one of pleasure. With Treacle around the ducks had waddled quickly away, and after shoving a paper bag into her pocket, Betty bent to stroke the dog’s head. ‘I’d like a dog too, but as I work full time it wouldn’t be fair to leave it in my flat all day.’
‘Fortunately my employer is a lovely man and lets me take Treacle to work. He even got him a basket to sit beside my desk.’
‘That’s nice,’ Betty said, then raised a hand to wipe it across her forehead. ‘Goodness, it’s hot.’
Treacle had moved to lie in the scant shade of the willow tree, panting, his tongue lolling, and worriedly Val said, ‘Yes, and I think it’s a bit too much for Treacle. I’d best take him home. If you’re ready to go, perhaps we could walk home together.’
Betty stood up, her expression eager. ‘Yes, all right. I’d like that.’
With Treacle beside them, they began to stroll slowly, Betty speaking enthusiastically about the flowerbeds that lined the path. ‘Look at those petunias. What a wonderful display. I used to have a large garden and miss it.’
‘I’m afraid I know nothing about gardening, but they’re certainly colourful.’
Betty indicated another flowerbed. ‘They’ve used red geraniums in that one.’
They continued to chat about the plants, but when they arrived at the flats, Betty sort of hovered at the door, smiling tentatively. Val could sense the woman’s loneliness, and hoped she’d accept her invitation as she said, ‘It’s my birthday today. If you aren’t busy, would you like to join me for tea?’
‘Oh, Happy Birthday and yes, I’d love to.’
‘I expect you want to freshen up first. Give me half an hour to make some sandwiches and then pop down.’
Betty looked delighted as she climbed the stairs, calling, ‘See you soon.’
Val went inside her own flat to make a plate of cucumber sandwiches, and then finding a packet of individual chocolate rolls she arranged them on a plate before gong to the bathroom to refresh her make–up.
Shortly afterwards the doorbell rang and Val tucked a stray lock of hair back into her French pleat as she answered it, a smile of welcome on her face. ‘Come on in.’
Betty stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room. ‘This is lovely–I just love your décor. Youngsters nowadays go for all the modern stuff with bright, garish wallpaper, whereas this is so soothing, so sophisticated.’
‘I prefer soft colours and as I can’t tackle wallpapering, I just gave it all a coat of paint. Would you like tea or coffee?’
‘Tea please.’
‘Sit yourself down. I won’t be a tick,’ Val said, going back to her small kitchenette.
When the tea was made she carried the tray through. ‘I hope you like cucumber sandwiches.’
‘Yes, lovely,’ Betty said, whilst eyeing the plate of chocolate rolls with appreciation.
Val sat opposite, poured the tea into small, delicate china cups and then offered cubes of sugar from a bowl, complete with little silver tongs.
Betty took two lumps, then saying, ‘Well, Happy Birthday again.’
‘Thank you.’
‘My daughter was waiting for me when I came home from the park this morning. She couldn’t stay long as she was off to buy new clothes for a holiday in Spain.’
‘That’s nice. Is she going with her husband?’
‘Anne isn’t married. She’s going with her boyfriend.’
‘Do you have other children?’
‘Yes, a son, and he’s single too.’
Val didn’t want to sound too inquisitive, so said, ‘I’m sure your daughter will love Spain. I once went to Barcelona and the architecture was stunning.’
‘You’re lucky. I’ve never been abroad.’
‘Yes, well, nowadays I’m lucky if I can afford a day trip to Brighton.’
‘Me too,’ said Betty.
So, the woman was hard up, Val thought as she mentally stored this small piece of information. ‘There are some lovely places in England and I’ve always been fond of Dorset. Do have a sandwich,’ she encouraged, whilst fumbling for common ground. ‘I suppose you heard that Judy Garland died on Monday?’
‘Yes, I saw it in the newspaper. It said she died from an overdose of sleeping pills.’
‘I was so sad to hear of her death. Since I saw her in
The Wizard of Oz
she’s been one of my favourite actresses.’
‘I loved her in
A Star is Born
,’ Betty enthused.
‘Do you go to the cinema much?’
‘Not really, but I did go to see Maggie Smith in
The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie
.’
‘Me too. I was so glad when it won the Oscar.’
Betty just nodded, munching on her sandwich and, when it was finished, Val held out the cakes.
‘Thanks,’ Betty said, taking one and biting into it with obvious relish.
Maybe food could be a common interest, Val thought. ‘I’m not much of a cook. What about you?’
‘I used to be, but as I only cook for myself now, it’s usually something simple.’
‘I love eating out, and often go to a little French restaurant in Chelsea.’
‘I’ve never tried French food.’
‘It’s delicious, Betty, and if you aren’t doing anything tomorrow, we could go there for lunch.’
Betty’s eyes lit up for a moment, but then her face straightened as she said, ‘I…I don’t know. Is it expensive?’
‘Not really, but don’t worry, it’s a family–run business and I know the owner. He usually gives me a discount.’
‘In that case, I’d love to.’
‘Wonderful,’ Val said as she stood up to take a packet of cigarettes from the mantelshelf. Inviting Betty to tea had been a good move and she was pleased that there’d now be another opportunity to get to know her better. ‘Would you like a cigarette?’ she asked.
‘No thanks, I don’t smoke.’
‘At six shillings a packet I know I should stop too, but I have managed to cut down.’
‘Do you work locally?’ Betty asked.
‘I’m a receptionist for a solicitor in the King’s Road.’
‘It must be nice to work in an office and so interesting.’
‘It can be sometimes, though most of my work is just routine. What do you do, Betty?’
‘I’m just a sort of cleaner–cum–housekeeper in Kensington. I used to live in Surrey, but saw the job advertised in
The Lady
. I applied for it and got it, but it meant moving to London. My employer’s away at the moment, but when in town he keeps me busy with his incessant demands.’
‘He sounds a bit of an ogre,’ Val sympathised.
‘He’s all right, but used to servants seeing to his every wish. His home is just amazing and it’s such a shame that it remains empty for most of the year. He has a large staff, but when his wife died he retreated to his country home taking them with him. I was lucky to be taken on for his London house, but as I said, only as a sort of cleaner–cum–housekeeper.’
‘If you’re the only one there, don’t you find it lonely?’
‘Sometimes, but I keep myself busy. It’s a very large house with plenty to do, and just polishing the silver can take all day. I’d love to work in an office like you, but I was a stay–at–home wife and mother so I’m not trained for anything else.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with being a housewife and mother,’ Val said. She had caught the trace of bitterness in Betty’s voice again, and though tempted to ask questions, it wouldn’t do to rush things. ‘Would you like another cup of tea?’
‘I’d love one.’
‘I’ll just top up the pot,’ Val said, taking it through to the kitchenette. So far she’d gleaned a little information, but if she didn’t want to scare Betty off she would have to play this carefully. In her experience, Val had found that if you shared a confidence it was likely to be returned, but it was too early to try this ploy now. She would have to wait, but nevertheless crossed her fingers, hoping that Betty would turn out to be a suitable candidate.
On Sunday, Betty climbed into Val’s rather battered old car. ‘It’s smashing not to have to wait for a bus. This is lovely,’ she said.
‘I’d hardly call this old banger lovely,’ Val said dryly ‘and it isn’t a patch on the company car I used to have. Still, it’ll get us there.’
Betty gazed at Val and, seeing how elegant she looked, felt old and frumpy beside her. Other than her home–made clothes, there had been one or two outfits she’d worn when entertaining, but they were nothing in comparison to the beautiful dresses worn by the wives of Richard’s friends. Betty knew these women looked down on her, laughed at her behind her back, and so wherever possible she avoided them. The children became her life, the garden her refuge and her pleasure as she watched the things she had planted burst into life.
Yet now that she was alone, Betty craved friendship and companionship. It had been lovely to meet Val–lovely to be invited out to lunch. Would they become friends? Oh, she hoped so and, who knows, maybe Val would be able to give her a few tips on style.
‘Right, let’s go,’ Val said, smiling warmly as they drove off.
The sun was shining and they chatted happily as they drove over the Thames. In what felt like no time at all, they arrived at the restaurant where Val was treated like a long–lost friend.
‘Valerie, how lovely to see you,’ a dark–haired woman with a pretty French accent said. ‘How is Mr Warriner?’
‘He’s fine, Yvette, and as busy as ever.’
‘I’m not surprised. He’s a wonderful solicitor. Now let me find you a nice table,’ she said, leading them to one by the window.
Betty sat down, admiring the décor. The tables were covered with blue and white checked cloths, each with a small vase of fresh flowers in the centre. The chairs were raffia–backed, the seats in the same check material; though she had never seen a French bistro before, this was just how she would have imagined it.
Yvette handed them each a menu, saying, ‘Raymond’s special for today is daube de boeuf, but while you’re making up your mind, what can I get you to drink?’
‘Betty, would you like red or white wine?’ Val asked.
‘I’m afraid I don’t drink. Would it be possible to have a glass of tonic water?’
‘Of course,’ Yvette said. ‘What about you, Valerie?’
‘I’ll have a glass of your house red, please.’
Yvette bustled off and when Betty picked up the menu, she baulked. ‘Oh dear, it’s all in French.’
Val smiled, ‘Don’t worry, I can more or less tell you what’s on offer. As you can see, it isn’t overly expensive,’ she added.
‘How do you know the owners?’
‘When Raymond and Yvette wanted to buy this place, the solicitor I work for handled the conveyance. There were a few sticky moments, with the seller wanting to up the price at the last moment. Raymond would have paid it, but Mr Warriner convinced him to hold out and so saved him a lot of money. Raymond and Yvette seem to think that I had some input, even though I’ve told them I’m only his receptionist.’
Betty nodded, her eyes returning to the menu. ‘What’s the special that Yvette mentioned? The daube of something?’
‘Daube de boeuf. It’s a sort of beef stew,’ Val said as she too scanned the menu. ‘I’m not sure whether to have that or the poulet Basque.’
‘Sorry, the what?’
‘It’s a chicken stew with tomato and onions, but then again the quiche Lorraine is delicious too. If you want something light, it’s ideal, a sort of open tart filled with egg, ham and cheese.’
‘Yes, and as it’s the least expensive, I think I’ll have that.’
Yvette returned with the drinks and, after giving her their order, they sat back to wait. As Val smiled at her, Betty plucked up the courage to say, ‘I wish I knew how to dress like you. That outfit you’re wearing looks so elegant, but it must have cost the earth.’
‘At one time I could afford to go to all the best shops, but those days are gone. This dress would have cost the earth if it was new, but it’s actually second–hand.’
‘Really? Goodness, I used to go to the occasional jumble sale in our village hall, but I never found anything like that.’
‘It’s from a shop that sells only top–quality secondhand clothes. Finding it has been a godsend.’
‘Well I never. Mind you, even if I found it, I doubt there’d be anything to fit me.’
‘They carry a range of sizes. If you like, I’ll take you there.’
‘Would you? Oh, thanks, Val.’
‘If you’re free, we could go next Saturday?’
‘Can we make it in two weeks? I’m a bit short at the moment.’
‘Yes, that’s fine.’
Betty picked up her glass to take a sip of tonic water, unable to help wondering about Val’s past. She had at first appeared haughty, but in reality it was just the way she held herself, head high, a slight lift to her chin. Poised, Betty thought, like a model. Earlier Val had mentioned a company car, and now said that once she’d frequented the best shops. Something must have happened to change all that, but Betty didn’t have the nerve to ask what. Maybe when they got to know each other a little better Val would confide in her. But for now she smiled with appreciation as Yvette returned to place a plate in front of her. ‘It looks lovely.’
‘Yes, it does, and thank you, Yvette,’ said Val.
The two of them tucked in and Betty found the quiche Lorraine delicious. Between mouthfuls they talked about the merits of French cooking. She loved the salad dressing, and when Val told her how to make it she was determined to buy the ingredients.
In no time their plates were empty and when Yvette returned to clear them she asked, ‘Can I get you anything else, and–as I know you love it, Val–perhaps a slice of tarte tatin?’
‘Lovely, and Betty, you must have some too. It’s a sort of apple tart, French style, and I’m sure you’ll love it.’
Betty agreed to try it, and when it arrived they tucked in with relish. ‘Wonderful,’ she enthused, ‘and thanks for bringing me here, Val.’
‘You’re welcome, and anyway it’s nice not to eat alone for a change.’
Betty expected someone like Val to have a wide circle of friends or family, but it appeared that if she hadn’t been invited to tea yesterday, Val would have spent her birthday alone. Unable to resist the question, she blurted out, ‘Do you have any family?’
‘I have a few distant relatives, but I haven’t seen them in years.’
They continued to chat as they ate, Val going on to tell Betty that she had lost her parents many years ago. Betty found herself warming more and more to Val, so grateful for this budding friendship, and all too soon the meal was finished.
They split the bill, Yvette smiling warmly as she said goodbye. ‘Come again soon, Valerie.’
‘I will,’ she said, kissing the pretty French woman on both cheeks before they left.
Betty had loved the meal but, though it hadn’t been too expensive, she would still have to cut down on food for the rest of the week to cover the cost. It had been worth it, though, and lovely to be in Val’s company, but her mood lowered now they were going home. The rest of the day stretched ahead of her, followed by a lonely evening, but she brightened when Val spoke.
‘I’ll have to take Treacle for a walk, but after that why don’t you join me for a coffee?’
‘Lovely, but it’s my turn, so why don’t you come up to my flat?’
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Val said, smiling warmly.
They continued to chat but when they arrived home and climbed out of the car, Betty saw a young woman sitting on the wall outside the entrance to the flats. She looked scruffy, pale, and anxious as she jumped to her feet, rushing to Val’s side. ‘Oh…Val…Val,’ she cried.
‘Paula, what’s wrong?’
‘I…I saw him.’
‘Come on, come in,’ Val urged, and as they stepped inside, she said, ‘Sorry, Betty. I…I’ll see you later.’
Without waiting for a reply, Val ushered the girl into her flat, the door closing swiftly behind them, leaving Betty mystified. The girl hardly looked the type to be a friend of Val’s. Who was she? And why was she so upset?