Chapter 22. A Letter Home
The upstairs of Number Fourteen, Norfolk Crescent, was as majestic – and clean - as Scarlet could possibly have desired. There was a long reception room facing the square - empty of furniture as if expecting a ball – with a small serving area – complete with ice chest, warming trays and tea kettles - that could actually serve as a Scarlet’s kitchen. A dumbwaiter probably connected it to the kitchen downstairs. There were four bedrooms and a big bathroom. Scarlet chose “the green room” for her own – it was smaller but she liked the old-fashioned chintz pattern of pear trees in blossom. There was even space enough for a nanny if the thought of strangers in her house didn’t unsettle Miss Bottomley. The furnishings were solid, perhaps a bit duller than the magnificence on display downstairs – mahogany and teak – and the upholstery could do with a freshening - but the portraits were interesting. Scarlet studied the faces, wondering about the sudden disappearance of “the Pursuivant line.” It was a lucky thing people couldn’t see into the future, Scarlet decided. She remembered herself at her own wedding and her excitement at news of her first pregnancy – what if she had foreseen what would REALLY happen? It would have been too cruel. She had been spared from knowing the sadness that lay ahead – just as these people had been. It was better not to know. Miss Bottomley was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. “And when shall we be able to get to work?” “How about day after tomorrow? That gives me one day to pack.” “Perfect. I shall enter it into my datebook.” Scarlet reached out to shake her new employer’s hand, only to be presented with a key. “I sleep badly, so I dislike being disturbed before eleven,” said Miss Bottomley. “I want you to be able to freely come and go.” “Thank you, Miss Bottomley,” said Scarlet warmly. And she meant it. She telephoned Mr. D’Arcy from a callbox at the station. “I’ve got a job and it comes with a place to stay,” she told him. “And there’s room for the baby but I’m worried Ian won’t let me take him.” “Don’t ask him about that yet,” cautioned D’Arcy. “Tell him about the job, then insist on getting the name of his solicitor. Make him hire someone and I’ll negotiate with that fellow.” “Ian will probably use some college crony. Or possibly somebody connected to the BBC.” “Whoever he chooses, let’s hope he isn’t honest with them,” D’Arcy said blandly. “Giving us considerable advantage.” Scarlet thought about it. “I’m not sure he knows what honesty is.” At the station, Scarlet purchased a writing block so she could begin the letter to her sister immediately. “Dear India – I have both sad and wonderful news,” she began. How lucky that she had waited to write until this unexpected uptick in her good fortune. Frankie stopped his taxi by the garage so that Scarlet could see the stained glass rondo hanging in the window. He was bursting with pride. “Looks perfect,” agreed Scarlet, barely able to contain her laughter. Nicholas was eager to nurse but Scarlet was out of milk. She gave him a bottle as tears rolled down her cheeks. This wasn’t what she had promised him or herself but, it couldn’t be changed. She kissed his forehead as he suckled. As soon as he was asleep she knocked on Ian’s library door. “Come in,” he called. He was listening to the BBC but turned down the radio as she entered, watching her face warily. She was grateful that she could be so calm. “I got a job,” she said, “Ten pounds a week working with Miss Esmé Hope Bottomley.” She knew he wouldn’t recognize the name and he didn’t. “She has a flat in London, in Norfolk Crescent. I can stay there with her.” She deliberately neglected to mention the baby. “Dogsbody?” His brows creased. “Doesn’t sound like you.” “Editing a novel series for Coltsfoot & Briggins.” His brow cleared. “That’s wonderful then. But there’s no reason we can’t share the flat the way we share Nicholas. Be reasonable. There are two floors – I’ll take the downstairs if it makes you more comfortable. I won’t ask you to entertain.” No, Candi and Margalo would compete for that honor. She could see his mind working: glamorous young couple with baby, two important jobs, country place AND he had the freedom he craved, which appeared to be mastering a harem of gullible girls. What could suit him better? “My solicitor is Pelham D’Arcy in Maida Vale. He needs the name of your solicitor so that they can talk.” “My solicitor? So they can ratchet up the bills? Darling, ask me for what you want. We can get the life we need. Talk to me.” She looked at him, more confident and handsome now than when she had first met him. Yet he really was a total stranger. She could imagine him doing literally anything, now. You could never trust, or rely, on a person like that. “I’d rather do this through solicitors. I don’t feel I can trust you anymore.” “That’s too bad,” he said coldly. “It’s silly to break up over a bit of passing fluff, especially when it means there’s that much less cash to go around.” He turned up his radio as if preparing to ignore her. She raised her voice. “So? You think you’ll use Harry?” Naming an old college friend. “I’ll talk to Margalo.” He turned away from her decisively. She knew this was supposed to frighten her, suggesting the massive power of the BBC ranged formidably against her but she thought of Pelham D’Arcy and didn’t feel scared. “One more thing: when does your job start?” “I’ll be going up to town tomorrow.” He hadn’t really answered her question but the information was sufficient. “Are you taking the car?” she inquired. “Would you rather I leave it for you?” “Yes, I would, really. I’m going to have a lot of luggage.” “I can take the train. Sure, you wouldn’t like the come along? Settle things about the flat?” “No thank you. I need to go up soon myself, I’m not sure when. I’ll let you know. Through my solicitor.” He sniffed. “Mind that you do.” She was amazed that he never mentioned Nicholas once! He obviously didn’t expect that he would have to concern himself with the child. Clearly he assumed the system would always work to his advantage and grant him whatever he asked; a child when he wanted one, no concerns or responsibility when he did not. She could see that this habitually forgetfulness about his son and heir meant Ian was still taking his wife for granted. As she had once taken him. Suited her perfectly. Having the car would be helpful: ideal, in fact. She went upstairs to organize Nick’s and her belongings so that packing after Ian’s departure would be a breeze.
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November 2021
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