Desperate Measures
Desperate Measures
Kitty Neale
Four women seek the ultimate revenge against the men who betrayed them.The gritty new drama from the Sunday Times bestselling author of Nobody’s Girl.SWINDLED…Val Thorn, Paula Richardson, Cheryl Cutter and Betty Grayson have one thing in common - they have all been betrayed by men.SHAMED…Rape victim Paula has been terrified ever since her brutal attack.High-flyer Val's life has fallen to pieces since she was forced out of her job.Grief-stricken by her grandmother's death, nurse Cheryl was tricked out of her inheritance.Timid housewife Betty sacrificed all for her husband. Now, 20 years later, he's left her and she's destitute.SACRIFICED…Now these four women want revenge. Masterminded by Val, the four women set out to right past wrongs. But will their role of avenging angels take them down a terrible road?
KITTY NEALE
Desperate Measures
Copyright (#uc7ed11a5-cab7-5b64-9834-fc2b08af0bd1)
Published by Avon an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street,
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
This ebook edition published by HarperCollins Publishers 2016
First published in paperback by HarperCollinsPublishers, 2009
Copyright © Kitty Neale 2009
Cover design © Debbie Clement 2016
Cover photographs: Alamy/Getty
Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9781847563514
Ebook Edition © May 2016 ISBN 9780007335626
Version: 2016-04-13
Dedication (#uc7ed11a5-cab7-5b64-9834-fc2b08af0bd1)
This book is for my adorable new great grandson, Michael Andrew Blofeld. May your life be a joyous one, my darling, full of love, laughter, and a smooth path to carry you forward on life’s journey.
Contents
Cover (#u832cd49d-7f9e-5d5a-8f78-2b4172175cd4)
Title Page (#u79cffdb9-3f45-53db-9fa5-5794c360b0ff)
Copyright (#u476f4fdb-0d7a-5721-abe4-b25e4bb28842)
Dedication (#ue8b76d30-d2bd-57c1-9847-29ad48ddb66b)
Prologue (#u9cfd9b3d-df98-5065-914a-3e5d39b5990f)
Chapter One (#u4f0d36ec-884f-5c73-bf41-8a578facdfde)
Chapter Two (#u0594ac5d-4a79-5630-9ffe-c678175b5340)
Chapter Three (#ubcc9abc3-12be-507e-8937-12e1a7b5d417)
Chapter Four (#u0458e63e-b1b0-5eef-b09b-c978807bbd0d)
Chapter Five (#u73d75aac-7bdb-56f1-bb4b-cbf2b51a55cd)
Chapter Six (#ue698470c-871e-53fc-a558-a55c52b942a2)
Chapter Seven (#u1787ee46-8f1f-5a13-b2a8-c90babb0171b)
Chapter Eight (#u7b3a1ced-f155-5b4e-94e7-2e101a194e71)
Chapter Nine (#u315c7645-06d2-5cfa-8df6-23d68df08cb1)
Chapter Ten (#u867e8cd1-a64d-59ad-b937-3211cf6cf40f)
Chapter Eleven (#u892168f7-4be0-59ce-942a-8e728ca3c137)
Chapter Twelve (#u68a998bb-09bd-5a4a-913d-102f252f8f45)
Chapter Thirteen (#ua4a41799-f0db-52d3-9058-64881a9aa81a)
Chapter Fourteen (#u4ac49079-8a23-5475-be89-4e73ae8e3a74)
Chapter Fifteen (#u132bdd63-0691-537d-99c0-7b481a01df19)
Chapter Sixteen (#ubf8fab9f-f9e0-5b27-8d5a-dda34ef8f3e2)
Chapter Seventeen (#uab2d0d37-76c6-5402-8ad0-b6357fcfe1a9)
Chapter Eighteen (#ua9b28d2c-ca76-555d-a528-cea6af47e3d1)
Chapter Nineteen (#u8bd11891-51be-59a4-97e8-cbf6cdc7af59)
Chapter Twenty (#u4269d827-857c-5bf5-9275-b7aac48e0fca)
Chapter Twenty-One (#ue42f5a29-89c2-52d2-b8dc-b28684694d60)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#uc5f5bddc-a989-5c99-8897-fe83ef9fb440)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#ud8c2e7d2-326b-5999-9a04-33d63460daf6)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#u171b4777-bab3-5b1a-82ff-0183490fd421)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#u6d87afb2-c588-56d6-8fdf-3beb39817586)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#u8ec46fd1-0658-5e54-8ffb-e2312aad0b5e)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#u484d617e-998e-5b28-8d5b-6c25f0e0e037)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#u741a87be-aefe-5d35-90ea-ff943f9c34d2)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#u278a8ca9-313d-5efd-b37f-4908ec462d06)
Chapter Thirty (#u895021ee-ed0f-57b0-b1d8-dbbfd96b2bfe)
Chapter Thirty-One (#ub5613a43-6709-51ba-8918-0b5c58848a6b)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#u82fb43ca-3d6e-55ce-9dc7-fb5ff6c78e9c)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#ud3368311-b014-5fcc-b522-affeb28f8d89)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#u74466bf4-cbaf-55c0-a6fc-dd1aab23ebc5)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#u977062b9-92f9-5411-9441-023b70e34e06)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#u9b9ef367-4967-511c-a380-a56dc7be05ca)
Chapter Thirty-Seven (#u4d16c544-440e-5c4c-93f3-56f2a6e0f03a)
Chapter Thirty-Eight (#u5d4ac857-69db-5d01-aa0b-cd9c922d126f)
Chapter Thirty-Nine (#ueac71c78-02b7-5f3f-b06a-41f8883737de)
Chapter Forty (#ub4954216-d16f-55d1-99a5-81e7395a25dc)
Chapter Forty-One (#uec88ee03-5ba3-5d29-a218-9949220545d6)
Chapter Forty-Two (#u6067b3ca-9d19-5028-a81c-c7ec49c97102)
Chapter Forty-Three (#u76a38650-72b8-5a42-8606-7ae0ab25e5db)
Chapter Forty-Four (#u8a2b99fb-ff98-5873-a589-50fa9cdbed0a)
Chapter Forty-Five (#u3dbd97e9-c0cb-58f2-936b-4bb19d966301)
Chapter Forty-Six (#udce98a9f-02b6-59ec-a042-c68c044ba8fa)
Chapter Forty-Seven (#u409e9b57-66c5-522d-9009-ace75a83879e)
Chapter Forty-Eight (#u7bfc5081-5f62-5fce-bbd6-ac5dc541fe8c)
Chapter Forty-Nine (#u00a67e48-bb87-5b76-ad0b-ceb46ca3ddf0)
Chapter Fifty (#u0e5c8dec-acfc-5778-8b55-cb29e2d8d01b)
Keep Reading … (#u695d7734-b390-5976-8004-5fc33866dc23)
Acknowledgements (#uc366316e-76cb-520d-ac89-2901bcbba650)
About the Author (#u988f612f-5db1-52c0-93fc-ea43d75d58bd)
By the same author (#ue37bed3f-0d33-5b8e-aebe-be91e9066061)
About the Publisher (#u27ec311d-9209-582c-840b-e197e3aaa6f7)
Prologue (#uc7ed11a5-cab7-5b64-9834-fc2b08af0bd1)
The woman knew that what she wanted to do was justified, not just for her, but for the others that she had managed to bring into her small circle. It was a lovely day, the sun bright, yet impatiently she tugged her small dog’s lead, too intent on finding her next recruit to appreciate her surroundings. Her life had been ruined and she’d been eaten up with bitterness – but now she had a mission.
She wasn’t the only woman who’d suffered and it wasn’t right, wasn’t fair that these men had got away with it. Her goal now was to make them pay – to make him pay.
To that end she got up every morning, went to work, functioned – but it was as though she were living her life on automatic. Her plans and schemes had become the focus of her whole life and she couldn’t rest until they’d been carried out. Since the day it had happened, since he’d destroyed her life, she’d wanted only one thing. Revenge.
Chapter One (#uc7ed11a5-cab7-5b64-9834-fc2b08af0bd1)
Battersea, South London, 1969
Though it was early on Saturday morning there were already signs that it was going to be a lovely day and the sunshine drew Betty out of her poky flat to the park on the opposite side of the road.
She walked for a while, but it was unusually warm for June and, feeling hot, Betty sat on a bench. The park began to fill and she frowned as two young women walked towards her, still unable to get used to the way youngsters dressed nowadays. They were both in A-line mini-dresses, one blonde, one dark, their hair cut short in the geometrical shapes made popular by the hairdresser Vidal Sassoon. Make-up was skilfully applied – heavy, but at least they weren’t wearing the thick, black, false eyelashes that were at last going out of fashion.
Betty sighed. She was fifty-one now, but as a young woman a bit of powder and lipstick was all she’d been allowed to wear, and her clothes had been respectable, in the same style as her mother’s. And not only that – what about underwear? These young girls didn’t wear vests or corsets and, worse, sometimes they went without a brassiere. She shook her head. Anne, her twenty-nine-year-old daughter, accused her of being old-fashioned, saying that things were different now. Women were no longer shackled to men, Anne insisted. They had freedom, equality, the means to make their own way in the world.
The two young women walked past without sparing her so much as a glance, and Betty blinked away tears as a surge of loneliness swamped her. She watched a small, brown dog as it circled a tree, sniffing the trunk until, finally satisfied, it lifted its leg.
‘Treacle, come here,’ a woman’s voice called.
Betty saw the dog’s ears twitch, but intent on exploring fresh pastures the command was ignored. It trotted towards the bench she was sitting on, tail up, and obviously liking what it saw, reared up to place its paws on Betty’s lap.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Get down, Treacle.’
Whilst stroking the dog’s head, Betty looked up at his owner. She’d seen the elegant, middle-aged woman before, had noticed her dark brown hair, styled into a French pleat that emphasised her high cheekbones. ‘It’s all right, I like dogs,’ she assured her.
‘Not everyone feels the same and he’s a holy terror. I shouldn’t have let him off the lead, but I’m trying to get him to obey me,’ she chuckled. ‘As you can see, it isn’t working.’
‘He looks so sweet.’
‘Don’t let that fool you,’ the woman said as she sat down. Treacle immediately jumped onto her lap and she laughed as his tongue slobbered her face. ‘Oh, what am I saying? He’s a darling really but, as I said, he won’t obey my commands.’
‘What breed is he?’
‘He’s a Bitsa. You know, bits of this and bits of that.’
As Betty smiled, Treacle turned to look at her again, his head cocked, soft brown eyes intent on her face. He then left his owner, moving across to sit on Betty’s lap, his tongue soft and wet on her cheek.
‘He likes you,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Val by the way. Valerie Thorn.’
‘I’m Betty. Betty Grayson.’
Treacle jumped down, heading for the nearest tree as Val said, ‘It’s nice to meet you at last. We live in the same block of flats and since you moved in I’ve been meaning to introduce myself, but, well, you know how it is.’
‘Yes, all the tenants seem so busy and I hardly see them, but it’s nice to meet you too. You’re on the ground floor aren’t you?’
‘That’s right, in a one-bedroom flat. I live alone. What about you?’
Betty’s expression saddened. ‘Yes, me too, though not by choice.’
Valerie Thorn’s eyebrows rose, but then seeing that her dog was running off she rose swiftly to her feet. ‘Blast, I’d best go after him. Treacle! Treacle,’ she called, and after saying a hasty goodbye, she hurried off.
After this brief interlude, Betty was alone again. It wasn’t unusual. Living in London was different from her life in Surrey, the pace of it much faster, all hustle and bustle, with everyone intent on their own business. Since moving into her flat in Ascot Court she found it the same as previous ones in London, the other tenants seeming not only busy, but distant and remote. All they’d exchanged were quick hellos, but at least she’d met one of them now and felt a surge of gratitude that Valerie Thorn had at least stopped to speak to her. She’d seen the woman a few times, judged her by appearance, her hard veneer, and had expected the woman to be brittle, perhaps standoffish. Instead she’d found her warm with a lovely sense of humour, and hoped that she’d bump into her again.
Betty stood up, deciding to go home in case one of her children rang, or even paid her a visit, which would be wonderful. As she walked towards the gate a young couple were coming towards her – hippies, the girl wearing a cotton, flowing maxi-dress, with strands of love beads around her neck. Her hair was long, fair and, with a flower tucked behind her ear, she looked carefree, happy. When Betty looked at her young man she saw that he was wearing a colourful kaftan, purple trousers and sandals, his hair almost as long as the girl’s. Betty thought he looked disgraceful – if her son dressed like that she would die of shame.
The couple were intent on each other as they passed, their faces wreathed in smiles, and now Betty felt a surge of envy. They were in love. She had felt like that once – just once in her life; but oh, what a fool she had been – a blind, stupid fool.
Betty saw the red Mini pull up in front of the flats as soon as she left the park, and was delighted when her daughter climbed out. It never ceased to amaze her that Anne had her own car, or even that she could drive – something Betty would never have dreamed of achieving as a young woman and something she still couldn’t master. Of course, when she was Anne’s age few women drove; in fact, unless one was very well-off, a car was a rarity. She’d married Richard when she was eighteen years old and felt fortunate to have a bicycle, one that she rode to the local village, the basket on the front crammed with local produce as she cycled home. Home. Her stomach lurched. No, she couldn’t think about it, not when Anne was standing there, a bright smile on her face.
‘Hi, Mum. I can’t stay long but I thought I’d pop round to see how you’re doing.’
‘I’d hardly call driving from Farnham popping round,’ Betty said as they walked into the flats where, after climbing two flights of stairs, she opened her front door.
Anne followed her in, her face dropping as she took in the small living room. ‘Oh, Mum, this is almost as bad as your last place.’
‘It has a nice outlook and after the pittance I got as a settlement, it’s all I can afford.’
‘Please, Mum, don’t start. We’ve had argument after argument about this, but you still refuse to see Dad’s point of view.’
She clamped her lips together. Her daughter had always been a daddy’s girl and, despite everything, she was quick to jump to Richard’s defence. He had spoiled Anne, indulged her love of horse riding, but Betty knew that if she said any more Anne would leave. She hadn’t seen her since moving into this flat, and the last thing she wanted was for her to leave after five minutes. Forcing a smile, she asked, ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘A bottle of Coke if you’ve got one.’
‘Yes, of course I have,’ Betty assured her as she went through to her tiny kitchenette. Coca-Cola was something Anne always asked for on her rare visits, so she kept a couple of bottles in the fridge for just such an occasion. Betty found the bottle opener, snapped off the top, and asked as she returned to the living room, ‘Have you heard from your brother?’
‘No, John’s too busy with his latest conquest.’
‘At least he isn’t like his father.’
‘Mum,’ warned Anne.
Betty regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but it was hard to stay silent in the face of her daughter’s loyalty to Richard. She felt that, like her, Anne should hate her father for what he’d done – that she should be on her side, but instead Anne had refused to cut him out of her life. When it happened, Anne had been twenty-five, living away from home, though still in Surrey, in a flat-share with another young woman. Her son, John, had been twenty-eight, a surveyor, but with her help he was buying a mews cottage. Unlike Anne he’d been sympathetic to Betty, severing all ties with his father. For that she was thankful, but with his busy career she rarely saw her son these days.
‘How’s Anthony?’ Betty enquired, hoping that asking about Anne’s boyfriend would mollify her daughter.
‘He’s still pushing to get married, but I’m happy to stay as we are. I mean, what’s the point? It’s only a ring and a piece of paper.’
Betty managed to hold her tongue this time. When Anne had met her boyfriend eighteen months ago they’d soon moved in together and she’d been shocked to the core, glad that she no longer lived in Farnham for her neighbours to witness her shame. It had also surprised her that, according to Anne, her father didn’t object, but as he’d lived in sin until their divorce came through he was hardly a good example.
‘What about children? You’re twenty-nine now.’
‘I’m up for promotion and a baby would ruin that. I’m happy to stay as we are.’
‘You could still become pregnant. If that happens, surely you’ll marry?’
‘I’m on the pill so there’s no chance of unwanted babies. Anyway, I’m not a hundred per cent sure that I want to spend the rest of my life with Tony. Living together is ideal. It’s like a trial marriage and if things don’t work out we can both walk away without regrets.’
Despite herself, Betty found that she envied her daughter. There had been no trial marriage for her – no chance to find out that her husband was a womaniser before he’d put a ring on her finger. Divorce had been frowned on too, so when she married Richard she’d expected it to be for life. Instead, at forty-seven years old, she’d been cruelly discarded, as though Richard had thrown out an old, worn-out coat.
‘Mum, I’ve got to go.’
‘But you’ve only just got here.’
‘I work all week and only have weekends off, with little time to go riding. It was you who decided to move to London, so it’s difficult for me. I’d like to see more of you, but it’s a long drive and with so much to cram in each weekend, I’m pushed for time.’
Anne was part of the country scene and, with her, horses came first. ‘I know and I’m sorry. It’s just that I miss you.’
‘And I miss you, Mum, but I really have got to go. Tony and I have booked a holiday to Spain and I need a couple of outfits. I couldn’t find anything swish in Farnham so I’m off to Selfridges.’
‘Spain! You’re going abroad?’
‘Yes, next Saturday, but only for a week. We got a good price on a flight with Laker Airways.’
‘You’re … you’re flying?’
‘Don’t look so shocked. I know your idea of a holiday is a caravan in Margate, but things are changing nowadays, with more people going abroad. I doubt I’ll see you again until we get back, but I’ll send you a postcard.’
Anne then swallowed the last of her drink, picked up her bag, and left in a whirlwind before Betty got the chance to say a proper goodbye. With a small wave her daughter was gone, hurrying down the stairs while Betty managed to gather her wits in time to call, ‘Have a good time.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
Betty closed the door. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected to holiday abroad, but as Anne had a career as a personnel officer with a large company in Farnham, and Tony was an engineer, no doubt they could afford it. Once again Betty felt a frisson of envy, which was soon followed by a familiar bitterness. Unlike her daughter, she’d never had a career, her life spent intent on being the perfect wife and mother. She had married Richard in 1936, and John had followed a year later. They hadn’t been well-off and it was sometimes a struggle to make ends meet, but then war had been declared and Richard eventually called up. Anne was conceived when Richard had been on leave and when he returned to the fighting she’d been terrified of losing him.
When the war was over, she’d been overjoyed that Richard came home without a scratch, but he was different, more self-assured, and full of ideas to start up his own business. He’d been taught to drive, had been involved in vehicle maintenance, and had picked up the idea that cars were going to be the up-and-coming thing after the war, available not just to the wealthy, but the middle classes too. To start up the car dealership they had to make many sacrifices, yet she’d supported him one hundred per cent. Her neighbours were getting modern appliances, vacuum-cleaners, the latest electric boilers with mangles, but every penny that Richard made had to be ploughed back into the business. She’d continued to make do with hand-washing, had used brushes and brooms, with her little spare time spent knitting or sewing to make clothes for both herself and the children. She smiled grimly. Of course Richard had to make an impression, so he’d worn nice suits …
Her thoughts were interrupted as the telephone rang. She hurried to answer it, thrilled to hear her son’s voice. ‘John, how are you?’
Unaware that she had a huge grin on her face, Betty listened to her son, pleased to hear that he was doing well, though disappointed when he said that he was too busy to pay her a visit. ‘But I haven’t seen you for ages,’ she protested.
John made his usual excuses, and then Betty told him, ‘Anne called round today. She’s booked a holiday to Spain.’
He didn’t sound all that interested and soon said he had to go. Betty replaced the receiver, her smile now gone as she wandered over to the window. She looked across to the park, wishing that she still had a garden to fill her time. When married to Richard she’d spent hours gardening, growing fruit and vegetables to save money on food bills and, though it had been hard work, she’d grown to love it.
The sky was blue, with just a few white, puffy clouds, and now that Betty knew John wouldn’t be paying her a visit, she was tempted to go out again. She could walk to the pond, feed the ducks – it would be better than sitting here alone. When she threw bread the ducks would leave the pond to crowd around her; they’d be aware of her existence, and at least for a short time she wouldn’t feel as she always did in London – invisible.
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.
Chapter Two (#uc7ed11a5-cab7-5b64-9834-fc2b08af0bd1)
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.
Chapter Three (#uc7ed11a5-cab7-5b64-9834-fc2b08af0bd1)
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?
Chapter Four (#uc7ed11a5-cab7-5b64-9834-fc2b08af0bd1)
Treacle yelped with excitement when Val and Paula walked in, his small tail wagging as he jumped up at Val’s legs but, intent on Paula, she said impatiently, ‘Get down, boy. I’ll take you for a walk soon, but not now.’
‘Oh … Val,’ Paula cried again.
‘Sit down,’ Val urged, worried by the girl’s obvious distress. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘It was so hot in me bedsit and I felt stifled, so much so that I risked going out. I only went for a little walk, but … but I saw him.’
‘Did he see you?’
‘N – no, and before he got the chance I legged it. I … I ran, Val, almost all the way here.’
‘Oh, darling, I’m sorry I wasn’t in,’ Val consoled.
‘It ain’t fair. He … he ruined my life and shouldn’t be out there walking the streets.’
‘I’ll get you a drink,’ Val offered as she rose to her feet, her thoughts taking her back to the first time she had met Paula Richardson. She’d been to Clapham Junction and was walking back to where her car was parked when she saw a young girl ahead of her, limping and in obvious pain. The girl then stopped, and as it looked like she couldn’t walk any further, Val had gone to offer her assistance. That girl had been Paula. She had tripped badly, her ankle swollen, and despite her protests Val had insisted on driving her to casualty. Whilst waiting for X-ray results they had chatted; luckily it turned out that her ankle wasn’t broken, just sprained. On the drive home, Paula had been quiet, but when they neared her street it was as though a long-held dam burst and she poured out the story of what had happened to her so many months earlier. As she’d listened, Val had been shocked, sickened by the girl’s dreadful ordeal. Paula had looked so young, sounded so alone, a diminutive blue-eyed blonde who wasn’t yet twenty. Paula’s ordeal had awakened something in Val. She too had been hurt. Oh, not in such a dreadful way, but she was living with bitterness and hatred. Yet why should she? Why should Paula? Val had found that she wanted to do something, and, like an avenging angel, to hit back.
The chance meeting with Paula had sparked off Val’s plans, but that had been eighteen months ago and they were still a long way from fruition. Paula had suffered so much, was still suffering, her need the greatest, and Val was determined that she should be the first to benefit from her plans. She wanted to give Paula her life back, to get on with it, her surge of impatience quickly stifled when Paula began to cry.
‘Oh, darling, don’t,’ Val urged as she gave Paula a glass of sherry. ‘You’re safe now, and soon, I hope, you’ll never have to be afraid again. The woman you saw is the one I told you about, and I’m hoping she’ll be a suitable recruit. If she is, we can go ahead with our plans.’
‘Oh, Val, I hope you’re right. Before I met you, I … I didn’t think I’d be able to go on.’
‘Darling, don’t say that. I know you were dreadfully depressed, close to ending it all, but there’s no need now. We’ll get him, you’ll see.’
‘And you think this woman will help?’
‘With any luck, yes. Her name is Betty Grayson. She lives alone, and works as a housekeeper in Kensington. She also has two grown-up children.’
‘Won’t they be a problem?’
Val was pleased to see that Paula had calmed down. ‘No, I don’t think so. They live out of London and whilst I’ve been watching her, I’ve only seen the daughter once.’
‘It sounds like you’ve done all right so far. Have you told Cheryl about her?’
‘Not yet. She’s on duty all day but I’ll give her a ring this evening.’
Treacle began to clamour again, and knowing the signs that a walk couldn’t wait, Val said, ‘I’ll have to take him out, but why don’t you join me? After that, I’ll run you home.’
‘Yeah, all right, but I was hoping to stay a bit longer.’
‘I’m sorry, darling, but Betty has invited me up to her place for coffee and, if we want to get things moving, I must take every opportunity to work on her.’
Paula’s voice was lacklustre. ‘Yeah, I suppose so, but will I see you next weekend?’
Val wanted to use the valuable time to get to know Betty, but with Paula looking at her so hopefully, she just couldn’t refuse. ‘How about next Saturday? I could pick you up at around eleven o’clock.’
‘Great, and … and thanks, Val.’
The two of them left the flat to take Treacle for a walk, the dog almost dragging Val to the nearest tree. When they crossed into the park, Val let him off the lead for a run, whilst Paula’s feet dragged, her eyes flicking nervously around her as they ambled along. Val hated to see her like this, the poor girl a nervous wreck, and felt a wave of determination to move things forward. She’d share a confidence with Betty and cross her fingers that it would be returned.
Impatient to get on with it, Val made it a short walk, then clipped on Treacle’s lead to take him to her car. She opened the back door, the dog scrambling onto the seat. ‘Good boy, and stay there,’ she ordered.
Paula climbed in beside her. Obviously reluctant to be driven home, she said sadly, ‘I hate me bedsit.’
‘Why don’t you look for a better one? It would give you something to do and take your mind off things.’
‘I’d still feel like a prisoner, stuck in the house, too scared to go out.’
‘Not for much longer,’ Val said firmly, hoping she was right.
Soon they pulled up outside the tall, narrow house near Clapham Junction where Paula had a bedsit on the first floor. ‘Bye, Val … and see you next week.’
Val said goodbye, but saw how Paula’s shoulders were stooped with unhappiness as she climbed out of the car to walk to her door. A surge of rage made her heart pound. It was dreadful that Paula had to live like this, and Val’s hands gripped the steering wheel as she drove off, her knuckles white. They had to move forward – had to – and now her thoughts focused on Betty and a way to draw the woman out.
When Val returned to the flats she went straight upstairs to knock on Betty’s door.
‘Val, come on in,’ Betty invited, her face alight with pleasure. ‘When I saw that young woman waiting for you, I wasn’t sure you’d be up for coffee.’
‘I’m a bit late, but Paula was upset and I had to run her home. Do you mind if I bring Treacle in?’
‘Of course not. It was awful to see the poor girl in such a state.’
‘She’s fine now,’ Val said, unwilling as yet to talk about Paula, ‘and just someone I took under my wing.’
In Betty’s flat, Val saw ornaments in abundance, with a fussy crochet runner along the surface of the sideboard. There were embroidered linen chair-backs on the three-piece suite, fussy net curtains at the windows and, though it wasn’t to Val’s taste, it was homely, cosy – a perfect reflection of Betty’s personality.
Treacle made a fuss of Betty as she bent down to stroke him, and then he made straight for the rug in front of the fireplace where he settled down immediately. ‘Well, would you look at that?’ Val said. ‘He’s made himself at home already.’
‘He’s lovely,’ Betty said, smiling wistfully. ‘Now, sit yourself down and I’ll make us a drink. I’m afraid I’ve only got Camp coffee. Will that do?’
‘Sorry, Betty, in that case I’d rather have tea.’
‘Tea it is,’ she said, bustling off to her kitchenette.
Val sat back, her eyes closing as she rehearsed what she was going to say. It wouldn’t do to give too much away yet but, with any luck, if she spoke about her own situation, it would encourage Betty to do the same.
Betty returned with a tray, and along with the tea there was a paper-doily-covered plate holding a selection of biscuits. Like the woman, the china was fussy, the teapot covered with a hand-knitted cosy.
When the tea was poured, Val sighed, saying, ‘It’s been a lovely weekend but back to work tomorrow. It’s not a bad job, but my earnings are a fraction of what they used to be.’
‘Haven’t you always been a receptionist?’
‘No, Betty. At one time I had a flourishing career. I started off as a sales rep for a company supplying laboratory equipment. I gained promotions and eventually became the sales manager.’
‘Really? Goodness, that sounds exciting, but I know little about the commercial world.’
‘It’s amazing how far some women have come since the war ended. Now they have independence, with the opportunity to take up careers that were considered unsuitable for them before the conflict. Yet to gain promotion I’m sure that, like me, they had to fight every step of the way, to prove themselves as capable as men.’
‘Yes, but my daughter is always telling me that things are different now, that women have more opportunities.’
‘She’s probably right. Mind you, sometimes I wish I hadn’t concentrated so hard on a career. I missed out on marriage, on children, but I was ambitious. If I hadn’t been such a fool, if I hadn’t trusted a man …’ Val smiled sadly, leaving the sentence unfinished.
‘Why, what happened?’
‘It’s a long story and I don’t want to bore you.’
‘No, please, I’d love to hear about it.’
‘All right, then. As I said, I was ambitious, and made sure I kept up with current trends in the marketplace, worked hard to find sources of information. It was an exciting time, with new developments in equipment that would require no manual operation. This would be an enormous breakthrough for the industry and started with a titration device patented in America.’
‘Pardon? A what?’
‘Sorry, Betty, it’s all technical jargon – and no wonder you look bemused. I shouldn’t have blinded you with science, so come on, let’s talk about something else.’
‘No, do carry on. It’s just that I don’t know anything about laboratory equipment. You … you mentioned a man?’
Betty seemed eager to hear more, but Val wondered how far to go. She took a deep breath, deciding to expand a little. ‘Yes, there was a man, but he ruined my life. You see during my time as a sales rep, and occasionally as sales manager, I had to do a lot of travelling, sometimes staying overnight in hotels. As our equipment was for targeted markets, such as private laboratories, universities and hospitals, we sometimes came across reps from other companies. It was during an overnight stay that I met Mike Freeman. He was from another firm and it was just friendly rivalry at first, a bit of banter, but I have to admit I was attracted to him. We became involved, seeing each other at every opportunity. He was a sales manager too, with a team about the same size as mine, so it wasn’t always easy. We continued to meet as often as possible for the next eighteen months, but then …’ With a small shake of her head, Val’s sentence trailed off.
Betty leaned forward, softly urging, ‘Oh dear, what happened?’ As always, Val found it hard to talk about Mike Freeman, and hoped she had said enough to encourage Betty to open up too. ‘I … I’m sorry, Betty, it’s so painful, and even now just talking about it upsets me. Please, can we change the subject?’
Betty looked disappointed, but her tone was sympathetic. ‘You poor thing. Yes, talking about things can be painful and I know how you feel. Let’s have another cup of tea and do help yourself to biscuits.’
It boded well that Betty understood how she felt, and though Val wanted to ask more, she held back, hoping that Betty would elaborate on her situation.
She took a biscuit, but after Betty had poured two more cups of tea she said nothing further on the subject, instead saying, ‘I’m looking forward to going to that shop you told me about. You said they sell good-quality second-hand clothes. Where do they get them from?’
‘I’m not really sure, but I would imagine from women who want only the latest fashions. They’re dry-cleaned before going on sale, and though most are from last season, if you buy something classic, and maybe just dress it with beads or a scarf, it’ll carry you through for years.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean by classic, so would … would you help me to choose something?’ Betty asked, going slightly pink.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Oh, Val, thank you,’ said Betty, gratefully.
After that the conversation remained on clothes, designers, and the sort of style that Val thought would suit Betty.
Val then rose to leave, disappointed that Betty hadn’t confided in her any further, but she consoled herself with the thought that it was early days yet. ‘Thanks for the tea. I know we’re going shopping in a couple of weeks, but until then, if you aren’t busy in the evenings, you can always pop down to see me.’
‘I might just do that,’ Betty said, looking pleased at the invitation. ‘Or you can come up here to see me.’
‘Yes, all right,’ Val said. ‘Come on, Treacle, time for your dinner.’
The dog trotted to her side and, after saying goodbye to Betty, they returned downstairs. Val fed Treacle, and then curled on her sofa, feet tucked under her as she went over her plans – beginning with Paula. It would be risky, and she wasn’t sure the others would be willing to go along with her ideas, but they would need Betty to pull it off. Had she been hurt? So badly that she’d agree to join them? God, Val hoped so.
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Kitty Neale
Four women seek the ultimate revenge against the men who betrayed them.The gritty new drama from the Sunday Times bestselling author of Nobody’s Girl.SWINDLED…Val Thorn, Paula Richardson, Cheryl Cutter and Betty Grayson have one thing in common - they have all been betrayed by men.SHAMED…Rape victim Paula has been terrified ever since her brutal attack.High-flyer Val's life has fallen to pieces since she was forced out of her job.Grief-stricken by her grandmother's death, nurse Cheryl was tricked out of her inheritance.Timid housewife Betty sacrificed all for her husband. Now, 20 years later, he's left her and she's destitute.SACRIFICED…Now these four women want revenge. Masterminded by Val, the four women set out to right past wrongs. But will their role of avenging angels take them down a terrible road?
KITTY NEALE
Desperate Measures
Copyright (#uc7ed11a5-cab7-5b64-9834-fc2b08af0bd1)
Published by Avon an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street,
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
This ebook edition published by HarperCollins Publishers 2016
First published in paperback by HarperCollinsPublishers, 2009
Copyright © Kitty Neale 2009
Cover design © Debbie Clement 2016
Cover photographs: Alamy/Getty
Kitty Neale asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9781847563514
Ebook Edition © May 2016 ISBN 9780007335626
Version: 2016-04-13
Dedication (#uc7ed11a5-cab7-5b64-9834-fc2b08af0bd1)
This book is for my adorable new great grandson, Michael Andrew Blofeld. May your life be a joyous one, my darling, full of love, laughter, and a smooth path to carry you forward on life’s journey.
Contents
Cover (#u832cd49d-7f9e-5d5a-8f78-2b4172175cd4)
Title Page (#u79cffdb9-3f45-53db-9fa5-5794c360b0ff)
Copyright (#u476f4fdb-0d7a-5721-abe4-b25e4bb28842)
Dedication (#ue8b76d30-d2bd-57c1-9847-29ad48ddb66b)
Prologue (#u9cfd9b3d-df98-5065-914a-3e5d39b5990f)
Chapter One (#u4f0d36ec-884f-5c73-bf41-8a578facdfde)
Chapter Two (#u0594ac5d-4a79-5630-9ffe-c678175b5340)
Chapter Three (#ubcc9abc3-12be-507e-8937-12e1a7b5d417)
Chapter Four (#u0458e63e-b1b0-5eef-b09b-c978807bbd0d)
Chapter Five (#u73d75aac-7bdb-56f1-bb4b-cbf2b51a55cd)
Chapter Six (#ue698470c-871e-53fc-a558-a55c52b942a2)
Chapter Seven (#u1787ee46-8f1f-5a13-b2a8-c90babb0171b)
Chapter Eight (#u7b3a1ced-f155-5b4e-94e7-2e101a194e71)
Chapter Nine (#u315c7645-06d2-5cfa-8df6-23d68df08cb1)
Chapter Ten (#u867e8cd1-a64d-59ad-b937-3211cf6cf40f)
Chapter Eleven (#u892168f7-4be0-59ce-942a-8e728ca3c137)
Chapter Twelve (#u68a998bb-09bd-5a4a-913d-102f252f8f45)
Chapter Thirteen (#ua4a41799-f0db-52d3-9058-64881a9aa81a)
Chapter Fourteen (#u4ac49079-8a23-5475-be89-4e73ae8e3a74)
Chapter Fifteen (#u132bdd63-0691-537d-99c0-7b481a01df19)
Chapter Sixteen (#ubf8fab9f-f9e0-5b27-8d5a-dda34ef8f3e2)
Chapter Seventeen (#uab2d0d37-76c6-5402-8ad0-b6357fcfe1a9)
Chapter Eighteen (#ua9b28d2c-ca76-555d-a528-cea6af47e3d1)
Chapter Nineteen (#u8bd11891-51be-59a4-97e8-cbf6cdc7af59)
Chapter Twenty (#u4269d827-857c-5bf5-9275-b7aac48e0fca)
Chapter Twenty-One (#ue42f5a29-89c2-52d2-b8dc-b28684694d60)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#uc5f5bddc-a989-5c99-8897-fe83ef9fb440)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#ud8c2e7d2-326b-5999-9a04-33d63460daf6)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#u171b4777-bab3-5b1a-82ff-0183490fd421)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#u6d87afb2-c588-56d6-8fdf-3beb39817586)
Chapter Twenty-Six (#u8ec46fd1-0658-5e54-8ffb-e2312aad0b5e)
Chapter Twenty-Seven (#u484d617e-998e-5b28-8d5b-6c25f0e0e037)
Chapter Twenty-Eight (#u741a87be-aefe-5d35-90ea-ff943f9c34d2)
Chapter Twenty-Nine (#u278a8ca9-313d-5efd-b37f-4908ec462d06)
Chapter Thirty (#u895021ee-ed0f-57b0-b1d8-dbbfd96b2bfe)
Chapter Thirty-One (#ub5613a43-6709-51ba-8918-0b5c58848a6b)
Chapter Thirty-Two (#u82fb43ca-3d6e-55ce-9dc7-fb5ff6c78e9c)
Chapter Thirty-Three (#ud3368311-b014-5fcc-b522-affeb28f8d89)
Chapter Thirty-Four (#u74466bf4-cbaf-55c0-a6fc-dd1aab23ebc5)
Chapter Thirty-Five (#u977062b9-92f9-5411-9441-023b70e34e06)
Chapter Thirty-Six (#u9b9ef367-4967-511c-a380-a56dc7be05ca)
Chapter Thirty-Seven (#u4d16c544-440e-5c4c-93f3-56f2a6e0f03a)
Chapter Thirty-Eight (#u5d4ac857-69db-5d01-aa0b-cd9c922d126f)
Chapter Thirty-Nine (#ueac71c78-02b7-5f3f-b06a-41f8883737de)
Chapter Forty (#ub4954216-d16f-55d1-99a5-81e7395a25dc)
Chapter Forty-One (#uec88ee03-5ba3-5d29-a218-9949220545d6)
Chapter Forty-Two (#u6067b3ca-9d19-5028-a81c-c7ec49c97102)
Chapter Forty-Three (#u76a38650-72b8-5a42-8606-7ae0ab25e5db)
Chapter Forty-Four (#u8a2b99fb-ff98-5873-a589-50fa9cdbed0a)
Chapter Forty-Five (#u3dbd97e9-c0cb-58f2-936b-4bb19d966301)
Chapter Forty-Six (#udce98a9f-02b6-59ec-a042-c68c044ba8fa)
Chapter Forty-Seven (#u409e9b57-66c5-522d-9009-ace75a83879e)
Chapter Forty-Eight (#u7bfc5081-5f62-5fce-bbd6-ac5dc541fe8c)
Chapter Forty-Nine (#u00a67e48-bb87-5b76-ad0b-ceb46ca3ddf0)
Chapter Fifty (#u0e5c8dec-acfc-5778-8b55-cb29e2d8d01b)
Keep Reading … (#u695d7734-b390-5976-8004-5fc33866dc23)
Acknowledgements (#uc366316e-76cb-520d-ac89-2901bcbba650)
About the Author (#u988f612f-5db1-52c0-93fc-ea43d75d58bd)
By the same author (#ue37bed3f-0d33-5b8e-aebe-be91e9066061)
About the Publisher (#u27ec311d-9209-582c-840b-e197e3aaa6f7)
Prologue (#uc7ed11a5-cab7-5b64-9834-fc2b08af0bd1)
The woman knew that what she wanted to do was justified, not just for her, but for the others that she had managed to bring into her small circle. It was a lovely day, the sun bright, yet impatiently she tugged her small dog’s lead, too intent on finding her next recruit to appreciate her surroundings. Her life had been ruined and she’d been eaten up with bitterness – but now she had a mission.
She wasn’t the only woman who’d suffered and it wasn’t right, wasn’t fair that these men had got away with it. Her goal now was to make them pay – to make him pay.
To that end she got up every morning, went to work, functioned – but it was as though she were living her life on automatic. Her plans and schemes had become the focus of her whole life and she couldn’t rest until they’d been carried out. Since the day it had happened, since he’d destroyed her life, she’d wanted only one thing. Revenge.
Chapter One (#uc7ed11a5-cab7-5b64-9834-fc2b08af0bd1)
Battersea, South London, 1969
Though it was early on Saturday morning there were already signs that it was going to be a lovely day and the sunshine drew Betty out of her poky flat to the park on the opposite side of the road.
She walked for a while, but it was unusually warm for June and, feeling hot, Betty sat on a bench. The park began to fill and she frowned as two young women walked towards her, still unable to get used to the way youngsters dressed nowadays. They were both in A-line mini-dresses, one blonde, one dark, their hair cut short in the geometrical shapes made popular by the hairdresser Vidal Sassoon. Make-up was skilfully applied – heavy, but at least they weren’t wearing the thick, black, false eyelashes that were at last going out of fashion.
Betty sighed. She was fifty-one now, but as a young woman a bit of powder and lipstick was all she’d been allowed to wear, and her clothes had been respectable, in the same style as her mother’s. And not only that – what about underwear? These young girls didn’t wear vests or corsets and, worse, sometimes they went without a brassiere. She shook her head. Anne, her twenty-nine-year-old daughter, accused her of being old-fashioned, saying that things were different now. Women were no longer shackled to men, Anne insisted. They had freedom, equality, the means to make their own way in the world.
The two young women walked past without sparing her so much as a glance, and Betty blinked away tears as a surge of loneliness swamped her. She watched a small, brown dog as it circled a tree, sniffing the trunk until, finally satisfied, it lifted its leg.
‘Treacle, come here,’ a woman’s voice called.
Betty saw the dog’s ears twitch, but intent on exploring fresh pastures the command was ignored. It trotted towards the bench she was sitting on, tail up, and obviously liking what it saw, reared up to place its paws on Betty’s lap.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Get down, Treacle.’
Whilst stroking the dog’s head, Betty looked up at his owner. She’d seen the elegant, middle-aged woman before, had noticed her dark brown hair, styled into a French pleat that emphasised her high cheekbones. ‘It’s all right, I like dogs,’ she assured her.
‘Not everyone feels the same and he’s a holy terror. I shouldn’t have let him off the lead, but I’m trying to get him to obey me,’ she chuckled. ‘As you can see, it isn’t working.’
‘He looks so sweet.’
‘Don’t let that fool you,’ the woman said as she sat down. Treacle immediately jumped onto her lap and she laughed as his tongue slobbered her face. ‘Oh, what am I saying? He’s a darling really but, as I said, he won’t obey my commands.’
‘What breed is he?’
‘He’s a Bitsa. You know, bits of this and bits of that.’
As Betty smiled, Treacle turned to look at her again, his head cocked, soft brown eyes intent on her face. He then left his owner, moving across to sit on Betty’s lap, his tongue soft and wet on her cheek.
‘He likes you,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Val by the way. Valerie Thorn.’
‘I’m Betty. Betty Grayson.’
Treacle jumped down, heading for the nearest tree as Val said, ‘It’s nice to meet you at last. We live in the same block of flats and since you moved in I’ve been meaning to introduce myself, but, well, you know how it is.’
‘Yes, all the tenants seem so busy and I hardly see them, but it’s nice to meet you too. You’re on the ground floor aren’t you?’
‘That’s right, in a one-bedroom flat. I live alone. What about you?’
Betty’s expression saddened. ‘Yes, me too, though not by choice.’
Valerie Thorn’s eyebrows rose, but then seeing that her dog was running off she rose swiftly to her feet. ‘Blast, I’d best go after him. Treacle! Treacle,’ she called, and after saying a hasty goodbye, she hurried off.
After this brief interlude, Betty was alone again. It wasn’t unusual. Living in London was different from her life in Surrey, the pace of it much faster, all hustle and bustle, with everyone intent on their own business. Since moving into her flat in Ascot Court she found it the same as previous ones in London, the other tenants seeming not only busy, but distant and remote. All they’d exchanged were quick hellos, but at least she’d met one of them now and felt a surge of gratitude that Valerie Thorn had at least stopped to speak to her. She’d seen the woman a few times, judged her by appearance, her hard veneer, and had expected the woman to be brittle, perhaps standoffish. Instead she’d found her warm with a lovely sense of humour, and hoped that she’d bump into her again.
Betty stood up, deciding to go home in case one of her children rang, or even paid her a visit, which would be wonderful. As she walked towards the gate a young couple were coming towards her – hippies, the girl wearing a cotton, flowing maxi-dress, with strands of love beads around her neck. Her hair was long, fair and, with a flower tucked behind her ear, she looked carefree, happy. When Betty looked at her young man she saw that he was wearing a colourful kaftan, purple trousers and sandals, his hair almost as long as the girl’s. Betty thought he looked disgraceful – if her son dressed like that she would die of shame.
The couple were intent on each other as they passed, their faces wreathed in smiles, and now Betty felt a surge of envy. They were in love. She had felt like that once – just once in her life; but oh, what a fool she had been – a blind, stupid fool.
Betty saw the red Mini pull up in front of the flats as soon as she left the park, and was delighted when her daughter climbed out. It never ceased to amaze her that Anne had her own car, or even that she could drive – something Betty would never have dreamed of achieving as a young woman and something she still couldn’t master. Of course, when she was Anne’s age few women drove; in fact, unless one was very well-off, a car was a rarity. She’d married Richard when she was eighteen years old and felt fortunate to have a bicycle, one that she rode to the local village, the basket on the front crammed with local produce as she cycled home. Home. Her stomach lurched. No, she couldn’t think about it, not when Anne was standing there, a bright smile on her face.
‘Hi, Mum. I can’t stay long but I thought I’d pop round to see how you’re doing.’
‘I’d hardly call driving from Farnham popping round,’ Betty said as they walked into the flats where, after climbing two flights of stairs, she opened her front door.
Anne followed her in, her face dropping as she took in the small living room. ‘Oh, Mum, this is almost as bad as your last place.’
‘It has a nice outlook and after the pittance I got as a settlement, it’s all I can afford.’
‘Please, Mum, don’t start. We’ve had argument after argument about this, but you still refuse to see Dad’s point of view.’
She clamped her lips together. Her daughter had always been a daddy’s girl and, despite everything, she was quick to jump to Richard’s defence. He had spoiled Anne, indulged her love of horse riding, but Betty knew that if she said any more Anne would leave. She hadn’t seen her since moving into this flat, and the last thing she wanted was for her to leave after five minutes. Forcing a smile, she asked, ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘A bottle of Coke if you’ve got one.’
‘Yes, of course I have,’ Betty assured her as she went through to her tiny kitchenette. Coca-Cola was something Anne always asked for on her rare visits, so she kept a couple of bottles in the fridge for just such an occasion. Betty found the bottle opener, snapped off the top, and asked as she returned to the living room, ‘Have you heard from your brother?’
‘No, John’s too busy with his latest conquest.’
‘At least he isn’t like his father.’
‘Mum,’ warned Anne.
Betty regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but it was hard to stay silent in the face of her daughter’s loyalty to Richard. She felt that, like her, Anne should hate her father for what he’d done – that she should be on her side, but instead Anne had refused to cut him out of her life. When it happened, Anne had been twenty-five, living away from home, though still in Surrey, in a flat-share with another young woman. Her son, John, had been twenty-eight, a surveyor, but with her help he was buying a mews cottage. Unlike Anne he’d been sympathetic to Betty, severing all ties with his father. For that she was thankful, but with his busy career she rarely saw her son these days.
‘How’s Anthony?’ Betty enquired, hoping that asking about Anne’s boyfriend would mollify her daughter.
‘He’s still pushing to get married, but I’m happy to stay as we are. I mean, what’s the point? It’s only a ring and a piece of paper.’
Betty managed to hold her tongue this time. When Anne had met her boyfriend eighteen months ago they’d soon moved in together and she’d been shocked to the core, glad that she no longer lived in Farnham for her neighbours to witness her shame. It had also surprised her that, according to Anne, her father didn’t object, but as he’d lived in sin until their divorce came through he was hardly a good example.
‘What about children? You’re twenty-nine now.’
‘I’m up for promotion and a baby would ruin that. I’m happy to stay as we are.’
‘You could still become pregnant. If that happens, surely you’ll marry?’
‘I’m on the pill so there’s no chance of unwanted babies. Anyway, I’m not a hundred per cent sure that I want to spend the rest of my life with Tony. Living together is ideal. It’s like a trial marriage and if things don’t work out we can both walk away without regrets.’
Despite herself, Betty found that she envied her daughter. There had been no trial marriage for her – no chance to find out that her husband was a womaniser before he’d put a ring on her finger. Divorce had been frowned on too, so when she married Richard she’d expected it to be for life. Instead, at forty-seven years old, she’d been cruelly discarded, as though Richard had thrown out an old, worn-out coat.
‘Mum, I’ve got to go.’
‘But you’ve only just got here.’
‘I work all week and only have weekends off, with little time to go riding. It was you who decided to move to London, so it’s difficult for me. I’d like to see more of you, but it’s a long drive and with so much to cram in each weekend, I’m pushed for time.’
Anne was part of the country scene and, with her, horses came first. ‘I know and I’m sorry. It’s just that I miss you.’
‘And I miss you, Mum, but I really have got to go. Tony and I have booked a holiday to Spain and I need a couple of outfits. I couldn’t find anything swish in Farnham so I’m off to Selfridges.’
‘Spain! You’re going abroad?’
‘Yes, next Saturday, but only for a week. We got a good price on a flight with Laker Airways.’
‘You’re … you’re flying?’
‘Don’t look so shocked. I know your idea of a holiday is a caravan in Margate, but things are changing nowadays, with more people going abroad. I doubt I’ll see you again until we get back, but I’ll send you a postcard.’
Anne then swallowed the last of her drink, picked up her bag, and left in a whirlwind before Betty got the chance to say a proper goodbye. With a small wave her daughter was gone, hurrying down the stairs while Betty managed to gather her wits in time to call, ‘Have a good time.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
Betty closed the door. Never in her wildest dreams had she expected to holiday abroad, but as Anne had a career as a personnel officer with a large company in Farnham, and Tony was an engineer, no doubt they could afford it. Once again Betty felt a frisson of envy, which was soon followed by a familiar bitterness. Unlike her daughter, she’d never had a career, her life spent intent on being the perfect wife and mother. She had married Richard in 1936, and John had followed a year later. They hadn’t been well-off and it was sometimes a struggle to make ends meet, but then war had been declared and Richard eventually called up. Anne was conceived when Richard had been on leave and when he returned to the fighting she’d been terrified of losing him.
When the war was over, she’d been overjoyed that Richard came home without a scratch, but he was different, more self-assured, and full of ideas to start up his own business. He’d been taught to drive, had been involved in vehicle maintenance, and had picked up the idea that cars were going to be the up-and-coming thing after the war, available not just to the wealthy, but the middle classes too. To start up the car dealership they had to make many sacrifices, yet she’d supported him one hundred per cent. Her neighbours were getting modern appliances, vacuum-cleaners, the latest electric boilers with mangles, but every penny that Richard made had to be ploughed back into the business. She’d continued to make do with hand-washing, had used brushes and brooms, with her little spare time spent knitting or sewing to make clothes for both herself and the children. She smiled grimly. Of course Richard had to make an impression, so he’d worn nice suits …
Her thoughts were interrupted as the telephone rang. She hurried to answer it, thrilled to hear her son’s voice. ‘John, how are you?’
Unaware that she had a huge grin on her face, Betty listened to her son, pleased to hear that he was doing well, though disappointed when he said that he was too busy to pay her a visit. ‘But I haven’t seen you for ages,’ she protested.
John made his usual excuses, and then Betty told him, ‘Anne called round today. She’s booked a holiday to Spain.’
He didn’t sound all that interested and soon said he had to go. Betty replaced the receiver, her smile now gone as she wandered over to the window. She looked across to the park, wishing that she still had a garden to fill her time. When married to Richard she’d spent hours gardening, growing fruit and vegetables to save money on food bills and, though it had been hard work, she’d grown to love it.
The sky was blue, with just a few white, puffy clouds, and now that Betty knew John wouldn’t be paying her a visit, she was tempted to go out again. She could walk to the pond, feed the ducks – it would be better than sitting here alone. When she threw bread the ducks would leave the pond to crowd around her; they’d be aware of her existence, and at least for a short time she wouldn’t feel as she always did in London – invisible.
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.
Chapter Two (#uc7ed11a5-cab7-5b64-9834-fc2b08af0bd1)
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.
Chapter Three (#uc7ed11a5-cab7-5b64-9834-fc2b08af0bd1)
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?
Chapter Four (#uc7ed11a5-cab7-5b64-9834-fc2b08af0bd1)
Treacle yelped with excitement when Val and Paula walked in, his small tail wagging as he jumped up at Val’s legs but, intent on Paula, she said impatiently, ‘Get down, boy. I’ll take you for a walk soon, but not now.’
‘Oh … Val,’ Paula cried again.
‘Sit down,’ Val urged, worried by the girl’s obvious distress. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘It was so hot in me bedsit and I felt stifled, so much so that I risked going out. I only went for a little walk, but … but I saw him.’
‘Did he see you?’
‘N – no, and before he got the chance I legged it. I … I ran, Val, almost all the way here.’
‘Oh, darling, I’m sorry I wasn’t in,’ Val consoled.
‘It ain’t fair. He … he ruined my life and shouldn’t be out there walking the streets.’
‘I’ll get you a drink,’ Val offered as she rose to her feet, her thoughts taking her back to the first time she had met Paula Richardson. She’d been to Clapham Junction and was walking back to where her car was parked when she saw a young girl ahead of her, limping and in obvious pain. The girl then stopped, and as it looked like she couldn’t walk any further, Val had gone to offer her assistance. That girl had been Paula. She had tripped badly, her ankle swollen, and despite her protests Val had insisted on driving her to casualty. Whilst waiting for X-ray results they had chatted; luckily it turned out that her ankle wasn’t broken, just sprained. On the drive home, Paula had been quiet, but when they neared her street it was as though a long-held dam burst and she poured out the story of what had happened to her so many months earlier. As she’d listened, Val had been shocked, sickened by the girl’s dreadful ordeal. Paula had looked so young, sounded so alone, a diminutive blue-eyed blonde who wasn’t yet twenty. Paula’s ordeal had awakened something in Val. She too had been hurt. Oh, not in such a dreadful way, but she was living with bitterness and hatred. Yet why should she? Why should Paula? Val had found that she wanted to do something, and, like an avenging angel, to hit back.
The chance meeting with Paula had sparked off Val’s plans, but that had been eighteen months ago and they were still a long way from fruition. Paula had suffered so much, was still suffering, her need the greatest, and Val was determined that she should be the first to benefit from her plans. She wanted to give Paula her life back, to get on with it, her surge of impatience quickly stifled when Paula began to cry.
‘Oh, darling, don’t,’ Val urged as she gave Paula a glass of sherry. ‘You’re safe now, and soon, I hope, you’ll never have to be afraid again. The woman you saw is the one I told you about, and I’m hoping she’ll be a suitable recruit. If she is, we can go ahead with our plans.’
‘Oh, Val, I hope you’re right. Before I met you, I … I didn’t think I’d be able to go on.’
‘Darling, don’t say that. I know you were dreadfully depressed, close to ending it all, but there’s no need now. We’ll get him, you’ll see.’
‘And you think this woman will help?’
‘With any luck, yes. Her name is Betty Grayson. She lives alone, and works as a housekeeper in Kensington. She also has two grown-up children.’
‘Won’t they be a problem?’
Val was pleased to see that Paula had calmed down. ‘No, I don’t think so. They live out of London and whilst I’ve been watching her, I’ve only seen the daughter once.’
‘It sounds like you’ve done all right so far. Have you told Cheryl about her?’
‘Not yet. She’s on duty all day but I’ll give her a ring this evening.’
Treacle began to clamour again, and knowing the signs that a walk couldn’t wait, Val said, ‘I’ll have to take him out, but why don’t you join me? After that, I’ll run you home.’
‘Yeah, all right, but I was hoping to stay a bit longer.’
‘I’m sorry, darling, but Betty has invited me up to her place for coffee and, if we want to get things moving, I must take every opportunity to work on her.’
Paula’s voice was lacklustre. ‘Yeah, I suppose so, but will I see you next weekend?’
Val wanted to use the valuable time to get to know Betty, but with Paula looking at her so hopefully, she just couldn’t refuse. ‘How about next Saturday? I could pick you up at around eleven o’clock.’
‘Great, and … and thanks, Val.’
The two of them left the flat to take Treacle for a walk, the dog almost dragging Val to the nearest tree. When they crossed into the park, Val let him off the lead for a run, whilst Paula’s feet dragged, her eyes flicking nervously around her as they ambled along. Val hated to see her like this, the poor girl a nervous wreck, and felt a wave of determination to move things forward. She’d share a confidence with Betty and cross her fingers that it would be returned.
Impatient to get on with it, Val made it a short walk, then clipped on Treacle’s lead to take him to her car. She opened the back door, the dog scrambling onto the seat. ‘Good boy, and stay there,’ she ordered.
Paula climbed in beside her. Obviously reluctant to be driven home, she said sadly, ‘I hate me bedsit.’
‘Why don’t you look for a better one? It would give you something to do and take your mind off things.’
‘I’d still feel like a prisoner, stuck in the house, too scared to go out.’
‘Not for much longer,’ Val said firmly, hoping she was right.
Soon they pulled up outside the tall, narrow house near Clapham Junction where Paula had a bedsit on the first floor. ‘Bye, Val … and see you next week.’
Val said goodbye, but saw how Paula’s shoulders were stooped with unhappiness as she climbed out of the car to walk to her door. A surge of rage made her heart pound. It was dreadful that Paula had to live like this, and Val’s hands gripped the steering wheel as she drove off, her knuckles white. They had to move forward – had to – and now her thoughts focused on Betty and a way to draw the woman out.
When Val returned to the flats she went straight upstairs to knock on Betty’s door.
‘Val, come on in,’ Betty invited, her face alight with pleasure. ‘When I saw that young woman waiting for you, I wasn’t sure you’d be up for coffee.’
‘I’m a bit late, but Paula was upset and I had to run her home. Do you mind if I bring Treacle in?’
‘Of course not. It was awful to see the poor girl in such a state.’
‘She’s fine now,’ Val said, unwilling as yet to talk about Paula, ‘and just someone I took under my wing.’
In Betty’s flat, Val saw ornaments in abundance, with a fussy crochet runner along the surface of the sideboard. There were embroidered linen chair-backs on the three-piece suite, fussy net curtains at the windows and, though it wasn’t to Val’s taste, it was homely, cosy – a perfect reflection of Betty’s personality.
Treacle made a fuss of Betty as she bent down to stroke him, and then he made straight for the rug in front of the fireplace where he settled down immediately. ‘Well, would you look at that?’ Val said. ‘He’s made himself at home already.’
‘He’s lovely,’ Betty said, smiling wistfully. ‘Now, sit yourself down and I’ll make us a drink. I’m afraid I’ve only got Camp coffee. Will that do?’
‘Sorry, Betty, in that case I’d rather have tea.’
‘Tea it is,’ she said, bustling off to her kitchenette.
Val sat back, her eyes closing as she rehearsed what she was going to say. It wouldn’t do to give too much away yet but, with any luck, if she spoke about her own situation, it would encourage Betty to do the same.
Betty returned with a tray, and along with the tea there was a paper-doily-covered plate holding a selection of biscuits. Like the woman, the china was fussy, the teapot covered with a hand-knitted cosy.
When the tea was poured, Val sighed, saying, ‘It’s been a lovely weekend but back to work tomorrow. It’s not a bad job, but my earnings are a fraction of what they used to be.’
‘Haven’t you always been a receptionist?’
‘No, Betty. At one time I had a flourishing career. I started off as a sales rep for a company supplying laboratory equipment. I gained promotions and eventually became the sales manager.’
‘Really? Goodness, that sounds exciting, but I know little about the commercial world.’
‘It’s amazing how far some women have come since the war ended. Now they have independence, with the opportunity to take up careers that were considered unsuitable for them before the conflict. Yet to gain promotion I’m sure that, like me, they had to fight every step of the way, to prove themselves as capable as men.’
‘Yes, but my daughter is always telling me that things are different now, that women have more opportunities.’
‘She’s probably right. Mind you, sometimes I wish I hadn’t concentrated so hard on a career. I missed out on marriage, on children, but I was ambitious. If I hadn’t been such a fool, if I hadn’t trusted a man …’ Val smiled sadly, leaving the sentence unfinished.
‘Why, what happened?’
‘It’s a long story and I don’t want to bore you.’
‘No, please, I’d love to hear about it.’
‘All right, then. As I said, I was ambitious, and made sure I kept up with current trends in the marketplace, worked hard to find sources of information. It was an exciting time, with new developments in equipment that would require no manual operation. This would be an enormous breakthrough for the industry and started with a titration device patented in America.’
‘Pardon? A what?’
‘Sorry, Betty, it’s all technical jargon – and no wonder you look bemused. I shouldn’t have blinded you with science, so come on, let’s talk about something else.’
‘No, do carry on. It’s just that I don’t know anything about laboratory equipment. You … you mentioned a man?’
Betty seemed eager to hear more, but Val wondered how far to go. She took a deep breath, deciding to expand a little. ‘Yes, there was a man, but he ruined my life. You see during my time as a sales rep, and occasionally as sales manager, I had to do a lot of travelling, sometimes staying overnight in hotels. As our equipment was for targeted markets, such as private laboratories, universities and hospitals, we sometimes came across reps from other companies. It was during an overnight stay that I met Mike Freeman. He was from another firm and it was just friendly rivalry at first, a bit of banter, but I have to admit I was attracted to him. We became involved, seeing each other at every opportunity. He was a sales manager too, with a team about the same size as mine, so it wasn’t always easy. We continued to meet as often as possible for the next eighteen months, but then …’ With a small shake of her head, Val’s sentence trailed off.
Betty leaned forward, softly urging, ‘Oh dear, what happened?’ As always, Val found it hard to talk about Mike Freeman, and hoped she had said enough to encourage Betty to open up too. ‘I … I’m sorry, Betty, it’s so painful, and even now just talking about it upsets me. Please, can we change the subject?’
Betty looked disappointed, but her tone was sympathetic. ‘You poor thing. Yes, talking about things can be painful and I know how you feel. Let’s have another cup of tea and do help yourself to biscuits.’
It boded well that Betty understood how she felt, and though Val wanted to ask more, she held back, hoping that Betty would elaborate on her situation.
She took a biscuit, but after Betty had poured two more cups of tea she said nothing further on the subject, instead saying, ‘I’m looking forward to going to that shop you told me about. You said they sell good-quality second-hand clothes. Where do they get them from?’
‘I’m not really sure, but I would imagine from women who want only the latest fashions. They’re dry-cleaned before going on sale, and though most are from last season, if you buy something classic, and maybe just dress it with beads or a scarf, it’ll carry you through for years.’
‘I’m not sure what you mean by classic, so would … would you help me to choose something?’ Betty asked, going slightly pink.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Oh, Val, thank you,’ said Betty, gratefully.
After that the conversation remained on clothes, designers, and the sort of style that Val thought would suit Betty.
Val then rose to leave, disappointed that Betty hadn’t confided in her any further, but she consoled herself with the thought that it was early days yet. ‘Thanks for the tea. I know we’re going shopping in a couple of weeks, but until then, if you aren’t busy in the evenings, you can always pop down to see me.’
‘I might just do that,’ Betty said, looking pleased at the invitation. ‘Or you can come up here to see me.’
‘Yes, all right,’ Val said. ‘Come on, Treacle, time for your dinner.’
The dog trotted to her side and, after saying goodbye to Betty, they returned downstairs. Val fed Treacle, and then curled on her sofa, feet tucked under her as she went over her plans – beginning with Paula. It would be risky, and she wasn’t sure the others would be willing to go along with her ideas, but they would need Betty to pull it off. Had she been hurt? So badly that she’d agree to join them? God, Val hoped so.
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Kitty Neale
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 28.04.2024
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О книге: Four women seek the ultimate revenge against the men who betrayed them.The gritty new drama from the Sunday Times bestselling author of Nobody’s Girl.SWINDLED…Val Thorn, Paula Richardson, Cheryl Cutter and Betty Grayson have one thing in common – they have all been betrayed by men.SHAMED…Rape victim Paula has been terrified ever since her brutal attack.High-flyer Val′s life has fallen to pieces since she was forced out of her job.Grief-stricken by her grandmother′s death, nurse Cheryl was tricked out of her inheritance.Timid housewife Betty sacrificed all for her husband. Now, 20 years later, he′s left her and she′s destitute.SACRIFICED…Now these four women want revenge. Masterminded by Val, the four women set out to right past wrongs. But will their role of avenging angels take them down a terrible road?