Mrs Cunningham looked hurt. ‘I am not one to gossip, madam, you know that.’
Agatha reached for a cigarette from the box on the table. ‘Then we shall say no more on the matter,’ she said, striking her lighter.
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Cunningham. ‘Shall the baron be returning from London?’
Agatha drew on her cigarette. ‘Why should he?’
‘Well, I thought . . .’ Mrs Cunningham began.
‘Apart from we three,’ Agatha said firmly, ‘there’s no need for anyone beyond these four walls – except, of course, Dr Jennings – to know what has taken place this afternoon. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Crystal,’ said Mrs Cunningham. She was appalled that Miss Pearl’s young man wasn’t to be told, but later on, in the kitchen, she began to understand why. The poor bugger was prepared to do the decent thing by marrying the girl he’d got into trouble, but that conniving bitch wasn’t going to let him off the hook, was she.
There was a tricky moment when Freddie telephoned that evening. Mrs Cunningham had picked up the receiver. She called Agatha and then went back to the kitchen, only she didn’t close the door. Standing just inside the room, she heard her employer say, ‘Darling, she’s in bed. Poor girl, she’s got the most frightful cold.’
There was a pause, then Agatha said, ‘Well, apart from a raging temperature, she seemed all right, but I thought it best to call the doctor. He said because of her condition she should have complete bedrest. I will go and call her if you insist but . . .’
Another pause, then, ‘I think it best, dear. Yes, yes, I’ll tell her you called. Bye now.’ Agatha replaced the receiver muttering, ‘Stupid boy.’
The next day Pearl’s physical pains had faded, but she felt very weepy and there was a hollow feeling in her chest. Dr Jennings had told her that her baby was gone. Gone, and she didn’t even know if it had been a boy or a girl. Freddie had wanted a son, of course, but now his dream was gone as well.
Her mother had sorted everything admirably, but she was not one to show any emotion. That afternoon she had sat on the edge of Pearl’s bed and given her what she called a ‘pep talk’.
‘You won’t tell Freddie any of this, of course,’ she began.
‘But he must know, Mummy. It was his baby too.’
‘Listen to me,’ Agatha said firmly. ‘Freddie doesn’t need to know until after the wedding. If you tell him before that, he may well change his mind.’
‘So what if he does?’ said Pearl. ‘I don’t love him, you know.’
‘Love,’ Agatha said scornfully. ‘You don’t get a good marriage if you do it for love. Marriage is a business arrangement. That’s why Freddie is so ideal. A rich man, a castle in Germany, the prospect of foreign travel to anywhere in the world, and even the possibility of meeting world leaders. My dear child, every woman in England would give their right arm for such a glittering prospect.’
Pearl blinked.
‘That is why you say nothing, do you hear?’
Her daughter appeared to be struck dumb by her mother’s calculating callousness.
‘Do you hear me?’ Agatha’s tone was more aggressive.
‘Yes. Yes, I hear you.’
‘Now, when he rings this evening, you tell him you’ve had a bad cold but you’re feeling much better now. Nobody but you and I and Dr Jennings need to know the real reason you’re in bed.’
‘What about Mrs Cunningham?’
‘She’ll do as she’s told,’ said Agatha dismissively. She rose to her feet. ‘I suggest you stay in bed for now. The doctor said he would come in this afternoon to look you over but it seems as if you’ve come through all this without a problem.’
‘Does this mean I can’t have any more babies?’
‘Of course not,’ her mother said. ‘You’ll have plenty of babies. Freddie is a fine young man. He’s got a wonderful pedigree and you’ll be back to normal in next to no time.’ She turned to leave the room, but as she put her hand on the doorknob she added, ‘But if you’ll take my advice, you’ll keep your legs crossed until after the wedding. He mustn’t know. Have you got that?’
Pearl nodded obediently. ‘Yes, Mummy.’
Chapter 21
December 1937
Christmas had been busy and by the time the shop closed on the Friday, Christmas Eve, the last of the shoppers – all men frantically searching for presents for their wives – had finally made their choices.
‘Why can’t these men come out earlier in the day?’ Gill, the girl behind the wrapping counter, muttered out of the corner of her mouth. She had been rushed off her feet since four o’clock and, although the doors were now shut, there was a queue a mile long waiting for her services. Milly, who was on her way out, stopped to help.
‘Are you home for Christmas?’ Gill asked as she put a ribbon around the umpteenth box of perfume she’d wrapped since the rush began.
Milly shook her head. ‘I’m with friends.’
‘Oh.’ Gill sounded surprised. ‘We’ll be having a family Christmas. Mum’s got everybody coming: my three brothers and their wives, my niece and nephew and my gran. It’ll be manic.’ She looked up at the anxious man waiting by the counter. ‘There we are, sir. I’m sure your wife will love it. Happy Christmas.’
Milly smiled up at her customer. ‘Red ribbon or green?’
The grey-haired man in front of her took his pipe out of his mouth. ‘Red,’ he said assertively. ‘No, green. Oh, I don’t know. What do you think?’
‘Tell you what, sir. What about the gold?’
‘Yes, yes, the gold.’
Milly reached for some gold ribbon.