The House of Women Read online

  She waited for him to say something more, but he didn’t. And so she walked to the wardrobe and took down a coat, and as she got into it she said, ‘A lot of things have happened since you’ve been away,’ and immediately she sensed rather than saw him swing round, saying urgently, ‘She didn’t marry him?’

  ‘Oh’—she started to put on her coat—‘yes, of course she married him; and things are going very well in that quarter, I should say. No; I’m referring to the works.’

  ‘What about the works?’ His hands became still on the band of his trousers.

  ‘Just that Mr Cartwright took ill. He’s in hospital and…and from what I gather and from what Mrs Cartwright says…well, I don’t suppose he’ll be returning. He’s got Parkinson’s disease.’

  ‘What! Why didn’t you…?’

  ‘Yes, yes; why didn’t I tell you? I should have sent a message to the B.B.C., shouldn’t I, and had it broadcast? “Will Leonard Hammond, somewhere in England, come straight home, because Mr Brooker is now in charge of the works, the whole works”.’

  ‘Stop your bloody sarcasm, woman! This is serious. When did it happen?’

  ‘Well, you left on the Friday night and he was taken into hospital on the Sunday. But you needn’t worry; everything’s running very smoothly. I went along with Gran on the Monday, not only to put Henry Brooker in charge but also to introduce your new son-in-law to the shop.’

  Why was she doing this? She could see it was pure torture. But hadn’t she been tortured for years? When had he said one kind word to her? When had he not taken her like a bitch in season? In fact, she had considered for a long time that rape couldn’t have been any worse: never a word of love, never a word of kindness, never the question of how she felt. It was three years now since she had put a stop to it; yet she was only thirty-five, and there was a want in her that she could only fulfil with dreams. But there was a face in her dreams, and she saw the real face every time she went to the works.

  She watched him now grab his watch from the dressing table and look at it, and she said, ‘They close at five; you wouldn’t be able to make it. But you needn’t worry, your showroom’s still there.’

  ‘Damn and blast the showrooms, woman! You know what this means, and if that old faggot doesn’t give it to me, by God! there’s going to be a blow-up like you’ve never seen or heard before.’

  ‘You are thinking about staging it here or in our own house, the one you’ve been going to buy for years?’ Her voice changing now, she said, ‘I’ll give you a word of warning, Len; you had better go quietly with Gran, very quietly, because if she wants Henry Brooker to manage, she’ll have him. And let me tell you this: she can also have a new manager for the showrooms.’ She pulled open the door, then paused and, turning and looking to where he was standing as if about to pick up something and throw it, she informed him, ‘I’m changing my room. I’m sleeping across the landing. I’ll move the rest of my clothes when the new wardrobe I’ve ordered comes. It was no use asking you to make a move, was it? Because going into a smaller room, you’d be lowering your standards, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘You know something?’

  She waited.

  ‘One of these days I’ll do for you, and her, because you know what you are? Trumped up nowts, the lot of you.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps we are, Len, perhaps you’re right. And you made the biggest mistake of your life when you married me, because I was one of them. But you didn’t really marry me, did you? It was this house, it was the works, and it was the fact, oh yes, it was the fact that you couldn’t see Gran lasting for very long and you could see yourself running the lot. But what you didn’t know about yourself was, you hadn’t the brains or the character, or—’ and now she bawled, ‘even the common sense to run anything. You are an ignorant man and every time you open your mouth you spew it out. You know the saying, “You can’t teach your granny to suck eggs”, but you thought you could. Oh, you were sure of it, and see where it’s landed you. But go, let her have it, and good luck to you.’

  And now it was she who banged the door.

  Having run quickly down the stairs, she let herself out of the side door, went straight to the garage, and in her own car drove to the works.

  The Funnell Works was a large concern of its kind. The forecourt took up as much space as the glass-fronted showrooms, the offices, and the workshops together. The Funnell workshops had a reputation in the town and in the surrounding countryside, and this had been built up on a good job done for a fair price.

  The last of the staff were coming out of the gates as she drove in, and she pulled up when she noticed her new son-in-law at the tail-end of them. He was pushing his bike. He was dressed in greasy overalls and she noted he looked tired. She drew the car to a stop and, leaning out of the window, said, ‘Another day over.’

  ‘Oh, hello, Mrs Hammond.’

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Oh, I think you’d better ask Mr Stanhope about that. I never knew a car had so many bits and pieces.’ He laughed. ‘I could have told you all the names of them, and that’s about as far as my knowledge went; but I’m learning the greasy way.’

  ‘How are you getting on with the other men?’

  He straightened his back a little, then said, ‘I think all right, at least with most of them. Some were a bit suspicious. I don’t know why, seeing I spend my days lying on my back most of the time. Some won’t tell you anything and some tell you too much and it’s not all correct, but I suppose it’s all in the game.’

  She looked him up and down, then said, ‘I think you must be the only one who goes home in dirty overalls.’

  ‘Oh, there’s another set inside, but they’re worse than these.’

  ‘You’d better get a third set then, hadn’t you? And keep them for travelling. Better still, change out of them when you’re finished.’

  He bent down to her again and said quietly, ‘Starters are not supposed to get above themselves, Mrs Hammond.’

  She laughed and said, ‘Oh, I see.’ Then she asked him, ‘Has Mr Brooker gone?’

  ‘No; I think he’s still in his office. He was talking to the nightwatchman when I passed.’

  She started the car. ‘Be seeing you then,’ she said. ‘I hope she’s got a good meal ready for you.’

  ‘She has had so far. Goodbye.’

  He seemed to be fitting in in all ways. She didn’t know if she had taken to him or not, but one thing was sure, Gran had; and her mother, too, quite liked him. And yet she wondered if there was a sharp side to him and he was playing the same game as Len did when he first came into the house, but in a different way…get in early with the old girl and you’re set. He had been in the house only on the night they had come back from Harrogate and then again on the Monday, when he had started work in the shop. Yet her grandmother had spoken of him a number of times since.

  The nightwatchman was coming out of the office with his dog as she was about to enter, and he raised his cap to her. She nodded in acknowledgement and bent down and patted the dog, saying, ‘Hello there, Boxer.’ Then she went into the office where Henry Brooker was standing behind the desk. She gave him no greeting but said, ‘I saw young Jones going out. He seemed to have more oil on him than there is in the tanks. How’s he faring?’

  ‘Very well, I should say, by Stanhope’s account. He’s quick at picking things up…Doesn’t have to be told over and over again like some starters…Is there anything wrong?’

  ‘He…he came home a short while ago.’

  ‘And you told him about Mr Cartwright?’

  ‘Yes; yes, I did.’

  Henry Brooker moved round the desk and stood facing her before he said, ‘And he feels sure he’s going to walk in here and take over, Monday?’

  ‘No; he’s not sure. Yet at the same time he considers it his right, and if Gran doesn’t give it to him I don’t know what the outcome will be. He doesn’t seem quite…well, quite sane at times; feels she has kept him down all these years. And she
has, you know’—she nodded her head now—‘she has, because of the kind of man he is.’

  ‘I can understand his attitude. I think I’d feel the same way in his place.’

  ‘You would never be in his place, Henry…’ The name slipped out, and in doing so it seemed immediately to have crystallised the situation that had developed, in spite of themselves, over the last two years.

  Or was it before that, from the first day he had come to be interviewed at the house? His wife had died only three months previously, in childbirth. He had looked sad and lost. She had given him tea in the drawing room, and she had liked his voice and his quiet manner. And she had learned since about his sense of humour and his sense of fairness.

  ‘It…it just slipped out.’

  He took a step nearer to her. ‘Your name slipped out, a long time ago, Lizzie. We…we’ve been so polite to each other, haven’t we, while knowing all the time? At least I did. What about you?’

  ‘Oh yes, yes.’

  When her eyelids began to blink and the moisture to ooze from them he turned swiftly and went towards the window and, as he did every night before leaving the office, he let down the Venetian blind; then, just as naturally, he walked back to her, put his arms around her and said softly, ‘If he were a different kind of man and I had known you were happy, I should have squashed it at the beginning. I could have done so; I could have moved on. But I didn’t, and I know why I stayed. Many a time I’ve asked myself what I was hoping for, and then quite slowly it came, the look in your eyes, and I felt it might be the same with you.’

  After he kissed her a long, warm, lingering kiss, she leant against him, murmuring, ‘Oh, my dear. Oh, Henry, what’s going to come of it?’

  ‘Would you divorce him?’

  ‘Oh yes, tomorrow. But I’d have to have grounds, you know.’

  ‘Well, we could give him grounds.’

  ‘Oh, that’s the other side of it; I’m sure he would never divorce me. If it was only out of spite he would hang on, especially if he had to leave that house.’

  ‘But there are other ways. If you were separated for a certain time divorce would come naturally; and I’ll wait. I’m used to waiting; as long as I know you’re there at the end. There’s one thing, though; I don’t think I could stand being an assistant to him if your grandmother decided to bring him in here. Leaving wouldn’t worry me. I must tell you’—he now tweaked her nose—‘I had an offer about a month ago from Rankins.’

  ‘Rankins?’ She pressed herself from him. ‘The firm that wanted to buy us out?’

  ‘The very one. They offered me the post of manager and I turned it down. But I understand they are not very satisfied with their new man. So, if Len gets the job here I can easily go in a different direction to work. It’ll only be a five minutes’ longer car ride from my cottage. And Rankins is a bigger firm than this, you know, and expanding, so don’t think I’ll be so very disappointed if your grandmother decides to move him up. In fact, I think it would be all to the good; he might be more likely to let you go then.’

  ‘Not him! Oh no, he can see the whole business coming into my hands when anything happens to Gran; we’d have to bear the brunt of any divorce.’

  ‘Well, my dear, like Barkis, here’s somebody ready and willing.’

  They laughed; then as if it had always been so, they clung together again; and when at last she muttered, ‘I must get back,’ he said, ‘We’ve got to make some arrangement about meeting. You won’t know my place on the outskirts.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Well, it’s some way out beyond Brampton Hill and the new estate. It’s a good seven miles from here. It’s called Holeman’s Rise, a very odd name for a cottage. I usually see to the garden on a Sunday and do a bit of cleaning up. I…I’ve never had anyone in since Jane went and it’s not as spruce as it should be, but still it’s no pigsty; so, do you think you could make your way there some evening or Sunday?’

  ‘I’ll…I’ll try. Oh, yes, I’ll try.’

  They embraced again, and she muttered, ‘Oh, I can’t believe this,’ and he said, ‘Nor I; but it’s true, it’s happening.’

  In seeing her to her car they walked apart, all very circumspect. ‘Goodnight, Mrs Hammond,’ he said as he closed the door on her and smiled, while she in her turn said, ‘Goodnight, Mr Brooker.’ Then she drove away.

  She was a girl again. She was in love. She had been in love for a long time; it had been like an underground spring, but now it had burst through. Life looked bright; there could be happiness ahead. Yes, there could; though there would undoubtedly be trouble, and she was going back to it.

  She knew she was right in it as she opened the front door, because there in the hall stood her mother and Peggy. And Peggy, rushing towards her, said, ‘He’s in the drawing room with Great-Gran. Listen to him. He’s been bawling at her.’ As soon as her mother reached her she said. ‘I daren’t go in, Lizzie. I know I should, but I daren’t. I’m dead scared of that man when he’s in a temper, and it brings on my migraine. I’ve had it all day…’

  ‘Be quiet! Mother.’ She pulled off her coat and placed it on a chair and went quickly towards the drawing-room door. And as she opened it she saw her husband, his arm outstretched, his finger stabbing towards her grandmother as he cried, ‘You can’t do this, old woman. You won’t! By God! I won’t let you do this to me. I’ve worked there all these years, and…’

  ‘Len!’ Lizzie’s voice halted his tirade, and he swung round towards her and yelled at her, ‘You knew this! You’re another one.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Mrs Funnell’s voice was louder than either of theirs and her face was screwed up in protest. But it brought the silence it demanded. And now, with an effort she spoke normally again, saying, ‘She knew nothing about my decision. And I didn’t make it today or yesterday, but years ago. Do you hear me, Leonard Hammond? Years ago, when I took your measure as an incompetent, big-headed bully, aiming to be what he wasn’t and could never be, a gentleman in any shape or form. You came into this house under false pretences. And let me tell you, you’ve been here on sufferance ever since. If it hadn’t been for her—’ it was she now who stabbed a finger forward towards Lizzie before going on, ‘you would have been out on your neck years ago. Yes, Henry Brooker is going to be manager, and if you’re wise you’ll keep on the right side of him, because I saw him from the beginning as a stronger character than Cartwright and much more capable to run that place. And finally, yes, finally, let me tell you, Leonard Hammond, just you dare to come in here and bawl at me once more, just once more, or if I hear you bawling at my granddaughter, you will have no job and no home, not in this house, anyway. But when you leave it you leave alone. You have thrown your daughter out of your life and, if she’s wise, your wife will throw you out. Now I say to you, get out.’

  Hammond didn’t move. Lizzie saw that he couldn’t; he had turned pale and his rage seemed to have paralysed him. His fists were clenched and his arms held out slightly from his sides, and she became fearful as she saw the look on his face that was directed towards her grandmother. The threat that he had made earlier could well take place at any moment. She walked quickly past him and stood by her grandmother’s side. And now his infuriated gaze was on her.

  When at last he turned from them it wasn’t as a beaten man. His head up, his shoulders back, he marched from the room; he even closed the door behind him, an action which in itself added to her fear of the moment.

  ‘Lizzie.’

  She started and looked down at her grandmother.

  ‘Why haven’t you got rid of him before? Why haven’t you left him? Oh’—the grey hair wagged from side to side now—‘what am I talking about? It would have meant you walking out, not him. He’ll have to be thrown out of here. And he will, he will be shortly, because I can’t put up with him any more. My God, girl! How have you stood him all these years?’ She did not wait for an answer but, leaning back in her chair she let out a long breath, saying on it, ‘Get me a gla
ss of sherry, will you?’

  Her mother and Peggy were still standing in the hall, but in the far corner near the kitchen door, as if they had delayed too long their escape; and Peggy called to her mother: ‘He’s gone out. There…there’s the car starting.’ She looked towards the front door. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later,’ Lizzie said, then spoke directly to her mother: ‘Take the sherry in, Mother, will you? Gran’s a bit upset,’ and addressing her daughter again, she said, ‘Andrew’s home. Hadn’t you better go and see to the meal?’

  ‘He’s having his bath. I was going out to put something in the dustbin and I thought I heard somebody yelling. I…I didn’t think it was him. I didn’t know he was back; the car wasn’t on the drive.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ Lizzie put a hand on Peggy’s shoulder. ‘Stop shivering. Go on. Go on over home.’

  It was odd, but in her mind the annexe was already cut off from the house—she looked upon it as her daughter’s home—yet she had only to step through a door and she was in it.

  Before doing as Lizzie had bidden her, Peggy said, ‘It’s about the job, isn’t it? He hasn’t got it. What d’you think he’ll do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ her mother answered her; ‘I just don’t know. But he’ll do something.’

  He could have a car smash or go into the river. Peggy took a gasping breath: she must stop thinking like this about him; it was dreadful. She turned away quickly, saying, ‘Will…will you come in later, Mam?’ And Lizzie answered brusquely, ‘Yes; yes, later.’

  Peggy found Andrew standing waiting for her in the kitchen. He looked fresh and smelt clean. He enquired immediately, ‘What’s the matter? Trouble?’

  ‘Yes. Great-Gran’s passed over Dad for the management and he’s gone nearly berserk.’

  ‘Well, he shouldn’t be surprised at that; everybody in the shop seemed to know that Mr Brooker was set for it.’