The Last Dance Read online

  “No, lad.” George had never lost his straightforward Lancashire way of speaking, even when addressing a man in his middle 30s, “No. They’ll stop here until we’re gone.”

  Two thoughts occurred to me upon hearing this; one was that it was a mighty small house to have four grown ups and any children living in it and second that George and Ellen being ‘gone’ was going to be some way in the future as they were both only just 60.

  “What about one of your other properties? Could you evict a tenant and let the young couple live in one of them?”

  “No. It’ll be as I said. They’ll wait till we’re gone.”

  And that was the end of the matter.

  There was nothing more I could do to try to help her.

  Through these early years of the war I would take my mother on a Sunday outing. We would take the bus, which still ran from Birkenhead to West Kirby – the next town along the coast from Hoylake, and spend the afternoon walking along the promenade. Looking at the view across the Dee estuary to the Hilbre Islands and, beyond them, the hills of Wales, it was possible to forget the war and the unhappiness of so many people.

  On the last Sunday of May 1942, as we walked past one of the shelters that were set at regular intervals along the promenade I noticed two people sitting close, deep in conversation, their heads close together. One figure was Arnold Donaldson, not in uniform; the other was a woman I also recognised. She was the daughter of one of George Donaldson’s ‘ladies’, Kathleen McNamara. I had thought her doing war work in the south of England. As I failed to catch any of their conversation I was unsure what to think. Everyone had known they were friendly before the war but it had been assumed the friendship had terminated with his marriage.

  In the office the next day I was told that Alicia had given birth the previous Thursday to a healthy full term son they had called Charles. The gossips, of whom my mother was one, were also pleased to report that the six month long marriage was, to all intents and purposes, over. They had not shared a bed since their honeymoon.

  All this information, and more, had come from the other women in the local cottage hospital who had shared the ward with Alicia as she recovered from the birth. Although it was only gossip I was saddened as I was sure there was more than an element of truth in it.

  Over the next few years there were frequent mentions of the Donaldsons in the local newspapers so I was not dependent upon their infrequent visits to the office to pick up titbits of the happenings in their lives.

  I knew that George Donaldson was donating larger and larger sums to charities and that he was still very active in the local community – no new fire engine or lifeboat could be brought into service without George Donaldson being photographed with it for the newspapers. He really wanted that knighthood or an MBE at the very least.

  I knew that Arnold was elected to the county council and was beginning to cultivate local political parties. A long speech he had made to the League of Nations was printed verbatim, taking up a whole page of the local newspaper in closely printed text.

  There were increasingly frequent photographs of him with Alicia, always described as ‘his young, beautiful, crippled wife’. He was laying down the groundwork for his post-war political career. Even though she did not appear always to be enjoying it, Alicia was playing her part. She never looked well, she was far too thin and she never seemed relaxed in any photograph – other than the ones connected with her dramatics.

  I knew that Alicia had taken up amateur dramatics eventually directing various plays given by the women’s organisations in the area. There were pictures of her in the papers, sometimes, though not often, with a growing Charles and frequently her collaborator, Maureen Shelton.

  I considered that very interesting as Maureen Shelton’s maiden name was McNamara, she was Kathleen McNamara’s elder sister who had been married briefly early in the war. I didn’t think I was the only one who knew of her mother’s relationship with Arnold’s father but I wondered whether Alicia knew of the close connection between the families. Maureen certainly did.

  Every week I scoured the newspapers for mentions and photographs of Alicia and the Donaldsons because, even if Arnold Donaldson had never fallen in love with his wife, I had.

  Chapter Three

  I knew of George’s death through the office, of course, but I also read the reports in the local newspaper:

  “The death occurred on June 27th 1944, of Mr George Donaldson of Hoylake.”

  After detailing his many public roles, his interest in bowls, his generosity to many good causes they concluded:

  “He leaves a widow and one son, Captain Arnold Donaldson, a Liverpool Barrister, who is currently serving with H.M. Forces.”

  No mention for the “Mrs Arnold Donaldson” who had undoubtedly had to shoulder the entire burden of looking after her father-in-law through his illness.

  I saw them often in the weeks that followed. Arnold, on compassionate leave, spent most of his time in his father’s old office sifting through papers – trying to ascertain what his father had left him after all the large donations he had made in the previous year. Arnold must have feared he would have nothing left.

  He need not have worried. As his father’s sole beneficiary he received everything: a business thriving with its wartime contracts and over £250,000 deposited in various bank accounts. In addition there was life insurance, a number of cars and five houses in various locations in Hoylake and West Kirby.

  Until the reading of his father’s will Arnold had known nothing of the cars or the houses. He was shocked at the evidence of his father’s other lives, but he was silenced when he saw that one of the houses that he now owned was the one he visited so regularly, the one where Kathleen lived with her mother. He was not unaware of the implications.

  It was left to the ‘Mrs Arnold Donaldson’ who did not merit a mention in the newspaper article to open all the many letters of condolence addressed to Ellen and to Arnold. They were too upset by their loss to open or reply to them all so it became Alicia’s task to read the more important ones to her mother-in-law, who told her what should be written in reply.

  After reading one of the many letters Alicia walked into the study and wordlessly placed it on the desk in front of Arnold, who was sitting in his father’s chair as if it had always been his. She left through the french windows heading for the bottom of the short garden where Charles was playing in the sandpit. She sat down on the edge and, folding her skirt around her knees, rocked herself backwards and forwards as pieces of various jigsaws fitted together in her mind.

  My Darling Arnold,

  Just a few lines to tell you how dreadfully sorry I am to hear of your indescribable loss.

  I will write more fully in a day or so, as no doubt there are arrangements we must change, but in the meantime I just wanted you to be absolutely certain, for I think you know, that I am always with you in my heart.

  Yours as always and forever,

  Kathleen

  Christmas 1944 was not a merry affair as Ellen had followed her husband to the plot in Trinity Churchyard at the end of November. Arnold had a short leave at Christmas but spent very little time at home with his wife and child.

  Alicia had wanted to start clearing out all the furniture, all the detritus of her parents-in-law’s lives, and make the bungalow feel more of her own but Arnold forbade her. On the last night before leaving he told her they would be moving. He had asked Max Fischer to find him a home more suited to his position.

  Even though he had had no hand in finding it and he would loved to have been able to criticise her choice, Arnold had to admit that Millcourt was the perfect house for the soon-to-be MP and his family.

  It was an imposing property, set well back from the road surrounded by substantial and mature gardens with many trees. It had been solidly built a century before with large blocks of grey stone, now covered by a thick wrapping of ivy and Virginia creeper and which gave it the feeling of being a country house.
/>   The accommodation reflected the more leisured era in which it had been built. Upstairs there were several bedrooms and bathrooms with a separate nursery suite, and in the attics plenty of rooms for the staff. Downstairs, in addition to the usual living and dining rooms there was a billiard room, a library, and an airy conservatory looking out over the gardens, which were mainly down to a large area of lawn enclosed by rhododendrons and rose beds. The kitchens and storage rooms were on a lower ground floor, not impinging on the living area, because the house was built on a slope. Arnold knew that it showed the world he was a man to be reckoned with – far more than the bungalow could ever have done.

  Alicia was happy. Alone with her son for the first time, her time her own, with no demanding, condemning in-laws she threw herself into the task of completely re-furbishing the house. “It’s so dark! So Victorian! I’m going to have such fun!” Alicia was determined to completely refurnish, re-curtain and re-carpet despite the rationing and all the other limitations of wartime.

  I am sure Alicia didn’t appreciate it when Major Fischer asked me to help wherever I could. It was a request I had no difficulty in accepting. I spent most days in those early months of 1945 at Millcourt obtaining workmen and badgering suppliers, setting up meetings with people who would be able to help her. I was fascinated by her, and happily watched her becoming a more confident and happier person as the house was transformed to her taste. I will always remember those three months in early 1945 in so much detail and with such pleasure.

  Years later when I told her how much I had enjoyed helping her when she had been redesigning Millcourt she had said “Were you there? I don’t remember.”

  Arnold, Alicia and Charles moved in in March, well before electioneering began.

  Arnold had been adopted as the Conservative candidate in a neighbouring constituency without any difficulty – his father had always been Conservative and Arnold couldn’t contemplate doing what many of his brother officers, similarly politically ambitious, had done and join the Labour Party. “The nation will not reject the Old Man, I’ll stick with him.” He was confident he would begin the post war period with a new career and never have to deal with ‘the business’, which seemed to tick along quite nicely without him.

  During the short campaign Arnold and Alicia worked together for the only time in their lives. Charles was wheeled out to appeal to the women voter “much better to have the candidate’s baby being kissed by the electorate than having to kiss all those ghastly children myself!” Arnold would repeatedly joke.

  Alicia attended coffee mornings, sat on platforms and shook hands with more people than she hoped ever to meet. As Arnold watched Alicia’s active assistance in meeting Ladies’ groups, even making short speeches – which she obviously really enjoyed and was very good at – he will have felt completely justified in his choice of wife.

  The campaign went well, the canvas returns were excellent and he was confident of success. The night before the election he told his wife his plans for the future.

  “You’ll make a very good constituency wife, Alicia, while I will occupy myself in London. And then the next election, possibly five years time, will be a good time for you to be pregnant again.”

  It was only as he stood at the count, watching pieces of paper piling high for his Labour opponent that he began to face the possibility of failure. Men hustled around him looking busy, avoiding his eye, as he watched all his plans disintegrate, his agent stopped briefly muttering “Sorry old man, no one anticipated the depth of the country’s need for a new start.” How could he be losing? How could he have lost?

  Arnold silently drove his wife and child home.

  “I’m just going to have a bit of a drive. I’ve some thinking to do. Tell Cook I’ll be back for breakfast.”

  Kathleen would help him forget his disappointment.

  Kathleen would help him come to terms with having to stay and run his father’s business.

  He had no excuse not to now.

  Chapter Four

  Some weeks later Arnold had let himself in for his regular Friday evening visit when Kathleen, without warning and before she had even given him his first drink said “I’m expecting your baby, what do you think of that?”

  It took only a very short time for him to recover himself sufficiently to ask her how much it would cost.

  “What a funny question! A lot I should think.”

  “Well let me know how much you need. You should go to London. No-one will know.”

  “What on earth are you talking about Arnold? I’m not moving to London.”

  “Don’t be a fool Kathleen, I’m not talking about moving. You’ll go to London to get rid of it. That’s what women in your situation do isn’t it?”

  She could not answer immediately. She had known he was selfish and self-centred and would think only of his own needs. She had hoped this would not be his reaction and nearly failed to control her temper. She had promised herself she would be calm, but when it came to it she found it very difficult. She took several deep breaths and then slowly, deliberately she answered him.

  “No Arnold, it is most definitely not what women ‘in my situation’ as you so euphemistically put it do. Women have babies, they have children. They do not ‘get rid of them’.”

  She knew that tears were welling up in her eyes but she was determined not to let him see how upset he had made her.

  Arnold was used to having his own way. He had always had his own way. He was not used to being crossed. But even he could see the depths of the emotion Kathleen was trying to control.

  “No, Kathleen, there will be no baby. You must understand that I cannot allow it. And you must know me well enough to know that I am not to be moved by tears.”

  They were still standing in the narrow hallway of Kathleen’s house. The house Arnold had visited so regularly over the years, the house his father had owned. She tried to gain control of the situation by moving into the living room and sitting down. She knew he would follow.

  “How pompous you are Arnold. It is one of your more annoying traits.” After a short awkward pause during which he sat down but said nothing, she continued. “You’re the one that doesn’t understand, you’re the one that doesn’t know me. I am going to have it.”

  “Oh no, my girl, you most certainly are not!”

  “I’m not going to get into an argument, I’m not the pliant young thing I was before the war. I am a far stronger person. You will not be able to bully me, as you undoubtedly do your little wife.”

  “You will not have the child.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. She was not going to show him how upset she was and if she tried to speak she would break down. Eventually he continued “How can you possibly have the child?”

  Again a silence while Kathleen tried to find the right words, eventually her disappointment turned to anger.

  “How can I possibly not have the child, Arnold? I cannot ‘get rid of it’ as you suggest. How little you know me after all this time! It is so stupendously arrogant of you not to care that I am Catholic.”

  “Religion! Who gives anything for religion these days!

  “I do.”

  They were quiet for a time. Arnold poured them both a drink and handed one to Kathleen.

  “You are sure I’m....”

  “Don’t even think about suggesting you are not responsible Arnold Donaldson. You know as well as I that it couldn’t be anyone else’s. This, she patted her stomach, was conceived on the night of the election. A future Prime Minister I would say!”

  “Not if you bring him up a Catholic.”

  Her attempt to lighten the atmosphere had fallen flat, so she changed the subject. She had hoped that she wouldn’t have to talk about his father, but it looked like she had no alternative.

  “Your father didn’t like Catholics did he?”

  “What the hell has he got to do with it?”

  “He didn’t did he? He was quite happy to use them, in hi
s business and his private life,” Arnold let that pass without comment, so she continued, determined to push the point “but he would never have allowed you to marry me would he? He held your purse strings very tight didn’t he? Making sure that you were never independent enough to be able to marry me.”

  “Had I wanted to.”

  “Indeed, even if you, and I, had wanted to.” She paused briefly, he was going to know she had a mind of her own now. “Of course he knew you had visited me in this house, of course he knew why, but he couldn’t say anything openly because of his own activities.”

  “What ‘activities’ would they be?” Arnold was not going to show her how interested he was in the direction the conversation was heading. He had wondered, since the reading of his father’s will, if there was more to the relationship between the McNamaras and the Donaldsons.

  “His women of course Arnold, come on, are you saying you didn’t know?”

  Kathleen was not going to let him guess, she was going to be the one to tell him. “He had his ‘needs’ as well you know and he wasn’t an old man. How old was he when he died 60? 62? That’s no age at all.”

  “It’s just idle gossip at your coffee mornings.

  “I know a little more than just gossip, Arnold, after all he owned this house didn’t he?”

  “Are you saying all those houses were occupied by his mistresses?”

  “Absolutely – his hatred and fear of Catholicism didn’t prevent him ‘visiting’ Catholic women. You might be surprised at how well known your father was around here. And he was far better liked and more discreet than you.”

  “Did he ever visit you here?” It seemed to have occurred to him that Kathleen may have played both generations.

  “Oh Arnold” Kathleen was not going to give him an answer, she needed him to be unsure. “don’t be so pathetic.”

  She had been so disappointed with him for his assumption that she would have a termination she wanted to make him uncertain about something.