The Last Dance Read online

  “Max she is leaving tomorrow with the others.”

  “Thank you, George. Thank you.”

  All I had to do was persuade her to go.

  What would she think of England? Would it be a better life for her? She spoke very little English so what could she do? But they were problems for the future, first I had to get her to England and to safety.

  It was surprisingly easy to persuade her. She was happy to go where I suggested, I believe she had come to trust me.

  Chapter Ten

  Alicia had been reaching the end of her tether.

  I was becoming increasingly involved in the Donaldson’s affairs as Max delegated more and more to me. Four times it had been necessary for me to extract them from contracts they had taken out with Domestic Agencies because a nanny was unsuitable. I only learned later why she was becoming increasingly desperate to find a settled Nanny who would remain in the position for some time, years even.

  It was Max who persuaded Alicia to accept someone who hadn’t been formally trained, who didn’t have the right certificates and wear the correct uniform. He persuaded her to make compromises and take on an untrained nanny, someone who came with a personal recommendation even if they had no formal qualifications. He encouraged them to accept someone who needed the position as much as she needed a nanny for the children.

  People said in those two years since Susannah’s birth that Alicia had stayed with her unloved and unloving husband for the sake of appearances. Elections had come and gone and she had been the dutiful wife; she had supported Arnold at the company’s Christmas dinner dances, smiled prettily while she presented prizes at sports days and made tactful speeches at retirement parties.

  But I suspected that the main reason she had stayed was that she had nowhere to go.

  It was obvious to anyone who cared for her that she was desperate, with good reason. Everything she had wanted to be she could not be. She couldn’t dance because of the accident; she couldn’t be involved in the theatre, apart from local amateur dramatics, because of her ‘position’ as Arnold’s wife. She felt the last decade had been one of unremitting loss and failure. Such high hopes she had had when she was 18 had all crumbled. Then she could have done anything, gone anywhere she wanted to. Act, sing – whatever she turned her mind to she had done well. Then came the accident, the war, Arnold and the children.

  She had escaped her parents. She had broken free of that drudgery, but she hadn’t expected things to get so much worse.

  She had no money of her own and had no way of supporting herself. She couldn’t return to her parents, they had opposed her marriage in the first place. A reason had to be found to allow her to escape, a reason good enough to ensure Arnold would have to continue to pay for all her needs as she would have no other means of support. It had taken time for her to come up with a foolproof reason with which Arnold could not argue.

  She had never been well since the accident and the war munitions work, and then after Susannah’s birth she had been very ill. She visited various specialists. Her depression was not taken seriously as such a condition was common in young mothers; but the fact that she was always in pain, that was more difficult to tie down. Recently she had been feeling increasingly poorly. She was always coughing. The family Doctor, concerned that it was something serious, had arranged for more tests.

  They decided it could be TB.

  She decided it was.

  It was arranged for her to spend some time in a sanatorium in Switzerland while her condition was evaluated. She could get all the rest she needed to regain some strength and recover from the past years. She would also get excellent care and treatment of the TB, if indeed that was what ailed her.

  But she had no intention of ever returning.

  It was with an air of finality that Alicia broke the after dinner silence the day before Susannah’s second birthday party.

  “I don’t think I’ll be coming back, after Switzerland.”

  “No? And why would that be?”

  “I think I would be happier not.”

  She had planned the conversation in her mind. She was going to tell him as little as possible of what she had planned.

  “You think you would be happier not.” He quoted back to her. “And just how are you going to live – or needn’t I ask?”

  Determined not to rise to the bait she continued with her script. “You are going to support me. You will pay me a regular allowance and I will stay out of your way.”

  “And just why would I do that?”

  “Because if you don’t agree I will tell everyone I know that Carl Witherby is your son.”

  He had no answer to that. Impropriety such as that would end his political career just as it was beginning to buck up again.

  “Pay me a generous allowance indefinitely. I’ll stay quiet and out of your way for as long as you like.”

  She carried on, knowing she held the advantage.

  “The new nanny will have to work out, she can do other work around the house as well as look after the children. Max says she’s very willing. Cook will help out and if necessary you can always hire someone else. Charles is nearly old enough to go away to school and his sister can go in a couple of years. You can get on with your life. They shouldn’t get in your way.”

  Arnold wasn’t going to argue with an arrangement that would suit him equally well.

  “I’ll talk to Max.”

  “I have already. He has drawn up some papers and requires you only to fill in the sum and sign.”

  He nodded at her in acceptance of the fait accompli. He would be free to pursue his interests and a young wife in a sanatorium would be good for the sympathy vote.

  On the afternoon of her birthday Susannah was joined in the nursery by her mother and father, her brother, Max Fischer’s daughter Veronica, the five children of other members of the cricket team, and, of course, Carl with Kathleen and Henry. Alicia watched the children playing their games, organised by Kathleen who dictated to everyone as though she were already the lady of the house.

  But it didn’t worry Alicia – she had found her way out.

  So it was that, two days after the party, I delivered Monika to the Donaldsons. It was the first Monday in September 1948.

  It was also the day Alicia left home.

  Chapter Eleven

  About a week later neither Susannah nor Charles would eat. They both started coughing; a slight, irritating, hacking cough which would not go away. Carl was the same.

  “I’m so worried” Kathleen told Arnold on his next evening visit. “He’s just not himself, he’s not eating and that cough just won’t go away.”

  “I will get the doctor.”

  “Don’t you think I already have? He says it could be something he picked up, possibly a touch of bronchitis, though he did say that was odd for this time of year. Carl isn’t like Susannah, though. He doesn’t get every illness that’s going around. How is she, by the way?”

  “Ill, as usual. Probably picked up the same bug. The new woman, hardly more than a girl I’d say, hardly up to her responsibilities, hasn’t asked for a doctor yet, as far as I know. I’ll make sure she does.”

  The next day he called Monika to him in his study.

  “I hear that Susannah and Charles are not well.”

  “No, sir, they are quite poorly. They will not eat, Sir.”

  “Have you called Dr Protheroe?”

  “Yes Sir, he came this morning.”

  “Why was I not told?”

  “You told me not to worry you with the nursery, Sir. You said I must not tell you every time the Doctor visited.”

  He was not, it was true, normally interested in nursery business, but if they had the same as Carl…

  “What did he say? Is it anything to worry about?”

  Monika had been with the Donaldsons for such a short time. She did not know how out of character this questioning was.

  “He will be back tomorrow in the morning. You will want t
o talk to him?” It was a question.

  “Yes. Yes, of course. I will want to talk to him.”

  Whereas Monika had not known her employer, Arnold Protheroe did. He had been the family doctor for years.

  “Why the interest Arnold? You usually couldn’t care a dicky bird what went on in the nursery. When Susannah had that nasty do with measles last winter you didn’t even visit her, let alone want to talk to me.”

  Arnold had already thought that this question might be put to him and he had his answer ready, looking away to hide his emotion he said very quietly “But now Alicia is not here.”

  “Of course, dear boy. How silly of me. Of course it is all down to you with Alicia away. Have you heard from her yet? I know she will get the very best of care, it is a very good establishment.”

  “No I haven’t heard. Now, what about the children?”

  “I believe they may have Pertussis, that is the whooping cough. We must get your new nanny, who by the way appears to be very competent for a foreigner, we must get her to keep a good eye on them and let me know if there is any change in the character of the cough.”

  “Is there anything else she should look out for?”

  “Indeed there is, but I am sure she can deal with it – she seems very young but also she seems capable, very capable and the children do seem to like her.”

  “She is young, Arnold, also inexperienced, not to mention any slight problems there may be over the language. Tell me what you are going to tell her so that I can make sure she understands.”

  “Vomiting, mucus, that sort of thing. And, of course, the loud ‘whoop’ at the end of each coughing fit.”

  “Fit?” Arnold was alarmed

  “Coughing fit, Arnold, coughing fit. Not a fit as such. But we must be careful, we must watch for signs of any worsening.”

  “Such as?”

  “Pneumonia, any signs of deafness.”

  “That bad?”

  “Yes Arnold, I would not be playing fair with you if I did not tell you that if it is pertussis it can be very dangerous.”

  “How dangerous?”

  “Indeed, Arnold, in many many cases it is frequently fatal, and I should add not only amongst the poorer in society where the poor mites don’t get proper treatment. Young Veronica Fischer is desperately ill with this dreadful illness as we speak. It is a dreadful disease.” He paused, he knew there was nothing to help Veronica now and that she would probably not survive the week. “I will go up now. Do you have any other questions?”

  “No, but thank you for being so frank.”

  By the time Dr Protheroe had reached the nursery Arnold was in his car driving to Kathleen and Carl.

  “Is he any better?”

  “No Arnold, the cough mixture I have been giving him makes no difference, he is coughing much much more, and he has been sick several times now.”

  “I don’t want to worry you, my dear, but it could be very serious. It is very likely to be whooping cough. We must take very great care of him.”

  Without consulting Henry they arranged to take Charles to Millcourt where they could all stay and Nanny could look after him with her other patients. This was not so unusual, when Susannah had had the measles earlier in the year Carl had stayed at Millcourt for two weeks to make sure he caught it too, to ‘get it over with’.

  When he heard what had been arranged Henry couldn’t thank Arnold enough for all his help at such a difficult time. Kathleen and Henry moved into the spare wing and she spent all day every day with her son. She talked to Dr Protheroe every morning and made sure that Monika knew what to do. It was very hard work for Monika, up throughout the night, night after night, with the demands of three young and frightened children, especially with an over-anxious mother under her feet all the time checking up on her. But she knew the children were very ill, and she knew she had to help them.

  After a week Charles was being sick a little less often, his coughing spasms were a little shorter. It was not long before he was up and about helping Monika to look after the younger children. He liked her. She talked to him as if he were a grown up.

  But whooping cough has to run its course and it was the end of October before Henry and Kathleen could move back home and another week after that before Susannah was out of her bed.

  The ‘little infirmary’ in Millcourt had been lucky. Max Fischer’s daughter Veronica, along with a great many young children that year, did die.

  Charles had few memories of his earliest years when he had lived with his mother and grandparents in the tiny bungalow. When the war ended and they moved to the big house he never saw much of his parents. Cook had looked after him, feeding him fresh bread and home made lemonade in the warm kitchen but then Susannah had arrived. There had been a sequence of nannies who he never bothered to get fond of as he knew they’d leave if he did. He had grown up looking, observing, listening and keeping out of the way of adults. He felt unwanted and unloved. From his earliest memories he had no one who cared about him – until Monika.

  Although the two younger children had no memories of their illness Charles remembered those weeks for the rest of his life. It was the beginning of a relationship that would last for many years. Charles transferred all his love to his new Nanny. She would smile at him, a big round smile in her round face, when she noticed he was looking at her. He loved the smell of her hair, always carefully tied in a bun behind her neck. She was always warm and he loved it when she gave him hugs to thank him for being a good helpful little boy.

  He was nearly seven now. Not so young in many ways.

  To him it was simple. His mother didn’t love him and Monika did. His mother had left him and he knew his new nanny mustn’t leave as the others had.

  She must never leave.

  Chapter Twelve

  I drove Alicia to the station. It was a convenient arrangement as I had been dropping off Monika and I had some papers for her to sign that gave Arnold power of attorney over her affairs and complete control over the children in her absence abroad. There were other papers Max had included which I hadn’t had a chance to read through.

  She asked me to set up a bank account for the allowance and gave me a contact address. She asked me never to let Arnold have it. Wherever she was, she said, anything sent to that address would always reach her.

  The address was Max Fischer’s.

  She was a much nicer person when she wasn’t with Arnold. There were times when I saw her being a real bitch that I wondered why I cared about her so much, but then she had so many reasons for acting so badly. She was always absolutely polite and quite friendly towards me, if more distant than I would have liked, but on this journey she was also quite talkative. Had I ever been to Switzerland? Why did I put up with the way Arnold treated me now I was being promoted in the firm and even talked of as a future partner? How much she was looking forward to being better and having some energy again.

  Alicia spent two days in London before taking the train to Paris. She stayed at Claridge’s, had lunch with a friend in the River Room at the Savoy. She bought some new clothes at Jaeger and at Fortnum & Mason. She spent some time in Hatchards choosing some books and arranging for them to be shipped to the sanatorium.

  I knew all this two days later when the bills arrived at the office, the one from Hatchards with a lovely letter from the manager saying how much he hoped she would enjoy the books and what a pleasure it had been to spend the afternoon with her. I also received a letter from her thanking me for driving her to the station.

  She was, indeed, a different person when not with Arnold.

  I received several letters from Alicia over the next five years. There was no regular pattern, perhaps she wrote to me when she had no one else to write to. She wrote as if to a friend though there was very little that was personal in any of them.

  I have, at last, written to Elizabeth F, she is rather difficult to write to because I really don’t know her, and yet one must write at such a time. It must be horrid to lo
se a child so young.

  She hadn’t asked about Charles and Susannah.

  I have not heard a word from any of my devoted friends.

  I think she meant Maureen, though perhaps she included anyone who had been involved with her dramatics.

  On Monday I have to register at the gendarmerie as I have been here over three months. If I don’t I shall probably be put in jail or something. Registration I might add costs 20 francs. Some racket!

  Her sense of humour occasionally showed through the self pity that was the main content of her letters.

  At the moment I seem much less at sixes and sevens with myself, and much less agitated. I think I may, at last, have accepted some of my limitations.

  I did notice a development in her letters, a development towards a detachment from her life in the Wirral.

  Have I been here a year now? I’m not quite certain of the date.

  The second half of the century! I frequently wonder where we shall all be in 50 years time, don’t you? Shall it be worth living in – this Brave New World of ours?

  She had begun to be more philosophical in her outlook.

  I have been much interested in the elections – it looks like the old man will return. I hope he does the country justice. Whoever it is has a great responsibility.

  I am acquiring a peace of mind which I have been woefully lacking for some considerable time.

  She was beginning to look at things beyond herself.

  Seven years, seven dreadful years, but only seven. The past is the past and I will have nothing to do with it. I have the future now.

  Perhaps she had gained from her experiences.

  But she never mentioned her children.

  When I asked her some years after why she had written to me she said it was because she felt sorry for me. I had always seemed so lonely.

  I think it was, perhaps, that she was keeping her options open, keeping a lifeline to her old life. Just in case.

  In early 1952, after I hadn’t received a letter for many months, two letters and a postcard arrived at the same time.