Lucy
But it was imperative that she saw Richard.
Ever since the event, she’d expected invitations to meet agents and theatre directors, all the things Richard and Metcalf had promised. She’d performed well, hadn’t she, done what she had to do? Metcalf had even slipped her some money to help her out for the time being.
But now there was only silence.
Quietly, she eased open the door.
Dimly lit and scented with Richard’s aftershave, the space was immediately comforting. The sight of his leather holdall beside the bed lit her heart – if his bag were here, it meant he would be here sooner or later. Beside it was a pile of magazines, that book, The Catcher in the Rye, still unread.
She sat on the bed, remembering the na?ve, mousy girl she’d been all those months ago.
How much she’d grown! Yet instead of holding her chin up, she found herself slumping back onto the bed, curling into the same position as before, trying to recapture an essence of who she’d been – maybe even trying to turn back time itself, make everything different.
It had been difficult to set aside Miranda’s words, her dislike of Richard.
But Miranda was, after all, a bit of an oddball.
Didn’t she find most men objectionable? The fact that Richard was married could be true.
He’d never actually denied being married, had he?
His wife was probably one of those dull upper-class ladies who never liked any fun.
It was no wonder he needed a special friend like Lucy.
However, there was one growing concern that she wasn’t able to overlook.
The increasing worry that she might be pregnant.
At first, she’d shoved it to the back of her mind, but after a few weeks, the slight changes to her body started to show, her stomach upset for most of the day.
She knew Richard wouldn’t be happy about the pregnancy.
Especially since he was married.
If she were honest, that’s why Miranda’s news about Richard’s wife had shifted the rug from underneath her. Something inside her – something so na?ve she could barely admit it even to herself – had imagined he would want their child, that he would marry her.
However, in this new light, she felt silly, the country girl caught out.
The sound of the door made her stir, and she sat up to see Richard, who glanced at her quickly before retreating into the corridor, the sound of muffled voices indicating that he was speaking to someone else.
It was probably Morris, she thought to herself, and she blushed hotly at what he must think of her.
Maybe she shouldn’t have come.
But now she heard Morris walk away, Richard hovering outside the door.
Did he need to think about what he would say to her?
Did he even want her there?
After a moment or two, the door opened, and in he came, the smile on his face a little worn as he sat beside her on the bed. ‘What are you doing here, darling? Isn’t it too risky for you to be here at this time of day?’
‘I thought you’d be pleased to find me here. I wanted to see you, to talk.’
But he got up, turned to the desk. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t have much time today, darling.
’ Something about his tone wasn’t as congenial as usual.
He strode to the drinks cabinet and poured two Scotches, handing her one.
‘But don’t despair, I have a lovely adventure coming up for you.
Another member of the Lunch Club has connections with the Festival Hall, no less.
’ He raised his eyebrows tantalizingly, as if it were an exciting opportunity.
But something inside Lucy deflated. Would it be just another man to seduce her?
She took a gulp of whisky. ‘Did you hear from Metcalf? He said he would introduce me to a producer, get me some auditions.’
‘I’m sure he’ll look into it. I gave you the money from him, didn’t I?’ He felt for his wallet, probably a natural reaction.
Lucy nodded, thinking of her new blue shoes, gloves and handbag to go with the dress that wouldn’t fit for much longer.
But Richard opened his wallet and folded a note into one hand, then reached forward to tuck it into the pocket of her dress. ‘And here’s a little extra from me.’
Suddenly, she wanted to take it out, throw it at him, explain that she wasn’t there for the money. Weren’t they friends, special friends?
But she knew she had to tread carefully. ‘There’s something else I need to tell you.’
He looked up, eyebrows raised, happy to help, and she knew this could be the last cordial moment they had together before the truth came crashing down.
‘I’m pregnant.’ The words, now loose in the room, hovered between them as she watched his face slowly absorb the information.
When he spoke, his voice was calm, measured. ‘I thought you said that you had that covered?’ He leaned back into the sofa, making himself at home. Yet by doing so, he was distancing himself from her, letting her carry the seriousness of the situation while he remained nonchalant.
‘I don’t think I understood what you meant.’ She took another sip of Scotch only to find her glass empty.
He didn’t refill it.
There was a moment of silence, slight confusion on his face, before he said, ‘Well, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it.’
‘You’re the father,’ she said, as if that settled matters.
‘Am I?’ He scooped up the documents that he’d put on the sofa.
‘Of course you are!’ She felt a cold chill run through her veins. ‘And I thought you’d marry me, only’ – she paused, saying in a quieter voice – ‘I heard that you’re already married.’
‘That’s right. I’m married.’ He sighed, lazily getting to his feet. ‘Which, I believe, brings our conversation to a close.’
But Lucy sat frozen where she was, unable to understand what was happening.
‘I th-thought we were special friends.’
‘We are – or rather, we were. I seem to think that you, by regrettable circumstances, have brought that lovely alliance to an end.’
He walked leisurely to the door, indicating that she should do likewise.
‘But I didn’t do it on purpose.’ There was a catch in her throat, and she tried to ignore it, think of Miranda, how she would power through. ‘And you were part of it, too. You have to help me.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m afraid, since we’re not married, you are not my responsibility.’
And it was these words, delivered with a kind of amused indifference, that broke her.
Unstoppable tears came to her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands. ‘But what am I going to do?’
Something inside him gave, and he put his arm around her with an audible sigh. ‘You should have been more prepared, to be honest, but now you’re in this situation, you have two choices. Either go home to your mother and have the child adopted or get rid of it.’
‘Get rid of it?’
‘Have an abortion.’
She pulled away to look at him. ‘But isn’t that illegal?’
‘Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get one.’
Lucy had heard about places like that. There had been a girl from Cornwall who’d died after travelling to Bristol for a backstreet abortion. Of course, Lucy herself had never imagined that she’d ever be in so low a situation.
Yet here she was.
She turned to grab his arm, to beg him to give her another option – an option she knew didn’t exist.
But he shrugged her away, returning to the door.
‘I think it’s time you left, Lucy.’ His tone had changed, sombre and upright. ‘I think this is a matter for your family, your mother. You need to go home to Cornwall.’
‘But Cornwall isn’t my home – it isn’t where I belong.’ She rushed up to him, pleading. ‘My mother would cast me out once and for all.’ She began to cry. ‘I have no family, just you.’
He gave her a close-lipped smile. ‘Now, I think we both know we were never family, were we?’ He heaved an impatient sigh. ‘It was lovely knowing you, Lucy, and now it’s time for you to go.’
He opened the door, and she had no other option than to leave. Everything that could be asked of him had been gently but firmly thrown back at her, almost as if he had been through it before.
As she stood in the corridor, the door closing coldly behind her, she took a deep breath of the rich, perfumed halls, knowing that this was the end of everything.
ON THE WAY HOME, Lucy stopped at the telephone box, weighing the change in her hands. She hadn’t called her mother since she’d arrived, determined that the next time they spoke it would be with news of her stardom or, she winced, a proposal from Richard.
When her mother answered, Lucy got to the point. ‘I need to come home.’
Lucy had forgotten the sharp tone in her mother’s voice, saved specially for her. ‘No, Lucy, this isn’t the place for you.’
‘You have to help me. I don’t have anywhere left to turn.’ Lucy couldn’t help the panic in her voice, tears streaming down her face. ‘I’m in trouble, pregnant.’
But her mother was distracted by voices in the background, her stepfather asking who it was on the phone. Hoarsely, she whispered into the phone, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you.’
‘Please, Mum. Ask Stan, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He always liked me.’
Only that seemed to be the last straw, and she whispered, ‘Don’t come back here, Lucy, for all our sakes,’ and then she hung up.
As she stood in the phone box, Lucy had never felt so alone.
IT WAS SURPRISINGLY EASY to get the name of someone who could give her an abortion. The woman at the launderette was always discreet, and she gave Lucy a number. ‘He used to be a doctor. I heard he’s as reliable as you get with these things.’
Lucy’s jaw clenched with determination as she went back to the telephone box and made an appointment for the next morning. She would have to go to the palace to pick up her pay, and then she’d claim a headache and hurry back for the appointment.
She didn’t want to beg Richard for money. No doubt it would be attached to other favours. She shuddered at what she’d let him do to her, how foolish she’d been.
She’d get through this on her own.
The next day, as she knocked on the door of a run-down house on the edge of Camden, she tried to distance herself from reality. How low she’d become, how desperate.
But it wasn’t until she wandered home afterward that she realized how complicated the procedure had been. The drugs were wearing off, and a cramping pain forced her to stop every few steps, doubling over as she collapsed onto various benches or steps.
When she’d imagined this journey, she thought that she’d feel relief, set free from her predicament.
Yet all she felt was grubby, immoral, and emptied out.
The world had shown her what it thought of her: a worthless hussy, foolish enough to let flattery and the delusion that she could be a singer lead her to hurt herself in so many ways.
And what now? She couldn’t go back to the palace, not with Richard there. And she couldn’t face Betty and Miranda after all they’d said about him. It turned out they weren’t jealous after all, and she couldn’t bear to think about how she’d talked down to them.
On the way, she bought some aspirin from a chemist. Once she got home she could take them to help her forget, to make the pain go away.
If only they could make everything go away.