‘I’m a relation,’ he was saying. ‘You can read the letter if you want.’
He held it out to her but she didn’t take it. Instead she drew in a deep breath and, gathering herself together, said as she turned the key in the lock, ‘You’d best come in then,’ stepping aside to allow him to enter first, even now wary of sudden attack.
‘How is she holding up?’ he asked as he moved past her.
‘Not very happy,’ she said, not knowing what else to say and still not prepared to tell this stranger how miserable the poor woman had been, listlessly wandering about the house, never venturing out, pining for the young man who had walked out on her, though it wasn’t her business to discuss her employer’s private life with some man she had never met.
‘If you would care to wait here, I’ll get her for you,’ she added, even now standing her ground, intending to keep her eye on him just in case.
Having taken off his trilby he stood in the hall as the woman called out, ‘Mrs Ingleton, someone here to see you.’
He half expected to hear Madeleine call from somewhere in the house that she didn’t wish to see him; never wished to see him again. If only he’d been home when her letter had arrived, but he was in Scotland, having fled there as he’d done once before, years ago when he’d last sought consolation from an old friend. Not that his friend – a man of property, a huge house and land that had been in his family for generations – would know how it felt to have lost one’s business almost overnight, his bank gone, swallowed up in the sudden remorseless collapse of the world economy following the Wall Street crash back in October.
His bank wasn’t the only one. Most small private banks had gone to the wall. Any still going were struggling, desperately calling in debt from those clients no longer able to settle them, companies were closing down, firms going to the wall, thousands were out of work, the unemployed in dole queues around the block with no other course to take.
Some, like his friend, were still buoyant, they with their property, family silver, land. He himself had very little left after settling such debts as he had accrued, wondering how long that would last. He had thought of contacting Madeleine at one time but had then thought better of it, her attitude towards him all those years ago still echoing. Over those years he’d tried to take up with one girl and another but nothing had lasted. Then he arrived home to find her letter sitting on the doormat – he had previously dismissed his staff before running off to Scotland.
At first he’d almost thrown the letter aside in a renewal of anger against her for having walked out on him – and now she needed him, she virtually wanted him to take her back. No, he’d told himself, he would not go and comfort her. She only had herself to blame. All the way here he had told himself that he no longer loved her. But that wasn’t true.
Now he stood in the hall while this woman called out to her employer. What would he have to say to Madeleine when she responded, when they came face to face after all this time? Her letter had been so full of need. But face to face would their meeting develop into a full-scale row as it had done before? He should never have come here. He almost turned to go when he heard her voice. It sounded weak as if she were crying. It was coming from the closed door to the right of the hall.
Madeleine heard Mrs Crossland calling that someone was here to see her, and her relief almost overwhelmed her, making her feel suddenly faint, realizing how near she had come to ending her life. Her strength felt as if it were leaving her as, in a wave of dizziness, she let herself collapse onto the chair she’d only just dragged back from the centre of the room. She leaned forward, closing her eyes in an attempt to control the threatening weakness.
Someone was opening the door, coming into the room, moving towards her. Someone was kneeling at her side, taking her in his arms. She leaned in towards the, oh so solid form, the name forming in her head but not yet reaching her lips: ‘Ronnie…’
A voice whispered urgently against her ear. ‘Maddie, darling, what is it? What’s the matter? Are you ill?’
Not Ronnie’s voice, but Anthony’s. ‘I’m so sorry, my darling, I’ve only just seen your letter. I was away… only just got back… found your letter waiting for me… came as soon as I could. Darling…’
She was dreaming, hardly able to think, found herself clinging to the beloved form that at any minute would dissolve away into nothing. She didn’t want Ronnie. She wanted Anthony – more than she had ever done in her life.
The voice was still whispering urgently in her ear. ‘Maddie, darling, it’s Anthony. Forgive me, darling, I’ve been a fool. I want to marry you. I want us to have a family, settle down…’
There were other words too: ‘Maddie, listen to me. I’m done looking for a good time. I want to settle down… with you, if you’ll have me.’
She was dreaming, the voice continuing, ‘I’ve no money any more. The bank’s gone, but I can find a similar situation in some other bank which is still in business. There are still openings for people like me despite everything and we can start again, you and I. We can have that baby you so wanted. I want it as well. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you. I love you.’
The fainting feeling was receding; strength returning and with it an overwhelming need to cling to him even tighter. Without looking
