The Waiting Time Read online

  THE WAITING TIME...

  THE WAITING TIME...

  Margaret Carr

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available

  This eBook published by AudioGO Ltd, Bath, 2012

  Published by arrangement with the Author

  Epub ISBN 9781445828909

  U.K. Hardcover ISBN 978 1 408 41275 6

  U.K. Softcover ISBN 978 1 408 41276 3

  Copyright © Margaret Carr, 2000

  All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration © iStockphoto.com

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jenny Carson shook the rain from her hair and looked up at the timetable on the noticeboard. Because she was late, the entrance hall of the Humanities Building was nearly empty. Pinned to the pigeon-hole beneath the board was a large note—J. CARSON, CALL AT OFFICE.

  She tapped on the office door and went in.

  ‘Yes?’

  The older of the secretaries scowled at her over the top of her half-lens reading glasses.

  ‘Jenny Carson, there’s a notice on the board for me to call in.’

  ‘Carson, did you say, third year?’

  Jenny nodded. The woman pushed back her chair with a disgruntled sigh and, getting up, moved to the back of the room. Jenny scanned the secretarial lecture rota. The name of one lecturer had been scratched through. Did that mean the lecture was cancelled, or was someone else taking it, Jenny wondered. She was annoyed because her lodgings were six miles away, a bus fare she could barely afford and she’d endured a soaking she would rather have been without. Ella Vane was her favourite tutor and an excellent lecturer which was why she had made the effort to come in today.

  ‘Yes, I thought I’d seen something, here it is,’ the secretary said on her return to the desk.

  The smile stiffened on Jenny’s face as she stretched out a hand for the brown envelope with the distinctive black scrawl emblazoned across it. She pushed the envelope down into the bottom of her damp pocket. It always came to the flat by post. Why suddenly should he take to sending it here? It had been delivered by hand which was even more puzzling.

  She eased the dampness from her shoulders as she tried to catch the secretary’s attention.

  ‘Can you tell me who is taking the secretarial lecture?’

  ‘It’s in Lecture Theatre Two and you’ve missed half of it already. The lecturer is a Mr Ryder Surtees.’

  Jenny stepped backward as the shock hit her like a physical blow.

  ‘Are you all right?’ the secretary enquired, a wary look in her eyes. ‘You girls don’t look after yourselves. Have you had anything to eat today?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Jenny whispered. ‘I think I’ll give the lecture a miss, thank you.’

  Still in a daze she stumbled from the building. Outside the rain had ceased and a sharp wind was keeping it at bay. Jenny shivered. Was there any way she could have misunderstood what the secretary had said? There couldn’t be two men of that name. She took the envelope from the depths of her pocket and straightened it out. The script of old Reginald Surtees, still so strong and defined, like his son’s, stared back at her, no stamp, no address, just her name.

  Three more people jostled in behind her in the bus shelter and she moved up to the front. The first green town bus hissed straight past but the second drew up alongside the shelter and disgorged several people on to the pavement as Jenny stepped aboard. She tripped over someone’s feet on her way down the aisle and as she sank into her seat the cold from the damp anorak seeped into her back.

  At exactly twelve thirty, little Helen Carson burst in through the front door of the flat.

  ‘Mummy, Mummy, guess what? Anna Mitchell is having a party tomorrow and I can go.’

  ‘Can you now!’

  Jenny laughed as she stooped to catch the little girl and swing her up into her arms. The plump woman turning to close the front door caught the look in Jenny’s eyes, above the little girl’s small head, and smiled.

  ‘And Patty says she’ll stay with me, won’t you, Patty?’ the child added.

  Then without waiting for a reply from the older woman the small head tipped to one side and pansy eyes stared into Jenny’s.

  ‘If you can’t come, that is.’

  ‘Well, it just so happens, young lady, that I can come, so what do you think of that?’

  ‘Oh, cool,’ she cried, dancing off as soon as Jenny set her back on her feet.

  ‘You’re back earlier than expected,’ Patty said.

  ‘Yes, the lecture was cancelled and I got a thorough soaking.’

  ‘Umm, you look a bit flushed. Perhaps I should keep tomorrow afternoon free after all just in case you don’t make it to the party of the year.’

  They both started to laugh as Helen danced back into the living-room demanding, ‘What will I wear Mummy, for Anna’s party?’

  After tea there was a great sorting through of Helen’s clothes in an effort to find the proper dress for the forthcoming party. A decision was reached at last and then nothing would do but a bath in Mummy’s best bubble bath.

  The following morning was Saturday and Jenny woke with a niggling headache and the beginnings of a sore throat. She grumbled to herself as she raised her aching limbs from the bed and along the passage to the bathroom.

  ‘Mummy, I can’t find my clean socks.’

  Jenny groaned.

  ‘Just put your jump-suit and slippers on for now. You don’t have to get dressed up until after lunch.’

  Jenny bent down to put the plug in the bath, then straightened up with a hand clutching her forehead. The face in the mirror above the handbasin looked decidedly unpromising. She shook two tablets from a bottle of aspirin and swallowed them with the aid of a glass of water, determined not to let the onset of a cold spoil the day for Helen.

  ‘Anna’s mummy and daddy are very rich and live in a big house with servants. When they lived abroad, Anna had her party in the garden but it’s too cold here. Her daddy has just come back from ’merica and he brought her a cool doll, nearly as tall as she is. Her name is Irma.’

  The little voice went on and on as Jenny tied her plaits with toggles.

  ‘I told her my daddy worked abroad as well and that he hadn’t been home for ages, but we have a photograph of him, don’t we Mummy, so I’ll know him when he comes home.’

  They even made it on the bus with the little voice prattling on! Jenny’s heart sank for she had never plucked up the courage to tell her daughter the truth about the picture she had found one day in one of Jenny’s drawers. The bus put them down in Chester Gardens and they walked slowly along the road of large, detached houses looking for the name of Anna’s house.

  The drive of the house called Greenacres was blocked solid with cars as was the kerb alongside the entrance. Jenny and Helen threaded their way past the cars and arrived on the doorstep just as the door was opened by a thin girl in a white apron. The girl put out a complaining cat and shooed it off before inviting mother and daughter inside. Relieved of their coats they were met by a plump five-year-old who immediately took Helen off to meet Irma, the doll.

  Jenny hesitated in the hall then followed them into the room where the noise of other children could be heard. A girl in a grey and white overall came up to Jenny, smiling.

  ‘Hello, there. The nannies are next door. Helen will be quite all right with us. You go off and have a cup of tea and a chat.’

  Jenny backed out, too shy to admit to being a mother and not a nanny. A room full of gossiping nannies did not appeal and she wondered if she could safely leave and come back later. She looked around for the girl in the apron but she had disappeared. Well, she couldn’t leave without finding out what time the party was due to break up. Jenny walked towards the next doo
r down the hall and opened it.

  The chatter stilled and a cheery voice called, ‘There’s a seat over here.’

  ‘Thank you, but I’m not staying. Could you please tell me what time the party is expected to break up?’

  Her question startled the room full of women, then the cheery girl spoke again.

  ‘Oh, well, about four I should think.’

  She glanced around the room for confirmation and there was a low rustle of murmured agreement.

  As Jenny walked away from the house the worries about the reappearance of Ryder Surtees in her life surged once more to the fore. There had been nothing but the usual monthly cheque in the envelope from Mr Surtees senior, everything exactly as it always was except that it had been delivered by hand to the college.

  Sitting in a café with a cooling cup of coffee before her Jenny noticed a local newspaper lying on the vacant chair next to her. Perhaps there was something in the paper about the lectures, Jenny thought, for after all he was a name to be reckoned with now. Sure enough, on the fifth page there was a large advertisement about a series of lectures to be given at the college by the well known Literary Critic, Ryder Surtees. The series was to consist of twice-weekly lectures over the following four weeks. Jenny let go a sigh of relief. Only four weeks, if she could avoid him for the next month this terrible threat from her past would be over.

  There were eight weeks to go before the beginning of her finals at which time her allowance from Reginald Surtees would end. Until then, however, she would have to tread very carefully. She could allow nothing to endanger her plans. She glanced at her watch. It was still only three o’clock and it would take no more than ten minutes to walk back to the house in Chester Gardens. She picked up the paper and began to read. The local news was not startling until she reached the back page and glanced at the obituaries.

  When her head cleared and she read again the name at the top of the first column her whole body was shaking so hard she couldn’t trust herself to fold the paper and put it out of sight. Reginald Surtees was dead! This was what had brought Ryder home.

  Her headache throbbed with every foot she put to the pavement as she made her way back to collect Helen. Limbs that had dully ached this morning now cracked stiffly and her throat felt red raw and dry as sawdust. With her mind so clouded with problems she nearly walked passed the house. Nannies with their charges were spilling out of the front door and into the waiting cars. A tall, expensively-dressed woman some ten years Jenny’s senior stepped forward as she entered the hall.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Carson, I am so sorry you were mistaken for a nanny. I do hope you will forgive us. We had no idea you were bringing Helen yourself. Please accept our apologies.’

  Jenny took the proffered hand and smiled.

  ‘Is Helen ready?’ she asked, searching the hall for her daughter’s face.

  ‘Of course, she’s in the conservatory with Anna. Your daughter was very taken with a friend of ours who stopped by for tea.’

  Jenny was following Anna’s mother through the house when Mrs Mitchell asked, ‘Have you heard of Ryder Surtees?’

  Jenny froze.

  ‘He and my husband were colleagues in America.’

  She turned round when she realised Jenny was no longer behind her. ‘Is something wrong, Mrs Carson?’

  ‘No, I’m in rather a hurry though so if you could just tell Helen.’

  The woman gave her a curious glance then, turning back to the door at the far end of the hall, called the girls. Helen was flushed but silent as she came into the hall and took hold of Jenny’s hand.

  ‘Say thank you, Helen,’ Jenny reminded her. ‘Thank you very much for the party.’ ‘My pleasure,’ Mrs Mitchell murmured, then turning to her daughter said, ‘Show your friend out, dear.’

  The journey home was quiet. When they entered the flat and Jenny had switched on the fire and hung up their coats, Helen was still quiet. Jenny began to worry that there was more than just tiredness involved.

  ‘Is something wrong, Helen?’ she asked, sitting down in an armchair and pulling the little girl on to her lap. ‘Didn’t you enjoy the party?’

  ‘Ye-es.’

  ‘Was someone nasty to you?’

  ‘No-o.’

  ‘Then what is it, darling?’ Jenny persisted.

  ‘Mummy.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When is Daddy coming home?’

  Jenny bit down hard on a trembling lip and tried to smile. The time had come when she was least ready for it.

  ‘Helen, Daddy isn’t coming home. When he went to America, he and Mummy decided that his work was too important for him to stay with us any more so he lives on his own now.’

  There was a frown between her daughter’s fine brows.

  ‘Where does he live then?’

  Jenny was surprised by the question.

  ‘Well, in a hotel I suppose.’

  ‘Which hotel?’

  ‘I don’t know, why?’

  Helen wriggled off her knee and stood facing her with a look that saw right through her and dared her to tell anything but the truth. The firm lines of the mouth that the baby bow shape could not disguise and the straight stare that were all Ryder’s were turned on her in full force.

  ‘I saw my daddy today.’

  Helen ran off and came back with the snapshot from her bedside table.

  ‘Is this my daddy?’

  Jenny drew a tight breath.

  ‘Yes.’

  Helen beamed.

  ‘I knew he was my daddy. Anna said he wasn’t ’cause he didn’t have a wife and he looks a little bit different.’

  Jenny took hold of her daughter’s thin shoulders.

  ‘Helen, did you speak to the man?’

  ‘No, he was going away. Anna’s mummy said not to bother him.’

  She started to sob and Jenny at a loss for words pulled her close.

  Later that night Jenny sat in front of the electric fire, a glass of whisky and hot lemonade in her hands, trying to work out how she could complete the last eight weeks of study without the help of Reginald Surtees’ cheques. She had been putting money by to cover a possible time lapse between leaving college and taking up full-time employment and she didn’t want to have to dip into this fund. Perhaps a part-time job if she could fine one. Patty lived in the ground floor flat and would always babysit which was a great help.

  There was the possibility, of course, that the remaining two cheques would be covered by the estate. That depended upon who it was handling his affairs. The real problem, she reflected wearily, was how soon the knowledge of these payments would filter back to Ryder and what would happen when they did. How would he react when he discovered his father had been paying for the education of the wife he had ditched when a lucrative job had been dangled under his nose. He would have to be stupid not to put two and two together, Jenny thought, worrying at her bottom lip, and stupid was one thing Ryder Surtees was not.

  On Monday morning, Jenny took Helen to nursery school before calling around at a fellow student’s flat. Tim had been a great help to her in the past and was a loyal friend.

  ‘I wonder if you have the programme for the Surtees’ lectures,’ she asked him as she pushed passed him in the hall.

  He was still in his dressing-gown with a bacon sandwich in one hand while the other hand tried to flatten his spiky hair.

  ‘Sure, I have it around somewhere. Why don’t you look for it while I get dressed?’

  Jenny nodded and started searching through piles of books and leaflets scattered across the table and several chairs.

  ‘The first one was great,’ he called through the open doorway, ‘but I don’t remember seeing you there on Friday.’

  ‘No, I didn’t go. I’m trying to steer clear of the college until I get rid of this cold.’

  She found what she wanted as Tim came back into the room. ‘Staying for a coffee?’ he asked.

  ‘Umm, thanks, I might as well.’

  ‘How’s th
ings?’

  ‘I’m looking for a part-time job actually, so tell me if you hear of anything.’

  Tim smiled, shaking his head at the same time.

  ‘You’re a funny thing. Why wait until the run-up to the finals to want a job?’

  ‘My uncle died, so the allowance will probably stop.’

  Tim had always been led to believe in the tale of the rich uncle and his face twisted with sympathy now.

  ‘Well, I’ll keep my eyes and ears open and if I hear anything I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Thanks, Tim.’

  ‘Will Patty babysit for you?’

  ‘I haven’t asked her yet, but it should be all right.’

  ‘Well, if I can be of any use, just whistle.’

  It was nearly two weeks before a clerking job in a small building firm became vacant and Jenny was settling in nicely when Helen broke her arm at nursery school.

  Jenny was working round the clock now with study, housework, part-time job and a fractious little girl to look after. She could feel the stress building up inside her and was powerless to do anything about it. The cold that had never really cleared lay on her chest for too long. She became so tired that even when Helen went back to school she couldn’t ease up for fear of losing her grip on reality altogether and retiring to bed never to rise again.

  She went into college as little as possible and in the time since Helen had mentioned him, she had neither seen nor heard from Ryder Surtees.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jenny’s project was scattered all over the floor one evening when the doorbell rang, and she found Tim on the doorstep. ‘May I come in?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure,’ Jenny said, stepping backward. ‘I’m not quite with it, I’m afraid. I’m in the middle of some work.’

  Tim strode passed her into the living-room.

  ‘Watch your feet,’ she warned, as Tim found himself a spare armchair and sat down.

  ‘Won’t you take your coat off?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not staying, Jenny. I only stopped by to let you know what great lectures you were missing.’

  ‘The Surtees’ lectures?’