Forgotten Child. Kitty Neale
Jenny wasn’t there, however, and the head librarian was displeased that she hadn’t arrived yet. Edward and Delia left and stood outside again, waiting on the wide steps for another half-hour, but by then Edward knew they were clutching at straws. Jenny wouldn’t have been this late on her first day at work.
‘Come on, Delia, she’s not going to show. We might as well go home.’
‘But Jennifer was so excited about working in the library. I don’t understand. Why didn’t she turn up?’
‘I should think it’s obvious. She doesn’t want to be found.’
‘There must be some way of tracing her.’
‘How, Delia?’ snapped Edward. ‘She’s probably in another area, or perhaps has even left London. Unless Jenny gets in touch with us, we don’t stand a chance.’
Delia was quiet as they drove home and Edward’s mind was churning. Surely Jenny would know how worried he was and he would hear from her soon?
Edward clung to that thought, unaware that it would be a long, long time before he had any news of his daughter…or that it would come from an unexpected source.
Summer passed and it was now close to Christmas, the weather outside cold, though in the café Jenny was hot and perspiring as she worked. She was up to her elbows in soapy water, her hair damp, stringy and clinging to her face. She glanced across at Tina to see that her friend wasn’t faring any better.
Tina became aware that Jenny was looking at her, and hissed, ‘We’ve stuck it out since August, but I ain’t taking much more of this.’
‘I feel the same, but we have to find new jobs first.’
‘That’s easier said than done. Look at the pair of us. We look like bleedin’ ragamuffins and no wonder we ain’t fit to be seen out front.’
Jenny knew Tina was right. They were scruffy, their hair a mess and faces bare of make-up. What they still needed was a new look, but what with paying the rent along with feeding the gas and electric meters, there was little left over from their small wage. At least they got a meal when they were working, and Jenny had developed a taste for Italian food as a consequence. The chef was temperamental though, and everyone knew when he was in a mood, all keeping their heads down.
If they wanted to find new jobs, Jenny knew there was only one thing to do, but she was loath to break into what was left of her savings. Even if she did, it wouldn’t stretch far, but now, thinking about Susan, she had an idea. Their downstairs neighbour was a mine of useful information about the Chelsea scene and it was worth a shot.
‘Tina, let’s have a word with Sue when we finish our shift. She might be able to help.’
‘With what?’
‘She may be able to point us in the direction of some decent second-hand clothes shops.’
‘Gawd, we weren’t well off when I lived at home, but at least I didn’t have to wear other people’s cast-offs.’
‘I know, but if we can just smarten ourselves up enough to go for interviews, we’d stand a better chance of finding decent jobs.’
‘I don’t pay you to chit-chat. Get on with your work!’
Jenny’s face flamed, hoping Mr Cane hadn’t heard their conversation. It was rare that they saw him, for he usually left the restaurant in the hands of a manager, but trust him to turn up just when they had been talking.
‘Sorry, Mr Cane,’ she said, turning swiftly back to her work.
She was aware of him walking up behind her and tensed as she felt his breath on her neck. Jenny knew she was mad, but on the rare occasions she saw him her body responded in a way that left her breathless. There was something exciting about him, something magnetic that drew her, and it took all her will not to turn around.
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