For Better For Worse. Pam Weaver
I begin my consultation,’ he smiled, ‘I’m afraid I must ask you for two guineas up front.’
Annie swallowed hard. Two guineas? There wasn’t even a pound in the emergency jar and that was all she had. She had already eaten into the ten bob note when she’d seen the posh woman. Henry kept all their money in the bank.
‘My husband handles all our affairs,’ she faltered.
‘The balance can wait until the case is cleared,’ Mr West said, ‘but I need something on account.’
Annie opened her purse and, keeping back a florin, tipped five shillings onto the desk. ‘I’ll bring the balance tomorrow,’ she said firmly.
‘Two guineas,’ Mr West insisted. He leaned back in his chair and studied her face.
Annie stood up, moving slowly and exaggerating her bulk. ‘Then I’ll have to go home and fetch it,’ she sighed.
‘Perhaps …’ he began as she headed for the door, ‘er … um … in view of your condition, I could make an exception.’
‘Thank you,’ said Annie, lowering herself into the chair again.
For the next few minutes, she told her story and Mr West took everything down.
‘Do you have your wedding certificate with you?’
Annie shook her head. Ever since she got on the bus she’d had a feeling she should have brought it with her, but it was still in Henry’s drawer.
‘Bring it when you come back with the balance,’ said Mr West, rising to his feet and offering her his hand. ‘Like you say, I’m sure this is all a silly misunderstanding. Leave it to me, Mrs Royal.’
‘Next.’
The receptionist at the Old Town Hall was a tight-lipped woman with a severe hairstyle and a lazy eye. A young woman with a small child on her hip walked to the desk and began speaking in hushed tones. Annie, who was next in the queue, had been directed there from the police station after the desk sergeant had explained that Henry had been sent to the magistrate’s court which was held in the Old Town Hall. It was so annoying. If they had told her that straight away, she would have been here a lot sooner, but instead they had kept her waiting in a bare room for twenty minutes and then a detective had asked her a lot of questions. Had she seen the other Mrs Royal before that day? Did she know Mr Royal had been married before? Where did she meet Mr Royal? How long had she known him? The questions went on and on.
The young woman moved away from the desk and the receptionist called a second time, ‘Next.’
Annie explained that she had come here to see Henry. She addressed one eye before realising that the woman was actually looking at her with the other. It was most disconcerting and even more so when the woman told her she was already too late to see Henry.
‘Mr Royal has already appeared before the magistrate and is now in the cells,’ she said, lifting her head. ‘Next.’
Annie was aware of other people behind her in the queue but she hadn’t finished yet. ‘In the cells?’
‘He’s been sent for trial at the next Lewes Assizes,’ the woman said curtly. ‘And before you ask, no I’m afraid you can’t see him. Not in here anyway. Next.’
‘But how long will it be before the trial?’ Annie asked. A man shuffled towards the desk.
‘Three weeks,’ said the woman.
Annie stayed rooted to the spot. Three weeks? Henry would be stuck in jail for three weeks when he hadn’t done anything? ‘So what do I do now?’ said Annie, more to herself than to anyone else.
‘You can visit him once he’s been transferred,’ said the woman. ‘You don’t have to apply for a permit for prisoners on remand. Next.’
‘Thank you,’ said Annie faintly. She moved out of the way and the man shuffled forward again.
‘If you want my advice,’ the receptionist muttered, ‘you’ll choose your friends more carefully next time.’
Annie felt her face flame and she turned on her heel. ‘Well, nobody asked you for your advice so I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,’ she snapped.
The woman looked deeply offended, but with head held high, Annie walked back to the door, ignoring another person in the queue muttering a breathy, ‘Well, really …’
In desperate need of refreshment, Annie wandered into the café next door. She felt a bit guilty being so rude to the woman in the town hall, but how dare she judge her. Henry was innocent, and even if he was caught up in something, she wasn’t going to be a doormat, nor the brunt of other people’s ill-informed opinions. Sitting in the window seat and watching people going about their normal business had a calming effect. She had resisted having a quiet cry all morning and when at times her hands had a visible tremor, she’d made a point of gripping her handbag on what was left of her lap so that no one would see how upset she was. She wasn’t about to let that silly old cow in the town hall reduce her to tears now. The waitress put the teapot in front of her and the rattling teacup and saucer brought her back to the here and now.
‘Nice day,’ the waitress remarked.
Annie managed a thin smile and her mouth said, ‘Yes, yes it is,’ and at the same time thinking, well, it may be for you but my world is falling apart …
Left to her tea and her own thoughts, Annie wondered about little Jenny and her mother. Henry had insisted it was all trickery, but the child had seemed genuinely upset. What sort of a mother would expose her child to such an awful scene? If she had something against Henry, why didn’t she confront him when they were on their own? What the woman said couldn’t possibly be true, and yet the magistrates had believed her story. They must have done if Henry was to be sent for trial. Annie’s eyes drifted towards the newsagent across the road and in particular the billboard outside. What if the newspapers got hold of the story? She shuddered at the thought of being the object of shame and gossip and gripped her cup with both hands to stop them shaking the tea onto the tablecloth as she pictured herself trying to dodge the reporters in the same way people did on the Pathé newsreels.
And what about Henry? This could ruin him. For the first time since it happened, Annie suddenly remembered his job. She would have to tell them where he was, but how could she? Once they knew he was in Lewes prison, he’d get the sack. He had already lost his freedom, and if she let him lose his job, he would be totally humiliated. It was grossly unfair. She couldn’t let it happen. As soon as she’d finished her tea, she would go round to the jeweller’s shop in the High Street where Henry worked now and make some excuse. But what on earth would she say? She could explain away a day or two with a bad cold or a hacking cough, but three weeks? Think, she told her jumbled brain, think carefully and logically. Rhodesia. He’d told her that he’d grown up in Rhodesia. She knew that much anyway. It was only as the detective asked her questions that she realised how little she knew about him. Did he have brothers and sisters? She didn’t know. Where was he educated? She hadn’t a clue. She’d told the policeman that Henry had been a POW during the war but when he’d pressed her on that one, she had no idea where he’d been. She’d never thought to ask and she’d never really realised before that even if she did mention something about his past, Henry always changed the subject. The policeman had exposed her lack of knowledge and she’d felt such a fool, but she’d made up her mind that as soon as Henry was back home, she’d make a point of finding out everything she could.
But for now what was she going to tell the people where Henry worked? If she couldn’t tell the truth, she’d have to make something up. What if someone out there, his mother or his brother, had sent for him? His father was dying … yes, that was it. She would tell them that his father was dying in far-off Rhodesia and that his mother had sent for him. He’d gone at once and he’d be back in three weeks. Of course he didn’t have the plane fare and there was no question of waiting to save up, so they’d sent the plane ticket by wire from Rhodesia. What with all the changes, it took four