The Secret Orphan. Glynis Peters
items were you considering, Miss Cardew?’ Sally picked up a talcum powder pot to show Elenor.
‘Yes, it is the same as my cream. Oh, and soap to match, wonderful.’
They ventured through to the handbag section and the smell of leather added to the luxurious surroundings.
‘These are lovely, Miss Cardew, and look far more expensive than they are,’ she picked up a green leather with an embossed image of a flower on the flap. ‘This one would complement your hat and is proving to be rather popular.’
Returning to Mrs Green with her packages, Elenor was handed a wrapped gift.
‘This is the item from your aunt. Please enjoy the rest of your day, Miss Cardew.’
With her head held high, Elenor walked out of the shop with her gifts nestling in their bags. The mist had lifted. She walked a few steps and came to a newsagent’s set back between a haberdashery and grocer’s. The lure of a fashion magazine to enjoy that evening was a strong one. She spotted a women’s magazine for two pennies. Its price suited Elenor, and she stepped inside to purchase a copy. She unclasped her bag and took out the shilling coin and handed it over to the newsagent. Unsure whether she would have enough to sit inside the small tea rooms, she chose to walk home and enjoy a cup of tea there instead.
A familiar figure ahead caused Elenor to change her mind. George crossed the road and was heading in her direction. Elenor couldn’t determine if he’d seen her or not, but she was not prepared to wait around and find out. With a sharp turn away from the direction of home, she walked back towards the store and past its front door. A suitable window offering a clear reflective view showed George looking into the main window of a taxidermist. She entered a side lane knowing it linked up with the main road she needed to cross and if she hurried she would make it unseen. To have George as a companion in town would ruin all the pleasures she had savoured for her birthday. He was a memory she had no desire to make.
Hereford Street was busy and Elenor moved amongst the people to keep herself hidden from view. When she came to a shop selling tempting treats she stopped, glanced behind her and noticed George turning into the end of the road. Elenor knew for definite he was following her. She rushed across the road and headed towards the Geisha Café on the corner. Upon arrival she made no effort to turn around and, giving herself no time to make up her mind whether to enter or not, she stepped inside.
Chatter and chinking teacups echoed around the pleasant room. It was large with tables dressed with delicate white cloths, but panic set in when the waitress looked her way and Elenor turned, pulled the door open to leave and walked straight into the body of another trying to enter.
‘Oooph’
‘My apologies. I am so sorry.’
Her rushed words were muffled into the chest of a male. She could smell tobacco and the soap George Sherbourne used. She pulled back in horror. Her efforts of shaking him off had failed.
‘Miss Cardew?’
A male voice with a distinct accent spoke but it was not the person she’d winded in the doorway. Composing herself, Elenor tried to muster up a smidgen of dignity and spent a moment readjusting her hat. It was Samuel Fleming, the Canadian whose foot she’d stepped on. Dismay hit her. Although he wasn’t the victim of her unintended assault, he’d witnessed another of her clumsy acts.
‘Mr Fleming. How pleasant to see you again. Allow me to introdu …’
The man she thought was George Sherbourne was most definitely not. The only thing he had in common with George was the tobacco aroma. Dark hair, neatly clipped, trimmed a handsome face, dark eyes melted into hers. She admired his tanned skin and wide shoulders, the complete opposite to George. She prayed her mouth had not really drooped open with pleasant surprise.
‘Ma’am, it’s a pleasure.’
His voice! Smooth, heart-melting and deep, and with the same soft twang as his companion.
‘Allow me to introduce my grandson, Jackson St John. He’s here to train pilots. Miss Cardew is the young lady I mentioned when we sought out your mother’s gift earlier in the day.’
‘My pleasure, Miss Cardew.’
Jackson St John held out his hand and, with no hesitation, Elenor clutched hold.
‘I am pleased to meet you and I do apologise for my clumsiness. My friend was not inside, and I rushed out without looking.’
She hoped her face didn’t give away her small white lie.
‘We are about to enjoy a cup of English tea. Would you care to join us, Miss Cardew? Or would you prefer to wait for your friend?’
Elenor looked around. She saw no sign of George and the draw of sitting down for afternoon tea on her birthday still held. She made a mental note of the ten pennies sitting in her new bag and again begged the question, would she have enough money? It dawned on her she didn’t know the price of sitting at a pretty table, or what the rules were of sitting with strange men. Although, to be fair, Samuel Fleming was someone she had met before, and he was a respectable uniformed man.
‘As much as I would love to join you both, I’m afraid I feel I should wait. Thank you again and do enjoy your tea.’
Disappointed, she took a slow walk a few steps away from the café, and it pleased her to see a flicker of disappointment cross Jackson St John’s face. Whilst in the process of telling herself off for being silly and imagining things, she heard the irritating voice of George Sherbourne slice through the air as if a smarting frost.
‘Elenor!’
‘George. Good afternoon.’
‘Many happy returns.’
Elenor made no effort to shake his hand using the pretence her hands were full with her shopping.
‘Miss Cardew. It is your birthday? Well, we really must treat you and your friend now he has arrived,’ said Samuel Fleming, before Elenor could mention George was not the friend she had been waiting for.
‘Happy Birthday, Miss Cardew,’ said Jackson St. John.
George stood with a grin she wanted to slap away from his face and introduced himself. He then followed through with a blatant lie.
‘Miss Cardew won’t mind, she was to have only me as company.’
Before Elenor could object, Jackson St John pulled open the door of the café.
‘Maybe you can point out a traditional English cake, we want to make the most of my grandfather’s last day,’ he said.
George jumped in with a reply before Elenor had the chance to open her mouth.
‘You must try a Kunzle cake. Shall we?’
All three stood to one side as Elenor stepped inside. She sensed George breathing behind her, his raspy breath expelling onion vapours. He was too close. Her skin tingled with displeasure, unlike when Jackson looked into her eye – then the tingling was due to nothing but pleasure. A new sensation.
Once seated at the table they placed their order and George set about holding a conversation which failed to include Elenor.
‘I notice you are both members of the Canadian Air Force, how fascinating.’
Elenor turned to Jackson.
‘Can I ask, does it take long to become a pilot?’
George cut in before the conversation developed.
‘Flying a plane must be exciting. Where are you based?’
For fifteen minutes George controlled the conversation, never allowing Elenor a moment to speak. Each time one of the other men answered