Page 40 of Annabel and Her Sisters

Luigi, the ma?tre d’ at L’Arco’s, greeted Pammy like his long-lost lover: tall, suave and smooth, he escorted her elaborately to a corner table with a view of the whole room, pulling out her chair, looking entranced as she introduced me as her favourite surrogate goddaughter, and generally treating her like royalty, although I couldn’t help noticing that when other elderly folk came in– none as glamorous as Pammy, mind– they were treated in much the same way.

The restaurant was a stone’s throw from the retirement community, the first eatery in the high street, and I marvelled again at Ted and Flora’s cleverness.

I’d spotted a few red cords hanging in Pammy’s house which presumably could be pulled in an emergency, and then there was this perfect little restaurant if their ma didn’t feel like cooking, so one didn’t have to worry about her not eating.

‘At least three times a week,’ Pammy told me when I asked how often she came.

‘Usually with Andrea, or Charles and Ray. There they are!’ She waved extravagantly as two handsome, mature men came in, accompanied by an exotic-looking lady with an enormous blow dry in a sweeping red cloak.

They came across exclaiming delightedly as Pammy introduced me, and I realized she was thrilled to have a younger visitor to show off.

After a bit of banter they refused to stay for a drink, doubtless knowing a visit was precious, and instead, made their way to the back of the now crowded restaurant.

Of course, one needed money: this place wasn’t cheap, but then Bob’s pension– half of which Pammy still received– and the sale of the old vicarage, had paid for the little house easily.

Why had we been so stupid? So– yes– grasping?

My mother was the most independent woman in the world and now she was totally dependent on us.

I seethed inwardly, wishing I’d been firmer with my sisters.

Wishing we’d bought her somewhere to live.

The waiter appeared and we ordered: cheesecake followed by profiteroles for Pammy, whilst I had a Caesar salad. Her usual order, I realized, when he departed without so much as a raised eyebrow.

‘Two puddings?’ I asked in surprise.

‘Oh no, darling, one’s got cheese in.’

How was she so thin?

‘Because it’s all she eats,’ Flora had once told me, darkly. ‘Plus smoked salmon on brown bread occasionally, when I insist.’

So bang went my nourishment theory, but she did nibble on a bread stick in lieu of a cigarette; indeed, she almost smoked it.

I leaned forward once the waiter had poured the wine. ‘Pammy, please put me out of my misery. Please tell me what happened, I seriously need to know.’

She shifted in her chair, caught. Trapped. In fact, she looked around briefly for an escape route. She took a sip of her wine, flustered. ‘You see, the trouble is, darling, I don’t know how much I should divulge. Don’t know what’s been said already.’ She looked at me beseechingly.

‘Only literally what I’ve told you already, what Mum said in the hospital. Otherwise, nothing. Nothing’s been said.’

‘Well, not to you, anyway.’

‘No,’ I said, surprised. ‘Not to me.’

‘Or Ginnie?’

‘Well– no. Ginnie would tell me.’ She would. Pammy was silent. My brain went into overdrive.

‘You mean… Clarissa knows?’ Pammy pursed her lips. ‘Knows what, Pammy? That– that Joan’s her mother? And Mum and Dad brought her up?’

Pammy looked distressed. ‘I mean, I really should ask Leanora first.’ She glanced around the restaurant, beautiful green eyes darting, as if perhaps my mother might appear. ‘Or you should.’

‘I don’t think I can ask her, Pammy. Particularly not now, with three dogs gone, and having been ill and in hospital and–’

‘ Three dogs,’ she interjected, looking desperately upset, even though I’d told her on the way. ‘Poor, darling Lea.’

‘Yes. Yes, I know.’ I felt wretched. ‘We’ve let her down badly, Pammy, really badly.’

‘You haven’t, darling, but that fucking Clarissa…’ She shook her head. ‘Always such a bully. I never could stick her.’ She shuddered. ‘Sorry, I know she’s my goddaughter, and your sister, but you know.’

‘But is she, Pammy?’ I insisted. ‘My sister?’

She swallowed. Smoothed her napkin on her skinny lap. ‘You’ve got to remember, my love, that it was very different in those days. We weren’t allowed to do anything. Weren’t allowed to go anywhere unescorted, or get up to anything– although of course we wanted to.’

‘Of course, I can imagine.’ Now we were getting somewhere.

‘And I was certainly no angel. I had lots of boyfriends and all sorts would go on, but I was savvy enough to stop it when I knew it couldn’t– mustn’t– go any further.

I had older brothers, you see, so I was much more clued up.

Plus, my ma made them escort me. Lord, I can remember being dragged out of a cupboard by Henry at one shooting party– poor Bertie got the shock of his life.

He was told to scarper, and I quite thought Henry would belt downstairs for his gun. ’

‘Whereas Joan… the eldest of two girls…’

‘Was also pretty fast, like me. And clued up. Strong-willed, too. Whereas your dear ma…’

I stared at her. There was a terrible silence. ‘Sorry?’

She blinked rapidly. ‘Well – no – no, I –’

‘No– please, Pammy. My dear ma?’

‘Well, she was so sweet, so pliable, so biddable, really. And beautiful, all the boys were mad for her. She was much nicer than me and Joan really. We played the boys a bit. And Piers was a darling, too, so good-looking, and not a bounder at all, just nice, like her.’

I went very still. ‘What are you saying?’

She looked wretched. Our food arrived. Neither of us could eat.

‘Well, all right, it went too far. At a house party. And Lea was so distressed, because, you see, they were very much in love, but of course it wasn’t to be, could never be, because Piers was engaged.’

‘Engaged?’ I whispered.

‘Yes, to Miranda Fairburn, the brewing heiress. It had been arranged by both sets of parents. But he didn’t love her, Annabel. Piers was from a big whisky family, you see, it was a good match.’

‘God, Pammy, this isn’t Jane Austen! This was, what–’

‘Early fifties,’ she told me, looking me in the eye. ‘But our parents were from a different generation. My father was born in 1898.’ She continued the direct gaze. ‘And so was your grandfather. Things were very different. Very different.’

I swallowed. I had a feeling I was hyperventilating. Pammy had taken up her fork and was toying ineffectually with her cheesecake. I couldn’t even look at my salad.

‘Right. So… Clarissa is Mum… and Piers’s child?’ I went very still. She didn’t answer. ‘And– and Piers married Miranda?’

‘He had to. He didn’t want to. He was made to, by his father. Who was a brute, actually.’

‘And Mum was left pregnant,’ I breathed.

Pammy picked miserably at her food.

‘Where was Dad?’ My darling father. ‘Where was he in all this?’

‘She hadn’t met him yet,’ she said simply.

‘So what happened?’ My mind spun.

‘Well, she was worried sick. She told me what had happened, after the party, in great gulping sobs, that they’d gone too far, and I soothed her, held her, told her it was all right, that it was highly unlikely she’d be pregnant.

So unlikely after just a one-off. But– but when she was a week late, I tried to, we tried to, me and Joan, we… ’

‘Joan knew?’

‘Oh yes.’ She looked up at me. ‘Joan was vital. I was clueless about what to do next. Joan wasn’t, you see. Plus, she’d already had one.’

I stared at her. Felt my eyes widen. ‘A child?’

‘No, silly. An abortion.’

‘Oh!’ Joan had had an abortion. Like Clarissa. I reached for my glass and took a great slug of wine.

‘So Joan told me where to go. She said she’d come with us, but Lea didn’t want that, neither of us did. We said we’d go on our own. Illegal, of course. Still very back street.’

I was cold and silent as I waited, turned to stone. I thought of my beautiful young mother. My beautiful, innocent, kind mother. Pammy began to get more matter-of-fact as she gained momentum.

‘Anyway, we went, Lea and I, to the address Joan had given us.’

‘Did Piers know?’ I whispered.

‘No. Lea hadn’t told him. And Joan and I promised we wouldn’t.’

I nodded.

‘Joan gave us the money. She sold a bracelet, I think. I can’t recall.’

I blinked, imagining the three of them. Desperate. Worried. And yes, I can imagine that none of them, even Joan, thought telling Piers was a good idea. Reputation was everything, that much I did know.

‘So we went, the two of us, to this road in Hull. It was back-to-back red-brick terraced: washing on lines, tiny houses, outside privies, alleys at the back. The door was answered by a huge woman in a floral housecoat and curlers, wiping her hands on a cloth. She was very brisk. Very curt. We were told to wait in the front room and she jerked her head sideways and walked off. We went into the room and perched on a sofa in our hats and gloves, our handbags perched on our knees. There was a clock on the mantel above the fireplace, I remember, ticking. I had your mum’s hand in mine.

It was shaking. Mine was too, I think. Then we heard a sob.

A scream.’ Pammy covered her eyes with one hand.

‘I’d forgotten that. You know how you blank things.

’ She shook her head and regrouped: groped for her wine and took a sip.

‘Anyway, some minutes later, a girl came into the room in a pretty dress holding her hat. She was crying. She’d come for her coat, which she’d left on a chair opposite.

She didn’t even look at us. But when she reached for it, there were bloodstains down the back of her dress.

She put it on and left. We heard her sob as she shut the front door.

Lea got up shakily and dragged at my hand.

She didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to. We just turned and fled.’