Nightingales on Call Read online

  Lucy sat down at the dressing table and turned her attention to her hair, humming to herself as she pinned it up and admired the elongated arch of her neck.

  ‘That’s typical of you, isn’t it? You may think you’re a gentleman because you’ve made a fortune, but underneath it all you’re nothing more than a glorified tradesman. You can’t buy class and breeding, you know!’

  ‘So you’re always telling me.’

  Or perhaps she should leave it down and let it fall in waves around her face? A looser style softened her sharp features. Inherited from her father, as Clarissa never failed to point out.

  ‘Sometimes I think you only married me because you needed someone to introduce you to polite society!’

  ‘And you only married me because you knew I was a better bet than one of those chinless aristocrats your father wanted you to marry!’ Lucy’s father was angry now, his raised voice reverberating through the wall. ‘So stop pretending we didn’t both do well out of this marriage. If it weren’t for me you’d still be stuck in some crumbling old castle, freezing to death because no one could afford to light a fire. If this is a cage, Clarissa, then it’s a bloody gilded one!’

  Lucy jumped as a door slammed, making the walls tremble. A moment later her father stomped down the stairs.

  Lucy tensed, waiting. Then, when she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer, she went to her mother’s room.

  Clarissa Lane lay on her bed, curled up on the silk cover. Lucy glanced at the empty glass on the nightstand, her heart sinking. How could her mother do this, tonight of all nights? Surely she must know how important it was for Father to make a good impression? There were at least two members of the Cabinet dining with them this evening, who could perhaps help her father achieve the peerage he longed for.

  ‘Mother?’ she said softly.

  Clarissa looked up. ‘Oh, it’s you. I thought it was your father.’

  As Lucy bent to kiss her mother’s cheek, she caught the smell of gin mingled with the heady scent of her perfume. ‘I’ve come to show you my dress for the party.’

  Her mother sat up to cast a critical eye over Lucy. The early-evening sunlight streaming through the curtains caught the jutting bones of the older woman’s sharply angled face, casting harsh shadows over it. Clarissa Lane had once been considered a beauty, but now her fashionable slenderness made her seem drained and gaunt.

  ‘Those shoes are quite wrong,’ she said flatly. ‘And you’re wearing far too much colour in your cheeks. You look like a shop girl.’

  ‘I’ll take it off.’ Lucy fumbled in her bag for a handkerchief. ‘What are you wearing this evening?’

  ‘I will not be attending your father’s party.’

  ‘But you must!’ Lucy froze, handkerchief pressed to her cheek. ‘Father is relying on you.’

  Her mother snorted. ‘All the more reason why I shouldn’t go. Perhaps if I’m not always dancing to his tune he’ll start to be a little more attentive towards me.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘He spent last night at his club – again.’

  ‘He probably had a meeting that went on until late and didn’t want to disturb you.’

  ‘That’s the third time this week he hasn’t come home.’

  ‘Father is a very busy man.’

  ‘I might have known you would rush to his defence. You always have been a daddy’s girl.’ Clarissa’s lip curled. ‘You’re like a besotted little spaniel, running along after its master, waiting for a pat on the head. As if he takes any more notice of you than he does of me!’

  Before Lucy could reply there was a soft knock at the door, and Higgins, her mother’s maid, entered.

  ‘Please, your ladyship, I’ve come to help you dress.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Clarissa dismissed her.

  ‘But—’

  ‘It’s all right, Higgins. I will help my mother dress,’ Lucy said, as the girl looked confused.

  ‘Yes, Miss.’ Higgins glanced at Clarissa, sprawled on the bed, and back at Lucy. The flicker of sympathy in her eyes made Lucy’s skin burn with humiliation.

  When Higgins had gone, Lucy went over to the wardrobe. ‘Come along, Mother, let’s choose you something to wear,’ she said bracingly. ‘We always used to have such fun choosing your clothes together, didn’t we?’

  It was one of Lucy’s happiest memories from when she was growing up: being allowed to go through all the glorious silks and velvets in her mother’s wardrobe, helping her to dress up for one glamorous social occasion or another. The little girl would take it all so seriously, selecting shoes and going through Clarissa’s jewel case looking for just the right necklace and earrings to complement her outfit. And then she would sit on the bed for hours, watching in fascination as the maid twisted and pinned her mother’s hair into the latest fashion.

  ‘I told you, I’m not going.’

  ‘But you’ve got to go, Mother. You’re the hostess. And Father is relying on you.’

  Clarissa lifted her bony shoulders in a shrug. ‘Why should I care about that? Your father rarely concerns himself with my needs.’

  Lucy gazed around her at the vast silk-draped bedroom, its luxurious trappings a testament to her mother’s extravagant love of shopping and the finer things in life.

  ‘That isn’t true, Mother. Father has given us everything,’ Lucy said quietly.

  Her mother laughed harshly. ‘He really can’t do any wrong in your eyes, can he?’ she mocked. ‘You truly believe he’s some kind of hero. But let me tell you something – he was nothing before he met me. Oh, yes, he had a business, a few ideas. But it was my father’s title that gained him entry to all the best houses, helped him meet the right people. I opened all those doors for him. If it hadn’t been for me, he would still be using the tradesmen’s entrance!’ Righteous anger flared in Clarissa’s eyes.

  ‘I know, Mother,’ Lucy said patiently. She had grown up hearing the same refrain. ‘But surely that’s all the more reason why you should be at this party?’ she coaxed. ‘All these important people will be here to see you as well as Father, don’t you think? And how will he know how to conduct himself if you’re not there to guide him?’

  ‘He doesn’t deserve my help,’ Clarissa sniffed. But she was already sitting on the edge of the bed as she said it, eyes drifting towards her wardrobe.

  Lucy felt weak with relief. She understood there was no arguing with her mother when she was in one of her moods, that it was best to allow her to rant and rave, even though Lucy knew the truth. Bernard Lane might have come from humble beginnings, but he was now one of the richest and most powerful men in the country. The people coming to his home this evening were there because they needed his wealth and patronage as much as he needed theirs.

  But even so, it was best to let her mother believe what she wanted. Powerful or not, the last thing Lucy’s father needed was a drunken wife making him into a laughing stock.

  The party was rather fun, once her mother had decided to behave. Lucy couldn’t help marvelling at how quickly Lady Clarissa managed to transform herself into the perfect hostess, soignée and beautiful in her Fortuny gown, charming everyone in sight.

  But as Lucy had expected, it was her father who attracted most of the attention. She watched him admiringly as he worked his way around the room, shaking hands and chatting with everyone. Sir Bernard Lane was a slightly built man and not particularly handsome, with his sharp-featured face, keen hazel eyes and neatly trimmed beard. But he had a charisma and energy about him that more than made up for his lack of looks. He had a way of fixing a person with his intense gaze that made them feel, for a few minutes at least, as if they were the only one in the room worth speaking to.

  ‘Quite a host, isn’t he?’

  The deep American voice came from behind her. Lucy turned around. Standing at her shoulder was a tall, fair-haired young man.

  ‘Yes, he is,’ she replied, smiling with pride.

  ‘I guess he needs all the friends he can get right now.’
r />   Lucy stared at the American. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A little bird tells me his plans for European expansion aren’t going too well.’ The young man glanced around. ‘I guess that’s what this party is all about. To muster some support for his cause.’

  Lucy gazed across the room at her father, who was laughing appreciatively at the French Ambassador’s joke.

  She looked back at the young man by her side. He looked like a film star, broad-shouldered and muscular, with a firm, square chin and twinkling blue eyes. He was attractive and he obviously knew it, judging from his confident grin.

  ‘If he’s hoping to impress someone, he’d better make sure they stay well away from his wife,’ the young man said with a smirk. ‘Have you seen her? I don’t know how much she’s had to drink, but she can barely stand!’

  Lucy bristled, and any shred of attraction she’d felt towards him instantly disappeared. ‘That’s my mother you’re talking about,’ she bit out.

  He laughed. ‘Oh, hell, and my editor told me I was supposed to be making friends!’ He grinned at her, unabashed. ‘I guess it’s too late for that, huh? Or maybe we can start again? I’m Leo. Leo Alderson.’

  Lucy stared with disdain at the hand he held out to her. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It is too late.’

  ‘Oh, come on! How was I to know you were family?’

  Before she could reply Gordon Bird approached them. He was Lucy’s godfather, and her father’s oldest friend. Gordon had worked at Sir Bernard’s side for so long, her father often joked the company should have been called Lane and Bird’s Lightbulbs.

  ‘Lucy,’ said Gordon, ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Can you spare me a moment, please?’ He turned to the American. ‘I hope you’ll excuse us, Mr Alderson?’

  ‘Sure. It was nice meeting you, Miss Lane. Maybe we can get off on the right foot next time.’

  I hope there won’t be a next time, Lucy thought, as Gordon bore her away to the other side of the room.

  Once they were alone, she said, ‘What is it, Uncle Gordon?’

  ‘Nothing, my dear. You just looked as if you might need rescuing from our colonial cousin, that’s all.’ Gordon smiled at her. He was the same age as her father but seemed much older. His lugubrious face always reminded Lucy of an undertaker’s, but that solemn countenance hid a warm and generous nature.

  ‘You were right. What an odious man.’ Lucy glared across the room at Leo Alderson. He had already turned his back on her as he chatted with the wife of a Cabinet minister. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘A journalist. London correspondent of the New York Herald, I believe. He’s been here less than a month and is already making rather a nuisance of himself.’ Gordon sighed. ‘I can’t think how he came to be invited. Although, knowing Mr Alderson, he probably waltzed straight in without an invitation.’ He looked hard at Lucy. ‘What did he say to you? Did he ask you anything?’

  ‘He was talking about some problem with the European expansion, but I had no idea what he meant.’

  ‘Was he now?’ There was something about her godfather’s thoughtful expression that made Lucy wary.

  ‘What did he mean, Uncle Gordon?’ she asked. ‘Is there a problem with Father’s business?’

  Gordon shook his head. ‘Not at all, my dear. Things are just taking a little longer to get off the ground than we’d planned. But it will happen eventually. At any rate, it’s nothing for you to worry about. And nothing for our Mr Alderson to concern himself with either. But all the same, it might be better if you didn’t speak to him again. He’s rather a charmer by all accounts, and I should hate him to set you in his sights.’

  Lucy looked back at Leo, who was still talking to the minister’s wife. As if he know he was being watched, he turned and raised his glass to her in mocking salute. Lucy turned away sharply.

  ‘I don’t think he’s charming at all,’ she declared.

  Fortunately Leo Alderson left shortly afterwards, so Lucy could relax and enjoy the rest of the party.

  As soon as the last guest had left, Clarissa’s mask slipped and she lapsed back into her mood of sullen resentfulness.

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ she announced. ‘This evening has utterly exhausted me.’ She looked around. ‘Where is your father, Lucy?’

  ‘In his study, I think.’

  Clarissa gave a martyred sigh. ‘So nice of him to wait and say goodnight,’ she said. ‘But that’s your father, I suppose. He can spend all evening making small talk with strangers, but can’t bring himself to spare a kind word for his own wife.’

  Lucy waited until her mother had gone upstairs to bed then went to her father’s study to bid him goodnight. But just as she lifted her hand to knock on the door, she heard voices coming from within.

  ‘This can’t go on, Bernard,’ she heard Gordon Bird saying. ‘You have to do something about it.’

  ‘Gordon, you worry too much.’ Her father’s tone was warm and confident. ‘I promise you, everything will be all right. We just need to have a little patience. These things take time.’

  ‘But we don’t have time!’ Gordon sounded exasperated. ‘The bank—’

  ‘The bank will be perfectly happy by the time it’s sorted out,’ her father finished for him. ‘Dear me, Gordon, we’ve been in far more difficult situations than this and come out the other side. Have some faith, man!’

  Lucy heard her godfather sigh. ‘I hope you’re right, Bernard. But it seems a rather risky strategy to me.’

  ‘And since when have I ever shied away from taking a risk?’ her father said. ‘Being willing to take a risk is what’s made this business so successful. That and sheer damn luck!’

  ‘I just hope our luck isn’t about to run out.’

  ‘Gordon, please,’ her father sighed. ‘This has been such a wonderful evening. Don’t spoil it.’

  Lucy heard footsteps approaching the door, and ducked back into the shadow of the stairwell. Gordon emerged from her father’s office, left the door open behind him and went off down the hall. Lucy heard him bidding Jameson goodnight as the butler helped him into his coat, and then he was gone.

  She peered through the open door into her father’s office. Sir Bernard was sitting at his desk, alone in the pool of light cast by a lamp, his gaze fixed and distant.

  He seemed so deep in thought Lucy didn’t want to disturb him. But as she tried to tiptoe away, the floorboard creaked under her foot.

  ‘Hello?’ her father called out sharply. ‘Who’s there?’

  Lucy put her head around the door. ‘It’s only me, Father,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  ‘You’re not disturbing me at all, my dear.’ His smile was back in place, lighting up his face. ‘Did you have a pleasant evening?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Father.’

  ‘I wanted to thank you too – for helping to calm your mother down.’

  ‘That’s all right, Father. I knew how important this evening was for you.’

  ‘Yes, it was – very important.’

  Lucy looked at him then, and Leo Alderson’s words came back to her.

  Your father needs all the friends he can get.

  She pushed the troubling thought from her mind. Leo Alderson knew nothing about it. Her father was an invincible force. He didn’t need help from anyone.

  Chapter Five

  ‘WELL, YOU CAN’T say I don’t know how to treat a girl,’ Nick said with a wry smile.

  They were sitting side by side on the canal bank, watching the sun sink behind the factory buildings.

  Dora snuggled against him. ‘I don’t mind where I am as long as I’m with you.’

  ‘All the same, I’m sick of having to keep it a secret between us.’ Nick frowned, snapping a blade of grass between his fingers. ‘I can’t even hold your hand when we walk down the street.’

  ‘I know,’ Dora sighed. ‘But we can’t take any risks. Not while you’re still married. It would only take someone to see us together
and tell Matron, and that would be it for me.’ She saw his darkening expression, and reached for his hand. ‘Cheer up, it’s only two years until you can get your divorce. We’ve already waited six months. You don’t really mind, do you?’

  Nick didn’t reply. Dora studied his profile as he kept his gaze fixed on the distant bank. He had something on his mind, she could tell. He’d been in a strange mood ever since he’d arrived to meet her.

  No one would call Nick Riley handsome, but there was a harsh kind of beauty about the raw planes of his face. He had the flattened nose of a boxer, but his eyes were thickly lashed and the colour of indigo ink. They had known each other for years, but even after all this time, she still couldn’t always tell what was going on behind that guarded expression of his.

  She wondered if tonight’s unsettled mood had anything to do with his brother. Nick went back to Griffin Street to check on him nearly every day after his shift at the hospital finished.

  ‘How was Danny?’ she asked.

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Your mum’s looking after him all right, then?’

  Nick’s mouth twisted. ‘I dunno about that. My mother can hardly look after herself, let alone Danny.’

  Dora studied his brooding face, trying to work out what he was thinking. She understood how deeply Nick worried about his younger brother, even though he tried not to show it. Danny was a young man physically but still had the mind of a child. Nick had cared for him ever since their brutal father walked out on them, but when he got married he’d had to leave Danny behind to the tender mercies of their drunken mother June.

  ‘You know he can come and live with us, after we’re married?’ Dora said, trying to soothe him. He didn’t reply. ‘I know it won’t be for a while, but—’

  ‘I saw Ruby.’ Nick cut her off.

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Dora winced at the sharp spike of jealousy that lanced through her. Nick and Ruby might be separated, but she was still his wife in the eyes of the law.

  She looked away, plucking at a leaf while she tried to compose herself. Of course he was bound to see Ruby from time to time. She and her family lived upstairs from the Rileys in Griffin Street. Dora knew Nick no longer had feelings for his wife, not after the way she’d betrayed him. But the thought of them seeing each other still made her uncomfortable.