His Pretend Wife

‘It’s all right,’ came a man’s voice from the door. ‘I’ll explain everything to Mrs Landers.’

She knew the voice at once, just as she had recognised his face, despite the years. As he closed the door behind the nurse and went to the desk Elinor waited for him to look at her, braced herself for the shock in his eyes.

‘I apologise for Sir Elmer’s absence, Mrs Landers,’ he said briskly. ‘I’m afraid he’s gone down with a touch of flu. My name is Andrew Blake, and I’m taking over his appointments for today.’

He looked up, shook hands with her briefly, and returned to his notes.

He didn’t recognise her.

After the first shock she felt an overwhelming relief. Only Hetta mattered. She had no time for distractions.

He talked to the child in a gentle, unemotional voice, listened to her heart, and asked questions. He didn’t talk down to her, Elinor was impressed to see, but assumed that she understood a good deal. Hetta didn’t disappoint him. She was an old hand at this by now.

‘Do you get breathless more often than you used to?’ he asked.

Hetta nodded and made a face. ‘It’s a pig.’

‘I’m sure it is. I expect there’s lots you can’t do.’

‘Heaps and heaps,’ she said, sensing a sympathetic ear. ‘I want a dog, but Mummy says it would be too bois—something.’

‘Too boisterous,’ Andrew agreed.

‘Hetta, that’s not really the reason,’ Elinor protested. ‘We can’t have pets in that little room.’

‘You live in one room?’ Andrew asked.

‘In a boarding house. It’s just a bit tiny, but everyone’s fond of Hetta and kind to her.’

‘Do you smoke?’

‘No. I never did, but I wouldn’t do it around Hetta.’

‘Good. What about the other tenants?’

‘Mr Jenson smokes like a chimney,’ Hetta confided. ‘Daisy’s very cross with him.’

‘Tell me about the others.’

Man and child became absorbed in their talk, giving Elinor the opportunity to watch him, and note the changes of twelve years.

He had always been a tall man, slightly too thin for his height. Now that he’d filled out he was imposing. Perhaps his face had grown sharper, his chin a little more forceful, but he still had a thick shock of dark hair with no sign of thinning. At thirty-eight he was the essence of power and success, exactly as he’d always meant to be.

At last he said, ‘Hetta, do you know the play area just along the corridor?’

‘Mmm! They’ve got a rabbit,’ she said wistfully.

‘Would you like to go along and see the rabbit now?’

Hetta nodded and left the room as eagerly as her constant weariness would allow.

‘Is there anyone to help you with her?’ Andrew asked. ‘Family?’

‘My parents are both dead. Daisy helps me a lot. She’s the landlady, and like a second mother to me. She cares for Hetta when I’m out working.’

‘Is your job very demanding?’

‘I’m a freelance beautician. I go into people’s homes to do their hair, nails and make-up. It has the advantage that I can make my own hours.’

‘But if you have to take time off you don’t get paid, I suppose.’

‘It will be different when she’s well. Then I can work really hard and make some money to take her away for a holiday. We talk about that—’ She stopped, her voice running down wearily. Why was she telling him these unlikely dreams that would never come true?

Now she was passionately glad that he hadn’t recognised her as he listened to her tale of defeat and failure.

‘Is Hetta any worse?’ she asked desperately.

‘There’s been some slight deterioration but nothing to be too troubled about. I’ve made a small change in her medication,’ he said, scribbling. ‘It’ll make her breathing a little easier. Call my office if you’re alarmed about her condition.’

I’m always alarmed about her condition, she wanted to scream. I’m alarmed, terrified, despairing. and you can’t help. You were going to be the world’s greatest doctor, but my child is dying and you can’t do anything.

But all she said was, ‘Thank you.’

‘Good day to you, Mrs Landers.’

‘Good day.’

That night, as always, she sat with Hetta. When the child had fallen asleep she rose and went to the window, looking out onto the unlovely back yards that were so typical of this depressing neighbourhood.

A machine, she thought. That’s what he’s become. Just a machine. It was always bound to happen. Even back then he had his life planned out, a straight path, dead ahead, and no distractions to the left or the right. He said so.

Why did I ever worry? I didn’t make any impact on him. Not in the end.

It had been so simple to promise herself that she would win Andrew’s heart. But as week had followed week in silence she’d faced the fact that he’d returned to Lilian and forgotten her. She’d pictured them together, laughing about her.

‘You should have seen this silly little kid I met,’ he must have said. ‘Thought she was grown up, but didn’t have a clue.’

He might have telephoned to see how she was, but he didn’t.

She could have screamed. How could she make him fall in love with her if he wasn’t there?

For lack of anything better to do, she continued going out with the kids in the gang, although after Andrew their conversation sounded juvenile, and their concerns meaningless. The boys talked about the girls, the girls sighed over pop stars and made eyes at the boys. The talk was mildly indecent in an ignorant sort of way.

Then Jack Smith appeared among them. He was a motor mechanic, brashly handsome, and twenty-one. He fixed on Ellie as the best-looking girl in town, and his admiration, following Andrew’s departure, warmed her.

‘A smasher, that’s what you are,’ he told her one night when they were all sitting at a table outside a pub. ‘Bet you could have any feller you wanted.’

‘She could,’ Grace agreed. ‘You should have seen her at our birthday party. They were all over her. Even Andrew.’