The Letter Page 3

  He epitomised sophistication, handsome in a tweed jacket and stylish plus fours. Margaret felt shy and awkward beside him. He didn’t notice, shutting out the disapproving fellow travellers with a cavalier smile. She was bedazzled and talking too much. All too soon the train pulled into Edinburgh and they went their separate ways but not before arranging to meet later the same week.

  Jean, who was a scholarship girl at school in Edinburgh and boarding in the city, was waiting by the ticket barrier. In a whirl, before her sister had chance to speak, Margaret gabbled, “You’ll never guess… I’ve met a medical student on the train. He’s in his final year…”

  “Trust you to get into a conversation with a complete stranger! “For all you know he might not even be at the university.”

  “You worry too much. Besides he’s the most handsome man in the world.”

  “Maggie you are the limit!”

  “I know, but Jean, he spoke to me… to me!”

  “Sometimes I think you’re positively mad.”

  “I’ve arranged to meet him on Wednesday.”

  “You can’t possibly go!”

  “I am. Anyway he probably won’t turn up,”

  “Don’t you want to hear my news?” asked her long suffering sister.

  Margaret replied contritely that she did.

  “I’ve won a bursary to study mathematics at Edinburgh next autumn. That’s if I pass my Highers . . .”

  “Of course you will! I’ll help you. Let’s celebrate with iced buns,” Margaret said extravagantly. Jean took no persuading and the girls went in search of the nearest café.

  * * * * *

  Wednesday was cold, with drizzle in the air. A wicked wind whipped round the corner of the post office building on Princes Street where Margaret stood waiting. She had almost given him up when there he was picking his way across the tram-railed road in her direction. She tried to look blasé but the wind caught her full blast, blowing her red curls into a tangle around her face, taking her breath away. He pulled the collar of his overcoat higher and, by way of greeting, tucked her arm in his. The weather kept them on the move so they made for the shelter of the Princes Street gardens; two of her strides equalling his one. Out of the wind, matching his pace to hers, he said “You told me many things on the train but failed to tell me your name.”

  Blushing she stammered, “It’s Margaret… Margaret Riley but my friends call me Maggie.”

  “Well my lovely Margaret, I mean to find out all about you.”

  Embarrassed by the words and the mischievous way he looked at her Margaret’s blushes grew crimson. No one had ever said such things to her. She didn’t care what she looked like. There was one mirror in the house and that was for her father and the boys to shave. Everyone was too busy working to gaze into mirrors.

  She tried to say his name, “Vid… yaa… ranya.” He encouraged her to repeat it but after several hilarious attempts they both gave up. “I’ll call you Ben,” she said, “It’s an ancient name and at least I can pronounce it. What’s more it suits you.”

  “I like it. I am the only son and the most important member of my family. I think Margaret was the name of one of your famous queens. I also deserve a name with a noble lineage. “

  Something indefinable in Ben’s manner made Margaret uneasy but she was too bewitched to let it bother her. He checked his watch. He’d be late for his lecture. They retraced their steps but she couldn’t keep up. He raced over Waverley Bridge disappearing in a hiss of steam from a train passing below.

  * * * * *

  They met whenever they could. Ben’s wealth was a passport to the moneyed crowd. Margaret quickly fell in with the lifestyle but tea at Jenners was beyond her wildest expectations. The swish restaurant with starched linen, polished silver and high prices was way beyond her reach. Her homemade dresses and cardigans were at odds with the slick outfits worn by most of her wealthy contemporaries. She made excuses not to go but Ben was persuasive, “Margaret, it’s just a place to eat.”

  “I know but… Jenners!”

  “So? You’ll be the prettiest there!” She pulled a face. “Oh maybe not… Anyway you’re going with me and I’m the richest!”

  They went and were served last by a vinegar-faced waitress who oversaw Ben paying the bill.

  Margaret borrowed a dress and coat from a friend to wear to her first classical concert at the Usher Hall. Captivated by the music she whispered spontaneously, “I want to dance and dance.” The glowers of fellow concertgoers made her cringe and slide lower in the seat. Ben took her by the elbow and raised her up. How she loved him! On their way home it rained. They hummed the Blue Danube twirling round and round on the slippery cobbles until she was dizzy.

  Ben was enjoying himself. In India he was adored by his mother and sisters who indulged his every whim. Everything was there for the taking and he wanted Margaret. The snatched hours in his attic room when they made love, her fair skin with its dusting of golden freckles; the brush of her wild hair across his chest increased his desire. He bought posies of flowers to put on the pillow, fed her sweets; the sugary taste of her lips dissolved in his kisses but some nights were his own.

  Every breathe Margaret took belonged to Ben. Merely repeating his name thrilled her. He opened up a whole new world haughtily overriding anything that displeased him. Besotted with her and already an experienced lover Ben wooed away any inhibitions, teaching Margaret the delights of her body and how to fulfil him.

  If only she hadn’t discovered that sex was so enjoyable! The first time they made love it seemed so natural. The exciting sensations of passion overruled common sense or shame.

  * * * * *

  Jean shared lodgings with Margaret and was frequently invited to meet her sister’s university friends; engrossed in revision she didn’t notice them gradually dwindle. The ‘Highers’ meant everything to Jean. She was relying on her sister to steady her nerves, “Maggie my exams are first. I’m alright with the Maths but the French… You’re so good at it… If I’m to pass I need your help. Then I’ll help you.”

  “Jean there’s a month to go. I don’t need your help. I’m working in the university library during the day and in the evening Ben is helping me. Don’t worry you’ll sail through.”

  Surprised by the uncharacteristic rebuff Jean decided to ask some of her sister’s friends about this so-called Ben. She discovered that they rarely saw Margaret, who was in danger of falling behind with her studies. What’s more he was seeing other girls from wealthy influential families.

  Jean was at a loss as to what to do, having sworn not to say anything to their parents about Ben. Forced into deceiving them she used the impending exams to make fewer visits home and tried to reason with her love-struck sister.

  “Where is he when he’s not with you?”

  “Busy catching up on his work, like me…”

  “Busy with other girls. That’s where.”

  Margaret staunchly refused to believe it.

  “At least ask him.”

  “I won’t because I know he loves me. What would he want from anyone else?”

  “He’s different, not like our brothers or the other boys we know.”

  “That’s part of why I love him.”

  “What if you fail your exams?”

  “I won’t.”

  “But you don’t care if I fail mine!”

  “That’s not so. I do care!”

  “Not enough to give up an hour with this Ben!”

  Margaret slammed the door on her way out.

  The exams came and went. Jean won the gold medal for mathematics with high scores in all the other subjects. Margaret scraped through slightly miffed. It was the first time she hadn’t been top.

  * * * * *

  Margaret pretended to be asleep but she needn�
�t have bothered. Jean was up and away organising the last requirements for admission to university before they went home for the summer.

  She dragged herself out of bed but as soon as her feet touched the floor she was sick. It was the same every day. Their landlady asked if she was unwell. Ben tetchily asked why she was meeting him later and later in the morning. She described the symptoms. He said smugly “You’re not ill. It sounds as if you’re having a baby.”

  She couldn’t be! Babies were something that happened after you were married and nothing to do with their lovemaking. What would she do if he was right?

  Chapter 5

  Margaret and Jean arrived in Gorebridge late on Friday night. The tiny bedroom shared with Mary, generally became alive with talk and merriment. Throughout their growing up Margaret and Jean had told each other everything but that was before Ben. Jean was convinced he was stealing her sister away and said so. Margaret said it was none of her business, accusing Jean of spying. Perhaps she was spying? She hadn’t meant to but Margaret had changed and there was something terribly wrong. Jean tried to resolve the uneasy quiet between them.

  “Maggie… you know I promised not to tell…”

  “Have you?”

  “No but don’t think I haven’t wanted to.”

  “I didn’t mean to make it awkward for you.”

  “Awkward … says you, who never thinks of anyone except herself!”

  “Jean, that’s not true!”

  Jean made to go downstairs. Margaret grabbed her arm.

  “Maggie!”

  “Sit down a minute… please!” Jean didn’t want to create a fuss so sat on the bed. “I’m going to have a baby.”

  It took a minute for Margaret’s words to sink in; unable to conceal her dismay Jean asked, “Are you certain?”

  “Of course I am. Ben’s a doctor. He should know.”

  Jean expected her sister to cry, to do something; anything but stand there as if such a thing was an everyday event like having tea.

  “Maggie, surely you’re sorry?”

  “What have I got to be sorry for?”

  “You can’t bring a baby into this world without a father?”

  “It’s got a father, Ben.”

  “Oh and he’ll put everything right?”

  “Yes, he’s coming tomorrow to ask father’s permission for us to marry.”

  Jean’s eyes grew wider and wider, “Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Of father!”

  “Yes, of hurting him and mother.”

  “I don’t mean to… once they meet Ben and get over the shock…”

  “Over the shock… I can’t believe you could be so selfish! . . . I’ll never be able to look father and mother in the face. How could you?”

  Peacemaker Jean challenging her was the last thing Margaret expected but her sister rounded on her again, “Surely you’re going to tell them tonight before he comes?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll see how it goes. Ben will sort it out.”

  Jean mockingly retorted, “Ben will sort it out… Huh! You’ll be a long time waiting for that!” She flounced downstairs and listened with disbelief to Margaret’s account of the young man, who was to call on them the following morning, without hinting at the reason for his visit.

  Their father was not certain about having a stranger thrust into their midst, “Maggie I hope you’re not neglecting your studies.”

  “I passed my exams.”

  “So you did… So you did.” Then looking keenly at her he asked, “Are you going to Mass?”

  “Yes father” Jean replied.

  “Not you Jean, you Maggie. Are you receiving the sacrament when you’re not at home?”

  Margaret squirmed, “Well… I…”

  “What’s all this faither?” interjected her mother, “The girls havni been here two minutes and you’re at them already.”

  “Mother, I have a duty to God to make sure there’s no slacking where He’s concerned.”

  Steering her husband away from the sensitive area of religion she continued, “Maggie, did you say the young man was called Ben?”

  “Yes, he’s to qualify as a doctor and work at The Infirmary.”

  “A doctor…” repeated her father. “Grand friends you’re keeping, Maggie.”

  Who would believe it? His Maggie and a doctor! He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of words he’d exchanged with a doctor. But having one as a visitor in the house… Well his daughter was worth ten doctors. He nodded to his wife who commented, “Maggie, you’ve not mentioned this young man before…” Margaret said that there was no need. “But there is now?” her mother said, raising her eyebrows. “And you Jean… what do you make of him?”

  Jean was almost choking with shame. Faithful to her promise she muttered something about being at school and not meeting all of her sister’s friends. Why didn’t Margaret come out with it? Didn’t she care that she was making a fool and a liar out of her… and what of their parents? Her father put on his coat. He’d chew this over with his pals over a dram or two. Jean flashed Margaret a look hoping to put an end to the charade. Her sister carried on sorting out the welcome with their mother; reassuring her that soup would be fine and the guest wouldn’t stay long.

  * * * * *

  Jean lay at the edge of the bed. Neither girl slept, divided by the hostile space between them. They were up at daylight scrubbing and polishing until not a speck of dust remained, or appeared likely to land on anything in sight. Changed from their working clothes there was nothing left for them to do except wait. Jean restlessly flicked through the pages of a book while her younger sister Mary, practised scales on the piano. Their father looked at his pocket watch, lit his pipe and settling back in his chair by the fire said, “Maggie, come away from the window. I don’t want the young man to think you’ve nothing better to do than watch out for him.”

  The wall clock with its whirring weights and chains struck eleven. Ben’s train would be in the station. Jean buried her head further in the book. The atmosphere stifled Margaret. He must come, and soon, she couldn’t keep up this light-hearted pretence much longer.

  Inviting smells of broth and fresh baked bread drifted in from the kitchen making everyone hungry. Her mother, pinafore tied tightly protecting her Sunday dress, stirred, seasoned and left off tasting to call, “Are you a deef Maggie? Away you go and answer the door.”

  The watery winter sunshine filtering through the twigs of leafless trees melted the hoar frost’s bridal coating on spiders’ webs. Ben stood framed against the silver light. His breath rose into the air intermingling with Margaret’s, banishing her fears. She led him into the house.

  “I am delighted to meet you, Sir” Ben said, holding out his hand, “I’m sure Margaret has told you all about me. I have come to ask if you will do me the honour of giving me her hand in marriage.”

  Margaret’s mother, her best apron hanging loosely in her hand, was transfixed by this young man and his unbelievable request. “Maggie, he’s col…”

  “Indian! . . . Ma… Ben’s Indian…”

  Her husband was the first to move, pushing past the outstretched hand. The silence in the room magnified the dull click of a key in the lobby cupboard. The door crashed against the wall rocking the foundations of the row of houses. In an explosion of rage Margaret’s father took out his shotgun, expertly loaded and cocked it and, pointing the barrel at Ben mercilessly backed him down the hall roaring, “You heathen bastard! Out… out of my sight!”

  A few inquisitive neighbours who had seen Ben arrive remained gossiping by the gate. The gun was swung in their direction and fired in the air. Closed windows and doors flew open. Heads poked out witnessing the family’s shame. Gripped by a boundless fury Margaret’s father bellowed, “There’ll be no wedding from this h
oose.”

  Her eyes blazing Margaret recklessly shouted, “Then I’ll marry without!”

  “Maggie, think what you’re saying… You canny mean it,” entreated her mother.

  Margaret stonily replied, “But I do.”

  In a voice that matched the winter’s day her father declared, “Then go, but if you do, you’ll not enter this hoose again.”

  Oblivious to everyone’s distress except her own, Margaret left with Ben for the station.

  Chapter 6

  Edinburgh 1932

  Estranged from her family, and denied the privileges and protection, which, in the same circumstances, had long been the prerogative of the rich, Margaret quickly married Ben in an Edinburgh register office. He gave his occupation as landowner and two passing strangers acted as witnesses.

  The tram rattled down Princes Street. Margaret twiddled with the narrow gold band on her finger. Maybe one day her father would realise that Ben’s intentions were honourable but instead of celebrating with those dearest they were on their way to Patrick Thompson’s department store. She knew they would have a lovely tea while listening to the string quartet, and watching glamorous models demonstrate the latest fashions to the store’s discerning customers. Confident in her expensive clothes Margaret was looking forward to showing off the outfit and her husband. It was taking an age to get there, “Ben this must be the wrong direction?”

  “Don’t worry… we get off at the next stop. I have a surprise for you.”

  They strolled casually into the reception area of the exclusive hotel overlooking Princes Street gardens and the towering castle. Ben spoke to the tight lipped desk clerk, “I have a reservation, Mr and Mrs Atrey.”

  The clerk said, “You must be mistaken. The hotel is full.

  “But our overnight bag was delivered yesterday,” Ben protested.