Episode 18…A Part In A Show

“Dear Mrs Corton… Sounds rather formal that! Me knowing you and your mother the way I do… Anyway, Charlie told me where to find you…” With suddenness the animation in her veins froze. She unfolded the paper much closer to her eyes… So Charles knew where she was? “…Please forgive my cheek in writing” the note went on “Me being no great scholar as you know” The words faded a little in the spelling. Then there was a pause and an inky smudge. ” I’m putting up a show” The spelling became more difficult. “I remember as how you were so confident that evening at the ‘Peoples” A blob of dark ink now accompanied every forth word. “I want to talk to you about coming in on the show… There’s a lovely spot for your pretty face and educated voice” Charles should have made contact with her…if only to… She read on; “Charlie said you was abroad. France or some place… Then come home and got married… As if you were missing him like” The arrogance of the man! He knew she had returned from Madame Bourges and had done nothing! “So he wants to speak to you urgently on the telephone as soon as you can. Yours respectfully, Herbert J. Marks Esq.”

The unsettling content of the letter began to fade quickly in her mind like threads of failing light. She was composed quite by a certain calmness that now surrounded her. Edward appeared to take no further interest in her communication and sat quietly reading his newspaper. Rose had left the room. Secretly she folded the important paper to her hip pocket… Her mind had started backwards and sweet honey oozed from the potency of sudden excitement. Erasmic light danced in Esme’s head with tiny fairy toes and courtliness ushered her lips into a weird silent eroticism. Its touch and go of wordliness became brand new to the grasping plunge of Edward’s touch.

When he spoke, his eyes were only a little inquisitive to her indulgence, and yet, there was a hard and clear tone to his voice.

Episode 17…A Letter At Breakfast

‘Good morning my child’ Edward’s voice peeled out from the breakfast table like a well rehearsed chant – he called her ‘My Child’ when it suited him, just as a holy man might address someone of a devoted calling. It was… as if he took pleasure from it, almost to a point of some misguided derision. He would then slump back to a grown form of withdrawn discipline. He lifted himself up as she sat down and watched her inventively from his small round eyes.

‘Why don’t you shop in Bayswater? You’ve not been there for a long time have you.’ The question was odd and ill timed. Suddenly, Esme was wide awake.

‘What!’ Was the best she could manage.

‘I can phone your mother…You can go together’. He studied her carefully. ‘You could call on old friends!’ he added.

‘I don’t have friends in Bayswater, young or old. Neither does mother.’ Her voice now firm and she was almost sure that he knew nothing. A wild guess, perhaps some tattle from Rose, and besides what did Charles matter now, it was in the past. Her running blood slowed and cooled, in fact, he was no-one to her now. She jaggered a sufficing yawn and was silently handed a plate of toast from the outstretched arm of Rose.

‘Really, my dear, you must try and get a good night’s sleep.’ A stout glow of his eyes had a sacrificial bloating stare to them. ‘There is a letter for you.’ he announced. He passed a small white envelope across the table to her. ‘It didn’t take the liberty of opening it for you.’ he said with an added sarcastic grin.

Her delicate fingers ran along its issuing edge that gave way to a small piece of folded notepaper. It was headed with a simple rubber stamping, much too over-inked for the thinness of the paper and with a crude elevation it announced a brief communication from the superlative Mr. Marks… Quiet relish trouped inside her head. It had been a lifetime away. The moment passed into pleasure and her thoughts began to sing. With a little shaking haste she read on: