WARNING in this part, the word 'tomatoes' will be pronounced in the British way. Steel yourselves. Yes we know it is illogical, but we just don't care! Potatoes are quite safe.
*****
Chapter Fourteen
Wednesday 9 December 1970
I was leaving a conference room in the Royal Bolton Hospital on the following Wednesday in December, after I had been called in to discuss the legal situation following a serious failure of a very expensive and necessary piece of equipment and a very sloppy contract to boot, when I heard my name.
"Graham? Graham Proctor?"
I turned to see Mary Turner hurrying towards me.
"Mary, how good to see you!" I greeted her, "You're working here now?"
Mary had been training as a nurse while I was an undergrad. We never went out together but moved in the same friendship circles. We still exchanged Christmas cards, though neither of us were the sort to add autobiographies to our festive greetings. We hugged, then smiled at each other.
"Yeah," she said. "Got some time? Cup of tea?"
We went to the hospital café and caught up on each other's histories.
She had been working in the hospital since graduation, but wanted to move into general practice. She was dating, as in 'living with', one of the doctors and they were planning on getting married in a year or two. She enlightened me on a number of our common acquaintances.
Then it was my turn. Told her of my job and brought her up to date on our mutual friends as she had done.
"Love life?" she prompted.
"Yes I do!" I replied with a grin.
"Oh, you haven't changed," she said with resignation and a tolerant smile. "Still messing with words. No wonder you're a lawyer. You know what I mean."
I held up my hands in surrender. "OK, I have a number of very good women friends. We play bridge every week. They work with me."
She looked inquisitively at me; I looked at her blandly. She frowned.
"And?" she asked. "Romance?"
"Not at the moment. I had a relationship with a woman, but she let me down badly. Met her at a carol concert at our old hall. We were together for best part of a year and a half, even got engaged. It's rather put me off getting into anything serious."
"Oh yes? Bracegirdle Hall you say?" she said. "I was two years behind you in Hall, I remember you playing at the folk evenings. Do I know her? I was there four years."
"Don't know," I said. "Her name was Penelope."
"Not Penelope Roasburie?"
"The same."
"She arrived the year I left. Unusual name, that's why I remember her. She let you down?"
"She cheated - went with someone else. I found out shortly after we got engaged, she broke it off by returning her engagement present. No communication at all. Not even a note with the packet."
"This is Penny Roasburie we're talking about? Cheating? Not Penny, I can't believe it!"
"'Fraid so. Never got in touch. Apparently she
thought
I was cheating on her with someone else, never asked it if was true. She's engaged to someone else now."
"Now I can believe she'd react to cheating. She always distrusted men, and never could finish with them face to face. So it figures."
Silence. That was news to me, but it was irrelevant. In any case my attention was caught by another woman. What's new, I hear you say. This was a blonde. All right, don't repeat the comment. She was a hospital orderly in its unflattering uniform.
These days all hospital staff seem to dress in shapeless overalls. Then, nurses wore demure skirts and so did women orderlies, cleaners, whatever. This girl had her back to us and was mopping the floor of the cafe, and her legs were on show up to the knees and a little flash beyond as she bent forward. They were shapely legs, very shapely. The woman's hair was in a ponytail, and her neck and ears were also spell-binding, slender swan neck and neat ears.
"Graham? Hello?"
I was brought back to Mary who had a broad grin on her face.
"You haven't changed, have you?" she almost accused me. "Always was a leg man!" and she laughed.
I was caught! I grinned sheepishly. "What I see is really stunning, and that's only the back view."
Mary became serious. "That one? I'm worried about her, very worried. So are a few of the other nurses. She's a lovely girl, but she's being bashed about by her boyfriend, if that's what you'd call him. Comes in with black eyes covered up with makeup, bruises on her arms, I'm afraid she'll be badly injured. She's not well off, and I don't think she's got anywhere else to go. I'd take her in, but we've not enough room in our small flat."
"How old?"
"Twenty? Twenty One? Something like that. Shame, she's really nice. Works hard. She can't hide some of the bruises, though she tries to."
By now the girl had picked up her bucket and left.
"Hasn't she got any family?" I asked, intrigued.
"Doesn't seem to have, she won't talk about herself. I see her to chat to, but she clams up about her personal life. I wish I could get her away from that man. She's not happy, sort of downtrodden."
Sometimes I say stupid things. This was one of those times. It was probably the legs and neck wot dun it. 'Engage brain before operating mouth' is an aphorism I did not always heed, a potentially disastrous fault in a lawyer!
"I've got room, but she's hardly likely to want to trust another man after what she's going through. She'd have to leave her job as well. Not likely is it?"
"You got designs on her?" I knew Mary trusted me but was not altogether sure about my intentions.
"Mary, I'm a lawyer. I can't afford any bad publicity, so on that level alone I won't go near her. Look, you know me, I do have some morals about taking advantage of the vulnerable. Let's say I'd get to have some company, she gets a safe place to stay. She can housekeep for me while she looks for another job.
"I've already got a friend and bedmate, so I won't be feeling frustrated at having a pretty woman around."
She nodded, and we let the matter drop. I left after we exchanged phone numbers. Yes, as a doctor her boyfriend needed a phone.
Friday 11 December 1970
On Friday evening, the phone rang as I got in after work. It was Mary.
She came to the point. "Had a talk with Sandy, you know, that girl you were ogling. I told her about you and your offer and she's coming to our place for dinner tomorrow; her so-called boyfriend is away for the weekend. Are you free? Like to meet her? She's quite intrigued by you, you know, making that offer to flat share."
I mentally kicked myself: Mary had passed on the message. Now what was I getting myself into? Of course, after what I'd said, I knew my conscience would not let me rest if I didn't go.
"Sounds interesting," I said. "Yes, Mary, thanks, I'd like to."
I explained it ail to Colette, with whom I had made tentative arrangements for the weekend. She was most intrigued, and laughed heartily at me wanting to help a pretty young woman.
"I could be at the flat - in bed - naked - waiting for you tomorrow night. You might be feeling frisky after your evening with another blonde."
"Now that sounds a good idea," I said enthusiastically, "You've still got a key?"
She had.
Saturday 12 December 1970
Flowers for the lady, and a couple of bottles of good wine, one white, one red, were my armoury as I knocked at Mary's door.
"Why thank you, they're lovely!" Mary gushed as she took the flowers, kissing my cheek, leaving me with the wine. Behind her was a tall good looking man.
She introduced him as her boyfriend Joshua and I unloaded the bottles onto him. He looked at the labels, was suitably impressed and preceded me into their living room, where stood the blonde woman who looked a little timid, or perhaps worried.
"Graham," said Mary, "Can I introduce Sandy Christleton? Sandy, this is the Graham Proctor I told you about."
After what Mary said at the hospital I was expecting a black eye or at least a bruised cheek. I couldn't have been more wrong. Now I was looking at a
very
pretty face.
She was as tall as I was, on the slim side. She had medium breasts, neat waist, curvy hips and those shapely slim legs I'd seen before, below a shortish dress which her admirable bottom (also hinted at before) pushed out prettily. I noticed at least three inch heels, so she was not as tall as I had initially thought. I noticed the dress was not exactly shabby, but well worn and well looked after. I surmised it was her best dress. Her eyes, though, were dim and lifeless, as if she'd been through all this sort of thing before.
All that was taken in at a glance as I went to her, holding out a hand to shake. She was really very pretty, with delicate features, wide set eyes, small nose, full lips, small chin and that long sinuous neck. What immediately took my attention was the colour of her eyes. I had been expecting blue eyes with blonde hair, so green eyes came as a surprise. I wondered briefly and unworthily whether her
other
hair was blonde as well. However, regardless of that, the whole picture was very attractive, and I was riveted, though I worked hard not to show it.
"Pleased to meet you, Sandra," I said as we shook hands. I smiled at her, and there was almost a smile from her, though there was that air of worry or shyness about her.
"Nice to meet you, Graham," she replied, and her voice was strong and soft, but without any enthusiasm.
We sat, Sandra and I on the sofa and Mary on an armchair, while Josh excused himself to attend to the meal. Mary and I chatted briefly about university and our stay in the Hall of Residence, including some of our more eccentric fellow students and their antics.
"Mary tells me you went to Manchester and dated someone from there," Sandra said, again with that half smile. "It didn't go well, she said."
"I can see Mary has filled you in on my murky past," I said with a smile.
"What was she like - you got engaged to her?" she asked, visibly relaxing and her features softening.
"Yes. It didn't last long - a few weeks then she broke it off." My tone must have put her off further questions, and the matter dropped.
Joshua was a very good cook, the meal was excellent and they used my wines. I complimented him and he complimented me and we laughed. Sandy looked puzzled and I wondered if she would ever relax.
It was Josh who brought up the matter at the back of everyone's mind as we began dessert, or pudding as he called it, and I agreed that was the term to use. It was after all a treacle sponge with perfect custard.
"Trevor away this weekend?" he opened to Sandra, "Away game?"
"Other end of the country," she replied with a sigh. "He's staying overnight, with 'the lads'." There was scorn in her voice but an element of relief as well.
"A least he won't be coming home from the pub after they lost," said Mary.
Sandra shot a worried glance my way, which was not lost on Mary.
"Graham's quite safe, Sandy," she said, patting Sandra's knee, "I've known him for years."
I kept quiet, but smiled at her, I hoped, encouragingly. She didn't seem convinced.
"Mary told you about... Trevor?" she asked me.
"Yes," I said. "I'm sorry. Life's not good for you?"
"He knocks her about," Mary intervened. "I keep telling her, she's not safe with him."
"I was desperate and he offered me a place," Sandy explained. "I couldn't afford a place of my own, still can't on my money. He was fine at first, but he wanted more money than I was getting, so to stay there I had to end up in his bed, and then he got all possessive. It's worse when he comes home drunk."
"I keep telling her she needs to get out of there," Mary said hotly. "He's going to really hurt her one of these days."
"You know I would but I've nowhere to go," Sandy retorted despondently. "I don't earn enough for a place of my own."
