Merryn Allingham - The Girl From Cobb Street

She unclasped the necklace she had been wearing and packed it carefully away among her clean underwear. Her only necklace, the string of pearls Miss Maddox had given her when she’d won the job at Bridges. How far away that seemed now. Then she hung the silk dress back into the wardrobe, feeling she never wanted to see it again. Despite all the hopes she’d invested in the garment, it had not brought her luck. Lifting her hairbrush, she began half-heartedly to pull it through waves that, as always, had grown limp from the sultry air. In the mirror she glimpsed Gerald framed in the doorway. He was fresh from the bathroom but his pyjamas were already damp with sweat.

‘Just come to say goodnight,’ he said awkwardly. ‘It’s hotter than ever, don’t you think? Best I give you a bit of space, my dear.’ And he turned to head towards the spare room.

‘Gerald!’

He looked back at her, a frown carved into his forehead. It was clear he didn’t want to stay and she felt too broken to try and detain him. But there was one thing she had to say before they parted.

‘I’m not going to Simla, Gerald.’

The frown deepened. ‘What do you mean, you’re not going?’

‘Just that. I can’t bear to be with those women.’

‘This is nonsense. What’s got into you?’ He leaned heavily on the doorframe and she remembered he had drunk lavishly.

‘I don’t want to spend the next few months hundreds of miles away from you and with no other company than people who hate me.’

‘No one hates you. If this is about that stupid remark, you should forget it. Margot Dukes is a bitch and well known for her unpleasantness. Nobody will take the least notice of her.’

‘It’s not just her. It’s all of them.’

And it was, she realised. Only a few of the women tonight had been unfriendly, several in fact had been amiable, but to be constrained to spend her days in such shallow, wearisome company was wretched. It would be weeks of trivia, of gossip, then if her knowledge of women living on top of each other was anything to go by, the inevitable fault finding, the backbiting. She would be the target, she was sure. And she was not strong enough to take it; she would buckle for certain. She tried telling herself that she was as good as anyone she’d met in Jasirapur; tried convincing herself that she should be proud of what she’d achieved against all the odds. But deep inside she knew that she didn’t really believe it.

Gerald started to walk towards her. She caught a glimpse of his figure reflected in the mirror and it was taut with tension. His voice, too, was tight and hard. ‘That’s ridiculous. I saw you talking quite happily with any number of the wives. You’ll go, and you’ll enjoy yourself.’

She shook her head and was near to tears again, but she was determined not to capitulate. As he drew closer, she rose to meet him. ‘If I go, Gerald, it won’t be willingly. You’ll have to bind and gag me to get me on that train.’

‘There’s no need for these dramatics.’ He shrugged his shoulders in a dismissive gesture. ‘I know this country far better than you, which is something you seem to forget. And if I tell you it’s for your own good that you go, you have to believe me.’

When she said nothing, his exasperation seemed to build in the silence and then spill over. ‘I’m your husband, Daisy, which means you’ll do as I wish.’

‘Why is it so important to you that I go?’

The question had come to her out of the blue but it left him looking discomfited. She could see he was struggling with the situation and wondered why. He moved even closer and took the hairbrush from her grasp, then captured both her hands in his. His voice had a note of tenderness she hadn’t heard before.

‘If you won’t do this for me, then do it for the baby. Simla is perfect. You must have heard that from everybody. And there couldn’t be a better place while you’re in this condition. You’ll love the gardens. You’ll love the walking. There are dozens of gentle strolls to take. And when you get too tired, you can call a rickshaw. At night—think of it—you’ll be able to sleep soundly in cool air. How can you not want to go? How can you deny our child the very best start in life?’

His tone had grown more coaxing with every word and she felt herself warm against his body. She wanted his arms around her, wanted to hold him so tightly he would never escape. Instead she eased her hands from out of his clasp. This was not the way she’d wanted to tell him, but she had no choice now.

‘There is no child, Gerald. There is no baby.’

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