Barbara Taylor Bradford - Just Rewards

‘This is Mrs Roebotham,’ Paddy said, now hurrying through the doorway, ushering the woman across the library floor at last.

Immediately, Dusty moved forward exclaiming, ‘Hello, Mrs Roebotham. Hello !’ He stretched out his hand and smiled, added, ‘I’m Russell Rhodes.’

She took his hand and shook it, rather timidly he thought, and murmured in a subdued voice, ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Rhodes.’

Paddy excused himself and disappeared, while Dusty led the woman towards the fireplace. He knew everything about her the instant she entered the room, although he had never met her before. She looked about forty, was scrubbed to shining cleanliness, not a vestige of make-up on her face, neat and tidy in her appearance, her dark clothes plain, simple, but not cheap-looking in any way at all. Her luxuriant auburn hair was brushed back and formed into a sleek twist at the back of her head to reveal a slender, high-cheekboned face that was rather attractive, and she had light eyes, greyish blue, he thought. She was slim and wiry, and of medium height, and there was something about her that was arresting, a determination in her, perhaps, an honesty and straightforwardness. He knew immediately that she was a decent woman.

Leeds, he thought. Working-class Leeds. Same background as mine. No doubt growing up in a Victorian terrace house, just as I did. They had a lot in common, although he was quite sure she was not aware of that.

‘Let’s sit here, shall we, Mrs Roebotham,’ he said briskly.

‘It’s Gladys, everybody calls me Gladys, Mr Rhodes,’ she said in her quiet voice, sitting down where he had indicated, crossing her ankles, placing her hands in her lap on top of her bag.

‘Very well, it’s Gladys then. Now, would you like some refreshments? Tea? Coffee? Or something else? Something to eat, perhaps?’

‘Nothing, but thanks ever so much. Cook made me a cup of tea when I got here, Mr Rhodes.’

He nodded his understanding, and repressed the urge to tell her to call him Dusty. He knew she wouldn’t, and that the mere suggestion would only embarrass her. She was probably overly impressed by this house, undoubtedly intimidated by his fame … the poor Leeds lad who’d made it big. The Yorkshire newspapers were his greatest boosters, always full of his fame, calling him a genius, giving him lavish accolades for his paintings.

As he took the seat opposite her, he asked, ‘What’s happened to Molly Caldwell?’

‘She’s had a heart attack,’ Gladys answered calmly, but her hands were twisting together in her lap, and betrayed her continuing nervousness.

Dismay clutched at him. ‘How bad is she?’ he asked urgently, leaning forward, pinning his eyes on hers.

‘It’s serious, but her doctor is very hopeful,’ she murmured and tried to give him a reassuring smile without much success.

‘When did it happen? This morning?’

‘No. Yesterday afternoon. It was lucky I was there. I go three times a week to help her, and I was in the kitchen doing the ironing when she collapsed. I called Dr Bloom immediately. It was him that sent the ambulance. She’s in Leeds Infirmary, that’s where they took her.’

‘And before that, before she went to the hospital, she told you to bring Atlanta to me?’ Dusty said.

‘Oh, no, she was … well, she was sort of out of it,’ Gladys explained. ‘I knew what I had to do, mind you, Mr Rhodes … bring Atlanta to you. Molly had drilled that into me. She said if ever she got sick or anything I had to bring the little girl to you. Nobody else. Only to you. She kept an envelope in the kitchen drawer with your address and money for taxis in it.’

‘I’m glad she’d told you what to do in case of an emergency, Gladys. Very glad. And you did well. Thank you.’

‘I would have brought Atlanta to you last night. But it had turned seven by the time they took Molly to the hospital. Way past Atlanta’s bed time. I thought it best to stay the night at Molly’s house, I didn’t want to alarm the child. And so I brought her here today. I spoke to the Infirmary, this morning before coming here, and Molly’s doing well.’

Dusty nodded. ‘What’s the prognosis? Do you know? What did the doctor tell you?’

‘That her heart attack was serious. But not life-threatening. Dr Bloom seems to think she’ll be able to come home in about a week.’

‘That’s certainly good news, good to know,’ Dusty exclaimed, smiling at her, filling with sudden relief.

‘By the way, she’s in the I.C.U., Mr Rhodes. I shall go and visit her on my way back home, even if I can only wave to her,’ Gladys announced.

‘That’s very kind of you, and I’ll go myself later this week. By the way, this Dr Bloom, is he in Meanwood?’

‘Oh yes, he’s our local doctor. He’s been there years. And he’s only three streets away from Molly, and not too far from me either. I’ve written his number down for you, Mr Rhodes. I thought you might want to be in touch with him.’ As she spoke she fumbled in her bag and finally brought out a piece of paper, handed it to him.

‘Thanks, Gladys, thanks again for bringing Atlanta to me. Incidentally, how did you explain her grandmother’s absence to her?’ he asked, staring at the piece of paper, then putting it in his pocket.

‘It was Atlanta who came to me in the kitchen. She said her grandmother had fallen down, had hurt her leg because she wasn’t getting up. So when the ambulance arrived, I said they were taking Grandma to get her leg made better. She accepted that, and then when I told her I was bringing her to you today she was so excited that was all she could think about,’ Gladys informed him, then sat back in the chair.

Dusty stood up. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done. I’d better go and see Atlanta without any further delay. I thought it better to get the whole story from you before seeing my daughter. Now, come with me to the kitchen, Gladys, and have some lunch. Then we’ll arrange for a car to take you back to Leeds, to see Molly and later to your home.’

‘Oh, please, it’s not necessary, honestly it isn’t. I’ll get off, after I’ve said goodbye to Atlanta. She’s a good little girl, you know, very grown up in so many ways, Mr Rhodes.’

‘Yes, I know. She’s a treasure,’ he said, escorting her out of the room. ‘I’m very grateful to you, Gladys, and I won’t let you leave here without some food in you, and a car to take you wherever you want to go. And by the way, you’d better give me your phone number so that I have it handy.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, I will. I don’t live far away from Mrs Caldwell, just a couple of streets down.’ There was a moment’s hesitation, before she said softly, ‘Thanks for being so nice.’

He smiled at her, but said nothing, and led her through the entrance foyer in the direction of the kitchen. He saw her looking around, staring at his paintings. But she didn’t make any comment and neither did he.

‘Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!’ Atlanta cried the moment she saw Dusty, coming forward to meet him as he entered the kitchen, dancing towards him on tiptoes, her laughter echoing all around them. She was tall for three, graceful and slender, ‘his little beanshoot’, he called her.

As she came into his arms there was no mistaking whose child she was with her jet-black hair and light blue eyes. It always seemed to him that there was nothing of Melinda in her. After hugging her, kissing her cheek, he put her down on the floor and gave her a huge smile. ‘We’re going to have a fun weekend together while Grandma gets her leg mended.’

‘Does it hurt her, Daddy?’ Atlanta asked, staring up at him. Without waiting for his answer she shook her head and said, ‘She didn’t cry.’

‘No, I don’t think it hurts, darling,’ he answered and then turning to Gladys he said, ‘Please stay for something to eat, it’s already twelve-thirty. You must be hungry.’