Desperate Measures. Kitty Neale

a complete fool, an idiot for allowing it, and her shame kept her silent. Yet now, as the memories returned to plague her, Betty found she wanted to get it off her chest, to unburden the pain that remained like a hard rock in her chest. Val had been betrayed too; she’d understand, and maybe, just maybe, if she could bring herself to talk about it, the pain would ease.

      Once she’d towelled herself dry, Betty dressed, and after eating a light breakfast she set about making the Victoria sponge, pleased to see when she took it from the oven that the two halves had risen perfectly. The kitchenette was stifling and it had been daft to bake a cake, especially with the cost of the ingredients, but as she sandwiched the two halves together with jam and butter icing, just looking at it made her mouth water.

      The rest of the day seemed to drag as Betty halfheartedly did a bit of dusting, but living alone and naturally tidy, there was little to keep her occupied. She read for a while, glad when at last it was time to get changed.

      With the skirt on, Betty inspected the cut. It was simple, elegant, and would be easy to copy. If possible, she’d save a little money to buy some off-cuts of material and her old treadle sewing machine would come in useful yet again. With the blue blouse tucked in, Betty stood back, twisting this way and that as she looked in the mirror. Yes, it did look nice, and she was so grateful that Val had helped her to choose it. When she picked up her shoes, Betty frowned. They were scuffed, worn down at the heels and would spoil her appearance, but as they were the only pair that didn’t have holes in the soles, she would have to wear them.

      Cake in hand, Betty went downstairs and was pleased to see Val’s smile of pleasure as she opened the door. ‘Hello, Val. I hope I’m not too early.’

      ‘Of course you aren’t and it’s lovely to see you. That sponge looks wonderful, and you do too. Come on in. I’ve been feeling a bit fed up so it’s nice to have a bit of company.’

      Betty stepped inside, balancing the cake as Treacle rushed over to jump up at her legs. ‘Hello, boy,’ she said, handing the sponge to Val before reaching down to pat him.

      ‘Sit down, Betty. I’ve made some sandwiches and I’ve only got to fill the teapot.’

      Betty sank onto the sofa and Treacle leapt up beside her to lay his head on her knee. She stroked him for a while, but then Val returned with the tray.

      ‘He’s certainly taken to you,’ she said. ‘Get down now, Treacle, there’s a good boy.’ Val was ignored, and she sighed. ‘As you can see, there’s little improvement in his behaviour. I’m sorry, Betty, he’s probably creasing your skirt – and it looks so nice too.’

      ‘It’s all right, I don’t mind.’

      Val laid down the tray. ‘You pour the tea while I find that necklace.’

      Betty eased Treacle to one side, feeling relaxed and at home as she picked up the teapot. She had only just finished pouring when Val returned, holding a strand of blue and pale cream beads.

      ‘Here, try them on,’ she said.

      Betty slipped them over her head. ‘They’re lovely, but are you sure you don’t need them?’

      ‘I haven’t worn them for a long time and they look perfect on you.’

      ‘Thanks, Val. I’ll treasure them.’

      Val took a seat and then held out a plate of ham sandwiches. ‘Tuck in and then we can have a piece of your sponge.’

      For a while they munched companionably and after eating a slice of cake each, Betty sat back, replete. Treacle remained beside her. Absent-mindedly stroking him again, Betty said, ‘I’ve been thinking about what you told me yesterday, Val, and I still can’t get over how badly you were treated.’

      ‘I was an idiot, but thanks for listening.’

      ‘You’re not alone in that. I’ve been an idiot too.’

      ‘You can’t have been as daft as me.’

      ‘Oh, I was. My marriage ended four years ago, but as it lays the foundation for what happened to me, I suppose I should tell you a little of my background. You see, I grew up in Surrey, on the outskirts of a small village. My father worked on a farm and we lived quietly in a tiny cottage. We never travelled, other than the occasional trip to our nearest market town, and I suppose compared to a sophisticated woman like you, I’m a country bumpkin.’

      ‘Rubbish. You’re a lovely woman, warm and generous, and there’s nothing wrong with being brought up in the country.’

      Now that she had started, Betty found herself unable to stop, the words so long held back, now pouring out. ‘My father ruled the roost at home and my mother happy to let him. It was from her that I learned how to make do and mend. When I married Richard, I just followed in her footsteps and, though we weren’t well off, I was happy. Richard eventually went off to fight in the war, but when it was over he came home with plans to start up his own business.’

      ‘Really, doing what?’

      ‘He wanted to open up a car showroom and repair shop. Every penny made was ploughed back into the business so we continued to live frugally. I had to take what little money he gave me for housekeeping and make it stretch. I never had a bank account or any money of my own, but I loved Richard and wanted him to succeed, so I never complained.’

      ‘And did he make a success of the business?’

      ‘Eventually, but I never saw the fruits of his success.’

      ‘Didn’t you? Why was that?’

      The painful memories were too much and Betty found tears flooding her eyes. Unable to go on she gasped, ‘I … I’m sorry.’

      ‘Oh, please don’t cry. Look, I’ll make us a fresh pot of tea, and how about another slice of your lovely cake?’

      Betty fought to pull herself together. She couldn’t eat another slice of cake, it would choke her; but she dabbed her eyes and felt a little calmer when Val returned to pour out fresh cups of tea.

      ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,’ Val said softly as she poured.

      However painful, Betty wanted to talk – to get it out of her system. ‘It’s all right, but I think I’ll jump forward to when my children left home. I missed them so much, and with Richard so busy, I felt lost and lonely. Richard then told me we were moving and I was shocked when he took me to see the house he wanted to buy.’

      ‘Oh dear, was it too small?’

      ‘No, Val, it was huge with eight bedrooms, but it had been empty for some time and was in a bit of a state. It was even worse outside, with a massive garden that had gone to seed, with brambles, weeds and a knee-high lawn, let alone the shrubs that had grown out of all proportion.’

      ‘With just the two of you, why on earth did your husband want to take on a house of that size?’

      Betty’s lips thinned. ‘He said he’d been advised that property was an investment, a way to build up assets for his retirement, but I didn’t believe that. He wanted it because he’s a social climber and during our marriage he went out of his way to make friends with the wealthy, well-connected families in the area. Richard wanted the house to impress, to keep up, but he took out a huge mortgage to buy it.’

      ‘It sounds like it needed a lot of work too.’

      ‘Richard paid builders to do the renovations, but after that he said money was tight and I’d have to manage without any help. It took me months to clean the house, and even longer to bring the garden up to scratch. In all, it took just over a year, but in that time I grew to love the garden, and the house.’ Betty paused, the next part so painful, and taking a deep breath she struggled to continue. ‘It wasn’t long after that when Richard dropped his bombshell. He … he … told me. Oh God, I … I was such a blind fool.’

      ‘You’re not alone in that. I trusted Mike Freeman – and look what