Desperate Measures. Kitty Neale

I still didn’t see what was going on right under my nose. When he finally said there was someone else I was shocked to the core. It was his secretary, a girl who worked in the showroom office, and yes, I mean a girl. She was only in her late twenties, where of course I was then forty-seven. Like his used cars, Richard decided to trade me in for a newer model.’

      ‘You must have been heartbroken. What a dreadful way to treat you. I hope he lives to regret it,’ Val said quietly.

      ‘Oh, so do I … so do I,’ Betty sobbed, finding herself crying in earnest. She felt Val’s arm around her shoulder, grateful that she wasn’t at all like the aloof woman she had first taken her for, and for the comfort she was now offering.

      ‘Have a good cry. It’ll do you good,’ Val said softly.

      At last Betty was able to pull herself together, and said shakily, ‘I’m sorry for breaking down like that.’

      ‘Don’t be silly: you’ve been through hell. No wonder you’re upset.’

      ‘You haven’t heard it all yet, but to tell you the truth I’ve got a bit of a headache. I’ll tell you the rest another day, but for now I think I’ll go upstairs and take a couple of aspirin.’

      ‘All right, but I hope talking about it has helped. Pop down any time; perhaps tomorrow evening if you aren’t busy.’

      ‘Yes, all right. Bye, Val, and thanks for listening.’

      ‘Bye, my dear.’

      Betty felt emotionally exhausted as she trod wearily upstairs. She hadn’t known Val very long, but strangely it was beginning to feel as if she’d known her for years. There was a deep feeling of empathy, so much so that she had finally unburdened herself.

      Yet there was more to tell – worse to tell. Val had been so kind, so sympathetic, but how would she feel about a woman who had been so weak, so stupid, that she had let her husband walk all over her?

       Chapter Six

      Val was disappointed. It was the weekend again but, despite seeing Betty for a couple of evenings, she hadn’t mentioned her marriage again. So far her story had been all too familiar, one that she had often heard whilst working for Mr Warriner. Betty was angry about her divorce settlement, that was all, and Val now doubted that she’d want to join the group. There were lots of women who’d been hurt by divorce, by their husbands going off with a younger woman, but she hadn’t heard of any who had hit back. Val heaved a sigh, yet maybe she shouldn’t give up yet. Betty said there was more to her story, and it puzzled her that the woman had to live so frugally. From what Betty had said her husband owned a thriving business and they had lived in a very large house, so what had happened to her settlement?

      The telephone rang at ten o’clock on Saturday morning and when she answered it, Val found Paula on the line. ‘Hello dear. How are you?’

      ‘I’m all right, but a bit fed up. Cheryl’s on duty again so we can’t meet up. Can I come round to your place?’

      ‘Betty has clammed up, but I feel there’s more she isn’t telling me. I was going to pop upstairs to ask her if she’d like to go out for a walk, but to be honest, if she still won’t talk, I’m stuck.’

      ‘What about this afternoon? Can I come round then?’

      ‘Make it about two o’clock and I’ll make us some lunch.’

      ‘Will I meet Betty?’

      ‘No, I don’t think so. Oh, but wait a minute,’ Val said as she was struck by a thought, ‘maybe if she hears your story it’ll give her the confidence to open up again. I know I’m rushing it, but I really do want to get on with our plans.’

      ‘Oh, Val, so do I, but I’m not sure about telling Betty,’ Paula said, her voice reedy with doubt. Val could have kicked herself. Honestly, sometimes she was so thoughtless. Wanting to make amends, she said, ‘Darling, I’m sorry, I spoke without thinking. Of course you don’t want to talk about it again.’

      There was a pause, but then Paula said, ‘It’s all right. If you think it will help, I’ll give it a go.’

      ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘Yeah, but if I choke up you may have to take over.’

      ‘That’s fine.’

      They said goodbye and, hoping that the ploy would work, Val waited a couple of hours before going upstairs to invite Betty to lunch.

      ‘I was hoping to see my daughter, but so far there’s no sign of her,’ Betty said flatly. ‘I doubt she’ll turn up now, so yes, I’d love to join you for lunch.’

      ‘I hope you don’t mind, but a friend of mine will be joining us too – the young girl you saw waiting for me outside the flats a few weeks ago.’

      ‘Err … no, of course not.’

      ‘Right then, I’ll see you in an hour.’

      Val hurried back downstairs, and as she wanted to have everything ready for when they arrived, she hoped that the quick salad she knocked up would suffice. This was it – make or break time. Val liked Betty, felt sorry for her, but she couldn’t afford to waste any more time on the woman. If hearing Paula’s story didn’t draw Betty out, she would have to find someone else to recruit.

      Betty was the first to arrive, and Val was gratified to see that she was carrying a plate of buttered scones. ‘I’ve only made salad, so you’re a treasure.’

      ‘I always enjoyed baking and it’s nice to get my hand in again. I hope your friend likes them.’

      ‘I’m sure she will,’ Val said, and was just about to close the door when she saw Paula entering the block. ‘There she is now.’

      With both of them inside, Val could see that Betty was puzzled – and she understood why. Paula was young and pretty, but dressed like a nun in a threadbare long, dark skirt and high-necked blouse. She wore no make-up, her hair scraped back in an untidy ponytail, and with nails bitten down to the quick, she appeared a nervous wreck.

      Val made the introductions, then said, ‘Sit yourselves down. What would you like to drink?’

      ‘’Ave you got any gin?’ Paula asked.

      ‘Sorry, no, but I’ve got sherry. Will that do?’

      ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’

      Betty looked shocked, whilst Val went to her cabinet to pour the drinks. ‘What about you, Betty? Will you join us in a sherry?’

      ‘No, thanks, you know I don’t drink,’ she said, her face showing disapproval as, instead of sipping her sherry, Paula tipped up the small glass to swallow it in one gulp.

      Not a good start, Val thought. Betty had no idea what Paula had been through, why she drank, but hopefully when she heard Paula’s story there’d be understanding instead of disapproval. She poured Paula another sherry, and then asked, ‘How’s the new job going?’

      ‘It ain’t bad, and now that I’ve got the hang of it I’m left mostly on me own. The noise of the flippin machinery cuts out much chance of chatting and that suits me fine.’

      ‘Paula works in a print factory,’ Val explained.

      ‘Yeah, that’s right. What do you do, Betty?’

      ‘Oh, I’m just a cleaner-cum-housekeeper in a house in Kensington. I’m afraid I’m not trained for anything else.’

      ‘I know how you feel. There was just me and Mum and we were hard up. When I was fifteen she couldn’t wait for me to leave school and bring a few bob in. I’ve been stuck in one factory or another ever since.’

      ‘Come on,