Leonora - Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

After preparing the evening's dinner, Jenny Bainbridge left the Banovski residence for her Putney home, she had her own family to care for. Albert was her husband, he was a train driver who spent many a time travelling from King's Cross to Darlington, he worked long hours, but they always managed to spend their night's together. They had two grown children, Vincent was 22, he served in the merchant navy and spent months away at sea, while Fay still lived at home, she was 18 years old and seven months pregnant. She was engaged to be married, but as Albert would say, she did everything backside first. In the eyes of society her predicament was not widely accepted, but what was done was done, and there was no use in crying over spilt milk, or in her case, semen. Despite the social stigma, Peter, her doting fiance was welcomed into the family.

With Mrs Bainbridge's leave, Emily was all alone at number eighteen Montpelier Square, she enjoyed those rare moments of solitude, but not too often. Suffering from deep moods and frequent episodes of melancholy, prolonged isolation would render her restless and mentally self-destructive. On the outside, she appeared ever so confident and quite full of herself, but the inner Emily harboured many unsavoury doubts. It was a dark secret that she kept from the majority. Naturally, Vlad was aware of her ever changing condition, and to a certain extent, so was Mary. But Henri had no idea at all.

Mr Capelle was too pre-occupied with his art and alcohol, quite oblivious to the outside world, he painted his half naked ladies and slept with those that were willing. Mary was indeed aware of the sordid situation, and although she wasn't ecstatic with the arrangement, his brushstrokes kept them financially comfortable. In contrast, Emily and Vlad had a beautiful relationship, a secure and loving one. Her mood swings made no sense at all.

She wound the gramophone and browsed through her Enrico Caruso collection, armed with a cup of tea and a cigarette, she listened to “Una Furtiva Lagrima”, softly singing along with the lyrics, she recited, “A single secret tear from her eye did spring, As if she envied all the youths that laughingly passed her by. What more searching need I do? What more searchin...” Her Italian wasn't perfect but she knew the English translation. The tender moment was rudely shattered by the ringing of the telephone.

Emily shouted, “Oh fiddlesticks!” She ran into the hall to answer the call. On picking up the receiver, she bluntly said, “Yes?”

A soft voice replied, “You have a delightful singing voice.”

Full of suspicion, Emily queried, “Who is this?”

The voice tauntingly asked, “Guess who?”

The line went dead.

Big Ben struck 5 o'clock and a surge of people spilled out onto the London streets. Included in the many were Mr Banovski and Polly Jenkins. After securing the premises, they left the publishing house and went their separate ways.

Polly was going home to Acton, her mother would be preparing the evening meal, like most Thursdays it would be sausage and mash. She would ask Polly about her day and tell her to set the table. Meanwhile, her father would have his head in the Daily Mirror, catching up on the latest news and puffing on a pipe. After a hard day at the factory, it was his way to unwind.

Vladimir would catch the tube, on the Piccadilly Line, from Russell Square to Knightsbridge. It was a brief journey and he'd just have enough time for a short conversation with the other regular passengers. Especially Ralph, he'd often ask for a light for the cigarette that he kept behind his ear. He never carried any matches because he had told his missus that he had given up smoking. Of course, she could smell tobacco on him, but he would blame the other commuters and declare that it was a filthy habit. Vlad found it all quite amusing.

Once in Knightsbridge, it was a ten minute walk to Montpelier Square and then he would be home sweet home.

Emily ran into his arms as soon as he stepped into the hallway, she buried her head into his chest and squeezed him tightly. She felt safe and secure in his presence. Especially when he stroked her hair and rocked her gently. Nothing could harm her then.

Vladimir instinctively asked, “Have you had a bad day darling?”

Emily continued with her rocking action and replied, “Not really, it's just...” Her lip quivered and she fought to hold back the tears.

Vlad kissed her forehead and said, “Take your time.” Suddenly, he sniffed the air and asked, “What's that burning smell?”

Immediately, Emily declared, “Oh shit! The steak pie!” At that she ran into the kitchen and grabbed a tea towel to take the hot tray out of the oven. Vlad followed and she added, “I'm sure it'll be alright, especially if we cut off the black bits.” She pulled a comical expression and said, “Mrs Bainbridge doesn't have to know.”

After wafting the smoke out of an open window, she turned with a smile and asked, “Would you like a cup of tea?” Vladimir replied, “That would be lovely, thank you.”

As Emily filled the kettle with water, he asked, “Why were you so upset?”

She gave her famous “pet lip” and sulkily announced, “I've been getting those hippopotamus telephone calls.”

Vlad couldn't help but laugh and Emily resounded, “It's not funny! In fact, it's bloody creepy.”

When the laughter had subsided, Vlad explained that the word she was looking for was “anonymous”. To which Emily embarrassingly remarked, “Well, I don't bloody know, I've never had them before.” She explained the course of events and the words of the mysterious caller. Vlad listened intently.

After salvaging the steak pie, the couple enjoyed their meal and settled in the parlour. A gentle welcoming fire kept them warm on that bitter January evening and each spoke about their day. On hearing the need to “have a little talk with Polly”, Emily's face fell into her hands and she exclaimed, “Oh Vlad! You didn't lecture the poor girl! She's only been there a few weeks!”

Somewhat perplexed by his wife's reaction, he replied, “She was too scared to proof read a book! What was I supposed to do? I don't pay her just to look pretty.”

Not missing a trick, Emily raised a curious eyebrow and asked, “So, she's pretty huh? Trust you to pick beauty over experience.” As an afterthought, she added, “Anyway, what was wrong with Mrs Pinkerton? It was cruel of you to fire her.”

Vlad sighed and remarked, “I didn't fire her. She was eighty three years old, hard of hearing and losing her eyesight. She chose retirement. Anyway, the company gave her a generous pension.”

Emily stoked the fire and said, “She was lovely to me when I used to visit, she'd always offer me one of her boiled sweets.”

With a knowing smile, Vladimir recalled, “Ah yes, those boiled sweets. She used to suck them for a couple of minutes and then put them back in their bowl. We all learnt not to take one.” Emily displayed a look of childlike disgust.

In response to her husband's cruel amusement, Emily announced, “I'll be near Tavistock Square tomorrow. I might pop into the publishing house and say hello to this famous Polly Jenkins.”

Vlad's laughter abruptly ceased and he replied, “Be nice Emily. Please.”

With a wicked grin, his mischievous wife replied, “I don't know what you mean. I'm always nice.”

At that moment, the telephone rang and a startled Emily jumped up from her chair. Nervously, she exclaimed, “You answer it Vlad!”

On picking up the receiver, he announced, “This is Mr Banovski speaking. Who may I ask is calling?” He waited a while, but the other person remained silent. Silent, except for the sound of their breathing. Emily made random hand movements, as if to secretly communicate with her husband, but he hadn't a clue to their obscure meaning. Once again, he asked, “Who's calling please?” There came no reply. Moments later, the line went dead.

After he had hung the receiver up, Vlad asked, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Emily briskly answered by saying, “I'd rather have something a tad stronger.” At that, she went straight to the drinks cabinet and poured out a large brandy. Immediately knocking it back, she poured another. The telephone call had shaken her nerves and Vlad watched her self-administer the alcoholic medication.

Giving up on the coffee idea, he also poured himself a drink and said, “Maybe they dialled the wrong number.”

Just as Emily was about to reply, the telephone rang again. This time she retorted, “Wrong number my arse, I'm going to give them a piece of my mind!” At that, she rushed to the telephone and picked up the receiver. In a foul temper, she screamed, “Why don't you just jump off the nearest bridge, you good for nothing piece of shit!”

It was hardly the language for a well-refined Edwardian lady, especially when the caller replied, “Oh dear. Is this a bad time? I was wanting to speak with Mrs Banovski. This is Mrs Hargrove.”

Devastated, embarrassed and ashamed, Emily said, “Oh my word, I'm so sorry Mrs Hargrove, I had no idea that it was you. I've been getting nuisance calls and I thought... Please forgive my terrible behaviour. I've... I've been looking forward to hearing from you since the party.”