Best Regards from London E-Book

Marc Thirot

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 228

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

When Elizabeth opened the letter from Australia, mailed three weeks before, she was wondering who that George who had sent it could be. She was even more surprised by its content. This is a collection of novellas (The Letter, The Painter, Desperate for Love, Twist of Fate, The Teacher) whose plot is mainly set in London.

Leseprobe

Contents

The Letter

The Painter

Desperate for Love

Twist of Fate

The Teacher

THE LETTER

Sydney, November 4th

Dear Elizabeth,

At last I’m coming back to you. After these two long years at the far end of the world, I’m looking forward to kissing you again. Within a couple of months I’ll be in London. We will marry as soon as possible.

I love you,

George

When Elizabeth opened the letter from Australia, mailed three weeks before, she was wondering who that George who had sent it could be. She was even more surprised by its content. The name on the envelope was hers, the address was right although there was no number: Elizabeth Jones, Jubilee Street E1, London.

She was living at number 46, and the street was quite long. She did not know anyone who was likely to have spent two years in a country far away from England. She had no lover. It clearly appeared in her mind that another Elizabeth Jones was living in the same street; the postman had obviously been mistaken. So she decided to go to the post office. She was badly welcome by an employee who hardly greeted her when she entered. She gave the letter back and apologized for opening it, even if it was not her fault. The man strangely stared at her while she was asking him if she had a homonym in Jubilee Street. Without answering, he went to the next room where he stayed at least five minutes. When he came back he nodded negatively.

“It’s impossible’, she said. ‘There must be another Elizabeth Jones in Jubilee Street.”

The man repeated his ‘no’ nod. He did not utter a word, and stared at her again. ‘Leave me alone’, his eyes seemed to say.

Back home, she decided she had only one solution left. She would go down the street, look at the names on the doors, knock if there was to be no name at all, then she would find out which number Elizabeth Jones number two was living at. This took her part of the afternoon. She had to knock at a dozen doors; six persons did not answer, so she took another chance in the evening. She met five of them. There was nobody at number 64. For a few days she went back to the house whose green door never opened. She asked the neighbours about its occupants. The couple at number 63 had moved in a month before and knew absolutely nothing. At number 65 the old man she met was stone deaf, so that she did not learn anything from him either. Yet, after a week of unsuccessful attempts, a woman beggar who was passing by stopped and began to speak to her.

“There is nobody here!”

“There must have been someone!” Elizabeth answered.

“There used to be.”

“Tell me, please. Was there a young woman called Elizabeth Jones who was living here?”

“I never knew her surname, but I can tell you her first name is Liz.”

“Elizabeth Jones! She couldn’t be but Elizabeth Jones!”

The woman looked at her surprisingly.

“I am Elizabeth Jones too. We are homonyms!”

“Oh, gosh!”

“What do you know about her? Please tell me!”

“Why is it so important for you? This is not a nice story anyway. You’d better forget about her.”

Elizabeth then told her about the letter she had received. The woman suddenly looked worried.

“Alright, young lady. In this case I must tell you what happened here. A long story, you know.”

Come to my house, please. I’ll prepare a nice cup of tea with some biscuits, and you will tell me.’

“That sounds fair. Let’s go then.”

It was about 5 o’clock in the afternoon. It had been a nice day but now it was getting cold, as supposed to be in February.

Once sitting in the lounge the woman had a few biscuits, emptied a cup of tea, then she spoke again.

“Before I start telling you about the whole stuff… My name is Shirley. I was born in the area, in Jamaica Street and I used to live there until two years ago, when my husband died. Without him I couldn’t stand living in my house any more; so I found some tenants and I left. Now I live on the streets; that’s my choice. Do you know ‘The Streets of London’? The song!"

“Oh yes, I must have heard it.”

Shirley started singing.

“Have you seen the old man

In the closed-down market

Kicking up the paper,

With his worn out shoes?”

She stopped and stared at Elizabeth.

“You don’t remember it, do you?”

“Well, I know the tune…"

“… In his eyes you see no pride

And held loosely at his side

Yesterday’s paper telling yesterday’s news...”

“… But I don’t know the words.”

“Never mind, you will learn them later. Let’s get back to the point. Well…”

“A long story, you told me…”

“It surely is!”

“And you said ‘he called her Liz’!”

“Ah, quite a couple they were. He must have been, let’s say, twenty-five ; a skinny young man, not very tall, with a piercing gaze. He looked lively when he was smiling. When he wasn’t, he sort of had a haunted look. When they settled in Jubilee Street, my husband was still alive though not feeling so well. I used to come around quite often, just for a walk, and one day I met them by chance. I spoke to them several times; Liz seemed to be quite talkative, which seemed to upset George… I can’t believe he wrote this letter… That can’t be!”

“Why?”

“Let me tell you, young lady! Sometimes, when she started speaking about herself, he interfered, then he took her by the arm and said they had to go home. I could feel they were a strange couple, until…”

She looked at Elizabeth intensely, then she sighed.

“Until…”

“Well, I was just thinking… you look quite like her; hazel-haired, quite tall and slim. She used to get dressed in a smart way, just like you. You remind me of her.”

“Where is she now?”

“Well, dear. Nobody has seen her since that day… That bloody day! As far as I know, she may be in Belgium.”

Elizabeth was more and more eager to hear the whole story.

“A few weeks had passed. My husband had died in the meantime. As I couldn’t stand staying alone, I got into the habit of going out until I found some tenants. I actually was out most of the time, night and day. One evening, as I was coming near number 64, I heard them shout. ‘Leave me alone’, I heard her say, ‘please don’t’. ‘Come here at once’, he replied, ‘or your worst nightmares will come true’. She suddenly cried out in pain; no doubt he was hitting her. Then they were silent again. I remained sitting opposite the street almost all night long. Nothing else happened, but I felt she was having an awful time with him. The next day, I went back there, hoping to see her. I wanted to speak to her. So I knocked at the door of the house. I waited, then I knocked again. After a while, Liz opened. ‘Hello’, she said, ‘I can’t let you in. He wouldn’t like it if he knew.’ ‘Come and have a walk with me’, I answered. ‘All right, I’m coming’, she said. At first glance, her face showed no sign of having been beaten. Later, in the street, I noticed a bruise on her right cheek. She had hidden it with some heavy make-up. ‘I heard you last night’, I said. ‘I know; you’re often under the porch opposite the street, aren’t you?’ She told me he was getting more and more violent. He was drunk the night before; he wanted to have sex. Of course she had refused, then he had knocked her out and abused her sexually. It wasn’t the first time he had done it.”

“Why didn’t she leave him?”

“She was kind of bewitched. She lived under the spell of that guy who had been so nice at the beginning, she said. He had been like an angel before turning into a devil. We had a short walk that morning for she had no right to go out, or let anybody into the house. ‘He would lock me up if he saw us together’, she said. She thanked me for visiting her before we parted. After that day, I came back every evening by nightfall. He beat her every three or four nights; once he became absolutely furious after she had refused to have sex. ‘I’m fed up with being raped’, she yelled. ‘I’m not raping you, you’re my girlfriend. I can screw you as much as I want’, he shouted back. I must tell you we had short secret meetings about twice a week. In fact, we were to meet the next day, but she didn’t come. I waited for an hour then I made up my mind on visiting her. She looked awful; she had a lame left leg and her back hurt. He had whipped her with his belt. ‘You must tell the police’, I said, ‘before he kills you.’ I tried to persuade her, but she stubbornly refused.”

“You could have been to the police station alone.”

“I was tempted, but I thought I couldn’t act against her will, and it could have made things worse.”

“What happened then?”

“Two weeks passed. They had a few arguments, but he didn’t beat her again. Did he feel bad about treating her so brutally? He definitely didn’t; he was more devilish than one might believe he could be; he was only waiting until she had recovered. Then, one evening, he aggressed her before going out with something in mind. As soon as he had left, I went to see her to make sure she was fine. He had satisfied himself with giving her 'a smack in the gob', as he said. So I left the house and waited under the little porch as usual, sheltered from the cold and the passers-by. I soon fell asleep.”

“Do you still sleep there?”

“No. I haven’t slept there since she left.”

“Did he come back that night?”

“He actually did. He came back by… three o’clock, but he wasn’t alone. Three other guys, as drunk as he was, were singing with him in the street. They entered the house. I was suddenly seized with panic as I imagined what could happen to Liz. I didn’t hear anybody shout, but I could see a light in their room, and I knew something was going on. I got up and reached the nearest phone box to call the cops. I told them a young lady was being raped by four drunkards. They didn’t take me seriously, so I pushed the matter. I told them that George beat Liz regularly, that he had hurt her badly quite recently. They finally came, about two hours later. The light in the bedroom was off then. George opened the door and let the cops in. I learnt from Liz he had claimed he and his friends were having a drink while talking, and she was quietly asleep. She was too frightened to move; they didn’t even go upstairs to check whether he had told them the truth. They just said that a lunatic passer-by had called them, probably a boozer. The three men left soon after them, then the light was turned on again. A few seconds later, George uttered a long squawk, then nothing until Liz hurried out of the house. She was carrying a large bag. She crossed the street to speak to me; she looked awful. ‘I killed that bastard’, she said, ‘I must go far away from here.’ ‘Did they rape you?’ I asked. ‘They did’, she said, ‘and he tried to hit me with his belt again when they had left home; to punish me!’ She had hidden a knife in the bedroom in case he beat and raped her again, so she had knifed him. ‘I called the cops’, I said. She knew I had, but that didn’t matter any more. She wanted to go to the station at once and leave the country. She told me she had friends in France and in Belgium. I saw her off at Waterloo; she had bought a ticket for Paris.”

“Did she try to get in touch with you when she was there?”

“I said she could write to me, my tenants give me the mail I receive, well, I don’t get much, you know. I got a letter from her last year. She was living in Alsace, and she intended to move to Belgium, somewhere on the eastern coast. She seemed quite happy.”

“As far as I understand, George is dead, so he can’t possibly have written this letter.”

“Who knows? Was he really dead? I believed he was, but…”

“… Was his corpse found?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t come back to Jubilee Street for a couple of days. I saw, as I was passing by, that nothing seemed to have changed. There was no light at night, no noise. Someone moved in a few months later. I suppose the owner didn’t get the money for the rent and he investigated to know what was going on. He had rented the house to another couple who must have left recently.”

“What shall I do if George comes back?”

“You live at number 46, so he won’t come here. He expects to see her at number 64.”

“He should have guessed that she has moved. How can he suppose that she stayed and waited for him in the house after she had knifed him? Why did he leave for Australia? I can’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I don’t get more than you do; what a shaggy dog story it is!”

“Anyway, thank you ever so much for telling me.”

“I’m not sure it was the right thing to do. You’re even more embarrassed now.”

“At least I know what happened.”

“That won’t lead you very far, and I’m quite worried. If George is alive and comes back here, he might find your address; and who knows what he could do? By the way, do you live alone here?”

“I do.”

“Well, you shouldn’t stay by yourself.”

“He won’t come back until two months, if he ever does. I’ll have time to think about it.”

“Well, I’d better go now. I’ll sleep under the porch again… If you feel like talking, or anything else, you’ll find me there in the evening, and part of the day.”

“All right. Thank you ever so much again. Come and visit me whenever you want.”

“O.K. See you.”

“See you, Shirley.”

During the next two months, they met several times. Elizabeth was busy at work and didn’t seem to think much of the letter. Although she sometimes mentioned it, she didn’t appear to be concerned. Nevertheless the old woman expected to see George one day. She had been anxious since she had been dreaming of his return to Jubilee Street, by mid-November.

“You can’t stay in the streets all winter long!” Elizabeth declared.

“I’m used to it now. It will be the third one in the cold for me,” Shirley asserted.

“It’s too dangerous. You should come and sleep here when it freezes outside, just like now.”

“Don’t worry. I’m telling you I’m used to it.”

“May I insist? Just a few days, until the temperature rises.”

Shirley suddenly thought it wasn’t such a bad idea. If he visited Elizabeth, she wouldn’t be alone in front of him. She could help better than from outside. It also occurred to her that her young friend was asking her to stay at her place for a while because she was anxious too.

“A few days, you said?”

“You would be fine here!”

“No doubt I will be, but I might enjoy this comfort again and overstay your welcome, dear.”

“Do you mean you agree?”

“I will leave as soon as the weather gets better, all right?”

“All right. Let me take you to your room.”

“I haven’t slept in a bed for ages! But I’m even more interested in the bathroom, you know. A good old warm shower will do me good!”

Shirley turned out to be a nice companion. She was a rather good cook as well. One morning, someone rang the bell. Elizabeth was at work. Shirley was in the living-room ; she looked through the window and saw a young man she had never seen before. She opened the door and found herself face to face with a smiling guy whom she estimated to be in his late twenties.

“Hello, Madam.”

“Hello, Sir.”

“Is Elizabeth Jones living here?”

“Who are you, young man?”

“My name is George.”

“You can’t be George!”

“I beg your pardon, Madam.”

“Go away! Stay away from this house!”

“I… I don’t understand. Let me…”

She slammed the door in his face before he had time to finish his sentence. She was reeling from the shock. The man didn’t look like George! She sat in the living-room, wondering who else he could be. ‘Was he real? Did I have some hallucination?’ she asked herself.

She told Elizabeth about the visit as soon as she came back.

“Have you seen anyone in the street? A man who looks like the one who came this morning?”

“I didn’t, Shirley. Now, tell me, are you absolutely sure that he isn’t George, I mean the one who lived at number 64?”

“Definitely.”

“You know, you haven’t seen him for over two years. He may have changed his look.”

“I’m sure he isn’t the George I know.”

“What about his voice?”

“His voice?”

“You know his voice, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, but I… I didn’t pay attention… I was in a state of shock. I’m sorry.”

“Never mind. A coincidence, then?”

“How could it be a coincidence? He must be back from Australia by now, and a man called the same name suddenly appears! It hadn’t occurred to me before, but he may have changed his face!”

“What do you mean?”

“Aesthetic surgery! “Like in ‘Dark passage’, a film with Humphrey Bogart.”

“I haven’t seen it.”

“Vincent Parry escapes from prison after being unfairly accused of killing his wife.” Shirley was suddenly fired with enthusiasm. “He gets a new face from a plastic surgeon to dodge the authorities and find his wife’s murderer.”

“We’re not in a film, Shirley.”

“Oh, sorry. I like films with Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, you know. They played together in that film, and in… Well, don’t you think…”

“… I can’t believe it. I don’t think he had an operation not to be recognized. Otherwise he wouldn’t have told you his name!”

“Why not? He expected to meet Liz and introduce himself as George to frighten her to death. Maybe he wants to make her mad!”

“And he thinks I’m Liz, terrified at the idea that he’s back! If this guy comes again, ask him to come back by six o’clock so that I meet him. When he sees me, he will understand his mistake and leave me alone.”

“Don’t forget how violent he can be. When he realizes she doesn’t live here, he might take his revenge on you. This guy is crazy!”

“Do as I said! It’s the only way, and I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

“All right, but you’ll have to be careful.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Nobody came while you were away at work”, Shirley said, the next day, “But the phone rang several times.”

“Thank you, Shirley. What does the answering machine say?”

She pressed the button and listened.

"Hello Liz, this is your Mum. Don’t forget your Dad’s birthday on the 25th. Will you spend the whole weekend with us in Reading? Your brother will come from Manchester with his fiancée. They met in Liverpool about six months ago; she’s from Birmingham. We hope you’re still fine. Kisses from Mum and Dad. Bye…” “…Hello dear, Anny calling. Will you come around this weekend? Perhaps we could go to the cinema; Daisy told me she might come with us. What about doing some shopping? We haven’t been to the shops together for such a long time… Kisses, Anny…” “…Miss Jones? My name is George. I took the opportunity to visit you yesterday morning. Unfortunately you were not in and I was welcome a bit coldly by a lady who wasn’t very keen on my name, as far as I understood. I didn’t have time to explain the reason for my visit. I actually work as a volunteer for Great Ormond Street Hospital Charity; I’m in charge of visiting our most devoted members. I know you’ve done a lot for our child patients who appreciate your help a great deal; you’ve done such a good job so far and we all would like to thank you for both your commitment and donations. So, dear Miss Jones, will you accept to be a guest of honour at our annual party? Be sure we will be highly honoured if you do. Please would you mind calling number 2072393000? I’m George Parris; just leave a message for me if I’m off. Thank you very much indeed. Bye bye.”

“Listen to that, Shirley!”

“What is it?”

“A message from George. Come and listen!”

Shirley frowned.

“Come on; listen, please!”

She listened to the message and began to laugh.

“What a fool I have been! How stupid!”

“It’s all right, Shirley.”

“Will you accept the invitation?”

“I surely will.”

“That’s fine, Elizabeth. Call Mr Parris and forget how foolish I can be sometimes. An old silly woman!”

“I’m calling him, then we’ll have dinner, dear old thing!”

“I think it’s about time for the old thing to go back to the street. I need to ventilate my brain, Elizabeth.”

“There’s no hurry, Shirley.”

A few hours later, as they were both asleep, a man who had just arrived in London was standing on the pavement, opposite the street.

Two days later, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, the weather was getting somewhat warmer, so Shirley was thinking of leaving Elizabeth’s house. Her host considered that she could stay on for some time.

“Why not one more week?”

“Well, I’m getting used to living here. I told you I won’t be able to leave if I stay too long.”

“Just wait until the beginning of March.”

“Is your hospital party next week?”

“Yes, on Friday night.”

“All right, I’ll leave on Saturday then. Is that fair enough?

“That’s fine.”

The man hadn’t come back. He knew where Elizabeth was living, which was enough for him to know for the time being.

“She’s moved to number 64”, he said to three men who were having a drink with him at the Castle, a pub in Commercial Road.

“How did you find her?” Roger asked.

“I went to the post office. The guy said he had seen her after she had received my letter. I had actually made a mistake writing the address. By a strange coincidence, I had written ‘64’, where she lives now, instead of ‘46’. I’ve been awfully lucky.”

“If I were her, I would have moved far away instead of staying in the same street”, Roy answered.

“She didn’t know if I was dead or alive. She must have left the neighbourhood for some time before coming back. She must have thought that if I recovered from my injury, I would look for her everywhere in the world, except in Jubilee Street.”

“A clever girl, isn’t she?”

“Sure, but you don’t fool George so easily!”

“Well done, George”, Gary said. “If you need us for another night party with her, we are your men, aren’t we, guys?”

“Do you remember how it ended up the first time? She stabbed me in the stomach and left me for dead. She won’t do it again. I’ll visit her and I’ll kill her!”

“Without having a little chat?” Roy asked.

“You won’t get high if you kill her straight away. Have some fun before”, Roger said.

“And let us have fun with you. We’ll make sure she won’t stab anyone, George”, Gary added.

“Easy, guys”, George said. “You’re right. I’ve been waiting for two years, and I’ve promised to ‘marry’ her, haven’t I? What a wedding night she will have! And we’ll have a whale of a time!”

“Good old George, we thought you had disappeared, you know, until I got a call from you. When was that, a couple of months after you left for Australia?” Gary said.

“More or less. I didn’t call until I had recovered.”

“Here you are again, that’s the main thing, good old mate. Let’s drink to George, fellows. Cheers!”

George hadn’t left England on an impulse, but he had been greatly influenced by the man who had found him lying on a pavement in Aylward Street. He had immediately proposed to call number 999, which George had refused. He didn’t want to be taken to hospital.

“I see, some old scores have been settled. Let me have a look at the wound.”

George knew that doctors and nurses would ask him questions, that the police would visit him again. They knew who he was ; if he told them Liz had knifed him, they would make the connection with a possible rape. She might even lodge a complaint against him and his accomplices. It would be considered that she had acted in self-defence, and they would be sent to jail. Furthermore, he would be seen as responsible for the rape and more severely sentenced than the others.

“It could be worse, mate. Do you know you’re a lucky one? I used to be a doc for the Australian army, so I can deal with the matter. Let me take you to my place. It’s a bit far, about a quarter of a mile, but you will survive, I’m telling you. My name is Bruce. Come on, mate, let’s go.”

“I’m George. Thanks a lot, Bruce.”

“You’re welcome, George.”

Bruce dressed the wound, so that his patient was soon out of danger. A week later, George was feeling better, but he was exhausted.

“You need time to recover; don’t worry, in a month, you won’t even remember what happened.”

“I’ll remember Liz.”

“She’s done a bad thing, but you must forget about it.”

George hadn’t told Bruce about the whole story indeed. He had missed some major details not to be thought of as the bastard he definitely was. Bruce had to imagine Liz as a kind of vixen the poor guy had had a hard time living with.

“I won’t forget.”

“What will you do? Kill her and go to prison? I’ve got a better idea. You told me you were fed up with your boss. You’re a bricklayer, aren’t you? They need bricklayers in Sydney. I’m going back there in three weeks, do you remember? Come with me!”

Although George was obsessed by Liz, and the revenge he intended to take on her, he was clear-sighted enough to understand that his new friend’s proposal deserved to be thought over for it might offer some advantages. He eventually accepted to go to Australia. There he had a good job and had fun in the city bars almost every night. Yet, after one year and a half, his desire to go back to England and kill Liz was so strong that he could hardly think of anything else. He soon made up his mind to leave Australia, and he took great pleasure sending her the letter; if Shirley had been wrong about aesthetic surgery, she had been perfectly right when she had ventured to say that he intended to frighten Liz to death. As for Elizabeth, she wasn’t afraid any more.