Farewell To The East End by Worth Jennifer

Author:Worth, Jennifer [Worth, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Hachette Littlehampton
Published: 2009-04-15T22:00:00+00:00

THE MASTER

And there she lulled me asleep

And there I dreamed – Ah! Woe betide! –

The latest dream I ever dreamt

On the cold hill side.

‘La Belle Dame Sans Merci’, by John Keats

They were having tea in Lyon’s Corner House in The Strand. They usually met there. Mrs Masterton liked the atmosphere. Refined, she called it. It was their usual afternoon out, once a month. Mrs Masterton poured the tea.

‘They tell me your father’s ill,’ she said abruptly.

‘Dad? Ill? I didn’t know.’

‘I heard it from our milkman, whose brother is a cab driver. Cabbies get to know everything. He said the Master of the Master’s Arms in Poplar is ill. That’s all I know.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Have you seen him?’

‘No. That’s why I wanted to talk to you, Julia. When did you last see him?’

‘Some years ago. I’m not sure.’

‘There was no rift, or anything, between you? No harsh words, nothing like that?’

‘No. We never quarrelled. We just barely spoke. I never knew what he was thinking. I always thought he was giving me funny looks. I don’t know why. Perhaps he wasn’t. I don’t know. He loved Gillian, but he never loved me, I’m sure of that. Did he love the boys?’

‘I think he did, in his way.’ The bereaved mother sighed. ‘He’s a funny man. Never could show his feelings, but I think he loved the boys. And yes, he loved Gillian. She was the apple of his eye.’

Mrs Masterton screwed up her table napkin and forced back her tears.

‘Life can be so hard. All gone, and only you, my comfort, left.’

Mother and daughter squeezed hands across the table, as the afternoon pianist enjoyed his runs and trills. Both women were lost in memories. Julia broke the silence.

‘I ought to go and see him.’

‘I was hoping you would say that, dear.’

‘I’ll go on my day off.’

‘That’s my girl.’

Mrs Masterton paused, fumbling for her lipstick, then said hesitantly, ‘Ask him if he wants to see me, will you, dear? I won’t push myself on him, but if he wants, I’ll come. Poor old Dad. I don’t like to think of him alone and ill. He wasn’t a bad husband. I’m sure he meant well. But we never got on, and the pub always came first.’

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