doing anything tomorrow, we could go there for lunch.’
Betty’s eyes lit up for a moment, but then her face straightened as she said, ‘I … I don’t know. Is it expensive?’
‘Not really, but don’t worry, it’s a family-run business and I know the owner. He usually gives me a discount.’
‘In that case, I’d love to.’
‘Wonderful,’ Val said as she stood up to take a packet of cigarettes from the mantelshelf. Inviting Betty to tea had been a good move and she was pleased that there’d now be another opportunity to get to know her better. ‘Would you like a cigarette?’ she asked.
‘No thanks, I don’t smoke.’
‘At six shillings a packet I know I should stop too, but I have managed to cut down.’
‘Do you work locally?’ Betty asked.
‘I’m a receptionist for a solicitor in the King’s Road.’
‘It must be nice to work in an office and so interesting.’
‘It can be sometimes, though most of my work is just routine. What do you do, Betty?’
‘I’m just a sort of cleaner-cum-housekeeper in Kensington. I used to live in Surrey, but saw the job advertised in The Lady. I applied for it and got it, but it meant moving to London. My employer’s away at the moment, but when in town he keeps me busy with his incessant demands.’
‘He sounds a bit of an ogre,’ Val sympathised.
‘He’s all right, but used to servants seeing to his every wish. His home is just amazing and it’s such a shame that it remains empty for most of the year. He has a large staff, but when his wife died he retreated to his country home taking them with him. I was lucky to be taken on for his London house, but as I said, only as a sort of cleaner-cum-housekeeper.’
‘If you’re the only one there, don’t you find it lonely?’
‘Sometimes, but I keep myself busy. It’s a very large house with plenty to do, and just polishing the silver can take all day. I’d love to work in an office like you, but I was a stay-at-home wife and mother so I’m not trained for anything else.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with being a housewife and mother,’ Val said. She had caught the trace of bitterness in Betty’s voice again, and though tempted to ask questions, it wouldn’t do to rush things. ‘Would you like another cup of tea?’
‘I’d love one.’
‘I’ll just top up the pot,’ Val said, taking it through to the kitchenette. So far she’d gleaned a little information, but if she didn’t want to scare Betty off she would have to play this carefully. In her experience, Val had found that if you shared a confidence it was likely to be returned, but it was too early to try this ploy now. She would have to wait, but nevertheless crossed her fingers, hoping that Betty would turn out to be a suitable candidate.
On Sunday, Betty climbed into Val’s rather battered old car. ‘It’s smashing not to have to wait for a bus. This is lovely,’ she said.
‘I’d hardly call this old banger lovely,’ Val said dryly ‘and it isn’t a patch on the company car I used to have. Still, it’ll get us there.’
Betty gazed at Val and, seeing how elegant she looked, felt old and frumpy beside her. Other than her home-made clothes, there had been one or two outfits she’d worn when entertaining, but they were nothing in comparison to the beautiful dresses worn by the wives of Richard’s friends. Betty knew these women looked down on her, laughed at her behind her back, and so wherever possible she avoided them. The children became her life, the garden her refuge and her pleasure as she watched the things she had planted burst into life.
Yet now that she was alone, Betty craved friendship and companionship. It had been lovely to meet Val – lovely to be invited out to lunch. Would they become friends? Oh, she hoped so and, who knows, maybe Val would be able to give her a few tips on style.
‘Right, let’s go,’ Val said, smiling warmly as they drove off.
The sun was shining and they chatted happily as they drove over the Thames. In what felt like no time at all, they arrived at the restaurant where Val was treated like a long-lost friend.
‘Valerie, how lovely to see you,’ a dark-haired woman with a pretty French accent said. ‘How is Mr Warriner?’
‘He’s fine, Yvette, and as busy as ever.’
‘I’m not surprised. He’s a wonderful solicitor. Now let me find you a nice table,’ she said, leading them to one by the window.
Betty sat down, admiring the décor. The tables were covered with blue and white checked cloths, each with a small vase of fresh flowers in the centre. The chairs were raffia-backed, the seats in the same check material; though she had never seen a French bistro before, this was just how she would have imagined it.
Yvette handed them each a menu, saying, ‘Raymond’s special for today is daube de boeuf, but while you’re making up your mind, what can I get you to drink?’
‘Betty, would you like red or white wine?’ Val asked.
‘I’m afraid I don’t drink. Would it be possible to have a glass of tonic water?’
‘Of course,’ Yvette said. ‘What about you, Valerie?’
‘I’ll have a glass of your house red, please.’
Yvette bustled off and when Betty picked up the menu, she baulked. ‘Oh dear, it’s all in French.’
Val smiled, ‘Don’t worry, I can more or less tell you what’s on offer. As you can see, it isn’t overly expensive,’ she added.
‘How do you know the owners?’
‘When Raymond and Yvette wanted to buy this place, the solicitor I work for handled the conveyance. There were a few sticky moments, with the seller wanting to up the price at the last moment. Raymond would have paid it, but Mr Warriner convinced him to hold out and so saved him a lot of money. Raymond and Yvette seem to think that I had some input, even though I’ve told them I’m only his receptionist.’
Betty nodded, her eyes returning to the menu. ‘What’s the special that Yvette mentioned? The daube of something?’
‘Daube de boeuf. It’s a sort of beef stew,’ Val said as she too scanned the menu. ‘I’m not sure whether to have that or the poulet Basque.’
‘Sorry, the what?’
‘It’s a chicken stew with tomato and onions, but then again the quiche Lorraine is delicious too. If you want something light, it’s ideal, a sort of open tart filled with egg, ham and cheese.’
‘Yes, and as it’s the least expensive, I think
