Only in my Dreams

by Denise Robins

Genres: Romance

Synopsis

Half drowned and desperate after leaping into a river to escape an assailant, Ming Corally drags herself to the gates of Julian Barrisford's home. Julian takes her in. But his wife seizes on the excuse to file a divorce petition - an action which threatens to destroy both Julian and the innocent girl he has saved.

Release date: June 12, 2014

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 214

Sample

BREAKFAST time was by no means the right time to ask favours of anybody, and nobody realized that fact more than Ming Corally when she came down to the morning meal that bright summer’s morning.

Certainly it was the wrong time to approach Aunt Prue, whose stiff air was at such an hour even stiffer and starchier than usual. She had a habit of snapping at one, anyhow; she rarely said anything except: ‘Do you want some more coffee?’ or, ‘Be quick—you’ll lose your train.’ And she could be even more acid: ‘You looked washed out this morning all right … been late up, I suppose … can’t say I approve of the way you young girls behave today, but that’s your father’s business, I suppose, and not mine.’

Daddy was a dear. Ming had adored him since she was a small child. He had been father and mother to her, too, since the death of her own mother in China, which had taken place when Ming was four. Daddy had brought her home to England, then given her into the care of Aunt Prue, his one unmarried sister. Aunt Prue had offered to mother her, but even the small child, Ming, had realized that there was nothing maternal or warm about Prudence Corally. She was One of those cold, thwarted spinsters with an almost jealous hatred of anything young, of anybody with human impulses like Ming. They had never been friends from the start. But Ming had had to live with her aunt alone here whilst her father was still in Shanghai.

For the last two years, since Ming’s nineteenth birthday, Tom Corally had retired. He had reached the age limit and had returned to England for good and all, to make his home with his sister in the house on Streatham Common which had belonged to their mother, and which he could remember nearly fifty-five years ago when he was a small boy.

There was a very real and beautiful understanding between Ming and her father, but even that understanding was badly jarred at times by interference from Aunt Prue. She had a tongue which lashed at them both. She nagged at Tom for what she called his ugly bachelor habits. The smell of his pipe sickened her. The mere breath of whisky or beer issuing from his lips was enough to rouse from her an immediate protest. One harmless glass in Aunt Prue’s eyes proclaimed that a man was a drunkard. Her brother Tom’s faults were innumerable and the greatest of them was his love for his daughter, whom, she considered, he spoiled disgracefully.

Ming was by no means anxious to ask her father a favour at breakfast time. It was not really a good time of the day for him. His health was poor and he showed it at this time of the morning. The years of living and working in the heat of China had jaundiced his liver and he coughed incessantly through breakfast. Aunt Prue assured Ming that the cough was due to too much smoking and drinking. But Ming worried about his heart. She would rather have waited until this evening to approach both Father and her aunt about this subject of the week-end holiday she and Sallie had been planning. But first both Daddy and Aunt Prue must agree to her going off all day and not coming back till late.

Sallie said that it was all nonsense that Ming should have to ask permission about anything so ordinary as a day away from home. But then Sallie Lawford was different from Ming. Sallie lived with young, modern parents who believed in allowing her to have as much rope as possible. Ming’s father had been an oldish man when he married, and Aunt Prue was ten years older. The atmosphere of this house on Streatham Common was the atmosphere of fifty years ago. Here there were conventions and restrictions from which Sallie … lucky Sallie … never suffered!

Ming envied her. There were many times when she would have liked to have exchanged her rather gloomy home for Sallie’s cheerful up-to-date flat in Kensington, with her cheerful up-to-date parents.

But she would never complain about her father. Invariably when there was trouble with Aunt Prue, Daddy weighed in on Ming’s behalf. Life had been a good deal easier for Ming since Daddy returned from China, and Aunt Prue was no longer completely and solely in charge. But the effect of her father’s intercession on her behalf merely deepened the antipathy between her aunt and herself. Ming realized that.

As a small child, and later as a schoolgirl, she had been aware of this antipathy and puzzled over it. But nowadays, she understood. She and her father had had lots of secret talks about it. The whole thing was a matter of jealousy. Twenty-two years ago, Prudence Corally had hoped to go out to China to keep house for her brother. Then Ming’s mother had come on the scene … a young girl of the age that Ming was today … a girl, whom according to her father, Ming resembled strongly. She was the daughter of a bank manager in Shanghai, and Tom Corally had met her on one of his visits there, and he immediately fell in love with her.

Ming knew that her mother must have been lovely. She could see that from her photographs, and the snapshots that Tom Corally had brought home from China. ‘The Babe’, he had called her because she was so young and so small in build. She was tiny, and she had had black curls all over her head, and brown mischievous eyes … a slender, laughing nymph, years younger than Tom. He had adored her.

His marriage had put an end to Aunt Prue’s hopes of going to China as her brother’s housekeeper. So, from the very start, Prudence Corally had hated the thought of Barbara, her brother’s wife.

Miss Corally detested even her niece’s name. Ming! Whoever heard of such a ridiculous, godless name? But Tom himself had chosen it for his little daughter. He used to be fond of the priceless porcelain in China. ‘Ming’ was his favourite. And when he had first gazed upon her tiny exquisite features, he had said:

‘She’s like a piece of Ming. Ming she shall be!’

The name was not inappropriate for Ming even today. At twenty-one she was petite, slender like her mother, and with ‘The Babe’s’ black hair. Only it did not curl. Neither had she ever had it ‘permed’. (Aunt Prue disapproved of perming.) Once Ming left school and reached an age when she could decide for herself what was to be done with those black satiny tresses, she had cultivated a fashion of her own. She wore it in a straight fringe across her wide beautiful forehead, and down at the back in a black helmet curve, which Sallie Lawford said made her look like Joan of Arc.

But her eyes were not her mother’s. She had Tom Corally’s eyes, blue as the China Seas which he had sailed so often. Under the dark curled lashes, Ming’s eyes were almost startlingly forget-me-not blue.

The June sunshine was filtering through Aunt Prue’s worn net curtains, making a lacy pattern on the faded Turkey carpet and reflecting in the well-polished knives and forks on the breakfast table. When Ming entered the room, Aunt Prue was there, pouring out tea, breathing noisily, as was usual. She was a very stout woman with iron-grey hair screwed tightly off her forehead, small sharp eyes almost lost in pouches of fat, and a scarlet downy complexion. She dressed in an old-fashioned style which she had never abandoned for any consideration of fashion. Long skirt, blouse with high neck and a gold chain necklace from which dangled a locket containing a piece of hair—nobody had ever dared ask her whose.

Ming’s father sat at the head of the table, reading his paper and eating his kipper with no apparent relish. He had his sister’s build and was inclined to be corpulent, but his eyes were larger and kinder, still a piercing blue under their bushy brows. He had a short, red, somewhat apoplectic type of neck, and a florid complexion.

Ming bade him good morning with a hug and a kiss which were warmly returned. But Aunt Prue turned a scarlet, disapproving cheek which Ming could hardly bear to kiss. There were two big moles and whiskers on that double chin which had revolted her since she was a small child. She had always hated kissing Aunt Prue. This morning, however, having a particular object in view, Ming tried to be pleasant to her aunt.

‘Hope I’m not too late, Aunty.’

Miss Corally pursed her lips.

‘It wouldn’t be unusual if you are.’

‘Well, well, she looks a sight for sore eyes, anyhow, any time,’ put in Tom Corally, with a fond look at the slight young figure. Ming was so fresh and youthful and pretty in her neat dark suit and crisp white blouse. Many a time he looked at her and regretted that he could not afford to take her away from this fusty old house, away from Streatham and from that darned old office in Liverpool Street, where she had to type for her living. He hated her working. But he could barely afford to take her for a trip to Southend, let alone sail with her to China, which was one of his dreams.

Said Ming: ‘I’ve get something to ask you both this morning.’

‘Well, don’t ask me for another shilling if that’s what you’re after,’ said Aunt Prue, gulping her coffee, then, setting the cup down in the saucer in a menacing fashion. ‘You ought to make do on your salary.’

‘Now, now, Prue, don’t start nagging the child,’ cut in Tom Corally, scowling at his sister. ‘Five pounds isn’t so much when you have to part with three pounds of it like Ming does for her keep, and don’t forget it.’

Miss Corally’s ample bosom heaved and she flung her brother an indignant look.

‘Can I afford to keep her? With my dividends paying two and a half per cent instead of four like they used to, and you with just your pension, and prices rising.’

‘All right, all right,’ Mr. Corally cut in again.

He was sick of rows with Prue. Darn it, the woman was a prize nagger. And poor little Ming was so patient with her. He couldn’t cope with scenes these days, although in his boyhood he had stood up to Prue better than he did now, and shut her up more successfully. But darn it, she had the cash and he was a ‘has-been’, and this house in Streatham was all he owned in the way of a home for his motherless girl. He felt so seedy nowadays, too. Always a queer pain in his right shoulder and a horrid sensation of breathlessness. Not at all sure his heart was right. But Prue said it was just his liver; strong tobacco and whisky.

He said: ‘What is it you want to ask, duckie?’

The girl sat silent for a moment, crumbling a piece of bread somewhat nervously in small slender fingers. Her heart was hammering with suppressed excitement. She knew Daddy would be ‘okay’ about the Sunday with Sallie. But her aunt … what would she say?

Ming took her courage in both hands. Looking at her father and not at her aunt, she told them her plans. She and Sallie Lawford, her friend, who was another typist at Colebean & Fox, the auctioneers, for whom they worked, had saved a bit of money for a day on the river. On Sunday—the day after tomorrow that was—they intended to go by car down to the river and have some punting and bathing and then dine in a cheap little ‘pub’ they knew about.

Here Miss Corally interrupted.

‘Go by car? Whose car? Have you suddenly come into a fortune?’

This was where Ming changed colour and grew even more nervous.

No … the car belonged to a boy named Norman Toll, she explained. Norman was Sallie’s boy friend of the moment. And he had a friend with a large garage and some petrol to spare. They were all four going down to the river. It ought to be marvellous if it was fine.

Ming’s voice died away. She saw nothing but interest and sympathy on her father’s jovial face. But a swift glance at her aunt made her heart sink. Miss Corally’s eyes were pinpricks of horror.

‘Are you telling us, Ming Corally, you are planning a trip down to the river with two strange men … you and Sallie Lawford! Well, I know Sallie. A thorough “bit” if ever there was one, behaving all anyhow, and with queer parents, too, allowing her out at all hours of the night. I’ve never heard such a thing.’

‘But Aunt Prue, you don’t understand. You’re so out of date. All over the world, boys and girls go hiking and ski-ing and holiday-making together.’

‘This is not the Continent and you’re not bringing Continental morals into my home,’ snapped Miss Corally.

‘Wait a minute, Prue,’ put in Ming’s father. ‘Don’t fly off the handle. Let’s listen to what the girl has to say. She knows what she’s doing.’

‘Besides, Sallie is a darling and not at all what Aunt Prue thinks,’ said Ming, her eyes a hot, almost turquoise blue in her small flushed face. ‘Her parents have given her permission to go. They know Norman. He’s a delightful boy and he’s got a very good post with Rudd Brothers, too.’

‘Rudd Brothers, indeed. What are they?’ demanded Miss Corally.

‘Car people. It’s a big sort of car mart in Portland Road, and they do huge business.’

‘I know ’em,’ said Ming’s father. ‘And what about the friend, duckie. Norman Toll’s friend?’

Ming’s black lashes veiled those burning blue eyes for a moment.

‘His name is Walters—Ivor Walters.’

‘Does he work at Rudd’s, too?’

‘No, Daddy. He’s a salesman for some other firm.’

‘Met him, my duckie?’

‘M’m,’ Ming’s black head nodded vigorously. ‘They—Norman and Ivor—drove Sallie and me home the other night when it was pelting.’

‘First I’ve heard of it,’ snorted Miss Corally. ‘Right down deceitful, I call you. Why didn’t you bring the young men in and introduce them to your father and me in the proper way?’

Ming buttered a piece of toast and made no rejoinder to that, but she caught the sympathetic twinkle in her father’s eye. He knew just what she was thinking: how impossible it was to bring a young man back to Aunt Prue’s house, where neither a smoke nor a drink were encouraged. Why, she would frighten them off at sight!

That was one of the things Tom Corally so bitterly regretted—that he could not give his daughter a home to which she would be glad and proud to bring her friends.

Ming was secretly relishing the memory of that drive back from Liverpool Street, and along the Embankment, in Norman Toll’s car. A nice lad, Norman, full of humour and in love with pretty fair-haired Sallie without a doubt. But it was Ivor Walters who had attracted Ming.

Upon their first meeting, she had experienced a decided heart-throb for the young motor-car salesman who sat with her at the back of Norman’s Buick. He was older than Norman—about twenty-seven—and a good deal smarter, almost too smart, if anything, with his padded shoulders and suede shoes and the last word in shirts, ties and socks. Ming’s memory of him was of a tall man, upright, with fair hair and a small military moustache. Ivor was attractive and had entertained her hugely on that drive. He said such witty things and had such polished manners. He seemed to Ming the first really presentable ‘boy friend’ who had ever come her way. She had had other chances, but only with silly young men like Teddy Bence, in the office, and Eric Bute, the rather dull boy next door to Aunt Prue’s house, with whom she had had a mild flirtation at another neighbour’s house last Christmas.

Ivor Walters was different. Obviously a travelled and experienced person. She was sure Daddy would get on well with him. Ivor had appeared to like her, too. When they stopped outside this house, that night, he had held her hand rather tightly and said:

‘I’ve just got to see you again. Norman and I must fix some thing with Sallie.’

And the next morning Sallie told her that Norman told her, that Ivor Walters had found Ming ‘enchanting’.

The plan for Sunday was too exciting. Ming could not resist it. She cast her aunt an appealing look.

‘I assure you it’s all right, Aunt Prue. Sallie and I will chaperone each other.’

‘Well, I say it isn’t the thing,’ declared Miss Corally, her fat, florid face redder and more disagreeable than ever.

The dining-room door was pushed open, and in walked a very old pug. It was—Ming often thought—rather like Aunt Prue. It was twelve years old and Ming remembered it as a puppy, but had never liked it. It was a bad-tempered, greedy little animal, and Ming hated the way it slobbered and snorted and the way her aunt fussed over it. ‘Pixie’ as she called the animal, had all the affection of which Miss Corally’s nature was capable.

As Pixie advanced, heavily snorting, Miss Corally’s fat face creased into what might be called an amiable smile. She gathered him on to her lap and fed him with bits of kipper from her plate. Whilst doing so, she broke into a tirade against her niece’s day and evening out by the river.

Ming looked at her watch and rose. She must go. She had barely time to catch her train for the City. She was late now. With a flushed, serious face, she pleaded with her aunt.

‘I promise you it will be absolutely all right, Aunt Prue, and if Sallie’s parents allow her to go, why can’t I?’

Tom Corally pushed back his chair and pulled a pipe from the pocket of his shabby patched jacket.

‘Yes, yes. I see no reason why you shouldn’t have your little jaunt if you behave yourself, which I know you will. Now look here, Prue—’ he turned to his sister—‘I’ll take the responsibility of the child going off. She’s got her girl friend with her, and you can’t be supervising what a young woman does after she’s come of age. Darn it, what’s the harm? You’ve got evil at the back of your mind, and Ming hasn’t.’

Miss Corally looked at her brother as though she could kill him. She set Pixie on his feet and stood up, breathing heavily in competition with the pug.

‘Just as I thought. Go against me and side with Ming. You always dislike me doing my duty by your daughter. Well, she can go, but it will be entirely against my wishes.’

Tom Corally sighed. Drat the woman for being so difficult. But he smiled at Ming.

‘Get along and catch your train, duckie. And you fix up your outing. I’m sure you’ll come to no harm.’

Ming flew to him for a hug.

‘You’re an old darling. …’

Miss Corally walked out of the dining-room followed by the snuffling pug. Ming rushed to get her hat, gloves and her little attaché case, and walked rapidly towards the station.

She longed to reach the office and tell Sallie she had obtained her father’s permission at last. This afternoon, Norman and Ivor were both phoning … to make final plans. It would be thrilling … Ming felt inordinately excited at the prospect of her holiday. The world was good today. The sun was shining. On Streatham Common the trees were very green, and Ming could imagine how glorious it would be in the country … and on the cool, sparkling river. What a change from the heat, the dust, the oppression of a city office in June! And what a gay party they’d be in a little country pub on Sunday night, instead of sitting in Aunt Prue’s house where she and Daddy were both nagged at, and only that beastly Pixie’s feelings were ever considered.

Ming, sitting in the train, began to plan what she would wear on her holiday. Sallie had slacks and a sun-bathing top. Lucky Sallie, whose parents were not badly off and could supplement her salary! But she, Ming, had to part with three pounds to Aunt Prue, towards her keep, which didn’t leave much for fares, lunches or clothes. She had no slacks, anyhow. Miss Corally would have had a fit at the thought of her niece wearing trousers. But Ming had rather a nice dirndl skirt, white with chintzy roses on it, which she had made herself from a good pattern, and a Hungarian-embroidered white blouse. She would wear that, no stockings, and her old white sandals. She hoped Mr. Walters would think it nice. He was so frightfully smart himself. Ming’s pulses stirred at the prospect of Sunday … of Ivor so fair, so languid, so blasé, sitting beside her in Norman’s car, driving down to the river.

It was definitely going to be a “super” day.

THE Sunday outing seemed to work out exactly as Ming imagined it would—until Sallie and her friend Norman went off by themselves after supper, and left Ming alone with Ivor.

Up till then the fun had been innocuous and friendly. They had driven down to Shanley, a village near Maidenhead, in Norman’s car, and gone straight to the Four Feathers, where they ate a huge tea in the garden, under a striped umbrella. The ‘pub’—well known to the two men—was a modern structure, claiming to be ‘Tudor’. The ‘olde-worlde’ atmosphere was so new as to be painfully pseudo. There was scarcely an inch of timbered wall not spoiled by lurid, framed advertisements of popular cigarettes, beers and chocolates.

Nevertheless, the day was sunny and the garden heaven to the two girls after the toil and strain in a city office. The grounds of the Four Feathers sloped to the river. It looked cool, spark. . .