A Fall from Grace Maggie Ford (feel good books .txt) 📖

that is a good reason for you to confide in me; no axe to grind, you might say.’

He was speaking brightly now. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Ingleton – James Aric Aylward Ingleton. My work is in the City. I deal in stocks and shares to put it simply. I have a place in Belgrave Square near Knightsbridge but I’m seldom there, my work being more in the City. I find Knightsbridge a lonely place these days. I prefer to work, my evenings mostly occupied by work although I do frequent the odd little public house where people are human. I loathe clubs.’

He was talking rapidly as if to cover some awkwardness. Suddenly he stopped, staring across to her in the darkness of the motor car. ‘Forgive me, if I appear impertinent, and please tell me if you feel I am, but would it be in order for me to ask if I may take you to dinner one evening. After what has transpired I feel it uncaring if I merely leave you never to see you again.’

As Madeleine shot him a cautious look, he drew himself upright in his seat. ‘Well, I see not,’ he said simply.

Instantly Madeleine galvanized into action. ‘No!’ she burst out. ‘I’d be quite happy to see you again. That would be really nice!’

A thought came to her. He had to be at least forty years older than she and far from her idea of a romantic image. But befriended by a man of obvious wealth, influence and prestige, such a man might help her find her child where alone she might never do so. I’m not manipulating him, came a small voice inside her. But you are thinking of using him, said a second voice. But I don’t care, came the first voice, I need all the help I can get and here is someone who might gladly give it.

‘It would be the only way I can think of to thank you for all your kindness,’ she said in a deliberately meek tone.

She heard his breath escape him as if he had been holding it in.

‘Then may I call for you tomorrow evening, take you to dinner, nothing too grand, somewhere pleasant?’

‘I would like that,’ she said simply as the motor car turned into the street where she was living, slowing to a stop at the tenement she indicated. She felt no shame about its shabby appearance. He already knew she had been well brought up, accustomed to money. If things went well she would know money again.

‘I would like that very much indeed,’ she repeated as an afterthought as he helped her alight from the vehicle to kiss her hand.

‘Eight o’clock?’ he asked.

Holding her excitement inside herself, Madeleine nodded, keeping her smile as calm and as sweet as she could. Yes, he could be very helpful.

Eight

She could hardly wait to tell Dolly about her encounter. She waited up but there was no sound of her returning unless she’d crept back in. Though now she strongly suspected she wouldn’t be back until morning. Dolly struck her as that kind of girl though who was she to judge, she who’d so stupidly let one man take advantage of her leading to her own downfall? But never again would she be caught out. She was no floozie and vowed never to let any man touch her until he married her, no matter how much she was in love.

James Ingleton, however, had behaved impeccably and would, she was sure, carry on treating her with respect even though he had listened to her story. He hadn’t blamed her but rather the man for taking advantage of a young girl’s innocence. But if that reassurance did hide some secret hope for his own ends, he would be sent packing at the least suspicion of improper behaviour. That too she vowed.

All next day she found herself in a growing fever of pent up excitement at the thought of seeing him again. She’d have liked to have told Dolly but there was no sign of her all that day. Saturday was still a workday for Dolly, so maybe she’d already crept off to work, or she might have spent the night with that George and gone off to work from there. In a way Madeleine was a little relieved, Dolly maybe seeing it as being any old port in a storm thing.

That evening she chose her only other nice dress, the salmon pink, in which to meet James Ingleton. Struggling into it without the help of a maid, she finally managed with her supple arms to fasten the buttons at the back, thanking God there was no longer call for the restrictive stays of a couple of years ago having to be laced at the back to give a woman an hourglass figure. At least the war had brought freedom of dress, hems also giving some opportunity these days for pretty ankles to be on show as well as a more natural body shape. Her hair too had no need to be fought with and piled up any more. To be in fashion, she had taken the scissors to her own long tresses so that now her hair was free to curl gently about her ears.

In fact James had been surprised and approving, saying, ‘My dear, your new hairstyle looks so utterly charming. It suits you very much.’

She’d felt so happy sitting with him in expensive theatre seats and afterwards a lovely supper in a good restaurant. And now, six weeks later, she hardly ever thought of him as being in his late fifties. Seated opposite her at some restaurant table, he looked at times so much younger despite greying hair which, thick still, had been dark judging by that still remaining in his moustache. Only a fraction taller than herself, although slightly robust and broad of face, he was very well preserved for one his age. On top of that he was a gentleman in