And All That Jazz Episode 05
Won’t you have another sandwich, Mr Jakeman?” Dora asked.
The handsome man sitting across the table shook his head.
“Thank you,” he said, “but a teacher’s salary won’t stretch to a wardrobe of new suits if my waistline expands. The cake was delicious, though.”
“Mrs Knox’s angel cake is the talk of Edgbaston.” Dora flushed at her own ridiculous attempts at polite conversation.
She could just imagine Lizzy shaking her head at Dora’s vacuous prattling.
Ever since Vincent Jakeman had walked into her house, Dora had been transfixed, staring at him when she should have been speaking and spouting inanities.
Her mind was too preoccupied with the wonder of this particular man being in her parlour.
The man she’d thought about more often than she’d like to admit.
Despite it being eight years since she’d last seen him, and only having spoken to him for one evening, she’d recognised him instantly.
His hair was streaked with grey now, and he had wrinkles where before there were none.
There were the scars, of course. He was now blind.
The handsome young soldier she’d met that evening had been . . . flawless.
Dora tried to think what Mother would say.
“Did you teach before the war, Mr Jakeman?” she asked then.
He smiled, creases forming around his eyes.
“Yes. I had wanted to teach since I was a boy,” he replied. “One Christmas I tried to make my younger brothers memorise ‘The Lady Of Shalott’.”
He chuckled.
Here he was, gallant, ready to laugh, exactly as Dora remembered him.
She had held the image of him for so long – a little light in her heart in times of darkness.
She was relieved that the memory hadn’t been polished to something more brilliant than reality.
He obviously didn’t recognise her voice, and why should he, after such a short acquaintance?
But there was a tiny part of her that was disappointed.
She breathed deeply, trying to steady her frantic pulse. She was being ridiculous.
She would not tell him – it would be too humiliating if he didn’t remember her at all – and anyway, he was here for a very different reason.
“You served with Walter, Mr Jakeman,” Dora enquired.
A sadness tainted his smile.
“Yes. I was a lieutenant in his battalion,” he said.
Dora thought of Walter, the quiet, studious man who read books while his brothers were out shooting, and it made her terribly sad.
“It always struck me that Walter was most unsuited to the rank of captain,” she stated.
“I think he found it a burden – the responsibility of those lives resting on his shoulders,” Vincent whispered.
Dora imagined her tweedy, studious husband standing in a trench in the mud.
“How awful it must have been for you all,” she muttered.
This is what she had to focus on now, not ridiculous dreams, but the reality of what had passed, of Walter’s days at the Front.
This was why she’d agreed to meet this charming teacher – for solace, for some sense of who Walter had been before he died.
“I wonder, may I have another cup of tea, Mrs Vale?” Vincent asked.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. You must forgive me for being such a terrible hostess. I don’t have many visitors.”
She filled his cup and watched as he reached for the milk jug, then the rim of the cup, dipping a finger over the edge to feel the liquid rise.
“Walter spoke of your mother and your sister, Elizabeth,” he revealed.
“Yes, Lizzy lives a couple of miles away with an artist friend of hers,” Dora said.
“You sound as if you don’t approve.”
“Oh, dear, do I? Being the older sister, I’m prone to worrying.”
“You imagine her drinking absinthe and being wooed by cads?” His eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Well, I’m not sure about the absinthe.”
Dora was taken back to the day they met, Vincent Jakeman’s eyes sparkling as he offered her punch, a playful tone in his voice.
“You rather look as if you could use a glass,” he had told her. “It’s the only sensible way to get through these dances, don’t you find?”
Do stop getting distracted, Dora chided herself.
“I’m sorry, Mr Jakeman, you must have a train to catch,” she said. “You wanted to tell me something about Walter.”
“Of course.” He leaned forwards, elbows resting on his knees. “I want to apologise first that this visit is so delayed.
“After my injury, I was in hospital for some months. It took me a while to adjust to losing my sight.”
“Please don’t apologise. It’s very good of you to come at all,” Dora reassured him.
“Wally gave me a note for you in those final days,” he continued. “A lot of us did that sort of thing in case the worst happened.”
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out an envelope. It was creased and mud-stained.
“I hope it’s legible. It’s kept me company for the last four years,” Vincent added.
Dora took the paper in trembling hands.
Her name was barely legible, but she recognised Walter’s looping handwriting.
When it came for him to leave, Dora saw Vincent to the door.
He paused at the gate, turning back to face her.
“Mrs Vale, it has been a great pleasure to meet you. I wonder . . .” he murmured.
He looked like a boy, shy and unsure of himself.
“I’m in Birmingham next week to meet a friend. Would you mind if I called on you again?” he asked.
“Oh, please do.” The words were out before Dora had time to think.
What would Mother say?
Vincent smiled, waved his hat in the air and stepped on to the pavement.
She stood for a while, listening to the tap of his cane as it receded along the road.
Dora pressed the letter to her lips, but all she could smell was Vincent Jakeman’s cologne.
To be continued…