A Brighter Tomorrow by Maggie Ford (read with me .txt) 📕

brought a wave of hatred. And determination. She must work towards having more money, even if that meant being sent somewhere a long way off, or all her plans would fall apart.

Money had a habit of melting away before it could be put to proper use. Even with what she already had she might be broke in no time, trying to look after herself. If she wanted wealth and prestige, she would have to do Bertram’s bidding.

But what if she lost Michael? Could she expect him to wait a year, maybe two years for her? Quickly she pushed away all her previous airy-fairy notions. She did have enough money to escape this man’s cloying possession of her – now, the sooner the better. Anyway, she’d be out of her depth in some academy, here or abroad, and the thought of being alone in some foreign country was frightening. She would never be happy.

It was time she was gone, she and Michael together. His family was quite well off. He worked in his father’s practice, in Harley Street, and one day he’d be well regarded in his field. With Michael behind her there was no need to worry about money. He loved her and she loved him and in time they would be married.

She looked at Bertram Lowe, his blue eyes alight with plans for her, unaware that she had her own plans, and smiled. There was a need to keep him in the dark just a little longer, to let him think she was content.

‘Perhaps you ought not to dismiss Mr Deel too soon,’ she said sweetly. ‘It would look a bit rude and inconsiderate after his father has let him teach me how to talk nicely, and paint, and for no fees as well.’

A sigh of relief filled Ellie’s lungs as this advice was met with a thoughtful nod. Reprieved. Time earned for her and Michael, so long as they could keep Bertram Lowe at bay.

She and Michael stood by the coffee stall in Cambridge Road. These days it seemed to be their only haunt, and the November chill crept into their bones; but they were together.

It was two months since Bertram Lowe had frightened her with sending her to another tutor or some distant school of art. No doubt he’d thought better of it, perhaps fearing Michael might defy his family’s plans for his future and go after her.

He’d no doubt reasoned that those in love would follow each other to the ends of the earth and he’d lose her anyway. Here he could keep an eye on them and, Ellie guessed, be on hand to stir up feelings of doubt in each of them.

He no longer took her places. Maybe the effort had caused his practice to suffer, or maybe he no longer saw any point to it. But he was now refusing to sanction Michael accompanying her anywhere on his behalf as on those few occasions before he had become alert to the direction their relationship had begun to take.

He was now aware, of course, that they were continuing to meet, if not in secrecy any more, then discreetly; but there was little he could do about it. He could hardly lock her up or, she now realized, send her packing. It was probably tearing him apart, but she didn’t care, deaf to his warnings that, though they might continue to meet, Michael’s upbringing would never allow them to wed if that’s what she hoped for.

Ellie didn’t quite know what she hoped for. She knew she was in love with Michael. At the same time her need to find her father still occupied her mind, like a cancer lurking there in her brain, tormenting and ravaging her and spoiling any hope of happiness. She hated it and the one who caused it to be there. She wanted Michael so much – a smooth, contented life; but how could it be so when this blight was consuming her? Would it ever shrivel and die? Probably not – or not until this stubborn need for revenge was satisfied.

She huddled against Michael, more for reassurance and comfort than from the cold, and sipped the steaming beverage the coffee stall grandly liked to call coffee, trying not to think of her father. But now Bertram Lowe’s words milled in her brain:

‘You will never be his wife, you know, if that’s what you are hoping. His family would never agree to a marriage between their son and someone of the poorest of poor upbringing. When he marries they will see he marries well. You will see.’

He had never used to refer to her background. It struck her as churlish and cruel, unlike him, and if he hoped in this way to earn her affection, he was going entirely the wrong way about it, driving her further from him, if he did but know it. That was bad enough. Worse were moments when he would express his fondness, say how sweet she was, how he wanted to shield her from harm and remind her just how much she owed him for taking her in and saving her from poverty. Such a kind man; but his kindness was cloying.

She shivered and felt Michael’s arm come about her shoulders.

He glanced down at her. ‘Cold?’

‘It is cold,’ she admitted, allowing an even bigger shudder.

‘We’d best be getting back. Don’t want you to catch a chill. I’d hate to be the cause of you going down with a cold,’ he added with a light chuckle.

‘You’ll never cause me any harm,’ she said earnestly, and felt his arm tighten about her.

‘Come on then,’ he said briskly. Releasing her, he took her empty mug and placed it with his own on the off-white, stained counter.

They walked slowly despite the cold, with its first thin curling of mist promising to develop into yellow fog by midnight. Her thick-gloved hand was through the crook of his arm, she not wanting to be seen in public with his arm around