Chrissie's Children Read Free Page A

desperately sorry for him and his family now. ‘I
wish we could do something for him, Jack.’
    He shook his head and sighed, ‘That isn’t possible because we don’t know where he is. Hollywood has closed its doors to him so he won’t be able to work in films. It will
be impossible for an Englishman to get any other kind of job. He’s one of eleven million unemployed in the States right now. Five thousand banks collapsed and nine million savings accounts
went down the drain. There are all kinds of men, lots of them professionals, tramping the streets or riding boxcars on the railways, all looking for work. Hoboes they call them. But –’
and he tapped the letter, ‘– we can send a cheque to his wife.’
    Chrissie nodded, ‘We’ll do that.’ It was something, but she left the toast, not wanting it now.
    Matt had eaten two slices with marmalade after a plateful of eggs and bacon. He now said, ‘You look like a bookie’s clerk in that suit, Tom.’
    His brother only grinned at the intended insult. He wore the suit because this was the day he was starting work. He had wanted to work in the shipyards almost from the time he could walk.
Chrissie wondered, not for the first time, at the coincidence that Tom was the spitting image of Jack. Matt on the other hand had Jack’s pale blue eyes – or had they come from his
grandmother, Hilary? Matt would have Jack’s height when grown, and was tall as Tom now, but skinny as a beanpole.
    Now Jack spread marmalade on toast and said, ‘Car, Matt.’
    ‘Right!’ For once Matt moved quickly, and was out of his chair and the room in a few long strides.
    Minutes later Jack drained his coffee cup and stood up. Chrissie and Tom followed him out into the hall. Pearson, the young footman, waited there with Tom’s suitcase. All the other
servants, the two maids and the cook, were there to see off Tom. Only the part-time gardener was missing. There were no longer a butler and the dozen or so servants that had been in the house ten
years ago. The vacuum cleaner, electric cooker and central heating – its boiler stoked by Pearson – had replaced them.
    ‘’Bye, Tom!’ Sophie leaned over the banister at the head of the stairs, making nonsense of Tom’s excuse for her absence. She was still in pyjamas, blonde hair tousled.
She was just short of fifteen years old now and still a schoolgirl, but the body inside the pyjamas was that of a young woman.
    Young Pearson stared woodenly to his front, embarrassed, and Chrissie snapped, scandalised, ‘
Get dressed!
’
    Tom added, teasing, ‘Really, Sophie!’
    She grinned at him, ‘Don’t you start!’ Normally she and her brothers gambolled and scrambled like three puppies. Now she called, ‘Good luck!’ and meant it, and blew
him a kiss. Then she slid a sideways glance at Pearson and Chrissie’s lips tightened. Sophie saw that and scurried away.
    Outside on the drive sat the car, a black Ford V8 saloon – the Rolls was only used now for special occasions, just for show. Matt had driven the Ford round from the garage, the former
stables at the back of the house. Now he got down and Chrissie took his place, Jack at her side and Tom in the rear. Benson, the chauffeur, had retired years ago and had not been replaced, just one
of many economies. As Chrissie steered the car down the gravelled drive the house spread wide in the rear-view mirror, the tower lifting high at its centre.
    She drove down into the town, stopped at the station and got down with Tom. Jack slid over behind the wheel as Tom hauled his suitcase from the car.
    Jack held out a hand. ‘Be careful. And good luck.’
    Tom shook it, smiling, excited. ‘Thanks, Dad.’ Then he looked down at the folded pound note in his palm, laughed and said again, ‘Thanks!’
    Jack drove away, smiling, but still felt a twinge of worry. Tom was a young man now, serious and responsible, but he was going out into the world and a shipyard could be a
dangerous place, hence