She was now beginning to be recognised when she went out. She loved it when she was asked for her autograph and always made a point of smiling and exchanging a few words with the person who’d asked for it. It was possible that the man looking so lasciviously at her knew who she was.
Lulled by the rhythmicclackety-clack of the train, she wanted very much to close her eyes and sleep for the rest of the journey, but there was something about the man in the compartment with her that made her reluctant to do that. She decided to go in search of another compartment, hopefully one that was empty. She was just reaching for her suitcase in the overhead rack when the man sprang to his feet. ‘Allow me,’ he said, his hand on the handle of her case.
‘I can manage,’ she said.
‘I’m sure a beautiful woman like you could do just about anything she wanted,’ he said. ‘Especially with the right encouragement.’
There was a sheen of sweat above his top lip and she could smell the sourness of hisbeer-soaked breath. Revolted by him, and what he was implying, she snatched her suitcase from his grasp, slid open the compartment door and hurried away down the narrow corridor of the train.
Changing her mind about wanting to find an empty carriage where the man might follow her, she headed to where thesecond-class seats were located.
‘Isabella? Is that you?’
She glanced at the young man who had just called her name.
‘It’s me, George,’ he said.
She stared at him blankly as the other passengers looked up interestedly. Then she smiled. ‘George Minton,’ she said, ‘fancy seeing you here.’
‘Are you going home for the party?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘You too?’
He nodded. When he indicated the empty seat next to him, she declined. ‘Come with me,’ she said, leading him to the emptyfirst-class carriage she had spotted before.
‘But I don’t have the right ticket,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry about that, I’ll buy you one if the ticket collector comes round again.’
When they were settled, and grateful for his company after her encounter with that repulsive man, Isabella tried to remember when she’d last seen George. ‘Was it Christmas when we last saw each other?’ she asked.
‘It probably was,’ he said.
‘And how are your parents?’ She felt badly that she didn’t make more of an effort to stay in touch with Florence.
Some of her earliest memories were of sitting on Florence’s lap and being cuddled. That was during the war when she lived at Island House with Florence, Annelise and Hope, along with Stanley and dear old Mrs Partridge, their cook. Florence had run the household while Romily was away flying with the ATA. There had also been an Austrian refugee who had helped with the chores, leaving Florence to look after the children. Later memories included Isabella playing with George, and then his younger sister, Rosie, when she was old enough to join in with their games. Her cousin, Annelise played with her too, as did Stanley. Isabella and Annelise referred to each other as cousins, but strictly speaking they weren’t related.
Isabella’s connection to the Devereux family was complicated, and had, if she were being objective, all the makings of a great film. Her mother, Allegra Salvato had been the illegitimate daughter of Harry Devereux, Jack Devereux’s ne’er-do-well brother. When Jack had learned that his brother was dead, and of the existence of a young child living in an orphanage in Italy, he had feltduty-bound to give Allegra a home at Island House alongside his own children, Arthur, Kit and Hope. But just as soon as she was old enough, Allegra went back to Italy to embark on what she had hoped would be a successful singing career. When Jack was dying, and now married to Romily, Allegra, down on her luck and pregnant, returned to Island House and married her childhood sweetheart, Elijah Hartley. It was not to be a happy ending for them, though. While Elijah was away fighting in the war, poor Allegra died giving birth to Isabella. In his absence, Romily was made Isabella’s official guardian.
Elijah had been a wonderful man. A soldier with the Suffolk Regiment, she had scarcely seen him for the first five years of her life, then when the war was over, and he came home for good, she moved out of Island House and into Winter Cottage with him. It had been a strange and bewildering time for her – he was her father, so she had been told from the earliest age, but she didn’t actually know him. As for her biological father, she never knew who he was and had no inclination to track him down.
In those initial weeks of living with Elijah she had often cried in her bed at night wanting to be back at Island House with Florence and Annelise and Stanley. Poor Elijah, he didn’t know what to do, other than let her spend time back at Island House. After a while she made the adjustment, as did he. It couldn’t have been easy trying to be her father. But she never doubted that he loved her, and she grew to adore him. He had made such a sacrifice taking her on, not that he ever said as much. He always said he had loved her mother and was determined to marry her despite knowing she was carrying another man’s child. How many men would do that? He had been exceptional in all ways. Isabella doubted she would ever find a man to marry who would be as good as he was.
His death when she was seventeen had left her bereft and unable to talk about him. She locked away her love and grief for him deep in her heart, where it could never be lost. It was that which she tapped into if an acting role she was playing called for her to cry. All she had to do was force herself to think of her grief for Elijah and the tears would flow. Somebody once said of her that she actually turned deathly pale when she cried on stage.
‘My parents are very well,’ George said, breaking into her thoughts, ‘and both as busy as ever – Mum at Island House and Dad at the bakery.’
‘And how’s university going for you?’ Isabella asked. She knew how proud his parents were that he was the first of their family to go to college. ‘Remind me what you’re studying?’
‘It’s going well, and I’m reading Chemistry.’
She smiled. ‘Quite the boffin.’
He laughed. ‘Not at all. By the way, I loved your last film. You were marvellous in it.’
‘Thank you.’
They talked some more and then George took out what looked like a Chemistry textbook with incomprehensible symbols littering the pages. ‘You don’t mind if I read, do you?’ he asked.
