for air. She wanted to run, but her feet were already moving, dragging her towards her mother as if pulled by an invisible thread.
Constance Tremayne stood on the steps, as still as a statue, both hands clutching the strap of her sensible handbag.
‘Go inside,’ she ordered through tight, unmoving lips.
The nurses’ home was closed to families or friends, but as usual the rules did not apply to Constance Tremayne as she led the way into the empty sitting room. The July sun shone through the bay window, throwing a broad patch of light on to the worn, sagging settees. A solitary teacup from the previous night sat in a sticky ring on the table.
Constance stood at the window, back turned to her daughter, staring out across the courtyard. Helen had got used to reading her mother’s moods. From the set of her stiff spine to her tightly clenched hands, it was obvious she was furious.
Helen fixed her gaze on the teacup, braced herself, and waited.
‘Who is he?’ Constance asked finally.
‘His name is Charlie.’ Her voice came out as a whisper.
‘How long has this been going on?’
‘Nearly three months.’
Her mother turned around to face her. ‘You have been lying to me for that long? I had no idea you could be so deceitful.’
‘I haven’t lied to you, I just . . .’
‘Be quiet, Helen.’
‘But Mother . . .’
‘I will tell you when you can speak.’ Constance gazed out of the window again. ‘I suppose he is the reason you were caught coming back late?’
Helen’s heart sank. It was too much to hope that her mother would not have found out about that. She knew everything.
‘Well? What have you to say for yourself?’
She stared down at the box in her hands. ‘I’m sorry, Mother.’
Helen felt the chill of her mother’s wintry gaze on her. ‘I’m afraid sorry is not enough, Helen. I wonder if you realise how deeply disappointed I am in you?’ She came to stand before her. ‘You have let yourself and your family down. I brought you up to be a decent girl, to have high moral standards. I did not bring you up to stay out all hours and behave like a common tart!’
‘I’m not a tart!’ Helen protested. ‘I just have a boyfriend, that’s all. Lots of girls have boyfriends.’
‘Not you! You’re better than that. I will not have your name tainted with scandal, do you hear me? I will not have people whispering about you behind your back, saying you’re no better than you ought to be. I don’t think you quite understand, Helen, I have an excellent name in this hospital. I won’t have you tainting it with your sordid little liaisons!’
‘It’s not a sordid liaison,’ she protested. ‘Charlie’s a nice boy. I’ve even met his family. I’m sure if you got to know him . . .’
‘I have no intention of getting to know him, because you won’t be seeing him again,’ Constance declared flatly.
‘But Mother—’
She held up a hand for silence. ‘That’s enough, Helen. I don’t wish to talk about it any more. I’ve made my decision and that’s the end of it.’
Helen stared at her, shocked. Constance was already gathering up her handbag, as if the matter were settled.
‘Y-you can’t say that,’ she stammered. ‘I love Charlie.’
‘Love! For heaven’s sake, Helen, do you know how utterly ridiculous you sound? Why, you’re like one of those simpering fools in Peg’s Paper!’ Her mother gave her a pitying look. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re far too young and naive, you don’t know the first thing about it.’
Helen watched her adjust her gloves, fastening the buttons at her wrists, fastidious as ever.
‘So I’m never going to be allowed to have a boyfriend, is that it?’ she asked quietly.
‘Of course you can have a boyfriend, Helen. Don’t be so melodramatic.’ Constance paused to consider the matter. ‘When you’re older, and you’ve finished your training, then I’m sure a suitable young man will come along.’
‘And I suppose you’ll tell me where and when to find him?’ The words were out before she could stop herself.
Her mother stared at her. ‘Don’t be impertinent, Helen.’
‘I’m not being impertinent. I just don’t understand why I can’t have a boyfriend. William has lots of girlfriends, and you don’t say anything to him.’
She saw her mother’s expression soften. ‘William is different. He is a young man, and he doesn’t need my guidance so much.’
Really? Helen thought. For a moment she was tempted to tell her mother the real