Sofia's Story, page 7
Mr Tomlinson! Jack! Images of him returned to her. Not those of him and Andres painting together at the finca, nor glimpses of a time past when she’d travelled across the ocean with him to Australia. These were a return of the terrifying memories of his drawn and haggard face contorted with anguish; his eyes filled with sadness; a tiny box set out in the front of a roomful of people, and a stranger speaking words of eternal life and how the Lord said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven. She saw his face looking toward her from where he sat in the vehicle with Margaret. Jack and Margaret. Margaret and Jack. Of course, he would find consolation in Margaret’s strong arms. Sofia’s own arms were not strong, nor were they safe.
‘I can’t go back,’ she said in a whisper.
‘You don’t want to go back to Australia?’ Marcus asked. ‘What about your husband? What are we to say to him?’
Sofia shook her head. Marcus conferred with the captain. They spoke of her husband and another woman, the shock Sofia must have experienced when she’d learned of the relationship, what reply might be sent to the scoundrel. Marcus then turned to her.
‘Sofia, what message would you like to send so we can reassure your husband that you’re safe? Shall we tell him you’re returning to your family?’
In a flash of clarity, words came to Sofia, that emerged as a whisper.
‘Tell him going to Australia was a terrible mistake. I should never have left Spain. Margaret will be good for him. I wish for him to be happy.’
The captain nodded, but his expression was dubious, and again he conferred with Marcus, whose sympathy filled eyes never left her.
Unable to bear his pity, Sofia turned her gaze to the window. Just outside, a seagull scampered along the ship’s railing. Its image blurred as tears filled her eyes and she felt the soft fabric of a handkerchief being pushed into her hand.
‘At least this man will know his wife is safe and where to look if he wants to find her,’ she heard Marcus say. ‘Seems he’s got another woman in his sights, though. All very well for him to be worried about Sofia now. If only he knew the damage he’s done!’
Sofia shook her head and fresh tears fell. No. It wasn’t like that, she thought. Marcus had it wrong.
* * *
Marcus did not mention the discussion in the captain’s office again. Instead, when they walked on the deck after the meals they shared, he questioned her about Malaga. Sofia enjoyed these conversations where memories of her childhood seemed as if they were only yesterday: long days playing in the sun with Andres, afternoons working in the orchard with their father, cooking biscuits in the kitchen for their afternoon tea, and then calling Andres and Papa from their studio to join her in the courtyard. As she described these events, Sofia’s excitement at returning home increased. She couldn’t wait to see her gallery again, to fix the paintings on its walls—she knew her father would not do it in the way she liked. And again, she would visit the craftsmen and women who’d once supplied the gallery with their products. It would be good to see them again.
Sofia did not always enjoy Marcus’ company, though. Sometimes his conversation became probing and inquisitive, and he’d want to know more about her life in Australia: her marriage. Each time this happened, her breathing quickened and her mind froze. Sometimes she’d feel his questions coming and deflect them. ‘I’m cold now. I think I’ll go inside.’ Or, without speaking, she’d rise and walk to the front of the ship. There she looked towards the horizon, willing land to appear so she could continue her journey to the place where she knew peace awaited.
* * *
And of course, land did appear from time to time, as the Strathnaver made stops at Aden, Port Said, Naples and Toulon, where passengers left the ship for a few hours, returning with their arms full of souvenirs and their voices lively with excited chatter.
Despite Marcus’ encouragement for Sofia to leave the ship at these stops, she always said no, preferring to remain in her room, glad for the silence the ship offered when everybody left.
Finally, the captain announced they would arrive in London within the week, filling Sofia with excitement. She was almost home! All she needed was a ticket to travel to Spain.
Chapter 11
As the Strathnaver navigated the English Channel, hugging the coastline northward on its final leg of the journey, Sofia became agitated by a turn in Marcus’ conversation.
‘What are your plans when we arrive in London, Sofia? Do you have somewhere to stay?’
‘I will be okay. I will go to a motel, and then I will find a travel agent,’ she told him, remembering how simple it had been to purchase her ticket for this journey.
‘So, you plan to cross the Channel? Travel to Paris and then on to Spain? Where will you stay while you are in Paris?’
‘No—I mean yes, I will go to Paris, and then I will go to Spain.’
‘But I think you might need to stay in Paris, if only for a night. You should stay near the station. From which station does the Malaga train depart?’
The questions were needling, demanding details Sofia had not thought about. It was enough for her to remember to wash her clothes each day and to walk to the dining room for her meals. In response, Sofia’s irritation grew. She knew where she was going, and she was sure a travel agency like the one in Melbourne would make the arrangements for her, but Marcus’ probing made the task of travelling to Spain feel overwhelming.
‘I will stay with my aunt. She is in Paris.’ Even as she said the words, Sofia knew they were a lie. Her aunt had left Paris years earlier, and she had no idea where she was.
‘Very well, then. Have you heard from your brother and father? Are they expecting you?’
‘No... but of course they will be expecting me. They will wonder where I have been all of this time.’
Sofia wanted Marcus to stop asking questions that made her confused and tongue-tied. Why was he so anxious to know about her plans?
‘Do you realise Spain is not altogether safe for travel? I’ve been listening to the news reports on the radio in the ship’s lounge each evening. There is less fighting at present, but still, tensions between the Nationalists and the Republicans are high. In fact, there is a lot of unrest all through Europe, with the German Chancellor, Hitler, making threats on Czechoslovakia. Do you think you might delay your journey for a few months?’
The political nuances of Europe were irrelevant to Sofia, and she felt sure he was trying to upset her.
‘No, no.’ Despite Marcus’ negative talk, her destination was Malaga, and nothing would deter Sofia from getting there as soon as possible.
‘Sofia, I am worried about you. I believe you’ve had a terrible shock. I am not sure if you agree, but I don’t think you are so well. I’ve had some experience with these things, as you know, and I believe you may be suffering from depression. Perhaps even something more serious. Do you think you are well?’
‘I am fine.’ Damn him!
Despite her defiant reply, Marcus’ question made Sofia uneasy. No, she wasn’t well. All around her, people laughed and were full of humour. They chattered non-stop, while she found words difficult. They were immersed in a world where everything fascinated them: the food, the view from the front of the ship, the entertainment on the decks and in the dining room. Although Sofia dwelt in the same environment, she felt nothing of their excitement. Worse, though, blank hours in her day had become a regular event—periods of time she could not account for. Sometimes the bright rays of morning sunshine filled her cabin, and then, barely moments later, darkness filled the room. No, she definitely was not well, but when she was home, she’d be better.
* * *
Finally, the ship turned into the Thames. And as the expanse of water became enclosed and the rolling ocean waves became dappled waters, the atmosphere on the ship also changed. Voices seemed louder as they called to each other, conversations took on more urgency as though the things which hadn’t been said during the voyage needed to be said now, and even the clothing people wore seemed a little more formal. And when Marcus looked at Sofia across the breakfast table, he looked serious and broached the subject of her health.
‘Sofia, I know I have mentioned this a few times, but I feel I need to say it again. I really do not think you are ready to continue such a long journey through to Spain. Please would you consider staying in London for a few weeks and perhaps seeking some treatment?’
‘I will be fine when I am home,’ Sofia told him.
‘Yes, but getting home will not be easy. You will need to be buying tickets, finding accommodation, navigating Paris, all alone.’
‘Sí.’
‘There is a place—a hospital—near my home. There, you could rest and regain your strength, ready for your journey home. It has an excellent reputation.’
His words made Sofia fearful. She must be vigilant. She’d been mistaken to believe Marcus was her friend. He was something else—someone who wanted to take control of her life, who wanted to stop her from returning home.
Keeping her guard up, Sofia agreed with all of Marcus’ suggestions, nodding when he said he would find a motel for her in London, after which he would organise some tests so they could be certain she was well enough to make the journey home. However, even as she agreed, Sofia’s mind plotted and planned. And as the Strathnaver approached the Tilbury docks, its passengers jostling for position along the rails to view outer London sprawling before them, she sat in her room, her packed case on the floor beside her. And when the great ship bumped with a force that made her bed shudder, she ventured down the stairwell, not stopping until she reached the lowest deck. Once there, she pushed through the passengers, who were packed and lined up, waiting for the call to disembark. Finally, she reached the empty corridor beyond the end of the line, and found the open door of a vacant cabin. Slipping inside, she shut the door and lay on the bed.
What to do... what to do, what to do?
Marcus was somewhere out there, certain that she needed some sort of treatment—a plan which would stall her journey home. Staring at the ceiling of the cabin, Sofia lost track of time. She tried to plan her next move, but her thoughts became confused and the sound of her heart pounding filled her ears. Count to ten, she reminded herself, but only got to six before sleep took over.
Waking with a start, Sofia was conscious of quietness pervading the ship. She guessed the passengers had left, but because the cabin had no windows, she had no idea how much time had passed, if it were day or night, nor what was happening beyond the cabin. And so she remained still, paralysed by fear and unsure of her next move.
What if Marcus was out there? Sofia knew he would not give up on her easily.
Chapter 12
The quiet was broken by laughter and loud voices echoing through the hallway. Startled, Sofia fixed her eyes upon the door, wondering if she should barricade it. Perhaps she should try to hide somewhere in the cabin. There was nowhere to hide, though. The tiny space held four bunk beds and a small cupboard for clothing. There was no bathroom as there had been in her own cabin; on this deck, passengers shared the communal facilities farther down the corridor.
Without warning, the door opened, and a lady in the striped uniform of the ship’s cleaning staff burst through the door and gaped at her.
‘Good lord, miss! You gave me the fright of my life! What are you doing here? You’re in London now. Everybody left the ship hours ago! You need to go, too.’
Without replying, Sofia leapt to her feet, slipped on her shoes, reached for her handbag and case, and fled. A second lady, working in the room across the corridor, stared at her as she raced past.
At the stairwell, Sofia slowed, her mind buzzing with the possibilities of what she might encounter at the top of the stairs.
Would Marcus still be around, waiting for her to appear? What a mistake she’d made! She was now alone and would stand out to anyone searching for her on the upper decks. She berated herself for not remaining in the thick of the crowd; she should have attached herself to a group and stayed close. Found a coat in the lost property to wrap around her, so Marcus wouldn’t recognise her yellow dress. Damn, damn, damn.
But Sofia needn’t have worried, for when she reached the top of the stairwell, the deck was vacant and the gangplank unsupervised. It only took her seconds to scamper down the ramp to the port, where exit signs guided passengers to the right. If she followed these, they would take her to the main terminal. And if Marcus was searching for her, he might be waiting there.
Looking around at the empty dock, Sofia noticed a road veering to the left of the main building, following the wharf’s stone wall. Carrying her suitcase and with her handbag strapped over her forearm, she headed towards it while remaining in the shadow cast by the ship. Probably this was the entry route for dock workers and the trucks delivering supplies to the port; it would surely take her to the main road leading to London.
* * *
Walking along the isolated roadway, Sofia was relieved to think she’d outsmarted Marcus; foiled his plan to keep her in London. However, a different need emerged, for the sun was setting rapidly, and heavy storm clouds cast a menacing shadow along her route while a heavy mist cloaked the river beside her. The road was dark, quiet and dank with the rank odour of rotting fish. She jumped at a movement to her left, among large metal bins overflowing with rubbish. With a loud screech, a cat dashed past her.
Sofia realised she may have escaped Marcus, but her nerves tingled with fear of a different kind. She needed to find a route away from these docklands before darkness descended. Increasing her pace, she stumbled on the uneven pavement. Gathering herself, Sofia tried to look purposeful as she walked. And when a couple of heavy raindrops fell, she knew she needed to move quickly.
A whistle split the air from somewhere close by, the familiar sound of a catcall, making Sofia flinch. Out of the mist, two workmen appeared. Passing them, she averted her face to the ground, but nonetheless could feel their eyes roaming over her. To her relief, the dim glow of lights shone through the windows of a building ahead. She approached it and read the sign hanging over its doorway: The Captain’s Tavern.
Through the glass of an old oak door, Sofia saw a dozen or more men scattered through the room with large mugs of ale before them. There was not a woman in sight. Knowing she had little choice, Sofia stepped inside and approached the bar. It was hardly the sort of place she was looking for, but with night falling and the patter of raindrops increasing in strength, she needed shelter and a place to sleep. Tomorrow, she would find a travel agent and buy a ticket for a train to Spain.
* * *
‘Evening, love. What can I get for you?’
Happily, it turned out Sofia wasn’t the only female in the room; the words came from a woman perhaps as wide as she was tall, whose round eyes peered through plump red cheeks.
‘I need somewhere to stay,’ Sofia answered, forcing volume into her voice even as the men’s voices quieted and she could feel their eyes upon her.
‘Stop gawping, you pack of hyaenas. Haven’t you ever seen a lady before?’ the woman shouted before returning her attention to Sofia. ‘Somewhere to stay! Did you come off the ship just now? You must have taken a wrong turn, lovey, for here is the place for the likes of those who build the ships, and mop the ships, and service them. Not for those like you.’
‘I need a bed for the night.’
‘Yes, love. But not here. Our rooms... well, they are for the men. Look, wait a minute and I will see what I can do. Would you like a pint while you’re waiting? I could even rustle up a cuppa, if you’d prefer. I always have a pot brewing out the back.’
Sofia nodded, not because she wanted to drink beer or tea, but because she wanted to know how to escape the dark, shadowy streets.
‘Come along here and sit where it’s quiet. Give your feet a rest, and I will be right back.’
Sofia took in the array of tables and the large fire burning in a grate, thankful for the dim lighting which obscured her presence from the men in the room. It did not help, though, for a new group walked in and their brazen gaze made her squirm.
Sofia was glad when the bar-lady returned.
‘Eyes off, lads. This lady’s not here for you to run your dirty paws over!’
‘Give us a break, Sybil! We was just wanting to be friendly like!’
‘Yeah, Jimmy, and the last time you were being friendly like, we had a woman with a busted cheek, and the police on our doorstep.’
‘It wasn’t my fault!’
‘No, Jimmy, it never is. Now shut up and get out of my way. Me and the lady need to talk.’
She continued in a gentler tone, ‘So, miss, I’ve had a chat with Cecil, my better half. He reckons he can manage here, so now I’m free to go home to the young ones. I’m thinking you should walk with me. I live in Tebbutt Lane. Just around the corner from there is a bus stop and taxi rank. There will be a few people about at this time of day, so you should be safe. From there, you can catch a bus into London, where you will find plenty of accommodation far more suitable than what’s on offer here.’
‘Gracias. Thank you.’
‘You don’t need to thank me, love. It’s what any Christian woman would do. It’s not safe for you to be walking around here alone. I wouldn’t even trust the cab drivers who come this way. Only last week a girl was found floating in the Thames, and she wasn’t the first, believe me.’
Safe... safe... safe... The word pounded through Sofia’s mind. Where to be safe? Safe from Marcus? Safe from the night shadows?
Chapter 13
PART THREE - LONDON
Sofia was glad for Sybil’s company as they made their way along the dimly lit street where the sheds and workplaces attached to the docks gave way to ramshackle houses. The rain had stopped, but the pavement beneath their feet was slippery, and several times Sybil caught Sofia’s arm and gently manoeuvred her around the oily puddles. The older woman was clearly well known in this street, for every few minutes a voice called ‘Evening, Sybil,’ to which she replied, ‘Evening, Mick,’ or ‘Hughey,’ or ‘Pete’ amid her barrage of chatter, explaining how she and Cecil only planned to run the tavern for two years—three at the most—before selling up and relocating to a nice country village. But here they were, twelve years later, and still no plans to leave. She told Sofia about her four children whose hungry bellies would be waiting for their dinner, and how she hoped the eldest—Sally, who was a good girl—would have the fire lit, ready for their stew to be heated. As they walked, Sofia could hear traffic, the sound growing closer until she saw a stream of cars driving under flickering streetlights ahead of them.
