Page 101 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
When Tilly asked if they were having difficulties, Adela brushed off her concern.
‘Sam’s just worried about his mother living on her own. It’s a temporary move. You don’t mind if I stay on here a bit longer do you? We do intend to get our own place – it’s just so difficult to find anywhere decent to rent or that we can afford.’
‘Of course you can,’ said Tilly with a reassuring smile. ‘You know I love having you to stay. As long as it’s not causing friction between you and Sam.’
‘It’s nothing we can’t work out,’ Adela said, turning away quickly so Tilly wouldn’t question her further.
In Sam’s absence, Adela redoubled her efforts to find out about the French couple who had adopted John Wesley. There was no point questioning the minister as he had only come to the church towards the end of the War. Frustratingly, MrsKelly was on holiday visiting her son in Yorkshire for two weeks but when the organist returned, Adela lost no time in asking if she could call on her one evening.
Doris Kelly lived in a ground-floor flat in a terraced row in Sandyford with three cats and a budgerigar. Adela was astonished to see the bird flitting above the furniture while the cats washed their paws and made no attempt to catch it.
‘They’re all the best of friends,’ Doris laughed, leading her into the kitchen. ‘Just as the Good Lord intended.’
It was a warm evening and Doris left the back door wide open for the cats to roam in and out; a welcome breeze wafted in. Doris poured two glasses of homemade elderflower cordial.
‘My son makes it,’ she said with a proud smile. ‘He’s handy at all sorts, is my Wilfred.’
For a few minutes Adela asked her about her trip to see Wilfred in Yorkshire but soon Doris was quizzing her.
‘You never told me about your visit to Lily Singer,’ she prompted. ‘Did you have a good catch up?’
Adela nodded and took a gulp of her drink. At least it didn’t appear that Lily had written to Doris warning her not to speak to Adela. Perhaps Lily feared it would prove she had said too much.
‘She was very interesting about her work for the adoption society,’ Adela replied. ‘We had quite a discussion about that.’
‘Lily was always daft about the babies,’ said Doris. ‘She’d have taken them all in if she could. Some women are natural mothers. I’m more a cat person myself – though I love my Wilfred, of course.’
Adela’s heart began to thud, making her breathless. Wasshea natural mother? How could she be when her first instinct had been to get rid of her child and pretend she had never been pregnant? Yet she felt deep in her being that shewasa mother – that there would always be an invisible cord tying her to her baby wherever he was in the world. That feeling was so strong that she knew she had to keep asking awkward questions until she found out all there was to know.
Adela took another sip of cordial and said, ‘There was another woman like that at the church during the War, wasn’t there? A woman who helped with the adopted babies? MrsSinger said she was French.’
‘French?’ Doris frowned, trying to remember. She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
Adela’s heart plunged. ‘Oh, maybe I’m mistaken but I’m sure MrsSinger said there was a French couple who adopted a baby boy just before the War. The woman was a regular at church – I’m not sure if the husband came that often.’
MrsKelly gave her a bemused look. ‘What were they called?’
‘It’s silly of me,’ said Adela, ‘but I can’t remember now what MrsSinger said.’
One of the cats – a thin tabby – padded in and distracted her mistress.
‘Come here, Polly!’ Doris picked up the cat and began to stroke her. Polly purred and kneaded Doris’s lap with her paws.
Adela feared the woman would change the subject back to cats. ‘MrsSinger said that the Frenchman was swarthy so they found a baby that was suitable.’
Suddenly, MrsKelly’s eyes widened. ‘The ones who took the coloured baby?’
Adela felt herself flushing but nodded agreement.
‘Oh, I remember them!’ said Doris. ‘Yes, they were foreign. Such a nice woman. But they weren’t French – though they spoke it.’
‘Oh, so what were they?’
‘Belgian. He worked on the railways – or built engines – something mechanical – over Birtley way. Now what were they called?’ She frowned in concentration and stroked Polly. ‘Segal. That’s it. Elene Segal was the wife. Can’t remember if I ever knew her husband’s Christian name.’
‘Ah, yes, Segal,’ Adela murmured, as if recalling the name too. ‘But they don’t come to church any more?’
Doris shook her head. ‘No, dear, they haven’t been for years. Unfortunately, once the original church was bombed we didn’t have anywhere to meet so the membership dropped off. And then some got drafted and others moved away. We lost touch with a lot of folk. And the dear chaplain from the Seamen’s Mission who used to come and preach – he was killed at sea.’
