Free Illusions of Happiness by Elizabeth Lord

safe as my chauffeur will be with us.’
    The last thing Madeleine noticed as the crowds in the bar closed in behind her was Joe standing like a surprised dummy in the centre of the saloon and she couldn’t help feeling a moment of triumph that he would be left without any physical relief to his feelings this night.
    Helped by her self-appointed escort into quite an imposing vehicle similar to her father’s but bigger, she sat very still as he moved in beside her, to her relief keeping his distance.
    For a while he remained silent as the motor gained speed. Finally he said: ‘May I say that for someone who speaks as well as you, it seems a rather odd address to have. I hope you don’t mind my saying but I rather thought it would have been some finer part of London. You appear to be a well brought up young lady and if you would pardon my rudeness, may I ask you what an obviously well brought up young lady is doing living in such a poor area?’
    For a moment she felt herself rebel at his questioning but something about him had filled her with such a desire for a sympathetic ear, even from a stranger, that tears begin to prick her eyes.
    Without any prompting she found herself telling him all about herself; how she, an innocent at eighteen had been rejected by her father for falling in love with someone he did not approve of, a humble tradesmen’s son; how to her despair her mother had felt bound to support her husband in his harsh decision, how her young man had then let her down and forsaken her.
    He sat listening so attentively, saying nothing that finally she touched on the true reason for her father’s deep anger, of having being packed off to a place for unmarried mothers, the child taken away. At this point her resolve to merely state the facts as they were gave way. The next thing she knew she was crumpled in his arms sobbing her heart out.
    ‘You poor child,’ she heard him say through her weeping. ‘What a dreadful tale. And you are all alone, my dear, with no one to turn to.’
    Against his shoulder she nodded unable to speak for sobbing.
    At the wheel, having been issued with directions as to her address, the chauffeur drove deaf to the emotion going on behind him, remote, his uniformed back stiff, his eyes on the road ahead. Like her father’s own staff, he held no opinion of his own, would hear nothing, a mind centred on his duties and nothing else.
    Madeleine had managed to recover her composure as far as possible, realizing how foolish she must seem collapsing into the arms of a complete stranger. She sat up, fishing feverishly into her handbag for a handkerchief to hastily dab her eyes.
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ she managed to mumble.
    ‘There is no need to feel sorry, my dear,’ he said very quietly. ‘It is my guess that you have told no one of your true feelings for a long while and I feel myself privileged to have been the one you chose to tell. After all I am a stranger to you and perhaps that is a good reason for you to confide in me; no axe to grind, you might say.’
    He was speaking brightly now. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Ingleton – James Aric Aylward Ingleton. My work is in the City. I deal in stocks and shares to put it simply. I have a place in Belgrave Square near Knightsbridge but I’m seldom there, my work being more in the City. I find Knightsbridge a lonely place these days. I prefer to work, my evenings mostly occupied by work although I do frequent the odd little public house where people are human. I loathe clubs.’
    He was talking rapidly as if to cover some awkwardness. Suddenly he stopped, staring across to her in the darkness of the motor car. ‘Forgive me, if I appear impertinent, and please tell me if you feel I am, but would it be in order for me to ask if I may take you to dinner one evening. After what has transpired I feel it uncaring if I merely leave you never to see you again.’
    As Madeleine shot him a cautious look, he drew