Sometimes she thought that she wouldn't have had Richard, her third child, if it hadn't been for Molly.
Molly was a treasure. Its not every day you find a mother's helper who is entirely satisfactory, and Molly was. She was endlessly cheerful, wonderfully competent and the children loved her. At fourteen she was both young enough to play with them like a sister and old enough to supervise their crossing the road and eating their vegetables.
The only problem was that Molly's sweet disposition was combined with a perfect body and a face that was both pretty and beautiful. And of course, even in that unfashionable seaside town there was a man who saw Molly and had to have her. He was a tea importer, in the area to sell his parents' home. He followed Molly everywhere. He played with the children. He came to the house.
``I must have Molly!'' he said.
``But she's only fourteen!''
``I must have her!''
And he took her. Went off to London with her. Put her up at Claridges.
``Poor Molly,'' said the neighbors. Poor Molly. They saw her bedraggled and alone, walking the streets.
``She must need help.''
``We'll never see her again.''
The war came and went leaving half the town in ruins. There wasn't a mother's helper in sight. The young people flocked to the new factories, and middle class women found themselves caring for their own children, cleaning their own homes.
With her children all in school she was able to spend an occasional day in London. There still wasn't much to buy. The good stuff was all export only, to fill the dollar gap. But it was fun to look. She was still quite young, longing for the ease and grace of pre-war days as she remembered them - not knowing they were gone forever.
She was in Harrods trying on a navy Moygashel suit she could not hope to buy when she saw the splendid hat and under the splendid hat Molly. They screeched and hugged and pecked at each other then went for tea.
Molly still lived with the tea importer. She had a mews house in Knightsbridge now, and a boy and girl, three and five. The boy down for Harrow.
``We'll keep in touch,'' they said, and they did for a while.
Molly glowed in some sections of London society. Her son climbed the chain of school ties to an excellent position. Her daughter acquired a castle in Provence and the Count who went with it.
When the war was over forty years, in the small town by the sea two women met at the supermarket. They shrieked and hugged and pecked at one another.
The tea importer was dead. A castle in Provence had no charm for her.
Molly had come home.