One Snowy Night

by Rita Bradshaw

  Once she had left, Ernest stood for a few minutes, puffing at his pipe as he cogitated the peculiarities of life. There was that lass, as bonny as ever he’d seen, but with no man to look after her. Nor did she seem to want one. What had happened to that fancy gent who’d been around when he’d first met her he didn’t know, but as he’d said to his wife at the time, that could only end one way and to his mind the lass was lucky she hadn’t been left with a bellyful. But no, she was doing all right. More than all right, and whilst he didn’t begrudge her the success, where would the world be if girls, women, thought they could behave like men rather than being content looking after their own hearths? It wasn’t right. Whatever way you looked at it, it wasn’t right and no good would come of it. Women weren’t as bright as men, never had been and never would be, everyone knew that. He nodded to the thought and then as one of his sons came in, muttering something about having dropped a hammer on his foot for the second time in as many days, George sighed. There were some blokes who weren’t much cop up top an’ all, mind.

  The new premises were completed at the end of January and within three days Cissy, Olive and Alice had moved into their home which, as Cissy herself said, was a cut above anything she could have imagined. Mr McArthur and his sons had done a fine job in the flat; not only was it bright and modern with its own bathroom and a new gas stove and freshly painted cupboards in the kitchen, but the living room and the three bedrooms had wall-to-wall carpeting and the curtains at the windows were thick and luxurious. Once the removal men had brought the furniture that Cissy and Olive between them had decided to keep, selling the excess, the flat became home, and by the time Ruby opened the second shop just weeks later, the strained, haunted look had lifted from Olive’s face.

  Although Ruby had constantly assured Olive that she would be a great success as manageress she knew it had been something of a gamble on her part, but within a short while it was clear Olive had taken to the job like a duck to water. She proved to be an excellent saleswoman, and the two seamstresses that Ruby had taken on were in awe of her sister. Indeed, as Ruby remarked to Olive one day in the spring, she had been right about her sister being somewhat scary but in the best possible way, for the business at least.

  Cissy enjoyed keeping the flat spick and span and seeing to Alice once the child was home from school, and at the weekends Ruby often joined the three of them for Saturday afternoon high tea when her mother would bake an elaborate spread that could have fed the whole street. Alice had settled well into her new home, and although she often spoke of her father there were fewer tears as time went on.

  By the summer, when Ramsay MacDonald formed a new Labour government with a woman in the Cabinet for the first time as Minister of Labour, Ruby knew the second shop was as great a success as the first. With her bank balance steadily increasing and her order books full for months ahead, so much so that she was well on her way to paying off the first mortgage, her mother and Olive contented and fulfilled and Alice doing well at school, and her Sundays with Clarissa now and again keeping her in touch with her friend, Ruby knew she ought to be the happiest woman alive. And she was – she was happy, she told herself on those nights when she tossed and turned until the early hours. It would be terribly ungrateful to be otherwise. True, there was an Edward-shaped hole in her life that grew more painful and not less as time went on, especially when she thought of him in the arms of another woman. And yes, in spite of how close she had become to her sister and her mother over the last months, she knew there would always be a gulf between her and them now. It was she who had changed and become a different person, but that didn’t make it easier to bear. And even with Clarissa she could never truly be herself. Perhaps she didn’t know who she was, come to that, so how could anyone else really understand her? She didn’t fit in anywhere, that was the thing. It was the price she had paid for following her dreams. And that was all right, it really was – most of the time.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Edward drove through the open gates of the Kingston estate but brought the car to an almost immediate stop. Leaving the engine running, he gazed at the huge stone house in the distance set on an incline within the six-acre parklands and gardens surrounding it. The first time he had seen it he’d thought it looked like a grand Virginian house – tall, haughty, almost isolated from the land around it. He’d later discovered that Verity’s grandfather had hailed from Virginia and when he had moved to the outskirts of New York and bought the land, he’d had the house built almost to a replica of the one he had been brought up in.

  There was no doubt it was one of the most magnificent houses in the area, both inside and out. The stone was a soft rosy colour and when illuminated by the setting sun, like now, seemed to be swallowed up into the sky itself. A decorative stone terrace ran the length of the property and this, along with the house, had red and green ivy climbing over it. Inside, it was surprisingly light and modern; Verity’s grandfather had obviously been a forward thinker. Sunlight poured in through large Palladian windows reaching from floor to ceiling in most rooms, and from a central glass dome onto the huge winding staircase. The classical proportions and the scale of the house meant that light was carried from room to room; nowhere was there a hint of dullness or darkness. It was a residence that was meant to impress and it did, and the army of indoor servants under the jurisdiction of Josiah Kingston’s butler, Hutton, kept it running like clockwork. Outside, four gardeners saw to the extensive grounds and walled kitchen garden and greenhouses, and the fine semicircular stable yard with its many horse boxes and beautiful Arabian animals was manned by two grooms and three stable hands. All those servants looking after a family of four. Edward stretched and then put his foot down on the accelerator. How had he allowed himself to be sucked into it all? He must have been mad. He had been mad when he’d first met Verity; mad with grief at losing Ruby and in a state that had verged on self-destructive.

  As he drew up outside the massive front doors of the mansion they were opened immediately and a tall, slim woman stood in the aperture. Verity Kingston was her father’s only daughter and the apple of his eye. Her older brother, Randolph, was a somewhat dour and cold-hearted individual who had none of his sister’s whimsical charm and teasing ways. It had only been lately that Edward had come to realize that Verity’s winsome allure concealed a nature every bit as ruthless as her brother’s. She had been denied nothing she wanted from the moment she could toddle, and she had made it clear from the outset that she wanted him. And he, fool that he was, had been flattered and gratified.

  He forced a smile as he walked up the steps and onto the terrace. Verity was looking lovely; she always looked lovely and dressed in the height of fashion, choosing clothes that showed off her figure and natural poise. Her shining sleek black hair that looked like wet sealskin was cut in a chin-length bob that accentuated her large, heavily lashed blue eyes and delicate features, and her skin was pure peaches and cream. It was only her mouth that hinted at the iron will and inflexible disposition the sweet, girlish exterior concealed, being thin and on the tight side. Tonight it was set in a straight line, and she greeted him with, ‘You’re late.’

  He could have lied and said he’d been delayed at the office but the truth was he was dreading yet another dinner with Verity and her parents and a number of their friends. Verity’s mother threw dinner parties at least twice a week and keeping a high social profile was everything to the family. Her father was a highly intelligent man with a fine eye for art. He collected Holbeins, Murillos, Roman marbles and statuary, as well as antique weapons: crossbows, halberds and medieval armour. Every time he went to the house Edward felt he was expected to admire something new that had been acquired. With this in mind he had deliberately delayed his arrival until he knew cocktails would be over and dinner imminent.

  Glancing at his watch, he said, ‘The invitation was for dinner at eight.’

  ‘And cocktails at seven.’ Verity’s eyes narrowed. Edward was in one of his diff
icult moods – she recognized the signs. Deciding the success of the dinner party was more important than challenging him, she slipped her arm through his, saying softly, ‘But I forgive you. Come and meet everyone. The Harrisons are here and they’ve brought their niece from the Deep South with them. Oh, my word, such a country bumpkin and her dress must be at least ten years out of date. And Angeline and Scottie are back from honeymoon and positively glowing – it’s indecent.’

  She continued to prattle on as she led him into the bright lights of the house, the smell of hothouse flowers assailing his nostrils and the chatter from the guests finishing their cocktails in the huge drawing room sounding like the buzz of very well-mannered bees. Once Hutton had sounded the dinner gong and they had all trooped through to the bedecked and bejewelled dining room with its snowy linen, silver cutlery, crystal glasses and more extravagant flower displays, he found himself sitting with Verity on one side and her father on the other. Josiah Kingston was in fine form, having taken receipt of an Egyptian statue that day, which had duly been admired and applauded by those present as being one of the best in his huge collection.

  At what point during the meal Edward knew he couldn’t go on with the farce that was his engagement, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was when Verity asked the Harrisons’ niece, who seemed a gentle, nice girl, where, exactly, she had got her dress because she simply must have one the same, to the obvious amusement of a few of the other female guests. Or when one of their usual number who wasn’t present that night had her reputation mauled to pieces because the lady in question was seeing an employee who worked for her father’s broking firm. ‘I mean, he’s a runner for the firm, darling. Can you believe it? A runner.’ Or yet again when someone asked Verity how the wedding plans were coming along and he knew a moment of blind, unadulterated panic that made him sweat.

  He looked round the table at the life he would be expected to embrace and the people he would mix with, and he knew he couldn’t do it. He had known for some time, perhaps from the morning after the night when he had drunk too much and had been manoeuvred, ever so cleverly and sweetly by Verity, into agreeing to marry her. He never had been able to remember actually proposing but one minute they had been alone in her father’s study drinking champagne on an evening like this one, having escaped the throng in the drawing room for a while, and the next she had professed her love for him and he had felt obliged to return in like measure. And then she had dragged him to the drawing room and made the announcement before he could blink. Squeals of excitement and clapping and congratulations from all and sundry had followed, and he had stood there smiling gormlessly with his head swimming.

  There would be hell to pay now. He glanced at Verity in her exquisite evening dress, her ears and neck and arms glittering with some of the jewels her father heaped on her, and felt a sense of relief at knowing what he was going to do. However bad it was, whatever happened, he had to tell her tonight and walk away. If he didn’t, he’d be lost forever.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Edward.’

  The other guests had left including Randolph and his very loud American wife, and Verity’s parents had retired to their separate suites on the first floor. He and Verity had been sitting having coffee in the drawing room before he drove back to the flat he rented closer to the main hub of the city, and he had just told her he couldn’t marry her.

  ‘I won’t allow you to break our engagement.’

  Edward blinked. He had been expecting a tantrum or tears or sheer rage, but Verity’s icy cool and almost amused attitude had taken him aback.

  ‘I’m sorry, Verity, and you are a wonderful girl for someone, just not me. I don’t fit into the requirements you demand of a husband – you know that as well as I do.’

  ‘I know nothing of the sort.’ Verity took a long pull at her cigarette in its bejewelled holder, letting the smoke drift out of her small nostrils before she added, ‘You are coming up to scratch very well,’ and smiling as she put her hand over his. ‘You’ve been a bachelor too long and it’s natural to be a little nervous at the thought of having your wings clipped.’

  Her voice had been light and teasing but her blue eyes were like chips of frosted glass, and Edward knew the signs. She was furiously angry inside but, like the consummate actress he now knew her to be, hiding it well. Again he said, ‘I’m sorry but I mean it. I can’t marry you and believe me, this is the right thing for both of us. I could never make you happy, Verity.’

  ‘Spare me the platitudes.’ For the first time her tone revealed what she was feeling, but when she went on her voice was level again. ‘We are going to get married, Edward. I will not be held up as a laughing stock, I tell you that now.’

  ‘And nor would I want you to be. You can tell everyone that you ended the engagement – you can say whatever you like and I won’t disagree. Paint me as black as you like.’

  ‘How very gracious of you.’ Her voice, although controlled, was belied by the expression on her face. ‘You do this to me and you will regret it, I’ll make sure of it, and my father will too. He’s a very powerful man, Edward, as you know. He can be a bad enemy.’

  ‘I can’t stop either of you doing your worst.’

  There was a moment of deafening silence before she hissed, ‘It’s her, isn’t it? That little shop girl in England you told me about?’

  ‘This is nothing to do with Ruby and she is not a shop girl as you know full well but the owner of a successful business.’

  ‘Making clothes to sell in her shop. A shop girl.’

  Her face was ugly now, white lines showing round her mouth and her eyes narrowed. He shook his head, standing up as he said, ‘Have it your own way but I repeat, this is nothing to do with her. There is no chance Ruby and I will get together, Verity. And I mean it when I say you deserve someone who will make you happy and I could never do that.’

  Her persona changing, she said, ‘You could. You do.’ She jumped up and became the girl he had known in the early days, soft, warm, vulnerable, clinging. It was a front and he knew that now, had seen evidence of it time and time again when her cruelty and disdain, especially to those she considered beneath her, had made him cringe inside, but nevertheless, the little-girl act made him feel like a cad.

  Telling himself he couldn’t weaken, he moved her gently back from where she had pressed herself against him, the faint perfume she always wore wafting into his nostrils.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said for the third time.

  Verity gazed at him for a moment, a combination of anger, frustration and hate showing on her white face, and then she slapped him twice across his cheeks with enough force to make his head snap back and jerk his neck painfully.

  ‘My father said you were weak and he is right. “A typical English gentleman,” he said. “All wind and little else.” He warned me that if I married you I would be carrying you for the rest of our lives, but I told him I could make something of you.’

  ‘Perhaps I never wanted something “made” of me,’ said Edward evenly, his face burning and a thin trickle of blood running down his cheek where one of her rings had caught him.

  She stared at him fixedly. ‘No, perhaps you never did. You’re a loser at heart, after all, an under-achiever and content to be so. I thought I could take you to greatness but you’re a small man, Edward Forsythe. I see that now.’

  ‘Have you finished?’

  ‘No wonder this other girl didn’t want you, and her just a shop girl too. But she could see you for what you are, couldn’t she? That is the truth and that’s what brought you across the ocean to lick your wounds. She didn’t want a lead weight round her neck any more than I do, so yes, I am finished. Here –’ she flung her engagement ring at him – ‘take this and get out. I never want to set eyes on you again.’

  He made no attempt to catch the ring and neither did he retrieve it from where it had fallen at his feet. He had expected her to let fly at him and he had told himself that whatever she said or did she was entitled because he
was the one at fault. What he hadn’t expected was her words piercing the core of him, especially what she had said about Ruby not wanting him. And even though he knew that Verity being Verity would go for the jugular and show no mercy, the fact that she had brought his own deeply buried insecurities and fears of failure to the surface had hit him straight between the eyes.

  He swung round without a word and went out of the drawing room to find Hutton standing in the vast hall holding his hat and coat. What the butler had overheard he wasn’t sure, but the man was stony-faced as he thrust the clothes at him rather than helping him on with his coat as would have been normal, before marching to the front door and flinging it open. There was no ‘Goodnight, sir,’ or ‘I trust you have had a pleasant evening,’ and as Edward stepped out of the house the door swung shut so quickly it almost caught the heels of his shoes.

  He stood for a moment in the balmy September air staring towards his car waiting for him in the shadowed night. There had been much in the newspapers a few days ago about America finally joining the International Court of Justice, but he didn’t think he would see much fair play from Verity and her father and the rest of them over the coming weeks and months if the butler’s attitude was anything to go by. But perhaps he didn’t deserve it. He should never have got romantically involved with Verity in the first place, he’d known that, so why hadn’t he struggled harder when she had reeled him in like a fish on the end of a line? Damn it, what an unwholesome mess.

  Verity was standing quite still in the drawing room. She heard the front door close and then after some moments the sound of the car starting up. She followed it down the drive and out of the gates to where it faded to nothing once the car reached the road. Her eyes burning, she began to pace back and forth. How dared he, how dared he do this to her? He would pay for treating her this way, as though she was one of the countless silly little debutantes doing the rounds in New York with not a brain cell between them. She was a Kingston and she could buy and sell him a hundred times over.