by Maggie Craig
Still hugging herself, Kate shook her head.
‘Because when we’re together like this, and there’s no one else around, we can be ourselves - Kate and Jack - with nothing to separate us. With you, I can be truly myself - and I’d like to thank you for that.’ His voice was husky.
Kate’s anger evaporated in an instant. Closing the distance between them, she lifted her hands to rest on his upper arms, her gloved fingers sinking into the warm wool of his overcoat.
‘I want you to be yourself. And you can tell me anything you like -really you can. You don’t have to bottle things up.’ If only she could make him see that, encourage him to show her the man she’d only caught glimpses of up till now, the vulnerable boy behind the confident exterior.
A wistful smile flitted across his mouth as he looked down at her. ‘So earnest, my little Clydebank girl. So sweet. But I won’t tell you sad things. You have enough of those at home. And you forgive me, don’t you? For wanting to keep you to myself, for landing on your family, for being a swine sometimes?’
‘The appalling thing is,’ said Kate, ‘that I find that I do.’ Good grief, she was even beginning to sound like them now. With that thought came another. Maybe that gulf wasn’t so huge after all. Maybe she could learn how to cross it.
He put his arms around her waist. ‘Give us a kiss, Miss Cameron, and then come back to the car with me.’
‘Are we leaving?’
‘Not yet, no.’ He was happy again, and she was glad. He bent forward to kiss her. One hand slid onto her breast. Kate lifted it and repositioned it on her shoulder. Jack sighed, his breath warm on her face.
‘You did say that you admire me for sticking to my principles,’ she murmured.
‘I say a lot of very foolish things. I thought you knew that.’
She threaded a hand through the thick soft straw of his hair, pulling his head down towards her. She was glad he couldn’t see her face. That way he wouldn’t see the hope in her eyes, nor the urge to give in to him, to let him have what he wanted, to offer him the comfort of her body - as well as the love in her heart.
At home that night she was thoughtful and distracted. Had he hinted at a proposal today? Or was that wishful thinking on her part? He did seem prepared to wait, allowing her to push him away with a fairly good grace, as he had done today. He got irritated sometimes, but that was natural. Men liked that sort of thing, and women had to resist it. Although she was a bit shakier on that than she used to be.
When she found her thoughts drifting to what it might be like to let Jack do what he wanted, she resolutely pushed them down and went off to take over from Jessie, who was listening to wee Davie’s reading. Five years old, and just started at school, he was the family pet. They all doted on him, and he in turn idolized his sisters, especially Kate, who always had a threepenny bit for him when she got her pay. He was allowed to go down to Pelosi’s on his own now, and he usually handed the coin over in exchange for three penny caramels. The thick chewy sweets kept him going for most of the weekend.
Sitting side by side so she could help with the difficult words, Davie snuggled into her. Kate put her arm around the small shoulders, smiling at his concentration as he read to her, his downcast eyelashes resting like dark feathers on his downy cheeks. That reminded her of Robbie.
Sometimes she thought men were like wee boys. They pretended to be big and brave and bold, but inside they were sweet and trusting like wee Davie, hungry for love and reassurance and comfort.
The stream of words stopped abruptly. One had stumped him. He looked up at his big sister, confident that she would be able to help him.
‘Apple,’ said Kate, pointing to the picture of the fruit which went with the story. ‘Now you say it.’
Davie repeated it obediently.
‘Clever boy,’ said Kate, giving his shoulders an encouraging squeeze. ‘Now, can you read what it says on the next page?’
She was sure there was a wee boy inside Jack Drummond. She had caught glimpses of him now and again - on that first day they had spent together at the Art Galleries, and on a few occasions since, like today. He always covered it up quickly, as though he was scared she would think him weak if he showed her how he really felt. How silly men were! Knowing that life sometimes made him feel sad or scared or small only made her love him all the more.
There was so much she could do for him - let him be himself, encourage him to see there was more to life than having fun, that hard work could be rewarding. Why, she could be the making of Jack Drummond! She caught herself on, laughing inwardly. What a big-head!
Davie’s small body was warm and heavy against her own. It was a nice feeling. She’d like children of her own one day. Lots of them. And if she was beginning to visualize them all as fair-haired with beautiful blue eyes ... well, who could blame her?
There were always exhibitions being held at the Art School - official ones, ones organized by the different clubs and societies, ones held by individual classes. Not to be outdone, Marjorie declared that the Saturday-afternoon class would mount its own show of work before the School broke up for the summer holidays. They would send out personal invitations to everyone they could think of in the art world and friends and family. That way they would be sure of getting a good attendance. Kate, she decreed, would show her very first painting, the still-life she had done last September, a subsequent water colour of a rowan tree, plus the cup and saucer she’d decorated with the same motif at the ceramics class.
‘When you’re famous, people will boast of having seen you during your Rowan Tree period!’ she said, beaming at Kate.
Jack Drummond, who had nothing to show because he never finished anything, was deputed to compose the invitations and write descriptions for cards which would accompany each exhibit. Marjorie herself would show some of her own pottery, and the rest of the class a variety of paintings and sketches.
Caught up in her friend’s enthusiasm, Kate threw herself with gusto into the preparations for the show. She’d had no idea how much organizing such events took. Once Marjorie had discovered how good Kate was at lettering, she had been dragooned into doing the invitations and the descriptive cards, thus giving her and Jack Drummond a legitimate excuse for spending time together. It was a relief to be able to talk about him openly, and at home too, his name began to pepper her conversation.
Marjorie made up a list of people who should be invited to the show. Kate was surprised by the response, until Suzanne Douglas made a rather snide remark querying whether the interest was purely artistic, or whether the fact that Marjorie was the daughter of one of the biggest shipbuilders in the west of Scotland might possibly have something to do with it.
Unwilling to agree with Suzanne, honesty nevertheless compelled Kate to admit that she had a point. All the same, she couldn’t help being thrilled that her own work was going to be seen by some very influential people. She proudly sent out an invitation to Miss Noble and Miss MacGregor. They would be pleased, she hoped, with what she had achieved and it would be a small thank you for the help they had given her in securing the grant. After a moment’s hesitation, she took out a second invitation card and carefully filled in another name - Mr Robert Baxter. She delivered that one by hand and Robbie thanked her gravely and said he would be delighted to come.
A week before the show, scheduled to be held on the last weekend of term, Kate arrived early at the Art School so that she could have a look at the room where they were holding it. A few of her fellow students were coming in on the Thursday beforehand to set everything up. She herself had been able only to get Friday afternoon and Saturday morning off- without pay, of course. Miss Nugent obviously thought the time off was a huge concession in itself. Kate, unwilling as always to be given any special treatment, suspected that Marjorie had secured it for her, but when she challenged her friend, Marjorie simply held up her hands, smiled and said, ‘Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.’
They were having a discussion in class t
oday on how the room should be set up. Kate, having a good look round so she could make her contribution to this, turned as she heard the door of the room open. It was Jack. Glancing round to make sure they were alone, he planted a swift kiss on her mouth and, with a flourish, presented her with a white envelope.
‘What’s this?’ she asked, smiling up at him.
‘Open it, my dear Miss Cameron, and all will be revealed.’
It was an invitation, but not one of those the two of them had designed for the class show. Printed in gold lettering on thick white card, it had gaps which were filled in with green ink. It invited Miss Kathleen Cameron to join Mrs John Drummond for lunch at her home in Bearsden the following Sunday.
Jack was beaming when Kate lifted her head.
‘It’s to celebrate the exhibition. I’ll drive you out there as soon as the show closes. That’s one o’clock on the Sunday, isn’t it? Maybe we could even go half an hour earlier?’
‘But what about the clearing up? We’ll have to help, won’t we?’
‘Leave that to other people,’ he suggested with a lazy smile.
Kate narrowed her eyes at him, and he laughed, laying a hand lightly on her shoulder. ‘Oh dear, you always think I’m so workshy. How can I prove myself to you, I wonder?’ He bent forward to kiss her but she stopped him, putting a hand flat on his chest.
‘Get yourself a job, you capitalist parasite. Go and work for your living for a change.’
He struck a dramatic pose, seized her hand and clasped it between his own. ‘Darling! Then would you look on me more kindly?’
Was he serious? She could never tell. She changed the subject.
‘Who’s coming to this lunch party, then?’
‘There’ll be eight of us. Suzanne, of course.’
‘How nice,’ muttered Kate.
Jack grinned and chucked her under the chin. ‘My Mama, Marjorie, a couple of art critics who, of course, will think your Rowan Tree crockery is the very thing.’ He held a hand up as if to forestall a protest. ‘I know exactly what you’re going to say. You haven’t got anything suitable to wear. So how about I take you along to Treron’s this afternoon after class and buy you something? Nothing too fancy that you won’t be able to explain away to your parents. A little afternoon frock, Kate? I’d love to see you in something really nice. Please let me do it.’
‘Do I get a word in edgeways?’ asked a bemused Kate. It was all a bit much to take in. Mrs Drummond inviting her to lunch, people who might like her work going to be there, Jack offering to buy her a frock - from Treron’s too. None of your rubbish.
‘Only if you say yes. Oh, go on, Kate - because we’ve got something else to celebrate.’ He was beaming at her.
‘What?’ she asked, intrigued.
It came tumbling out of him. Marjorie’s father had offered him a job - at Donaldson’s plush city offices in Bath Street in Glasgow.
‘Oh, Jack, that’s wonderful!’ Kate clasped her hands in delight. ‘That’s great!’
He took her by the waist and swung her around. ‘Does it earn me a kiss, then?’
It did. When they separated, she looked up at him, her eyes shining. ‘So what exactly will you be doing? What sort of a job is it?’
‘Oh, I’m not quite sure,’ he said airily. ‘Anyway, I don’t start for ages - not till after the summer, but isn’t it marvellous? I’m going to be a wage slave, Kate, a sober citizen, a useful member of society and approved of by Miss Kate Cameron, spinster of this parish.’
There was a sudden silence. Then Jack reached for her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it.
‘Though perhaps not for very much longer,’ he said.
She let him buy her the dress. He seemed to take such pleasure in it, making her try on half a dozen different ones before she chose a simple little sleeveless frock in crepe-de-chine with a dropped waist and a scooped neckline. The minute she saw herself in it, she knew it was right for her. The skirt hung so beautifully and the colour - eau-de-nil - made a lovely contrast with her smooth chestnut-brown bob. Even the formidable saleslady, whose polite manner didn’t quite conceal a certain disapproval, agreed with her.
As soon as she emerged from the changing room Jack said, ‘Oh, yes.’ He was sitting on a plush sofa, eyes narrowed as he surveyed her. He gestured with his hand for her to do a twirl, and she did, dipping her head shyly.
‘We’ll take it,’ he said, ‘but she’ll need a wrap. Something pretty and light.’
The saleslady went off to fetch a selection. Kate, entranced by the dress, was checking her back view. The material felt lovely, light and cool against her skin.
‘Like yourself, do you?’
Blushing, she looked across at him. He was smiling in tolerant amusement.
‘Och, Jack, it’s lovely! I’ve never had anything so nice!’ She frowned. ‘But I don’t know if I should be letting you do this - and a wrap, too.’
He rose smoothly to his feet and walked over to her. ‘Of course you should. You want to make me happy, don’t you?’ He put a finger under her chin and lifted her face. ‘Silly little goose,’ he said. ‘So proud.’ His eyes fell to her mouth, rose again to her face. ‘So lovely too, especially in this dress. Please let me buy it for you, Kate. It would mean so much to me.’
Where had the saleslady got to? It seemed suddenly very quiet. Even the noise of the Saturday-afternoon traffic on Sauchiehall Street, audible through the closed windows, had diminished. Jack was very serious, his eyes searching her face. She did want to make him happy ...
‘All right,’ she whispered. Smiling, he bent and kissed her.
There was a discreet cough from behind them.
‘Would Madam perhaps care to look at these wraps now?’
They settled on a lacy white stole, decorated with beads in the same colour. She told her mother both it and the dress had been sale items. She thought she’d got away with that. With Pearl she wasn’t quite so sure. Her sister gave her one of those sly looks which never failed to make Kate uncomfortable. The invitation from Jack’s mother caused enormous excitement. Lily showed it to everyone in the close, including Agnes Baxter. She, in turn, standing at her own front door, showed it to her son as he trudged up the stairs on Monday night coming home from his work.
‘Look at the circles our Kate’s mixing in, Robbie. Bearsden for her dinner! Up among the posh folks. Just fancy!’
Pearl Cameron, who had come in close on Robbie’s heels, rolled her eyes. ‘Lunch, Mrs B. Posh folk have their dinner at night.’
Robbie took the card thrust into his hand - he could hardly do otherwise - read it and handed it back to his mother without comment. Kate felt a flash of irritation. Couldn’t he at least try to be pleased for her?
Chapter 13
Kate was experiencing a strange mixture of emotions: elation, irritation and embarrassment. Elation because of how well the show had gone. Her work had been admired by many people, including the influential art critic of a respected Glasgow newspaper, who was to be one of the guests at the lunch in Bearsden the next day. He and others like him had said lots of nice things. They had called her talented and advised other people that here was a name to watch. It might have turned her head if it hadn’t gone hand in hand with barely concealed surprise that a working-class girl should turn out such fine work. That was where the irritation came in.
Kate thought of all the folk she knew who were, in one way or another, talented: men who, in their spare time, took and developed photographs, or mended intricate clocks, or spent hours painstakingly building model ships, which they then displayed in a bottle; women who made clothes or turned out beautiful knitting and embroidery; men and women who wrote poetry and songs; the pianists and the accordion players and the singers who were so much in demand at local weddings. They worked on their hobbies in their few spare hours, going to evening classes or joining clubs with other like-minded people.
Clydebank was overflowing with people like that. There were horticultural and o
peratic societies, drama groups, evening classes in a wide variety of subjects. With very little spare cash, and not much free time, people went to enormous efforts to express their creativity. It was a safety valve, a way of saying, this is what I am capable of, this is the real me, and a very necessary antidote to the hard physical labour of their daily grind. Some of the people Kate had met this weekend had seemed surprised that she could walk and talk at the same time, let alone turn out pottery to her own design. She said as much to Marjorie.
‘Whereas my problem is that I don’t know whether the praise is really genuine, or because I’m my father’s daughter!’
‘Your stuff’s excellent, Marjorie,’ Kate said stoutly. ‘We all know that.’
Marjorie patted her on the shoulder. ‘You’re a good friend, Kate.’
‘And you’re a good potter.’
Marjorie grinned, the freckles dancing on the bridge of her nose. She glanced over Kate’s shoulder.
‘Oh look, Kate, it’s your family!’ She moved forward, hand outstretched, her plain face wreathed in smiles. ‘Mr Cameron, how delightful to see you again.’
That was where the embarrassment came in - oh, not because of her father or Jessie. Despite their shabby clothes, she could never be ashamed of either of them. They both looked attentively at all the exhibits. Her fellow students were quite taken with her father and sister, she could see that, even if there was a hint of condescension in their reactions. Imagine a working man asking such intelligent questions about art!
Seeing her father standing with his arms folded in front of a painting, head cocked as he listened to the artist - a rather shy young man - explaining his picture, Kate felt a real pang. If only her father could have expressed himself this way, she thought sadly, instead of trying to find the answer to life’s problems at the bottom of a bottle. Why did life defeat some people, and not others?
Her mother hadn’t come, of course. She tried not to feel too disappointed. Lily would probably only have been an embarrassment - like Pearl, who was completely ignoring the paintings and pottery and happily flirting with every man in sight, including Jack Drummond. She darted sly little glances at Kate every so often to see whether or not she had noticed. Suzanne Douglas did, smiling her cool and sophisticated smile. It was a relief when Pearl finally left, trailing reluctantly after her father and youngest sister.
