by Maggie Craig
By the following evening Kate had made some decisions and come to some conclusions. There wasn’t going to be a next time - at least not until after they were married. She loved him and she thought he loved her. Didn’t the fact that their feelings had carried them away show that? Caught up in those powerful feelings, he had panicked about marrying her, worried about the social difference, worried about how his mother and his friends - including Marjorie - were going to react. Being Jack, he had covered up by being flippant and trying to pretend that nothing had happened. She, Kate Cameron, was going to have to sort all those confused feelings out. No bother. She could do that. As long as they loved each other, that was all that mattered.
She was at work on Tuesday when all the doubts came sweeping back in. Was she fooling herself? Had she been just another conquest? Jack was a sophisticated man in his late twenties. Did she really imagine she was the first girl he’d ever made love to? With miserable honesty she admitted to herself the answer to that question. He was experienced. Any fool could see that, so where did that leave her theory about him being worried and confused?
It left Kate worn out and exhausted, tossing and turning that night, going over it all again in her head at work on Wednesday. By the time she got the tram into Glasgow that evening and walked up the hill to the Art School, she knew only one thing. She had some straight questions for Jack Drummond and she wanted some straight answers.
Brave words. She felt anything but brave as she headed for the stairs, nodding at the porter on duty. There was no sign of Jack.
“The building’s closing at seven, miss,’ the man said. Kate smiled an acknowledgement. Most students, she assumed, had collected their bits and pieces by now, halfway through the first week of the summer holidays. She found her own exhibits quite easily. She tied her two paintings together, face to face, with some string, fashioning a handle out of it to make them easier to carry.
Somebody, Marjorie probably, had already wrapped her Rowan Tree cup and saucer in tissue paper. Kate found a small box to put them in. Then, glancing up at the clock on the wall and seeing that it was already quarter past six, she went out into the deserted corridor to look for Jack. Still no sign of him. Pushing down the thought that he might have stood her up, she walked along to the cloakroom. She would splash some cold water on her face and comb her hair. That would make her feel better.
She pushed open the door of the cloakroom. The girl who stood there, smoking and leaning against the wall, looked as though she’d been waiting for some time. She straightened up, stretching stiff shoulders, and smiled at Kate, her mouth, as ever, painted a perfect scarlet. The glittering eyes looked her over from head to foot.
‘Well, well, well... If it isn’t the little mouse,’ she drawled.
Chapter 15
Suzanne Douglas sauntered across the room.
‘I have to hand it to you. You kept him dangling longer than most. Can’t figure out the attraction myself. The little Miss Innocent act, I suppose.’ She leaned forward and hissed the words into Kate’s face. ‘Not so innocent now though, are you? A sinner like the rest of us.’
Kate felt her face drain of colour. ‘He told you about us?’
Suzanne smiled her hateful smile. ‘You have no idea, do you? Not a clue about how the world works.’
Then she told Kate how the world works. Told her about herself and Jack Drummond, told her that he had planned Kate’s seduction, told her how the price for the job at Donaldson’s was marrying the boss’s daughter.
‘After all,’ said Suzanne callously, fitting another cigarette into her holder, ‘she’s no oil painting, is she? And Old Man Donaldson would do anything to keep his little girl happy - even take on a penniless charmer like Jack.’
Kate’s mind was frantically trying to throw up barriers to the poison dripping from Suzanne’s mouth. She fixed on one word.
‘Penniless?’
Suzanne took a puff. ‘Fooled you, did he? He advised his mother badly - they’ve lost a lot of money on the stock market over the last couple of years. I can’t imagine why she thought Jack was worth listening to, except that she’s devoted to him. Thinks he can do no wrong.’ She caught sight of the expression on Kate’s face. ‘Don’t tell me you swallowed the neglected little boy story? I thought he’d given that one up.’ Her speech had grown calmer. She was beginning to enjoy herself, drawing the veils from Kate’s eyes.
‘The cook and the parlourmaids at the party? Hired in for the day. They had to let all the servants go in March. No, if dear Mrs Drummond and her little boy are going to continue to live in the style to which they’re accustomed, Jack has to marry money - or Marjorie, which amounts to the same thing.’ She gave Kate a bitter little smile.
‘But he doesn’t love Marjorie! He loves me!’
‘You? Don’t make me laugh! You were just an amusement to him - a game he was playing.’ Suzanne put the cigarette-holder once more to her lips, drew on it and blew the smoke out in rings, taking her time over it. ‘He told me all about it; he always does. That’s the game he and I play, you see.’ Just for a second, the poise faltered. There was an edge to the mocking voice. ‘Jack Drummond can be very cruel.’
She must be lying. Wasn’t she?
‘Kate! Are you in there?’ It was Jack, banging at the cloakroom door.
‘Why don’t you come in, darling?’ Suzanne called out. ‘We’re having such an interesting conversation in here - your little girlfriend and I.’
He was through the door in a second.
‘Tell me she’s lying,’ whispered Kate, turning stricken eyes on him.
He let the door close behind him and advanced further into the room. His eyes were narrowed. ‘What has she told you?’ he asked cautiously.
Suzanne gave a short bark of laughter, and stubbed her cigarette out in a wash basin. ‘The game’s up, Jack. I’ve told her everything.’
‘Tell me she’s lying,’ Kate said again. She was beginning to tremble.
‘Oh, Kate!’ There was a peculiar expression on his face - a mixture of affection and exasperation, and something else she couldn’t decipher. ‘Oh, Kate!’ he said again, moving closer to her. The trembling became a violent shaking. She was getting hot and it felt as though someone had tied a bandage around her forehead and was pulling it tighter and tighter. Making it into one of the toilet cubicles just in time, Kate was violently and comprehensively sick.
Slumped in an upright chair which stood against one wall of the cloakroom, Kate lifted her head and looked around. ‘Where is she?’ For Suzanne, her mischief-making done, was nowhere to be seen.
‘I got rid of her,’ he said grimly.
Kate stared at him, green eyes glittering in a face as white as paper. ‘Why did you tell her about us?’
‘I didn’t,’ he said tersely. ‘She guessed. She’s got sharp eyes. You know that, Kate.’ He put a hand under her elbow to lift her to her feet. ‘And I didn’t know she was going to be here either - don’t go thinking that! We were at a party together on Monday night and I must have mentioned that I was meeting you. I’d no idea she was going to lie in wait for you! Come on, now. Let’s get you out of here. You and I have to talk.’
He drove to the Art Galleries. It seemed the appropriate place. They sat in the Morris Cowley in the cool evening air and looked up at the University, high on Gilmorehill, and they talked. Well, Jack talked - and smoked - and Kate listened as he demolished, brick by brick, those defensive walls she’d tried to throw up against Suzanne’s words.
Suzanne had broken it a bit brutally, but it was true. He had to marry Marjorie Donaldson, had no choice really. Of course Kate hadn’t just been an amusement! She knew what a bitch Suzanne was. How could Kate think he thought of her like that? She was special - his little Clydebank girl - and he loved her. Hadn’t Sunday afternoon proved that?
‘People who love each other get married,’ sobbed Kate, laying her head on his shoulder. ‘People who make love to each other get married.’
&nbs
p; ‘Oh, Kate,’ said Jack Drummond, his arm around her. ‘What would we live on?’
‘You could get a job, a different job, You’re clever - there’s lots of things you could do. You could train to be an art teacher - you know a lot about that.’ She lifted her head and clutched at the lapel of his jacket. ‘I can wait to get married, I wouldn’t mind.’
He reached out and smoothed her hair. ‘You’re a sweet kid.’ He gave an odd little laugh. ‘It’s a lovely dream, but it just wouldn’t work, my pet. It really wouldn’t.’
‘But you don’t love Marjorie. That’s not fair to her either!’
Jack lifted Kate’s fingers from his jacket and sat up straight. ‘Don’t be silly, Kate. Love doesn’t have anything to do with marriage. Not for people like Marjorie and me, anyway.’
Dumbstruck, she stared at him. It was an echo of what Robbie had said to her last Saturday. She too straightened up, shrugging off the arm which lay loosely about her shoulders. They sat in silence for a few minutes. She found one last weapon. Surely, if he truly loved her, he wouldn’t be able to withstand it. Flushing a deep scarlet, she got it out.
‘What if I’m ... after Sunday. What if I get... well, you know what I mean.’
He shifted in his seat and coughed before he spoke. ‘There are people who get rid of mistakes, Kate.’ He turned to her and said quietly, ‘If you need the money for that, just let me know. I may be broke, but not that broke. Now I really think I should get you home.’ He started up the car.
When he pulled up at the kerb to let her out, two tram stops from home as usual, he reached over to kiss her, looking at her in surprise when she pulled back.
‘Goodbye, Jack. I’ll get the dress and the wrap cleaned and send them back to you.’ Her hand was on the door handle when his came over it, pulling her around, forcing her to look at him.
‘What are you talking about, Kate? What would I do with a frock? It’s yours.’
‘You:think I earned it, do you? Last Sunday afternoon?’
‘Kate - don’t talk like that.’ His eyes were searching her face.’Is this goodbye, then?’
She couldn’t speak, but she nodded. Despite her best efforts, two fat tears slid down her cheeks.
‘Won’t we see each other again?’
‘No.’ She managed the word and then had to clamp her mouth shut. Let me go, let me go, she was praying silently. Before I give in and agree to see you again - a man who’s going to marry my best friend.
This was the last time she would ever be close to him. He was so handsome, especially at this moment, looking at her with that peculiar expression on his face - a mixture of regret and affection and enquiry. She knew very well what the question was. She had grown up a lot since Sunday.
‘No,’ she said again.
‘It’s your choice then, Kate,’ he said softly. ‘Not mine. Remember that.’
She got out of the car and turned, taking one last look at him.
‘None of this was my choice, Jack. None of it.’
She walked away, determined not to look back. That was hard, especially when she heard no sound behind her of the car engine starting up. Was he waiting for her to change her mind? To run back to him? But the only thing he could offer was a clandestine affair which would betray Marjorie. She couldn’t do it. She just wasn’t made that way.
Lifting her chin, she quickened her pace. Behind her, she heard his car start up, turn and move away, back towards Glasgow. The sound grew fainter and fainter until she couldn’t hear it any more.
It must be nearly nine o’clock. How on earth was she going to explain away how late she was? As it turned out, she didn’t have to. As she came up to her own close, she saw Jessie. She smiled automatically as the girl ran up to her. Then she saw the expression on her sister’s face. She had been crying and her voice was high and frightened.
‘Kate, Kate, Barbara’s in the hospital! I think she’s real bad this time! Och, Kate, I don’t know what’s happening to her!’
All thought of her own predicament flew out of Kate’s head. She lifted her hands to grip her younger sister’s thin shoulders.
‘Jessie, it’s all right. Calm down, now. When did they take Barbara in?’
The answer didn’t matter at all, but it might just give Jessie’s mind something to fix on. Before the distressed girl had time to answer, however, Kate heard footsteps beating a rapid tattoo on the floor of the close. Agnes Baxter was the first to appear. Lily Cameron was beside her, her arm about her shoulders. As they emerged into the evening sunlight, followed by Jim Baxter, Lily saw Kate standing there. Her face cleared.
‘Agnes and Jim are going back up to the hospital,’ she burst out. ‘Robbie’s still there - he went in the ambulance with Barbara this morning. Agnes is worried about Flora and Alice, but I’ve told her we’ll look after them, won’t we, Kate?’
Kate wondered if anyone else could hear the note of entreaty in Lily’s voice, and it came to her that while her mother was doing her best to comfort Agnes Baxter, she herself was looking to Kate for support. It gave her a funny feeling in her chest, as though she wanted to burst into tears and smile at the same time.
‘Aye,’ said Kate, ‘of course we will. Don’t you worry about the girls, Mrs Baxter - or Andrew. We’ll look after them. Ma and me - and Jessie too.’ She patted her sister’s arm.
‘You’re a good lassie, Kate,’ said Agnes, and then could say no more. Biting her lip, her tired eyes shiny with unshed tears, she gripped the girl wordlessly by the hand. Jim Baxter shook his head at Kate.
‘Robbie’ll not leave her. He’s been there all day. I couldn’t get him to come home for a rest.’
‘You know Robbie, Mr Baxter,’ Kate tried to joke. ‘Stubborn as a mule.’
Jim’s smile flashed. ‘Aye, hen, you’re right there.’
They waited with the Baxters until the tram came, standing for a moment to watch it swaying along the road. There would be time enough for Robbie to rest, thought Kate as they made their way back to the house to offer what comfort they could to the Baxter children. Soon there would be more than enough time.
Barbara died just after midnight. Kate, head slumped on her arms at the kitchen table in the Baxters’ flat, was wakened by a light touch on her shoulder about an hour and a half later. It was her father. His face told her the news. Standing up, she stumbled into his arms, stupefied by tiredness and shock. Not grief. That would come later. And then not so much for herself as for the Baxters, and Jessie - and Robbie.
‘All right, lass?’ Neil whispered in her ear. ‘Bear up now, for their sakes. Will you make some tea?’
She nodded and moved out of his strong arms to head for the range. Behind him, letting themselves into the house, were Jim and Agnes, a white-faced Robbie following them. He looks so tall, Kate thought, still half-asleep, or is it that Jim and Agnes have shrunk?
Neil Cameron ushered all three Baxters to sit down at the table. Lily, who’d gone upstairs about eleven o’clock with a pale and tearful Jessie, had also slipped into the room. Her husband stood behind her chair, his tall figure oozing sympathy for the people who sat so quietly round the table. Kate, who’d had a kettle simmering since she’d helped put the Baxter children to bed, made the tea, moving about the kitchen to fetch cups and saucers, biscuits from Agnes’s tins, a plate to put them on, the stand for the teapot.
‘Thanks, Kate, hen,’ said Jim Baxter, as she set the table. Agnes stared fixedly at some point in the middle of the cloth, with eyes which saw nothing. When Kate brought over the teapot, Jim rose from his chair.
‘Here, lass, you’ll be needing a seat yourself.’
There was a squeaking noise as the chair opposite him was abruptly pushed back.
‘Kate can sit here. I’m going out.’ White-faced, swaying with tiredness, Robbie was on his feet.
‘Will you not have a cup of tea first, lad?’ Neil Cameron asked gently.
Robbie took a deep breath and said, ‘No,’ his voice rough and raw. Kate, watc
hing the two men, saw a look pass between them.
‘Aye,’ said Neil Cameron, laying a hand on Robbie’s shoulder. ‘If that’s what you need to do, laddie.’
When he came back after closing the door behind Robbie, Kate, having poured out the tea and slid the tea cosy over the pot, walked round the table to him.
‘Should we have let him go, Daddy?’ Her gaze slid past her father’s head towards the door. ‘Maybe I should go after him.’
She bit her lip, undecided. He’d still be going down the stairs. She could catch up with him if she went now. If they hadn’t had that stupid quarrel last Saturday she wouldn’t have thought twice about it.
‘Leave him be, lass.’ Kate pulled her gaze away from the door. ‘Sometimes a man needs to think things out on his own. He’ll be needing you later, I’m thinking.’
Kate looked up into her father’s face. His tired eyes were full of understanding.
‘Aye, Daddy,’ she agreed, her speech slurred with fatigue. She wasn’t at all convinced that he was right.
When Robert Baxter didn’t come home for breakfast, his mother began to get worried. When he didn’t come home for his dinner at midday, that worry began to cross the line into panic.
‘He was that fond of her,’ Agnes kept repeating. ‘I’m scared he’ll do something daft, I really am. He was in a real funny mood before all this happened anyway. He shouted at me on Saturday night, and he’s never done that before. Och, Lily, what if he does something stupid?’
Kate, woken from restless sleep at half-past eight as Lily tried in vain to comfort Agnes, who sat weeping noisily in the Camerons’ kitchen, felt torn in two that morning. She wished Jessie would cry too, but the girl sat still and pale, like a wee white ghost, obediently drinking a cup of tea and nibbling a piece of bread when Kate made her, but keeping her grief for the loss of her best friend locked up inside her. Only when Kate tried to leave her side did she make a little inarticulate sound and reach for her big sister’s hand, clutching it so tightly that both their palms became hot and slick with sweat.
