Nothing at all.
He’d seen her as an embarrassment. Something dirty to be washed from his life, his mind and his bed. Yet even now, after everything that had happened, her senses responded alarmingly to the remembrance of their lovemaking. She gripped her fingers together. If she must think of Andrew at all, she had to think of the way he’d looked when he told her that she’d dragged him down as far as he was prepared to go. If she didn’t … if … she didn’t, then what?
She’d told her father and Laura the truth. Andrew and her – it was the old, old story, probably the oldest in the world. She had to thank her lucky stars that her family were prepared to keep her. And, as for Andrew – she looked back and saw cold calculation in everything he’d done. Seduction behind every kindness he’d offered her. Lust, not love, in his caresses.
She walked on as her battered emotions groped their way painfully back to awareness. Only this time it was hatred not love that bore her forward on the crest of life.
It was nearly midnight when Andrew left the illuminated platform of Pontypridd station and walked down the steps to street level. The porter who struggled behind him shouldering his trunk groaned as he finally dumped the box at the foot of the steps.
‘There’s no taxis, sir,’ he crowed, stating the obvious.
‘So I see.’ Andrew looked around the dimly lit, deserted yard and wished he’d telephoned his father from Cardiff. But then he’d been wary of disturbing his mother. She could well be alone if his father’d had to go out on a night call. And no one was expecting him to arrive until tomorrow.
Not for the first time that day he cursed the impulse that had led him to take a half day holiday from the hospital and run off to Paddington station. Impulse – or image of Bethan? Her face came vividly to mind, just as it did at least a dozen times a day.
It haunted him.
‘You want to put your trunk in the stationmaster’s office, sir?’ the porter suggested.
‘Would it be possible to use the telephone?’ he asked, hoping to catch Trevor in his lodgings.
‘I’m not allowed to let the public near the telephone, sir,’ the porter said officiously. ‘Besides, it’s all locked up and I haven’t got the key.’
‘Looks like I’ve no choice but to leave my trunk in the stationmaster’s office,’ Andrew replied resignedly.
‘Righto then, sir. I’ll put it away for you.’
Andrew watched as the man heaved the trunk into the ticket office on the ground floor and locked the door behind him.
Afterwards he pulled the compacted steel trellis across the wide doorway and secured it with a padlock.
‘Safe as houses until five thirty tomorrow, sir.’
‘And then?’ Andrew enquired wryly.
‘It’s got your name on the label, sir, Dr John. They’re not likely to hand it over to anyone else.’
Andrew tipped him sixpence.
‘Thank you, sir. If there’s nothing else, I’ll be off. I’m on early shift again tomorrow.’
‘Thank you for your help. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, sir.’
Andrew picked up his doctor’s bag. Even that was heavy. Too heavy to lug all the way up to the Common, he thought as he took the first step forward. The Tumble, so alive with people during the day, was devoid of life. The lamps flickered over grey, vacant pavements and the shuttered facades of Ronconis’ I and the New Theatre. There was nothing for it but to keep going.
The air was freezing, so he thrust his free hand into his pocket. He paused for a moment outside the station and looked up the Graig hill, wondering if Bethan was working nights. He was sorely tempted to walk up to the Homes. But then what if she wasn’t on the ward? How could he possibly explain his presence there when he hadn’t worked in Pontypridd for weeks?
Turning his back on the Graig hill he faced down town, and forced himself forward.
Eddie had lingered late in the gym built behind the Ruperra Hotel. Much later than usual. Joey Rees had arranged a sparring match for him with Bolshie Drummond. Bolshie had been a first-class boxer, and unlike most of the old-timers in the gym, not that long ago. The match had gone on for hours. They’d all lost track of time. Especially him, and he should have known better, because ever since Joey had trusted him enough to clean up and lock up after everyone left he rarely got home much before twelve.
Tonight it would be nearer one o’clock. And that was bound to set Mam off. He quite enjoyed staying on in the gym by himself. He liked walking around the ring. Imagining himself winning bouts. He liked being able to look at the photographs of past champions without being disturbed but most of all he liked having his gym subs waived and the five shillings a week Joey slipped into his pocket. It was worth handing it over to his mother intact to cut down on her continual nagging about money.
He ran as far as the fountain in the centre of town then, hands on knees, paused to breathe in deeply. He heard someone walking towards him. He looked up expecting to see Megan’s brother Huw or one of the other policemen. Instead … instead … his heart thundered and his mouth went dry.
A man was walking towards him, no ordinary man. Even under the shadowy lights of the street lamps he could see that he was wearing an expensive overcoat. One he knew was made of cashmere. He was carrying a small case in his hand and his hat was pulled low over his forehead.
‘Dr John?’ he ventured.
Andrew stopped. ‘Yes.’ He squinted into the darkness. ‘Do I know you?’
‘Too bloody royal you do.’
The first punch caught Andrew unawares and sent him reeling backwards. He dropped his case and cried out as the back of his head connected painfully with the pavement. Eddie allowed him no time to recover. He jumped on top of Andrew. Hauling him from the pavement Eddie smashed into Andrew’s jaw with his clenched fist.
‘In God’s name,’ Andrew mumbled through loosened teeth, as he desperately attempted to defend himself. It was useless, the attack had been too quick, too sudden. His opponent had all the advantage. A boot connected with his ribs.
‘You bastard. You smarmy bastard. That’s for what you did to my sister.’ Eddie was sobbing and oblivious to the fact. ‘She’s in one hell of a state and you …’ Eddie thrust forward. His toe connected with the soft part of Andrew’s stomach.
‘I love Bethan,’ Andrew protested through a haze of pain. ‘I’ve come back to marry her,’ he mumbled, lost in a red and black fog of anguish. ‘Please, please … I want Bethan …’
A whistle blew. The blows ceased. He heard the sound of feet running away. But all he was capable of doing was lying where he’d fallen on the spittle and dog-fouled pavement, curled in excruciating torment.
Chapter Twenty-four
Elizabeth was woken by a hammering on the door. She put out her hand and touched Evan as he left the bed.
‘It’s all right, I’ll see to it.’ He reached down to the floor for his trousers. ‘It’s probably one of the boys. Had too much to drink.’
‘They’d keep quiet, not make a racket if they were drunk,’ Elizabeth said, unable to conceal her fear. Bethan could have had an accident at the hospital. Eddie could have been hurt in a fight.
Haydn – oh God, not Haydn! She shivered at the thought of anything happening to her favourite.
‘They wouldn’t keep quiet if they were too drunk to find the key in the door,’ Evan said baldly. ‘Stay there, I’ll be back in a minute.’ He flicked on the light and checked the time on the battered alarm clock on the bedside table. The hands pointed to three thirty. When he opened the bedroom door, the hammering began again.
Haydn stepped out on to the landing. ‘Do you want me to see to it, Dad?’
‘No, I will. Is Eddie in his bed?’ Evan asked as an afterthought as he was half way down the stairs.
‘I didn’t look,’ Haydn replied truthfully. ‘I’ll check now.’
‘Who’s there?’ Evan demanded irately and somewhat ridiculously considering that the door had its key protru
ding from the lock.
‘Huw Davies.’
Evan opened the door, shivering in the blast of cold air that rushed into the passage.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked staring at Huw’s uniform. ‘Official visit, is it?’
‘I’d rather talk in your kitchen if you don’t mind,’ Huw said, glancing up at Haydn who stood white-faced on the stairs.
‘He’s not there, Dad.’
‘You’d better come in, Huw.’
Huw lifted off his helmet and stroked his bald head nervously.
Pulling the edges of her dressing gown close together Elizabeth left her bedroom. ‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded.
‘In the kitchen, Elizabeth,’ Evan said, leading the way. He switched on the light and walked over to the stove. Opening the door he poked life into the coals.
‘Tea, Huw?’
‘When I’ve done perhaps.’
‘Well, sit yourself down, man.’
Huw took the easy chair Evan pointed to. Elizabeth and Haydn entered. Sitting quietly on the hard wooden kitchen chairs, they turned their faces expectantly to his.
‘They brought your Eddie into the station an hour ago,’ Huw explained bluntly, without embellishment. ‘He attacked a man.’
‘Is he hurt?’ Evan demanded.
‘Not your Eddie. He’s fine. The one he had a go at is a mess. We had to call the police doctor out to see to him. By rights he should be in hospital but he wouldn’t go. Leastways he wouldn’t when I left an hour ago.’
‘Who did he attack?’ Haydn asked.
‘Dr John. Dr Andrew John.’
Evan tightened his grip on the poker he was holding.
‘Your Eddie,’ Huw continued, ‘he could go down for a long time on this one.’
‘Can we see him?’ Evan asked.
‘In the morning. He’s already been charged. Evan, he’s going to need a solicitor.’
‘We’ve no money for one of those.’ Elizabeth retorted quickly.
‘Quiet, woman,’ Evan hissed, holding his head in his hands. He tried desperately to think. ‘You going back to the station now, Huw?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m coming with you.’
‘Me to,’ Haydn jumped up.
‘You’re staying,’ Evan said firmly. ‘Bethan will need fetching in a few hours. And someone has to stay here with your mother.’
‘Why me?’ Haydn replied without thinking.
‘Because you’re the only one here,’ Evan said harshly. ‘Go on, boy. Back up to bed. As soon as there’s any news I’ll get word to you. You’d best go on up too, Elizabeth,’ he said in a gentler tone, remembering that Eddie was every bit as much her son as his.
‘I’ll just make Huw a cup of tea while you dress, Evan,’ she said stoically, adopting the role she’d had most practice in. That of martyr.
‘I warn you now, they’ll not let him go without setting a bail too high for you or anyone around here to pay,’ Superintendent Hunt insisted dogmatically as he faced Evan from behind his desk. He’d had a bad night; hauled out of his warm comfortable bed just after he’d fallen into a deep sleep by a panic stricken telephone call from the station. Dr John’s son had finally had his head cracked by the brother of the pretty nurse he’d courted and abandoned to the tender mercies of a bigamist. His emotions were divided – pity for the pathetic, duped girl – admiration for Eddie for giving Andrew John what he deserved, and a desire to punish the lad at the same time for setting on the doctor in the middle of the night and disturbing his rest.
‘How much will it be?’ Evan pressed tentatively.
‘The amount’s for the magistrate to set in the morning.’
‘Can I see Eddie?’
Instead of answering, the superintendent glared eagle-eyed at Huw who was hovering close to the door. ‘You’ve had quite a lot of favours between one thing and another with your family lately,’ he cautioned bluntly. ‘Go. Davies,’ he jerked his head towards the door. ‘Take him down to the cell to see his son. But no more than five minutes. And you stay in the cell the whole time. The last thing I need is an attempted cell break. As it is, my neck’s stuck out so far it’s likely to drop off with the next change of wind.’
Eddie didn’t look up from the floor as the door to his cell opened. He sat, stiff, immobile on the edge of the bare planks of the wooden bunk. The temperature in the basement was uncomfortably low; but seemingly oblivious to the cold, Eddie hadn’t attempted to make use of the blanket folded on the boards next to him. His jacket, belt, braces and shoelaces had been taken and he was dressed only in a thin, collarless cotton shirt and summer trousers. His laceless shoes and the turn-ups of his well-worn trousers were spattered with blood, his knuckles red from burgeoning bruises.
‘Are you all right, son?’ Evan sat down on the bunk next to him.
‘They shouldn’t have dragged you down here. Not at this time of night,’ Eddie said truculently.
‘If you’re in trouble I want to help.’
‘I’m not sorry for what I did.’ Eddie lifted his face, clearly unbowed and unrepentant. ‘If they’d let me get near the bastard I’d do it again. I only wish I’d done it last spring when he first started messing with our Bethan.’
Huw stepped inside the cell and pulled the door to, lest anyone overhear them. ‘That’s not the line to take, Eddie,’ he warned seriously. ‘Not when you’re seeing the magistrate first thing in the morning. You gave that doctor a good going over. Cracked ribs, cracked skull, he’s in a right mess. And the way they’ll see it is that he’s crache, and you’re as good as a professional boxer.’
‘I couldn’t give a damn what they see,’ Eddie retorted defiantly.
‘If you tell them about Bethan,’ Huw began doubtfully, ‘they might go a bit softer on you.’
‘No,’ Eddie interrupted quickly. ‘She’s been through enough.’
‘You don’t seem to understand. You could go to gaol. For a long time,’ Huw advised strongly.
‘I’d be happy to swing for the bloody swine. And I would be swinging if I’d had enough time to put him where I wanted to. In a box.’
‘Eddie, please, this kind of talk isn’t going to help you or Bethan.’ Evan put his arm round his son’s shoulders. Eddie was cold. Cold as ice.
‘I mean it, Dad.’ Tears rolled down Eddie’s face. ‘I mean it,’ he repeated, raising his arm and wiping his nose and eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. ‘I’m not sorry.’
‘Time to go, Evan.’ Huw opened the cell door.
Unlike Eddie, Evan had many regrets. But his biggest one when he left Eddie alone in the cell was that he hadn’t chanced upon Andrew John before his son.
‘Bethan,’ Sister Thomas walked into the ward and called her into the office.
‘You’re early,’ Bethan hung the patients’ duty sheets back on to a nail hammered into the wall and followed her. ‘I’m not quite ready for the change over.’
‘There’s no time for the change over,’ she hung her cape on the back of the door. ‘Matron wants to see you in her office. Now.’
‘I’ll come back afterwards, shall I?’ Bethan asked as she lifted down her cape.
‘I think Matron has other plans for you. She told me to make sure you took everything with you. Your cape, your bag. She could be moving you back on to maternity.’ Sister Thomas smiled. ‘If she is, good luck, and thanks for the help.’
Bethan put her things together and left the building.
The grey light of early dawn was just beginning to streak across the sky. It promised to be a fine, dry autumn morning, if a little cold. She hoped that the weather would hold until Sunday for Laura’s wedding. Shivering, she walked quickly across the yard.
The door to the office was open and Matron was already sitting at her desk. Bethan checked her watch. It was seven o’clock, a full half-hour before the day shift officially started.
‘Come in, Nurse Powell, and close the door behind you.’
Bethan did as she was aske
d and sat on the same hard chair that she’d occupied when she’d last been called to see Matron. The day she found out she’d qualified as a nurse. She looked back on the thoughts that had occupied her mind then.
Ideas of advancing her career – getting enough money together to buy Haydn and Eddie suits – ways to avoid dancing with Glan at the hospital ball.
So many changes. So much had happened in the space of two short seasons. She felt like an old, old woman when she recalled the girl she had been. And all the changes including the ageing process had stemmed from Andrew who’d been waiting for Squeers to allocate him a second nurse.
She wondered if her life would be any different now if she’d been working on the men’s ward instead of maternity.
‘I’m sorry, Nurse Powell,’ Matron said briskly, facing an unpleasant situation the only way she knew how, ‘but I’m going to have to ask you to resign your post.’
‘Resign?’ Bethan echoed in amazement. ‘But I’m leaving at the end of next week.’
‘You were leaving at the end of next week,’ Matron corrected. ‘I had a telephone call late last night from the chairman of the Hospital Board. They’ve found a replacement for you. You may go immediately. Here,’ she opened her desk drawer and withdrew an envelope. ‘This is for you, payment for services rendered to date and a little extra.’
‘But yesterday you said …’
‘I think this is for the best, Nurse Powell,’ Matron said kindly. ‘After all you really should be resting more at this stage.’
‘And after the baby’s born,’ Bethan pressed. ‘You said that I might be able to come back.’
‘Get in touch with me by all means.’ Matron evaded the question. ‘But I’m not sure there’ll be anything. Goodbye and good luck.’ She rose majestically, shook Bethan’s hand and ushered her through the door, closing her out into the corridor.
Hugging the envelope to her, Bethan walked away in bewilderment. Something must have changed since she’d last talked to Matron. But what?
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