The Quality of Love

by Rosie Harris

  Contents

  About the Book

  About the Author

  Also by Rosie Harris

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Copyright

  About the Book

  All she wanted was to be loved . . .

  The only child of overprotective parents, Sarah Lewis yearns to leave home. Studying hard to please them, she earns a place at Cardiff University. Here she is swept off her feet by handsome Gwyn Roberts, but when she becomes pregnant her parents are devastated and turn her from their door.

  All Gwyn and Sarah can afford are two squalid rooms in the infamous slums of Cardiff and Sarah soon realises she’s made a terrible mistake. Gwyn becomes increasingly distant and when the baby dies in infancy, he leaves Sarah with little choice but to fall on her parents’ mercy.

  But just when Sarah is starting to pull her life back together again, she is drawn to the charms of Stefan Vaughan and finds herself in trouble once more . . .

  About the Author

  Rosie Harris was born in Cardiff and grew up there and in the West Country. After her marriage she resided for some years on Merseyside before moving to Buckinghamshire where she still lives. She has three grown-up children, six grandchildren and two great-grandchildren, and writes full time. The Quality of Love is her twentieth novel for Arrow.

  Also by Rosie Harris

  Turn of the Tide

  Troubled Waters

  Patsy of Paradise Place

  One Step Forward

  Looking for Love

  Pins & Needles

  Winnie of the Waterfront

  At Sixes & Sevens

  The Cobbler’s Kids

  Sunshine and Showers

  Megan of Merseyside

  The Power of Dreams

  A Mother’s Love

  Sing for Your Supper

  Waiting for Love

  Love Against All Odds

  A Dream of Love

  A Love Like Ours

  A Brighter Dawn

  The Price of Love

  Ambitious Love

  Whispers of Love

  The Quality of Love

  Rosie Harris

  For the Hunt family:

  Kathryn, Davin, Marc and Charlotte

  Acknowledgements

  Behind every book is an editorial team and mine, headed by Georgina Hawtrey-Woore is fabulous. My thanks also to Caroline Sheldon – an essential link.

  Chapter One

  1920

  ‘Dad, I’ve been offered a place at Cardiff University and I’ll be starting in September,’ Sarah Lewis exclaimed triumphantly, passing the letter she’d received that morning across the table to her father as they sat down to their evening meal.

  ‘I’m very pleased to hear that,’ Lloyd Lewis stated in a crisp, satisfied voice as he took the letter from her and briefly scanned the contents. ‘It’s only what I expected with the results you obtained in your Higher School Certificate.’

  Sarah bit her lip, trying to hide the tears of disappointment that welled up in her eyes. She’d managed to fulfil their expectations and yet for all that, her father seemed to take almost for granted what she’d had to work so hard to achieve.

  A tall, slim seventeen-year-old with shoulder-length thick brown hair and hazel eyes, she was very like her father and sometimes she wondered whether he’d have showered her with praise if she’d been doll-like and petite like her mother.

  Although she was nearly forty, Lorna Lewis was still very attractive; she had fair hair, huge grey eyes and a peaches-and-cream complexion. She had an air of serenity about her and her dainty mouth tilted at the corners almost as if she was about to smile at any minute.

  Sarah was sure that her mother looked so calm and poised because she led such a charmed life. It was clear to the whole world that her husband adored her and couldn’t do enough for her. His attention seemed to be focussed on her and her alone whenever they were together. She usually responded in the same way; it was as if an invisible thread bound them together and they were wrapped in a cocoon which separated them from the rest of the world.

  Everything her mother did, whether it was the way she ironed his shirts or how she cooked their evening meal, seemed to bring warm praise from her father. In his eyes she was not only the perfect wife but also exemplary in every way. In her hands he was like putty and she could twist him round her little finger with no effort at all.

  Sarah sometimes felt that her mother would drain every drop of love and affection from him and it made her afraid that there might not be any left over for her. There were times when she felt almost an interloper in their lives; an intruder in her own home. It was almost as if they didn’t need her, or anyone else, for that matter; all they wanted was each other.

  It hadn’t always been like that and she wished that she and her mother were still as close as they’d been when she’d been much younger and that Lorna still took her in her arms and hugged her, stroked her hair and kissed her as she used to do.

  Although her father was affectionate towards her, always listened to what she had to say and encouraged her, he could be quite strict and he set very high standards, Sarah reflected.

  Ever since she could remember he had been urging her to study so that she could make something of herself. She wondered if it was because he would have preferred to have had a son rather than a daughter. A boy who’d grow up to be tall, powerful and as good-looking as he was; someone to fulfil his dreams and ambitions which had been cut short when he’d been called up to serve in the army when war had broken out in 1914.

  He’d come through completely unscathed; in fact, it might almost be claimed that he’d had a ‘good war’ because he’d never left England and had risen from being a private to the important rank of Warrant Officer. She could still remember how excited her mother had been the day he’d come home on leave with a crown above the three stripes on his arm.

  It made the coolness of her mother’s reaction when she told her parents that she’d been given a place at university all the more disappointing, Sarah thought resentfully. It made her wonder if perhaps her friend Rita was right and it was a waste of time and she’d be better off getting an office job and being independent.

  If she went to university then she’d have to rely on her dad for spending money and for an allowance for her clothes for at least the next three years.

  More importantly, they’d go on treating her as if she were still a child. The way they frowned in disapproval when she said something frivolous made her feel rebellious. And it made he
r feel so self-conscious that she turned red in the face, lost the thread of what she was saying, and ended up talking nonsense.

  These days her education was the one and only thing that seemed to matter to her parents. Ever since she was about ten they’d expected her to be top of her class. When she’d managed to pass the high school exam there had been expressions of relief from both of them. It was the only time that she could recall that her father had really praised her and said how proud he was of her achievements.

  At the time, she’d hoped they would let her have a party and invite all her school friends but no matter how hard she pleaded neither of them would agree.

  ‘That would be boasting,’ her father pointed out, ‘and think how those who didn’t manage to pass the exam would feel.’

  She could never remember them having a party, not even when her dad had come home from the war and everybody was celebrating. She was sure that her mam would have loved to have had one; except, of course, that the moment her dad was home again her mam had no time for anyone else.

  She and her mother had both enjoyed the war years. She’d just started at the high school and with her father away they’d become quite close. True, there had been a good many shortages and a lot of bad news, but they’d never really had to worry like some of their neighbours who’d had husbands or sons fighting over in France.

  Her mother hadn’t gone out to work because she’d told everybody that Lloyd strongly disapproved of women going into munitions. He didn’t even approve of them doing any work at all; he claimed that a woman’s place was at home and her work should be taking care of her family.

  He hadn’t even liked her having to go down on her hands and knees to scrub the front step and whiten it and willingly would have paid a char woman to do it for her but Lorna had said that other people in the street would probably never have spoken to her again if that had happened.

  He always made sure that he was first up in the morning so that he could clean out the ashes from the grate, light the fire and boil the kettle and take her up a cup of tea before she came down to make his breakfast.

  He hated washdays; he always insisted on lighting the fire that heated up the huge copper in the scullery so that she could boil the white linen and towels and if he was at home he would always turn the handle of the heavy wooden mangle rather than let her do it.

  Lorna’s war work, as she liked to call it, had been helping a group of other ladies from the chapel they attended to pack parcels to send to the soldiers who were overseas but she’d only done this a couple of times a week.

  It had meant that she was always there when Sarah came home from school and that she was always happy to spend plenty of time with her. They shared so many interests and spent many hours together because Lorna liked to go out and about as much as she possibly could.

  In fact, Sarah reflected, they’d enjoyed each other’s company and for four years she’d had a wonderful life. Then her father had come home again and all her mother’s interest and attention had been diverted away from her and was focussed on him, she thought morosely. It had been almost as if the two of them were on a second honeymoon and she’d cried herself to sleep night after night because she’d felt so utterly alone.

  There were times when she’d felt so unhappy that she wished her father had never come back, and that the ground would open and swallow him up, so that she could go on being the centre of her mother’s world. She endured a patchwork of frenzied emotions and tasted bitterness and sadness as she struggled to come to terms with the situation.

  Perhaps it would have been better if she’d had a brother or sister like her best friend Rita Evans; she had both. Rhys was two years older than Rita and Kelly was three years younger. Although they seemed to squabble a great deal and had their own friends they were always there for each other. You couldn’t possibly feel lonely in the Evans household, she thought enviously.

  Mr and Mrs Evans didn’t seem to take anywhere near such an avid interest in what Rita, her brother and sister achieved although they always praised them. They always had an open house for all their friends and Mrs Evans had hugged Sarah and wished her well when she’d told her she was going in for the School Certificate and patted her on the back and wished her every success when they knew she was sitting her Higher School Certificate exam a year later.

  Whenever Sarah brought Rita home her mother always seemed on edge and rarely spoke to her friend, apart from saying hello and goodbye, and she was quick to criticise what they’d being doing or what she’d heard them saying to each other and sometimes she even commented unfavourably on what Rita was wearing.

  Once when Rita had turned up wearing lipstick Lorna had told Sarah that if she ever caught her daubing her face like that she’d ask her father to punish her. When she had pointed out to her mam that she always used lipstick, rouge and face powder, her mam had told her not to be cheeky and sent her up to her room.

  When she’d told Rita what had happened Rita had shrugged dismissively and, flicking back her long, fair hair, had said that all parents were the same. ‘They don’t like to think that you’re growing up,’ she’d laughed. ‘My dad didn’t approve the first time I wore some lipstick but if you stand up for yourself, or simply ignore them, they soon get used to it.’

  ‘I don’t think my mam and dad would,’ Sarah told her despondently. ‘They’d most probably send me off to my room for being defiant and audacious like my mam did when I said that she used lipstick so why couldn’t I.’

  ‘You want to remind them that you’re almost eighteen and that it’s the nineteen twenties and women have completely changed since the end of the war.’

  ‘You mean that nowadays women are not content to stay at home leading humdrum lives cooking, cleaning and looking after the children any more.’

  ‘Exactly! Now that I’m earning money I intend to have a good time and after I’ve given Mam some for my keep I intend to spend the rest on clothes and make-up and anything else I want.’

  ‘It’s all right for you because you’ve left school and have started work,’ Sarah sighed.

  ‘Then do the same,’ Rita told her as they linked arms and began to walk towards the shops.

  ‘I’m going to university because I know it will please my dad,’ Sarah sighed. ‘It’s something he’s dreamed about me doing ever since I passed the high school exam, and if I don’t then both he and my mam will be terribly upset and I couldn’t bear the thought of that because I do want to make them proud of me.’

  ‘You’re quite mad,’ Rita laughed, tugging on her arm so that they could cross the road and look in the window of a dress shop. ‘You could even leave home if you wanted to; if they make a fuss, threaten to do just that.’

  ‘And where would I go and what would I live on? I’ve no money!’

  ‘You would have if you found yourself a job. You should have taken a shorthand and typing course and then you could have worked in an office like I’m doing. There are plenty of office jobs going in Cardiff.’

  ‘And where would I live? I don’t think my dad would let me go on living at home if I disobeyed him like that and if he disapproved I know my mother wouldn’t go against his wishes; she never does.’

  ‘You could always come and live with us and share my room,’ Rita told her.

  ‘It sounds wonderful but it would break my dad’s heart. He’s expecting me not only to go to university and end up with a degree but also to find some really good job afterwards.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. It all depends on what subjects I take. Getting a degree is the important thing in his eyes.’

  ‘Sounds very snobbish to me,’ Rita retorted. ‘Still,’ she sighed, ‘if that’s what you’ve set your heart on doing then I suppose it’s no good me wasting time talking about it. Maybe one of these days I’ll end up as your secretary,’ she added with a grin.

  ‘Perhaps, but I would much rather you remained my friend.’ Sarah smiled, linking her a
rm through Rita’s and hugging her.

  Lloyd Lewis felt a warm glow of satisfaction as he moved away from the table and settled down in his favourite armchair by the fireside and waited for Lorna to bring him a cup of coffee. The knowledge that Sarah had obtained a place at Cardiff University filled him with a tremendous feeling of pride. It was the culmination of one of his dearest dreams.

  He looked round the comfortably furnished room with a feeling of satisfaction. Lorna was an excellent homemaker; the furniture was good without being ostentatious and the furnishings had all been chosen with great care. The room was devoid of clutter and yet it had a warmth and homeliness that reflected Lorna’s good taste. It was very different from the small hillside terraced house that had been his childhood home in Pontypridd.

  He’d moved on since those days, he thought complacently. Not for him shift work and coal dust in the gruelling darkness of the pits where there was the constant dread of a cave-in and being trapped underground. That had been the lot of his father and of his father before him.

  His decision to come to Cardiff after he’d left school had been a good move and it was one he’d never regretted.

  His mother had died when he’d been ten and from then on he’d been a latchkey child and had run wild because, being an only child, he’d been left very much to his own devices.

  He’d been almost fourteen when his father had been trapped down the pit in an underground explosion. He still sometimes woke in the night, remembering the long hours of waiting at the coal face as they brought up the injured men and hoping that his father wouldn’t be too badly hurt when they brought him out. Only his father hadn’t been injured; he’d been killed outright.

  Neighbours had been kind to him. They’d fed him, let him sleep in their homes, but as soon as he was old enough to do so he’d turned his back on the mining village and struck out on his own.

  His first few months in Cardiff had been hard; he’d been destitute and even reduced to begging. After dark he’d often sorted through the bins at the back of cafés and hotels to see if he could find anything in them fit to eat.