by Rosie Clarke
‘As a matter of fact I have heard of her. I’m working for the railway myself at the moment. I’m an architect. I design things – bridges, tunnels, boring things like that.’
‘That’s why you’re here several times a week, then?’ I looked at him curiously. ‘At least, you’ve been into the shop a few times this past week.’
‘You noticed? Yes, I’ve been having preliminary meetings, discussions with civil engineers. They’re talking about a new bridge on the Peterborough line, but at the rate we’re going it will never get built.’
A roll of thunder sounded overhead and the sky opened, sending down the rain in torrents.
‘It was just as well I happened along,’ he said. ‘You would have been soaked to the skin in this.’
‘Yes, I’m very grateful. But you’re right about that bridge,’ I said, feeling confident because this was something I knew about. ‘Gran says it has always been like that – arguments, disagreements. When they were first building the railway they couldn’t agree on who should build and own various bits of the line. It was almost abandoned at one stage. Gran says it was a wonder they ever sorted it out.’
He shot an amused look at me, then indicated to turn right. ‘You’re fond of your grandmother, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. She’s special. I visit her every Wednesday and most Sundays. I like talking to Gran. She knows everything.’
‘Does she indeed?’
The look in his eyes made me blush. I suspected he was laughing at me. Of course, he must think I was very unsophisticated, just a common shop-girl, not educated or glamorous like the girls he was used to meeting in his world.
‘Well, not everything. No one could, of course – but she knows a great deal about the railways. Her husband worked for them all his life. And she knows a lot of other things – about plants and herbs.’
‘She’s a wise woman.’ Paul Greenslade nodded. ‘She sounds interesting. I should like to meet her.’
‘Would you really?’ I stared at him a little suspiciously. ‘You’re not saying it just to please me?’
‘No, I mean it. I’ve been told she’s quite a character.’
I frowned, not sure I liked the way he’d said that – as if Gran were an oddity. I didn’t mind him laughing at me, but I wouldn’t let anyone make fun of Gran.
‘I’ll have to ask her,’ I said. ‘She won’t have you in her house unless she likes the look of you.’
The rain had eased slightly by the time we reached the isolated cottage. I hesitated, then turned to look at Paul, my hand on the car door handle.
‘Do you want to come in if she says yes?’
He glanced at his wristwatch, which was gold-cased and obviously expensive. ‘Perhaps not now. I have an appointment. What time will you be leaving here?’
‘About four – why?’
‘Why don’t I pick you up? It looks as if it may rain all afternoon. I could take you home.’
‘Wouldn’t that be a lot of trouble?’ I was doubtful, unsure whether to take up the offer or not. Why should he go to so much bother for my sake? ‘It would be out of your way.’
‘I’ll be here at four,’ he said, giving me a smile that made my stomach lurch. ‘Have a nice visit, Emma.’
‘Thank you.’
I stood watching as he drove away, then turned and walked up the garden path to Gran’s front door. The brass knocker was polished so bright you could almost see your face in it and the step had been scrubbed fresh that morning.
Gran must have been watching from her window, because she opened the door as I approached, eyes lively with curiosity.
‘Who was that, then?’ she asked. ‘Not local. I don’t suppose he’d be that architect from Cambridge? They tell me he drives a fancy car sometimes.’
‘Oh, Gran,’ I cried and hugged her. That afternoon she smelled of lavender and herbs, as if she had been making up some of her cures and poultices. ‘You do know everything! Who told you about Paul Greenslade?’
‘Paul, is it?’ Her eyes were bright and curious, studying me from beneath her sparse lashes. ‘That sounds as if you know him. How did you meet him – and what are you doing accepting a ride in his car?’
‘It was raining and he offered me a lift,’ I explained and Gran nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘He wants to meet you. He’s coming to fetch me later.’
‘Bring him in,’ she said. ‘I’d best have a look at him. If he’s interested in my girl, I want to see what sort of a man he is.’
‘Oh, Gran,’ I cried, laughing. ‘I’m sure he isn’t. He was just being kind because it was raining.’
‘And why did he ask you out then? Was that just kindness?’
‘Oh, that …’ I felt my cheeks getting warm as her eyes seemed to probe my mind. ‘I expect it was an impulse. He was new here and didn’t know anyone. I suppose he thought I looked harmless.’
‘Thought you were available more like,’ Gran said with a snort. ‘His sort and yours don’t often mix, Emma. I’m not saying it never happens, so don’t pull a face. If this Mr Greenslade is a decent man, there’s no harm in your seeing him, but you shouldn’t expect too much.’
‘I’m not seeing him, Gran!’
‘But you might if he gets his way. I know men, lass. None of them go out of their way for a girl unless they’re interested – and when the man is from Mr Greenslade’s class it usually means trouble for a girl like you.’
I didn’t argue; I knew my grandmother was right. Gentlemen just didn’t marry shop-girls, not in real life. They might flirt with them, or seduce them, but they didn’t marry them. I supposed I ought not to have let him give me a lift in the first place.
‘You won’t say anything to Father? About Paul giving me a lift this afternoon?’
She screwed up her face, the soft skin wrinkled and mottled with age. ‘What do you take me for? I may be old, but I’m not daft, girl – and I’m not against your having a little fun. I just don’t want you hurt.’
‘I shan’t be. Really, Gran. I know he wouldn’t be interested in marrying a girl like me. Besides, Father would never let me go out with him, so there’s not much chance of my getting into trouble, is there?’
‘Harold might be brought to see sense,’ Gran said, the light of battle in her eyes. ‘But only if this man is the right sort, Emma. Otherwise, you’d best stay clear of him.’
‘Well, did I pass inspection?’ Paul asked as he was driving me home later that afternoon. ‘I’d heard Mother Jacobs was a strong-minded woman, but I wasn’t prepared for the Inquisition.’
‘Not that bad, surely?’
I laughed, feeling happy. Gran had liked him. He’d answered all her questions – some of which were almost impertinent – with a good will and a smile. In fact, he had charmed her into inviting him to call for a cup of tea whenever he was in the district.
‘She really liked you. I don’t think she expected or wanted to, but she did. I was surprised.’
Paul glanced my way, his brows arched. ‘Why? Don’t you like me?’
‘Yes, of course I do.’ I blushed, feeling silly. He must think me a complete idiot. ‘Well … I mean, I think I would if I knew you, which I don’t, of course.’
‘Come to the pictures with me this evening? We could have a drink first and get to know each other better.’
‘I can’t,’ I said, a catch in my voice. ‘I wish I could, Paul – but I can’t.’
He had told both Gran and me to call him Paul and I’d done so without realizing it. I twisted a piece of skirt between my fingers, feeling nervous and excited all at once. I badly wanted to say yes to him but knew I mustn’t; it would only lead to arguments.
‘Because of your father?’
‘Yes. You don’t know what he’s like. Gran only asked questions because she cares about me – Father cares what people think and say. He would think you were after only one thing.’
My cheeks flamed scarlet as he shot me an amused look. How naive I must sound! He wouldn’t want to g
o out with me now.
‘I like you,’ he said. ‘It’s a shame you can’t come out with me. I think we might have got on really well.’
‘I wish I could.’ I could hear the wistful note in my voice, but couldn’t help myself. He was offering me the world I had often longed to enter, and I knew it would probably be my only chance. ‘I’d give anything to come out with you, Paul, really I would – but my father would half kill me if I did so without his permission.’
‘And he wouldn’t give it?’
‘He would just shout at me – and my mother.’
‘We can’t have that, can we?’ Paul pulled the car into the kerb at the end of the main street, keeping the engine running. ‘Perhaps you had better get out here?’
‘Yes, that might be best.’ Tears of disappointment were misting my eyes. ‘Thank you for keeping me dry, Paul.’
‘My pleasure.’ He leaned towards me, giving me a brief kiss on the mouth. ‘Maybe I’ll see you again like this, Emma? If your father doesn’t know he can’t be angry, can he?’
‘Next Wednesday?’ I couldn’t bear to look at him. ‘But you wouldn’t want … I mean …’ I floundered to an embarrassed halt.
‘We’ll see,’ he murmured. ‘Take care of yourself – and remember that dreams do sometimes come true.’
I fumbled for the door handle, pressed it and got out of the car, walking away without looking back. He must think I was a timid mouse! Most girls of nineteen and a half went out with anyone they fancied these days. I supposed I could too – if I were willing to risk a row with my father. Sometimes I thought about defying him. I imagined myself packing my clothes, walking out of the house, finding myself a job where they paid decent wages … but he would only take it out on my mother.
I couldn’t desert her. She hadn’t been really well for several years now – not since her last miscarriage. I suspected that Father hit her sometimes. It didn’t happen often, but she’d had terrible bruises on her face on two occasions. She had pretended she’d walked into a door, but the shame in her eyes had made me think otherwise.
It must be so awful to be married to a man you didn’t love! My father wasn’t too bad with me, providing I did as he told me and didn’t argue. Perhaps because he knew I could walk out if I really wanted to – or I would be able to in another eighteen months, when I was twenty-one. Until then, he could compel me to live under his roof, though I’d often thought that if I caused enough fuss he would probably just wash his hands of me.
If it wasn’t for my mother … I squashed the rebellious thoughts. Mother wasn’t well enough to go out to work and earn her own living. My father wouldn’t give her a penny if she left him, and he’d made sure she never had enough money to save anything for herself. So she didn’t have much choice. And I couldn’t desert her; I couldn’t leave her there alone with him.
There was no point in wishing for the moon! I made an effort to shut out my feelings of disappointment and ran into the shop as the rain started to fall faster again. Father gave me a long hard look.
‘You should have taken a coat,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t want you going down with a chill. It’s been raining for the past half-hour – why aren’t you wet?’
Feeling apprehensive, I avoided the suspicious look in his eyes.
‘I got a lift in Mr Baker’s van,’ I lied. ‘Mary had been out delivering meat near Gran’s and she gave me a ride home.’
Mary Baker was two years older than me and drove her father’s van to the outlying houses and cottages in the area for the old folk who found it difficult to buy their supplies of fresh meat. Mary and I had known each other at school and were in much the same situation, neither of us having a great deal of time to spare. Mary’s father, however, allowed her more freedom when her work was done.
I crossed my fingers behind my back, but I knew Mary would back me up if I asked. We didn’t often see one another, but were good friends. Mary was the only one of my school-friends that Father actually liked. He sometimes invited both her and her father to dinner with us on a Saturday night.
‘Get up to your mother, then,’ Father said with a grunt. A customer had come in and his attention was instantly diverted. ‘I’ll be up for my tea as usual.’
‘Yes, Father.’
Running upstairs, I felt guilt for having lied to him. But it was his own fault. If he were more reasonable, more like Mary’s father, I should not have had to lie. I’d done nothing wrong, except … A little smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I remembered that brief kiss and its effect on my heart. It had beat so frantically that I felt breathless. I’d wished Paul would take me in his arms and kiss me properly – the way it happened in the romantic books I liked to read.
How wicked of me! I ought to have slapped him or acted as if I were insulted – but I’d liked it. I had enjoyed the sensation it gave me, the warm feeling I’d experienced inside. At first, I’d wanted to cry because it had seemed as though he were saying goodbye, and I was afraid he wouldn’t want to see me any more – but then he’d smiled and hinted that we might be seeing each other again.
If only we could! If only we could meet often, go dancing and … My mind careered on wildly, making up a life so wonderful it could only be imagined.
I jumped guiltily. Mother was standing in the kitchen doorway, a milk jug in her hand. I’d been dreaming and hadn’t noticed her there.
‘Father doesn’t know,’ I said, glancing over my shoulder. ‘He thinks Mary Baker gave me a lift home – but it was someone else.’ I felt a warm glow of pleasure spread through me. ‘He’s a gentleman, Mum. Gran likes him. He’s an architect from Cambridge working with the railway and his name is Paul Greenslade. He’s asked me twice now to go to the pictures, but of course I said I couldn’t. Father would never agree.’
‘No, he wouldn’t!’ She looked really alarmed. ‘Where did you meet this man, Emma? Your father will kill you if he knows you’ve been meeting someone secretly.’
‘I haven’t been with him,’ I said. ‘Not like that, anyway. I haven’t done anything wrong. He came into the shop one evening and I served him – and this afternoon he gave me a lift to Gran’s because it was raining so hard. He wanted to meet her and came back at four to bring me home. She liked him. Honest, Mum. Gran thinks he’s all right.’
‘Well, that’s something I suppose.’
She sighed, her shoulders drooping under the burden of her unhappy life. ‘It was bound to happen one day, of course. I’ve tried talking to Harold about you growing up, needing more freedom, but of course he never listens. Just be careful, Emma, that’s all. I know it’s hard on you, your father being the way he is, so strict, but …’
‘I’ve told Paul I can’t go out with him. I don’t suppose I’ll see him again. He’s bound to know lots of girls – girls who aren’t treated as if they’re children, who are allowed to say yes when someone asks them out. Why should he bother with me?’
Oh, Emma …’ She gazed at me sadly. ‘Don’t look like that, darling. I wish I could help. I could try talking to Harold again, but I don’t think it would make much difference. You know how irritable your father can be.’
‘No, you mustn’t,’ I said quickly as I saw how tired and worn she seemed. I didn’t want Father to take his anger out on her. ‘It doesn’t matter, Mum. I liked Paul, but he’s only here for a little while. I doubt if I shall see him again.’
I went out into the hall as Father was coming up the stairs for his meal. I waited for him to reach the top, but was surprised when he lingered, giving me a thoughtful glance.
‘Richard Gillows was here a few minutes ago. He was asking after you, Emma.’
‘Was he?’
‘He’s fond of you, that lad, asked me if I would allow you to go to the church social – you and your mother, that is.’
‘Oh …’ I waited warily. Father was looking pleased with himself, and that warned me that I wasn’t going to like this. ‘He asked Mum the other day when we came out of church.’<
br />
‘You didn’t tell me. She didn’t mention it.’
‘I asked her not to, because I didn’t want to go.’
‘Not go? Why?’ His brows furrowed in surprise. ‘Well, I said you would. It will do you and your mother good to get out of the house for once. She has been looking a bit peaky lately.’
‘I wish you hadn’t said I would go.’
‘Nonsense! Don’t be so selfish, Emma. Richard is a decent young man. You and your mother will be safe enough with him.’
It was always useless to argue with Father in this mood. I didn’t say anything as I passed him, going on down the stairs. How could he have arranged the outing without consulting me? It was worse than if he’d refused permission.
I was tempted to feign illness on the night but realized that would only be cutting off my nose to spite my face. If I was truthful, I would enjoy the church social, and, if my mother was there, it wouldn’t be like going on a proper date with Richard Gillows.
It was so unfair! Why couldn’t it have been Paul Greenslade who’d spoken to Father about taking me out?
Paul came into the shop the next morning. I was weighing out some pear drops for a regular customer. I glanced at Paul once, giving him a nervous smile. He hardly seemed to notice me, but spent several minutes talking to Father.
‘He’s an interesting chap,’ my father remarked after Paul had left. ‘Educated. Knowledgeable. Been to university I expect. You can always tell that sort. He was telling me about a new bridge he’s been discussing with the Railway Board.’
‘Did you like him?’ I held my breath.
‘Like him?’ Father frowned. ‘Don’t know the man. Seems interesting, that’s all. You don’t have to like someone to appreciate their quality. Not our sort really.’
‘Oh …’ My heart sank. I might have known. I turned my back on my father and started to tidy the rack of newspapers and magazines.
‘Thought any more about the church social?’
‘I expect it will be enjoyable, Father. It usually is.’
‘I don’t approve of time wasting,’ he grumbled. ‘But you’re a sensible girl, Emma. You do your work well and there’s no harm in something like that now and then.’
