by Val Wood
Arthur asked Delia to meet him for lunch the next day, as he had things to discuss with her. There wasn’t a matinee and she willingly agreed. He shook hands with Giles and said that he had been pleased to meet him and hoped that they might catch up again; he seemed to want to add more, but the first cab arrived and he kissed Delia on both cheeks, saying, ‘Goodnight, Delia. Until tomorrow.’
As he and Jenny waited for the second cab, he said, ‘Dawson seems like a decent fellow. Is – does Delia know him well?’
Jenny gazed at him with interest. ‘I understand that she met him when she first arrived in Hull; that would be back in November. He’s a married man, in case you were wondering,’ she said slyly.
‘Oh! That’s a great pity,’ he said, to her astonishment. ‘I thought he seemed rather taken by her. I worry about her, you know.’
‘Do you? Yet you were not able to find her. I thought perhaps you hadn’t looked very hard.’
A grin crossed his face. ‘You have a sharp wit, Miss Robinson.’ He took her arm as the porter came to tell them the cab had arrived. ‘I like that in a woman. You remind me of my mother.’
She wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or annoyed at the comparison, but was mollified when he said, ‘I haven’t physically looked for Delia, but I wrote to various theatre managers in the south – Brighton, London and so on – to ask if she had appeared with them, and it was only by badgering that damned agent – I do beg your pardon – that I eventually found out where she was.’
He helped her into the carriage, and as they drove to her destination he said, ‘There is another reason why it has taken me so long to discover her whereabouts. My father died recently, and there has been much to do regarding his estate. That is why I have given up the theatre. Miss Robinson,’ he turned to her, ‘I have arranged to meet Delia for lunch tomorrow. I wonder, would you do me the great honour of dining with me tomorrow evening? I shall be leaving the following morning.’
After hesitating for only a brief moment, for convention’s sake and because she was perverse, she said yes, she would.
‘Delia,’ Giles said as he put his key in the lock of the lodging house door, ‘I’m sure you’ve had a harrowing day, but I must beg five more minutes and tell you why I had to leave in such a hurry.’
She nodded. ‘Of course. You must have had a good reason for doing so.’ She opened the door to the residents’ lounge and turned up the lamp, which was burning low. ‘You must be tired too, so would you like to begin? You’ve heard the bones of my story; the rest can wait.’
He sank into a chair and put his hand to his forehead. ‘You are the first person I have spoken to about this – I haven’t yet told my parents, or even decided whether to tell them at all. In fact I believe I won’t, or at least not yet. I have to time it right, and there’s no need for them to know anything immediately.’
Delia didn’t answer. He was setting his thoughts in order and didn’t need a comment from her. But she owed it to him to listen; after all, he had listened to her when she needed a sympathetic ear and he hadn’t even met her son.
‘I don’t want to bore you, Delia, but I think you of all people will understand my dilemma and the decision I have made.’
She simply nodded and let him continue.
He rubbed his fingers wearily over his brow. ‘It’s as I suspected,’ he said. ‘Marion is pregnant with her lover’s child and that is why she sent for me.’ He looked up. ‘Have I shocked you?’
‘No,’ she declared resignedly. ‘I’ve long since stopped being shocked by anything. But I’m sorry if it complicates your life. Does it mean that you have to go back to York and live with her?’
Because, she thought, I would be very sorry indeed to lose our friendship. I have come to value it, more than I thought possible.
‘Good heavens. No,’ he retorted, ‘it does not! When I travelled to York I met her paramour for only the second time. The first time was years ago and he struck me as a principled man, and so he has been. They’ve somehow contained their love for each other in a platonic way. But it seems that that became impossible and she is now expecting his child; so he’s made the decision to emigrate to Canada. That is why I was summoned so urgently.’
‘Oh!’ Delia drew in a breath. ‘He’s going to leave her!’
Giles looked up. ‘No. He wants her to go with him and they will live as man and wife; they wanted to tell me that they’ll do this regardless of whether or not I agree to a divorce.’
‘So what will you do?’ she whispered.
He relaxed and it appeared as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. ‘We talked, the three of us, over various options and I said that to make it easier for them I would divorce her once they’d left England. It will give them a chance to settle in Canada and they can then deliver their decision not only to Marion’s parents, but to his too. I will tell my parents only as much as they need to know. That she has run away with the man she has always loved and that I am divorcing her. Marion can inform her parents that she is expecting a child if and when she wishes.’
‘You are relieved?’ she said.
‘I am, enormously.’ He gazed at her anxiously. ‘Am I doing the right thing, Delia? Does it matter if there is a scandal?’
‘You can rise above it,’ she said softly, after a moment’s deliberation. ‘Who’s going to be hurt? Her parents, perhaps – or yours. But then they forced both of you into a marriage that neither of you wanted.’
He stood up. ‘You’re right.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Will your friend Crawshaw be staying long?’
‘I don’t know.’ She looked up at him curiously. ‘I’ll know more tomorrow when I meet him for lunch. We’ve a lot to catch up with. Why?’
‘Oh, no reason,’ he said hurriedly, giving a forced laugh. ‘I only wondered if he was going to monopolize your time! I’m going up to bed now. I’m rehearsing in the morning to catch up with the latest scores.’ He bent down, took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you, Delia, for being so understanding. I really appreciate your – consideration.’
She gazed after him as he left and touched her cheek and felt a warm glow envelop her. It was a different kiss from the one that Arthur had bestowed; his were always fleeting, a peck merely, a transient acknowledgement of friendship. Giles’s kiss had been tender. It was also the first time she had received such a caress from a man.
You’re being stupid, she told herself. Don’t make anything of it. He’s a good friend, nothing more. Don’t spoil it. She swallowed hard. I don’t want more. I’m afraid of love, afraid of being hurt, of not coming up to expectations. She put her hands to her face. How I wish it were not so.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The Royal Station Hotel was a much grander place than the cosy Maritime and Delia dressed appropriately for her lunch with Arthur. As it was a fine day, though cold, she walked from the lodging house in her old and comfortable boots and fastened a bright silk scarf about her neck to brighten up her grey day dress, with its pearl-buttoned bodice and back pleated skirt. Over it she wore her grey coat and a peacock-feathered hat.
Arthur was waiting for her in the lounge and came to greet her as she came through the entrance into the main hall where they had sat the previous evening. The sun was shining through the domed roof, lighting up the velvet couches and the crystalware.
‘I’m so pleased to have found you, Delia,’ he said warmly. ‘And I’m sorry it has taken so long; my father died at the beginning of December, and I’ve had a great deal of business to attend to.’
‘I’m sorry for your loss, Arthur,’ she told him when he had explained the circumstances, and then paused as a waiter swiftly arrived to escort them to the dining room. She marvelled at how Arthur always managed to attract immediate attention wherever he went. The consequence was that she drew herself up and made herself more regal than she knew she was.
‘The wine list, if you please,’ he said to the head waiter wh
o came to their table. ‘You’ll take a glass of wine, Delia?’
‘Only one glass, Arthur. I’m singing tonight.’
‘You’ll sing all the more sweetly after a glass of champagne, m’dear. What are you singing?’
She told him about the Cinderella pantomime and that this was the last week of the season.
‘So you are not seen on stage?’ he queried. ‘And what next?’ He took the proffered list from the waiter and perused it, chose a bottle of claret for himself and ‘a glass of champagne for Miss Delamour’, he pronounced grandly. She wondered if his father had been generous in his will, for she couldn’t recall his ever being so lavish previously.
He tapped his finger on his mouth as he chose for both of them: lamb cutlets for Delia and rare steak for himself.
Without answering his question, she asked, ‘So what has happened, Arthur, since your father’s death? Clearly something has.’
‘Indeed!’ He put his head back as if deciding on the proper way to begin. ‘You might think that I have misled you to some degree, Delia, but I assure you that it wasn’t intentional. I have long been enamoured of the theatre and in particular with the writings of Shakespeare and Mr Dickens; but of course you know that already, as does your very special son. I wish that I had such a boy,’ he said disarmingly. He paused for a moment, and then murmured, ‘But perhaps it is not too late; I am not yet forty-five.’
Delia waited. He was in a reflective mood and she had heard these comments before, but something was different this time.
He changed the subject. ‘Your friend, Dawson. Have you known him long? What is his occupation?’
She told him briefly of meeting Giles on Hull railway station when she had first come back to the area, and that he was a musician; and then she told him why she had returned. ‘I had to take positive action, Arthur,’ she explained. ‘I was desperate; but also a little mad, I think, expecting to receive any help from my parents when there had been none previously.’
‘Indeed you were,’ he murmured. ‘You were distressed enough to take such drastic measures. I wish you had told me before how grim it was for you. I could have helped in some way.’
‘I was too proud to ask. But I think it will come right now. Except,’ she added quietly, ‘I don’t have Robin with me. But don’t let’s talk about me. Tell me more about you.’
As they ate their starter of smoked salmon with lemon juice, a sorbet and then the main course, he told her of his father’s substantial estate in Derbyshire and of his own previous intention of relinquishing his role as heir in favour of his younger brother, who was already married with a young family.
‘And then I reconsidered.’ He steepled his fingers and paused for a moment, and then continued. ‘I was beginning to tire of the theatre world. I have been treading the boards for nearly twenty years now, simply amusing myself if I’m honest, and I thought that perhaps I should settle down after all, look after the estate, maybe marry and have a family and raise an heir to carry on after me. Would I be able to manage that, Delia? Do I have it in me to carry that burden? To make that sort of life a success? My mother wants me to try; she thinks my brother’s wife is not up to scratch and won’t be able to manage such a grand house.’
‘How large is it, Arthur?’
‘Mmm, well.’ He looked around him. ‘We have a small ballroom, I suppose about the size of the hotel lounge, and I think there are twenty bedrooms. Hugh and I had such fun when we were youngsters playing hide and seek. We’re not landed gentry, of course,’ he laughed as he spoke, ‘but the house has been in the family for about a hundred years. Not well managed, I’m afraid; it’s badly in need of renovation. Someone with ideas could put it right, but my father was content to leave it unchanged. For instance, it has but one bathroom and three lavatories, which is not sufficient when guests come to stay, which you must, Delia,’ he added. ‘It’s in a delightful part of the county.’
‘You’d need help with it, Arthur.’ She thought that perhaps he might be rather lazy and not inclined to be businesslike; he most certainly would need an energetic wife if he decided to marry. ‘Would your mother stay on in the house if you married?’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so; it isn’t the done thing, although it would depend on my wife’s inclination. There’s a delightful dower house with four bedrooms, a sitting room, a dining room and a garden room that will be perfect for Mother, and rooms for a couple of staff, don’t you know.’
Delia’s mind was reeling. How could anyone have so much and be so laissez-faire about it? He would need to choose a very special kind of wife to be by his side. She hoped she would be able to keep his friendship if he should marry for she was very fond of Arthur.
That evening, Jenny wore a dark green dinner gown of satin and taffeta with a padded bustle, the colour showing off her creamy complexion and flaming red hair to perfection. The sleeves were fitted and ended in a frill at the wrist. Above the low-cut neckline she wore an emerald green necklace, one she had been given by her parents on her twenty-first birthday; a simple emerald jewelled clip was pinned in her hair, which she had twisted into a chignon, with wisps of curl framing her face. She suppressed an excitement she hadn’t experienced before when dining out with gentlemen, most of whom had bored her. Nor had she taken so much care over her appearance. She wrapped a fur cape round her shoulders. She was ready.
Arthur had not only sent a cabriolet to collect her but was waiting within it. When she appeared at her door, he went to greet her at the gate wearing an elegant black frock coat, with lapels of satin, and narrow trousers and a gleaming white linen shirt.
At the table in the hotel dining room, where they were shown into a discreet alcove with swagged draped curtains, a bottle of champagne was waiting in an ice bucket and an opened bottle of claret on a side table.
When a waiter took her cape she saw from Arthur’s expression that she had made an impression, and she was pleased with his sincere comments on her appearance.
‘Miss Robinson,’ he murmured as they sat at their table. ‘How delightful; how elegant. It is a pleasure to be in your company and I am grateful that you were able to come at such short notice, when your time must be valuable.’
‘I’m a schoolteacher, Mr Crawshaw,’ she said disarmingly. ‘I do not as a rule dine out on a weekday evening, but as you are a special friend of my special friend, Miss Delamour, I made an exception. And,’ she added less formally, ‘I’m curious. I wanted to ask you, as you know Delia so well, just how she managed to survive alone, with little money and a child, for so many years, and yet still carved out a professional career for herself. She is no longer the girl I remembered.’
The menu was brought and conversation was suspended. Arthur didn’t look at it immediately but asked the wine waiter to open the champagne. When it was poured, he said, ‘My intention wasn’t to talk of Delia this evening, Miss Robinson, but I wonder whether you are trying to discover if she had any monetary help from anyone. I can tell you assuredly that she did not from me, and almost certainly not from anyone else, as most stage performers, unless they are at the top of their particular tree, do not have any money to spare. It is a precarious profession to be in.’
‘Please don’t misunderstand me,’ Jenny said with some unease. ‘It is not my intention to pry. She has told me that you’ve been a good friend to her, as I would have been too, had she not disappeared from my life. She was a shy, nervous girl when she was young, unlike me, who had the good fortune to come from a strong family background, but she appears to have found extra strength from somewhere and I don’t understand where.’
Arthur picked up the menu. ‘I would like to think, Miss Robinson, that you and I could have many interesting discussions, but let me tell you this about Delia and then perhaps we could speak of your own ambitions?’ Jenny was flummoxed. She hadn’t realized that she might be questioned about herself. For goodness’ sake, she thought. I’ve only just met the man.
‘Put quite simply,’ Arthur
Crawshaw went on, ‘I believe Delia gained her strength in the age-old manner of a mother protecting her cub. If she had lost her child at birth, which she could well have done under the circumstances, she might not have survived; she might have died of despair as well as hunger. Our friend,’ he said softly, ‘yours and mine, who appears so vulnerable, has, in my opinion, because of her child, developed an inner tensile strength like nothing else I have ever known; that is why I became her friend and not her benefactor.’
Jenny was silent for a moment, and then she said, ‘Do you love her?’
He glanced at the menu, then looked up and smiled disarmingly. ‘Of course I do.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
From behind the thin curtain at her kitchen window, Mrs Deakin watched the man and woman talking in the Robinsons’ farmyard. The woman had turned her back so she couldn’t see her face, but the man was undoubtedly the Robinsons’ son, unmistakable with that head of red hair. The woman wasn’t his wife; she was fair and this one was dark. Robinson, his wife and their brood of children now appeared to be living in Foggit’s farmhouse next door.
‘They’ll be trouble,’ she mumbled, though there was no one to hear her. ‘Deakin isn’t happy about it.’
Deakin had gone on a fishing trip early that morning, telling her that he would be home after dark and would want hot food to warm him. ‘Make sure there’s plenty of hot water for my tub,’ he said as he went out, ‘and bring the bath in so I’m not sitting on cold metal.’
She’d been outside and lifted the tin bath from the hook on the wall and brought it in to lean against the cupboard door next to the fire, the door sneck rattling as she did so. The sound startled her. When they had first come here, she kept her spare bed sheets and tablecloth in there. It was a wide and useful cupboard, but when Dorothy at three was old enough to leave her mother’s bedside, Deakin decreed that the child could no longer sleep in their bed and that her mother must make her a bed in the cupboard.
