‘—thicker than water?’ Idris finished for her. His eyes sparkled with humour. ‘You think that brother should help brother and sister help sister?’
‘Well yes. It’s only fair.’ She looked at him, her mouth slightly open, waiting for him to say what was obviously waiting to be said. She twitched her lips, preparing to laugh, then closed them promptly as he said, ‘What d’you say to the fact that Miss Caroline Evans is your sister? Your half-sister to be exact. Rosita Jones is her real name. D’you think she should make you a partner in her business then?’
Hattie’s face lost its colour. She put down the glass of wine Idris had poured for her and stared at him, waiting to be told it was a joke.
‘True it is. She’s the sister that your mother threw out, got rid of into a home, when she was five years old.’
‘But she can’t be! Caroline Evans? Not Prothero.’
‘Daft ha’porth! Graham never adopted her, did he? Illegitimate she is. Her father was Bernard Stock, killed in the First World War, so I understand.’
‘Why hasn’t she said something?’
‘Kate found out a few weeks ago and told me. Made me promise not to say, but, well, you’re her sister and I thought you should know.’
Hattie was quiet for a long time, absorbing the startling news. Idris put on a record and tried to persuade her to dance to Victor Sylvester’s strict-tempo orchestra, snapping his fingers to the rhythm, but she shook her head. This would take a lot of getting used to. But she took malicious pleasure in the memory of taking Richard into the park that night. At least she had got one over the stuck-up bitch there, hadn’t she?
‘Funny, isn’t it?’ she said later, as she prepared vegetables for their meal. ‘Your brother with plenty, my sister with plenty and us, well, we’re not exactly rolling in money, are we? Doesn’t seem fair.’
‘If Richard doesn’t marry, my girls will probably inherit at least some of his money. What about Rosita? Who’ll get what she leaves? Not your mother, for sure.’
‘Forget about Rosita,’ she said slowly, selecting potatoes to prepare. ‘She’ll probably leave everything to a cats’ home! But if Richard dies before you, then his money will come to you, won’t it?’
‘Not very likely. There are plenty of us Careys, remember. Eight of us kids left and about twenty-four grandchildren floating about somewhere. Spread about the globe but still in touch with Mam and Dad. Why should he single me out? Richard hates me. He always has. I was Mam’s favourite. Anyway, it won’t make any difference how many we are. He’ll marry Rosita one day, have kids and neither you nor I will see a penny of it.’
‘Unless we find a way of keeping them apart?’ Hattie peeled potatoes in her slow way, but her mind was speeding and her dull eyes showed pinpoints of excitement. Then she dropped her knife and said, ‘There’s a tin of Spam in the cupboard. Let’s have that with some chips. I don’t feel like cooking tonight. Let’s go back to bed instead.’
The evening before the Careys were due back from London it rained heavily. Running from the car to the shop on her way home from Station Row, Rosita covered her head with an old raincoat she kept in the car and with her view inhibited, bumped into Richard, who was waiting in the shop porch.
He held her tightly and before she could free herself or protest, he kissed her. The coat fell from her and she lost herself in the unexpected embrace. When he released her she looked at him, breathless and wide-eyed.
‘Are you in a tearing hurry or can you spare an hour to come and try one of the restaurants on your list?’ He was smiling, remembering her terrible choices of places to eat.
‘I don’t know.’ She was flustered and confused by the effect of his presence and the surprising fervour of his kiss. She needed time to think and compose herself. ‘I have to – I have lots to do,’ she amended.
‘An hour, that’s all. One little hour.’
‘All right. I’ll just take these things in and check the books and—’
‘Now, Rosita. Now.’ It was raining heavily and he protected her with his coat and guided her to the old van. Covering the shabby passenger seat with his coat, he helped her in.
Her mind was in turmoil yet she found herself trying to think which restaurants were on her list. Was it the pub-cum-café on the way to the Pleasure Beach? Before starting off he kissed her again. Her mind wrestled with confused emotions, her head reeling with this masterful approach. She tried to speak, to at least pretend to be in control, but he silenced her in the most perfect way. Would it be the Pleasure Beach or her final sarcasm, the lorry drivers’ pull-up on the road out of town? Surely not. He wouldn’t take her there, a muddy parking place, a prefabricated building housing a steamy café where china was so thick it would take a muscular lorry driver to lift it.
‘What are you smiling at, darling?’ Richard asked as they drove through the gloomy streets.
‘Just wondering which of the places I suggested was the one you chose.’ She couldn’t see through the window but just knew he would take her somewhere smart and expensive.
It was the lorry drivers’ café!
‘Richard! You can’t mean it!’ she protested, but he ignored her and, opening the van door, hauled her out with little ceremony.
The rain continued to pelt down and crossing the churned-up parking area meant her stockings were splattered with mud and the shoulders of the thin jacket she wore were soaked through. Her glasses were spotted with rain and the moment they entered the café they steamed up completely. Taking them off to polish them, she glared at Richard but he seemed unperturbed by her anger. In fact, he was trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile.
‘Find us a couple of seats and I’ll fetch the food,’ he said. Leaving her to struggle through the crowd of burly lorry drivers, staining her light-coloured clothes on their rain-streaked waterproofs, he made his way unperturbed to the counter. She sat fuming with anger and was hardly aware of the interested looks and nods and whistles from the other diners.
The food he brought looked worse than she expected and she glared at Richard again, about to protest and say that she couldn’t eat it. He seemed completely unaware of her furious glances; he smiled and began to eat. She sat for a while, the knife and fork untouched beside her plate. She wanted to leave, to stalk out with head held high, an expression of utter disgust and fury on her face, but miles from anywhere and in such weather, she couldn’t.
Her protests subsided; there was nothing she could do except humour him until he took her home. Her rage was gradually abandoned when she realized she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Trying to keep the look of disgust on her face, she picked up the cutlery and began to eat.
To her surprise it tasted good and without a word passing between them, but with Richard smiling affably to all, they emptied their plates.
‘Now,’ Richard said firmly as they reached for the thick china mugs filled with strong tea, ‘you and I will talk.’
‘About what?’ she asked ungraciously, determined to revive her disapproval of the venue.
‘About us.’
‘If it’s about me selling the shops—’
‘First things first, you irritating and irritable woman. I love you and I want to marry you.’
Around them conversations ceased. They had everyone’s attention, although they were too aware of each other to notice.
Rosita felt the stirrings of her need for him that were never far below the surface. ‘Richard, we’ll never agree. I’d make you unhappy, you know it.’
‘I couldn’t be more unhappy than I am now, with us apart and fighting every time we meet.’
‘You demand too much of me.’
‘I want you to live with me as my wife. Everything else will sort itself out if we use that as a starting point.’
‘Living together we’d fight more, not less.’
‘Not if I accept your need to run your businesses. I will understand, Rosita. I do understand. I’ve been so full of old-fashioned principles and pride, I could
n’t see how stupid I was. Why should I expect you to give up what you do so well and settle for being a housewife and mother?’
‘You mean it?’
‘I mean it, my darling girl.’
‘I want that more than anything, but are you sure you can cope with me as a businesswoman? I won’t be able to put you first all the time.’
‘Let’s start by showing the world we’re a couple. Over the next few weeks we should be able to sort out our differences, then we can announce our engagement. What d’you say?’
‘Go on, miss, tell the bloke yes!’ The harsh voice of a man on the next table made her turn her head and there, in a row, were four smiling faces who had obviously been listening to every word.
Richard knew it was a dangerous moment. He saw the conflicting emotions crossing her face. She could have stood up and shown her displeasure. Knowing how stubborn she could be, he thought it even possible for her to stalk out and walk the seven miles home through the rain. She was quite capable of such an action. But she didn’t. She burst out laughing.
‘Of all the romantic proposals …’
The diners cheered. ‘Go on, then,’ one of them called. ‘Tell the poor bloke yes! Put us out of our misery!’
‘Yes, Richard, I’ll marry you.’ She intended to say more but her words were lost in the uproar. The story had been passed from table to table until the fifty or more men were raising cups and mugs in noisy toasts from the extremely polite to the plain ribald, accompanied by sauce bottles thumping on tables. In moments diners left their tables to come and shake their hands and wish them luck. Their health was drunk, with tea replacing champagne, and everyone was clearly delighted with the unexpected celebration.
They walked to the door through a cheering, laughing crowd whose voices could still be heard when they reached the van, and whose waving arms could be seen through the steamy windows of the café.
‘I knew you’d say yes, if I chose the place with care.’ He laughed. ‘Captive in a place like that, you had to listen to me. You couldn’t do your favourite trick of stalking off.’
‘I did want to,’ she admitted.
‘I know. I could see it in your face.’
He helped her into the van, managing a few kisses as he did so. They drove through the steady downpour for a few miles then he stopped the van. Taking her in his arms, he said, ‘You’ve promised to marry me and in front of dozens of witnesses. Now you can’t change your mind.’
‘I’ll never want to, Richard. Never, never, never.’ But they couldn’t kiss. Not properly. They were both laughing too much.
Chapter Fifteen
RICHARD REACHED HOME in a state of euphoria. Rosita had agreed to marry him. Some time in the distant future as yet, but she had agreed. Silently he thanked Monty for his sensible advice and patted himself on the back for taking it.
Monty had been right about choosing a place from where she couldn’t walk away and he chuckled as he remembered his friend’s advice to get the proposal in first: ‘Forget conditions, you’re asking the girl to marry you, not interviewing her for a job!’
He had stayed late at the flat in Station Row and they had talked about the future, not in the usual way, each trying to score points off the other, but calmly, working out how their businesses would be made to fit their lives, leaving them time for fun.
He was smiling as he collected the dog for his nightly walk and, although it was past midnight, he took him further than usual, enjoying the peace and silence in which to contemplate the future. He went along the well-known streets, made unfamiliar by the late hour. Shadows made the buildings look misshapen; the silence made his footsteps extra loud so he trod with more than usual care. Occasionally he would start as a cat left a pool of darkness to run without sound, and cause the dog to growl threateningly.
Strolling towards Idris’s house on the way back to his parents’ house he began to imagine telling his parents. They would be pleased to know that he and Rosita were together; he knew that was something they had both hoped for. He glanced up at the lighted bedroom of his brother’s house and frowned. Only one room was lit: a bedroom. He wondered if the two of them were there together and thought it more than likely. Idris wasn’t the sort to be put off by him knowing.
He would have to do something about his brother. This affair couldn’t continue. Mam would find out and this was something she wouldn’t be pleased to hear. In fact, he wondered if she’d believe him if he told her about finding Idris in bed with his sister-in-law. Ruefully, he thought Mam would rather believe he’d had a mental aberration than believe Idris – her golden boy – capable of such a thing.
As he turned away from the house, the light upstairs was extinguished and he deliberately closed his mind from the problem of Idris and his sordid affair. Tonight was a night for thinking of himself and Rosita. ‘Come on, boy, you’ve sniffed there long enough.’ He tugged on the lead. ‘Time to go home.’ He urged the dog forward once more and walked on.
It was evening before Rosita could go to the Careys’ and hear about their visit to London. She was greeted almost tearfully by Mrs Carey.
‘You’re all right, Rosita? Oh, I’m so glad to be back. Thought all sorts of terrible things were happening, I did. A week from home is such a long time – it seems we’ve been away for months! But it was lovely, mind. That London place is full of such beautiful buildings and oh, the shops!’ She chattered on, wiping away the tears and hugging Rosita between telling her some of their adventures.
‘I’ve never seen such lights! And that big-huge river. All the boats and buildings were lit with coloured lights and oh, the funfair! You can’t imagine how splendid it all was. And that Skylon above it all like a magic wand making it all happen. Best of all was when the whole place was lit up at night. Beautiful beyond it was.’
‘It made us realize how long we’d been in the dark all those war years,’ Henry added. ‘The girls thought it was fairy land. They didn’t want to come home, those two. And remember the fireworks, Molly?’
‘Every night a fireworks display filling the sky and reflecting in the lake. Oh, Rosita, love, you ought to try and go.’
Rosita tried to tell them several times that London was where she and Richard might go for their honeymoon, but she didn’t have a chance for a single word before Mrs Carey was off again on some description of her exciting week. Telling was part of the fun, she knew that. Time for hers and Richard’s news later, she thought with a chuckle, when the travellers had calmed down.
Mr Carey made them some tea and brought out some biscuits they had bought in Fortnum and Mason. ‘And the tea—’ he began.
‘Bought off ration, would you believe,’ his excited wife interrupted. ‘Off a street trader!’
‘Street trader!’ Mr Carey said scornfully. ‘He was one of them spivs!’
‘Well, whatever,’ Mrs Carey chuckled. ‘I only know I haven’t had a better time in all my life.’ He sat back on the couch and fell asleep.
Richard arrived and Rosita and he greeted each other with a lighthearted kiss.
‘Well, would you believe it! They’re greeting each other as if they’ve been apart longer than us!’ Molly Carey grinned. ‘Stopped quarrelling, have you?’
‘I hope so, Mam,’ Richard said, looking at Rosita.
The descriptions and memories were repeated with embellishments for Richard to hear but all the time Rosita could see Mrs Carey was waiting for someone and guessed it was Idris, her favourite child. When there was a knock on the door and a shout, she saw the woman’s face light up and she wondered what it was about Idris that made people admire him. Why couldn’t they see beyond the handsome features and the fair curly hair? Compared with Richard he was nothing.
Idris was followed by Kate, Hattie and the girls, who filled the small room with their excited chatter. Yet, Rosita realized, there were undercurrents of unease. She looked around the family, trying to decide where it came from. The twins, Helen and Lynne, were glowing with excitement,
their faces full of nothing but happiness.
Her eyes alighted next on Kate, calm, gentle Kate, and saw a smile that was strained. Kate had a bag of gifts in a colourful carrier bag with the logo of the festival on it and as soon as they settled in chairs, cushions and on the floor, Mrs Carey reached for a similar bag from under the table. Soon the room was like Christmas morning, with discarded tissue paper and assorted wrappings covering the floor. Excited fingers tore and scrabbled and revealed souvenirs of the visit to the capital. Helen and Lynne were included, to their surprise, as their mother gave them each a new shoulder bag. Rosita admired the small model of the Skylon she had been given and Richard frowned at her over the heads of the others and gestured towards his new Festival of Britain tie, with something akin to horror.
‘To hold your trousers up,’ Hattie whispered. Richard glared at Idris, the brothers exchanging looks of such fury that Rosita took Richard’s arm in a protective gesture and pulled him away from the rest.
‘You feeling fit again, Idris, love?’ Molly Carey asked her favourite son. ‘Richard said you’ve been sick.’
‘Yes, Idris,’ Richard said loudly. ‘Ready for work next week? Or are you too busy with … other things?’
‘I’m fine, Mam, and yes.’ He spoke to Richard but didn’t look at him. ‘I’ll be there on Monday.’
‘Your light was on late last night, considering you’re supposed to be ill.’
‘Chasing a fly,’ Idris replied hastily. ‘Gets on your nerves something chronic when one is buzzing round the room.’
‘Chasing something,’ Kate said quietly.
The air was filled with unsaid things and Rosita looked at Kate in alarm. What had she found when she had returned home? Something to make her gentle face sad and for her tongue to have an edge of reproach rarely heard. She had the look of a puppy who had been unfairly whipped. To take attention away from the unhappy woman, she turned to Hattie and asked, ‘What about your holiday, Hattie? You don’t look very tanned after a week at the seaside.’
Gull Island Page 30
