Niall moved on his way, but once there he remained standing to await her. Languid of expression and movement, Mr Yarker moved past him, sank into a brocade armchair, and crossed one leg over the other, displaying a length of tartan sock.
‘Sit down!’ invited Mrs Precious noisily, flopping onto the sofa and lifting the ginger dog onto her lap.
But Niall ignored this cheerful command, letting the others seat themselves first, not due to politeness, simply hanging fire until Boadicea re-entered to select her chair, then taking the seat beside her.
She had brought some mending with her. He watched as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world whilst she snipped off a length of black thread and proceeded to secure the press stud that had come loose on a skirt.
Mr Allardyce had merged into the background, so quiet that Niall forgot he was even there. Somewhat noisier, their stomachs replete and the whisky fumes from their belches filling the room, the inebriated Eamonn and Johnny were already nodding off.
Mr Yarker appeared irked by the sound of their heavy breathing, for the foot at the end of his tartan sock began to twitch. He leaned over to prod the nearest offender, but finding he could not reach, sat back with a look of resignation. After studying his fingernails for a second, he made a gesture towards the visitor. ‘Pass me that, will you?’
Despite the lack of a please, Niall picked up the newspaper that lay on a cluttered occasional table beside his chair. ‘This?’
‘No, that!’ Yarker’s finger jabbed more forcefully. ‘Thing!’
‘This?’ Niall reached for a pen.
‘No!’ The voice became more and more impatient, the hand gesture more agitated. ‘That wretched thing there, the blasted what-the-hell-do-you-call-it!’ Whilst an obviously offended Niall sought to interpret the command, moving his hand over a dozen objects that might be the relevant item, Yarker uttered further gasps of frustration, which instantly turned to gratitude as Niall finally hit on the correct object: a nail file. ‘That’s it! Thank you so much, dear boy.’ And magically calm again, he leaned over and thrust the file into Eamonn’s arm to rouse him. This having the desired effect – at least it lessened the volume of breathing – he sat back and proceeded to give himself a manicure.
Seeking to ease the annoyed furrows from Niall’s brow, Boadicea leaned over the arm of her chair with an explanatory whisper. ‘He just gets frustrated with himself when he can’t remember the words for things.’
Niall himself was becoming increasingly frustrated with these oddities who were Boadicea’s living companions, though he managed to cling on to his temper, not daring to do anything to upset his restored friendship with her. Still frowning over Yarker’s apparent lack of respect, he caught her eye and found himself instantly melted by the smile she bestowed. He had been here over three hours. Would he ever be allowed to speak to her alone? As she finished repairing her skirt, and sat back to rub her neck muscles and smile at him, he decided to make a move.
‘Are you working tonight? I could walk with you …’
She shook her head, still smiling. ‘Night off. It’s Monday, remember.’
Niall groaned inwardly. Had he questioned her earlier, they might have gone somewhere together. Still, there was nothing to stop him asking her now. ‘Would you like to go to the pictures, then?’
‘You don’t want to be wasting your money on that rubbish!’ hollered Mrs Precious. ‘Pop, run and get your squeeze-box!’
Mr Precious’s buttocks had barely touched the sofa, but at his wife’s behest he now leaped up willingly, the dog jumping off its mistress’s lap to follow him. Boadicea gave an apologetic shrug at her would-be suitor as off went Georgie again to do his wife’s bidding.
To Niall’s disconcertment, it appeared there was to be a concert. It was something of a relief to find that Mrs Precious did not expect him to join in, her attention being solely for the one who serenaded her with romantic lyrics on his concertina.
‘“I’ll be your sweetheart, if you will be mine! All my life, I’ll be your Valentine.”’
Turning to Boadicea in surprise, Niall was soon giving Mr Precious his rapt concentration, for even though the fingernails upon the buttons were gnarled and worn and stained brown from varnish, his voice had the sweetness and clarity of youth, and it was obvious his spouse was the love of his life, for he gazed adoringly into her eyes, as he continued to play and croon as if there were no one else in the room:
‘Roses are shining in Picardy,
In the hush of the sil-ver dew,
Roses are flowering in Picardy,
But there’s never a rose like you!
And the roses will die with the summertime,
And our paths may be fa-ar apart.
But there’s one rose that died not in Picardy!
’Tis the rose that I keep in my heart!’
At the old man’s tender conclusion, someone trumpeted into a handkerchief. Not looking round to see who it was, averse to anyone spotting his tears, Niall dashed them away with the back of his hand, then gave an embarrassed sideways smile as he saw that Boadicea had caught him. It didn’t matter, for her eyes too glittered with moisture. Sharing a wet chuckle, they looked away from each other, as Mr Precious continued his sentimental repertoire.
Three more songs were performed. Even in this smelly old armchair, seated beside the woman he loved, Niall felt so relaxed and happy by now that he was almost falling asleep, when Mrs Precious announced loudly, ‘Right, time you were going!’
Startled, he sat upright and looked around. An ebony timepiece told him it was eight o’clock.
‘You can come again,’ bawled Mrs Precious, as if to a well-behaved child. And with this he was unceremoniously ejected.
Thankfully, only Boadicea accompanying him to the exit, donning a cardigan as she went.
‘So, what do you think to the house of curiosities?’ she enquired as they stood, at last alone, in the yard.
‘Where do I start?’ Niall puffed out his cheeks with a laugh, then threw his eyes skywards. It was barely dark, the moon a pale sliver in a greyish-blue sky, though a gaslamp cast its yellow glow upon his face. ‘God’s truth, I feel as if I’ve been involved in a Three Stooges picture – and I can’t believe that’s the woman you entrust to iron your hair! It’s a wonder you’ve any left.’
‘Ma’s a bit rough and ready but she’s a good heart,’ replied Boadicea quietly, her smile fond as she hugged herself against the cool night. ‘Ye saw the way she treated us all as if we’re family – well, I suppose we are; her and Pop have none of their own. I’ve only been here a few months, yet you’d think they’d known me ages the way they treat me. Mr Yarker and Mr Allardyce have been with them fifteen years, so she can’t be so bad. And Pop’s just marvellous, isn’t he? What a voice!’
‘Aye, he’s a grand old chap. I liked him,’ agreed Niall. Then added less cordially, ‘Wish I could say the same about t’other fella.’
She guessed who he meant. ‘Mr Yarker?’
‘Aye. Arrogant devil, looking down his nose at folk …’
‘Appearances can be deceptive,’ murmured Boadicea. ‘You’d never know he was a war hero, would ye?’
There was a sceptical edge to Niall’s response. ‘He told you that, did he?’
‘No, he did not.’ She looked at him intently, her tone level. ‘Nor will you ever hear it from his lips. He’d prefer you to think he’s unfeeling – didn’t you hear him blowing his nose furiously during Pop’s serenade? Mr Allardyce told me all about it – he was a corporal in the same company. Mr Yarker – or Captain Yarker, as he was then – saved the lives of three of his men who’d been badly wounded, by carrying them back one after the other to the lines under heavy fire, Mr Allardyce being one of them. He still has funny turns over it – Mr Allardyce, I mean. In fact he often goes quite doolally, the poor soul. Ye saw how upset he was by the boys scrapping over tea. It was in having to explain his odd behaviour that he told me all about their terrible exploi
ts in the war. So, ye shouldn’t always judge by appearances, should ye?’
Niall gave a thoughtful shake of head. ‘He’s not an easy bloke to like, though.’
‘Nor would you be,’ she told him, ‘if ye got back from the war with your medals, to find your wife’s run off with somebody else.’
Niall performed a wince of sympathy. Then, after a pensive moment, he referred to the Irish drovers. ‘And what about Larry and Moe, what’s their story?’
‘Oh, they’re just mad buggers,’ quipped Boadicea lightly. Then she gave a hearty laugh.
So did Niall, though his face betrayed some anxiety.
‘Ah, they’re not dangerous, save to each other,’ she assured him softly.
‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ breathed Niall. ‘By, they don’t half swear in your house.’
‘Aye,’ tis no place for shrinking violets,’ agreed Boadicea. ‘I’ve a foul mouth meself after living with them. Sure, I’ve never heard folk swear so much as they do in York.’
Niall felt something brush his calf, but a quick glance downwards told him it was only one of the cats, and he was soon once again devoting his attention to Boadicea. His eyes loath to tear themselves from her smiling face, he reverted to the previous subject. ‘It’s a good job I didn’t take Mr Yarker to task then. I would’ve done, only I thought you might throw me out if I lost my rag. Although …’ Still holding her gaze, he underwent some thought on this, ‘I’m a bit confused as to why you don’t seem half as frightened by the bad bahaviour of that lot in there as you did by mine in the café—’
‘I wasn’t frightened, I was bloody angry!’ she interjected.
‘—not to mention that you’ve got a bit of a temper yourself,’ he finished with a crooked grin.
‘That’s different!’ she shot back.
‘Aye, it always is for women.’ He gave her a mild scolding, his expression wry, being accustomed enough to living amongst females, and intimate enough with their behaviour to have noticed that they reacted with undue aggression at particular times of the month.
Boadicea conceded this with a smiling shrug.
Suddenly wondering if her errant spouse might have offered physical abuse, he added quickly, ‘If you’re worried I’d hit you, then don’t. I’ve never hit a woman in me life.’
‘I’d never even think that of you, Niall,’ she was swift to allay his fears. ‘I can tell what a lovely man you are just by looking at ye.’
Whilst bucked that she held him to be a lovely man, he was momentarily disconcerted. ‘What, even with this “foul temper”? How can you tell?’
Boadicea hesitated, then pronounced, ‘You’ve got eyes.’
He laughed. ‘Well, I’d be a bit stuck if I hadn’t!’
‘Ah, but there’s eyes, and eyes,’ she relayed with a sage expression. ‘You’ve got eyes.’
Under this warmly issued compliment, his frown dissolved, though not his concern. ‘You’re very good at changing the subject, but did I strike a nerve? Did he used to hit you? You seemed almost terrified that night.’
‘No, no, you’re exaggerating!’ she said lightly. ‘I was angry, certainly …’
‘But did your husband—’
‘Ssh!’ She grabbed his arm to silence him. ‘Have ye forgotten? Nobody knows about him but you.’
‘As if I’d forget,’ replied Niall, rather flattered that she had shared her secret with him alone. ‘And I know you don’t like to talk about him, but all I’d like to know is, was he violent?’
Boadicea released his arm. ‘No, no he wasn’t.’ Such was the firmness of her reply that he was convinced as to the truth of it. He waited for her to go on. Eventually, she spoke again, paying great effort into forming her explanation. ‘It wasn’t so much your temper that did it, Niall. You’re right, I have been known to throw the odd tantrum meself. It was just … well, I hate having that sort of attention drawn to me, everyone looking, I was so embarrassed …’
He appeared dubious. ‘I would’ve thought you’d be used to unwanted attention with a name like yours.’
‘Now who’s being insulting!’ she gasped.
‘Sorry,’ he said quickly, ‘but you did say yourself—’
‘I said I’ve no care if people take the mickey out of my name,’ she retorted hotly. ‘It’s a different thing entirely to be threatened with the police when ye thought you were just off for a pleasant night out!’
Niall cringed at his own behaviour. ‘Aye, I suppose I did go overboard. I’m ever so sorry.’ He touched her arm, and felt the warmth of her through the soft cardigan. ‘So are we friends again?’
She beheld him with slight exasperation, but it was an exasperation born of being hopelessly attracted to him, in the knowledge that they had no future. But, unwilling to give him up, she finally nodded acceptance. ‘Ah well, it was hardly the crime of the century, was it?’ Having heard him explain that his exhibition had been due only to the frustration and disappointment of wanting to please her, and having someone else ruin this for him, she could empathise with that. So much so that she even chuckled. ‘I suppose I should be flattered ye still want to know me, after meeting that lot in there.’
Vastly relieved, Niall studied her smiling, upturned face. There was something different in her attitude tonight, the way she stood so close to him, her eyes twinkling through the darkness, as if that defensive shield had been lowered. He knew he shouldn’t do it. He knew he was taking a huge risk, but he just could not resist. Intoxicated by her laughter, the intimacy of her conversation, her sentimental tears over those love songs, he swooped his lips towards her own.
But before they could make contact she turned her head away, begging him to be content with friendship. ‘Niall, have ye forgotten already?’
Not to be thwarted, he moved to close the gap she had created, gripping her arms and appealing into her face, ‘I know what we said, but I can’t help how I feel and there’s no point lying!’
Undergoing struggle, both without and within, she tried to avert her cheek from his warm breath. ‘I really like you too. It’s been awful not seeing you—’
‘I knew you felt the same!’ His voice was half jubilant, half distressed as he clutched her arms. ‘Then why keep me dangling like this?’
‘Is that what you think?’ she cried hotly. ‘That I’m some sort o’ flirt?’
‘No – for pity’s sake!’ He could have shaken her. ‘I just don’t understand why you’re putting us both through all this, when you feel the same as I do!’
‘Because I don’t see how anything can come of it – I’m not free!’
‘I don’t care – well, that’s just it, I do care!’ Niall spoke passionately, tightening his hold on her, looking earnestly into her face. ‘I detest the thought of you belonging to somebody else. I know I’m going to hurt Nora and Ellen’s family, when they’ve been so good to me, but I can’t give you up! I want you, Bo.’
She made a weak attempt to release herself, but his grip remained strong, much stronger than Boadicea’s resolve to remain platonic, for, somehow, despite all the inner anguish, she was suddenly kissing him more passionately, more ravenously than either of them could have anticipated.
Overwhelmed, yet still with an eye to public decency, Niall sought to manoeuvre her into the shadows, maintaining the kiss for as long as they were able to breathe, then both breaking apart with a gasp, his of triumphant joy, hers of apprehension over what she might have started.
‘Well, you’ve really gone and done it now, haven’t ye?’ she breathed, laying her head upon his chest that smelled of honest labour, feeling his heart thudding in time with hers.
‘Sorry, I just couldn’t help it.’ He wasn’t sorry at all as he hugged and stroked her, kissing the top of her head, imbibing the scent of her.
‘I warned ye what ye’d be getting into,’ pleaded Boadicea, her emotions torn. ‘I don’t know where he is …’
‘Then we’ll find him and set you free and then I’m going to marry yo
u.’
‘The Church might have something to say about that!’
This concerned Niall too. Since discovering Bo was married he had not been to confession. ‘I didn’t say it was going to be easy.’ He studied her. ‘Forgive me if I’ve got you all wrong, but you don’t strike me as particularly devout.’ He had never seen her go up for Holy Communion, nor in the queue for confession, come to that.
Bo agreed that whilst she believed totally in God, her Roman Catholic conviction was not all it should be. Even though she had been raised mainly by her mother’s kin, and the nuns who taught her had held great influence, her father’s had been greater. As one with no particular loyalty to any denomination, only a true Christian with a spirit of compassion, his humour had helped dispel much of the destructive elements of Catholic dogma.
‘Then it wouldn’t bother you too much that we couldn’t get married in church?’ ventured Niall.
She lifted her tormented face, which was creased in weary protest. ‘Niall, we’ve only been out a couple of times, you hardly know—’
Her objection was smothered under his deeply persuasive kiss, Boadicea responding again with pleasure. Still, he was unsure what would be her verbal response to his next question. ‘Don’t you want to be with me?’ He sounded plaintive.
Lifting her eyes to examine his, she eventually nodded, yet it was a sad little effort. ‘God help me, you know well enough I do. You’re the loveliest man I ever met. For all sorts of reasons I just can’t promise marriage. So please, Niall, let’s just see how it goes …’
Boosted by her compliment, Niall could see no obstacle. ‘If we want it badly enough we’ll find a way,’ he told her, kissing her again – could have kissed her all night.
Only at a startled utterance did he finally let her go, reacting with embarrassment to the comment of the man who accidentally stumbled upon their embrace. ‘Disgraceful!’
Eyes gleaming through the darkness, Boadicea covered her lips to hide an impish smile as, after quick arrangements to meet again, she rushed indoors. But Niall took the remark to heart, as he went home nursing it in his chest where it jostled with his happiness. Had Nora been the witness, he would have heard much worse – would hear much worse. How on earth was he going to tell her?
Secrets of Our Hearts Page 16
