‘Have you decided whether or not to meet Mr Evans today?’ Rhian and Julia had no secrets from one another and Rhian had told her about Joey’s offer to get her a coat and his invitation to spend the afternoon with him.
‘I still haven’t made up my mind.’
‘You only have a couple of hours left.’
‘I know.’
‘I’m dreading tonight. Mrs Larch has invited thirty people for a New Year supper.’ Ignoring the fact that Julia was two years younger than her, Mabel Larch had demanded that both her stepchildren address her as ‘mother’ with the result that Julia and her brother Gerald avoided calling her anything to her face and ‘Mrs Larch’ when they had to resort to naming her.
‘With thirty people coming, there’s bound to be someone nice you can talk to,’ Rhian reassured.
‘Is there?’ Julia enquired sceptically. ‘I scanned the guest list. I scarcely know any of them. And,’ she wrinkled her nose, ‘I doubt my father and brother do either.’
‘You never know, one of them might be an explorer or archaeologist who can’t wait to tell you about his latest find.’ The authors who had fired Rhian’s imagination the most were Rider Haggard and Kipling.
‘Can you see Mrs Larch inviting an explorer into her drawing room? She’d be terrified that he’d bring a pet lion cub or wear muddy boots.’
‘Real explorers would do both.’ Rhian looked at Julia and they burst into giggles.
‘It would be wonderful if an Alan Quartermain did walk into our drawing room tonight, but even if by some miracle he did, he wouldn’t want to talk to me.’ Julia fingered the gold locket around her neck that held a photograph of her mother.
‘Why wouldn’t he?’ Rhian slipped the last pin into the knot. She leaned forward, studied Julia’s reflection in the mirror and teased a light fringe out on to her forehead.
‘Because I’m dull and boring.’
Rhian suspected that Julia was repeating something Mrs Larch had said. But she wasn’t in a position to criticize her mistress. ‘You read so many books and you know so much about art and music, you could never be boring, Miss Julia. There, your hair is all done.’
‘Could it be you don’t find me boring because you’re a good listener, Rhian?’ Julia left the stool.
‘No, because I’ve learned a lot from you, and, while I think of it, thank you for lending me Kim.’
‘Have you finished it?’
‘Not yet, because Bronwen won’t let me use up a week’s attic candle ration in a night. Do you want it back?’
‘Not until you finish it. And if you’re short of candles, sneak some from the storeroom.’
‘The mistress inspects the attic.’
‘If you’ve a spare half hour, come in here, switch on the electric light, empty the top drawer of my dressing table on to the bed and if she finds you, tell her I ordered to you to tidy my room.’ Julia gave Rhian a rare smile that lit up her face and added sparkle to her eyes. ‘Since Mother died, you’re the only person I can talk to about books. Father likes reading, but between work and his other commitments he never has time. And all Gerald wants to do is ride his bike and sneak whisky from the cabinet in my father’s study.’ Julia plucked nervously at her gown. It was black, like all her clothes. Despite her father’s remarriage she had refused to stop wearing mourning for her mother.
‘I have to go down and eat breakfast before Bronwen starts serving it upstairs.’ Rhian gathered her cloak and bag from the chair.
‘And I have to go down and check that Mrs Williams has everything in hand. The slightest thing out of place seems to upset Mrs Larch.’
Neither of them doubted that the housekeeper would have everything under control, but whether Mrs Williams’s arrangements would be to Mrs Larch’s satisfaction was another thing. Julia opened the door and they stepped out on to the landing. Edward Larch was leaving his bedroom. He stopped and looked at both of them.
Embarrassed to be seen in the family quarters out of uniform, Rhian bobbed a curtsy. ‘Sorry, sir.’
‘It’s Rhian’s day off, Father,’ Julia reminded him.
Edward loved Julia dearly but every time he saw her he couldn’t help wondering how he, and petite, delicate Amelia, with her fair hair and gentle blue eyes, had produced such a daughter. He and his son, Gerald, were tall, slim, fair-haired and blue-eyed, like his Scottish father. But if they owed their looks to some raping, pillaging Norseman, Julia had reached even further back, to a time when flame-haired, raw-boned, uncouth Scottish clansmen had ruled the Glens. She would have made a striking peasant. A carthorse of a woman, sought as a wife for her strength and capability for hard work. Certainly, she would have looked more at home in a primitive croft than a drawing room. Whereas Rhian …
‘Father?’
Edward realized then that he was staring at the maid. ‘Sorry, I was miles away,’ he lied. It was the first time in months he had seen the girl out of uniform and he was amazed that he’d never noticed her resemblance to his late wife before. Freed from her uniform cap, her blonde curls were the exact same shade as the lock of hair secreted in the back of his wallet. Her eyes were just as blue – and worryingly disturbing. ‘Enjoy your day off, Rhian,’ he snapped, more abrupt than he’d intended.
‘I will, sir.’ Glad to be gone, Rhian put her head down and walked to the end of the passage. Just as she closed the door to the servants’ staircase she heard Mrs Larch shout.
‘Edward, what is that girl doing in the family quarters, out of uniform?’
Chapter Two
Joey set his grey felt trilby on his head and checked his reflection in the mirror he had hung behind his office door. Pleased with what he saw, he smiled. Since his fifteenth birthday, his good looks, coupled with his well-knit, six-foot frame and open easy manner, had attracted women. The problem was that he no longer wanted to attract women in general, just one in particular. And, to his frustration, she was proving difficult to impress.
He tilted his hat at a rakish angle, buttoned his overcoat, picked up his leather gloves and looked around for the parcel he had asked Miss Robertson to deliver to his office. The carrier bag bearing the Gwilym James logo was beneath his desk. He opened it and checked the contents.
‘It was delivered from the Cardiff store this morning, Mr Evans. One ladies’ cashmere coat in a fifty-five-inch length and thirty-four-inch chest; that was the size you wanted?’ Like the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland, Miss Robertson materialized in the open doorway without sound or warning.
Sensing her disapproval, Joey reminded himself, as he did at least half-a-dozen times every working day, that as store manager, he was the supervisor’s superior. ‘It is, Miss Robertson. You arranged to put it on my account?’ He gave her his most charming smile but it died, wasted on his lips.
‘Yes, Mr Evans. Two guineas, less the employees’ twenty per cent discount.’ Tall, skeletal, hook-nosed, with more wrinkles than a withered winter apple and dressed in the store uniform of black dress, shoes and stockings, Thora Robertson bore an uncanny resemblance to the illustrations of witches in his childhood copy of Grimm’s fairy tales. He suspected that the transfer his sister-in-law, Sali, had arranged from the Pontypridd store to Tonypandy owed as much to the woman’s brittle manner as to her efficiency.
She’d told him on her first day that she found it difficult to take orders from a boy his age and the store had only been open a week when he’d overheard one of her assistants complain that ‘Sob Rob’ (Miss Robertson’s nickname because she made so many girls cry) ruled ladies’ fashion with an iron fist in an iron glove.
He removed his watch from his waistcoat and opened it. It was a quarter to ten, half an hour before he was due to meet Rhian at the station, a five-minute walk away – that’s if she turned up, and he wasn’t at all certain she would. But he had no intention of spending the interim with Thora Robertson.
‘Thank you for arranging for the coat to be brought here, Miss Robertson.’ He’d intended the remark as a
dismissal but she continued to hover in the doorway. ‘Is there anything else you wish to discuss?’
‘There is, Mr Evans.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I hope you don’t think that I am talking out of turn, but you know what gossips the girls are.’
‘I trust you to put a stop to their idle talk, Miss Robertson.’ As she was blocking the doorway, he set down the carrier bag, thrust his hands into his pockets and leaned against his desk.
‘It’s rule number eight, Mr Evans. Staff are only allowed to buy goods for their immediate family, especially sale goods, which are in high demand by our regular customers.’
‘If you are referring to the coat, I bought it for my sister-in-law, Miss Robertson,’ Joey lied glibly.
‘But Mrs Evans works for the company.’
‘I have two sisters-in-law, Miss Robertson. My eldest brother’s wife, Mrs Sali Evans, does indeed work for the company. But I thought that my other brother, Victor’s wife, Mrs Megan Evans, would appreciate a present after her confinement.’
Thora Robertson’s cheeks flamed crimson at his reference to pregnancy. ‘Please accept my apologies for raising the matter, Mr Evans.’
‘Who did you think I bought the coat for, Miss Robertson?’ he challenged.
‘I didn’t know …’ Her voice trailed off in embarrassment.
He turned to the window in his office that overlooked the shop floor. Tonia was standing behind the ladies’ underwear counter and he recalled asking her to relay a message about the coat to his assistant manager, Sam. She had seen him with Rhian, guessed that the coat had been for her and no doubt told the entire staff that he was buying a coat for Rhian Jones.
The displays, glass-fronted drawers and cupboards in Tonia’s section were immaculate. Her hair was neatly combed, her black dress and white lace collar prim and businesslike. She was the embodiment of the highly trained, efficient Gwilym James assistant, yet less than two weeks after she’d begun to work in the store, he was sorry he’d allowed her to talk him into taking her on. And not just because she was overly familiar with him during working hours.
The four-year age gap between them had led him to treat Tonia in much the same way Lloyd and Victor did; as an immature and occasionally annoying little sister. If they were closer than most cousins, it was simply because they lived in the same town and their respective families always celebrated birthdays, Christmas and Easter together. But since her first day in the store, Tonia had volunteered for every errand that brought her near his office, used every pretext to dog him and deliberately hung back when the store closed because his path to his father’s house took him past her mother’s shop.
Her crush on him was embarrassing and exasperating in equal measure. But the one thing he couldn’t understand after being subjected to her increasingly blatant flirting was the request she’d made for a transfer to the Pontypridd store soon after she’d started work. She’d informed Miss Robertson that she wanted to leave Tonypandy because too many people knew her in the town and came in to talk to her without any intention of buying anything.
It was an excellent excuse – if excuse it was – because the supervisor was continually shooing Tonia’s old school friends away from her counter. But he couldn’t help suspecting that another reason lay behind Tonia’s application. However, if there was one, he couldn’t fathom it. He would have gladly sent her to Timbuktu if it meant she’d leave him alone. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a vacancy in the Pontypridd store, and one wasn’t expected to arise for another month. He only hoped he could survive her irritating adoration until then.
Miss Robertson saw him staring at Tonia and realized she had been transparent in her reference to ‘gossip’. ‘Now you have acquainted me with the facts, Mr Evans, I will put an end to the girls’ rumour-mongering.’
‘See that you do, Miss Robertson.’ Joey retrieved the bag. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘No, Mr Evans.’
‘I will return at seven o’clock. In the meantime, should any problems arise, consult Mr Carter.’
Miss Robertson looked disapprovingly down her hooked nose. ‘Yes, Mr Evans.’
Joey tipped his hat and walked past her. Thora Robertson’s hostility towards his assistant manager, Samuel Carter, was another source of annoyance. At twenty-five, Sam was three years older than him, but unfortunately not as assertive, and Miss Robertson continually belittled him in an attempt to undermine his authority. It didn’t help that Sam, like the girls in her department, was terrified of her, and diffident and reluctant to give her orders.
Joey waved to Sam, who was overseeing the transfer of the last of the sales stock from the warehouse on to the shop floor, and quickened his step. For the next few hours Sam, Thora Robertson and Gwilym James would just have to get on without him as best they could. And, with any luck, every Thursday in future, because if that was the only day Rhian was free, he intended to spend as much of it with her as he possibly could.
He slowed his pace when he left the store and stopped to greet friends and neighbours as he strolled down Dunraven Street, but it was still only ten o’clock when he reached the station. Entering the nearest confectioner’s, he braved the hostility of an old girlfriend who served there and splashed out on a half-pound, shilling box of Rowntree’s assorted chocolates.
Between the chocolates, train fare, lunch in the City Restaurant and the film in the Park Hall he had promised Rhian, it was going to be an expensive day. But it would be money well spent if he succeeded in convincing her that he was serious about wanting to court her. He was behind the door, packing the chocolates into the carrier bag that held the coat, when Rhian walked in. She went to the counter without seeing him.
‘Two penny bars of Fry’s Five Boys chocolate, please.’
He tapped her on the shoulder. ‘You don’t have to get those. I’ve bought us a box.’
Rhian blushed when she saw the young female assistant staring at her. ‘They’re for Sali’s children.’
‘We’ll call in on her together.’ Joey dug his hand into his pocket again and pulled out two shillings. ‘I’ll have a tin of Mackintosh’s toffees as well, please, Sara.’
‘You two courting?’ Sara enquired bluntly.
‘Since when has courting been a criminal offence?’ Joey answered, avoiding her question.
‘Since you took it up,’ Sara retorted. ‘I’d be careful if I were you, miss. Think again before going out with this one. He had a girl for every day of the week and two for Sundays, even when we were in the babies’ class in school.’
‘We were three years old, Sara,’ Joey protested.
‘That didn’t stop you calling on me, or my dad from sending you packing. Everyone could see what you were like, even then.’ There was an edge to her flippant tone and Rhian had a feeling that Sara wasn’t just talking about when she and Joey had been three years old.
Joey dropped the toffees alongside the chocolates in his bag, opened the door and held it for Rhian. ‘Bye, Sara.’
‘Bye, Joey. Enjoy the chocolates, miss.’
Joey offered Rhian his arm as they walked up the street.
‘No, thank you,’ she refused primly.
‘It’s pointless trying to pretend that you’re not with me. Now that Sara has seen us together, it’ll be all over Tonypandy in an hour that we’re courting strong.’
‘But we’re not!’ she exclaimed indignantly.
‘If we’re not, why did you meet me?’
‘Because you promised to try to find me a coat,’ she blurted thoughtlessly.
‘Mercenary little thing, aren’t you? Will you shoot me if I tell you that I failed?’
Stung by his use of the word ‘mercenary’ and struggling to hide her disappointment, she said, ‘Thank you for trying,’ as graciously as she could.
‘The very least I can do for such a gushing display of disappointed gratitude is to buy you lunch.’
‘No, thank you. I really do have to look in the shops for a coat.’
‘A
nd afterwards, we’ll visit Sali and the children,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
‘I would prefer to call on them alone.’
‘Because if we call on them together, Sali will think that we’re courting?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Let her.’ He thrust his free hand into his overcoat pocket as they approached the ticket booth and pushed two silver threepenny joeys through the window. ‘Two returns to Pontypridd, please, Tom.’
Rhian waited until he had pocketed the tickets and they had walked on to the platform before opening her handbag. She lifted out her purse and extracted three pennies. ‘I will pay for my own train fare.’
‘I invited you out.’
‘And I refused to go with you.’
‘You’re here,’ he pointed out maddeningly. ‘And we made plans to have lunch and visit the Park Hall.’
‘You made plans, I didn’t.’
‘You wouldn’t disappoint me, would you? Not now we’ve come this far together.’ He smiled and looked into her eyes again and her heart seemed to move up into her throat, choking her.
When she finally found her voice she mumbled, ‘I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.’
‘So far, the only impression you’ve given me is that you’re inordinately fond of the word “no”.’
‘If we do lunch together and go to the Park Hall, it will be as friends. The sort of outing I would make with one of the girls I work with in Llan House.’
‘That’s the only way you will go out with me?’ he asked keenly.
‘Yes,’ she retorted firmly.
‘Then that’s the way it will have to be.’ He took her three pennies and pushed them into his pocket. ‘But you will allow me to try to make it more?’
‘Not today.’
‘Next week?’ he suggested optimistically.
A signal clunked lower down the track. A whistle blew and a train chugged slowly and noisily towards them, belching out smut-laden steam.
Rhian remembered Bronwen’s story about her sister, and imagined the devastation Ruby must have felt at losing a boyfriend she had been fond of. And it would be so easy to become fond of Joey – if she allowed him to get close to her. ‘Not ever,’ she said decisively.
Sinners and Shadows Page 3
