Beata was quick to right this impression. ‘Cook’s been very kind to me. I don’t like to let her down.’
‘I’ll go too then.’ Augusta unwound the fur stole and handed it back to Aunt Ethel as the party made its casual way back to the house.
A short time later, the sisters made ready to catch the bus to York, voicing the hope that all would enjoy another get-together soon, possibly at Christmas.
* * *
Whilst Augusta alighted in the city, Beata travelled onwards along the country road. It was a long walk from the bus stop and when she got home she felt not a little despondent, for her leg throbbed unmercifully. The windowless stone passage was dark and the kitchen at the other end of it seemed oddly quiet considering there was meant to be a dinner party being prepared.
Groping her way in, the first thing she saw was an array of tiny flames in the centre of the table – then there was a unified cry of, ‘Happy birthday, Beata!’ And she saw that they had laid on a little party with sandwiches, sausage rolls, cakes, the master’s fine linen and crystal glasses.
It was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for her and she felt tears spring to her eyes, but managed to blink them away as she was dragged into their happy midst and presented with gifts.
‘Sorry for having you on this morning,’ chuckled Mrs Temple, ‘but we had to make sure what time you’d be home.’ With podgy little fingers she handed over a flat parcel which, when opened, revealed a pair of tea towels. ‘Put them in your bottom drawer,’ whispered the cook, patting the youngster knowingly. ‘They’re good quality.’
Beata said she could see that they were, passing similar compliment over the gift which Lucy gave her, a monogrammed towel.
‘I’ve never had such nice things,’ breathed the recipient, deeply grateful. ‘I shan’t know what to do with them.’
‘You shouldn’t be so popular then, Beat,’ laughed Lucy.
Even the butler showed his appreciation of her by acquiescing to Percy’s cheeky enquiry – ‘Can we give her a birthday kiss, Mr Spaven?’ – this inspiring other young men to line up and follow suit, and this for Beata was the nicest moment of all for, without giving away any secrets, she got to kiss the one she loved.
Was it just her fond imagination or did Jack’s lips stray a little closer to her mouth than all the rest?
* * *
After that birthday kiss there were few others – one at Christmas when she and Jack had chanced to coincide beneath the mistletoe, another to wish her farewell as she embarked on her second holiday to Scarborough – but these were chaste events, with witnesses abounding, and Beata lived for the moment when Jack might finally pluck up the courage to show his true love.
Still, she remained optimistic, making frequent purchases for her bottom drawer whenever she and Lucy went to town, for money was one thing she did not lack. For all that her lover might be backwards in showing his affection, she was well regarded in general and on her recent seventeenth birthday had been promoted to housemaid, her hard work earning her regular bonuses so that over the two and a half years she had been here her wage had risen to two pounds ten shillings per month – enough to procure the piano lessons she had so long coveted.
Promotion or no, her culinary skills were still required on Mrs Temple’s day off, and today she was down in the kitchen taking last-minute instruction on the day’s menu.
Having given them, the overweight cook bumbled off to fetch her hat. ‘My goodness, I hope it doesn’t get much hotter than this.’ Already a warm morning, the fire had driven the thermometer towards eighty, promising a rough day for the toilers of the kitchen.
Beata saw that the cook’s shoes were unfastened. ‘Eh, you’ll be tripping over those laces, Mrs Temple!’
The answer was impatient. ‘Oh, I’m sick of trying to get down there! I have a job even to get them on and off, let alone fasten them. If I mess about any longer I’ll miss my bus.’ With perspiring brow and laboured breathing the huge young woman put on her hat and waddled to the door.
‘You’ll be breaking your neck! Let me do them for you. It’ll take ten seconds.’ Respectfully pleading for Cook to sit down, Beata kneeled at her feet.
‘What’s this, worshipping at the Temple?’ Percy returned from a trip upstairs and immediately removed his jacket and false dickie to reveal bare arms and a singlet.
‘Beaty’s saving my neck,’ riposted Mrs Temple. ‘Which is more than any of you care about.’
This comment was aimed mainly at the butler. Too involved in grating chocolate onto a slice of bread, Mr Spaven completely ignored the riposte, folded the bread over to make a sandwich and disappeared into his room with a newspaper.
‘What sort of disgusting person eats chocolate first thing on a morning?’ demanded Cook, then: ‘Oh, thank you, Beat, you’re an angel.’
‘You’re welcome, Mrs Temple.’ Beata stole a glance at Percy’s bare muscular arms, then used the edge of the table to haul herself up. ‘I’ve done a double knot so they don’t undo. Just give me a shout tonight when you want them taking off. We can make it a regular thing if you like.’
‘Why, thank you, dear, I’ll take up your kind offer.’ Mrs Temple gathered her belongings and directed her sixteen-stone carcass to the door. ‘You do them every morning and night and I’ll pay you one and six a week, how’s that?’
‘One and six!’ shrieked Percy. ‘Eh, I’ll do them, Mrs Temple.’
‘No, you won’t – and get some clothes on. These girls don’t want your hairy armpits under their noses all day. That’s settled then, Beata.’
‘Oh, I don’t want pay—’
‘I know you’d do them out of the goodness of your heart but while others might take you for granted I shan’t.’ Cook was adamant. ‘You get paid and that’s that.’ She slammed the door behind her.
Beata was delighted at this bonus and pointed out her own increasing girth to no one in particular. ‘It’ll come in handy. I shall have to fork out for a new uniform soon. This one’s a bit of a squeeze.’
‘A woman looks better with some meat on her.’ Jack entered to collect a bucket and sponge to wash the car. ‘But don’t be spending your own money, tell the mistress.’
‘But didn’t you have to buy yours, Jack?’ Both he and the butler had just acquired new suits.
‘You must be joking – on my wage?’ Jack admired his own smart blue jacket with its shiny metal buttons before hanging it over the back of a chair and rolling up his sleeves. ‘It’s a shame to keep it just for work. I thought I might wear it for a night out on Saturday. Major’s said I can borrow the car.’
‘Oh, off anywhere nice?’ Lucy came in with a collection of boots and shoes to clean and dropped them at Percy’s feet to loud complaint.
‘Just for a pint as usual, I suppose.’
‘There’s a dance on in Fulford,’ announced Lucy. ‘Me and Beata have got Saturday evening off too. We were talking about going, weren’t we?’
Sensing connivance, Beata gave her friend a scolding glare.
It did no good, Lucy asking her brother, ‘Why don’t you come with us?’
‘Give you a lift in the car, you mean,’ cognized Jack. ‘And pay for you to get in as well, I shouldn’t doubt.’
‘Aw, isn’t he a kind brother, Beat?’ Lucy grinned at her friend. ‘Thank you, Jack, we accept.’
Beata chuckled, but a few days later when she and Lucy were wandering around town on their afternoon off, looking for suitable attire to wear for the dance, she opined, ‘You shouldn’t really force him to take us if he’d arranged something else…’
‘Rubbish! He’ll never get round to asking you if left to his own devices.’
‘That’s what I mean. Maybe he doesn’t want to.’ Much as she adored him and the rare kisses they had shared, after so many fruitless months Beata was beginning to think his feelings were not as strong as hers.
‘A blind man could tell he likes you! He just needs a good push. I know he’s chatty b
ut he’s not very forward with women.’
Beata knew this from witnessing Jack’s subservience to his mother at home. But, ‘He wouldn’t need pushing if I were pretty enough.’
‘You are!’ Lucy responded on an impulse of kindness; it was true that Beata was not at all pretty but she was a dear girl and always ready to laugh. ‘You just need to make the most of what you’ve got. Aw, look at those lovely shoes!’ She halted and gazed into the shop window. ‘Didn’t you say you need some?’
Beata dismissed the high heels. ‘I’d never be able to wear them with my leg.’
‘You don’t have to wear them all the time, just for special occasions, and your leg’s all right at the moment. Go on, Beat, be a devil.’
Surrendering, Beata went in to try on the lizard-skin shoes, commenting as she tottered, ‘It’s just as well they’ve got a strap. I don’t know how I’d keep them on otherwise.’ But she had to agree they were elegant and, under Lucy’s encouragement, finally bought them.
‘Well, if you can be a devil so can I,’ grinned Lucy, making for the lipstick counter in Boots. ‘Don’t tell Mother, though. She’d go mad.’
* * *
Normally when the pair went out Beata would go to the lodge for tea, but this Saturday evening it was Lucy who came over to the big house, getting ready in her friend’s room. Donning flesh-pink stockings instead of the usual working black, Beata stepped into her green dance frock and stood whilst Lucy did up the buttons at the back, she returning the favour. Despite a brassiere to flatten the chest, neither she nor Lucy had the nymphlike proportions required for high fashion, a shelf of bosom marring the dress’s straight lines. Overlooking the shelf to admire her scalloped hemline, she spent a moment of doubt over the lizard-skin shoes but Lucy assured her they would be fine. Then, both wearing the forbidden crimson lipstick and a dusting of powder, they scampered quickly to the car and averted their faces as their chauffeur drove past the lodge just in case Mrs Lister might be watching and drag Lucy out to scrub her clean.
Jack was disapproving of their titters. ‘I don’t know why you want to clart yourself up like a couple of flappers. You’ll be attracting the wrong sort of attention.’
Lucy rolled her eyes at Beata, who suffered a moment of misgiving over her application of lipstick.
Then followed a six-mile drive to Fulford.
No attempt had been made to decorate the church hall, which was completely bare apart from a row of chairs down each side, but this feeling of austerity was outweighed by the band on the stage, who played a lively tune. At the opposite end to the stage was a table containing soft drinks, an urn of tea, cups and saucers and glasses.
‘Well, fetch us a drink then!’ the dominant Lucy prompted her brother.
Frowning, Jack examined the contents of his pocket before asking what she and Beata would like.
‘Lemonade,’ replied Lucy. ‘Come on, Beat, we’ll go bag us some chairs.’
Some moments later, weaving a passage gingerly through the dancers, Jack joined them with two glasses, which he handed to the girls. When he sat down Lucy nudged him and cocked her head towards Beata.
‘What?’ Jack looked blank.
Lucy tutted and turned cheerfully to her friend. ‘Yes, I’m sure Beata would love to dance, wouldn’t you? Here, I’ll hold your pop!’
It was the first time since Christmas that Beata had held his hand. It felt warm and dry and masculine. Brimming with happiness, she placed her other hand on his arm and they set off at a waltz.
That particular dance was soon to end but Jack showed no rush to get back to his chair and asked her for another spin around the room – the lipstick had not put him off after all. He would have engaged her for a third but a happy Beata glanced at Lucy sitting alone with two glasses of lemonade and said, ‘It’s a bit mean of us. Maybe you should dance with your sister for a while.’
Hence it was Beata’s turn to sit holding the lemonade and watch the dancers, but not for long; a young man approached and asked if she would partner him. Startled, she looked him up and down, at a loss what to do, both with the glasses of lemonade and with him. A slight, brown-haired figure with a hesitant smile and kind blue eyes, he was clad in a sports jacket with grey Oxford bags. Finally responding with an apologetic laugh she indicated the tumblers, then glanced at Jack and Lucy. Spotting her friend’s predicament Lucy mouthed emphatically, ‘Go on!’
Still, Beata hesitated. Would Jack mind? It wasn’t as if they were courting. Might she have overestimated his feeling for her? What if she was saving herself for nothing? She could not pass up this opportunity. Making firm decision, she smiled and announced, ‘I’ll just put these glasses under the chair.’ So doing, she was free to take his hand.
The first circuit of the dance floor was fine. The young man introduced himself as Gordon, and, given Beata’s name, said, ‘I was wanting to ask you to dance before but I didn’t want to tread on any toes, so to speak.’ He laughed. ‘I mean the chap you came in with, I wasn’t sure whether you were already walking out with him but when I saw him partnering your friend I thought it safe to come and ask.’
Beata explained quickly that the two were brother and sister and she herself was unattached. Seemingly pleased to hear this, Gordon held her a little closer and nothing more was said as they enjoyed the rest of the dance. He wasn’t half as attractive as Jack, nor did she feel any affection for him, but the attentiveness was very flattering. Moreover, as she glanced over his shoulder she saw that Jack was eyeing Gordon’s every move with a scowl of jealousy on his face. Why, Lucy had been right about making the most of herself with high heels and make-up. She had never had this effect on men before.
Pleased at having made Jack reveal his true feelings, when the dance ended she intended to go back to sit with him and Lucy, but Gordon held firmly to her small hand. ‘Might I have another one?’
Beata nodded happily, though when the band struck up a jazzy number, she looked abashed. ‘Oh dear, I’m not very good at this.’
‘Me neither,’ admitted Gordon, ‘but I’m willing to give it a go.’ And he launched her into a charleston.
Trying to concentrate on the lively steps whilst also attempting to gauge Jack’s mood was difficult, but somehow amid all the gyrating Beata managed to snatch a glimpse of him. So pleased was she to see his jealous response that she put even more gusto into her dancing. It was a huge mistake. Unfamiliar with her high-heeled shoes and the speedy tune, distracted by Jack, drunk on happiness, she missed her footing and speared one of her heels through a turn-up of the Oxford bags.
One foot pinned to the floor, Gordon tottered, tried to take a step backwards but, still skewered by the heel did not, as it were, have a leg to stand on. He toppled over, barging into several other dancers on the way down and pulling Beata on top of him.
Deeply embarrassed but finding it hilarious too, Beata gave in to laughter, trying desperately to free herself. ‘Oh dear, I think I’ve ripped your trousers!’ Even as she rolled off, her foot remained entangled in the baggy material.
‘If you persist in such behaviour I shall have to ask you to leave!’
She looked up to see the church official who was in charge glaring down at the couple on the floor.
In the determined struggle to remove her heel from the material Beata, still helpless with silent laughter, heard another ripping sound and apologized profusely as she scrambled to her feet. Gordon rose too, with a rueful downcast eye examining his dangling turn-up.
Head down and blushing, Beata excused her way through the crowd of dancers and hurried to retrieve her lemonade from under her seat, not daring to look at her friends but burying her embarrassment in the glass, feeling that every eye was upon her. And the most adverse reaction of all emanated from Jack.
So recently hilarious, the evening now seemed ruined. Not only had she spoiled her opportunity of romance with another but Jack seemed disgusted with her. When he made the cool suggestion that they leave early she did not object.
Lucy tried to cheer her up as they went to reclaim their jackets from the cloakroom, saying it had been awfully comical to watch.
Beata laughed too, making fun of herself, but inside she despaired that she had ruined her chance of matrimony.
However, when they went outside into the summery night to rejoin Jack he seemed to have calmed down a little and even smiled as he opened the car door for them, lending Beata the hope that she might earn his forgiveness. Just before she got in, though, she heard the sound of running footsteps through the dark and turned to see Gordon.
‘I just wanted to apologize for embarrassing you in there!’ He stood panting and bright-eyed, holding onto the edge of the car door. ‘It was my awful dancing that caused it.’
‘I think we were on equal footing,’ Beata chuckled forgivingly.
With dark expression, Jack snorted and went to crank the car, dealing the starting handle several vicious turns before the engine sputtered into life.
Coming back to where the girls stood with Gordon, he bade the latter tersely, ‘Will you take your hands off my car?’
‘Sorry.’ Gordon complied but soon returned his attention to Beata. ‘Could I make it up to you by taking you to the pictures one night next week?’
Seeing that Jack’s face had adopted its thunderous look again, Beat faltered. If he wanted her why had he dallied so? But before she could answer he interjected, ‘Don’t you think you’ve done enough harm to this young lady’s reputation?’ He brandished the starting handle at Gordon. ‘Anyway, she can’t go, she’s walking out with me.’
Shocked but pleasurably so, Beata gawped at him.
Instantly contrite, Gordon backed away. ‘Oh, I thought… Well, you said …’
‘Sorry,’ Beata winced apologetically.
But it was obvious he thought she had been stringing him along and he dealt her the most hateful look as he lurched away.
Lucy chastised her brother. ‘What did you say that for? You’ve just ruined Beat’s chances.’
A Different Kind of Love Page 56
