The Wild Seed

by Iris Gower

  Less than fifteen minutes later, she left the bank with nothing but a faint hope in her heart. The edict of the great man of banking had been that she had two weeks to get backing for her scheme from outside. The bank would hold off for a little while, but in no way could the bank advance Mrs Grenfell any further funds.

  Hari breathed in the freshness of the air, the rain that had beaten down on the town for days had stopped and a pale sun shone from between the clouds. She moved along the street almost in a daze, searching her mind for a way out of her dilemma. If the banks would not lend her money, then who would? Who could? In her mind she compiled a list of people to whom she could appeal for financial backing. One by one she discarded them until it came down to just two names: Arian Smale, owner of the highly profitable Swansea Times and Boyo Jubilee Hopkins, a fellow dealer in the leather trade and by all accounts a very rich man.

  With courage born of desperation, Hari Grenfell walked towards the offices of The Swansea Times. The clatter of typewriting machines hit her like a stone wall and she hesitated for a moment, unsure what to do next. She had expected to see Arian Smale in person but the room was full of men and just one or two girls tapping away at machines with the confidence of the young. An elderly man with fine eyes and a slightly sardonic twist to his mouth looked up at her.

  ‘I would like to see Miss Smale, if it is at all possible.’ Why was she so diffident? Why did she not act like the grand lady everyone thought her? But then, it had never been her way to feel superior to anyone.

  The man inclined his head. ‘Mrs Grenfell, isn’t it?’ His mouth widened into a smile and she responded, liking him.

  ‘That’s right, how sharp of you to recognize me.’

  ‘Not really, I’ve been reporting on the doings of the gentry for so many years now that I know most of the town’s élite by sight if not by name.’

  ‘I am not one of the élite, I assure you,’ Hari said quickly. ‘I began life as a shoemaker’s daughter and I’m proud of it.’

  ‘I know. I’m Mac. Wait here, I’ll go and find Miss Smale.’

  Hari tried to compose herself, she was very nervous, wondering how she was going to approach Arian Smale, how she was going to bring herself to ask for money. She thought of Craig waiting for her at home and lifted her chin high, knowing that she needed to summon all her resolve.

  ‘Hari Grenfell, how nice to see you!’ Arian was a beautiful woman, her hair was fine and silver in colour, swept up from a gracious, swan-like neck. Her smile was warm but would that warmth fade when she knew what Hari wanted?

  In the office, Hari clasped her hands together as though the gesture could give her strength. ‘I might as well come straight to the point,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I am here to ask you to invest money in my new business venture.’

  ‘Sit down, Hari.’ Arian seated herself behind the desk but leaned forward on her elbows, smiling her encouragement. ‘I must say I’m intrigued. What scheme are you up to now, haven’t you proved yourself a success many times over?’

  ‘I thought so until the day before yesterday.’ Hari swallowed hard trying to find the right words.

  ‘Some disaster has occurred, of a financial kind, I suspect; am I right?’ Arian was a perceptive woman and Hari met her eyes knowing that there was no need to prevaricate, Arian was quick-witted enough to grasp the essentials without detailed explanations.

  ‘Everything has gone,’ she spoke with more confidence now, ‘I have no money at all. Worse, my company is in debt to the bank and to cap it all I’m in danger of losing Summer Lodge. However, I do have an idea that might just save the day if only I can get someone to back me.’

  ‘What can I do to help?’ Arian leaned back in her chair, ‘I am willing to put money into any scheme run personally by you, Hari.’

  ‘I want to turn the house into a new kind of emporium, I want to design new-style shoes, I want to make gloves and hats on the premises and serve teas, anything to promote the interest in handmade leather goods and footwear. I think it will work, I know there is a corner of the market that needs filling, people are growing tired of the machine-made shoes that are two a penny.’ Hari paused for breath and saw that Arian was nodding.

  ‘How much do you need?’

  ‘Whatever you can spare.’

  ‘You shall have my cheque for 1,000 guineas by tomorrow.’

  Hari was overcome at the ease with which Arian had agreed to invest money in what was a risky concern at best and a total failure at worst.

  ‘Thank you, Arian, I won’t let you down.’ She had to swallow hard to prevent herself from shedding tears. Arian touched her shoulder.

  ‘I know you won’t.’ She accompanied Hari to the door of The Swansea Times and took her hand in a firm grip. ‘I have every confidence in you; I know your strengths and more importantly, so do you. Good luck to you, Hari Grenfell.’

  Hari was trembling as she left the newspaper offices. For a time she walked without purpose, unable to believe her luck; Arian Smale had faith in her, she had said so. The thought gave Hari renewed courage as she turned into College Street towards Gower Place where Boyo Jubilee Hopkins kept a small office.

  To Hari’s disappointment, Mr Hopkins was not there. ‘Duw, don’t get into town much do Mr Hopkins, no need, like, his business runs itself.’ The young woman seated at the desk had large blue eyes, before her was a typewriting machine but it was covered in dust, testifying to the truth of her words.

  ‘I see, well thank you.’ Hari left the office and stepped out into the sunshine. To her right was a farrier’s stable and the sound of hooves against cobbles rang out in the fresh morning air. She glanced around and saw, with a leap of her heart, that Boyo Hopkins was leading an animal towards the roadway.

  ‘Mr Hopkins, may I talk with you?’ She stepped forward and he smiled down at her, a tall young man with a shock of hair that jutted out from beneath his cap.

  ‘Mrs Grenfell, good day to you.’ He spoke in beautiful accents, he was reputed to be one of the richest men in Swansea and yet his origins were something of a mystery.

  ‘I need help with a business venture,’ she said quickly, ‘I know this is neither the time nor the place but I understand that you do not come in to work at your office very often, so please forgive me for accosting you in the street.’

  ‘Please, don’t worry about that, Mrs Grenfell. Tell me how I can help.’

  ‘Money, investment,’ Hari said quickly. ‘I have one backer, Miss Smale of The Swansea Times, but I need another.’

  ‘I see.’ Boyo Hopkins was clearly puzzled. ‘Why have you approached me?’ He smiled to soften his words. ‘Not that I am adverse to having a business flutter, mind you.’

  ‘This will be more than a flutter, I assure you. I am talking to you because you have been in the leather business since you were young, you know good leather, you know the best way to tan the hides and where to buy the best skins; I know how to make the skins into fine footwear. I believe we share a kinship for the leather we work. To come to the point, what I need first and foremost is at least 3,000 guineas.’

  ‘You are very direct,’ Boyo said. He glanced around him. ‘The street is not the best place to do business, however. Would you like to call on me at my home and discuss this further?’

  Hari felt her spirits begin to fall. ‘It’s urgent, I need an answer now.’ She looked up at him earnestly: ‘I must be honest with you. I have no funds of my own, I am ruined; I need to take drastic measures if I am to survive but I promise you that I will make the business work, I have the skill, believe me.’

  ‘I know, your reputation is solid gold in the town.’ Boyo Hopkins seemed to reach a decision. ‘I’ll take a chance, it’s a long time since I acted on gut instinct alone. I’ll fund your venture to the tune of 2,000 guineas. Tell me the name of your bank and I will deposit the money as soon as I can.’

  ‘Within the next few days?’ Hari was appalled at her own daring but Boyo smiled.

  ‘Very well, wi
ll tomorrow do?’

  Hari gave him the name of her bank and he nodded. ‘Right, Mrs Grenfell, if our business is concluded, I’ll wish you good day.’ Hari was jubilant as she turned towards home; she decided to walk up to Summer Lodge, it would do her good to walk, she would enjoy the fresh air, clear her mind and make her plans. She had at her disposal 3,000 guineas, far more money than she had dared to hope for. Fear clutched at her, cramping her stomach. Had she taken on too much responsibility? It could be that she would still lose and end up owing more money than she had to start with. She looked up at the sky and stood, for a moment, with the pale sun shining on her face. She felt a surge of strength, she would not lose, she had not lost her touch, she had been a success once and she would be again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The morning sun illuminated the silk hangings on the walls of the dining-room. An appetizing smell of hot food rose from the plethora of silver dishes gracing the side-board but Bethan did not feel like eating. Catherine O’Conner had stayed only one night but her visit had caused ripples that had not yet died down.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ She had not been alone with Boyo these past few days, since the night of Catherine’s visit, and she’d had the absurd idea that her husband was avoiding her. Her throat was dry as she waited for his reply. He appeared absurdly young in his silk robe, carelessly thrown over his bare torso. Normally she would have chastized him with easy humour, admonishing him to dress properly before appearing at the table but this morning such matters seemed trivial.

  ‘What?’ He looked up at her across the expanse of table and she shook her head with rare impatience, ‘The girl, of course.’ Any moment now, Father would be joining them, there would be little opportunity to talk then.

  ‘What is there to say?’ He was prevaricating and they both knew it. He helped himself to coffee from the silver pot. ‘Catherine is an old friend, she needed help and she came to me, that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘An old friend you took to bed. Don’t treat me like a fool, Boyo. Are you in love with her?’ She looked at Boyo with clear eyes, daring him to tell her the truth whatever it was.

  He did not answer, she saw the tightening of his lips but she was compelled to go on questioning him. ‘Have you got this girl into trouble, is that it?’

  He shook his head almost wearily. ‘No, I haven’t, as you so quaintly put it, got the girl into trouble’.

  The door opened and Bethan rose quickly to greet her father, she flashed Boyo a warning glance but he was looking down at his cup and did not see her.

  ‘Bore da.’ Dafydd came towards the table, his gaze sliding over his son-in-law’s state of undress, with nothing to show his disapproval except a slight tightening of his lips.

  ‘Daddy, what do you want, tea, coffee?’ Bethan took her father’s arm, leading him to the table. Almost immediately, Boyo rose and smiled apologetically.

  ‘I shall take my tea to my room and I won’t return until I am properly shaved and dressed. Please excuse me.’

  Bethan watched him with worried eyes and her father rested his hand on her shoulder. ‘What is it, Bethan?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, Daddy.’

  ‘I mean there is a feeling of unrest about the house since the rude O’Conner girl’s visit and it is a feeling I do not much like.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Father.’ Bethan was aware she sounded abrupt but she felt no remorse, whatever might be wrong was between herself and her husband, nothing to do with her father.

  Breakfast seemed to go on interminably, her father ate slowly, his teeth after all were old. Bethan felt like screaming at him to hurry.

  At last, when he rose from the table, dropping his immaculate napkin beside his plate, she rose too, sighing in relief. ‘I shan’t be long, Daddy, I have things to do.’ She hurried from the dining-room, aware that her behaviour was very much removed from her usual placid calm.

  Upstairs, the sun slanted fingers along the huge landing, lighting the faces of the portraits on the walls: Bethan’s ancestors. She looked at the painting of Elizabeth Llewellyn who died tragically at an early age, she might almost be looking at her own image, except that Elizabeth had a beauty, a grace of feature that Bethan knew she lacked.

  Bethan entered her bedroom and sank onto an ornately upholstered chair in the window, staring down at the sea far below. What was between her husband and the young girl with the red hair? What secrets did they share from their past, the past that had nothing to do with Bethan, Boyo’s wife.

  It was an absurd revelation, but in that moment Bethan knew what she’d suspected for some time. She had believed she had married Boyo out of friendship, out of mutual admiration and trust and because they were both lonely people who felt each could give the other a great deal. Oh, yes, she had married him for all those reasons but underneath it all, she had married Boyo Hopkins because she loved him.

  The farmhouse came into sight, the building dark against the light of the sky. Across the valley the jagged teeth of the ruined tannery buildings sent shadows across the ground that appeared, from this distance, to be gaping holes.

  Boyo had been thinking about business as he rode into Swansea, pondering on the problems that had forced Hari Grenfell to come to him cap in hand, so to speak. He had been happy to assist her, her reputation in Swansea as a fine and honest businesswoman was unsurpassed. Even if he was throwing good money away on a hopeless enterprise, he could well afford it, he would not miss the money he had paid into the Hammet Bank. Still, that was not the point, it was perhaps foolish to hand such sums willy-nilly to anyone who asked him for help.

  As he approached the farmhouse and saw Catherine run towards him, her skirts lifting in the breeze, thoughts of business went out of his head.

  ‘Boyo,’ she paused, breathless, her colour high, her mouth, that sweet, kissable mouth, trembling. ‘I’m glad you came; my father won’t speak to me, he’s ashamed of me, the way I stayed out all night. He thinks the worst, you must talk to him for me.’

  Boyo dismounted from his horse and resisted the longing to take Catherine in his arms. When he had taken her home, a few days ago, he had not waited to talk to her parents, it had seemed tactful to keep out of it, but now he was troubled, feeling he had avoided his responsibilities.

  ‘And you must be in trouble, too, with your wife. I shouldn’t have come to your house, I’m sorry, Boyo, but I didn’t know …’ Her voice trailed away and guilt gripped him. Catherine looked up at him, her silky hair streaming about her face as she stood close to him.

  ‘Let’s worry about your problems, solve those before we talk of mine, shall we?’

  ‘Boyo,’ she leaned against him and he could smell the perfume of her skin; desire flamed through him and such love that he hadn’t believed possible. With sudden clarity, he realized that Catherine was everything to him. He was glad that their affair was out in the open; now perhaps Bethan would agree to giving him a divorce. The thought was not without pain, he hated the idea of hurting Bethan, divorce brought scandalmongers out from the woodwork, however innocent the injured party.

  ‘Mam and Dad are angry with me but they will listen when you explain what happened; that I stayed at your house with you, that we love each other … You do love me, don’t you Boyo?’

  He kissed her then, pressing her sweetness against him. ‘I do love you, Catherine and we will be together, I promise you.’

  She touched his face. ‘You must tell my father that I can’t marry this Liam Cullen; it’s out of the question. I would die if Dad made me go to Ireland, away from you.’

  Boyo took Catherine’s hand and approached the farmhouse door with some trepidation; from what he remembered of Jamie O’Conner the man was independent, fiercely proud, a man who would not be lightly swayed.

  As he drew nearer the farmhouse, he saw Jamie himself come to the door. He felt Catherine stiffen and eased his arm over her shoulder. ‘It’s going to be all right, no-one can force you into a marriage that you do
not want.’

  ‘So, it’s Boyo, the tannery worker, the one who took my hospitality, who courted my stepdaughter. Now, sure enough, you are after my youngest, my only surviving child, ruining her reputation along the way. I think you have a great deal of explaining to do.’

  ‘Dad,’ Catherine interrupted, ‘just listen, let Boyo talk.’

  Jamie took Catherine by the shoulders. ‘Go inside, I’ll talk to you later.’

  Boyo looped the reins of his horse over a post. He moved towards the door but Jamie barred his way. ‘I never invited you to step over my threshold and I would be obliged if you would give me your explanation, if there is one, and then leave me and my family in peace.’

  ‘I can’t do that, Mr O’Conner.’ Boyo suddenly felt all the old insecurities swamp him. Once, many summers ago, when he had been just above sixteen years of age he had come to this very farmhouse with nothing and had been made welcome. Now, he was no longer welcome.

  He had come a long way from those penniless days but not in the eyes of Jamie O’Conner. To the Irishman he was still Boyo, the labourer, the boy who owned nothing.

  ‘If Boyo can’t come inside then I won’t either,’ Catherine said firmly.

  ‘Go indoors when I tell you.’ Jamie’s eyes blazed and he took a step towards Boyo. ‘Get on with you, back where you belong.’

  ‘No,’ Fon had come outside, drying her hands on a cloth, her fair hair escaping from the pins that held it away from her face. ‘Come in, Boyo, I once said you would always be welcome here and I meant it.’

  She gave her husband a hard look and, after a moment, Jamie stepped aside. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘since you have made my family’s business your own you might as well come and hear what I have to say.’

  Inside the kitchen it was bright and cheerful, just as Boyo remembered it. He was taken back, as though swept by an unseen wave. He saw again April’s sweet face, her eyes looking into his; felt a pang of pain for the love that had been between them.

  ‘You have seen fit to hide yourself away from me since your night of sin with my girl and I am waiting for an explanation.’ Jamie stood proudly before the fireplace, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes hostile.