by Iris Gower
Liam sat for a long time, staring into the empty sitting-room, unaware of the furniture or of the sunshine slanting in the window, unaware of the sound of the birds in the garden or the tinkle of teacups from the dining-room. He was pondering over his conversation with Mrs Hopkins, she had been out to fool him into delaying his hand, keeping quiet until whatever plan she was hatching was complete.
Yet on reflection, it did make sense that Catherine would want to keep Honey’s Farm and if that entailed selling herself to a married man, then perhaps that was a sacrifice she was willing to make.
He frowned, would it be a sacrifice or did she want to be with this man, whatever it cost her? He was restless, his efforts to find her had come to nought, it might well be that she did not wish to be found. But if only he could talk to her again, try to persuade her that he could offer her not only a successful farm in Ireland but the respectability of marriage too.
The most likely way to find Catherine was to seek out Hopkins. If Boyo’s wife had told even a fraction of the truth, then her husband would know exactly where Catherine was.
Liam could not find Seamus anywhere in the hotel, the lawyer must be out working on his case, perhaps he would have more information by the time they met up again in the evening.
Outside, the pavement was damp with rain but the shower had been brief and now vapour was rising into the air as the sun warmed the streets.
Liam raised his hand to summon one of the cabs that stood waiting outside the hotel. As he climbed aboard, he gave the driver the address of Hopkins’s offices in town and then sank back in his seat. Something was very wrong, his uneasiness was growing, he had a gut feeling that Catherine was not with Hopkins but soon he would prove it one way or another.
Hopkins agreed to see him immediately which came as a surprise to Liam. He had expected to be kept waiting in the elegant hallway of the ornate old building. As he rose and made his way towards the inner office, Liam could not help noticing the rich panelling and the patina on the old wood that covered the walls of the corridors. It was clear that Boyo Hopkins was a very rich man indeed.
Boyo did not rise to greet him, he simply gestured for Liam to take a seat on the opposite side of his enormous desk. He appeared relaxed, in complete control of the situation and why shouldn’t he, the man was holding all the cards?
‘How can I help you?’ He spoke strongly in a fine English accent that denoted a man of letters and yet had he not once been just a simple tannery worker? In spite of himself, Liam found he had a grudging admiration for Hopkins.
‘I want to know where Catherine is,’ Liam said, his voice giving nothing away. If Hopkins could play his cards close to his chest then so could he, Liam thought.
‘You have echoed my own thoughts exactly.’ The answer was quietly spoken but rang with truth. Liam frowned.
‘Then she is not with you?’
‘I only wish she was.’ Hopkins was still relaxed but his eyes were alive, taking everything in. ‘What made you think I would know where Catherine was hiding herself?’
‘Is that what she’s doing then, hiding herself?’ It was like a game of cat and mouse, neither man willing to give too much away.
‘You tell me. Look, Mr Cullen, I don’t know why you are here. If I knew where Catherine was I would be with her, it’s as simple as that.’
‘Are you not concerned with finding her, then?’ Liam asked, his composure slipping a little.
‘Of course I am concerned. I have tried to trace Catherine without success. I had almost come round to believing she was with you.’
‘It seems we were both barking up the wrong tree.’ Liam leaned forward.
‘Your wife came to me, begging me to call off my inquiry into the sale of Honey’s Farm. Why did she do that, have you any idea?’
Boyo’s eyes narrowed. ‘I have no idea and I am not in the mood to speculate on what my wife does. I would appreciate it if you would keep my wife out of this.’
‘How can I? She told me that you and Catherine wished to set up home on the farm, is that true?’
‘I would like nothing better than to set up home with Catherine but it would not be on a farm, I assure you.’ He rose, he was a big man, well-built, handsome, no wonder Catherine was in love with him.
‘I suggest we conclude this meeting, neither of us appears to be gaining anything from it.’
Liam rose and walked to the door. There, he turned and looked back at Hopkins. ‘Sure ’tis an awful thing to ache to hold a woman in your arms again, to make love to her – again.’
He saw Hopkins wince at his words and Liam knew that his barb had struck home. ‘Why don’t you keep out of her life?’ Liam’s tone was harsh. ‘I offered Catherine the one thing you could not, a respectable marriage.’ Liam wanted to turn the knife, ‘She was sweet and loving and I want to taste that again. I want her to bear my children. I want to put a ring on her finger.’
Boyo was staring at him with anger. ‘Are you sure you do not mean through her nose?’ he said. ‘Now good day to you, Mr Cullen, you have taken up enough of my time.’
Liam left the office feeling his satisfaction fade, what had he gained? Nothing except to score a cheap point over a man who quite obviously loved Catherine as much as he did, judging by the expression in his eyes.
Liam looked around wishing he had the power of second sight, the power to search out Catherine with his mind and bring her to him from wherever she was. A dray rumbled past him, too close for comfort and turning, Liam began to walk back to his hotel.
As he entered the faded portals of the Castle Hotel he was confronted by two burly constables. They flanked him in a way that could only mean trouble and Liam felt his hackles rise.
‘Yes?’ He tensed as one of the men moved a little closer to him.
‘Mr Cullen, Mr Liam Cullen?’ The man seemed to tower above Liam, his moustache quivered, as though with anticipation, and Liam’s gut reaction was to flee.
‘I’m Sergeant Meadows, this is Constable Danby, we want to ask you a few questions, sir, that’s all.’ The constable smiled almost apologetically.
‘Right then, ask,’ Liam said, standing his ground, blocking the exit to the street.
‘Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your room, less public-like, sir?’
‘Just state your business,’ Liam said. ‘What do you want with me?’
‘It is a matter of a gold-and-diamond pin, a pin belonging to a Mrs Hopkins. Do you deny she came to see you this morning?’
Liam began to see what was happening, Mrs Bethan Hopkins wanted him out of the way, she wanted to stop him making an issue of the way the sale of the farm had been handled.
Before he could stop to reason, he had spun on his heel and was out of the door, racing along the street, dodging between the traffic, putting as much distance between himself and the two policemen as he could.
He ran down narrow courts and through buildings long unused and at last found himself in the Strand, a long road that led towards the docks, a road that teemed with seedy lodging-houses. He paused for breath, leaned against a crumbling wall and tried to think clearly. The woman had set him up, that meant she was afraid, really afraid of being found out.
Sweat ran into his eyes as, more slowly now, he made his way into a public bar that was empty, except for the surly landlord. He took a drink, then sank into a corner seat and waited for his heartbeat to return to normal.
Liam sipped the warm ale and leaned back closing his eyes and he knew, in that moment, that in running away from the police he had made the biggest mistake of his life.
Catherine began to settle into the life of the emporium with an ease which surprised her. She rose early and cleaned the fixtures and fittings on the various floors of the lovely old house. She made tea and sandwiches, chatting familiarly with the other girls and as the days passed, she came to feel that she was part of a family once more.
‘Hey there, Cath,’ Doreen came into the back room and flopped into a chair
, ‘give us a cuppa, there’s a love.’
Catherine smiled, Doreen and she had become friends, drawn together by loneliness. Doreen had been a much-loved child before her disastrous marriage to a policeman. She had served only half her apprenticeship as a milliner when her parents both died in the flu epidemic that had swept through Swansea, the same epidemic that had taken Catherine’s sister’s life.
Doreen never stopped singing the praises of Mrs Grenfell who had taken her on in faith, given her a new aim in life and money of her own in her pocket.
‘What’s happening then, love, not getting into a rut are you?’
Catherine looked at her friend sharply. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean where is the fire in your belly? Why aren’t you out there fighting tooth and nail to get your place back?’
Catherine sighed. ‘Doreen, you only know a little bit of the story.’ She pushed the teapot across the table. ‘I have no money, what can I do about the farm?’
‘You can go to the bank, that’s what;’ Doreen spoke calmly, ‘get them to make you a loan. It can be done, you know.’
Catherine shook her head doubtfully. ‘It was because of the loan from the bank that I lost the farm.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s all signed and sealed, I’ve lost my home for ever.’
‘Well, there’s still no need to lie down like a sick cat and take a beating. Fight for what you want, girl!’
Catherine leaned on her elbows, perhaps Doreen was right, perhaps she should be doing something about her future. But then what did she want? She no longer knew. It was comfortable to work in the store, surrounded by girls who accepted her as one of them.
‘You are not the sort to spend the rest of your life indoors, mind.’ It was as if Doreen had read her mind. ‘You are cut out for the open land and the sun and the good earth beneath your feet. Don’t settle for second best.’
‘I may not be cut out for shop work but at least I won’t starve,’ Catherine said wryly.
‘No, but you might fade away with boredom. Sort out your future while you are young, love, you don’t want to be working for someone else for the rest of your life, do you?’
Catherine rose to her feet. ‘Doreen, the farm failed because I was not good enough at working it, I might as well face the fact that even if I did get it back the same problems would be there waiting for me.’
‘Well, if you are sure in your mind that this is what you want, then you will do your best at it but think on what I’ve said and think hard.’
The door opened and the two unmarried shop girls came into the room. They were sisters, alike and well-groomed, their clothes ironed to perfection probably by their doting widowed mother. For a moment, Catherine felt very alone.
‘I’m starving, any biscuits in the tin?’
‘Give over, Jess,’ Doreen said, ‘you eat like a cart-horse and stay as thin as a reed, there’s no justice in this world.’
‘Go on, look at the pot calling the kettle black.’ Jess Painter pushed Doreen’s arm playfully, spilling a little of her tea. ‘Oops! Sorry!’
‘Always was awkward, her,’ Doreen spoke as if Jess was not there. ‘Must have been born awkward, silly cow.’
Catherine knew the banter was good-natured, she felt part of it and it was a good feeling. She took the tin from the cupboard and placed it on the table.
‘Where’s the china plate and the doily then?’ Jess asked in mock indignation.
‘Fish and find out.’ Doreen pushed a biscuit into her tea and sucked on it in delight.
‘Pig!’ Jess said good-naturedly.
‘Oh, look at this picture in the paper,’ – Pippa nudged her sister – ‘I could swoon over him, such lovely eyes. Wonder what he’s done to have the police after him.’
Jess took the paper and shook the pages flat. ‘Duw, he’s a right good-looker.’ She was quiet for a moment and then she looked up. ‘Poor man’s been accused of stealing from some rich piece by the name of Hopkins, an old biddy by what it says here. Don’t believe such a handsome man would need to steal anything, I’d give him anything he wanted for nothing, me.’
The name registered on Catherine and instinctively she moved forward to look over Jess’s shoulder. She stared at the picture in silence, shock washing over her as the face of Liam Cullen looked out at her from the pages of The Swansea Times.
‘Let me read that.’ She took the paper from Jess’s hands and sank into a chair, her hands trembling.
‘What’s the matter, Cath? You look like you seen a ghost.’ Doreen, more perceptive than the others, leaned anxiously towards her. ‘Do you know this geezer or what?’
‘I know him, he’s my cousin, well sort of.’
Pippa smiled knowingly. ‘Oh, aye, kissing cousins like, is that it?’
Catherine shook her head ignoring the good-natured banter. ‘Liam wouldn’t need to steal anything, he has lots of money of his own. He’s got a farm in Ireland, a very good farm. Why should he want to take a brooch of all things and why should he have run away? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Men do that all the time, love,’ Doreen said dryly. ‘Steal things and then run away. Still, you better get round to the police and tell them what you know; might just let this Liam chap off the hook.’
Catherine bit her lip, she had been happy to remain as she was, out of the reach of both Liam and Boyo, left in peace to try to sort out her life but now fate had stepped in to shake her out of her rut. She sighed heavily, Doreen was right, she must go to the police station, she could hardly allow Liam to be accused of such a silly crime without at least trying to help.
‘I’ll ask for time off this afternoon.’ She turned away from the table and busied herself building up the fire. Her back and shoulders were tense, a warning to the others not to pursue the matter. Her mind was racing, her tranquillity was smashed to pieces, she had been enjoying a quiet life but now it appeared all that was about to end.
It was late afternoon by the time she was able to make her way to the small station just off one of the side-streets of the town. She moved in through the doors, glancing round nervously.
‘Yes, miss, can I help? I’m Police Sergeant Meadows.’ A police officer was staring down at her and, with a shock, Catherine realized this huge, hard-faced man was Doreen’s husband. His brow was furrowed as he stared at her and Catherine swallowed hard.
‘Can I speak to someone in charge of the Liam Cullen case, please?’
‘Well, now, if you have any information about this man’s whereabouts you can tell me.’ He had suddenly become alert, she had all his attention. He took out a pencil and sucked on the end before drawing a sheet of paper towards him. ‘What’s your name and where have you seen this man?’
‘I’m Catherine O’Conner.’ She could see the name meant nothing to him. If he had ever known about her disappearance from Swansea, the matter had been of little or no importance to him.
‘I haven’t seen him, I mean, I know him. He’s a very rich man, he wouldn’t want to steal anything.’
The sergeant was looking suspiciously at Catherine, his eyes running over her, noting her good clothes and her well-polished shoes. ‘Where is he now?’
‘I don’t know,’ Catherine said, shaking her head.
‘Well, there seems little point in you coming here wasting my time then.’
Sergeant Meadows looked down at her. ‘The charge against this itinerant was brought by Mrs Bethan Hopkins. It is a matter of great importance; Mrs Hopkins is a very respectable lady.’
‘Rich and influential too.’ Catherine was angry, she spoke with a sarcasm that was lost on the man.
‘Precisely. Now, miss, if you have nothing else to say I would ask you to go about your business and stop wasting my time.’
He was so pompous Catherine could have slapped him. She turned on her heel and left the station and headed along the road, not seeing the traffic, not aware of a tall figure stopping before her until a hand grasped her arm.
‘Cathe
rine!’
She looked up into the face of Boyo Hopkins and the shock of seeing him brought tears to her eyes. She brushed them away angrily and shook off his hand.
‘If only you knew how hard I’ve searched for you,’ he said, drawing her into a doorway. ‘I’ve been out of my mind with worry.’
‘Worried that you might not get my farm away from me, that’s about the size of it.’ She stared up at him, her eyes hard now, her heart slowing to a quieter pace.
‘I never wanted your farm.’ He shook his head, ‘Catherine, I never asked you for anything, did I?’
‘Let’s get this clear, you bought the farm, which you didn’t want. You searched so hard for me that you didn’t find me.’ She stared up at him, her cheeks flushed.
He was silent and Catherine felt her anger build like a sheet of flame. ‘I have had nothing but trouble since I became your … your mistress. My prize bull was ruined, I was attacked in my own home, then I was kept prisoner in some hovel miles from anywhere. If that wasn’t part of the plot to get my farm away from me then what was it; answer me that?’
‘I can only say it was none of my doing. Catherine, I love you.’
‘Then you have a very funny way of showing it,’ Catherine said abruptly. The last thing she needed now was for Boyo to talk to her of love. She was so confused, so angry, she could hardly think straight. She turned away and he caught her arm.
‘Listen, I know my wife has been acting strangely, she’s not herself lately. I know she has made a foolish accusation against your cousin but I’m trying to put things right. I was on my way to the police station to say that the damn pin has been found, the police will drop the charges against your cousin.’
She looked back at him. ‘You found the pin?’
‘No, I didn’t find the pin, I don’t believe it was lost in the first place. Catherine—’ He made a move to take her in his arms but she waved him away impatiently.
