* * *
It seemed as if she had no sooner gone to bed than she was getting up, but with her darling Tommy in mind there was an energetic zip to her elbow as she flitted about the kitchen, getting everything ready for breakfast.
The pots were washed, the kitchen cleared and a joint in the oven by the time his smiling face appeared. That others were present, denying the lovers more than a chaste peck, was something of a let-down, but any time spent with Tommy was a joy to Beata.
Donning her hat and gloves, a poppy upon her breast to match the one on his, Beata took his arm and, asking Sadie to keep an eye on the oven, set off for church.
Cold but bright, it was a pleasant walk, the sun illuminating the crenellated limestone walls that in ancient times had defended the city.
‘How’s your leg today?’ Tommy looked down to examine the limb that had been very swollen last night. ‘Am I walking too fast for you?’
‘No, it’s not too bad.’ She smiled, pleased that he was so attentive and that his concern was for her comfort rather than embarrassment at being seen with a girl with an elephant leg.
They passed through Fishergate Bar and into a network of mean narrow lanes, the ambience one of poverty. A wrinkled woman in black shawl squatted on her doorstep, puffing on a clay pipe and enjoying a shaft of sunlight. Responding to her Irish brogue, Beata smiled and wished her a good morning.
Almost to their destination, they crossed a road on the corner of which was a graveyard, Tommy assuming, as it was near her church, ‘Is that where your parents are buried?’
‘No, Father’s at Conisbrough, but Mother’s in York Cemetery, just back there.’
Approaching her place of worship, she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder, then found herself prevented from entering with the rest of the congregation, Tommy drawing her aside and lowering his voice to beg impulsively: ‘Show me! We’ve only a few hours together. Let’s skip Mass and go for a wander round the cemetery. At least we’ll have the excuse of being on hallowed ground.’
Misinterpreting her look of alarm he withdrew his invitation. ‘Sorry, if you think I’m sacrilegious—’
‘No, no, I don’t mind jigging off at all!’ It would mean she would not have to introduce him to Gussie, who was waiting inside the church; better for the relationship to be kept a secret until it was on firmer ground after the humiliation of being jilted by Jack. ‘But I won’t be able to show you where Mother’s buried.’ She had no intention of admitting to a pauper’s grave. ‘I was only little when she died, then we left York…’
‘That’s all right.’ He took her gloved hand, threaded it through the hook of his arm and tucked it fondly under his elbow. ‘I’ll come clean. My real reason for wanting to get you in there is because it’s the only place we won’t have any interruptions from anybody. I like Lucy but, truth be told, I could have throttled her last night for being there.’
‘Me and all,’ chuckled Beata. ‘And we’re going to be lumbered with Eve when we get back. You’re right, let’s skedaddle!’
Scampering away from the church, they laughingly retraced their steps, past the Irish grandmother with her halo of pipe smoke, under the arch in the Bar Walls, skirting through the deserted pens of the Cattle Market and onwards until they came to the cemetery whence they sauntered for a good hour, he pausing occasionally to search for her mother’s name on the rows of gravestones, she feeling sad that he would never find it.
After a while the lovers sought a place to sit. With the grass too damp they chose a flat patch of stone, preferring to ignore that it was someone’s tomb for its epitaph had been obscured by years of rain and wind and lichen. His arm around her, they sat in silence, listening to the birdsong, the only human intrusion a few distant figures tending graves and oblivious to their presence. Even granted such privacy, it didn’t seem right to indulge in passion here, but both agreed that it was wonderful just to share each other’s company and to fantasize that this was what it would be like if they could be together all the time.
Inevitably, though, Beata was forced to leave this peaceful oasis, saying the dinner wouldn’t cook itself.
But when they got back she found to her surprise that besides Sadie’s help Eve had been unusually thoughtful. The pans were full of vegetables that merely awaited heat, the Yorkshire pudding had been mixed and the joint had been regularly basted. However, Beata was quick to detect that it was not for her benefit.
‘You just sit down there,’ Eve told Tommy, pulling out a chair, the fondness of her smile relaying that she, too, had taken a fancy to him, ‘and let us women take care of you.’
Tommy in his innocence welcomed all the female attention, and responded good-naturedly to Eve’s rather saucy interrogation throughout the meal. Beata seethed with jealousy. Whilst permitting this familiarity and voicing appreciation for Eve’s help, she had no intention of being usurped, utterly determined that Tommy would spend his final hours in York with her alone.
Immediately after dinner, with Sadie about her chores and Eve gone to answer the bell from the dining room, she whispered to Tommy, ‘I won’t be wanted for a while. Let’s go down the garden. I’ll tidy up later.’
‘Won’t your employer mind?’ he asked.
‘No, madam’s very kind.’ And she threw on her coat.
Returning with her tray to the kitchen but finding it empty, Eve’s expectant smile deserted her, but a look out of the window foiled the others’ plans and, grabbing her own coat, she hurried after the couple.
Beata gritted her teeth at the sound of the interloper’s voice, but donned a smile as Eve caught up with them. Had the tables been turned Eve would have been blunt enough to tell the intruder she was not wanted but Beata was not so impolite. So, the trio made their way around the garden, one of them attempting to make conversation, the other two wishing she would cease her drivel and go away.
It was a cruel end to what had started out as a wonderful surprise. Beata squeezed Tommy’s hand, trying to convey all that was forced to remain unsaid, drawing comfort from his response. They were almost back to the house now. Passing a refuse bin, in a fit of irritation she felt a scrap of paper in her pocket screwed it into a tight pellet and tossed it on top.
‘Eh, look at her throwing pound notes away!’ The eagle-eyed maid pounced, unravelling the ball of paper and brandishing it at Tommy.
Embarrassed and angry, Beata grabbed it from her. ‘I still can’t get used to this new paper money.’
‘She must have more money than sense!’ Eve laughed flirtingly at Tommy.
‘You’re the one with no blasted sense if you can’t see when you’re not wanted!’
Eve’s smile vanished. Hurt and furious she rushed into the house, leaving the couple alone at last.
But Beata was not rejoicing, ashamed that she might have ruined Tommy’s estimation of her. ‘I shouldn’t have said that but she just got me so mad!’
‘No, you were right, she’s a pain in the arse.’ Uncaring that anyone might be watching from the house, he embraced her, both sharing a rueful chuckle over his apt description. ‘I think she was God’s retribution for us skiving off church.’
‘I’d rather have had ten Hail Marys,’ muttered Beata, half laughing, half sad that he would soon be leaving and they had enjoyed so little time together. ‘It’s all right for you – you can go home. I have to work with the bloomin’ fish-face.’
‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to stay.’ He drew her even closer, kissing the top of her auburn head.
‘I know.’ She moulded herself to him, feeling every warm muscle, inhaling the scent of him, tasting his lips. Drawing breath, she looked wishfully into his face. ‘Do you think your aunty and uncle might come to York again?’
‘I don’t know, but you can be sure they’ll have a stowaway.’ His tone was softly comforting. ‘If not, then at least we’ll see each other next summer. Eh, I hope Lucy likes my pal. It was really kind of her to suggest you come over to the Lakes for your h
olidays, otherwise I don’t know when we’d have seen each other again.’ He could not seem to satisfy his hunger for kisses, planting yet another on her.
‘Yes, she’s a good friend.’ Beata sighed and enjoyed one last passionate kiss before going with him around the house to the main road.
‘Till summer then.’ Her voice was wan.
‘Till summer.’ With a final respectful peck, he was gone.
* * *
It had been a mistake to upset Eve, who was to be even more surly towards her, making the dark months of winter seem longer than normal. Added to everything else, there came an announcement that the King was perilously ill. Genuinely troubled by this, Beata put aside her own discomforts and joined the nation in praying for His Majesty’s recovery, such massive invocation appearing to work, for an operation was to bring about a miraculous turn of events.
Miraculous not only in regard to the monarch but for Beata too, for after weeks of being incommunicado Eve finally seemed to decide she had been punished enough, opening her renewed dialogue with an announcement from the newspaper that, ‘The dear old boy’s on the road to recovery after the operation on his lung. I’m so glad, aren’t you?’
Beata nodded smilingly, though, gratified as she was for the King, she could not help but think of her poor mother gasping for breath, without benefit of such an operation, sent early to her pauper’s grave. Moreover, she knew it would not be long before Eve was back to her churlish self.
The year turned, but at snail’s pace. No longer required, Beata’s one ray of sunshine departed, though Sadie voiced hopes that the Druces might hire her again later in the year. Beata hoped so too as she waved goodbye, visualizing the long humourless months ahead.
Arriving at a steady rate, Tommy’s letters were the only thing to help maintain her optimism. Yet even these were sullied by the waspish complaints from Eve, whose responsibility it was to fetch in the mail. ‘Not another one! I’m paid to take in the master and mistress’s letters, not as go-between for you and Romeo.’ And she would toss his letters across the table, declaring that she could not imagine what he found to put in them. ‘He must be crippled with writer’s cramp.’
Attributing it to jealousy, Beata ignored her and, choosing to savour her lover’s words in private, slipped the envelopes unopened into her pocket, this her best revenge against Eve, who was obviously desperate to hear what was in them but too proud to ask. Only in the privacy of her room would she open them, reading them three or four times before picking up her own pen, her replies bursting with desire for the time they would meet again.
At last it came. The Lake District with its dramatic, sweeping landscape was hardly the place for someone of Beata’s disability, and with all the rambling up hill and down dale her leg was fated to spill over the edges of her shoe, agonizing in its distension, but she would have endured much worse just to be in Tommy’s company. His and his only. Fond though she was of Lucy, a stronger urge demanded that she and her lover be alone, and here was all manner of dell and crevice that could serve their purpose.
Having noted the intense looks of desire that passed between Beata and Tommy, and fearful for her friend’s chastity, Lucy tried to keep an eye on things, but, without being rude to her own companion, there was a limited amount of time she could devote to this purpose and it was inevitable that Beata would slip away.
Alerted to her long absence, Lucy broke off her conversation with Paul and hauled herself from the grassy hummock where the four had earlier picnicked, shading her eyes to scan the empty countryside. ‘Beata!’ The call went unanswered. She turned worriedly to Paul. ‘I’ll have to go find them.’
Still on the ground, he raised a hand to coax her back. ‘You’re acting like her mother!’
Lucy did not retort that that was what she felt like, but simply flashed him an irritated glare before launching into the search in earnest.
He made a grab for her. ‘Let them have a bit of privacy and enjoy ours while we can!’
But she shrugged off his grasp. Paul was a good enough conversation partner but anything more was out of the question. Sighing, he rose, brushed his knees and followed her, adding his voice to hers.
Lucy’s calls became more frantic as she imagined what fate might have befallen her young friend – ‘Beata! Beata!’ – then all of a sudden a dishevelled couple rose out of the ground at her feet, causing first a yelp of shock then relief. ‘There you are!’
Red of face, Beata looked most put out, her hand still locked with Tommy’s as she asked accusingly, ‘What are you playing at?’
‘I’m saving you from yourself!’ hissed Lucy and, giving Tommy a reproving glare, she grabbed Beata’s arm in possessive manner and led her away, leaving the young men to trail in their wake.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ pleaded Beata.
‘You do!’ Lucy glanced pointedly at an undone button on the youngster’s blouse. ‘I know how you feel about Tommy but I hope you haven’t let him take advantage.’ With no response forthcoming, she demanded, ‘Well?’
Beata fastened the offending button, a humorous glint to her eye and a secretive twitch to her lips. ‘You’ll just have to keep guessing, nosy neb.’
Lucy dealt her a tut of disapproval. ‘Eh, I ought to tip you up and tan your bottom!’
But Beata merely chuckled.
A pause, then an anxious enquiry, ‘You really didn’t do anything, Beat, did you?’
With an impish smirk, Beata stuck her nose in the air, throwing a backwards look to catch her beloved’s eye and twinkling at him. ‘Tha’ll never know.’
‘Right, I’m not letting you loose again for the entire holiday!’ threatened Lucy.
And indeed she did her very best to fulfil this threat, right up until it was time to catch the train home. Her stern response to her friend’s complaint about the lack of liberty being, ‘You’ll thank me on your wedding day.’
Beata formed a sad smile as yet another wonderful holiday came to an end and she blew kisses from the train, watching the man she adored fade into the distance. ‘Aye,’ she sighed, ‘but when might that be?’
* * *
Existing on letters and with another long grind ahead of her, it could have been a time of deep despondency for Beata but for the fact that something totally unexpected happened to her friend. Within a few weeks of returning home, Lucy reported that she too had fallen in love. He was a valet to one of Major Herron’s friends who had come down from Scotland to spend a month here.
‘He says he’ll write when he goes home but oh, Beat, I’m dreading it!’ Lucy was breathless with the swiftness of it all. ‘Now I know just how you feel.’ She clasped her hands to her matronly bosom, portraying rapture.
Delighted for her friend, Beata sympathized that she had not found someone closer to home. ‘And it’s going to get harder the longer it goes on. Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else but Tom.’
‘Me neither – with my Harry, I mean!’
‘Well I’m right glad for you, Lucy!’ Their arms linked as they set off for town, Beata dealt her friend a congratulatory squeeze with her elbow, happy too for another reason. Since she had promised herself to Tommy it had been difficult for the girls to go out together, Lucy turning admirers away rather than expecting her friend to play gooseberry. Now they were on equal footing.
‘Do you think it’ll work?’ Lucy seemed anxious. ‘Existing on letters, I mean?’
‘It works for us. You can say so much more in a letter, can’t you?’ Lucy nodded enthusiastically, the pair of them enjoying desultory chatter for a while until, eventually reaching the cinema, Lucy drew her companion to a halt. ‘So, you’re truly happy?’
Beata laughed that anyone could doubt it. ‘Yes!’
‘Good, then I can tell you something. I’ve been wanting to tell you for a few weeks but I didn’t know how you’d take it. Our Jack’s getting wed.’
‘Oh…’ Beata was surprised, though n
ot upset. ‘When?’
‘Next month. You won’t believe it, she’s a Catholic. Mother kicked up a stink, of course, but Jack was determined this time. What about that then?’
Even secure in her bond with Tommy, Beata felt hurt. Why could Jack not have stood up to his mother for her? It proved how little he had cared. But she donned a genuine smile. ‘Give my regards to both of them. I hope they’ll be very happy.’
‘You can tell them yourself. You’re invited to the wedding. You will come?’
‘Oh I don’t—’
‘For me.’
How could she refuse such a good friend? After slight hesitation she replied, ‘Yes, I’d be delighted.’
‘Good!’
‘There’s a nice set of pans in Barnitts—’
‘Ooh, don’t spend too much!’ Lucy sought to curb her friend’s generosity.
‘They’re only seven and six. I don’t know whether I’m more careful with my money but things seem to be getting cheaper.’ The poverty of her childhood long dispatched, Beata was able to afford almost anything she fancied, within reason.
‘I’m sure Jack would appreciate anything.’ The delicate subject broached, Lucy steered her into the cinema. ‘Eh, I wonder which of us’ll be next? Aw, I’ve just thought! What if I have to go and live in Scotland?’
‘I’ll come and visit you,’ chirped her young friend brightly. ‘Eh, does he wear a kilt?’
Lucy dealt her a laughing nudge. ‘Nay, you soft ’a’p’orth! Will you go and live in Lancashire or will Tommy come here?’
‘I’ll probably go there.’ In truth they had never discussed it.
‘You’ll come back and be bridesmaid for me, won’t you?’
‘If you’ll be mine,’ Beata smiled.
A Different Kind of Love Page 60
