by Iris Gower
‘Don’t talk so daft.’ Davie was stung by Rosa’s words. Mali was a good girl, and though he was angry with her for being silly and giving folks room to talk, he did not believe for one moment that she would do anything bad.
‘You must learn to button that loose mouth of yours woman,’ he said harshly. ‘It’s no wonder some husbands used to bridle the tongues of their womenfolk.’ He took her arm roughly.
‘Come on, we’re getting out of here, I’m bone weary. I want to get home.’ He led her through the doors of Maggie Dicks and out into the darkness, and a brooding sullenness had suddenly taken possession of him.
‘I’m sorry Davie,’ Rosa whimpered as his grip on her arm tightened. ‘I didn’t want to make you mad. Come on, give Rosa a kiss, a bit of lovin’ always makes you feel better.’ She pressed herself against him and in spite of himself Davie responded.
‘Come on then girl,’ he said in a sudden mood of defiance. ‘Take you home I will and to hell with what other people say.’
Sterling closed the book with a snap of finality. It had been a long day and he had been in the office since early morning. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned, feeling that in spite of his weariness his energy had been well spent.
It had become clear to him as the spring had turned slowly into summer that Alwyn Travers had no intention of repaying the loan made by Sterling’s father. Perhaps the man did not realise that records would be kept, he might even think that with the death of Arthur Richardson he was freed from any obligations, but he was soon to learn different.
Sterling had consulted with the firm’s solicitors and they agreed that Alwyn Travers must be given one opportunity to make good his arrears on the mine and if he would not or could not meet the demand then he would be forced to vacate the property forthwith.
It was silent in the office, for Ben had long since left for home. His eyes had held an almost grudging glow of respect as he’d paused at the door to say good night.
‘I think you will do very well in this business, Mr Richardson.’ He had been polishing his glasses in the way he always did when he was embarrassed. ‘You have a hard core of steel that was regrettably missing in your father, God rest his soul.’
Sterling had smiled ruefully. ‘It looks as though I must be hard, Ben,’ he’d replied, ‘for everyone is depending on me for a living, from my mother to my young brother, not to mention my two partners.’
And it was true, Sterling thought ruefully, everyone seemed ready to criticise him but not one came up with any constructive alternatives.
He rose to his feet now and shrugged himself into his coat, it had been a warm day, hazy with heat, and even among the slag heaps flowers flourished, bleached white by the metal deposits in the ground, with bees droning through the petals looking for nectar.
It had been a day to make Sterling restless and even though his mind had been occupied with matters of business, there had been moments when he had thought deeply about Mali Llewelyn. He admitted to himself that she had almost become an obsession for he had tried to forget her sweetness and the softness of her lips and the scent of her long dark hair and yet her image had continued to haunt him. He knew that he would seek her out again for his feelings were more compelling than any common-sense arguments that he put forward for his own inspection.
He locked up the office and moved into the softness of the evening, pausing for a moment, not wishing to return to the loneliness of his hotel room. Impatiently, he started up the Ascot, feeling it throbbing into life as he sat in the driving seat. He nodded abruptly to the man on the gate and drove out into the mean streets that surrounded the works.
On an impulse, he parked the automobile at the corner near the Mexico Fountain and walked slowly along Copperman’s Row. It was twilight now and so no one noticed him pausing outside the door of Mali’s home.
He glanced through the lace-curtained window and saw a slender figure moving about within the soft glow of the gas light. He tapped the glass and a startled face turned towards him.
‘Sterling, what are you doing here?’ Mali was at the door in an instant. She seemed distracted as she brushed back the hair that was hanging loose around her waist with trembling fingers. He touched it almost wonderingly and with a quick look along the row, Mali stepped outside and caught his arm, hurrying him away along Market Street and towards the canal.
‘My father is angry with me for making a show of myself,’ she said breathlessly, ‘he musn’t see us together or there’ll be a hiding for me instead of words.’ She seemed to realise then that she was clinging to his arm and she drew away self-consciously.
‘Sterling, there’s nothing for us to say to each other.’ She leaned against the wall that ran along the roadway and stared down into the dark waters of the canal. Sterling reached for her and drew her close and she rested her head on his shoulder as though she was very tired.
‘I thought you said you loved me,’ he whispered softly, his mouth against the warmth of her neck. She moved away and her eyes were unreadable in the darkness but he could imagine them, vivid green and luminous, eyes that looked right through a man. A feeling of power was rising within him, there were no barriers he could not overcome, he wanted Mali Llewelyn, he might even be falling a little in love with her. He would possess her, he must rid himself of the fever that plagued him.
‘Mali,’ he spoke urgently, ‘I need you, you must surely know that?’ She moved like a startled faun within the circle of his arms, as though preparing for flight. He held her close, kissing her soft mouth passionately, oblivious to everything but his own desires.
Chapter Eighteen
Sterling sat at the dining table, holding a glass of wine and watching his mother, who seemed to be almost coquettish the way she fluttered her fan and giggled every now and then as though his remarks were the cleverest thing she’d heard in a long while. They had eaten their meal slowly and all the while, Sterling watched his mother carefully, wondering what was on her mind. Suddenly, Victoria leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table.
‘Now, Sterling, I think I’d better tell you why I’ve invited you here this evening, I’m sure you must be wondering about the way I’ve been gossiping nonstop. Well, it’s sheer nerves. You may not know it but you are a very disconcerting person on times, even though you are my son.’
Sterling smiled at her indulgently. His mother was making a big issue of something that was doubtless quite unimportant; she had probably overspent and her allowance was running out.
‘All right, let’s hear what you have to say and I promise to listen patiently whatever it is.’
Victoria was suddenly serious. She closed her fan with a snap and sat up straight in her chair and all at once she seemed young and vulnerable.
‘James wishes to come courting me.’ Her cheeks were flushed and her eyelids half closed and there was an air of waiting as though she expected an outburst from Sterling.
‘I know it’s rather soon after your dear father, after Arthur passed away but for the present the relationship between James and me will remain secret. I don’t know if you’ll approve or not, Sterling, I hope you will, but even if you don’t it makes no difference. I am lonely and I feel I need some happiness from life.’
Sterling was stunned by her words. He remained silent, trying to combat his rising anger. ‘When has all this been going on?’ He could hear the edge to his voice and saw Victoria look up at him defiantly. He watched as she opened and closed her fan and knew that she was more nervous than she appeared.
‘Nothing has been “going on”,’ she said angrily. ‘James has come to call as a friend of the family, a good friend as he’s been for years as well you know. It’s simply that we both feel we have much to give each other, is that wrong?’
Sterling rose from his chair and moved across to the window, staring out into the grounds.
‘I don’t like James Cardigan, Mother, I never have,’ he said abruptly. ‘But it’s your life and I can’t ve
ry well tell you how to lead it.’
‘No you can not.’ Victoria rose and threw down a napkin, ‘and as for not liking James, you have never given him a chance, how can you possibly claim to know what he’s like?’
‘And where do you intend to make your home, Mother?’ He ignored her question and put one of his own. ‘Not at Plas Rhianfa, I hope.’ He turned to face her and he could see that she was very angry indeed, her face was flushed and her eyes sparkled with tears.
‘If I wish to live here when I’m married, then I will.’ She spoke stormily. ‘This house may be part of your inheritance, Sterling, but I’m your mother and am entitled to live out my life here.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘You may not have the opportunity because the place is mortgaged to the hilt. It’s a great barn of a house in any case and I may sell it even if the business improves.’
‘Oh, do what you like,’ Victoria snapped back, ‘I’m just not going to speak to you any further. Good night.’
She strode across the room, her head high, her elegant silk skirt swirling round her feet.
As the door slammed behind his mother, Sterling rubbed his face tiredly. Why had he not handled the situation with more tact? Who was he to condemn his mother for her choice of marriage partner?
‘Good God, what was all that shouting about?’ Rickie entered the room and stood staring at Sterling with such hostility in his set face that immediately there was an atmosphere of tension between the brothers.
‘None of your business,’ Sterling said sharply and Rickie came further into the room, his lips set in a straight, thin line.
‘Nothing is ever any of my business according to you, is it? But this time you’ve succeeded in upsetting Mother as well.’ He sat down at the dining table, his arms stretched out before him, and Sterling noted that his brother, who was always willing to do battle with words, was taking care that his physical attitudes did not provoke violence. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Rickie demanded. ‘You’re power crazed. Taking over the company has gone right to your head.’ He glanced up sharply.
‘And while you’re here perhaps you could answer some questions for me.’ He leaned back in his chair, hands thrust into his pockets, another unconscious attitude of self defence, Sterling mused.
‘Why are you persecuting the Travers family? First you sack Glanmor without any warning and then if that wasn’t enough, you send his brother notice that you intend to foreclose on the mortgage. Don’t you realise that Alwyn has a wife and child to take care of?’
‘And since when have you been so concerned with the plight of others?’ Sterling demanded. ‘If you think I’m going to give you explanations you can go to hell!’
‘Oh, all very gentlemanly and articulate,’ Rickie jeered, ‘resorting to expletives now are we?’
‘We haven’t all had the benefit of a college education as you have,’ Sterling replied. ‘And if you don’t shut your mouth, you’ll find my fist filling it.’ He clenched his hands, moving forward a pace, but as Rickie jerked backwards in his chair, Sterling’s anger suddenly faded.
‘I have to foreclose on that mortgage, don’t you understand?’ His hands fell to his sides.
‘Oh, what’s the use?’ He moved towards the door and without another word let himself out into the starlit night. All around him were the scents of the gardens he had known ever since childhood and he breathed in deeply, wondering how it was that everything changed so drastically and suddenly.
He was no longer the beloved son, safe and secure in the shadow of his father but was now the breadwinner and being balked all along the line by the very ones who should be putting their faith in him. He sighed softly. The time was come to leave childish things behind, he was a man and would shape his own destiny.
In the morning, the sun was bright and warm as he set off from the Mackworth Arms and drove away from the town, bypassing the copper company and crossing the river towards Foxhole. Taking the winding road towards the Kilvey Deep, he reflected on the fact that it would not be pleasant facing Alwyn Travers, but since there had been no reply to the letter his solicitors had sent out, the only possible course Sterling could take was to speak to the man face to face.
The winding-wheel of the mine stood out against the sky as Sterling drew the Ascot to a halt on the dirt track that served as a roadway. There was a shed near the gate and a man holding a large hound on a chain poked his head through the door.
‘If you’ve come to see the boss he’s not here.’ His voice was harsh and from the broken nose to the battered ear, the man looked every inch the pugilist he undoubtedly was.
‘If you mean Alwyn Travers he’s certainly the one I want to see,’ Sterling replied in a hard voice. ‘Where is he?’
The man’s bulk filled the doorway of the shed. ‘What’s that to you, who are you, anyway?’
‘I’m Sterling Richardson, owner of the copper company. Tell Mr Travers that I must speak to him,’ he said smoothly.
The man gave a short laugh. ‘That’s rich that is, you’re the very one the guv don’t want to see. Clear off before I set the dog on you.’
Sterling climbed down from the Ascot and moved closer to the man, who seemed taken aback by his persistence.
‘I want a civil answer to a civil question.’ Sterling spoke evenly. ‘If Mr Travers is not here, then where is he?’
The dog growled low, baring ferocious-looking teeth, and Sterling allowed his hand to move slowly and carefully towards the animal’s muzzle. The hound sniffed suspiciously but after a moment sat back on its haunches as though satisfied that Sterling posed no threat.
‘Don’t you start no trouble here.’ The man was less certain of himself now. ‘’Cos gent or no gent, I’ll bust your nose for you.’
‘I shouldn’t try it if I were you,’ Sterling smiled and brought his fist upwards, catching the man a clip on the point of his jaw. At the same time he raised his knee sharply, right into his opponent’s groin. The dog began to bark, leaping around the small shed as though anxious to escape, and as the man fell writhing to the floor he howled loudly, adding to the confusion.
‘Alwyn’s up there, in his house, now for Gawd’s sake clear out of here will you?’
Sterling drove the Ascot away from the mine and up the track that led to a tall house settled between the hills. The last thing he wanted was a scene with Alwyn Travers on his home ground, but there was nothing else for it, he could not be allowed to get away with his foolish defiance.
The green hills were scarred with the black of coal dust and great slag heaps rose towards the sky, man-made mountains of waste from the rich coal seams, dark and brooding against the morning sky.
Sterling approached the house and lifted the knocker and shortly afterwards the door was opened by a small spare woman with tired lines around her pale eyes.
‘May I come inside?’ Sterling was already in the small hallway. ‘If you would tell Alwyn that I’m here?’ He moved into the parlour and though resentment of his action was clear in the woman’s face, she obeyed him. Sterling stared around, noting the heavy brass ornaments and the fine carpeting. Travers might be up to his neck in debt but he did not believe in going without his creature comforts.
‘What do you want here?’ Alwyn was a taller man than his brother Glanmor but his face bore the same ferrety look. His eyebrows straggled untidily across his broad nose so that he appeared to be permanently frowning. ‘I don’t want the likes of you on my property so why don’t you just clear off?’
Sterling shook his head. ‘Your man tried violence. It doesn’t work, so do yourself a good turn and just listen to me and that way no one will be hurt, all right?’
Mrs Travers came to stand beside her husband, her hand resting on his arm in a cautionary gesture.
‘Get on with it then.’ Alwyn Travers rubbed at his thin moustache nervously. ‘Say your piece and then go.’
Sterling allowed himself a small smile. ‘That’s fine by me. All I have to say to you is that I am
foreclosing on the loan my father made you. You can keep this house and I shall make you a grant of compensation so that you will not be entirely without means. I can’t say fairer than that.’
‘You can’t take the mine away from me,’ Travers blustered, his face red and angry. ‘It’s been in the family for generations, it’s always belonged to the eldest son, you can’t do it, do you hear me?’
Sterling moved towards the door. ‘You’ve been given ample time to repay me or even make a start on bringing down the balance and this you have not done so I’ve every right to take the mine and I intend to do just that.’ At the door he paused. ‘If I were you, I’d sell this house, buy something smaller, move away from the area, right away.’
‘Is that a threat?’ Travers moved forward, raising a fist angrily, and Sterling put out his hand and held the man at arm’s length.
‘Now don’t go making things any worse,’ he said evenly. ‘Just think, you are not coming out of this too badly, are you? It’s quite obvious you couldn’t run a Sunday school outing let alone a business. Eventually you’d have had to get rid of the mine to pay your debts anyway.’
As Sterling left the house and walked towards the Ascot, Alwyn Travers stood in the doorway shouting abuse at him.
‘I’ll get even with you for this, however long it takes me.’ His face was mottled, his eyes bulging from his head, but Sterling ignored him, he was a bag of wind, nothing more. And yet there was a nasty taste in his mouth. He wondered if there had been some other way he could have handled the affair but then, Alwyn Travers owed him the money which Sterling needed if his own business was to survive.
There was no point in having a conscience about it, he told himself bitterly, that luxury was reserved for people like his brother Rickie who thought that championing the cause of the workers was his role in life. And so it was, Sterling thought ruefully, just so long as there was something in it for Rickie Richardson.
