The conversation was nothing more than a series of questions which, Ernie surmised, were more tests. From the look on Gloria’s face, he failed.
Walking along the road afterwards, with an amused Helen escorting him as far as the corner, watched by her mother from the gate, he said,
“I’m getting very fond of you, Helen Gunner, and I want you to be a part of my future plans, but only if we can exclude your Mam from the whole thing. How d’you fancy Australia? Or the Arctic? Or the middle of the Sahara?”
Defying her mother, who still watched from the gate, Helen kissed him and started to walk back home. “Not unless you promise to marry me first, Ernie Griffiths,” she teased.
* * *
When Caroline had first moved back to her parents’ house, Barry called every day to play with Joseph, and sometimes to take Caroline to work. Whenever possible, he had tried to talk to her about moving back to the flat. But although Joseph greeted him with delight, Caroline firmly avoided being alone with him. She only allowed him to take her to work when her mother or one of the others needed a lift as well. It had reached the stage when he dreaded meeting her. Although he practised speeches when they were apart, when he saw her he no longer knew what to say.
He wasn’t deliberately avoiding her, he told himself, although it would have been easy to do so as she worked every weekday in the wool shop. Calling during the day to see Joseph, who was happy in the care of Janet and Hywel, he only had to avoid Wednesday afternoons to be sure of missing her. Unless she took a day off for some reason.
Thinking of this possibility, he tensed himself every time he went to the cottage, afraid that he would open the door and see her there. Yet every time he felt a sinking disappointment when she did not appear. He felt so ashamed at his failure and at the same time disappointed in her for letting him down and making him look such a fool.
He only had to imagine pleading with her to come home, and then would come the second part of his imaginings and he was watching the sadness cloud her lovely dark eyes as he stepped towards her. Walking away was misery but to stay would be impossible.
It wouldn’t work. It couldn’t work. Why had they ever thought it would? Stepping into dead men’s shoes was impossible, specially when the dead man was a brother, loved by them both.
Yet, unpleasant though it might be, he needed to talk to her. There was the money for one thing. They had decided to use her wages for the week to week expenses and allow his earnings to be ploughed back into the business. But business was slack, although there was a spate of weddings booked for June. He didn’t have enough money to pay the bills and find food.
He walked across the fields one evening and resentment simmered. He was building a business for her and for Joseph, wasn’t he? So why couldn’t she be patient and wait until it was up and running? Time he spent away from the house was one of the things she had hated, but it was only until the business grew. Then he could pick and choose his appointments and find more time for her. Things would be all right if only she would show more patience.
His shoulders drooped. It would never be all right. He was lying to himself and what was more pathetic than that? She didn’t want him. His absences, the long hours he worked, she hadn’t missed him, or wished he was there, they had been no more than an excuse on which to hang her regrets.
Almost within sight of the cottage, he stopped at the edge of a field and leaned against a stile. Life seemed so empty. If it wasn’t for Joseph he might be tempted to emigrate and start somewhere new. Surely as a photographer he could find work wherever he lived?
“Watcha, Barry,” a voice called and he turned to see Basil walking along the hedgerow towards him. “On your way to see our Caroline are you?”
“I suppose so, although I doubt if she wants to see me,” he replied morosely.
“Why? Aren’t you going to make arrangements about her coming back home? She must have had enough of our Mam and Dad’s house by now?”
“I don’t think she wants to come back. Ever,” Barry said. “Our starting a home together was a terrible mistake.”
“Come on, boy, I thought you and she were made for each other?”
“It’s my brother she loved and I was a fool to think I could take his place.”
“You were stupid to take her to the place where she and Joseph were going to live, I’ll agree with that.”
“You mean that might be the trouble?”
“It couldn’t have helped could it, daft ’aporth!”
“I never thought,” Barry frowned.
“You’d better do some thinking straightaway then, hadn’t you?”
“Perhaps the flat was a part of the trouble, but not all. Caroline resented my going out evening after evening on appointments. But what could I do? I have to work.”
“You have to keep her, I can see that.”
“I didn’t actually keep her, Basil.”
“What d’you mean?”
“It’s the business. I’m putting everything I earn back into the business.”
“Apart from house-keeping you mean?”
“We used Caroline’s wages so I could put any money I earned into improving the premises and getting better equipment.”
“Wouldn’t it have been better to build your home first, then start your fanciful plans?” There was an edge to Basil’s voice that startled Barry.
“I was doing it for them!” Barry defended. “It was all for them. I had this plan—”
“I see. So that’s why your wife has left you and gone back home to Mam and Dad? Some plan! I’d never had a regular job in my life until I married Eleri. Now I take great pride in handing her my wage packet every Friday. I take out all the small change and give her the rest.”
“It’s different for you. You’re satisfied with a boring job like nightwatchman. I couldn’t accept anything like that.”
“Satisfied? I hate it! But I’ll do it for my family forever if necessary. Too bloody high and mighty for the ordinary you are, Barry Martin. If I lost this job I’d go right out and get another! I’d do anything. Anything at all, to bring Eleri and Ronnie a wage every Friday. That’s responsibility, Barry. Heard of that, have you?”
Barry stared after the tall, spindly figure of Basil as he hurried away from him, his feet sounding like a scythe as he swished angrily through the thickening June grasses. He had never, ever heard the man lose his temper before. And about nothing. Basil was too thick to understand about ambition, he decided. How could someone who worked at an uninspired activity like nightwatchman, realise what ambition was? Irritation and a touch of superiority kept him angry as he turned and walked back to Sophie Street. He was too upset to visit the Griffithses tonight.
* * *
Victoria went with her mother and the two youngest Joneses to the imposing premises of Gwennie Woodlas’s gown shop. She was dressed neatly in a skirt and blouse and carried a shopping bag. She was dreading the visit, although having her mother and the two little brothers with her helped her to feel less conspicuous. They walked past twice without entering as they could see through the glass door that customers were being served.
“I’m not going in until the place is empty,” she whispered to her mother and was rewarded with a nod of agreement.
“She locks the door if she has someone important to attend to,” her mother told her. “Perhaps, as you are marrying Jack Weston she might do that for you.”
“His name isn’t Weston, Mam. No matter what Gladys does, she can’t change the fact that he is Jack Heath. The Weston is an affectation insisted on by Gladys on a promise of an allowance. Jack has always thought it silly.”
“You can do what you like when you have money,” her mother chuckled. “Will I have a daughter with a hyphenated name, then?”
“No you won’t! And, if we don’t get in there soon you won’t have one with a bride’s dress either!”
To her dismay, it was Megan Weston who came forward to serve her, Gwennie being busy with books in
the small office beyond the showroom.
“Victoria, dear,” Megan smiled. “Come to see if we can make a presentable bride out of you, have you?” She smiled sweetly and added sotto voce, “Take my advice and don’t chose anything too splendid, you need confidence and stunning looks to get away with most of these. Better really for you to go to one of the stores. But I’ll get out a few to show you, as you’re here, shall I?”
Victoria swallowed the insults and stepped towards the rack of bridal dresses under the dust sheet.
“Don’t touch, I’ll take some out for you,” Megan said at once. Victoria stepped back as if stung.
“I need to look,” she said rebelliously.
“They’re so expensive and the fabric so easily soiled,” Megan said.
Victoria wiped her small hands on her skirt and stood there, tears enlarging her eyes.
Her mother took her arm and began to pull her towards the door. Gwennie had obviously heard something of the exchange as she came forward, pushed Megan aside and smiled her heavily-made-up smile.
“Go and make tea for our customers, Megan. And turn the notice on the door to closed, if you please.” There was a grittiness about the voice as she guided Victoria and her mother to the plush chairs in the corner. “Now, Victoria, dear, what did you have in mind? I want to make you the most beautiful bride the town has ever seen.”
“I thought of cream, not white,” Victoria began. A stifled giggle was heard from the office and Gwennie stalked across and closed the door.
“Will you try a few of each, dear? You might change your mind when you see how a lovely skin like yours glows against pure white.” Dresses were lifted from the rails one by one and hung around the showroom, each one confusing Victoria more. How could she choose? They were all lovely and, besides, she had no idea of the cost and without some guidelines she was afraid she would select one and then not be able to afford it. Oh, how she wished the dreaded wedding was over and she and Jack were settled in their home.
The trying on was frightening at first, Megan’s words running through her head and making her afraid of damaging the pristine garments. But as the second and then a third slipped over her slim shoulders it began to be fun. Gwennie flattered and advised and assured her she needn’t worry about the price tags, they were tucked well out of sight and not for her to concern herself with.
The one she eventually chose was white satin. It was ankle length with a full skirt and tight waist. There was a panel of embroidery on the bodice and the neckline crossed low down and rose to the shoulders in sparkling folds. With her shy expression, and the diamanté catching the light and giving her an aura, she had an air of mysterious beauty.
“It’s the one,” Gwennie whispered.
The others agreed. Her mother sobbed and blinked her eyes. Her young brother stared and said, “Blimey,” in great awe.
As Victoria stepped forward to be helped out of it, Gwennie stopped her with an imperious hand.
“Megan?” she called and Megan stepped out of the office with a tray of tea in her hands. “I want you to look at this beautiful child and tell me, have you ever seen a more radiant bride? Because I don’t think I have.”
When Victoria and her family had gone, Gwennie turned angrily to her assistant and said, “If you look half as stunning on your wedding day as that lovely, shy child – who came to us for help and not insults – will on hers, I for one will be surprised. And I will not tolerate you using my showroom for your pettiness towards a girl because she has the temerity to be marrying your cousin. Now, leave. I don’t want you in my shop another minute.”
* * *
Megan walked home slowly, utterly ashamed. How could she have been so unkind? The days when she and Joan shocked everyone and got away with it because they were free and extremely wealthy and able to do exactly what they wished, were gone. She hadn’t even enjoyed it. Certainly not as much as she and Joan would once have done. Joan had always been the one to suggest their most outrageous behaviour. But not now. Joan was marrying Viv Lewis and was wrapped up in Grandfather’s business and plans for her future.
She had always been the quieter one, the less devilish of the two Weston Girls. What had got into her? Was she so embittered that she had to use her position to humiliate poor little Victoria, for idle fun? She had imagined recounting the interlude to Joan and sharing the joke, but now she was the one who was humiliated. She had been sacked. Megan Fowler-Weston, one of the famous Weston Girls had been ignominiously sacked!
When she reached home she was relieved to find her mother out. Since taking in boarders to help recover from the financial disasters that had beset the Weston family, Sally was kept very busy, shopping and cooking and making sure the house was as clean as she could make it. For Megan it was a relief to be on her own. She went up to her room and sat at her dressing table staring at her reflection in the mirror. What a pain to have let herself down so badly. Now she would have to find another job and it wouldn’t be as enjoyable as working for Gwennie and her “Gowns For The Discerning Woman”.
She was so intent on the scrutiny of her features, and her thoughts on a search for employment, and how she was going to explain to her mother why she no longer worked for Gwennie, that she didn’t notice the envelope for some time. The letter, placed there by her mother, had a London postmark and, frowning, she slit it open.
It was from Terrence Jenkins and for a moment she pushed it aside unwilling to read what he had to say.
Terrence was related to the family who lived in Montague Court. They were once wealthy landowners but now ran the family home as a restaurant and hotel.
He was the only man with whom she had ever fallen in love. She stared at his writing on the envelope and remembered how he had excited her. If he hadn’t “forced her”, they might still be together. She and Joan might have been planning that double wedding they had dreamed of as children. But he had forced her and frightened her half to death by fears of having a baby: and by fear of how much she had wanted and enjoyed it, she admitted with a slight blush.
The Jenkinses had been one of Grandmother Weston’s failures, she mused. On learning that they were in reduced circumstances, similar to herself, or so she fondly thought, she had tried to befriend them and had invited them to her Christmas Party at which she had hoped to find husbands for her two granddaughters. Of the Jenkinses, only Terrence had made an appearance and instead of adding a bit of “class” to the proceedings, he had caused a fight. In spite of her melancholy, she chuckled at the memory.
Terrence’s ex-fiancée’s brother had turned up and attacked him as punishment for jilting the girl at the altar. Jack and Viv and some of the others had joined in and it was Grandmother’s deepest regret that the fight hadn’t been started by the Griffithses so she could say, “told you so”, but by her most prestigious guest, Terrence, one of the Jenkinses of Montague Court.
Slowly, she unfolded the letter and began to read. It wasn’t very long.
Dear, Darling Megan,
Please forgive my writing to you after you begged me not to. I can’t tell you how many times I have filled pages then thrown them away.
Please will you write back and tell me how you are? And, if you miss me as much as I miss you?
I would give anything for just the briefest of moments with you.
If I visit my family at Montague Court, will you consider allowing me to buy you tea?
Please, dear Megan, put me out of my misery and write,
Yours forever,
Terry.
Megan tore it into pieces and dropped it into the litter bin with a picture of love-birds on the side.
* * *
Frank was dreading hearing from Percy Flemming. Why had he listened to the man? What had he been thinking of, getting involved in something so dangerous? Poaching a few salmon or some pheasants was one thing, but knocking out a watchman? Someone like Basil? That was something very different.
It was towards the end of June when he saw h
im. He had just finished sawing up a van-load of wood ready to sell the following day around the houses, and was walking across the fields towards The Railwayman’s and a pint with his friends. Someone hailed him from just inside the wood.
He wanted to walk on, pretend he hadn’t heard, hope that Percy would give up on him and find someone else to do the job. How was he supposed to knock out a watchman? A clout from a spade on the back of the head? With sleeping tablets? Where would he find a spade? Just standing there nice and handy in the watchman’s hut? Or walk along with one across his shoulder in broad daylight so everyone would see him? And tablets? How could he get hold of knockout pills? Could he casually tell the doctor he wanted to put someone to sleep a bit earlier than they’d intended? It was madness.
“Frank!” Percy called running to catch up with him. “Long-legged lot, the Griffithses. Didn’t you hear me calling?”
“Oh, hello Percy. Coming for a pint?”
“We don’t want to be seen together now do we, boy?” Percy said disapprovingly. “Meet me at the edge of Pigog Wood tomorrow night at ten.”
“I don’t think I’m up to this, Percy,” he said.
“Too late, boy. You’re in and in you stay.”
Frank walked on towards the town and wondered idly whether he could leave town for a while. It seemed the only way. But he only had enough money to take him to Cardiff, and from the look of Percy’s face that wouldn’t be far enough.
* * *
Rhiannon was worried about the continuing absence of Caroline from the flat. If only she and Barry could be persuaded to talk to someone. Someone who could help them sort out the problem before it was too late. They were both so unhappy; neither appeared relieved at the separation, there had to be a way of putting things right between them.
Unlocking the Past Page 14
