by Jess Foley
‘So there you are, Tinny.’ And then, in a tone of greater surprise, ‘Miss Halley? Is that you, Miss Halley?’
She looked up at the man as he came towards her, and straightened, forcing a smile she was far from feeling.
‘Mr Canbrook, hello.’
‘Well, hello to you, Miss Halley! What a pleasant surprise!’ He looked at the dog and shook his head in a little gesture of wonder. ‘Tinny must have picked up your scent,’ he said, grinning. ‘He’s a clever little tyke, that one, he is indeed. I couldn’t think where he was going to, trotting off like that, and look where he was heading – for you.’ He stood before Lydia, looking down at her. ‘So, what brings you to Merinville on a Sunday afternoon?’ he asked.
‘I came to meet a friend of mine who was coming in from Capinfell.’
‘Ah, yes. You’re not living in Capinfell any more, are you?’
‘No. No, I’m not.’
‘No.’ He nodded. ‘I saw your friend from Capinfell the other day when she came into the shop. The young woman. I asked after you and she said you’d moved off, to live and work in Redbury. I couldn’t understand it. That’s the way of it, is it?’
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’m living in Redbury now.’ As she spoke the dog remained at her side, and absently she stroked and patted him.
‘Where are you working in Redbury?’ Mr Canbrook asked.
‘At Seager’s department store.’
‘Oh, you’re a sales lady, are you? I’m sure you’re very successful.’
‘No, I’m not on the shop floor; I work in the office, in the postal order department.’
‘Ah.’ He nodded. ‘And d’you enjoy it?’
‘At times. It’s a living.’
He said with a smile, ‘If it’s just a living you wanted, I’m sure we could have found something for you here in my shop. Canbrook’s doesn’t have quite the floor space of Seager’s, but still we do our best to be of service.’ When she did not respond to this, other than with a half-hearted smile, he said, ‘Are you going back to Redbury this evening?’
‘Yes. My train leaves at half past five.’
He hesitated for a moment. ‘I’ve just come in to get something from the shop,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come in? I’ll make you some tea before you get your train.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘It’s going to rain, anyway, and any second now. You can’t stay out here.’
As he finished speaking the first drops came down, and Lydia felt them on her forehead, on her bare wrist. She had brought no umbrella.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Come inside. I’m not going to bite you.’
As she hesitated more drops fell, and more strongly, the spots darkening the dust on the cobbles around her feet. ‘Yes, very well,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’ He was a kind man, she thought; he had always appeared so, and the falling rain left no time for hesitating.
In seconds the rain was falling harder. She got to her feet, and he waited as she stepped to his side, then turned and started off smartly around the corn exchange. Tinny walked beside them. On reaching the shop’s entrance the man had his keys out ready, and in seconds he had turned one in the lock and pushed open the door. He stood aside and urged Lydia to enter.
‘Please. . .’
She stepped into the shop, the dog following. Mr Canbrook closed the door behind them, and turned to her. ‘We’ll go on through into the back. This way.’
She had been inside the shop numerous times in her life, but she had never seen it as it was behind locked doors. How strange it appeared. Everything was covered, the reels of cotton, the pins, the needles, the laces and the ribbons, the rolls of silk and linen, everything lay under coarse cotton covers, waiting for the morning when all would be revealed again for the day’s shoppers.
Mr Canbrook led the way through the shop into a smallish room, with a worn sofa along one wall, and a table and several old chairs of unmatching designs. The window looked out on to a paved yard on which the rain appeared to be falling a little more heavily.
He stood and briefly held out his arms. ‘And so welcome to the inner sanctum! The part that no customer ever sees.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘Oh, truly welcome, Miss Halley. Sit down, make yourself at home.’
Lydia looked around her and then took a seat on the sofa. It was old, of faded green velveteen. ‘Yes, the sofa will do,’ Mr Canbrook said. ‘It’s seen better days, mind you, but that goes for me as well.’ He bent to the dog which stood wagging its tail. ‘Ain’t that so, Tinny?’
Mr Canbrook turned to Lydia again. ‘I’d like to offer you some tea,’ he said, ‘but there wouldn’t be time to get the stove going if you’ve got to go and catch your train.’
‘No, please,’ Lydia said. ‘You mustn’t go to any trouble on my account.’
He smiled at her. ‘My dear, nothing done on your account would be too much trouble.’ He turned and took a step across the room. ‘I tell you what, I’ll do what we often do during the day when we’re rushed – nip along to the teashop and get some tea. How would that be?’
‘No, really,’ Lydia said. ‘It’s quite all right. Besides, you’ll get so wet.’
‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’ll dodge between the spots.’ He moved across the room and took up from the table a small, round tin tray and two mugs. ‘And you,’ he said, speaking to the dog, ‘you stay here and keep our guest company.’ He turned back to Lydia. ‘Tea with milk, yes?’
‘Yes, but –’
‘Right, tea with milk it is. I’ll only be a minute.’
And he was gone.
Lydia sat there, waiting, and Tinny came to her and rested his head in her lap. ‘Yes,’ she murmured as she stroked him, ‘it’s easy to make some creatures happy.’
There was no sound in the room but the ticking of a clock on the mantelpiece and the increasing sound of the rain on the window pane. Lydia looked across and saw how the rain lashed down. She thought of Mr Canbrook, dashing along beside the square to the teashop. Then, after what seemed only a short time, there came the sound of the main door opening and closing and then footsteps as he came back through the shop and into the room.
‘Here we are!’
He came in holding before him the tray bearing the two mugs, now full. ‘Hardly anybody in there,’ he murmured. ‘Business is always slower for them on a Sunday.’ The shoulders of his jacket had been darkened by the rain.
‘But you’re so wet,’ Lydia said. ‘You shouldn’t have gone.’
‘No, no, I’m all right.’ As he set the tray down on the table he shook his head. ‘A bit of rain never hurt anybody.’ He took off his hat, shook the moisture from it, and hung it on a hook beside the door.
‘Now. . .’ He stepped back to the table and picked up one of the mugs of tea, ‘Would you like sugar in it? We’ve got some somewhere. At least I can offer you that.’ He snapped two fingers and shook his head again. ‘Darn it,’ he said, ‘I should have asked you if you’d like a pastry or a slice of cake. They keep a nice selection there most of the time. Would you like something to eat? It’ll only take me a minute to pop back.’
‘No, really, thank you,’ Lydia said, ‘the tea will be fine, and it’s very welcome.’
‘Well, if you’re sure. . .’ He looked down at the dog which sat looking beseechingly up at him. ‘No, I’m sorry, Tinny,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t get anything for you. You’ll have to wait till you get home.’
The spindly-legged table stood next to one end of the sofa, its surface marked with rings left there by excessive moisture and heat. Mr Canbrook put down the mug. ‘Here you are,’ he said, ‘though I’m sorry it’s not the best china. Still, it’ll do.’ Gesturing towards the table top, he added, ‘It can’t hurt it. It was ruined years ago.’ His own mug he took up and sipped from, then set it back down on the tray. Then he pulled up one of the upright chairs and sat down.
‘Well, here we are,’ he said, smiling at Lydia. ‘Who would have thought it?’
Lydia, unable to meet his
eyes with equanimity, did not know what to say, and sat there feeling awkward and self-conscious. The only sounds were the clock and the rain. ‘Listen to it,’ Mr Canbrook said. ‘It’s a good job you’re not out in that now. You’d be wet through.’
‘Yes, I should be,’ Lydia admitted.
‘I can’t tell you,’ Mr Canbrook said after a few moments, ‘how pleased I am that you’re here.’ He gave a wondering little chuckle. ‘Honestly, it’s like some dealing of fate. I’ve wanted to talk to you for weeks, and now here you are, sitting in our little back room.’ The dog moved to him and lay down at his feet. ‘What about that, Tinny, eh? That’s a wonder, isn’t it?’
Lydia smiled, and the dog thumped his tail on the floor.
‘And I’m serious, Miss Halley,’ the man said. ‘I truly have – wanted to talk to you.’ He paused, then said, ‘Would you mind if I call you by your first name?’
‘No,’ Lydia said, ‘not at all.’
He smiled gravely. ‘Thank you – and I’d be glad if you’d call me Alfred.’
She smiled, but didn’t know how she ever could, though she nodded as if it were no problem.
The rain pattered on the pane, now, it seemed, driven by the wind. For some moments neither one spoke, then Mr Canbrook said:
‘I want to talk to you – Miss Halley – Lydia – in a very serious way.’ He halted, as if waiting for her to speak. When she said nothing, only gave a vague nod, he went on, ‘I hope you won’t be offended at anything I have to say. I can only tell you that I have the utmost respect for you, and that whatever you think of what I’m about to say, no offence is intended. D’you understand?’
‘Yes, I understand.’ She was puzzled by his words, and was now curious as to what he would say.
‘Good.’ He nodded, paused for some moments, as if seeking out the most appropriate words, then said, ‘May I speak freely?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Thank you.’ He smiled. ‘I’m glad I haven’t frightened you away by now.’ He leaned forward slightly, his hands on his knees. His expression was earnest. ‘You might well wonder,’ he said after a moment, ‘why I’ve chosen to speak out at a time like this. Well. . .’ He came to a halt here, as if uncertain how to continue. Then after a second or two he said, ‘I asked you, some months ago, when I met you here at the shop one day, if you were engaged in anyone’s affections. Do you recall?’
‘Yes.’ Lydia frowned slightly. ‘Yes, I remember.’
‘Yes, and I was pleased when you assured me that you were not. So I said then that I would write to you. I didn’t do so, of course, for very soon afterwards I heard of the tragic death of your poor mother. It would have been very indelicate for me to have written to you at such a time as that.’ He shook his head sympathetically. ‘Oh, dear, that must have been a terrible blow for you – her passing. I was so sorry to hear the sad news.’
Lydia gave the slightest nod, and murmured, ‘Thank you.’
‘And I hope I’m not speaking out of turn now,’ he said. A moment’s pause, then he added, ‘I’m not a young man. I don’t need to point that out to you. I’m fifty-three years old, and it’s partly due to this – circumstance – that I’m talking to you now as I am.’ His voice was low, earnest. ‘I was twenty-two when I met Louie, the girl who was to be my wife,’ he continued. ‘Louise was her name. She was three years older than I, a strong, independent young woman, and very attractive.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘I had to have her, although she’d hardly look at me at first. So – I played something of a waiting game. I was smart enough to do that, and at twenty-two I had time. So – I courted her. I wrote to her. I called round at her house and asked her out walking. I brought her little presents: fruit and chocolate and little things. For heaven’s sake, I even composed verses for her – and pretty terrible they must have been, I’m sure!’ He gave a little chuckle here. ‘But I suppose they seemed all right at the time. At the start I could barely get her to acknowledge me, it seemed. She was very hard to get to know, to get close to.’
He took up his mug and sipped from it. A gust of wind threw the rain at the window, and he looked over at the sound. ‘Listen to that,’ he said. ‘It’s coming down like billy-o, but we need the rain, there’s no doubt about it.’ The fabric of his waistcoat looked a little stretched across his belly.
He set the mug back down on the tray and then said, ‘Yes, Louie was very hard to get close to. Well, there you are, I wasn’t the most prepossessing, I suppose. I mean, she was an inch taller than me for a start, and I wasn’t the most handsome of the young men hanging around, but –’ and here he gave a little smile, ‘I suppose you could say I was the most persistent. In the end – I suppose I wore down her resistance, and I won. Yes, I won.’ Another little laugh here. Then he continued, ‘I like to think that she saw past the negative things and saw the real me. Or maybe I’ve been fooling myself all these years. Anyway, I guess when it came to it she thought she should take a chance on me – and she did. I don’t think she ever regretted it. We worked in the shop together, and a capital partnership, it was, believe me.’ He paused, then added, ‘That was until almost seven years ago, when she died.’
He sipped from his mug again, seeming for a moment lost in his own thoughts. Lydia, wondering where all this was leading, and conscious of the time passing, sneaked a look at the clock on the shelf. She wanted to say, It’s time I left if I’m to get my train, but she did not want to appear rude, did not want to appear dismissive of his seriousness. Besides, the rain was still falling heavily. He it was, though, who focused briefly on the hour. Looking at the clock himself, he said, ‘It isn’t long before your train is due, is it?’
‘No – I’m afraid not.’
‘But you can’t go out in this,’ he added, glancing towards the rain-lashed window. ‘What time is the next train – the one after?’
‘It’s about half an hour later, at just after six.’
‘Would it get you in too late if you took that one?’
She hesitated, but hesitated too long, and he said, ‘Well, take that one, will you? The rain should have passed over by then. In any case, I’ve got an umbrella, and I intend to walk with you to the station. Or I’ll go and get you a cab – whichever you’re happiest with. Yes, I think you’d be better off in a cab, and avoid all the puddles.’ He paused. ‘Can you take the later train? Please?’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’ She had no reason to rush back to Redbury; there was nothing for her there but sitting in her room and waiting for the time to pass – to bring her ordeal closer.
He smiled his gratitude. ‘Thank you.’ He looked at her mug on the side table. ‘You’re not drinking your tea.’
‘I was letting it cool a little,’ she said, and picked up the mug and drank.
‘Is it all right?’ he said.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Not too strong?’
‘No, it’s fine.’
He nodded and leaned forward again in his chair. ‘I was telling you about my wife, about marrying her, wasn’t I?’
Lydia gave a little nod. ‘Yes,’ she said politely.
‘Yes,’ he echoed. ‘Well – we were happy, all things considered. Not everything worked out as we’d hoped, but – but we made the best of things, and we were happy in our way. Then, as I said to you just now, she died seven years ago, and I’ve been alone since then.’ At his feet Tinny lifted his head and laid it down again. Absently, Mr Canbrook bent and gave the dog a pat, and then remained as he was, leaning down with one hand on the dog’s shoulder. After a while he straightened again, and looked directly at Lydia.
‘I’m going to ask you something now,’ he said, ‘but I must first ask you not to give an answer right away. Is that all right?’
Lydia frowned, at a loss as to what to say. ‘Well, yes. . .’
‘I’m assuming that your situation is about the same. In that you’ve got no plans with anyone else? That you’ve got no plans to marry?’
‘No.’
He nodded. ‘I’m not being impertinent, truly; I just have to know if someone has come into your life. Someone special.’
She hesitated for a moment, while Guy’s face came before her, then gave a little shake of her head. ‘No.’
He smiled, relieved. ‘Good. I told you just now,’ he said, ‘how I courted my wife, and how in the end she accepted me, but I haven’t got time for that again. I can’t wait for years this time. Oh, believe me, if I were younger I’d do it the right way. I’d send you little presents and take my time so that you could get to know me, but there isn’t time. Time isn’t on my side – not at my age.’
He came to a stop again, then said, his words coming out in something of a rush:
‘Miss Halley – I want so to marry you.’
Having spoken he sat looking directly at her, eyes slightly wide and anxious, waiting to see how she would react.
Lydia sat without moving. She could scarcely believe what she had heard. He had given out enough hints in his preceding speech, so she should have been ready for his announcement, but her remaining preoccupation with her own thoughts had left her unprepared for his surprising words. It did not seem real. In fact nothing of the whole scene seemed to be real. She could still hardly banish from her mind her conversation with Evie, when she had asked for the woman’s name and address; while another part of her mind was still struggling to know which was up and which was down; and yet here she was sitting with this man – whom she had never taken seriously in her life – and right out of the blue he was telling her that he wished to marry her.
She looked towards the window and saw to her relief that the rain had eased, had almost stopped. The skies above were clearing, changing the light.
‘Oh, yes, I want to marry you,’ Mr Canbrook breathed. His hands were clasped tightly before him. He was frowning in his earnestness. ‘I love you,’ he said. ‘Oh, Miss Halley – Miss Halley – Lydia – I’ve loved you for years.’ He hesitated for a moment as if to allow a response, but Lydia still kept silent. ‘Yes, for years,’ he said. ‘Since the day you came here into the shop with your mother and she had the bee-sting – do you remember? Of course you do. I watched you that day, how solicitous you were, how sweet you were.’ He put a hand up to his mouth, very briefly, as if he would stop his words, then added, ‘And how beautiful.’
