by Jess Foley
She arrived to find Alfred and his assistants busy with customers, and she quickly put on her apron and joined them. The four of them worked steadily until half past two, at which time Miss Angel and Mr Federo said their goodbyes and left the premises. When the shop was closed, Lydia went into the back room and there ate a small sandwich that she had brought from home, and drank some tea that she had made for Alfred and herself. Alfred was still working; first he would be doing the books and after that he intended to check the work of one of the seamstresses who that morning had brought in a number of pairs of stockings that she had embroidered, and two little jackets of Norfolk silk. Most of the goods sold in the shop came from factories, of course, but there were some things the factories couldn’t do, and for the very fine bespoke work Alfred would turn to his assortment of seamstresses who lived in the vicinity and who were glad of the income. Almost without exception, the seamstresses brought the work they did for him into the shop, and rarely was it necessary for him to travel to pick it up. However, a few of them were unable to make the journey, including a widow woman and her invalid daughter who lived in Pershall Dean. It was there that Lydia was to go when her sandwich and tea were finished.
When the time came, she left Alfred still working in the back room, his mug of cooling tea at his side, and set off for the station with a light step and a nervous heart. She was aiming to catch the five past three, which should get her into Pershall Dean a few minutes before three-thirty. The day had remained dry, though there was no warmth in the pale sun that filtered through the clouds, and she was glad of her muffler and warm gloves. She had also brought her umbrella and carried with her a large burlap bag. This contained a quantity of plain stockings, table napkins and pillow cases, all to be embroidered, and would serve to bring back the finished work that the seamstresses, Mrs Castle and her daughter, were to provide.
The train was on time at Merinville station, and twenty-two minutes after boarding she was alighting at Pershall Dean. As she stepped onto the platform she saw Guy standing some yards down, then saw him turn and start towards her.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘here you are.’
‘Here I am.’ She was unaware of the other travellers moving past them. She felt a strange kind of weakness as she stood there, and wondered at it, that almost five years had passed and he could still have this effect upon her. ‘Have you been waiting long?’ she asked.
‘Ten minutes or so.’ He gestured to the bag. ‘What have you got there?’
‘Some things that have to be sewn. I’m taking them to two of Alfred’s workers, and I’ve also got to pick up some work from them.’ She gestured off. ‘They live in the village here, close to the green.’
‘Let me carry it for you,’ he said, reaching out for the bag.
‘It’s not heavy.’
‘Still, let me have it.’
She handed the bag over.
‘What time have you to be there?’ he asked.
‘I usually get there about four.’
‘Do you go regularly, then?’
‘Every fortnight. Mrs Castle can’t make the journey to the shop, and her daughter is an invalid.’
They turned and together started off along the platform. While Lydia had been on the train, the sun had gone behind clouds, and a sharp and biting wind had sprung up, unrelentingly chill. From the station the two of them walked along the main street of the village. As they went Lydia said, ‘Was it easy for you to get away from your work today?’ She was speaking to fill in the silence between them. ‘I can imagine how busy you must be.’
‘I had to rearrange a few things,’ he said, ‘but it wasn’t too difficult.’ After a second he added, ‘It wouldn’t have mattered, though, however difficult it might have been; I had to see you.’
The green was up ahead, and they skirted it on its left side. Coming to the entrance to a narrow lane, Lydia said, ‘I’ll have to ask you to wait for me, will you?’ She waved a hand, gesturing along the lane. ‘The lady and her daughter live just along there.’
As she took the bag from him he looked around and said, ‘I don’t want to stand here. I’ll feel conspicuous – not to mention that I shall get very cold in this wind.’ He gestured along the street. ‘I’ll stroll along the road a little way and then come back. How long shall you be?’
‘Not too long. Something up to half an hour. They’re bound to offer me tea. They always do, and I’ll have to stay for a cup, but I’ll get away as soon as I can. It won’t be too long.’
He smiled. ‘I’ll try to be patient.’
She left him then and set off along the lane. The cottage gardens on either side were masses of colour with so many different flowers, while on the verge, vivid against the lush green grass, clumps of primroses looked like creamy-yellow buttons. Birds were busy, she noticed, gathering material for nesting. The cherry trees were heavy with blossom.
The two Castle women lived in the third thatched cottage along, and Lydia turned in at the small gate and went up the path. On either side in the borders grew jonquils, grape hyacinths and polyanthus. Reaching the door she gave a knock and then heard a voice calling to her to enter, and she lifted the latch and went in.
Mrs Castle was a woman in her sixties and her daughter, Mary, was in her late thirties. The latter had difficulty getting about on account of a lame right leg. She and her mother were a jolly pair, however, and made Lydia welcome to their humble but clean and tidy home. Lydia was offered tea – the kettle was already boiling – and in between sips, and nibbles at a little oatcake, she carefully folded and packed into the bag the work that the two women had completed, comprising a linen and lace tablecloth with poppies and wheat ears embroidered about the hem, two dozen heavy linen table napkins embroidered with lovebirds, and six pairs of stockings embroidered with silver clocks. Also there were two nightdresses with the ruffles hand-stitched. There were still some of Alfred’s customers who wanted their clothes and other items hand-sewn as far as possible.
Lydia and the two women chatted about this and that, and at last she put down her empty cup and rose to make her departure. As she put on her cloak she thanked the two women and said she would see herself out. She knew that as soon as she had gone they would make a start on the work to be done.
Closing the door behind her, she made her way back out onto the lane and turned up towards the green once more. As she reached it she saw the tall figure of Guy coming towards her from the direction of the main street.
He smiled as they drew closer to one another. ‘That was well timed,’ he said as he came to a stop before her. ‘Is it all done?’
‘Yes, all done.’
They stood facing one another, conscious of their nearness, momentarily at a loss as to what to say.
‘I’ve done the whole main street and back,’ Guy said. ‘And very slowly.’ Then he added, ‘How much time have you got? Do you have to rush home?’
‘Well – I’ve a little time. Not too much, but . . .’ Her words trailed off.
He jabbed back over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘I passed a little inn back there and looked in. It has a nice little saloon bar. It was very quiet. We could go there and sit down and have a drink for a while.’
Lydia said, ‘Yes, all right. Though I can’t say I’m thirsty. I’ve just had some tea.’
‘That’s all right, you don’t have to have anything, but at least we can get out of this wind. It’s too keen for my liking.’
She murmured a word of assent, and he reached out and took the bag from her as they turned and set off together along the road.
The public house that Guy had spoken of was at the end of the main street. On the wall at the front hung its sign showing a hare leaping over a crescent moon. Guy and Lydia passed under it and through the door. Within a little foyer there were two more doors, one leading to the public bar, and the other marked for the saloon bar. Guy opened the latter and he and Lydia went in.
It was a small room, with just four tables, two on
either side of the fireplace, and padded benches. A bright fire burned in the grate, and the walls were decorated in a theme of cricket, showing photographs of batsmen and teams soberly posed and unsmiling. There were no other patrons in the room, but the landlord appeared at once and smiled a welcome. Guy led Lydia to the table furthest from the door and, after consulting her, gave the barman their order: a small glass of sarsaparilla for Lydia and a glass of ale for himself. Two or three minutes later Guy was sitting on the bench next to Lydia, their drinks beside them on the table. With the landlord having gone back to the public bar, they were alone in the room. Lydia had taken off her gloves, but left her unfastened cloak around her shoulders. Guy had taken off his coat and hat and laid them on the bench beside him, next to Lydia’s umbrella and burlap bag.
From the direction of the other bar came the sounds of voices murmuring and the occasional chuckle. Guy took a swallow from his glass, then looked at Lydia over the rim. He gave a little shake of his head as he put the glass down on the table. ‘I seem always to be bringing you to inns,’ he said, ‘and plying you with drinks.’ He smiled. ‘It’s not the way I’d usually go on, but we can’t stand around outside, not in weather like this.’
‘Yes,’ Lydia replied, ‘at least it’s warm and comfortable in here.’
Guy just looked at her for a moment or two, then he said, ‘I can hardly believe we’re here, you know. I couldn’t wait for today. I was willing the time to go by.’
She thought, These are not the words he should be using, but at the same time they echoed what was in her own mind.
‘I wasn’t even sure,’ he said, ‘that you’d be here.’
‘I told you I would be.’
‘Yes, I know, but . . .’ He sighed. ‘Things happen. You might have had second thoughts.’
‘Oh, I had those all right,’ she said. ‘And third, and fourth.’ She paused briefly, then shook her head. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing here. Really I don’t. There’s nothing to be gained. I must be mad.’
‘Oh, no – Lydia, don’t say that.’
‘It’s true.
‘Anyway –’ He reached out, his hand hovering briefly just an inch above her own, and then withdrew it. ‘Anyway, you are here,’ he said. ‘I’m so happy to see.’ Gesturing to her glass, he said, ‘Is your drink all right?’
‘I haven’t tried it,’ she said.
‘Would you like something else?’
‘No, I asked for it just to have – something.’ She shook her head. Another moment and she repeated, ‘I don’t know what I’m doing here.’
‘Please – don’t keep saying that.’
‘But it’s true. What good can come of this?’
‘Can’t we just – talk? For old time’s sake?’
She nodded, but uneasily. Still that small voice kept repeating in her head that she should never have agreed to this meeting. Too much time had gone by, so much had happened. Things were not the same, their lives were not the same.
After a few moments of silence between them, he said, ‘I’ve thought about you so often, Lydia. Wondered how you were, what you were doing.’
She wanted to say, And I’ve thought about you, too, but such words were fraught with danger, and instead she said, trying to sound almost casual: ‘Tell me about yourself. Tell me what’s been happening. Obviously you’ve been running the paper, but what about your own life? Your life when you’re not at work?’
‘Oh, I go on, from day to day,’ he said. ‘Some are full of excitement on the paper, others are quite dull.’
‘What about your – your personal life? I’m assuming you’re not – married.’
‘No, I’m not married. I’ve felt no need to be. I did have – a relationship for a time, but I’m afraid it didn’t amount to anything. She wanted marriage but – I wasn’t ready, I suppose, and you can’t keep a person hanging on for ever. She deserved better.’
They fell silent again, and into the quiet came a sudden eruption of laughter from the public bar, as if someone had told a good joke. When the sound had died away to a general murmur once more, Guy said:
‘I don’t mind telling you, it was the most terrific shock, to find that you were. Married, I mean.’
‘Yes . . . it probably was.’
‘Well, put yourself in my place. It was the last thing I expected.’ He frowned. ‘And now, seeing him, your husband – that’s come as something of a surprise. He’s not at all the way I imagined him.’
‘You mean his being much older than I?’
‘Well . . .’
‘He is – older. Considerably older.’
The murmur from the public bar rose and fell. Lydia and Guy were untouched by it, aware only of themselves.
Guy said, smiling, breaking into Lydia’s thoughts of doubt, ‘Tell me, what of your sweet little sister, Ryllis? How is she getting along? Is she still with her young man, or has she moved on?’
Lydia put a hand to her mouth. He could not know. Of course he could not know. ‘She – she’s gone,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid she – she died.’
His face darkened with his frown of concern. ‘Oh, Lydia, no. She was so – so full of life.’
‘I know.’ Lydia had to be careful or the tears would spill. ‘She was caught in a field, by a bull. She didn’t have a chance.’ She lowered her head, casting her solemn face in shadow. ‘I’d rather not talk about it . . . D’you mind?’
He said nothing. A minute went by, then, raising her head, she said, ‘Why did you want to see me today? You said you had to see me, to talk to me.’
‘Oh, yes – I had to.’ He leaned slightly towards her. ‘Once I’d gone into the shop and found you standing behind the counter – and then with you coming running after me in the snow – oh, I had to talk to you. All these years I’ve thought about you – and there you were – just when I was least expecting it.’
‘Why didn’t you write to me from Italy? I waited for a letter from you. It never came.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘I said I’d write, and I didn’t.’ He gave a deep sigh and said hesitantly, ‘The truth is – I tried to put you out of my mind. I wasn’t ready to settle – to commit myself. Even at my age. Which is why I had previously joined the army, I suppose – I wanted to travel and see the world and – and not have responsibilities. I just wasn’t ready for commitment. And when my father lay so sick in his hospital bed in Florence I made a sort of promise to him. You see, he and my mother had great hopes for me – as regards marriage and other things. I – I won’t go into it but – oh, I let myself be swayed. Then of course, he died, and I had so much to do, to occupy my time. I was in Italy for weeks, settling up the business, and when I came back I was learning so much, taking on so much in the way of responsibility – which was all new to me. There was my mother, too – who needed me so desperately following the death of my father. I did think of you, Lydia. Oh, please believe that – I thought of you so many times – but by the time I came to look for you you’d gone. Then I found that you had married, and of course then it was too late.’
She found herself studying him as he sat beside her, one forearm along the table edge. She took in the line of his chin, his cheek, the almost thin, curving upper lip. How like him Davie was, she thought. The recognition, going through her mind, suddenly brought her back to the present and her situation. She must indeed be mad, she said to herself. What was she doing, sitting there in a public place talking to someone with whom she had had a love affair, a man who was the father of her child, a man who had come out of the past and back into her life? Only misery could come of it, and there had been enough of that already.
She could bear it no longer, and suddenly she was fumbling at the fastening of her cloak, taking up her gloves and pulling them on, her movements desperate and flurried. Guy looked at her with his eyes wide in surprise and consternation. ‘You’re not going, are you?’
‘I must.’ She touched at her hat. ‘I must go for my train.’
‘But
–’ he broke in, but got no further. She was rising from the bench and picking up the bag and umbrella and turning towards the door. She could not stay another moment. How could she put at risk all that she had gained? For that was what she was doing. ‘Goodbye, Guy.’ She threw the words over her shoulder, adding, ‘I’m sorry. So sorry . . .’ Then she was at the door, opening it and passing through.
In seconds Guy was putting on his hat and snatching up his coat. He followed her out and caught up with her just yards along the street.
‘Lydia, please.’ He reached out, one hand on her arm. ‘Wait – we must talk.’
She gave a little shake, and his grip fell away. ‘I shouldn’t have agreed to meet you here today,’ she said. ‘I wish I hadn’t.’
She went on, with Guy at her side getting into his coat as they went, first down the main street and eventually turning onto the road that led to the station.
‘Lydia, don’t do this,’ Guy said. ‘Please.’
‘I’ve got to get back,’ she replied. ‘Alfred and Davie will be wondering where I am.’
‘But Lydia –’
‘There’s nothing to talk about. Not now. It’s too late. There’s nothing we can say to one another that can make any difference.’
‘But I care for you. You must know that.’
‘Don’t. Please. You’ll only make matters worse.’
They had reached the station and together they walked onto the platform for the down line – and Lydia realised that of course Guy must take the same train, for the train that took her to Merinville would take him on to Redbury.
There were only three other travellers waiting on the platform, a solitary man and an elderly couple. Looking along the track, with relief Lydia saw the smoke rising that signalled the approach of the train. She could not wait to get back to Merinville and Alfred and her child.
