‘We’ll have no more of this nonsense. Far better if Patsy helps me. She can climb ladders, fetch and carry, keep things clean and ship-shape while I concentrate on serving customers.
‘No,’ Patsy said.
‘I beg your pardon, young lady?’
‘I said no. I’m going to continue to make hats whether you like it or not.’
Annie gasped, clearly unused to being challenged. ‘I think not! Certainly not using my money and materials, you won’t. Far too much has been wasted on this foolish enterprise already.’
Clara ventured to put in a word. ‘I believe you are being rather hard on the girl, Annie. We have actually sold a good many of Patsy’s efforts. A fact you wouldn’t be aware of, since you were ill and never saw them.’
‘If those silly little cocktail numbers are anything to go by I’m glad I didn’t see them. I’m sure it would have worsened my health considerably. Those are not the kind of hats normally sold on my stall.’
‘I intend to do a course at the local college,’ Patsy said, perversely coming out with the very opposite of what she had decided, in her determination to stand her ground. ‘And I shall pay for my own materials.’
Annie flounced off, greatly annoyed and clearly agitated, while Clara rested a staying hand on Patsy’s arm, a typical gesture. ‘Remember, her health is not what it might be.’
‘Her temper’s as sharp as ever though.’
Clara’s lips twitched into a smile. ‘I’m afraid so, but we must not tax it too far, Patsy. She is my sister. We must take care not to vex her and cause another attack.’
Patsy nodded. ‘I know, I’ll try and behave, only I said from the start that I wouldn’t be used as a skivvy, either in the house or on the stall.’
Of course you did and quite right too. Give Annie time. She’ll come round to the idea of your hats, once she sees how fine they are. In the meantime, signing yourself up for a course is a good idea. Why don’t you go and make enquiries today?’
Patsy’s emotions seemed to swing between complete optimism and total despair. She was delighted that the sisters wanted her to stay, for now at least, even if it was only out of necessity until Annie grew stronger. On the other hand, she was no nearer solving the mystery of her own background and was beginning to wonder if she ever would.
Patsy didn’t know where to begin to find a course on hat making, so started by walking over to the university buildings.
‘Good heavens, we don’t dabble in such trivia at the university,’ said a frosty faced receptionist. ‘You’ll have to look elsewhere for such amusement.’
‘It’s not for my amusement,’ Patsy smartly responded. ‘It’s to help me earn a living, make a career for myself. I reckoned that’s what universities were all about.’
‘Then you reckoned wrong, girl. Universities are about education, something it’s obvious you know little about. And we certainly don’t offer a degree in hat making. Ask at the town hall, dear, or your local technical college.’ And the woman slammed shut the window that separated her from the rest of humanity.
‘Well, there should be a degree in hat-making! People still need hats!’ Patsy shouted through the glass, before marching out of the building.
She stood out on the pavement, breathing deeply. Why get herself in a lather over a stuck-up receptionist, and a course she’d never intended to do in the first place? It was a stupid idea. One she’d only agreed to in order to get up Annie’s nose. And to please Clara, of course.
Anyway, she was learning all she needed from Clara herself, with the added benefit that they were growing increasingly friendly as they worked on the hats together. She’d just have to use her charm on Annie a bit more, persuade her to let them carry on as before.
In any case, she should put her mind to solving the puzzle of her birth, not fussing over some silly course.
But once she’d geared herself up to ask the right questions, she might not receive the right answers. So even if Annie didn’t actually give her the push, Patsy knew she would feel obliged to move on anyway.
She wished she could talk her problems over with someone, but who? Who cared about her enough even to listen?
Marc. The one person she most definitely couldn’t ask.
She was sitting in the fitting room with Clara the following afternoon, in defiance of Annie’s instructions, attaching black velvet petals to a smooth satin cap so that it framed the face beautifully. ‘I think a small veil too, don’t you, Clara?’
‘That might give it a little extra interest, yes. Try this one with the tiny French knots. Oh, yes, that is delightful, Patsy. Hello Marc, look what Patsy has made. Isn’t she clever?’
Inwardly shrinking from facing him, Patsy shot a quick glance in his direction, brief enough to protect herself from his compelling gaze, but sufficient to register the dark crinkled hair, the wide smile, and the casual way he leaned his lithe body against the door frame, hands in pockets, as if he had all the time in the world. The very confidence of his stance infuriated her.
‘I would’ve thought you’d be back at your art school by now,’ Patsy sharply remarked.
‘I have the results of my examinations. I have passed with flying colours.’
Clara jumped up and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Oh, well done, Marc. I’m so pleased for you. And what now?’
‘Now I seek employment. And who knows where that might be?’
A sick feeling settled in the pit of Patsy’s stomach before she could do anything to stop it. The possibility of Marc leaving the market before her, was not something she’d even considered. She’d always thought she would be the one to leave, not him.
‘Patsy is trying to find herself a course too, in hat-making.’
‘Have you found one?’ His gaze upon her was keen and interested.
Patsy shrugged, as if it were of no concern. ‘Not yet. Anyway, Clara can teach me all I need to know. So I might as well learn what I can, while I’m here.’
‘But you aren’t leaving, are you? You do intend to stay on the market?’
‘Of course she’s staying, where else would she go?’ Clara said. ‘If you will excuse me, Patsy, while you have Marc here to chat to, I’d like to nip home and check on Annie. She’s had a tiring morning. Her first one back at work, you know, Marc, and I need to make certain it wasn’t all too much for her.
‘Don’t worry, you go and see to Annie. I shall stay and keep Patsy company.’
‘Bless you!’
Patsy was annoyed, and after Clara had gone turned on Marc, her eyes flashing fire. ‘There’s no need for you to do any such thing. I’m perfectly fine on my own.’
Ignoring her completely, Marc casually took the seat that Clara had vacated, resting his arms on his knees and leaning so close to her she could see her own reflection in those bewitching brown eyes, framed by softly curled lashes. ‘You must stay. You cannot think of leaving. Clara, she want you to stay too. She needs you. I need you.’
Patsy felt her cheeks grow warm. Somehow she found breath to speak. ‘Annie is the one who makes the big decisions round here. If she decides to sack me again, I’m on the next bus out of here.’
‘It doesn’t have to be that way. You can always come back to the ice cream parlour. Papa likes you too. He says you have spunk.’
‘I prefer hats.’
‘And being with anyone but me, apparently. Why will you not give us a chance, Patsy? What are you afraid of? Perhaps finding that you do like me a little, after all? I am wondering if there is any hope for me.’
The ache of longing, deep in the pit of her stomach, swelled and grew at his words, seeming to fill her entire being. In that moment Patsy admitted to herself that she didn’t want Marc to give up hope. No matter how many times she might tell him to stay away, perversely she wanted, needed, him to still be there.
‘What about you? Now that you’ve finished your art course, you might be the one to leave first, not me.’
There was a gleam of triumph in
the smile he gave her. ‘I am thinking you would miss me.’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You didn’t need to. Perhaps I will leave, or perhaps I will find a job here in Manchester. It all depends on whether it is worth my while to stay. Do you think it is, Patsy?’
She pouted a little, kept her eyes on the hat in her hands, though her fingers didn’t seem to be working quite as they should and the velvet petals were falling all over the place. ‘How would I know?’
‘How can I convince you that I am not the big bad wolf of the horrid fairytale?’
She giggled, quite unable to help herself. Partly because she had a sudden insight into how foolish and childish she was being but also something to do with the way he took the hat from her to gather her hand in his and stroke each finger in a delicate caress.
‘I came today with an invitation. My papa and mama send to you their best regards and wish to know when they are to see you again.’
Patsy stared at him in stunned surprise. This was the last thing she’d expected. ‘Why would they wish to?’
He shook his head in despair. ‘You sound more like Annie every day. Are you sure she isn’t your mother, and not Clara at all?’
Patsy had momentarily forgotten that she had confessed the nature of her quest to Marc. Now her heart nearly stopped in shock at being reminded of this indiscretion. How stupid of her! And the very idea of Annie being her mother was too dreadful to contemplate. Patsy had always been quite certain in her own mind that it was Clara. Hadn’t Shirley discovered it was the younger daughter who was believed to be pregnant, the one who was particularly friendly with Felicity Matthews’s son?
Marc was still waiting for an answer, wondering if once again he’d said the wrong thing. What had he done this time? Ah, yes, of course. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that about your mother. I haven’t mentioned what you told me to a living soul, Patsy. I swear your secret is safe with me.’
She was glaring at him with no sign of forgiveness in her expression, which meant there would be no simple acceptance of his invitation. When was anything straightforward where Patsy was concerned? He had great sympathy for her problems, and admiration for the way she had coped with rejection by her foster parents, but sometimes he wondered if she quite appreciated that other people had problems too. It was a lesson she needed to take on board, then perhaps she would find the courage to confront her own personal demons. If only she would let him help.
He tried again. ‘Papa was sorry when you left the ice cream parlour. He had been happy to give you a job and would have been equally happy for you to stay.’
Patsy bent her head, hiding her face in the fall of her hair as she returned her full attention to stitching velvet petals. ‘I’m sorry, I do feel a bit guilty over letting him down, but Clara needs me here.’
‘Of course, I can see that. You must help your mother and your aunt.’
Patsy jerked, pricking herself inadvertently with the needle. ‘I’ve told you not to call them that. Don’t ever use those words.’
Marc’s expression softened as he considered her. ‘I won’t say anything in front of them, I promise, but it’s certainly time that you did. Long past time, in fact, that you came right out with it and asked Clara to tell you the whole truth.’
‘I know, I know. I only wish . . . ‘ Patsy’s fingers stilled as she hesitated, desperate to talk to someone, her voice dropping to little more than a whisper. ‘She has told me more about her past, about something that happened to her when she and Annie were in Paris.’
‘And did you ask if she had a child?’ When Patsy shook her head he drew back the curtain of fair hair to peep at her. ‘You are not so brave as you pretend, little one. Shall I ask for you?’
‘No, that would be wrong. Please don’t do that, Marc. This is my problem. I must be the one to solve it.’
‘I agree, and you have strength enough, the heart of a lion. Use it. There is no shame in being afraid, but how can I encourage you when you will not even let me see you?’ He gave a rueful smile and Patsy couldn’t help but respond to it.
‘I suppose I have been behaving a bit foolishly.’
He put back his head and laughed out loud. ‘What is this? Not an apology.’
She was affronted. ‘Of course not, why would I need to apologise?’
‘Why indeed? When a man says he cannot sleep for thinking of you, cannot get you out of his head, why would you care?’
She stared at him then, astonished by what he’d just said and mesmerised by his nearness. When he bridged the distance between them to place his mouth gently over hers, Patsy couldn’t have prevented that kiss, not for the world.
He lifted his head and looked deeply into her eyes, ran one finger down her cheek. ‘Be brave, Patsy. Stop hiding from yourself. Stop running away. There are people ready to help you, me included, but you have to be prepared to let them into your life. You have learn to trust. Not everyone willlet you down as your foster parents did.’
She was silent, not attempting to answer. Not quite able to take in the full import of what he was trying to say because Patsy was once again thinking of Clara’s story; of her lover’s attempted escape and his death. She’d had no choice but to face up to that reality and go on. Life was like that.
Patsy knew, in her heart, that what Marc was telling her made sense. She had a great desire to feel settled, to make far-reaching decisions about her life, to form real friendships and lasting relationships, but many unanswered questions needed to be addressed first. She must somehow find the courage, as Marc said, to finish her quest, no matter what the outcome.
He got to his feet. ‘I’ve told Papa that you will come to tea on Sunday. We eat at six o’clock. I shall expect you to do that for him, and for my mother and sisters who also liked you, even if you don’t care about my feelings. They are good people, and they too have had their problems. Italians were not popular round here during the war. Yet Papa survived, against the odds, through years interned in a camp on the Isle of Man. We all survived those difficult years, as you will get through yours, believe me. Please don’t be late.’ Then he dropped a kiss on top of her head, and left.
After he’d gone, Patsy put her head in her hands and wept for shame at her own selfishness. It really was time she stopped worrying so much about herself, and started to put others first.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Amy was in despair. She supposed she should be grateful that at least Chris’s parents had allowed them the use of their back bedroom, the one which he had occupied since he was a boy. But the situation was far from ideal. Extremely difficult in fact. Mr George had rarely remained in the house longer than half an hour since they’d arrived, always seeming to have work needing attention at the bakery, and Mrs George hadn’t yet spoken a word to her.
Amy would go into the kitchen and as politely as she could offer to help prepare the tea. Unfortunately, this would be met either by stony silence or an irritable flick of the hand.
‘Shall I set the table?’
A mute shake of the head.
Filled with panic and aching with misery, Amy felt desperate to make things right between them, for Chris’s sake if nothing else. She noticed the sink stacked with used cooking utensils. ‘I’ll wash up, shall I, while you cook?’
But as she approached, Mrs George set down the skillet she was using and stood with her hands gripping to the edge of the sink, forming a physical barrier so that, short of pushing her out of the way, Amy could do nothing. And her mouth was still pressed into that hard, tight line, clearly determined not to exchange one civil word with her daughter-in-law.
Amy gave up and crept away, painfully aware that her assistance wasn’t welcome. Even her presence in the house was clearly a trial to them.
At first Chris had insisted they all sit together in the living room, doing his best to start up a conversation with his parents, but the pervading silence had done for him too in the end.
‘Look
, if there’s something you want to say, why don’t you come right out and say it? Let’s clear the air then we can all get on with our lives.’
No response.
‘Go on, speak to me. Speak to Amy, for God’s sake. She’s done nothing wrong, nothing to deserve being cold shouldered in this way.’
When still they said nothing, simply kept their eyes glued to the flickering television screen in the corner, Chris leaped to his feet and switched the set off. Then he yelled at them both about their bad manners. ‘She’s my wife, damn it, and I’ll not have her ignored, or sent to Coventry, or whatever childish game it is that you’re playing.’
‘We’re not going to argue with you, son,’ his father quietly remarked. ‘We aren’t that sort of family,’ casting a meaningful glance in Amy’s direction, as if silently adding, ‘unlike some’.
Since then they’d preferred to spend every moment they possibly could either out of the house or, as the nights drew in and grew colder, in their own room. But even that was difficult. It was so cramped and tiny. Worse even than the room Amy had shared with Fran. And there was nothing to do in it but play cards or read library books, or sit cuddled up on the bed dreaming of a better future.
‘It’s only temporary,’ Chris would reassure Amy, stroking away her tears, kissing her flushed cheeks. ‘Till we find a place of our own.’
Easy to say, but such dreams took money.
Chris was still looking for work thought thankfully Amy’s brother had welcomed her back with open arms, putting her straight into the new kitchens and telling her not to fret about Mam.
‘Leave her be. She’ll come round in the end.’
Amy wasn’t so sure. Knowing her mother, not for a moment did she imagine Big Molly would accept defeat gracefully. But at least she and Chris were married now, husband and wife at last. Nobody could alter that simple fact.
Fools Fall in Love Page 27
