Winners and Losers

by Catrin Collier

  ‘I’ll ask Mr Richards to draw up the necessary papers, and whether or not he thinks it’s a good idea for you to attend the meetings,’ Sali said decisively.

  ‘I’ll go on to Ynysangharad House with Harry. If you need me, you can send for me.’ Lloyd lifted Harry on to his knee so he could look out of the window.

  ‘Are we having tea with Mr Richards and Mari?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Yes. You like Mrs Richards and Mari, don’t you, darling?’ Sali asked.

  ‘Yes. Do I have to see Grandmother?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want to.’ Lloyd looked at Sali over the top of Harry’s head. ‘You said yourself your mother barely knows where she is, or what she’s doing.’

  Sali nodded agreement. But she was more preoccupied with thoughts of Geraint than her mother. He lived in Ynysangharad House and worked alongside other members of the committee. She couldn’t help wondering just how much damage he had done to Lloyd’s reputation –and hers –since the last meeting.

  ‘Here, let me take your cloak and hat and hang them on the drying rack.’ Victor lowered the rack Sali used to dry clothes on in winter, and arranged Megan’s damp cloak and hat on it before hoisting it back up to the ceiling in front of the range. ‘Have you had dinner?’

  ‘Mrs Palmer made a shepherd’s pie for us today.’ Megan sat in the chair and held her hands out to the fire.

  ‘But you’ll have some tea and a slice of Sali’s apple pie?’

  ‘I’ll have some tea, please, but I’ll save the pie for later, if I may. Victor, there’s no need for you to box,’ she said eagerly. ‘I offered you my savings -’

  ‘We’ll need your savings when we get married. Next door might be furnished but there’s room for improvement and there’s linen, crockery and cutlery. They all cost money.’

  ‘How much have you made boxing?’

  ‘Including what I made betting on myself yesterday, twenty pounds give or take.’

  ‘Twenty pounds! That’s a fortune. More than enough to pay any fines you and Joey get. You’ll stop now?’ she begged.

  ‘I wish I could be as sure as you that twenty pounds will be enough to pay our’ fines and costs.’ He set the kettle on to boil and took his mother’s best cups from the dresser, which they had been forced to use for every day ever since the police had smashed most of the china.

  ‘Then how much do you think you’ll need?’ she asked seriously.

  ‘I’ll only be able to answer that after the case has been heard, Megs. If we’re lucky they’ll find us innocent, but we’ll still have to pay our costs.’

  ‘How often do you box?’

  ‘Double bout once a week.’

  ‘Victor, there’ll be nothing left of you.’ She left the chair, reached up and ran her fingers lightly over his damaged face.

  ‘I fought two double bouts without you even knowing. It was just bad luck that I was up against a champion yesterday. But I’m learning and getting better. I promise you, I won’t be in this state next week.’

  ‘You can’t possibly know what state you’ll be in after your next match,’ she countered, allowing her irritation to show.

  He circled her tiny waist with his hands and kissed her forehead. ‘When I win, I make five pounds, plus the profit from any bets I put on myself.’

  ‘And if you lose?’

  ‘First rule of boxing, winner takes all.’ The kettle began to steam. He released her and picked up the teapot.

  ‘You said that you and your family were just about managing on your strike pay. I can see that you need extra money for your fines. But there’s no point in your boxing after that.’

  ‘If I made enough to pay your father fifteen shillings a week until your twenty-first birthday, would you leave the lodging house and come here and live with us?’

  ‘Victor I -’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘As your common-law wife?’

  ‘As my fiancée and our guest,’ he contradicted emphatically. ‘Everything would be above board. Sali’s in the house and there’s a spare bedroom upstairs.’

  ‘If my father got to hear of it, he’d kill me.’

  ‘Because he thinks so little of you he’d assume you were living in sin,’ he said in disgust.

  ‘For disobeying him and living in the house of a Catholic.’

  ‘My father’s an atheist.’ He made the tea, put the cosy over the pot and set it on the stove.

  ‘My father thinks they are even worse than Catholics.’

  ‘Is there anyone your father doesn’t hate?’ When she didn’t answer, he said, ‘So you won’t leave the lodging house?’

  ‘I don’t see how I can –for the moment, Victor,’ she qualified.

  ‘Because I may need all the money I have and more for the fines?’ he said bitterly.

  ‘The strike won’t last for ever.’

  ‘I’m beginning to think it just might.’

  She held out her hand. He took it, sat down and pulled her on to his lap.

  ‘I love you far too much to see you get hurt this way. Especially for me.’ She kissed the scar below his eye. He winced as she slipped her fingers beneath his sweater. ‘It’s not just your face, is it?’

  ‘I promise you one thing, Megs.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Once I have enough money to pay the fines and your father, I’ll never box again. But there is a condition: you have to leave the lodging house and live under this roof.’

  ‘Victor -’

  ‘Please, let’s not argue about it. Just enjoy what time we have.’ He kissed her again, and soon the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock.

  ‘I always think that change, especially change that might be seen as even slightly controversial, is best taken slowly, Mrs Evans. But I agree with you, the sooner Mr Evans legally adopts Harry the better.’ Mr Richards moved his chair slightly so the waitress could set a plate of cheese and plain scones on their table, the only dainties Sali would allow Harry to have, although he had been bestowing longing glances on the chocolate and iced fancies under the glass case on the counter.

  Robert, the coachman from Ynysangharad House, had met them at the station with the carriage and, to Sali and Lloyd’s surprise, Mr Richards had been inside. After driving to Gwilym James and arriving there half an hour early for the trustees’ meeting, Mr Richards had asked Robert to wait for Harry and Lloyd, and taken them all across the road into the tearoom in the arcade.

  ‘You can arrange the adoption, Mr Richards?’ Sali asked.

  ‘I’ll speak to my clerk and set everything in motion first thing on Monday morning. In the meantime, much as I hate bringing up the subject with young people of your and Mr Evans’ age,’ he gave Lloyd a small smile, ‘as you are Harry’s official guardian, Mrs Evans, it might be as well if you both make wills in favour of one another.’

  ‘I have already made a will leaving everything I own to Sali and on her death, Harry and any future children we may have.’

  ‘Have you appointed an executor?’

  ‘My father and brothers.’ Lloyd took the tea Sali had poured for him.

  ‘Very wise, Mr Evans. Mrs Evans?’

  ‘I have nothing much besides Harry to leave.’ Sali placed a cheese scone on a plate, cut it in half and set it together with the butter dish in front of Harry. ‘But if you could draw up a will and leave everything I own to Lloyd, and also make him Harry’s guardian until Harry comes of age, I would be grateful.’

  ‘And the executors?’

  Sali didn’t hesitate. ‘Lloyd’s father, brothers and, in case they need help to carry out my wishes, your firm.’

  Mr Richards looked thoughtfully at Harry, who was engrossed in spreading butter. ‘I would be derelict in my professional duty if I didn’t advise you to cover all eventualities. Have either of you thought what would happen to Harry if there should be an accident that affects both of you?’

  ‘Lloyd’s father and brothers should become Harry’s guardians. They are the only
adults he knows and trusts apart from Lloyd and myself.’ Sali looked to Lloyd, who nodded confirmation.

  ‘And your brothers and sister, Mrs Evans?’

  ‘May visit Harry, but only if he wants to see them.’

  ‘Mr Watkin Jones could challenge your decision, Mrs Evans.’

  ‘I don’t doubt he will after the way he behaved at the last trustees’ meeting.’ She poured milk into her tea.

  ‘Perhaps he should be given a copy of your will as soon as it is signed so any objections he wishes to make can be,’ Mr Richards hesitated, choosing his words carefully, ‘dealt with.’

  ‘That sounds like a good idea.’ Sali glanced at her bracelet watch. There was still ten minutes to go before the meeting was due to start. ‘I read the agenda Mr Horton junior sent me. It appears straightforward apart from any other business. Have you any idea what Geraint is going to bring up?’

  ‘Mr Watkin Jones told me there is nothing he wishes to discuss outside of the agenda today.’

  ‘You spoke to him after the last meeting?’ Sali probed.

  Mr Richards blotted his lips with his linen napkin. ‘Would you be kind enough to pour me another cup of tea if there is sufficient in the pot, Mrs Evans? And I believe we have time for another scone before the meeting. You and Harry can stay here in the dry if you like, Mr Evans. I’ll ask Robert to bring the cab across the road for you.’

  ‘You can scarcely breathe.’ Megan saw Victor’s eyes crease in pain and she tried to leave his lap, but he locked his arms around her waist, imprisoning her in his grasp.

  ‘I’m a bit bruised, that’s all.’ He smiled wickedly at her. ‘A few more kisses might make me feel better.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  He kissed her tenderly, but when she parted her lips, his kiss grew fiercer, more intense. She lifted her hand, intending to stroke his cheek and he cried out. She leaped to her feet and that time he didn’t even attempt to stop her.

  ‘You are in agony, aren’t you?’

  ‘No.’ He grimaced. ‘You stuck your elbow into a bruise, that’s all. Please, come back down here.’

  She knelt in front of the chair, lifted his sweater and unfastened the buttons on his shirt.

  ‘There’s a vest under that and this isn’t the way I imagined you undressing me.’ He gripped both of her hands in his but not before she’d pulled his vest free from his trousers and pushed his braces aside. She cried out in horror. ‘Victor, you’re all shades of black and blue ...’

  ‘And purple and yellow,’ he added in a resigned tone. ‘Joey’s already told me I look like a rainbow.’ He rose to his feet and tucked his vest and shirt back into his trousers. ‘Forget about them and come back down here.’

  ‘I couldn’t. I’d be terrified of hurting you again.’

  ‘A little thing like you.’

  ‘There’s no way that chair is big enough for the two of us,’ she argued, ‘and I’m not sitting on your lap again.’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘No, Victor, I couldn’t relax.’

  ‘Then there’s only one thing for it.’ Rubbing his chest where she’d accidentally hurt him, he left the room. She heard him walking up the stairs. A few moments later he returned with the eiderdown from his and Joey’s bed, and two pillows. He covered the hearthrug with the eiderdown and arranged the pillows on it.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘What does it look like?’ He sat on the chair and unlaced his boots.

  ‘Making a bed.’

  He grinned at her again. ‘You clever girl. You can go to the top of the class.’

  ‘And what class would that be?’

  He lay on the eiderdown, slipped a pillow beneath his head and held out his arm. ‘Mine. Now will you please give me a cuddle?’

  She held back. ‘Won’t it look peculiar if someone walks in?’

  ‘My father and Ned Morgan have a proposal to write for the Federation. The last time they put one of those together, they were in the library of the County Club until two in the morning. Lloyd and Sali won’t be back until after they’ve had tea in Ynysangharad House and caught the train up from Pontypridd. That will be seven o’clock at the earliest. And, as my father won’t allow Joey to forget he’s in disgrace, he won’t dare move from the picket lines around Ely Colliery until he’s relieved at eight o’clock for fear that someone will carry tales. So, we’ve the house to ourselves for the afternoon.’

  ‘And if Mrs Morgan or one of the other neighbours decides to come round to borrow something?’

  ‘We’ll give them an eyeful and enough to talk about for a month.’

  ‘Victor!’

  ‘As one half of an engaged couple you should expect to attract gossip.’ He raised his eyebrows and gave her a pleading look. ‘Please. I promise to dismantle the bed before anyone comes home.’

  She unlaced her boots and set them under the chair next to his. Kneeling beside him, she lowered herself on to the eiderdown, careful not to touch him.

  ‘I’m bruised, not made of glass.’ He reached up to one of the easy chairs and pulled down a blanket Sali had knitted from odd balls of wool and used to cover Harry if he fell asleep during the day. Shaking it over both of them, he crept close to her. ‘This is more like it.’ He slid his arm beneath her shoulders and eased her head on to his chest.

  ‘It’s surprisingly comfortable.’

  ‘And warmer than the bedroom.’

  Slowly, tentatively, she rested her hand lightly on his chest. ‘Am I hurting you?’

  ‘You could never do that, Megs.’

  ‘I just did.’

  ‘You only reminded me how much someone else had hurt me.’ He pulled a pin from her hair with his free hand. ‘I love to see your hair loose.’

  ‘Here, let me.’ She sat up, removed the remaining pins from her hair and dropped them together with the one Victor had already taken into her shoe.

  ‘Do you think our children will have red curly hair, like you?’

  ‘I hope not,’ She lay back beside him. ‘I was teased horribly about my hair when I was little.’

  ‘I can’t see why. It’s beautiful.’

  ‘It’s not.’ She kissed him and wrapped her arm around his neck. ‘But thank you for saying so.’

  He slid his hand beneath her sweater. ‘Are you warm enough to take this off?’

  A lump rose in her throat, but she pulled her sweater over her head and pushed it below her pillow. He kissed her again and unbuttoned her blouse, pulling it free from the waistband of her skirt. His hand moved, warm, sensuous, inside her chemise and bust shaper, and over her breasts as he teased her nipples with the tips of his fingers. She felt the colour mounting into her cheeks when he folded back the blanket, opened her bust shaper and gazed at her naked breasts before kissing each in turn.

  ‘Women wear so many clothes,’ he complained when he tried and failed to unfasten her skirt.

  Fighting embarrassment, she looked deep into his grey eyes. ‘Would you like me to undress for you?’

  He sat up and looked away for what seemed like an eternity, and she wondered if he were going to reject her a second time. ‘Just in case someone does try to come in, I’ll lock the door.’ He left the makeshift bed, went to the door that led to the basement steps and slid the bolt home before going to the door that connected with the passage. He turned the key and looked back at her. She was standing with her foot on the chair.

  Knowing he was watching her, Megan unfastened her garters and unrolled the stockings from her legs. Laying them on a chair, she stepped out of her skirt, folded it and set it next to her stockings. Her petticoats, blouse and bust shaper followed. She heard the breath catch in his throat as she pulled down her drawers. He continued to stand, mesmerized, as she lifted her final garment, the beautiful chemise Sali had bought her, over her head.

  Whether it was the warmth of the room, the peculiarly clear white light that filtered through the window from the snow-filled atmosphere, or simply his love for her, she app
eared to glow –pale and translucent, like a nude in a Renaissance painting. Too overawed to do anything other than stare, Victor finally regained his senses when she held out her hand to him. He walked slowly towards her, took her reverentially in his arms and embraced the length of her body with his own.

  ‘Aren’t you going to undress?’ Megan felt that she should have been ill at ease, but somehow she sensed that her nudity made him more vulnerable than her.

  ‘I couldn’t trust myself to hold back,’ he whispered thickly.

  ‘And perhaps I wouldn’t want you to.’ She continued to gaze into his eyes.

  ‘Megs ...’

  ‘It’s time, Victor.’ She lifted his sweater and unbuckled his belt.

  ‘We have made all the investments suggested and ratified by the board at our last meeting, however,’ George Owens, the managing director of the Capital and Counties Bank, looked over his half-spectacles at the trustees assembled around the table, in my own and my colleagues’ opinions, Gwilym James’ account is still cash rich.’

  ‘You are suggesting that we need to make more investments, sir?’ Mr Horton asked the obvious question.

  ‘I most certainly am, and given Master Harry’s age, I would recommend they be long-term.’

  ‘My father believed property to be the best long-term investment, Mr Owens.’ Sali looked up from the notepad on the table in front of her.

  ‘I wouldn’t disagree with that pronouncement, Mrs Evans.’

  Sali wondered if the director ever used one word when he could use six. ‘Mr Jenkins,’ she turned to her late great-aunt’s butler, who was, as usual, chairing the meeting, ‘you mentioned that before the strike there was some discussion as to whether or not Gwilym James should open a branch in Tonypandy.’

  ‘A decision that was quite rightly put into abeyance at the outset of the strike,’ Geraint stated strongly. ‘Only an idiot would invest in the Rhondda Valleys at the moment.’

  Sali looked at her brother for the first time since she had entered the room. ‘The strike won’t go on for ever, Geraint.’ Her heart was beating erratically but she managed to speak calmly.