Sunshine and Showers

by June Francis

  ‘Damn! He’s trying to catch me out,’ said Rose, frowning. ‘Well, I’ll sort him.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s only the lousy weather that’s brought him home early,’ said Patsy conversationally.

  Rose nodded. ‘Don’t tell him you’ve seen me. I’ll be in for dinner and I’ll have a guest with me, but not until seven-thirty.’

  ‘He’s going to be made up about that,’ muttered Patsy.

  ‘What did you say?’ asked Rose.

  ‘Nuthin’!’

  Rose gave her a hard stare. ‘You’re lying. I won’t forget it.’ She closed the door.

  Patsy considered walking out and not coming back but decided against it when she heard hailstones battering the window. She hoped Rose Tanner got soaked to the skin. She had no right to call her a liar. Why had she come home, only to go out again? Who was this guest she was bringing to the house? Presumably, whoever it was would be staying for dinner. If she had a fancy man, then it certainly wouldn’t be him. Patsy’s flesh crept at the thought of what David Tanner might do if he discovered his wife was carrying on with someone else. No, she was not going to dwell on his reacting violently. She had seen little of that in him so far.

  The first thing Patsy knew of Rose Tanner’s return was when she heard voices in the lobby and her name being called. This meant that Rose Tanner had remembered her front-door key for once. Patsy wiped her hands on a dishcloth before hurrying from the kitchen.

  ‘Patsy, put the kettle on. My friend and I are in desperate need of a cup of tea,’ said Rose, shoving a dripping umbrella into the hall stand.

  ‘Yes, madam.’

  ‘Before you go, do help Miss Swift off with her coat and hang it up in the kitchen by the range.’

  Patsy glanced quickly at the other woman. She was older than Mrs Tanner and looked ill at ease. Her fingers quivered as she unbuttoned her damp coat. ‘I really shouldn’t have come, Rose. Mother will be wondering where I am.’

  ‘Heavens, Joan, you’re going to have to stand up to your mother some day. I certainly had to. You can’t let her run your life,’ said Rose loudly. ‘Anyway, you can telephone her. I’m sure she’ll understand why you’re staying here when she looks out of the window. Now, come and say hello to David.’

  As Patsy made her way to the kitchen with Miss Swift’s coat, she heard the sitting-room door open and Rose say, ‘David, I hope you don’t mind but I’ve asked my friend, Joan, to stay the night.’

  When Patsy entered the drawing room it was to find that the carpet had been rolled back and Rose and Miss Swift were gliding across the parquet floor to the musical strains of A1 Jolson singing ‘April Showers’ on the gramophone. David Tanner sat with the newspaper folded on his knee with his eyes on the two women. Joan Swift suddenly stumbled and stood on her partner’s toe.

  ‘Ouch! Watch what you’re doing,’ said Rose, wincing. ‘That’s the second time you’ve put in an extra step.’

  ‘It’s your stride,’ said Joan. ‘You should be the man.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You know I always take the woman’s part,’ replied Rose crossly.

  ‘Well, it’s not fair,’ said Joan.

  ‘Don’t moan. Tea is here now,’ said Rose, strolling over to the gramophone and removing the record. She slid it into its sleeve and put it away in the cupboard beneath the turntable. As she straightened, she said, ‘We’re going to have to put in more time, Joan, if we’re to get anywhere in the forthcoming competition.’

  ‘I’m not sure whether Mother will like me being out more often,’ said Joan anxiously, glancing about her for a seat.

  ‘Never mind your mother,’ drawled Rose. ‘We have a strong chance of winning if you put your heart into it.’

  ‘Sit here, Miss Swift,’ said David, vacating his chair. ‘I need to fetch something from upstairs.’ He brushed past Patsy on his way out.

  She looked at her mistress. ‘Will I pour, madam?’

  ‘No. We’ll see to ourselves. You’d better get on. You’ll need to make up the bed in the spare room.’

  As Patsy left the room, she heard Joan Swift say, ‘I don’t think I’ll stay after all. It must be obvious to your husband that I’m not up to your standard. I’ll drink my tea and go…’

  ‘But you can’t,’ said Rose, closing the door.

  Patsy wondered who would win the argument. Perhaps Miss Swift would surprise her by sticking to her guns and going home to her mother.

  And so it turned out. She did not even stay for dinner but came into the kitchen and asked for her coat. ‘It’s still damp,’ said Patsy.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Just help me on with it, so I can get out of this house. Such a forceful woman! She really should be the man.’ She glanced nervously over her shoulder. ‘I told her that I was visiting the lavatory. Now open the door and let me out.’

  Patsy obeyed her. ‘Are you sure you’ll be OK going round the side of the house in the dark, miss?’

  Miss Swift did not answer but disappeared into the wet night.

  Ten minutes later Rose arrived in the kitchen. ‘Patsy, where is Miss Swift?’

  ‘She’s gone home, madam. I think she wasn’t feeling well.’

  ‘You should have stopped her, encouraged her to stay. I don’t know why I put up with you,’ said Rose crossly. She turned on her heel and left the kitchen with what Patsy’s mother would have called a face on her.

  Patsy wondered what would be the outcome of what had just happened but to her surprise all was quiet that evening.

  Several days later, on a Saturday afternoon that was springlike in its warmth, Patsy was sitting by the open window of her bedroom, attempting to tidy up a jagged fingernail with the sandpaper of a matchbox, when she heard her employers come out onto the patio below. They were talking. Apparently it would soon be their seventh wedding anniversary. Rose had just asked her husband why he had married her when he must have known their union would only result in unhappiness for them both.

  ‘Haven’t you ever wanted something badly and been terrified at the same time that you won’t get it if you tell the truth?’ David’s voice reminded Patsy of a saw biting into wood.

  ‘No, I was brought up to tell the truth and shame the devil,’ said Rose. ‘I received many a clout for that from Mother, I can tell you.’

  ‘I was telling you the truth when I told you I loved you. I would have done so earlier, before I left for France, but you were still Gerald’s girl in my thoughts.’

  Rose sighed. ‘Poor Gerald! I often wonder what he would have thought about us getting married.’

  ‘Our mothers were determined on it. My mother insisted that I needed to make up to you for the loss of Gerald because I survived the hell of war.’

  ‘In other circumstances you might have done so but… oh, why couldn’t you have been honest with me?’ cried Rose.

  ‘I’ve already explained,’ he said.

  ‘It wasn’t an explanation, I was duped. Why don’t you go and get us drinks so I can drown my sorrows?’ There was a bitter note in her voice.

  ‘You know, if you were in America you wouldn’t legally be allowed to drink alcohol.’

  She said irritably, ‘I know that, but as I’m not planning on going to America why mention it?’

  ‘Because I’ll be going there next week.’

  ‘That’s a bit of a bombshell! When did you decide it?’

  ‘Yesterday. I’m rather hoping you’ll come with me. I thought I’d go to the last place that I heard from your brother.’

  ‘You do surprise me. Why should you think I want Rodney found? He and I never got on.’

  ‘I thought that going over there on the liner would give us a chance to—’

  ‘No, don’t say the words to have a second boneymoon! she interrupted. ‘The first was a complete shambles.’ Patsy heard the sound of a chair being pushed back. ‘I’ll get my own drink.’

  ‘I was going to say it would be a break for us both. You could do some shopping in New York. I’ll make the jou
rney south on my own.’

  ‘You heard what I said,’ she said angrily. ‘Let go of my arm! You’re hurting me!’

  Patsy dropped the matchbox and pushed up the lower sash window further. She was about to put her head through the gap and shout I’m here! when she heard him say, ‘Not as much as you’re hurting me. Most wives would jump at the chance of having a holiday in America in the spring.’

  ‘But I’m not an ordinary wife, am I?’ Her voice shook. ‘Now, let me go before I scream and bring the neighbours running.’

  ‘I’d never do anything to harm you.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you? I’ve had seven years of pretending we’re a normal married couple when we’re nothing of the sort.’

  The silence was longer this time. Then Patsy heard the rapid tap-tap-tap of Rose’s high heels on the crazy paving and after that came the sound of a door closing.

  If Patsy had not been feeling all of a dither by what she had overheard, she might have thought that what had taken place was just like listening to an act in a play. She wondered when David Tanner would leave for America. It was obvious that he did not wish to leave his wife behind. Was that because he still loved her? Or was it because, despite Miss Swift’s visit, he was still suspicious of what his wife might get up to behind his back? Either way, it seemed like he was going to have to risk leaving her behind. Patsy thought of Tilly living in New York and decided it was time to write another letter about the latest goings-on here.

  Chapter Five

  ‘This fabric isn’t white,’ said Joy, peering at the scrap of material in her hand.

  Alice had come over from Chester as she had promised, bringing samples of cloth with her. ‘I know,’ said Alice hesitantly, ‘but white and cream are not slimming colours.’

  Joy was hurt. ‘You came all the way to Liverpool to tell me that.’ She tossed aside the scrap of material amongst the various coloured samples on the table.

  ‘I want what’s best for you,’ said Alice in a soothing voice. ‘White might be considered a bit too virginal for a woman of your age.’

  Joy flushed to the roots of her hair and put her hands on her hips and said indignantly, ‘But I am a virgin! You know, Alice, sometimes you really are too forthright for your own good.’

  Alice said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you but you agreed that you needed to go on a diet. But right now, I’m more interested in your being a virgin. I can scarcely believe you and Chris never made love despite his going off to war?’

  Joy looked stricken and she walked over to the fire and gazed into the slumbering embers. ‘There you go again. You and your big mouth,’ she said in a seething voice. ‘I can only believe you have no idea how much your words hurt. You had no right to bring that up and also no right to choose what colour I should wear for my wedding.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Alice. ‘You’re right, of course. You believed it was the proper thing to do to save yourself for marriage. So if it is a light colour you want, then…’ She reached for her handbag and removed a fold of tissue paper and opened it to reveal a strip of ivory-coloured silk shot through with a silver thread. ‘What do you think of this?’

  Joy turned and her expression changed. She picked up the material and stroked the silk. ‘How much is this? It’s lovelier than any material I ever imagined.’

  ‘It’s real fairy princess stuff, isn’t it?’ said Alice, smiling.

  ‘Yes,’ said Joy softly, thinking of Robbie’s niece, Wendy. The girl wanted to get married but she and Grant Simpson, who was a private detective, were having to wait until she was twenty-one because her mother, Rita, wouldn’t give her permission. Their wedding would most likely be a quiet affair because they had little money.

  ‘You’re thinking of Wendy, aren’t you?’ said Alice.

  ‘Yes. How did you guess?’ asked Joy, startled.

  ‘I know you’re fond of her. What if I buy a few extra yards of this material and it could be your gift to her when she starts planning her own wedding?’

  Joy nodded. ‘I’ll do that and perhaps it will be more sensible if I were to have a suit made of this lovely damask rose material instead of the ivory and silver. After all, this is a marriage of convenience not that of a fairy princess.’

  Alice said hesitantly, ‘I think you’re being wise but it’s your decision. I don’t want you to feel I’m pressuring you.’

  Joy raised her eyebrows in disbelief. ‘Of course you are but I think you’re right. Make me a dress and jacket of it.’

  Alice smiled. ‘You always were a sensible girl.’

  Joy knew that to be true and blamed her mother. She had insisted that Joy stay at home and help her run the lodging house. That had been Joy’s life until her mother went completely off her head.

  ‘I’m going to need Wendy and Minnie’s measurements for the bridesmaids’ dresses,’ said Alice, rousing Joy from her thoughts.

  ‘I’ll post them to you.’

  Alice nodded and produced a tape measure. ‘And now for your measurements.’

  Joy whimpered. Despite her conviction that she had shed a few pounds, she wasn’t looking forward to having Alice know just how big she was in inches.

  ‘Come on. It won’t be as bad as you think,’ coaxed Alice.

  Joy succumbed and looked gloomy as Alice wrote the figures down. ‘I was never this plump years ago,’ she muttered.

  ‘Too much good food,’ said Alice severely. ‘By the way, did you find out anything about Patsy Doyle’s employer?’

  Joy looked guilty. ‘To be honest I haven’t visited her yet. I’ve had so much to do and think about that I’d remember and then forget. But you’re not the second one to remind me. Tilly sent a present for Patsy’s birthday and suggested I take it to her.’

  ‘I heard from Tilly, too,’ said Alice, placing the tape measure and samples back in her bag. ‘Have you had the banns read yet?’

  Joy nodded. ‘The wedding will be upon us before we know it and I’ve still loads to do but I must make time to visit Patsy.’

  Alice agreed, thinking she was going to have to work fast. She really could do with an assistant but business was not so good that she could afford to pay the wages that hiring a woman would entail. If only her daughter, Flora, had been sensible and agreed to Alice training her in millinery and dressmaking. If only Patsy Doyle was not already employed, then no doubt she might have been suitable, too.

  * * *

  Patsy was alone in the house. She was sixteen today and she doubted there would be anyone wishing her a happy birthday. She had just finished washing the kitchen floor and was sweeping the patio when she heard the front gate open and footsteps coming up the path. She paused, expecting to hear the rat-tat-tat of the front-door knocker but, instead, the footsteps appeared to be heading round the side of the house. Her grip on the yard brush tightened and her heart began to thud. You heard so much these days about robbery with violence that you just didn’t know the minute when it might happen to you. Then a woman hovered into view and Patsy’s pulse slowed. She propped the brush against the wall and hurried over to Joy with a smile on her face.

  ‘What are you doing here, Miss Kirk? It’s lovely to see you.’

  Joy’s eyes were warm on the girl. Patsy was no beauty like Alice’s daughter, Flora, but she had a lovely smile and a nature to match.

  ‘I meant to get here weeks ago but I’ve been really busy. I knew today was your birthday because Tilly sent a present for me to give to you.’

  Patsy was touched. ‘She remembered. It’s really kind of you to come, and just at the right time. I’ve the house to meself and I’m ready to have a break.’

  ‘Good. I’ve brought some of my home-made fruit cake but I won’t be eating any,’ she said with a moue of regret, ‘I’m on a diet.’

  ‘Why? You’re lovely as you are, all nice and motherly,’ said Patsy sincerely. ‘But come into the kitchen and we’ll have a cup of tea.’ She led the way inside. Once there she led Joy to a chair and insisted
that she rest her feet. ‘I can scarcely believe you’re here. It seems ages since I’ve seen you. I suppose Tilly told you that I write to her regularly.’

  ‘Indeed, she did.’ Joy sat at the well-scrubbed kitchen table and removed her gloves. She had been almost tempted to say to hell with the diet but that word ‘motherly’ had caused her to wince inwardly with its connotations of large bosoms and childbearing hips. ‘Anyway, happy birthday from me!’ She took out a big parcel. ‘That’s the cake.’ Then she took out a slimmer package and placed that on the table too. ‘That’s from Tilly.’

  Patsy picked up the parcel. ‘It’s very light.’

  ‘Open it and see.’

  Patsy carefully unwrapped the parcel to reveal a pair of what appeared to be stockings. But they were not like the thick black ones she normally wore but were beige and felt almost like silk.

  ‘What are they made of?’ she asked.

  ‘Rayon. They’re the latest fashion in America. Apparently rayon is made from cellulose and the French came up with the idea.’

  ‘Trust the French,’ said Patsy, delighted with her gift. ‘I’ll have to save them for a special occasion.’

  ‘You can hardly wear them to do the cleaning,’ teased Joy. ‘You’d have holes in them in no time.’

  Patsy agreed and parcelled up the stockings. ‘Thanks so much for bringing them. I did think that perhaps Tilly mightn’t be able to make head nor tail of my writing earlier in the year. I had a sore finger at the time.’

  ‘What was wrong with it?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Patsy, getting to her feet. ‘It’s better now.’

  ‘Of course it matters. Tilly had the impression that you weren’t being treated properly and were unhappy here.’

  Patsy paused in the act of pouring milk into cups. ‘I can’t remember exactly what I wrote in that letter. I suppose I was having a moan about the job.’

  ‘That would probably be it,’ said Joy. ‘I suppose Mr Tanner is at work right now?’

  ‘No. He’s in America. It came as a surprise to me and Mrs Tanner that he had decided to toddle off there. He wanted her to go with him but she wasn’t having any. I wish you could hear her going on at him when he’s at home. With him out of the way she can do what she likes – and that’s dancing whenever she wants.’