Storms Gather Between Us

by Storms Gather Between Us (retail) (epub)

  He forced a laugh. ‘You have a vivid imagination, Rafqa. There’s no one.’

  She smiled, reached behind her and unzipped her gown, letting it fall to the floor. ‘Come then. We will make love and then you can tell me all about what has happened to you since we last met – if you want to tell me.’ He looked at her naked body and let her lead him over to the bed, where she undressed him as he kissed her. He’d been right: the best way to forget a woman and heal a broken heart was in the arms of another woman.

  She kissed him again. Looking into her eyes he told himself that this was what he wanted, what he needed, but all he could see was that her eyes, beautiful as they were, weren’t Hannah’s eyes. He rolled over onto his back. ‘I’m sorry, Rafqa. I can’t do this. I just can’t. It doesn’t feel right any more.’

  In the moonlight from the open window he could see her bite her lip and fight back incipient tears. She reached for her glass of wine and pulled herself up to lean back against the pillows. ‘A pity,’ she said. ‘Now, are you going to tell me why?’

  ‘You’re right,’ he admitted. ‘I met someone. She’s everything I ever wanted and didn’t believe it was possible to find in a woman. I can’t even say why. Yes, she’s beautiful, yes, she’s kind and good and clever and interesting. But it’s more than that. It’s as if I have always known her, but never been able to see her, as though I were searching for her without knowing what I was looking for – or even that I was looking for anything at all.’

  Rafqa took another sip of wine, then slid down the bed to lie on her side, facing him, propped up by one elbow.

  He reached for her hand. ‘I feel bad telling you this, but you and I have always had a special understanding. I feel closer to you and more able to trust you than any other woman – apart from her. I wish I could be a better man for you. I wish I could feel for you in a different way. You deserve so much more than I could ever give you. You are a true friend. You have always been a wonderful lover, but no matter how much I’d like to, I can’t love you, Rafqa. Can you understand that?’ He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers softly.

  She nodded, then sighed. ‘You and I have a beautiful time together and I would like to have you in my life more often, but perhaps I’d be kidding myself if I said I truly love you, my darling. I too have been lucky enough to have known true love, but in my case it was snatched from me when my husband died.’

  Will frowned. She’d never spoken of him before. He’d always assumed her late husband had been an older man and that it was an arranged marriage.

  ‘Perhaps that’s why I recognised it in you tonight. Will you marry this woman?’

  ‘She’s married to someone else.’

  ‘Ah! Like that, is it? You should know better, William.’

  ‘She wasn’t married when we met. She agreed to marry me, then she went and married someone her father chose for her.’

  Rafqa pulled a face. ‘You couldn’t stop this happening?’

  ‘I didn’t find out until it was too late. Even then I was going to try to find her, take her away with me. Look for a way to get her out of the marriage. But it seems I got it all wrong. I read her wrong too.’ He told her about Hannah’s violent and tyrannical father and how the marriage was arranged and effected in a matter of days while Will was out of the country.

  ‘Then you must help her. This is terrible.’ Jerking herself upright she plumped up the pillows behind her and sat up, with her knees drawn up in front, arms around them.

  Will reached out of the bed and pulled his cotton jacket off the floor, fishing in the pocket for Hannah’s letter. ‘Read it. It shows I was living in a fantasy world.’ He saw her hesitate. ‘Go on. There’s nothing private or personal in there. It’s like a business letter, dismissing me. I can’t believe it’s written by the woman I was in love with.’ He shook his head. ‘Who am I kidding? – Am in love with.’

  Rafqa took the letter, but before reading it, she asked, ‘How do you know it’s written by her? Maybe her husband or her father wrote it or coerced her into writing it.’

  Will shook his head again. ‘No. It’s her. I can tell. Give me some credit.’

  She unfolded the paper and read it quickly, then again more slowly. ‘If you hadn’t got the letter what would you have done?’

  ‘Hunted for her of course. Even if it took me forever, I’d have knocked on every door in Liverpool if I’d had to. But I’d have found her.’

  ‘And she would know that?’

  Without a moment’s hesitation he said, ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then she’s written it to protect someone. Maybe you yourself? Perhaps someone in her family? Possibly herself. But I don’t believe these words and her claim that she’d never loved you.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because I know you, William. You don’t give your love easily. If anyone knows that I do. To give it so completely you must have had something back. You’re not the kind of man who is so vain not to be aware of how a woman thinks and feels. If you believed she was in love with you then she was in love with you.’ She handed the letter back. ‘In here she is playing a part. She has written this with the clear intention of making you angry with her. Of encouraging you to go away from her. To stop looking for her. Which is exactly what you have done. And exactly the opposite of what you were going to do.’ She reached for her wine glass and drained it. ‘Writing this must have caused her great pain.’

  ‘How do you know that? You don’t know Hannah. What makes you so certain?’

  ‘I don’t know Hannah but I do know you and I know that she must be a very special woman to have caused you to feel so much pain and so much love.’ She swung her legs out of the bed and pattered across the room to fetch the bottle of wine. She poured what was left into their glasses. ‘You must go back to Liverpool, William. You must go to find her. I am certain she needs your help.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I mean what I say. You love her. You believe you are meant to be with her, yes?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Then you mustn’t give in so easily. If she’s worth fighting for, you must put on your armour and go to war.’ She lifted her glass and chinked it against his. ‘Now, much as I would like to spend some time trying to persuade you to make love to me, I’m not stupid enough not to know when I’m beaten. Put your clothes on, my love, and let’s sit and watch the stars together. I have a feeling that tonight is the last time you and I will meet, and I want to spend some more time with you. Do you think your Hannah would begrudge me that?’

  Will dressed and Rafqa slipped on a silk dressing gown and they went to sit together on the large rug by the window. He reached for her hand, remembering the last time they had sat here, smoking hash together between making love.

  As though conscious of that memory too, Rafqa changed the subject. ‘So, your Mr Chamberlain pulled you all back from the brink of war.’

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘I hope he won’t one day live to regret appeasing Hitler, but I fear that he will. We all will.’ She gave a little smile. ‘Or are you still determined to keep your head in the sand about politics?’

  ‘It’s been impossible to do that in England. It was all anyone talked about: Hitler and the Sudetenland. They were building up civil defences, digging trenches and giving everyone gas masks. Waste of time that proved to be then.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Not at all. I hope they have been building ships and planes and armaments too. I think they’ll need them.’

  He leaned back. Her face was partly in shadow, the rest illuminated by the moonlight. ‘Is that what you were talking to him about?’

  ‘Who?’ she said, clearly deliberately pretending not to know.

  ‘Your guest this evening. That’s what you do, isn’t it, Rafqa? Collect information for him. But which side is he on?’

  ‘You mean which side am I on?’

  He grinned. ‘You’re clever enough to play both sides.’ Then he frowned. ‘Are you so sure
we’re not going to have “peace for our time” after all?’

  She hugged her knees and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I wish I knew. I hope it is a lasting peace. But I fear it won’t be.’

  ‘You will be careful, won’t you? Only, I don’t like the look of that German. Are you sure you can really trust him? He looks shifty.’

  ‘I’m a big girl, William. Don’t worry about me. And anyway, I’m far too unimportant to be any danger to anyone.’ She smiled.

  They sat in silence for a few moments as the music played. An upbeat jazz number ended and the tempo changed. It was the same song the woman had sung earlier.

  ‘This song’s a beaut,’ he said. ‘I really like it. Even though I can’t understand a bloody word of it.’

  ‘That’s because it’s speaking to your heart.’

  ‘What’s it mean?’

  ‘It means “I will wait for you. Day and night. I’ll always wait for your return” – she’s calling to her lover who has left her to travel far away to distant shores.’

  ‘You’re kidding me?’

  ‘I swear. French is my second language. And you know I never lie. J’attendrai toujours ton retour.’

  He repeated the words and she corrected his awkward French pronunciation, until he had mastered the short line. ‘I won’t forget that,’ he said. Getting up, he pulled her up to her feet. ‘I must go now. Thank you, Rafqa. From the bottom of my heart.’

  ‘What will you do? When does your ship return to England?’

  ‘Not for a year. I need to find another way home. Even if it means going DBS.’

  ’Talk to your captain. He’ll understand. You don’t want to jeopardise your future career.’ She stroked his hair. ‘As it happens, I know there’s a British coal tanker due in later this week. They’re heading back to England via the Cape.’

  ‘And just when I’d been promoted to bosun. It’ll be back to being a deck hand for me.’

  ‘Does that matter?’

  ‘Not any more.’ He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. ‘Thank you, Rafqa. You are and always will be a dear friend to me.’

  ‘Goodbye, William. And God bless.’

  A few minutes later as he was walking away, he looked back up the street to the café bar and saw her watching from the window.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  It took Will three weeks to reach Liverpool. He had left the Christina with Palmer’s blessing and the promise that there’d be a berth for him if things didn’t work out with his quest to rescue Hannah. The well-connected Palmer fixed for him to work his passage on the coal tanker Rafqa had mentioned.

  After depositing his bags at the Sailors’ Home, he went straight to Bluebell Street. On the voyage back to England he’d had plenty of time to rehearse what he was going to say to Hannah, but first he had to find out where she was.

  Mindful not to endanger any of the Dawson women by attracting the ire of Charles Dawson, a man he had yet to meet, Will approached the house via the back alley. It was early evening and already dark. The sky was moonless and there was no lighting in the back lane so he felt his way along with his hand on the brick wall, almost sending an empty dustbin clattering down the cobbles, but righting it just in time. When he estimated he must be close to the house, he lit a match and held it up to the gate. The number painted roughly on the wooden panels showed he must be outside the house next door. When he tried to open the right gate, this time it was bolted shut. The corporation dustcart must have been emptying the bins that day as several were lying about in the alley. He upturned one of them and used it to help him climb up and over the wall, grateful that, unlike most of their neighbours, the Dawsons hadn’t embedded broken glass into the top of the wall to deter burglars.

  Feeling like a housebreaker, he landed in the yard and crept towards the light from the scullery window. Peering in, he thought at first the room was empty. He was about to try the back door, then realised that, as it was evening, Dawson could well be home. Cursing his stupidity, he was about to head round to the street to knock on the front door and, if Dawson answered, pretend he’d come to the wrong house. It was then that he noticed the shoe. A black leather ladies’ shoe with a bar strap and a small heel. It was sticking out from behind the kitchen table in the room beyond. As his brain processed this information, his heart leapt inside his chest as the adrenaline sent a shock wave through his body. It wasn’t just a shoe. There was a foot attached to it and beyond that the curve of an ankle.

  Without hesitating, Will grabbed the door handle and tried to turn it. Locked. Throwing his whole weight against it, he shouldered the door. Nothing. It must be dead bolted. He shoved his hand inside his jacket pocket for protection and smashed the glass window panel in the door. The sound echoed as the glass shattered. In just two steps he was inside the back parlour.

  Sarah Dawson was lying in the space between the table and the closed door to the hallway. It took no more than a second to establish that she was dead. Blood was pooled underneath her and her eyes were glassy like a china doll’s. Will could see that she had been hit over the head with some form of blunt instrument. On one side her singed hair was matted with blood and her skull had clearly taken a heavy blow. An ironing board was collapsed on the floor beyond her. The still warm iron, evidently the instrument of her death, lay against the skirting board.

  Knowing that Hannah’s sister might be in danger, he stepped over Sarah’s body and pushed open the door into the tiny hall space. The door to the front parlour was wide open and the room empty. He turned to go up the stairs and came face to face with Charles Dawson for the first time. Dawson froze momentarily, then his eyes moved wildly and his head jerked as if twitched by an electric shock.

  ‘Accident.’ Dawson tried to push past him. ‘The police. Someone broke in and attacked my wife.’

  Will stepped in front to stop Dawson from coming down the last stair and into the hall.

  ‘You’re going nowhere, you bastard.’

  ‘You don’t understand. My daughter’s upstairs. I was just checking she’s unharmed. I must find a telephone box to call the police and an ambulance.’

  ‘I told you, you’re going nowhere. And your wife won’t be needing an ambulance. She’s dead. You’ve killed her. But you know that as well as I do, don’t you?’

  ‘Stand aside!’ Dawson began to scream. ‘Whoever you are, you’re going to pay. God will smite you as he smote the evil in the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. I am God’s instrument!’ He hammered on the wall. ‘Help! Murder! Help! Call the police.’ His fist pounded into the dividing wall. In a moment there was banging on the front door and someone shouted through the letterbox, ‘What’s going on?’

  Will shouted. ‘Get the police. NOW!’

  He heard the man say, ‘Madge, run and get the bobbies. Oy Frank, gissa hand. There’s something up in the Bible-basher’s house!’

  Dawson took advantage of the commotion outside the door to try again to push past Will. This time he lunged at him, throwing his body weight against Will and knocking the breath out of him.

  Will saw red. Sarah was dead and Hannah’s sister was upstairs, possibly harmed herself. He righted himself and grabbed Dawson’s arm just as he was in the act of opening the front door. He twisted the arm behind him into a half Nelson, pushing Dawson’s face hard against the wall.

  By now there was a small crowd on the pavement and the first man stepped through the open door into the cramped space. ‘What’s going on? Who the hell are you?’ He was addressing Will.

  Another man pushed past them and went into the back room. ‘Oh my God. The wife’s dead. Head bashed in.’

  As he said it, there was a muffled scream from the top of the stairs. ‘No! Mother!’

  The two men converged on Will in the narrow space of the hall, each grabbing an arm and freeing Dawson. Before Will could do anything, they’d pushed his head against the wall. Dawson was through the open front door running and down the street.

 
; Judith stumbled down the stairs. Her voice was distorted as though she had strained it. ‘Let him go!’ she rasped. ‘It was my father. He’s killed Mother. Smashed her head with the iron.’ She collapsed into a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

  Will turned to his assailants. ‘Is there someone who can look after her? She’s in shock.’ He reached for Judith’s hand and squatted in front of her. ‘I’m Will. Hannah’s friend. I need to know where she is.’

  ‘I know who you are. You have to get to her before he hurts her. I think he’s gone mad.’ She began to sob, the intensity of her crying mounting.

  ‘Tell me where she is, Judith. What’s the address?’

  She said nothing, her tears now turned into big gulping sobs.

  A voice boomed into the hall. ‘Police. Everybody out unless you live here. We’ll get to you later if we need you.’ The constable’s physical size and the authority of his uniform filled the hall. ‘Now what do we have here?’

  ‘There’s a dead woman through there. Her husband killed her and this is her daughter. You need your men to get after him. He’s just run away.’

  Judith looked up at last and Will saw for the first time that her neck was red where her father must have been trying to strangle her. With mounting horror, he realised that he must have got here just in time. He could take little satisfaction from that, knowing that had he come straight here without dropping his kit bag off, Sarah might be alive too.

  ‘And who might you be?’ The policeman had his little notebook out, pencil poised.

  ’Never mind who I am. We have to stop him. His other daughter is in danger. I have to get to her.’ He turned back to Judith. ‘Tell me the address, Judith.’

  Her voice was a weak croak. ‘I don’t know. It’s a house with a name to do with trees and it’s in Orrell Park.’