The days went by and Blake kept on going alone until it became a habit. People began consulting him about the things they would have talked to Sylvester about and when he came home he would relate what had happened, hoping to awaken some kind of interest in the older man but nothing happened and Blake was obliged to go to the experts that he had and delegate the responsibility as Sylvester had never done because he didn’t know how to do anything else. To his surprise the men worked harder for their further involvement and the yard ran more smoothly. He held meetings so that they could voice their ideas. He was at work so often and for so long that Irene complained of neglect.
‘It’s like walking about blind being there without your father,’ Blake said.
‘I know that but I need you here at least sometimes,’ she said. ‘Especially now.’
‘Why especially now?’ Blake said, taking her into his arms in the privacy of her bedroom.
‘We’re going to have a baby,’ Irene said.
Blake hugged her to him. ‘Does your father know?’
‘As if I would tell him before I told you.’
‘Tell him now, it’s the best thing he could possibly hear.’
‘I love you, David Blake,’ she said.
Twenty five
It all happened as Annie had feared it would. Sunniside was sold and rather than go back and live with his father, when the war began Alistair joined the army. Annie went home to Grayswell with little Susan and left Charles Vane bemoaning the fact that the goverment wanted farmers to use their land to grow crops when he had concentrated mostly on dairy farming. Ploughing was the thing that first winter, and in the freezing weather in the fading light Annie left Susan with her mother and gave herself up to the task of ploughing as much of Grayswell as they could manage. What had been pasture became oats, barley and wheat. When the MinAg men came on threshing day to take the corn they took every last bag and there was nothing left to feed the hens on. Tommy was eager to join up and Frank, much to Madge’s distress, had done the same. Mr Harlington taught Madge to plough and Elsie helped both at Grayswell and at Western Isle.
Alistair had joined the Durham Light Infantry and as Susan became a little older and was able to be left Annie sometimes got the chance to go across to Brancepeth for the weekend and see him there. In some ways it was better than being at home, his father was not forever wanting him to go to Western Isle and they spent time together, going dancing and meeting new friends and joining up with Madge and Frank and Tommy and Clara.
One Saturday night, and the summer of 1940 was glorious, Tommy and Clara, Madge and Frank went with them from Brancepeth to a dance in a Durham hotel and while they were standing at the bar waiting for drinks Annie saw two people walk in. Men not in uniform always stood out at dances these days but he would have stood out anyway, she thought. The dark suit was perfectly cut and he was tall with thick fair hair and there was something not just familiar but even nearer than that. It was Blake. The young woman with him made Annie stare and then made her envious and finally angry. She had copper-coloured hair which was swept on top of her head pinned with what looked to Annie like a very expensive gold clip and she wore gold ear rings. She was perfectly made up and the dress she had on was pale caramel-coloured cr’pe, long and simple to just below the waist where it veered gradually into soft tiny pleats. The neckline was not low but flattered her long neck and the colour of her hair, and the sleeves were just ruffles to show off the tops of her arms, ruffles which followed the line of the material almost down to her waist. Annie had never before seen such a dress. They didn’t come near, they went to the other side of the room to meet other people but Annie had to turn away.
‘Did you see that?’ Madge whispered. ‘What wouldn’t I give for just one dress like that? However do people afford it, especially now?’
‘It was probably just an old thing she had in her wardrobe,’ Clara said laughing. ‘And wasn’t he handsome? Who could resist a blond man? I wonder what colour his eyes are.’
‘They’re blue,’ Annie said, looking at her husband who was talking quietly to Tommy. ‘With a touch of grey in them.’
Madge looked at her.
‘It was Blake,’ Annie said.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Clara said, ‘Blake couldn’t look like that in a million years. They must be very rich.’
‘I think you’re seeing things, Annie,’ Madge said.
Blake chose that moment to look in their direction and after a minute or two he and the beautiful woman got up and came across. Annie wanted to run out of the hotel and catch the next bus back to Brancepeth. Her dress was pretty, it was deep green, long with big puffed sleeves and a V-neck but she knew that beside the other young woman’s it looked like something cheap and secondhand.
Blake was actually smiling when he reached them.
‘Good evening.’
Alistair said, ‘Hello, Blake, how are you?’ and Annie blessed him for his naturalness. Frank muttered hello and Tommy looked them both up and down and said, ‘Well, well, don’t you look prosperous? Wouldn’t the army have you then?’
Blake introduced them and when he introduced Irene as his wife Annie went cold with jealousy. She couldn’t believe it and she hated herself for the way that she felt. It was hard to see him with a woman so undeniably classy, wearing in her ears what Annie felt quite sure was real gold. She had on a wedding band and a ring warm with rubies. It glittered madly under the lights and worst of all Annie could feel the three men stare not just because Irene was so beautiful but because the dress that she wore merely hinted at the curves of her body.
She smiled and she had a flawless accent and when Tommy spoke she laced her fingers through Blake’s fingers but he only smiled.
‘You could say I’m more associated with the navy really.’
‘Oh,’ Tommy said, ‘how’s that?’
‘I build ships.’
‘What kind of ships?’
‘Aircraft carriers, destroyers—’
‘All on your own?’
‘Not quite. Irene’s father owns a shipyard.’
Annie thought back to Mary Ann. She had not mentioned Blake in a long time. Annie knew that he was no longer at Seaton Town but she had carefully not asked and Mary Ann was too tactful to say anything. Annie
had not known where Blake was or what he was doing. She had not known that he was married or even in work.
Irene’s other hand was clasped around a glass of champagne in which the bubbles were still working themselves to the surface.
Blake said one or two other polite things. His manners, Annie thought, had gone up several notches, and then he went back to his friends with his wife. Annie wanted to go off to the ladies’ cloakroom and burst into tears but she couldn’t and she happened to look at Alistair just then and that was another shock. Never before had they looked so much alike.
‘That bastard,’ Tommy said, when Blake had gone, ‘I never liked him.’
‘How did he come from nothing to something that fast?’ Frank said in dismay.
‘I expect he worked,’ Alistair said. ‘Who wants another drink?’
‘He could work for fifty years and never get that far,’ Tommy said, as he went to the bar with Alistair.
* * *
They had to wait. From the bar Alistair could see Blake and Irene and their friends and he wondered as he had sometimes wondered before why he felt sympathetic towards Blake. They had nothing in common. He had always felt jealous that Annie had preferred Blake when they were younger. He thought it was because Annie and Blake were the same age and he was two years older. The gap was too much for him to have been friends with Blake until it was too late. He wondered what she felt now with Blake sitting across the room with the most elegant woman that Alistair had ever seen, looking so rich. He had stopped listening to Tommy going on about Blake, he took Annie’s gin and tonic back to her.
She swallowed a third of it in one gulp and smiled brilliantly at him.
Later they danced and later still Annie met Irene in the ladies’ room. She was sitting applying fresh lipstick when Irene came in and sat down beside her.
‘That’s a very beautiful dress,’ Annie said.
‘Thank you. It isn’t new. Who gets anything new nowadays? I bought it just before the war. You have a little girl, don’t you? Mary Ann told me.’
‘You know my grandmother?’
‘I lived with them for a while. She was very kind to me. She was kind to Davy too.’
‘Davy . . .’ Annie said.
‘What’s your little girl called?’
‘Susan.’
‘We’re going to have a baby,’ Irene said, smiling blissfully at her.
‘It doesn’t show.’
‘Not yet.’
Irene went off and shortly after that they left. It was unfortunate that the others came out just in time to see Sylvester’s silver Bentley pull out of the car park. Annie couldn’t think of a thing to say all the way home.
‘We ought to get rid of this damned car, you know,’ Blake said as they turned into the street. ‘It drinks petrol.’
‘We never go anywhere. All we do is work. Besides, it’s Daddy’s second love after the shipyard.’
Sylvester was back at work, fired by the idea of helping the war effort, taking on a full workforce, designing and building the right kind of ships and making money. He and Blake were at work all the time except when they were asleep. At first there had been long gaps in Sylvester’s concentration but he gradually got better and to Blake’s surprise their roles became almost reversed so that he was doing the major part of the work while Sylvester sat beside him offering what was usually good advice. After Sylvester went back to work his criticism of Blake ceased and Blake felt guilty because he was enjoying the war when plenty of people he knew weren’t. He tried to tell himself that he was doing a good job but to compensate he worked so hard that he lost weight and couldn’t sleep and couldn’t eat and was perpetually trying to turn out the work faster and better.
‘Your farm girl’s very beautiful,’ Irene said now.
‘Irene—’
‘Oh, I don’t mind. Why should I? She’s married now with a child and we’re having a baby. Her husband seems rather nice.’
‘He always was,’ Blake said.
‘It’s difficult not to hate people though when they’ve taken what you wanted.’
‘I envied him so much. He had everything, parents, a public school education, a big farm just waiting for him because he was an only child . . .’
‘The other two don’t like you.’
‘No.’
Irene smiled.
‘They liked the look of your wife though.’
‘I noticed.’
Irene sat back against the big leather seat and closed her eyes.
‘Wait until I’m eight months pregnant. Then I’ll really be something to look at. I might just close my eyes for a minute.’ Blake took one hand off the steering wheel and gathered her in beside him. She smelled of the perfume she always wore. It was the most wonderful smell in the world. Often in the early mornings he could smell it on the pillowcases.
‘I love you,’ she murmured against his ear.
Blake thought that he had never been as happy in his life.
Twenty six
Frank was captured at Dunkirk and taken prisoner and Annie went to the Hall to give comfort to Madge. She took Susan with her and that helped to distract Madge, that and the work.
Mr Harlington had started drinking again when the war began and even more heavily after Frank’s capture so he was not a lot of help. Elsie was mostly there too. The three of them ran the house together but keeping everything going was hard. The house had taken on a dusty neglected air which Madge wasn’t very happy about but providing food for people was now the important thing. The house had to wait.
Tommy had gone into the RAF and was never at home during this time, being of the ground crew, keeping the aeroplanes in the air. Clara complained that Tommy was happy there, having managed to get away from farm work at last.
‘He hasn’t been this pleased with himself since he used to take the post round,’ Elsie observed crisply.
Alistair was away. Annie had no idea where he was and spent a great deal of time trying to reassure his mother and putting up with his father’s blusterings. Charles Vane was almost of as little help as Mr Harlington except that he didn’t drink as much. Only her own father, Annie thought fondly, went on just the same as he had always done.
One Sunday afternoon, when Annie had taken Susan over to Grayswell for tea, the tea was ready and her father was missing.
‘It’s always the way,’ her mother grumbled mildly, ‘the minute you put the tea on the table folk find something better to do.’
Annie went out into the yard and called his name but there was no reply and she thought of where she went when she wanted to be quiet and she walked down the field to the river. He was sitting there on a big stone.
‘Daddy,’ she said, ‘what are you doing? The tea’s ready. Mam’s getting herself into a right state.’
She didn’t say any more because he only smiled and she thought about how he had been quiet all the week.
‘There’s something the matter, isn’t there?’ she said.
‘Aye.’
She sat down beside him. There were tiny fish among the rocks, flitting about under the water in the sunlight.
‘You’re going to have to tell somebody. Is it something serious?’
‘It’s bad enough. I’ve been called up.’
‘You have? Whatever for? You’re too old—’
‘I’m not that old,’ her father objected. ‘It’s a specialist thing you see. They want me to go as a small arms expert.’
Annie didn’t say anything. She knew, though her father rarely talked about it, that he had gone away to the First World War when he was much too young to do so and had been a sniper, killing men when he was little more than a child himself, and married too. She knew also that her father was a brilliant shot from the days when he had taken her shooting. He had taught her to shoot by sitting her behind him and letting the barrel of the shotgun rest upon his shoulder. She had seen her father take a left and a right with pigeons and they were not an easy bird. He was what the other farmers called ‘a pot man’. Her father killed nothing without good reason and she knew that her parents had never had much money so her father shot over his land and there was always meat of some kind on their table. She remembered coming down here when she was little and finding her father in mid-stream of a Saturday evening fishing. He would go out at teatime and come back after a couple of hours with fresh trout for supper. Her mother took it for granted. Her father never came back empty-handed like other fishermen. Freshly cooked trout in Grayswell butter was one of the delights of Annie’s childhood.
Yet he loved nothing better than to watch fish or to have his dog put up a covey of partridges from a hedge though he would bring the dog to heel for fear it should touch them. He would never let poachers anywhere near and when he found them he always did what he called ‘banging their heads together’ which meant that they would be sent on their way staggering. Pheasants walked safely over the fields at Grayswell and her father was always bringing in injured kittens or hares or ducks. Her mother said it was sometimes more like the vet’s than a farm.
‘Frank’s father wants to sell me the farm,’ her father said now.
‘I know. I overheard you and Mam talking ages back.’
‘I can’t afford to buy it. I’m frightened somebody else will.’
‘Who buys anything in war time?’
‘We’ve lived here for a very long time. My grandfather farmed here. I promised myself that I’d get it for us if Harlington could ever be persuaded to sell it but I can’t raise the money.’
‘Have you asked him not to sell it to anybody else?’
‘He needs the money. We’d better go back. Your mother will be past herself.’
‘Are you going to tell her about going away?’
‘I’ll have to. She will help you. You know how to run the farm.’
‘I just don’t want to do it without you.’
‘It won’t be for ever,’ her father said.
* * *
A lot of people had sent their children to America, some had even gone themselves and the rich in the area had been the first to have shelters built in their gardens. Irene didn’t say anything to them but she didn’t think it very good, especially those who lived inland with big houses and huge gardens who closed up their houses and left when both the houses and the gardens were needed. They were in America and the people left here were fighting for them when every foot of ground was needed to grow food and the inland houses were needed to evacuate the children. Irene did what she could, talked to the right people, tried to help.
Women were trained as men left the shipyards. When the bombing started the shipyards were targets for the Germans and she knew that Blake expected daily that there would be severe damage to Richmond’s yard but it escaped. One early afternoon in May 1941 the sirens sounded just after the midday break. The bombs which fell within a few minutes missed the shipyards completely but destroyed houses in various streets and two weeks later there was a six-hour raid.
Everywhere there were destroyed buildings, most of them houses but nothing was untouched, the streets, the shipyards, the railway station. People died or were hurt or spent hours in musty shelters. Irene took in as many people as she could of those who had been made homeless and was perpetually seeing to meals and finding clothes for them.
Irene and Blake’s baby was a boy. She and Blake had talked about the child and she knew that he didn’t care either way and neither did she but she thought that secretly her father wanted a boy although he was a more tactful man of late and would not for the world have said so. But when the boy was born she could see by the joy in her father’s face that he was pleased and he came to the nursing home every day of the fortnight Irene was there to hold the baby and smile.
‘What are you going to call him?’ he said.
‘Well, I don’t know but not Sylvester,’ she said laughing.
‘I should hope not. It’s the most dreadful name in the whole world,’ her father said.
In the end they called him Anthony which was an old family name and added Richmond in the middle so her father was well pleased. Blake said that he didn’t care what the baby was called, he just wished that it would shut up occasionally. Sylvester insisted on having a nanny for the child and although Irene would rather have done without she let him have his way and was very glad of it during the first few months because she was so tired and Blake was no help being almost always at work. Sylvester was there a great deal too, he seemed to glory in the ships they were building, he was so proud of them.
* * *
One summer day in 1942 when Blake was in his office at the shipyard his secretary came in, puzzled.
‘I’ve got a young woman on the telephone,’ she said, ‘she wants to make an appointment to see you. She won’t tell me what it’s about and I’ve told her how busy you are but she’s most insistent. Her name is Mrs Vane, Mrs Anne Vane. Shall I get rid of her?’
Blake stared into space for a few seconds and then he said, ‘No, just see when she wants to come.’
* * *
It was a long way. It wouldn’t have been nearly so far by car but Annie didn’t want anybody to know that she was going so she said that she was going shopping, made sure nobody saw her and took the train.
She had never been to Sunderland before in her life and was quite surprised at how big it was. She had had nothing to eat that morning and wanted to have something before she went to the shipyard office but she found that she could swallow nothing, she was so nervous.
Only desperation had sent her to Blake. If there had been anybody else to help she would never have gone but there wasn’t. She had tried to talk to her father-in-law but he wouldn’t help her. He said that he had no capital and he managed to make her feel greedy. Alistair confirmed what Charles had said. Because her father had no money at all no one would loan him what he needed to buy the farm and she could think of no other way.
She found out where the shipyard was first and then walked the streets. She was not interested in anything, the shops held no pleasure for her. There was not much to buy in them
anyway. She couldn’t concentrate. In the end she was early and once she got there she only wished that she had stayed
at home.
She was ushered through dark corridors and past doors with various names on them and then through a set of wide doors and up a big staircase where the linoleum had given way to carpet. The young woman with her was tall and blonde and well-dressed in a blue costume which Annie envied her. She did not talk as they mounted the stairs. The carpet was thick and there was silence. At the top of the stairs there were more doors. Everything was brass and mahogany, not modern at all as though it had been prosperous for a long time. There was the smell of lavender polish and cigars and leather. The corridor was a wide hall and at either side there were doors. The young lady finally stopped outside a door and ushered her into the office and left her.
Blake got up from behind a big leather-topped oak desk and came to meet her and Annie could have laughed for how strange it all seemed. This man, she thought, had never been a farm boy. His cuffs were perfectly white, and had gold cufflinks and his suit was so well cut. His smile was nicely calculated and he held out his hand to her and it was not a hand that did any work.
‘Hello, Annie, how are you?’ he said easily.
‘I’m fine,’ she managed.
The office had a big window which looked over the river and at any other time Annie would have been delighted to see the ships on the river and the town at the far side. The office itself had several inviting leather chairs none of which she felt capable of sitting in. The blonde came back in with a tray. The crockery all matched and was silver and blue and white and there were tiny dark chocolate biscuits.
‘Have one of these. I don’t know where Irene gets them from.’ He sat her down and gave her tea and smiled at her.
‘So. How’s Alistair?’
‘Fine.’
‘And your little girl, Susan?’
How had he known about that and remembered her name?
‘She’s fine too.’
‘We have a little boy,’ he said.
‘That’s lovely. I didn’t know.’
Annie had to concentrate on her tea because her hands wouldn’t keep still and although the little biscuits looked delicious she was afraid that she would choke so she didn’t have one. Her stomach rumbled emptily.
Blake leaned against the front of the desk in a friendly way that worried her and asked about her mother and father and the others and chatted a little about Irene and the baby. He even made her laugh once or twice.
‘So,’ he said finally, ‘something’s the matter?’
‘I need help,’ Annie said, trying to get the words out with them falling over one another. ‘I need some money.’
‘Money?’
‘Yes. Mr Harlington is going to sell the farm. Dad is desperate to buy it. We have no capital. We’re better off since Grandma died . . .’ Annie stopped there. It sounded so heartless but the old lady had been so sour and so hard to keep. ‘I thought you might help. Oh, I know . . .’ Annie put down her cup and saucer here, glad, relieved to have got the words out and not caring what she had to say to get what she wanted. ‘I know how you feel about me—’
‘I doubt that—’
‘I know what I did but I . . . I just thought that you might help because of Dad and Mam, that’s all. They would pay interest, I’m sure they would.’
‘How on earth would they ever do that?’ Blake said and Annie’s insides nearly hit the floor with disappointment. ‘Look, Annie, I haven’t got any money or I would give it to you. I know I look as if I have but I don’t have anything. How could I have? I started with nothing and went down. I don’t have a house or a car or anything to call my own. It all belongs to Sylvester. I just work for him like I worked for your father. I don’t own anything.’
‘But you – you look so rich.’
‘I’m not rich. I married Irene, that’s all. It just happened. She . . . it’s a long story. Sylvester had a son and he died and he needs or he says he needs somebody with him. He doesn’t really, he’s perfectly competent but he’s getting old. I’m just his son-in-law, that’s all and for me to ask him for money on somebody else’s behalf – well, I just couldn’t do it.’
‘I see.’
‘I’m sorry, Annie, I wish I could help. I would if I could.’
‘I’d do anything rather than have my father lose the farm, he’s worked so hard for it and our family has lived there for a very long time.’
‘Yes, I know. I know how you feel about it. I felt like that about Sunniside. Did you like living there?’
‘Not much. It felt as though you were there.’
‘I feel like that too sometimes.’
‘I’m staying at home now that the men have all gone.’
‘Couldn’t Mr Harlington help? His son is married to your sister.’
Annie shook her head.
‘They’re in a bad way financially. There’s nothing he can do. He needs to sell the farm.’
Blake saw her out. Annie wished that he wouldn’t. She wanted to go somewhere and quietly hate him and despise his civility and his calmness and his suit. Once out in the street she took deep breaths of air, thinking that the office had been stuffy. She didn’t cry in the street. She didn’t cry in the train on the way home. It wasn’t until she reached the white gates of the farm and saw the big stone dog which her grandfather had carved there so many years ago that she finally gave in to her tears and stopped blaming Blake for something which was not his fault.