Authors: Catrin Collier
‘That’s for walking in here uninvited.’
‘I won’t do it again.’
‘I know you won’t, I’m taking my key back.’
‘Jenny, I love you. I want to be with you …’
She silenced him with a kiss. A gentler one than before. He ran his fingers over her breasts, caressing her nipples through the thin silk of her blouse. She moaned softly as he moved closer, meshing his body with hers.
‘The wine can keep until midnight. That’s when my birthday really begins.’ He turned his attention to the buttons on her skirt. ‘And I know exactly how we can occupy ourselves until then.’
‘I could go to the station with you,’ Alma suggested as she left the bed and slipped on her nightdress.
‘No.’ Charlie shook his head as he buttoned on his uniform.
‘It would give us another couple of hours together,’ she pleaded.
‘I’d rather remember you as you are here and now.’
‘But …’
‘Ssh,’ he laid a finger across her lips. ‘Take care of yourself until I come back.’
‘Only if you promise you will do the same.’
‘I promise.’ They both tried not to think just how empty that promise might be. He kissed her for the last time, pushed a box into her hand, slung his kitbag over his shoulder and left the room.
She went to the window, listening to his footsteps as he descended the stairs. The front door opened and closed. She followed the crunch of gravel as he walked over the drive to the lane. She watched, trying to pick out the shadow of his hat above the hedgerows. It was impossible, the darkness was too dense. She returned to the bed where the sheets were still warm from his body and the pillow bore the imprint of his head. Curling into the spot where he had slept such a short time before, she opened the small leather box he had given her. Nestling on a bed of pink cotton wool was a gold locket forged in the shape of a tiny book. She pressed the minuscule catch. It flew open and Charlie’s face smiled up at her. Then, and only then, did she allow her tears to fall.
‘The birds are singing.’
‘So?’ Alexander wrapped his legs around Jenny’s, trapping her beneath him.
‘Time you left. People will soon be up and about.’
‘No one’s up and about in Factory Lane before four in the morning. And I could leave a lot later if you’d let me keep my pit clothes here.’
‘You’d be seen by the milkman. I can’t risk my father-in-law finding out about us. I’m not at all sure how he’d react to the idea of his lodger in my bed.’
‘Ronnie wasn’t shocked.’
‘He didn’t see us like this.’
‘He gave me the impression that even if he had, he wouldn’t have been.’
‘You don’t know the people around here. They’d create a right stir if they found out for certain that I’d allowed you into the house, let alone my bedroom. I’ve only been widowed ten months.’
‘And for six of those you’ve been sleeping with me. I’m tired of sneaking around, Jenny. I want to marry -’
‘Not yet,’ she broke in sharply, wriggling out from under him.
‘Then when?’
‘When I’m ready.’
He slumped face down into the pillows. ‘Sometimes I think you’re only using your status as a widow as an excuse to keep me dangling on a string.’
‘Ten months is nothing in Welsh valley mourning terms. And it really is time you made a move.’ She gave him a push to help him on his way.
‘Just answer one question. How much longer do I have to wait before I can buy you an engagement ring?’
‘Five years is considered a suitable lapse of time in chapel terms.’
‘Five years! This is wartime. No one can expect a woman of your age to live like a nun.’
‘They may expect it,’ she smiled mischievously, ‘but thanks to you I don’t.’ She stretched out languorously as he finally left the bed and reached for his clothes. He was right. She was using her widowhood as an excuse to keep their relationship secret. People would be shocked, but not all that shocked.
As he had pointed out, it was wartime and the world was changing, even in Pontypridd. For a start women no longer had to rely on their husbands and fathers to keep them, which in theory meant they could disregard the safe, steady and invariably dull men and pick more exciting partners. The only problem was, there were hardly any men left to pick from. Alexander was definitely the best of the bunch on the Graig: witty, charming, attractive and crache to boot. She was only too happy to spend time with him, but she didn’t love him. And, after Eddie, the one thing she was certain of was that she never wanted another man to put a ring on her finger again.
Before Alexander had taken to calling into the shop on his way to and from work, she, like Tina, had burned with frustration. Her marriage to Eddie had been fraught with difficulties, but the nights they had spent together had aroused a sexual need that had begun to obsess her waking moments. Knowing how a public ‘courtship’ would excite gossip and her neighbours’ expectations, she’d turned down Alexander’s offer of a trip to the cinema, only to slip him a key to the storeroom in his change, and under the pretence of asking him to help her empty a sack of potatoes, she suggested that he call on her after blackout.
Since then she had enjoyed the best of both single and married life. Her house and her business were solely hers. She had a lover only too willing to call whenever she needed company, a lover she didn’t have to cook, or wash and iron clothes for, and perhaps most important of all, a worldly, educated lover who knew all about birth control, so there’d be no little ‘accidents’ to upset her new, liberated lifestyle.
‘The thought of you in a convent goes beyond the realms of my imagination.’ He picked up his underwear from the chair where he’d hung his clothes. One of the first things Jenny had noticed about him was how meticulous and fastidious he was in everything he did. When Eddie had made love to her, he had thrown his clothes everywhere, and generally taken clean ones out of the drawer afterwards, which meant that she’d had to go searching for socks and pants under the tallboy, bed and dressing table. But then Alexander was much older than Eddie – and her. Thirty-four to her twenty-one. A difference that had initially made her feel like a pupil to his master, especially when it came to lovemaking. He had taught her more in the first hour they’d spent in her bed than she had learned from Eddie in six months of unrestrained, passionate courtship.
‘I think I’d make a very good nun.’ She reached for her robe.
‘If you’re an example of a nun, lead me to the convent.’ He caught the robe and tugged it from her hands. Stripping back the bedclothes he gazed at her. Unabashed, she looked into his eyes, basking in his approbation.
‘You can barely handle me. A convent would finish you off.’
‘Don’t be too sure.’ He caught sight of the brass alarm clock on the bedside table and reluctantly pulled on his trousers. Jenny allowed him to stay over only on condition he sneaked out of the Factory Lane entrance to her shop after the munitions workers had walked down the hill, and before the miners headed for the morning shift in the Maritime.
For all her precautions, Evan Powell had given Alexander some odd looks lately, although his landlord had never questioned the identity of the ‘friends’ he claimed to visit until midnight, and occasionally stay overnight with. But he still had to get up to Graig Avenue to change for work. ‘How about I meet you in Shoni’s on Sunday? I could bring another bottle of wine. If there’s anyone about we could make it look as though we’d met by accident.’
‘I’ve invited Ronnie Ronconi, Alma, Diana and Wyn up for Sunday dinner,’ she lied. Alexander had brought up the subject of going out together too often in the past month for her peace of mind. The last thing she wanted was a public proclamation of their relationship that would introduce domestic responsibility and kill all the delicious sense of excitement.
‘You know I won’t be around next week,’ he reminded her, hoping to induce her to change her mind.
‘You’re taking your six days’ leave?’
‘I either take them, or lose them. I have a warrant for the early train on Monday. Can’t I persuade you to come with me? We wouldn’t have to travel together, my mother would make you very welcome, and no one knows you in Sussex.’
‘And what do you suggest I tell people around here?’
‘That you’re visiting family or friends.’
‘Everyone on the Graig not only knows my family, they know my grandfather’s family, and as for friends, I’ve never left Ponty to make any elsewhere.’
‘Then tell them you’re taking a holiday.’
‘A holiday around here is a day trip to Porthcawl or Barry Island. Besides, I can’t go anywhere, I’m starting in munitions on Monday.’
He stopped buttoning his shirt. ‘This is the first I’ve heard about it.’
‘I told you.’
‘No you did not. I distinctly remember you saying you couldn’t possibly leave the shop to go to Sussex with me, and now I find that you’re giving up …’
‘I am not giving up. A girl in Leyshon Street is going to run the shop for me. The whole thing was a bit of a rush. I only applied to the Employment Exchange last week.’
‘Jenny …’
‘I bet you have a girl back home.’ She sidestepped what she sensed was going to be another reproach.
‘A girl? Any girl I might have had, I haven’t seen in over a year. No one would wait that long for me.’
‘Bethan’s waited that long for Andrew and it looks as though she might have to wait at least as long again.’
‘Bethan John is a saint, and as you well know, I’ve never managed to lure the devout and virtuous between the sheets.’ He ran his hands up her legs, caressing the soft skin at the top of her thighs.
‘Your hands are rough,’ she complained, moving out of his reach.
‘That’s mining for you.’ He held out his fingers and studied them ruefully. ‘They’re honourable scars, and hard won. I only hope the damage isn’t permanent.’
‘You were dressing,’ she prompted.
He donned a beautifully tailored waistcoat and wool jacket. Even a slight sheen on the cuffs and elbows couldn’t disguise its quality, or his. He’d been a museum curator and university lecturer before the war. A man she could never have hoped to have met in normal circumstances. After he had registered as a conscientious objector, the Ministry of Labour had sent him to the Maritime Colliery.
It had taken time, but eventually he’d won the respect of his fellow miners, but not the acceptance he’d hoped for. Labelled as ‘crache’ because of his refined voice, manners and pacifist views, the only times he didn’t feel lonely and isolated were the evenings he spent with Jenny. But even during his most optimistic moments he was aware that he valued their relationship far more than she did.
‘So, when will I see you again?’ he pressed.
‘I have no idea. I don’t even know what shifts I’ll be working.’
‘If I catch a late train back on Sunday, I could call in on the way up. I’ll make sure no one sees me.’
‘No, don’t. I could be working, and even if I’m not, I might have company.’
‘Ronnie Ronconi, again?’ His voice was heavy with resentment.
‘Perhaps,’ she answered airily, ‘or I might invite some of the girls I’ll be working with back for supper. There’s Judy Crofter from Leyshon Street, and Myrtle Rees and …’
‘I understand. This is goodbye.’
‘No. Can’t you see I’m only trying to be sensible for both our sakes? Ronnie said Mrs Evans had seen you coming in here.’
‘A blond man,’ he corrected. ‘She didn’t know it was me.’
‘It won’t be much longer before she puts two and two together, and I don’t want any more scandal about me than there has been already.’ She left the bed and retrieved the robe he’d hung on a hook at the back of the door.
The sight of her nakedness stirred him. He’d lost count of the girlfriends he’d had before her. Apart from the sex, most of them had bored him rigid. Taught and trained to be analytical, he had been unable to define exactly why Jenny had such a hold over him. It certainly wasn’t her mind, and it wasn’t simply his loneliness or her beauty; although with her silver-blonde hair, deep blue eyes and stunning figure she put most Hollywood starlets in the shade. It wasn’t even her willingness to try anything he suggested once they both had their clothes off. It was something more, something indefinable, and he, ardent Communist and one-time adherent of the doctrine of free love, who had constantly denied the existence of romantic love by arguing that it was no more than chemical attraction, had to concede that he was completely and utterly besotted.
‘I’ll bring you back a present. What would you like?’
‘I’ll leave it to you.’
‘Come on, Jenny, you must want something.’ He slid his hands beneath her robe and cupped her breasts, circling the delicate skin on her nipples with his thumbs. ‘Why won’t you allow me to introduce you to my parents as their future daughter-in-law?’
‘Now is not the time.’
‘Then when?’
‘When things are more settled,’ she answered impatiently.
‘After the war?’ he sneered.
‘We might know where we’re going then.’
‘I’ll be returning to London and I’d like you to come with me.’
‘Be serious, Alex, I don’t know what I’ll be doing next week let alone years from now.’
‘I love you.’
‘My key?’ She held out her hand.
‘If I promise not to use it, can I hang on to it?’
‘What’s the point when you won’t be using it?’
‘I could leave letters for you in the stockroom.’
‘You’re forgetting that I won’t be working here after Monday.’
‘Then I’ll creep in late at night. You could check for them in the morning.’
‘The key, Alexander.’
He scooped the contents of his pockets from the glass tray on the dressing table. Reluctantly extracting her key from the collection of coins, wallet, cigarette case and lighter, he handed it back to her.
‘If this is goodbye, you’ll never find anyone who appreciates you more.’
‘It might be fun to look,’ she teased.
‘Two can play at that game.’
‘You’re too fond of me to cast a roving eye.’
‘Don’t bank on it. Sometimes I wonder if you know the value of what we have?’
‘I know, and if we had another half-hour I’d show you exactly what I think of you. As it is you’ll have to wait. When I’ve been given my shifts, I’ll call up to see Phyllis and Evan. I’ll leave a note in your working jacket in the washhouse.’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.
‘Don’t leave it too long.’
‘I need you as much as you need me,’ she murmured, brushing her fingertips over his trouser fly.
‘I wish I could believe that.’
‘If you are really late next Sunday, and if it’s safe for you to come in, I’ll leave the stockroom door unlocked.’
‘Sop for the stricken?’