The Fisher Lass (17 page)

Sadly, he knew now that he would never find happiness in his own marriage.

As Tom and Jeannie emerged from the dim interior of the church, they both blinked in the brightness of the January sunlight.

Nell and Grace came to stand on either side. ‘Ha’ you some coppers in your pocket, Tom, ready for the bairns?’ Jeannie heard Nell ask her son.

Tom looked about him. ‘I don’t see any . . .’ he began and then stopped.

‘Not here, maybe, but back at the house, the bairns in our street’ll be waiting. You can be sure of that.’

But Tom was not listening to her now, ‘Look,’ he said quietly, ‘there’s Mr Robert standing at the gate.’

Jeannie’s lips parted in a little gasp of surprise as she watched Robert walk up the path towards them. Stretching out his hand towards Tom, he shook it warmly.

‘Congratulations, Tom. You’re a very lucky man.’ His voice was firm and he was smiling as he wished them both well. From his pocket he took out an envelope and pressed it into
Tom’s hands. ‘Please – just a little personal gift. And I hope you have a lovely honeymoon. Where are you going?’

‘Across the river, Mr Robert. On this afternoon’s ferry and then on to Scarborough.’

Robert nodded and there was a moment’s awkward pause before he said, ‘Well, then. I’ll – er – not keep you . . .’ He nodded at Tom and then turning to look at
Jeannie said, his voice deep and low, ‘May I be the first to kiss the bride?’

‘Of course, sir,’ came Tom’s dutiful, though reluctant, reply.

He was standing before her, looking down at her once more and now he leant forward and his lips touched her cheek in the most gentle, almost reverent kiss, that Jeannie could ever have imagined.
Close to her ear, he whispered so softly that even she scarcely heard the words, ‘Be happy, my dearest Jeannie.’

Then Robert straightened up and stepped back from her, smiling and raising his hat to them both. He turned and, with long strides, walked swiftly away from them.

They were walking along the seafront at Scarborough. Jeannie paused to watch the breakers far out to sea.

‘Do you wish you were back at sea?’ Jeannie asked him.

Tom laughed, the wind whipping away the sound. ‘Fancy asking me that, Mrs Lawrence. On our honeymoon.’

He put his arm about her waist and they walked on in companionable silence, until at last Tom broke it by saying, ‘Why did you ask me that question?’

‘I remember ma father,’ she said quietly. ‘Whenever he was ashore you could see it in his eyes, a faraway look whenever he looked out to sea. He could hardly wait to get back
aboard his ship.’

‘Huh, more fool him, then.’

‘Tom!’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Jeannie, but I’ve never been able to understand it. Me dad was just the same. Me . . .’ he shrugged, ‘I’d as leave be ashore.’

Jeannie was silent but she watched him now and saw that he hardly glanced out across the water, nor took any notice when the grey shape of a ship appeared on the distant horizon.

She thought back to the previous night, their first as man and wife. She had known what to expect. Her aunt, God rest her, Jeannie thought, had been a sensible, down-to-earth woman, who had, at
what she considered an appropriate age, explained the facts of life to her niece. A no-nonsense, practical explanation of the workings of a woman’s body, and of a man’s, it might have
been, but it had left Jeannie with a well-balanced view, with no fears born out of ignorance and certainly no romantic expectations that were unlikely to be fulfilled.

She had been surprised to find, however, that Tom was a gentle and considerate lover, and a practised one too. Tom Lawrence knew exactly what to do and how to do it, and even when he entered her
for the first time and she felt the pain of the breaking of her maidenhead – as her doughty aunt had warned – he was thoughtful for her.

If she had expected the inexperienced fumbling of a boy, then Jeannie was either pleasantly surprised or acutely disappointed to think that for him, it was not his first time.

At this moment, she was not quite sure what she did feel. The matter, she decided rationally, was best left unspoken of, at least for the moment. Later in their marriage, perhaps.

What had surprised and definitely pleased her was that Tom had not – as her aunt had also led her to expect once the lovemaking was over – turned over and fallen sleep. He had held
her gently in his arms and he had talked to her, telling her of his life at sea.

‘I suppose there are some good things about it. The comradeship and the sight of a net coming up over the side, fair bursting with fish. And in the Icelandic waters, the views are
magnificent. You feel as if everything’s so clean and pure, the icebergs sparkling and the blue of the sea and the sky. It’s as if no man has ever seen that part of the world before. As
if you’re the very first to ever see it. But that’s about all that’s good. For the rest, it’s hard labour. Eighteen hours non-stop when we’re fishing. Longer, if the
skipper’s a greedy bastard and the hauls are good . . .’

She had nestled against him listening to his voice rumbling in his chest as he spoke. She was drowsy, scarcely taking in what he was actually saying. She drifted into semi-consciousness and
imagined that it was her father once more telling her stories of his voyages. The same stories that George must have told his son, Tom. And now Tom was a fisherman too and experiencing all the
wonderful sights for himself. Tom was like his father and her father. She believed that he, too, was a fisherman, born and bred.

So her question this morning had seemed quite a natural one to ask. ‘Do you wish you were back at sea?’

But his answer had shocked her and left her with a disconcerting feeling of disappointment.

‘Louise. My dear, I’ve booked a room for us at your favourite London hotel. I’m so sorry I couldn’t go when you wanted me to, but there were problems at
work. You know—’

‘Oh, I don’t want to go now, Robert.’ Louise waved her slim hand, with its perfectly manicured nails and its soft skin that never saw a moment’s drudgery.
‘I’ve only just come back from Madeleine’s. I don’t want to go again.’

‘I’ve booked theatre tickets and I thought you might like to go shopping for a new spring outfit.’ He paused then added pointedly, ‘But if you’re too busy . .
.’

He watched as the gleam came into her blue eyes.

‘Well, I suppose,’ she said slowly, but he could see that in her butterfly brain she was already in the Knightsbridge stores, ‘I could re-arrange my plans, seeing as
you’ve gone to so much trouble.’

What, Robert thought to himself, did his wife ever have in her life that would prevent her accepting the chance of shopping in the London stores and the round of social parties they would soon
find themselves caught up in once they arrived there? He was quite prepared, before he had even made the suggestion, that their weekend would become a week-long holiday.

But Robert stretched a smile. It would be worth it if he could salvage their marriage. He was determined now to do everything he could to make it work. He was in it for better or worse. And it
couldn’t get much worse, he told himself wryly. So there was only the ‘better’ to hope for. And he really meant to try. He had resolved to put all thoughts of Jeannie out of his
mind. He was married and, now, so was she. He almost wished that she had gone back to Scotland, that she could have become just a distant memory of a girl he had once seen.

Now, however, he was going to be faced with the prospect of seeing her, of knowing what went on in her life and her family. Yet part of him longed for that very thing; to know that he could see
her, that he could, in a way, look after her from a distance – and without her knowing it.

Pushing thoughts of the beautiful firebrand to the back of his mind, he smiled at his wife and said, ‘When shall we go then?’

To his surprise, Louise jumped up, threw her arms about his neck and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Tomorrow. I can be ready tomorrow.’

Jeannie had never in her life known such idleness, at least not for so long a stretch at any one time. From quite an early age, she had to do household chores to help her
invalid mother. After her mother’s death Jeannie had, with the help of her aunt, kept the house always in readiness, waiting for her father coming home from the sea. The only holidays she
could remember were the occasional trips with her father; each an idyllic time that she held in her memory amidst a lifetime of waiting.

And now she had let herself in for another life of waiting for her man to come home. But it was a life she was quite happy to accept. She would be proud of Tom, she knew, whatever he did. So she
tucked her hand through his arm, and smiled, determined to store the memories of her honeymoon that she could live and relive in her mind. The beach in winter and, further up the coast, quaint
villages and coves. Inland, the moors seeming to stretch for ever, broken by streams and vales with waterfalls tumbling over craggy rock faces.

‘It reminds me of home,’ she murmured once, without thinking.

‘Lincolnshire’s your home now, Jeannie,’ Tom reminded her and then laughed. ‘All flat land and sea and sky. That’s your home now.’

Maybe it was, Jeannie thought, for now. But one day I’ll go back, she promised herself. One day I’ll see my homeland again.

‘Not more parcels, Louise.’ Robert smiled as he teased his wife. Louise glanced at him and seeing that his expression belied the words, gave her tinkling, joyous
laugh.

‘Oh darling, I’ve bought the perfect dress for tonight’s party at Madeleine’s. It’s the very latest fashion. It’s blue silk with a low waist and a tiered
skirt. Just wait till you see it.’

‘You’re pretty to me whatever you wear,’ he said and moved closer to her.

‘Oh sweetie, you say the nicest things.’ She patted his cheek and made a kiss in the air at the side of his face, but moved away before he could reach out for her and draw her to
him. Stifling a sigh, he said, ‘Shall we have a look round St Paul’s or the Abbey after lunch?’

Louise made a little moue with her perfectly painted mouth. ‘I want to rest this afternoon, Robert, if I’m to look my best. And then I want to have a long lovely bath in that
gorgeous bathroom.’ She waved her elegant hand towards the adjoining bathroom with its deep bath and gold taps in the shape of dolphins. ‘But don’t let me stop you, darling. You
go, if you want to, but you will be back in time to be ready for eight o’clock, won’t you?’

‘Of course,’ Robert said, hiding his disappointment. Dutifully, he held out his arm to her. ‘Shall we go down for lunch.’

‘In a minute, I must just renew my lipstick.’

‘Jeannie, it’s such a pretty hat. Let me buy it for you?’

‘Oh no, Tom, it’s far too expensive and frivolous. When would I wear a hat like that?’

The item under discussion was displayed in the centre of a shop window; a broad brimmed straw hat decorated with pink silk roses.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ Tom said, wrinkling his forehead. ‘Does it matter? Can’t you wear a hat like that any time? On a Sunday?’

Jeannie laughed. ‘To the kirk? Oh Tom, really. It’s more the sort of hat . . .’ She bit back the words swiftly, for she had been about to say, it’s the sort of hat that
Aggie Turnbull would wear, but she turned the moment into a joke and hugged his arm to her side, and said, ‘To wear at a wedding. Now, if you’d bought me it last week, then I could have
worn it on my wedding day.’

‘Well, I’m sorry I didn’t see it in time. But won’t you let me buy it for you now?’

‘It’s sweet of you, Tom, but really it isn’t practical. It would be a waste of your hard-earned money.’

‘You let me dad buy you that coat.’

‘Yes, and the three of you bought me this hat for Christmas to go with it, didn’t you?’

Tom’s mouth turned down at the corners petulantly. ‘I bet it’s the sort that Mr Robert would buy
his
wife.’

Then his face brightened as he thrust his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘Of course! I was forgetting. Mr Robert’s cheque.’

He waved the envelope in the air. ‘We’ll need most of this to pay the guest house at the end of the week, but there should be enough left over. I’ll get it cashed and then
we’ll buy that hat. You’ll look a treat in it, Jeannie.’

She sighed inwardly. She didn’t want to upset him by throwing his generosity back in his face and this was, after all, their honeymoon. ‘Well, if you’re really sure you can
afford it . . .’ she began and before she had finished speaking, she saw that his face had brightened and all sign of little-boy surliness had gone.

Tom grasped her hand and pulled her towards the shop. ‘Come on, Jeannie. By, you’ll be grand in it.’

Alone in the echoing vastness of a city church, Robert stood looking at the sweet face of the Madonna. In his imagination, the carved figure became not his own wife, but
Jeannie.

The trip to London had not been entirely unsuccessful, he told himself. At least he and Louise were now friendly and she did not entirely rebuff his gentle advances in their bed at night. But
she would only allow him to hold her in his arms and cuddle her and talk about the theatre play they had just seen or the party they’d just been to and what everyone had been wearing. If he
tried a bolder move, she would move away, out of his arms and say, ‘I’m tired now. Good night, darling.’

As he looked now at the mother figure, saw the love and devotion etched even into those carved features, he knew that it was very unlikely he and Louise would ever have children. But now,
Jeannie, he could see her as a mother, an earth mother devoted to her husband and his children.

Swiftly, Robert turned on his heel and walked the length of the aisle, his footsteps echoing eerily in the silence. He hurried from the holy place, feeling guilty that he could have had such
irreverent thoughts in this place. That he had dared, in the Lord’s House, to covet another man’s wife.

‘Just where is it you’re going, Grace, nearly every night?’

They had been married a month and Tom was away at sea on his first trip since their honeymoon. He’d had to go. There had no longer been any choice. He had no money left to give Jeannie
during her first weeks as a housewife.