The Loom (23 page)

‘
Look, at Leah Hammond,’ she says. ‘She’s from Glebe Street and she talks better than you do’.
That does
get on me nerves!’

Leah didn’t mind Kathryn’s odd ‘bloody’. It wasn’t said maliciously. It was just Kathryn! She’d seem odd without it. The only thing Leah did care about was that she had a loyal friend in Kathryn. Strange the way they’d seemed to get on so well as soon as they met. She valued Kathryn’s friendship. And she had just as much right to go to the Ball with her as anyone, although she had the distinct impression that she was playing out the Cinderella at the Ball theme.

The whole town was buzzing! Some people had more cheek than a jumped up Chinaman! The news was hot for a week or more on the uppishness, high and mightiness of Leah Hammond and her attendance at the Conservative Ball.

‘
Getting a big too big for her boots,’ was one comment.

‘
Got her foot in the door, that one,’ another comment.

‘
Has she forgotten she comes from
Glebe Street
?’

‘
Put some of the toffs noses out of joint, though, from what I’ve heard.’

On and on went the tirades and remarks, mainly nasty ones, which were parried back and forth, mostly by the women. The men, remained silent more often than not, but secretly thought that it was no wonder that a certain person had paid Leah a lot of attention because you only had to look at the lass to know why.

Leah’s ears should have been literally burnt right off her head. She was quite aware of the commotion her presence at the Ball had caused, not only with the ordinary people of Harwood but with the upper echelon as well.

She couldn’t have cared less!

Even now, almost two weeks after, she was in heaven!

She’d still had misgivings right up to walking into the Mercer Hall on that night of nights. Kathryn’s father had picked her up at seven in his Daimler, which had caused a stir in Glebe Street. Everyone was standing on the doorstep, waiting for Leah to emerge from the house and enter the car, like Cinderella had entered the magic pumpkin turned into a coach.

Kathryn stared at Leah when she opened the door.

‘
You look smashin’,’ she said with her generous and unstinting impetuousness. Leah blushed.

‘
You didn’t make that, did you?’ Kathryn added, indicating Leah’s dress.

Leah shook her head. ‘No, Mam bought it from a model in Accrington. A friend of hers, whose daughter’s a model, was selling a few dresses cheap she’d got fed up of. This one is from one of the top shops.’

‘
It looks it. It’s beautiful,’ Kathryn said and stared at the dress: black taffeta embroidered with small pink roses. It was low cut, tight waisted to the hips and then full to the knees, accentuating Leah’s slimness. Her hair had been washed and then brushed until it shone in waves and curls to her shoulders.

Kathryn noticed the red Labour rosette, which Leah had pinned to the dress.

‘
That’ll go down well,’ she said dryly.

Leah laughed. ‘I know.’

Her mother had tried to dissuade her about wearing the red rosette.

‘
I’m not a Conservative and it’s election time, so I’m wearing it. I’m not a traitor even if I am going to hobnob with the opposition,’ Leah told her firmly.

Janey and Emma stood on the step as Leah got into the car with Kathryn. Kathryn’s dad turned to look at them.

‘
Smashing,’ he said.

‘
Thanks, Mr. McAuley,’ Leah blushed. She liked Kathryn’s dad. He reminded her of a big grizzly bear with his full beard and moustache. He had kind blue eyes and wasn’t at all like his wife – he was fond of Leah.

‘
Have a good time, love,’ Emma called.

Janey looked sulky, her bottom lip sticking out ‘far enough to sit on’ as Emma always said. She wanted to go to the Ball more than anything! It wasn’t fair. Leah had all the luck, what with her job and now the Ball and here she was, staying home as usual and work on Monday in the mill.

They arrived at the Mercer Hall and joined the throngs of well-dressed people flocking through the door. Kathryn’s mother was still annoyed because Kathryn had got her way over Leah. She was very cool to Leah, doing her best to convey Leah should have kept her place by staying at home.

As soon as she walked into the ballroom Leah realized she stood out from the other women; something she hadn’t wanted at all. It was the dress. It was too different, too sophisticated, for without exception all the other women sported so many frills, bows, flounces, or feathers that they could have set up a haberdashery shop.

I don’t care, she thought, holding her chin up. The place was crowded and she didn’t see Stephen until she’d been asked to dance a number of times. Then she saw him dancing with a dark, attractive girl. He was looking down at the girl and laughing at something she had just said. He obviously hadn’t noticed Leah and her heart sank. Why should he when there were so many other lovely young women here, all so very much part of his social scene? Not long ago she’d been wearing clogs and running to the mill under her mother’s shawl.

After the next dance there was a short intermission for speeches. She only realized that Stephen had stepped on the platform to talk when Kathryn gave her a dig.

‘
It’s him. He’s going to give a speech,’ she hissed in her ear. ‘Come on, let’s get closer.’

Leah held back. Most of the younger set surged towards the platform at the far side of the room. Kathryn left her to join them and suddenly Leah found herself standing at the back almost on her own with this wide space in between.

She watched as Stephen held up his hands. He began to speak in a clear, well-modulated voice. His eyes ranged the hall as he spoke and he made a number of humourous comments, which drew laughter and a few remarks. He continued for a few moments and then suddenly saw Leah standing alone at the back and his voice faltered for a second. He looked a little confused but then recovered his composure. Leah stood and listened, enjoying the speech because he was making it.

Stephen finished and then walked off the platform as the crowd applauded. His mind was in turmoil. Had he ever really noticed Leah Hammond before, he thought. Really taken a good look at her! He didn’t think so because the sight of her standing at the back had hit him like a sledgehammer. Wham; right in the solar plexus. She stood out like a wild rose in a field of dandelions!

Leah watched him leave the platform and then walk determinedly towards her. She stood rigid. He couldn’t be coming to her, surely! She suddenly wanted to run and hide. Everyone was looking! Then he was standing before her. The band began to play again, a slow lilting waltz.

‘A dance, Leah,’ he said with a smile. He put his hand out and without a word she took it. She couldn’t speak because her mouth felt like it had been wedged shut. She wasn’t even aware that she had moved but she was in his arms and they were gliding around the floor. Other dancers joined them, all turning to stare. She blushed and kept her eyes fixedly on Stephen’s shirt.

‘I didn’t know you were coming.’

‘Pardon, oh, yes.’ She looked up into those dark blue eyes and her legs went to water.

‘You look lovely.’

‘Thanks.’ How she’d wanted him to say something like that. How she’d wanted him to dance with her but she felt so hot and embarrassed that now she wished he hadn’t. She could also hear a few titters from the nearby dancers and snide remarks. What was the word that she felt? Mortified, that was it: absolutely bloody (as Kathryn would have said) mortified.

‘Take no notice,’ Stephen whispered in her ear. He grinned down at her. ‘They’re nowt but a lot of jealous owd hags.’

She stared at him. She’d never heard him use dialect before. It sounded so funny coming from him that she couldn’t help laughing. He laughed, too and suddenly she wondered what on earth she was worried about.

After that he had every dance with her and she was sure her feet hadn’t touched the floor once. She was floating on a cloud as the saying went. Under his gaze she became witty, intelligent, brighter than the brightest of young things and more flapperish than the most daring of flappers. Under his gaze she became scintillating, captivating and so swept up on a tide of euphoria she realized what people meant when they said they were over the moon, because she was not only over the moon but every other planet in the solar system.

In between the dances they talked and laughed. He bought her ices, small cakes, which she couldn’t possibly eat and exotic desserts she’d never seen before. Even the disapproving looks of Mrs. Townsend and the outraged expression of Mrs. McAuley hadn’t been able to dampen her happiness. It should have been Kathryn said that look on Mrs. McAuley’s face.

I’m going to wake up in a minute, she thought. As Stephen talked she watched his full lipped mouth laughing and talking and had an almost uncontrollable desire to press hers to them. She hadn’t of course, and, as Kathryn told her later, had behaved like a lady all night, in spite of all the comments to the contrary.

So now, two weeks after the ball she was waiting for him to return from London. He’d sent her a letter, which she’d read and re-read a hundred times or more and which she hid under pillow at night. She fell asleep touching it, a blissful smile on her face if only she’d known. Life was grand and she didn’t care what people were saying. She’d never been so happy in her life!

PART FOUR

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

J
ohn Grentham was a member of the Cheshire Conservative Party. He was a confident young man with a certain quiet charisma about him. He was articulate, and carried himself with laudable aplomb. As such he was considered a good candidate for the next election.

There were few such young men left after the war. Those who had returned from the Front were often wraiths of their former self. John had been lucky. He’d taken a shell in his leg on his first tour of duty and after recuperating, spent the rest of the war years relegated to a desk in the London war office.

John was giving a small cocktail party tonight for his supporters. Wives had not been invited, although Marion would be acting as hostess. He’d insisted, although he knew that she loathed such meetings.

‘
I feel out of place, John darling,’ she said when he told her.

‘
Do it for me, Marion,’ he said. He had bought her a new car the week before, a sporty Jaguar, so how could she refuse! He was very generous with her and if it hadn’t been for the other problem she could have been happy with John, because he was above all else, kind.

‘
Oh, very well, if you insist, ‘ she had said and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He didn’t mind that, although anything more demonstrative he shied away from like a frightened horse.

‘
I do.’ He returned the smile and the kiss. Really, if they hadn’t been married, Marion thought ruefully, they could have been very good friends (as they had been before they were married)!

Marion had consumed more champagne than she normally did. She had a grinding headache, and had difficulty focusing on the very hairy face of the man paying attention to her with such intensity. Darkie, at the other end of the room was quite aware how she was feeling. He had filled glass after glass for her at the insistence of the hairy gentleman. He wasn’t happy about it, or the time this gentleman was spending with her. It almost seemed that the gentleman in question was purposely trying to get Marion drunk!

Darkie supplied another guest with wine, balancing the full tray expertly on one gloved hand. He towered over most of the men in the room and had little difficulty keeping an eye on Marion, whilst at the same time adroitly dispensing refreshments.

He’d been uneasy all night. Not because of his job! He’d done this kind of thing often enough in the last twelve months, for the Grenthams did a lot of entertaining. Now he felt quite comfortable in all his regalia, from his highly polished shoes to his immaculate collar and cuffs and snowy gloves. No, the reason for his unease was Geoffrey Wingate, the hairy gentleman.

Darkie knew him as a close friend of the Grenthams, and who had dined with them on a number of occasions. Geoffrey was a bachelor and, as far as Darkie knew from the downstairs gossip, he was not attached to any female at the moment.

He looked at them again. Geoffrey was still plying Marion with drink. Where was John Grentham? Why didn’t he seem worried about his wife’s condition? Or, more to the point, why was he letting Geoffrey Wingate get her into such a state? It was all very strange, because John seemed to be deliberately ignoring what was going on and had hardly been near Marion all night.