Authors: Iris Gower
She rose and shook the sand from her skirts and took in a deep breath of the salt air, knowing she was going to need all her determination and all her strength to make her new venture succeed.
She glanced up at the skies, so wide, so huge above her and she was aware of her own insignificance in the scheme of things. Doubt swept over her; could she rise again? Clear the debts and get on with her life? What had she achieved for all the hard work she had put in through the early years?
‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself!’ She listed her blessings: she had married a fine man, borne his children and, perhaps, with her shoemaking skills, she had brought a little happiness to children with deformities of the foot. Not an earth-shattering list of achievements but enough to make her realize how lucky she had been; some women never found fulfilment. It was about time she returned home and stopped thinking such foolish thoughts.
She returned to the cab and, nodding to the driver, climbed inside. She sank back in the leather seat and sighed, soon she would be home, she would be seated at her own fireside and now, with her efforts, it would remain her own.
A small smile curved her lips, she knew in that moment that her doubts and indecision had passed. She felt more alive than she had done in a long time, she had a challenge to face and she would face it with courage.
Excitement filled her, ideas raced through her head. She could devise new designs for the re-launch of the latest collection of her Welsh leather footwear. She would fit women out from head to foot with the best leather: coats, hats, gloves, as well as shoes. Perhaps she could specialize in bridal footwear as a sideline, velvet and satin slippers and millinery and gloves to match. Hari felt a moment of sheer happiness, she was alive, she still had Craig as her strength and her support, she would fight to her last breath to make their future secure.
‘I took tea with Mrs Grenfell the other day,’ Bethan was seated in her chair, a tapestry on the frame before her, her needle poised, her glasses slipping to the end of her nose. ‘She is such a fine person, I never thought I would enjoy the company of another woman but indeed, I had a very pleasant afternoon.’ Bethan paused and bit a thread with her fine white teeth.
‘She seemed willing to listen to my suggestions and I think I might have given her some fresh ideas. She has such courage, facing poverty and debt the way she is, I am so pleased you decided to help her.’
Boyo was hidden behind
The Swansea Times
, he grunted, as though he had no interest in the matter.
‘Think the business will pull through, Boyo?’ She refused to be ignored, she wanted his attention; if she could not have his love, could they not at least resurrect the easy friendship that had been between them?
Her husband shook his head. ‘I expect she will do her damnedest to make it pull through, she has a fine spirit, as you say.’
‘And you, do you mean to help her with further funds should she need them? I myself have volunteered extra cash, I’m sure the woman will make a good try to save her business.’
‘I agree.’ He was not in the mood to talk and yet Bethan could not let him rest, she needed him to take notice of her at least once in a while.
‘She’s very fortunate, is Hari Grenfell, she enjoys a happy and stable marriage.’
He looked at her then. ‘Not like some, is that what you mean?’
Bethan shrugged. ‘I was just making an observation.’
Boyo threw down the paper and rose to pour himself a drink from the decanter, the liquid shimmered in the glass as he swirled it around before tasting the ruby wine. He returned to his seat and sat down, he was frowning.
Bethan knew what the problem was, Boyo had been in a foul mood ever since the day at the fair when he had seen Catherine O’Conner with her handsome Irish cousin. Since then, he had kept away from the girl, no doubt wishing to air his disapproval of her actions, which was rich considering he was a married man with responsibilities himself.
‘Are you being fair to Catherine, do you think?’ Bethan blurted out the words before she had time to evaluate them. ‘I mean you are keeping her away from young society. She’s at an age when she should be making a good marriage, having children. That cousin of hers seems a very suitable match, don’t you agree?’
‘Keep out of this, Bethan.’ There was a warning in Boyo’s tone that she chose to ignore.
Bethan’s patience snapped. ‘Just think what you are doing to her, you are ruining the girl’s chances of a normal life, is that what you want? She needs a husband, children, she is a young healthy woman, what good is a part-time lover? That is not going to be enough for her, she’ll grow tired of the situation and of you, believe me.’
Boyo rose without another word and left the room and, shortly afterwards, Bethan heard the front door slam behind him. She sighed and put down her sewing; well, the seeds of doubt had been planted in Boyo’s mind. He was a fair man and if he really loved this girl it was best he gave her up now before there were even more complications.
In her heart Bethan knew just what sort of complications she was afraid of; the girl was young, healthy, she could provide a brood of fine sons for Boyo. She sighed, her hand moving across her stomach; well, whatever happened, it was
her
child who had first claim on Boyo, for this son or daughter would be his legitimate heir, one he could proudly show off to his friends. She closed her eyes, she must just bide her time, be patient and everything would fall into place.
Boyo rode the animal hard, the big hoofs kicked up soil and grass as the horse negotiated the rugged land of Honey’s Farm. He must see Catherine, he had to know she was still his. He burned to hold her and his mind was tortured by pictures of her with Liam, of the man bending and kissing the white nape of Catherine’s neck. He gripped the reins tightly, if he had the man here now he would cheerfully strangle him.
As he crested the hill, he saw her, her skirt bright against the green of the fields. Her hair gleamed in the sunlight, red streaked with gold, spun gold that held the light like a halo around her head.
‘Cat!’ He dismounted and flung the reins around a branch. She turned towards him and he could see that her face was pale. ‘Catherine, my little darling.’ He moved to take her in his arms but she spun away.
‘Don’t touch me.’ She spoke in a soft voice, her face turned away from him.
‘But Cat, I love you, I want to be with you, I long to hold you close and make you mine.’
‘You haven’t come near me for days, how can you say you love me? You haven’t asked me about Dad, do you care about anyone other than yourself?’
‘Cat, I’m sorry …’
‘Sorry!’ she glared at him. ‘Sony’s such a pathetic word.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Seeing you at the fair with her, realizing that all the while you are sharing your wife’s bed as well as mine. Don’t you think it hurt, seeing her like that, full with your child?’
‘But my love, that was before we found each other again, I have not touched her in passion since then, I promise you.’
She looked at him then from under the corners of her long fair lashes. ‘Is that the truth?’
‘It is the truth, I swear. I have my own room, my own bed and Bethan knows that I love you, how can she not know?’
‘But she is willing to have what little you can spare of yourself, is that it?’
It sounded so selfish the way Catherine said it. Damn it! It was selfish. He sighed. ‘I have been honest with both of you, I don’t know what else I can do.’
‘You could leave your wife, couldn’t you?’ She stared at him, her heart beating swiftly.
‘And would you be in a position to stay in our house in Caswell with me if I did?’ he challenged in return.
‘Not at the moment.’ She spoke reluctantly, ‘I need to be with my father, he is very sick, not that you give a fig for that.’
‘I have offered help, Catherine, I can do no more. And as for Bethan, she is an older woman who is expecting her first child, she needs a husband to give her support and comfort which I feel obliged to give. I have a duty to do just as you have, or is there one rule for you and another for me?’
Catherine sank onto the ground, the basket she was carrying spilling eggs onto the grass. On the edge of the field he could hear the gurgling of the brook over the stones, the day smelt of summer. He sat beside her and took her in his arms, closing his eyes as he breathed the scent of her.
‘My darling girl, I love you so much all I want is to be with you every moment of the night and day. Can you understand how difficult it is for me being trapped in that house, held prisoner by my own conscience?’
Catherine looked at him with big eyes. ‘Boyo, why did we start this affair? It’s such a mess.’ She paused. ‘I know you love me but you do … have feelings for your wife, don’t you?’
‘Of course, but there are times, like today, when I could almost hate her for coming between us.’
‘Oh, Boyo, I’m sorry! I’m a scold, I’m making life more difficult for you when what you need, what we both need, is comfort and love.’
She drew him down so that they were lying in the sweet grass. He smelled the freshness of her, breathed in her scent and he knew he wanted this woman more than he had ever wanted anything in his whole life. He would give away his house, his fortune, everything he possessed, if he could marry her and make her his own.
They made love with renewed passion and with great tenderness and when it was over, they lay twined in each other’s arms, the sun on their faces, the freshness of the grass all around them. He felt he would never forget this day, ever, not if he lived to be a hundred.
Later, he watched as Catherine bathed in the stream, her feet bare, her slender legs pale against the sun. Her hair gleamed like fire and he melted with love for her.
She came and stood beside him, carrying her shoes in her hand and he touched one of her small, exquisite feet with his fingertips. ‘So lovely, all of you from your head to your toes. I love you, Catherine.’
She looked up and away from him, her head tipped to one side in an attitude of listening. He heard it then, the voice calling her.
‘Something is wrong.’ She was pale, her eyes had taken on a haunted expression. ‘It’s Liam, he’s come for me, Dad must be worse.’
The young Irishman bounded across the fields towards them and, ignoring Boyo, he took Catherine by the shoulders. Before Boyo had time to digest the fact that Catherine accepted the man’s touch, the boy was speaking rapidly in strong Irish tones.
‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you, come home, it’s your father, he wants to see you.’ She clutched his arms, her knuckles white.
‘Is it … is it the end?’
‘Sure an’ only the good Lord in His heaven knows that, my colleen, but the priest has given your father the last rites so you’d better come now, there’s no time to waste.’
Catherine looked back at Boyo as he rose to his feet. ‘I have to go.’ She licked her lips. ‘I’ll see you when I can.’
He watched as she hurried over the fields, her arm through that of the young Irishman and a pain burned within him. He looked down at the grass, at the place where they had lain together, at the eggs, brown, white and speckled, lying broken on the ground and somehow it seemed like an ill omen and he was afraid.
Catherine crept into the darkened bedroom and bit her lip, hesitating a moment, almost afraid to move towards the bed. Her father was not alone, Fon sat beside him, her face pale and anguished, her pain and fear too deep for tears.
When he saw her, Jamie lifted his hand, it trembled as Catherine took it.
‘Cath, my little girl,’ he patted the bed, ‘sit by me.’ His voice was threadlike. She obeyed him and felt the presence of Liam behind her and knew she was glad he was there.
‘Dad.’ She touched his cheek tenderly, the skin rustled beneath her fingers, parchment thin. He had sunken into himself, he was not the father she’d known only a few weeks ago. Jamie had always been a big hearty man but now the disease had taken its toll and he was sinking beneath the burden of it.
‘Make me a promise, Cath.’ It was clearly difficult for him to speak. ‘Give him up, he’s married, he’s no good for you.’
‘Dad!’ Her voice was thin with fear. ‘Don’t ask that of me, please don’t.’
‘It’s for your own good, Cath, you know it in your heart. You need a man who will work the farm, look after you and your mam, give you a brood of children. Please, Catherine, won’t you promise me this, even on my deathbed?’
Guilt clutched at Catherine with cruel claws, while her father lay dying she had been out in the fields, rolling around like a whore.
‘Cath …’ His voice failed and Catherine leaned close to him, tears streaming down her face. He closed his eyes for a moment and then, with a supreme effort, spoke again. ‘I wouldn’t ask it of you but I know it’s for the best. I love you so much, I don’t want to see you live out your days as the mistress of a married man. He will never leave his wife, you know that.’
‘Hush now, Dad,’ Catherine’s voice was hard with tears, ‘don’t talk any more.’
‘I must…’ Jamie broke off, his eyes moving beyond Catherine to where Fon was standing, her face white, her eyes overlarge in her drawn face.
‘Promise him, for God’s sake.’ Fon spoke in a strangled voice. ‘He only wants what’s best for you.’ Her hand squeezed Catherine’s shoulder.
Jamie stared into her eyes as though he would draw her soul from her. ‘Quickly,’ he whispered, ‘there’s no time left.’
‘I promise, Dad!’ The words spilled from her in a torrent of love and fear and pain. How could she deny her father when he was dying before her eyes?
Fon knelt beside the bed and touched Jamie’s face and on the other side of the bed, Liam stood silent and yet staunch in his strength.
Jamie smiled briefly and then, gently, his head rolled to one side and the breath slid from between his lips like a sigh. There was silence for a moment and then Fon was weeping, her head on the bedclothes, her hands stretched out before her as though in prayer.
Liam took Catherine’s arm and led her from the room. ‘Come away, colleen, let them be together this one last time.’