Authors: Iris Gower
As for the lawyer, she had paid him off and sent him back to London with a heavy pocket. He had assured her of his best services any time she should need them.
Now, looking at her husband, she was not so sure that she had done the right thing in acting so precipitously. Since Boyo had been back with her, he had been moody, morose even. He was acting like a sulky schoolboy and she was fast losing patience with him.
Apart from anything else, he was driving Elizabeth away from her. She did not come so often now and when she did, it was but for a brief visit. No, things were not working out as Bethan had planned, not at all.
She studied Boyo; his hair was crisp and curling, his frame lean and spare, there was a frown between his brows and suddenly her heart ached for the man he had once been, the affectionate husband, the friend she could laugh with. It had all been spoiled by Catherine O’Conner, how Bethan hated her.
Still, Bethan would only have to bide her time, she and Boyo would become lovers again, one day. She would be patient now until her child was safely born then she would win Boyo back, she was sure. He would come to see that his wife was worth ten of that stupid, insignificant girl.
He looked up, sensing her scrutiny, and when she smiled at him, he responded but his eyes did not warm. He rose to his feet. ‘I think I will take a ride into town, have a drink in one of the hotels. I feel the lack of male company, Bethan, you know how it is?’
‘I do not know how it is, at all, Boyo, you were never one for male company. Are you sure you are not seeing that bitch?’
‘I am sure.’ He emphasized the words. ‘I have not seen her since … since we made our agreement.’
Jealousy swamped her, he had lied to her and cheated her once, how could she ever trust him again? ‘I don’t want you to go out.’ She failed to realize how petulant she sounded until Boyo shook his head.
‘You are acting like a child. I never agreed to be a prisoner in this house.’ He sounded cold. Bethan saw now that she was pushing him too hard, she must tread more softly.
‘You are right, of course.’ She knew with a sense of triumph that she had said exactly the right thing.
‘That’s my girl, you sound more like my old Bethan now.’
She rose and hugged him, as though on an impulse. She looked up into his face. ‘We were good friends once, we can mend fences, we can be friends again, can’t we? Am I unreasonable in wanting you back?’
‘You are unreasonable in the way you go about it, hurting people, destroying lives, it’s so unlike the woman I married.’
‘I know,’ she said in a self-deprecating tone. ‘I honestly think that, for a time, I was quite out of my mind. First, losing the baby, then you leaving me, it was too much to bear. But we can be happy again, we will have a fine daughter this time and I shall call her Elizabeth.’
As she knew she would, she touched a soft spot in him. He held her in his arms, not like a lover but at least it was a start. She smiled into his shoulder, she knew how to play it, knew that she must appear to be repentant, to be the same gullible fool she had been before he had abused her trust.
‘You are a kind man, Boyo.’ She moved from his arms. ‘I know I’ve been all sorts of a bitch but with your help, I can be better, I know I can.’
He sighed. ‘I’ll stay in, if that’s what you really want.’ He looked down at her, a worried frown on his face and she felt it was the moment to be magnanimous.
‘No, you go out, it is only reasonable for a man to want to share a drink and a laugh with his own kind.’
He smiled then, really smiled for the first time since they had been back together. He moved to the door, his step lighter and Bethan knew with a sinking of her heart that he could not wait to be away from her.
‘I won’t be late,’ he said and she lifted her hand to him, a smile fixed on her face.
‘Be as late as you like, I must trust you, I do trust you. Go on, my love, enjoy yourself, I won’t wait up for you.’
She heard the outer door slam and then the sound of hoof-beats fading into the distance. She felt empty and relieved at the same time, now she could talk, really talk, to Elizabeth, tell her the triumphant news that she was winning back the husband she loved.
Hari stood in the window looking out at the boiling seas far below. ‘It was a good move to join the Union of Boot and Shoemakers.’ A huge wave crashed against the rocks sending up a shower of foam. The weather was stormy, in keeping with her mood. ‘They will help me get back on my feet again, give the firm respectability, substance. I’ve always wanted to be free of any unions, to be independent but now the time has come when I need the strength of others behind me. Whatever happens, there is no way I am going to allow that woman to ruin us.’
‘My love,’ Craig came and stood behind her, ‘be sensible, let’s cut our losses, give up the business. We will have enough to live on for years if we sell Summer Lodge.’
‘We won’t, you know,’ Hari said shaking her head. ‘The house is mortgaged to the hilt. Even if we could sell it there would be little in it for us.’ Hari turned into his arms, ‘If I let the business go, we shall have nothing.’
‘We will manage.’ He kissed her mouth tenderly. ‘Look, I’ve got something to tell you.’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘I’ve managed to find myself a position in the accounting offices of
The Swansea Times
.’
‘Arian Smale gave you a job?’
‘Well, don’t sound so surprised, I am used to accounts, I am sound in mind and limb and what’s more, I won’t be the oldest employee working there; there’s Mac, he’s a fine reporter and he’s actually longer in the tooth than I am.’
‘Oh?’ Hari was at a loss, she did not know if she should congratulate Craig on his enterprise or be angry with him for making such a move without consulting her.
He hugged Hari to him. ‘Don’t worry, we will survive this as we’ve survived so many things – together.’
‘I don’t want to lose Summer Lodge,’ Hari said, moving away from Craig and sitting in a chair. ‘I suggest we let it out for a time, perhaps a year or two just until we get on our feet again.’
‘Who around here will want to rent this barn of a place?’ Craig said reasonably.
‘Think, Craig, think,’ Hari said, tapping her forehead. ‘You are right, no-one around
here
will want to rent the house but if we put a notice in the London
Times
, advertise the place as an ideal summer retreat near the sea, it might possibly attract some interest. At least it’s worth a try.’
‘It costs a great deal more money than we have to advertise properly in a London newspaper.’
‘Well then, we’ll sell something, one of the paintings perhaps. Better to lose some of the possessions we’ve accumulated over the good years than to lose everything.’
‘You might be right. I suppose it’s worth a try,’ Craig said kissing her, his hand straying to her breast.
‘You are incorrigible, and you an old man.’ She laughed up at him, not believing her words. He would never be old, not to her. Craig was her love, her life and as long as she had him, she had all that she could ever want in life – almost.
Suddenly, Hari felt close to tears. Because of Bethan Hopkins, because of one woman’s wicked obsession, she had been brought to near bankruptcy.
Later, in bed, Hari lay wide-eyed, her mind racing over and over the problems of finance. After a while she rose, careful not to wake her husband and by the time she had bathed and dressed and made her way downstairs, she knew what she was going to do.
A few copies of the London
Times
needed to be bought, that was the first part of her plan. She would do work on some figures, try to assess how much a year could be earned by letting out Summer Lodge. Then she would follow Craig’s lead, she would find a job. She would work as a cobbler as she’d done when she was young.
Ruefully she looked down at her hands, softened now by easy living. Surely she could resurrect skills they had once had? She would cut and stitch and tap working-men’s boots as she used to, it was a beginning, a way back to solvency.
She had not wanted to join the Union of Boot and Shoemakers, not at first, but now she would need the might of the union behind her. There was strength in the unity of fellow tradesmen and women. She would attend meetings, fight for the rights of the working people. She had been complacent too long, rich too long, she had forgotten her roots. But now she would just have to get used to them again.
She would rent a place, a small, cheap house somewhere in the poorer quarter of the town. She had been born in the slums of World’s End, she would easily adapt to the life again. For a moment her resolve weakened. Could Craig cope with it? Working in a stuffy office all day, adding figures instead of organizing the shifting of skins, would need a great deal of will power.
That he had the necessary ability for the job she had no doubt, Craig had been the one to buy in stocks, see that the goods were always available to put on the shelves. He had a good head for figures, he had learnt a great deal about trade over the years. He would be fine.
Hari made her way to the workroom and sat at the bench. Few repairs had been done here of late, very little shoemaking of any kind, come to that. Folk preferred to keep away from a woman involved in murder. Even the more tolerant of citizens preferred to buy stout, ready-made shoes at the respectable establishments in town. Why walk all the way to Summer Lodge when there were cobblers in every other street?
She picked up a dog, the implement used for holding the upper to the sole, and wondered if she had the energy for her new enterprise. Years ago, it had all seemed so easy, she had the optimism of youth then, the certainty that what she did would succeed. Well, she must find that optimism once again, for the alternative might just be the workhouse.
Catherine stared at Doreen in astonishment. ‘Won’t people talk if you marry Jerry so soon after … after?’
‘After I shot that bastard of a husband you mean? What the hell do you think they’re doing now, girl? My name is mud round here. Half the town believe I killed Meadows out of revenge and the other half think poor Mrs Grenfell pulled the trigger. No, love, no future in Swansea for me, not any more, who would employ a murderess?’
She shook her head and there was a glint of tears in her eyes. ‘There’s nothing for me here, not now. Anyway, Jerry’s got promotion, they want him in Cardiff. It couldn’t have worked out better really, could it, love?’ She smiled wanly at Catherine. ‘Sorry, love, I’m going to leave you in the lurch, so to speak, but it’s better you know now when Liam is here to stand by you.’
‘You mustn’t worry about me, Dor,’ Catherine spoke with an effort, she felt lost and alone. ‘You have your own life to lead. I’ll manage fine.’
‘At least you got a roof over your head, old Lou won’t chuck you out, he’s a good sort as landlords go.’
‘I’ll be all right, stop being such a worry-guts.’ Catherine smiled. ‘Hey, your colourful way of putting things is rubbing off on me. I’ll be swearing next, you are leaving just in time, girl.’
‘What you mean?’ Doreen pretended to be indignant. ‘I don’t curse, well, not much anyway.’ She brightened.
‘You’ll soon have company; Mrs Grenfell said she was desperate for somewhere cheap to live, so I told her about the rooms upstairs. Since that funny old woman was carted away the place has been empty. Don’t know if this dump would be good enough for our boss but then she did say she was desperate.’ If she had expected a reaction from Catherine she was disappointed, Catherine was hardly listening. She watched with dull eyes as Doreen went into the back room. Drawers were being opened and closed again, Doreen was packing, she really was going to leave.
Catherine suddenly felt weary. What was happening in her life? Was she cursed? Had Bethan Hopkins put an evil spell on her? Whatever she did, whatever avenue she walked along, she always seemed to find failure and disappointment at the end of it.
It was all very well for Doreen to tell her she had a home. How long would the landlord tolerate a lodger who could not pay the rent? As for Hari Grenfell coming to live in Watkin Street, Catherine would believe it when she saw it.
Doreen came back into the room and put her bag on the floor. It was not a very big bag, she had little to show for her years in Swansea. ‘Don’t look so glum. Come on, let’s have some of that tea Liam brought us, say goodbye properly, eh?’
Absent-mindedly, Catherine scooped the meagre leaves from the bottom of the tin into the teapot. She knew with her mind that Doreen was right, she had to leave Swansea, she had no choice and yet Catherine was afraid of suddenly being alone in the world.
‘Look, love, why not marry Liam, he loves you like mad,’ Doreen said. ‘You’re half in love with the boy already, if you ask me.’
Catherine poured the tea in silence and Doreen rushed into speech again. ‘You want to be with Boyo and you can’t, seems he’s tucked his feet under the table up at that haunted house, gone back to his wife, hasn’t he? So forget him, he’s no good for you. At least with Liam you won’t have to starve. Say you’ll think about it, love, for my sake.’
‘Aye, I’ll think about it,’ Catherine said. But she had thought about it, thought long and hard, far into the night and had found no answers. Yet Doreen’s words made sense, they hurt, oh yes, they hurt badly but then the truth sometimes did. There was no getting away from it, Boyo had gone back to his wife, he no longer wanted anything to do with Catherine, that much was clear. So, was she going to go under, let herself be beaten, surely she had some fight left in her? And yet the prospect of poverty, hunger and homelessness loomed like a spectre before her.
‘Well, it’s your life, I can’t live it for you.’ Doreen drained her cup and lifted her bag onto the table, delving into its depths. Fumbling among her pitifully few possessions she drew out a purse. ‘Have this, love; Jerry gave me money to get to Cardiff, it’s too much, I won’t need it all. He’ll be following me up there as soon as he can.’ She moved round the table and hugged Catherine tightly in an uncharacteristic show of affection. ‘I’ll send you my address when I know it.’ Doreen’s voice was muffled. ‘You can come to me then if times get really bad.’