A Safe Harbour (17 page)
Authors: Benita Brown
Tags: #Technology & Engineering, #Sagas, #Fisheries & Aquaculture, #Fiction
‘Good, because I’ve been meaning to ask you, may I paint your portrait?’
‘
My
portrait? Why?’
My
portrait? Why?’
‘It will be one of a series of pictures of this village and the people who live and work here,’ he said. ‘I hope to exhibit them in a gallery in Boston – my hometown.’
Kate was nonplussed. She didn’t know what to say.
He must have seen how puzzled she was because he smiled encouragingly. ‘I will tell you what to wear . . .’ Kate backed away a little. ‘Don’t worry, I want you dressed pretty much as you are now in your dark blue skirt and bodice with your neckerchief and your working shoes. And, of course, carrying your – what do you call it? Your basket.’
‘Creel.’
‘Yes, your creel. And you will have to be patient and stand still and it will be like work, so I shall pay you a proper fee, as I would any model.’
‘Model . . .’ Kate had heard about artist’s models and she was not sure if they were respectable.
‘And you won’t be the first person here to pose for me. I’ve already started work on some sketches of Martha Smith, standing right here on Bank Top, holding her creel.’
‘But Martha is so old!’ Kate couldn’t help saying. ‘All those wrinkles . . .’
‘And those piercing blue eyes. And all that wisdom in her face. Marvellous!’
‘So it’s not my beauty you want me for, then,’ Kate said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘If you’re looking for models like Martha . . .’
‘Kate, you’re teasing me. So, will you pose for me?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure I could be bold enough to stand here on Bank Top and allow myself to be gawped at by the world and his wife as they pass by.’
‘You have a wonderful turn of phrase, Kate, but that won’t be necessary. I am used to being gawped at and I will stand here alone to make sketches of the background. You will come to my studio where it will be more comfortable and you will be safe from curious onlookers.’
‘Your studio?’
‘Yes – in the cottage Richard has loaned to me.’
‘In your cottage . . .’
‘If you are worried about the proprieties let me tell you Martha has been twice already. She brought her granddaughter Betsy to act as chaperone. You could bring your mother – or a friend, perhaps.’
‘I can’t answer you now.’
‘I’ll pay you well. After all, I may sell the paintings some day.’
‘Money is not my concern.’ Kate could not disguise her flash of fury and the artist looked abashed.
‘Of course it isn’t. And now I’ve managed to insult you again. But promise me you’ll think about it.’
‘I will. But now I must go. I have to be up early in the morning.’
‘Oh, no. I’ve kept you talking and I know how hard you work. May I see you safely home?’
Kate laughed. ‘It’s not far and the only creatures about are a few cats.’
‘Some of them mine, so I’d better come along to protect you from them. After all, we are going the same way.’
They fell into step but didn’t speak again until Mr Munro bade her goodnight just a few steps from her door. Once inside Kate got into bed as quickly as possible. She lay for a while and tried to make up her mind about Mr Munro. He had a disconcerting way of speaking but she thought there was no harm in him. But did she want to pose for him? Did she want her likeness captured on canvas for anyone to see? The idea was unsettling but not altogether unpleasing. She had promised him she would think about it. But not now . . . she was too tired. Then, just before sleep overtook her, a disturbing image flickered in her mind. That of a curtain twitching at one of the windows as she and Mr Munro walked by.
As they hurried along Heaton Road William glanced at his reflection in the rain-speckled shop windows and hardly recognized himself. Jane had told him long ago that he must never meet her in town wearing his fisherman’s gansey, even his best one, and he had turned up today wearing the jacket and trousers he wore at church. He had also put on his best shirt and his only tie. It pleased William to keep Jane happy. He was wise enough to know that she only wanted the best for him – as he did for her. His mother had smiled knowingly when he left the cottage but she hadn’t asked him where he was going. He was pretty sure that she knew.
He had called at the servants’ entrance of the Coulsons’ house and had been slightly aggrieved that Jane hadn’t seemed to notice the effort he’d made. She’d asked him in, which was unusual – in fact almost unheard of – and immediately directed him to a sort of cloakroom and told him to change into the clothes he would find waiting there.
He did so uncomplainingly and had presented himself for inspection. His darling had both smiled and frowned. He’d watched her changing expressions with fond amusement. The suit had been made for a less muscular man but Jane said it would have to do. The waistcoat was so tight it made breathing difficult and the shirt collar cut so sharply into his neck that he found it almost impossible to turn his head. Then there was the hat: the ‘bowler’. He thought he would rather go to the Afghan frontier than walk the streets of Cullercoats with that perched on his head. But as they were going to be walking the streets of respectable suburbs he guessed that he wouldn’t be too out of place.
William was walking on the outside as Jane said he must and reflected alongside him was the trim, elegantly dressed figure of Jane. She looked so self-assured as she hurried along holding her umbrella to protect herself from the sudden shower. But even his admiration of her and pride in her could not quell his doubt.
‘Do I look all right?’ he asked.
‘William, your appearance is every bit that of a gentleman, so please will you remove that pained look from your face.’
He stopped, and Jane turned to glare at him. William did not respond. He was looking up at the sign written in large gold letters above the shop. It said: C. & M. HOGG, LADIES’ AND GENTLEMEN’S OUTFITTERS. The C stood for Cyril, but he was long deceased. The M stood for Mabel, the widow Hogg, who wanted to retire and go to live with her daughter who had married a draper with a thriving business in Leeds. Or so Jane had told him.
‘Now remember, William, when we go in I will do the talking, but I shall look to you every now and then to make sure that you agree.’
‘Would it matter if I didn’t?’ William grinned. Jane was used to getting her own way and he’d never minded. He respected her quick brain and he considered himself a lucky man that a lass so dainty and beautiful – like a Dresden shepherdess, she was – would be content to walk out with him.
‘Of course it would.’ Jane’s tone didn’t carry conviction but the look she slanted up at him through her dusky lashes sent his senses reeling, as usual.
William felt himself flushing and he ran his forefinger along the inside of his collar to ease it away from his neck. ‘You said it was all done and dusted,’ he said.
‘It is, as far as the shop itself is concerned, but there’s the stock to consider. My father has been very generous in agreeing to set me up in business and I want to make sure we spend his money wisely.’
‘We?’ William had a nightmare vision of himself serving behind the counter, selling socks perhaps, or neck ties, or collars as uncomfortable as the one he had been forced to wear today.
Jane’s smile was thin. ‘I said “we” because Mrs Hogg is expecting an engaged couple. Even though she has run the business by herself for years it seems she is unwilling to sell to a single woman. Ridiculous, isn’t it?’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do. And, William . . .’ Jane’s tone softened and she raised her umbrella higher and moved closer to him, looking up into his face with those amazing blue eyes. ‘We are an engaged couple, aren’t we? I mean, I know I haven’t got an engagement ring – and I don’t mind, really I don’t – but we are promised to each other, aren’t we?’
‘Jane . . .’ He stepped closer and put his hands on her waist.
‘William, not now, people will see us.’ The umbrella trembled, sending a scattering of raindrops down on both of them.
‘The street is Sabbath quiet,’ William said. ‘All the shops are closed. There’s no one in sight.’
‘Somebody could be looking from an upper window. Many of the shopkeepers live above the shop – as . . . as . . .’ She bit her lip and hurried on. ‘Now.’ She glanced cursorily at the display in the shop window as she shook her umbrella and furled it. There were ladies’ blouses, gentlemen’s shirts, children’s smocks, socks and gloves all arranged in no particular order. William saw her frown. He guessed that should her plan to buy the shop be successful – and it looked as though it would be – the window would be sorted out very quickly. ‘Now,’ she repeated, ‘Mrs Hogg will be waiting for us.’
The notice hanging in the door said ‘Closed’ but as soon as they knocked the door opened. Mrs Hogg proved to be a tall, spare, wrinkled woman with wire-framed spectacles that always appeared to be sliding down to the end of her long nose. But her smile was welcoming.
William followed Jane in, smiled politely when he was introduced and then stood back while the two women discussed business. Jane kept looking at him questioningly and he remembered to smile or nod wisely. He had no idea what they were talking about, since he had lost track long ago, but he seemed to be making the right responses because Jane was looking happier and happier.
He was glad about that. He wanted Jane to be happy, but as he looked at the rails of ready-made clothes sheathed in protective covers and the bolts of cloth stacked neatly on shelves behind the counter, he saw no place for himself. Then he sensed that Jane and Mrs Hogg had stopped talking and when he looked up he found they were both staring at him.
‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘I should ask you that question, William dear,’ Jane said. ‘You uttered such a sigh just now.’
‘Did I?’
‘Please don’t worry, Miss Harrison,’ Mrs Hogg said. ‘I think I know what the matter is. We’ve been talking so much that I’d quite forgotten poor Mr Lawson. I should have realized that he will want to talk to you . . . and perhaps advise you. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go upstairs to the flat so that Mr Lawson may express his opinions freely, and return in a quarter of an hour.’
The woman shot him a genuine smile. Whether or not she believed that Jane needed to consult him, she was willing to go along with the idea that the man was the master. She pulled a curtain aside at the back of the shop and vanished behind it. They could hear her mounting the stairs.
‘I’m sorry,’ William said. ‘Was I rude?’
‘No.’
‘Then tell me why you look so cross.’
‘I’m not cross. Just disappointed. I thought you’d be interested in my plans.’
‘I am. But . . .’
‘But what?’
‘Well, mebbes I had plans too.’
Jane stared at William. She was at a loss how to proceed. William loved her, she was sure of that. She had hinted for long enough that she never wanted to go back to live in the village and he had seemed to accept it. But perhaps he never had. Perhaps she had made it too obvious how very much she loved him and perhaps he had therefore believed that she would give in to him in the end.
If only I could have forgotten about William Lawson the minute I left Cullercoats and came to work in town, she thought. But she had not been able to forget him and her plans for the future had always included him. He didn’t know yet what part he was to play. She hoped he would approve, but first she must show him how happy owning this outfitter’s business would make her.
She looked at him now. So tall, so handsome – so like a Viking, she imagined fancifully – with his strong features and firm jawline and his red-gold hair. But his expression was bleak. She acknowledged he looked uncomfortable in Mr Coulson’s cast-off clothes but, nevertheless, they were better than his own. It had been kind of Mrs Coulson to pass on her husband’s clothing and she had instructed Mrs Roberts, the housekeeper, to allow Mr Lawson to change in the staff cloak cupboard. Jane had expressed her gratitude, but it was a pity she hadn’t had time to alter the suit William was wearing now, for, although he didn’t know it yet, there was another more important meeting ahead of him.
She moved closer to him, gently pressing the length of her body against his. She rested her head on his chest for a moment and then undid a few buttons of his waistcoat. She slipped her hand inside and rested her palm on his smooth, white shirt. She felt his heart begin to race.
‘You do love me, don’t you?’
‘You know I do.’
‘And you want me to be happy?’
‘I do – but I want us to be happy together.’
‘We can be.’
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