Authors: Benita Brown
Tags: #Technology & Engineering, #Sagas, #Fisheries & Aquaculture, #Fiction
A Safe Harbour (41 page)
‘Like me, you mean?’
‘Kate . . . I’m sorry. I don’t think less of you for doing that.’
‘Thank you,’ Kate said drily. She wondered why she hadn’t lost her temper, but decided it was because Jane’s anguish was so obvious. ‘But there wouldn’t be any need for that. My mother is still strong and capable of the work – as well as doing a fish round.’
Jane looked uncomfortable. ‘Yes, my mother said she’d taken over the round.’
Kate continued, ‘And if they needed more help then William would just have to pay some lass. You could run your dressmaking business from the cottage.’
Her friend stared at her for a moment and then she asked, ‘And who exactly would my clients be?’ Her tone was chilly.
‘Well, the village women for a start. Some of them hate mending.’
‘
Mending.
’ Jane’s voice was dangerously low.
Mending.
’ Jane’s voice was dangerously low.
‘Not just mending. There’s bonny frocks for weddings, for christenings—’
‘Bonny frocks.’
‘And . . . and it wouldn’t just be for the village women, would it? I mean when word gets round you’d get the well-off folk from the big houses – and from Shields, probably, and Whitley-by-the-Sea.’
‘Very sophisticated, I’m sure.’
‘Jane—’
‘Have you no idea of the sort of business I have planned? Of the clients from Jesmond and Gosforth and the sort of clothes they want? The velvet, the silks and the satins, the latest styles from Paris? Do you think I could ever be satisfied with plain wool and cotton and perhaps a bit of taffeta for a lady from Monkseaton?’
‘But you would still be making clothes. That’s what you love doing, isn’t it?’
Her friend began to shake her head. Slowly at first and then faster and faster as the tears welled up and streamed down her face. ‘You don’t understand!’ she said. ‘You’ll never understand!’
Jane turned and yanked the door open. The bell jangled furiously as she flew out and almost knocked over the younger girl who was just about to enter. Betsy turned and watched as Jane hurried away, struggling to put up her umbrella as she went. Then Betsy came in and shut the door, setting the bell jangling again. Kate’s nerves jangled, too.
‘That was your friend,’ Betsy said. ‘She’s sharp but she’s kind.’
Kate stared at the girl and thought that she had summed up Jane’s character perfectly. Jane was sharp in two ways – she was clever, and she could offend people with her impatient manner. And there was no denying that she was a little self-centred. But, at heart, she was kind.
‘Here’s a grocery list,’ the girl said. ‘It’s from Mr Munro. He’ll come and collect the things later.’
‘Thank you. Now, Betsy, would you like to help me?’
‘That’s why I’m here.’
Kate looked at the girl’s determined expression and was overtaken by a rush of affection. ‘I know, pet,’ she said, ‘and I’m very grateful.’
‘Are you?’ Betsy’s eyes shone. ‘Am I a real help to you, not just a hindrance?’
Kate was moved by the vulnerability Betsy’s words revealed. ‘You’re a
real
help,’ she said. ‘In fact I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
real
help,’ she said. ‘In fact I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
Betsy’s answering smile touched Kate deeply. She didn’t know what she had done to deserve the child’s devotion but she would always cherish it.
‘And now,’ she said encouragingly, ‘I want you to go into the stockroom. There are some candles on the chest. Do you think you could tie them up in bundles of six?’
For an answer Betsy held up one hand with thumb and fingers stretched and the other hand with only one finger raised. ‘Six,’ she said.
‘That’s right. And you’ll find some pieces of twine. I’ve already cut them to the correct length.’
‘Divven’t you trust me with the scissors, then?’ She grinned as she said this. There was no need to answer her question.
‘Put the bundles of candles on the shelf. You’ll see which one – it’s empty.’
Betsy went through into the stockroom and Kate found a cardboard box and began to put up the artist’s groceries. She was sure he didn’t need so many items and wondered if Betsy had ‘helped’ him to make the list. Soon, lost in a world of pickles and jams, tea and sugar, butter and cheese, bacon and cooked meats, she found she was able to forget her problems for a while.
When that job was done she looked round for something to do and found a small blue notebook by the till on the front of which Alice had written ‘Tick’. Kate didn’t feel like opening it – she didn’t want to know which of the villagers needed to buy on credit, although she supposed she would have to ask Alice eventually who was allowed to do this.
Another notebook proclaimed ‘Christmas Club’. Kate knew that many of Alice’s customers made weekly payments so that they would be able to afford extra luxuries at Christmas. Her own mother did so and Kate smiled at the remembrance of oranges and sugared almonds and chocolate pennies that Nan had saved for and put in the three stockings hanging by the fireplace.
Then her smile faded when she remembered the Christmas her father had come home in a drunken rage, accused her mother of being extravagant and, seizing the stockings from his children’s hands, had hurled them in the fire.
The bell over the door jangled, banishing the memories, and Kate closed the book. She looked up with a smile to serve the customer, and found herself facing Richard Adamson.
Chapter Eighteen
‘I’ve finished the candles. Is there anything else I can do? Oh.’
Betsy walked through into the shop and stopped when she saw the two people staring at each other over the counter: Kate on one side and Mr Adamson on the other. Neither of them took any notice of her. They were just staring as if they’d never seen each other before. And that was daft. Betsy could hear voices coming from the back room where Mrs Willis was trying to coax her husband to take some soup. But, here in the shop, nobody was talking. And that was daft, too. Had her friend forgotten what she was supposed to say? She made a decision and went to stand next to Kate.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ she asked.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Mr Adamson said. But he didn’t look at her. He was still staring at Kate.
‘I said, can I help you? Do you want to buy anything? I’m allowed to help.’
At last, very slowly, Kate turned to look at her. ‘Oh, Betsy,’ she said, as if she was surprised to see her.
‘I’ve finished the candles.’
‘That’s good.’
‘What shall I do now?’
‘Well . . . I suppose . . .’
Her friend sounded really strange, Betsy thought. As if she was thinking of something else and didn’t know what to say.
‘Yes, there is something you can do.’ Thank goodness Mr Adamson seemed to have remembered where he was. ‘I want to buy some biscuits,’ he said. ‘A tin of biscuits.’
‘A whole tin?’ Betsy’s eyes strayed to the deep tins arranged along the counter top. People bought half a pound or a pound at a time. They never bought a whole tin.
‘Yes.’ Mr Adamson smiled at her. ‘But I mean one of those smaller fancy tins. Look, on that shelf. I’d like the one with the tartan pattern.’
Betsy frowned.
‘Look, there, there’s a picture of a Scottish piper on it.’
‘Shortbread!’
‘That’s right, Betsy, and if Miss Lawson would wrap it up I’d like you to deliver it.’
‘Where to?’
‘To my house. My mother is very partial to shortbread biscuits.’
‘Why can’t you carry it home?’
For a moment Mr Adamson looked as though he hadn’t thought of that. But then he said, ‘Because I’m taking my dog for a walk on the beach.’
‘So you don’t want to carry anything.’
‘That’s right.’
While they’d been talking Kate had been wrapping up the tin of biscuits in brown paper. She’d tied it neatly with string.
‘It’s like a present,’ Betsy said.
‘For my mother.’
‘Well, you should put a card with it.’
‘Of course. Thank you for reminding me. I’ll use one of these.’
Betsy watched as Mr Adamson took a small white card from a pocket in his waistcoat. He put it on the counter and began to write something. Then he took another card from his pocket and wrote on that, too. He tucked the first card under the string of the parcel and gave the other to Betsy. ‘This one is for the maid who will answer the door,’ he told her.
‘I’ll get my coat on,’ Betsy said, ‘and me shawl. But remember you have to pay for the biscuits.’
‘Betsy . . .’ Kate began.
‘It’s all right, Miss Lawson. Here you are. And perhaps you would give tuppence from the change to Betsy for her trouble.’
Betsy knew what to say to that. ‘It’s no trouble, sir.’ But nevertheless she took the tuppence and soon was on her way.
They stared at each other again but, now, they were smiling. Kate had recovered from her shock at seeing him. Betsy, bless her, had given them something to talk about.
‘What did you write on the cards?’ Kate asked.
‘On the card for my mother I simply asked her to be kind to the child and perhaps give her some milk and a piece of cake.’
‘And the second card?’
‘I instructed Joan that Betsy was to be allowed to give the parcel to my mother in person.’
‘Ah.’ Kate smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’
‘Why do you thank me?’
‘Because I can imagine what sort of reception Joan would give her.’
Richard laughed. ‘She’s not the sunniest of persons, is she?’
‘She never has been.’
And then they seemed to run out of things to say. Richard Adamson moved nearer to the counter and Kate backed away. Ridiculous, she thought. He’s hardly going to leap over and take me in his arms . . .
‘Did you really come to buy biscuits?’ she asked.
‘No. I wanted to see you. To ask how you are.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘I’ve been worried.’
‘Why? You know I wasn’t allowed to leave your house until Dr Phillips was satisfied that I was quite recovered. And you could have asked before now. I was in your house for nearly four weeks.’
‘I wanted to come and see you, believe me. But I thought you might not want to see me. I mean, after what happened when I . . . Kate – may I call you Kate?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you remember what happened on the beach – after I carried you from the cave?’
‘Yes.’ It was barely a whisper.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why sorry?’
‘You were hardly yourself. What’s more you were vulnerable.’
‘That’s true.’
‘Do you despise me?’
‘No.’
‘Then I don’t regret it. But I had to stay away while you were ill – in my home – I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of the situation.’
‘And now?’
‘I’d heard that you’d lost the cottage. I was – I am – concerned.’
‘I’m not homeless. Mrs Willis has taken me in, and I like working here.’
‘Why can’t you go home, Kate?’
‘My father has forbidden me to go home. He’s angry with me. We . . . we had a disagreement.’
‘I suppose I have no right to ask what it was about?’
‘No, you haven’t.’
‘Then all I can say is that I find it sad when families are split apart in this way. If you had been living at home with your mother you would never have been allowed to go alone to the cave that night. I still have nightmares thinking about what might have happened if I had not found you.’
‘But you did.’
Without thinking Kate moved nearer to him again. Richard Adamson had taken hold of the edge of the counter with both hands and he gripped it tightly as he leaned forward. Kate breathed in, and as well as the odours of tea and coffee and cheese and bacon she could smell the lemony tang of his hair dressing.
‘It was meant to be.’
He had spoken softly – so softly – and yet Kate shivered at the intensity of his voice. ‘Meant?’ she whispered.
She looked into his eyes, so dark, so deep, so different from eyes she had looked into before. She shivered again, violently, and wrapped her arms across her body, hugging herself tightly.
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