The Bright One (37 page)

‘I'll have to go!' she gasped. ‘Excuse me . . . !' And she was gone.

It had been a busy day, customers following fast one after the other, but now, fifteen minutes from closing time, the rush had died down. Breda would be glad when 5.30 came because she was going out with Graham.

She had been unrolling the ends of material from the long cardboard tubes around which they were wrapped, ready to fold the short ends into remnants for the sales table. Now she couldn't continue with it because it needed Miss Craven's authority to price remnants, so she stood where she was, at the end of the counter, behind the till. It was heaven to do absolutely nothing for a minute or two.

Without turning her head, she knew that someone had come in by the side entrance. There was no mistaking the draught, which all day had been like a miniature gale. She stood there, wondering what she would wear this evening. Graham's father had sent him a totally unexpected, magnificent ten pounds with which he was taking her to a meal
and
the theatre.

She supposed she must have heard the footsteps because she was aware that they had stopped, right by her counter.

She raised her head and looked straight into the chalk-white face of a man. His eyes were as black and shining as coals. Frightening eyes, they were. Glittering. She dropped her gaze and immediately found herself staring into the dark barrel of a gun, which protruded from the long woollen scarf he wore around his neck and draped over his head.

‘If you make one sound I'll fire it!' he said quietly.

‘Just hand over what's in the till. Just the notes. You can keep the change. If you do as you're told you'll not get hurt. If you try any tricks you'll end up a nasty mess on the floor.'

His voice was quite even, as if he might be asking for three yards of cotton lining.

For a second, which seemed like an hour, Breda stared at the man, unable to move, mesmerized, paralysed by fear.

‘Get a move on,' he said quietly. ‘I don't have all day. Neither do you!'

His voice jerked her back to reality.

Without taking her eyes from him – she daren't do that – her right hand moved towards the till. She pressed the ‘No Sale' key and the drawer opened.

‘Just the notes,' the man repeated. ‘As I said, you can keep the change.'

It was as she took the notes from under the spring clips that a fierce and sudden anger hit her and, she thought afterwards, common sense deserted her. How dare he? He wasn't going to get away with this. She would stop him, though she had as yet no idea how.

Slowly, deliberately, her head a whirl of thoughts which she somehow had to get in order, she transferred the pound and ten-shilling notes to her left hand. There was a thick wad of them. It had been a busy day.

‘Hurry up!' the man hissed. There was an edge to his voice.

In that moment she knew what she would do. It was there, staring her in the face. She gave no thought to the danger. Anger, and the absolute necessity of not showing it, of keeping calm, drove fear from her mind. The only thing she could not control was the thudding of her heart and the trembling of her hand as she held out the money towards him.

Then, at the same time as he moved to take the wad of notes from her she quickly grasped the long, stiff cardboard tube which lay at her right hand on the counter, and thrust it sharply towards him.

Her aim was good. The tube caught him unawares, hit him on the wrist. She saw the flash of panic in his eyes. The gun dropped to the floor and went off with a deafening report. Then the man started to run, the notes still clasped in his hand.

He made for the door, and she ran after him, but since she had to get out from the other side of the counter he was ahead of her. It was the steps, the short flight of steps which led to the street door, which were, literally, his downfall. He tripped and fell, sprawled against them.

Breda had found her voice, and the revolver shot had brought people running, running and screaming.

‘Stop him! Stop him!' she shouted above the noise.

The man was getting to his feet. She was almost on him, but an assistant from Menswear was there before her. He grabbed the man who, halfway to his feet was unbalanced, and pinned his arms behind his back.

The notes lay scattered on the floor. Breda instinctively stooped to pick them up – and as she did so everything and everybody faded in front of her. The last thing she knew was that Mr Stokesly was there, and that it was all right and he would take care of everything.

‘She's coming to!'

The voice came to Breda from a far way off, then moved nearer and became merged with its owner, the store nurse. Behind the nurse stood Mr Stokesly and Miss Opal, both looking anxious. At first Breda understood nothing of this. She thought perhaps she was dreaming. Then suddenly she remembered, and what she remembered was the noise of the shot. She sat up quickly, clapping her hands over her ears.

‘What happened? Was someone hurt?'

‘Miraculously, no,' Miss Opal said. Her voice was grim.

‘The bullet went into the front of the counter,' Mr Stokesly said. ‘No real harm done.'

‘And there is nothing for you to worry about,' Miss Opal said. ‘The man has already been taken to the police station and, thanks to you, all the money has been recovered. If
you
are all right, then everything is all right.'

‘Oh, I am,' Breda said. ‘I'm sure I am!'

‘I'm glad to hear it,' Miss Opal said. She could hardly say the same for herself. She felt shattered at the thought of what the consequences might have been.

‘I shall send you home in my car,' she said. ‘And unless you are totally fit you are to take the day off tomorrow. But if you
are
well enough to come in, then the doctor will be here and I should like her to take a look at you.'

Mr Stokesly, with Miss Opal's firm backing, insisted on accompanying Breda home, though she told him she would be quite happy just to sit beside the chauffeur. He stayed there only long enough to tell her aunt what had happened.

Josephine listened with horror. ‘Oh, Breda love, I can't believe it! In Leasfield! In Opal's! What's the world coming to?'

Even Brendan was shocked. ‘Are you sure you're all right, love?' he asked Breda.

He called me ‘love', she thought. Everyone called everyone love in the West Riding, but Brendan had never before used the word to her, not once.

‘I'm quite all right thank you, Uncle Brendan,' she said.

‘Breda was extremely brave,' Mr Stokesly said. ‘Foolish, without a doubt, but very brave.'

‘He must be a madman,' Brendan said. His voice was rough with indignation. ‘If I had him here . . . He should be locked up!'

‘He is now,' Mr Stokesly said. ‘And I don't doubt will be for a long time. But I'll not stay any longer. I'll leave you in peace.'

‘I'll see you tomorrow,' Breda said. ‘I'm sure I'll be back at work.'

‘Wait and see,' Mr Stokesly cautioned.

‘Well!' Josephine said when Mr Stokesly had left. ‘What a terrible thing! You'll not feel like going out tonight, will you, love? A bite to eat and early bed I'd say.'

Only then did Breda remember that this was the evening she was to go to a meal and to the theatre with Graham.

‘Oh but I do!' she said at once. ‘Just a cup of tea, then I'll get changed. I feel fine, honestly I do.'

It was not strictly true. She felt shaky – but wild horses wouldn't make her miss the evening. Wasn't the table booked at the restaurant and the tickets for the theatre? And she would be wearing her ribbon dress.

Halfway through her cup of tea – she had just put it down on the table – Graham, who had neither knocked at the door nor paused on his way through the hall, burst into the kitchen. He bounded towards her, pulled her to her feet, took her in his arms and held her as if he would never let her go. And in front of everyone.

‘Oh Breda!' he cried. ‘Oh Breda my love, you could have been killed.'

‘Well she wasn't, was she?' Grandma Maguire said in flat calm. ‘As far as I can see she hasn't a mark on her.'

No-one took any notice of her. There were more interesting things going on.

‘You must
never, ever
do anything like that again,' Graham said fiercely. ‘You must promise me.'

‘Sure I will promise you,' Breda said. ‘I'm not thinking it will happen to me again. Not twice in a lifetime.'

It was not easy to get the words out, for he was still squeezing the life out of her, but it was wonderful all the same.

‘Shouldn't you go to bed?' Graham asked anxiously.

‘That's what I've been telling her,' Josephine said.

‘Are you trying to avoid taking me out for the evening, then? Is that the way of it, Graham Prince?'

‘Of course it isn't, Breda love. You know that.'

‘Then there's no way I'll go to bed. And if we don't get a move on we'll be late for everything. Give me fifteen minutes to get ready. You can wait right here.'

‘Well, maybe an evening out will take your mind off things,' Josephine said doubtfully.

‘What sort of gun was it?' Brendan asked when Breda had gone upstairs.

‘I don't know,' Graham said. ‘I don't know any of the details. I rushed here the minute I heard.'

By the time Breda came downstairs Graham had ordered a taxi to take them to the restaurant. ‘No travelling on buses for you this evening, my girl,' he said.

The restaurant was something the like of which Breda had never seen, not that she had seen many: lighted candles on pink-clothed tables, shining silver, waiters immaculately attired. She was pleased she had dressed up, and sorry for Graham because he had had no time to go home and change out of his work suit.

‘I don't care two hoots about that,' he said. ‘It's enough to be here with you, safe and sound.'

If the food, when it appeared, lacked anything because of rationing, that was compensated for by its presentation, though in fact Breda would gladly have settled for baked beans on toast. She was floating on a cloud as pink as the tablecloths, and it had nothing to do with the excitement of the afternoon and everything to do with Graham.

There was no longer any doubt in her mind about his feelings for her. Hadn't he made them as plain as plain, and in front of everyone? And that being so there was surely no longer any need to hold back her own.

They ate through the meal, not talking much. Breda scarcely tasted the food, which was a pity because it looked very expensive. That and the theatre would take every penny of Graham's ten pounds.

When they had finished eating and were waiting for coffee, Graham leaned across the table and took Breda's hand in his, stroking it gently.

‘Oh Breda!' he said. ‘What would I have done if . . . ' He faltered.

‘If what?'

‘If anything had happened to you. Just as I've found you.'

‘But it didn't,' Breda said gently. ‘Grandma Maguire was right about that. I'm here, all in one piece and as good as new!'

‘Breda,' he said, ‘I love you. I didn't know how much until I nearly lost you.'

Her head was filled with light and music. ‘Oh Graham!'

‘I love you,' he repeated.

Neither of them noticed the waiter place the coffee on the table.

‘And I love you,' she said. ‘Oh, I do love you. But I think I always knew it, right from the first minute. Right from the bread-and-butter pudding. I shall never hate bread-and-butter pudding again!'

‘What shall we do?' he asked.

‘What do you mean, what shall we do?'

‘I want to tell the world,' Graham said. ‘I want to stand up on my chair right now and tell everyone in the restaurant “I love Breda O'Connor and she loves me!”'

‘You're daft!' Breda said happily.

‘I know. I want to shout it in the streets. I want to tell everyone in the store . . . '

The smile left his face. ‘But we can't,' he said. ‘We can't tell anyone, not even our families.'

‘I think my family might have guessed,' Breda said. ‘I mean, the way you behaved. So why can't we tell anyone?'

She didn't particularly want, as he did, to shout it to the world, but of one thing she was certain: she wanted to tell her family, the people she loved. She wanted to write to Mammy and tell her everything.

‘I want us to be engaged,' Graham said. ‘Oh Breda, I want us to be married, but that's impossible, perhaps for a long time.'

‘I understand that,' Breda said. ‘But we could be engaged.'

‘And we will be,' he said. ‘But we shall have to keep it secret.'

‘Why?'

It was not that she particularly minded the secrecy, at least for a little while. She was happy to hug the knowledge to herself, to share it only with Graham, to glory in the warmth of it. But how could that last? It would surely leak out, especially if Graham behaved as he had in her aunt's kitchen earlier this evening.

‘If anyone in the store knew, then Miss Opal would find out. I've already realized she gets to know everything in the end,' Graham said. ‘Then she'd feel obliged to tell my father and the odds are he'd whisk me back to London.'

‘Oh Graham! Oh no, I couldn't bear it,' Breda cried. ‘Why would he do that?'

‘Apart from all the stuff about us being too young – you not eighteen until next month, me not yet twenty-one – I'm here to learn a job. Nose to the grindstone for the next year. He'd not allow anything to interfere with that. If it came to it he'd simply send me somewhere else. And I'm dependent on him, Breda, at least for the time being. Please say you understand, my darling!'