The Fisher Lass (30 page)

‘Gorton trawlers, my boy. Make sure – it’s on a Gorton trawler. One day – one day they’ll be yours . . .’

The eyes closed and the hands on the coverlet were motionless now. Mrs Gorton knelt by the bedside and bowed her head. Clutching at her husband’s hand, she wept quietly whilst Robert
touched Sammy’s shoulder and led him from the room.

‘Is he – did he . . .?’ the boy began.

‘No, no, he isn’t dead, but I fear it cannot be much longer. He’s been drifting in and out of consciousness for a couple of days now.’

They had reached the hallway, when the front door flew open and Francis marched into the house, for all the world as if he owned the place. Robert saw him stop in surprise as he saw the young
boy standing there.

‘What the hell . . .?’ he began and then his cold eyes narrowed. ‘So, dear brother, you thought to bring your bastard into the family fold, did you?’

Beside him, Robert felt Sammy stiffen, yet he held his head proudly and returned Francis’s disdain with a steady, composed look.

Robert cleared his throat. ‘Father wished to see his grandson.’

‘Only because you . . .’ Francis jabbed his cane at Robert, ‘put him up to it.’ The smirk on his face was malicious now. ‘Still afraid he’s cut you out of his
will as he threatened? Thought you’d get back in favour by the back door, eh? Well, no bastard’s going to inherit the Gorton company, let me tell you . . .’

‘I want nowt to do with your company.’ Sammy’s voice rang out, cool and calm. ‘Except perhaps to work aboard one of your ships after the war.’

Robert watched in a kind of horrified fascination as father and son stared at each other, the nearest they had ever been. He could see now that each was assessing the other, each searching for
– and finding at once – the likeness to one another.

Quietly Robert said, ‘He’s your son, Francis. You know full well he is.’

Francis let out a bark of laughter. ‘Ha! Never. His mother was nothing but a slut, a whore. One of Aggie Turnbull’s trollops. I doubt she even knew who this brat’s father was.
But she saw a chance to lay the blame at my door and you . . .’ again he jabbed his ebony cane towards Robert, ‘were fool enough, besotted by that red-haired bitch, to believe their
tales. Been paying for it all these years. Well, I hope you got your money’s worth when Lawrence was away at sea.’

Robert heard Sammy make a funny noise in his throat and then the boy ran towards the door, pulled it open, leapt down the steps and flew down the driveway.

Through clenched teeth, Robert spat, ‘You’re the bastard, Francis . . .’ With two strides he came close to his brother, drew back his arm and punched Francis on his chin. The
man fell backwards, sprawling on the floor and as Robert left the house it was to the sounds of Louise running across the hall, crying, ‘Oh Francis, oh darling, what has he done to
you?’

Though Robert climbed at once into his motor car and drove after him, he was unable to find Sammy. And once he reached the town, he knew his search was fruitless. He could be
in any one of a dozen pubs. At last he turned towards Baldock Street and knocked upon Jeannie’s door.

‘He’s not here, is he?’ he asked, without explanation, when she opened it.

‘Who? Sammy?’ Jeannie said and then shook her head. ‘What happened?’

Robert ran his hand through his hair and said, ‘Everything was fine, well, as fine as it could be in the circumstances, if you know what I mean?’

Jeannie nodded and then, swiftly, he recounted the events. ‘He just ran out and by the time I’d thumped Francis on the jaw and gone after him, he’d just disappeared. Jeannie, I
am sorry.’

‘You hit your brother?’ she asked, scarcely able to conceal her laughter.

‘Oh yes.’ He grinned at her. ‘We used to fight as kids. I suppose sometimes the feeling never goes away, not even when you’re grown up.’

‘Just like Joe and Sammy,’ she chuckled.

Robert put on his hat. ‘Well, I’d better go, seeing as you’re obviously not going to invite me in.’

Jeannie grimaced and said, ‘I can’t. I’m sorry. Nell is having a bad morning. I daren’t leave her.’

‘She’s ill?’ Robert frowned in concern.

‘Not physically. It’s her mind. She seems to live in a little world of her own these days. I daren’t leave her for a minute. If she wanders off, I’m searching the streets
for her.’

Robert nodded in sympathy. ‘I’ve just found out what that’s like.’

‘Och, dinna worry about Sammy. He’ll come rolling home, drunk as a lord, when he’s ready.’

As he turned to go, she called after him, ‘I’m sorry about your father. It’s – it’s a difficult time for you.’

He glanced back at her, taking the picture of her into his memory. ‘Thank you, Jeannie.’ Very softly, he added, ‘Goodbye, my dear.’

Samuel Hayes-Gorton lived another week after meeting his grandson for the first, and only, time. The news of his death soon spread around the local community and the subject of
his will was general speculation for days though only the family were, at first, aware of its detailed contents.

He had not, as he had threatened, cut his middle son off with the proverbial shilling, but had left his company to his three sons, although Francis Hayes-Gorton had a 49 per cent share. He had, of course, made generous provision for his wife for her lifetime, but the
codicil to the will, made only six days before his death and the day after his meeting with his grandson, altered the share of his two younger sons. Instead of the remaining 51 per cent being
divided equally between Robert and Edwin, it was split into three parts of 17 per cent each to the two brothers and to ‘
Samuel Lawrence, of Baldock Street, Havelock, being my eldest
son’s natural son and, therefore, my grandson.
’

‘This is outrageous!’ Francis jumped to his feet as the lawyer read out the will to the family gathered together after the funeral. ‘I shall contest it. He wasn’t of
sound mind. This is your doing, Robert.’ He pointed his finger towards his brother, who sat calmly with a slight smile on his mouth. ‘I won’t have it. I won’t be outvoted by
the two of you and some slut’s bastard who imagines he’s a claim on this family. I’ve never acknowledged him as mine and I never will. If he’s anybody’s, then
he’s yours.’

Again he jabbed his finger towards Robert, who said calmly, ‘Then in that case, he still has a right to his inheritance. He’s still Father’s grandson.’

For a brief moment Francis’s handsome face twisted into ugliness. He picked up the chair he had been sitting on and hurled it against the wall, causing a picture to fall, shattering the
glass. ‘You’ll pay for this, Robert. I’ll ruin you, I’ll . . .’

‘Francis, control yourself,’ came their mother’s imperious tones. ‘Robert had nothing to do with your father changing his will. He knew no more about it than you until
this moment. If anyone’s to blame, then it is me. I witnessed the codicil and approved its terms. But the suggestion came from your father. It was what he wanted, and, I’ll have you
know, he was in complete charge of his senses almost until the end. Physically, yes, he was very weak but his mind was clear and . . .’ her gaze upon her eldest son was unflinching as she
added, ‘I would be prepared to stand up in court and say as much.’

Now Edwin, who had not spoken, rose. ‘There will be no need for that, Mother. We shall resolve this between the three of us. The young man in question is not old enough yet, I believe, to
take an active part on the Board anyway. His shares – if I understand the terms of the will correctly – are to be administered by Robert until young Samuel attains the age of
twenty-one. Is that correct, Mr Paige?’

The lawyer nodded.

‘I don’t care for all the legalities,’ Francis spat. ‘I won’t have any of it. You’ll be hearing from
my
lawyer on the matter.’

With that parting shot, he strode from the room leaving his mother shaking her head sadly and murmuring, ‘Oh dear.’

‘Don’t worry, Mother,’ Edwin said. ‘We all know Francis. He has a brilliant mind and has every right, not only as the eldest son but also because of his business acumen,
to the major share of the company. But that doesn’t mean we’re going to let him ride roughshod over us. Does it, Robert?’

Robert smiled. ‘Well, at the moment I’m reeling from hearing that I am still a part of the business. I thought I was to be – er – cut off.’

Mrs Hayes-Gorton chuckled. ‘Your father thought he could bring you to heel by his threats.’ She leant forward across the polished surface of the mahogany dining table. ‘But
I’ll tell you something now. He was secretly rather proud of you for having the courage to decide your own future. Even I knew he never meant to cut you off.’

‘Didn’t I tell you so, Robert old chap.’ Edwin, too, was smiling as he put his hand on Robert’s shoulder. ‘And Francis will come around too. Just give him
time.’

To that, Robert made no reply.

The legal-looking letter arrived for Sammy long after he had returned to his ship. Jeannie put it on the mantelpiece, unopened, but often over the following weeks her glance
would go to the long, white envelope wondering what lay inside it.

But then other matters demanded her attention and she forgot all about the letter addressed to Mr Samuel Lawrence.

Lieutenant Robert Gorton stood on the bridge. They were nearing the end of a sweep and his eyes were sore, red-rimmed with tiredness from gazing out across the grey waters.
They had completed four days at sea and were returning to Havelock for replenishment and a few brief hours ashore before coming out again to sweep the same area of sea again and again and again to
clear a safe channel for the convoys.

They were searching for acoustic mines now as well as the magnetic type.

Would it never end? Robert asked himself. Almost four years already and still the war raged on. At least now, he thought, the Americans were in too. Surely with their might, the end could not be
in doubt. Yet, when would it come? And how many more young men would lose their lives before it was all over?

Robert blinked, trying to focus his attention once more upon the water. It was so cold that he couldn’t imagine ever feeling warm again. Not for the first time, did his thoughts turn to
the trawler men who spent most of their lives at sea. And he had been one of the privileged few – an owner – who had sent those men out here. Well, now he was one of them and no longer
an owner of very much.

Since the Gorton trawlers had been commandeered, half of that number had already been blown up by the very mines they were attempting to clear or had been attacked and destroyed by enemy fighter
planes. Two had succumbed to U-boats.

Now he and the men the Hayes-Gortons had once employed were – quite literally – in the same boat. Fighting not only a common foe, but the wind and the sea and the terrible cold.

And what, he wondered, would there be for any of them who did manage to survive to go back to?

Some fishing in the coastal waters still went on and if he knew his elder brother – his scheming, devious, yet clever brother – Francis would already have transferred his business
interests to war work of some sort. But it would undoubtedly be an effort for the war that would be profitable for him too. Oh yes, thanks to Francis, there would be something for Robert to go back
to. But for what?

Here on this ship, a battered old trawler turned minesweeper it might be, he had earned the respect the men gave him. He had earned his place as ‘Jimmy the One’. Now, when they
called him ‘sir’, it was more than because he was the son of their employer.

Maybe, Robert thought, as he passed his hand over his tired eyes once more and squinted at the clouds above, raking the sky for the tell-tale signs of enemy aircraft, maybe, he mused, if he
survived, he’d stay on in the Royal Navy.

His brothers would run the company, or what was left of it. His wife would spend most of her time in London with her smart friends as she still did, despite the dangers.

And Jeannie? His heart contracted at the thought of her. She would be waiting for her Tom to come home from the sea.

Thinking of her, as he often allowed himself to do through the long cold hours, Robert promised himself that after the war, he’d see what he could do for Tom.

During their time together aboard this ship, the man had never once let his animosity for his former employer show, had never let slip to the ship’s company just who and what Robert Gorton
had been before the war. He had kept the pact they had made.

When Robert and Tom had come face to face for the first time aboard the minesweeper, he had seen the surprise in the other man’s face, not only for the ironic twist of fate that out of all
the ships on the ocean they should end up serving on the same one, but also when he first heard his superior officer addressed without the ‘Hayes’ to his name. And Robert had seen
something else in the man’s eyes: a wariness that he himself was feeling too. Later, Robert had come to Tom’s radio operator’s room.

He’d come straight to the point of his visit. ‘I suggest we leave any differences we have ashore, Lawrence, don’t you? And the circumstances of our backgrounds. It’s
known I had some connection with trawlers before the war, as I’m sure that’s the case for you too. But no one knows exactly what. I prefer it that way.’

There was a note of command in Robert’s voice. ‘Are we agreed?’ he prompted when Tom made no reply.

When Tom had looked at him, he had seen the insolence in the man’s eyes, but all Tom had said was ‘Aye, aye,’ and had added, with the slightest hesitation,
‘Sir.’

Robert stretched his face and blinked again, forcing himself to concentrate. It was one thing to let his thoughts wander when on watch, but not for one moment must he relax his vigil even though
they were on their way home.

They passed Spurn Head and entered the mouth of the Humber, anchoring until the high tide made their passage through the dock gates possible. With the outline of the buildings on the fishdock
clearly visible against the skyline, the whole atmosphere aboard the ship seemed to relax.