The Oyster Catchers (18 page)

Eline shook her head. ‘I was sent to the free school for girls in Goat Street when I was young and I liked my lessons well enough, but I would be out of place in a college, Mrs Miller. Perhaps you are forgetting I’m an old married woman,’ she said, ruefully aware that Mrs Miller was looking at her thoughtfully.

‘Married maybe, old you certainly are not,’ Mrs Miller replied. ‘I don’t want to pry, but it’s quite obvious you’re separated from your husband; would he be in a position to object to your education being advanced?’

‘It’s not that,’ Eline answered, ‘it’s just that I’d be out of place. In any case, I wouldn’t be willing to take charity, but thank you for the offer all the same.’

Mrs Miller wasn’t going to drop the subject easily. ‘We could treat it all as an apprenticeship,’ she said evenly. ‘I don’t want to see your talent wasted, Eline, that’s all.’ She rose to her feet signalling that the interview was over and Eline bobbed a curtsy before leaving the room.

Outside the door, she expelled her breath in relief. Mrs Miller was a formidable woman and for a moment there, Eline imagined she would be forcibly sent away to college. It was strange really, the effect Mrs Miller had on her; she was perhaps a woman in her twenties, certainly not more than four or five years older than Eline, but she had such poise and character that it was difficult to say no to her.

It was growing dark now and as Eline made her way upstairs to her room, she found herself wondering what
it would be like to be taught by a real artist, someone who could tell her how to tackle difficult perspectives, how to mix colours to the best advantage and the proper use of light and shade. She sighed heavily; she was far too old for that sort of dreaming, she was a woman separated from her husband, a woman who had been betrayed, a figure of scorn perhaps.

As she reached the door of the sitting room, she saw a tall figure unwind from one of the comfortable chairs.

‘Will – Mr Davies,’ she corrected herself hastily, ‘what are you doing here?’ She was aware her words were abrupt, rude even and the colour rushed to her cheeks.

‘I came to see you,’ he said simply, taking her hand and leading her to a seat. ‘I have to talk to you, Eline.’ He smoothed her wrist and Eline felt desire for him flow through her like a potent wine. She was well used to the attentions of a man for Joe had always been vigorous in the marriage bed, but never had Eline felt this overbearing urge to be loved, to be crushed like a petal, to be pierced so that the sensations racing through her demanding release were satiated.

She sat down, her legs trembling. ‘What is it? Is there anything wrong?’

He kept hold of her hand. ‘I don’t know but I think you should be aware of the gossip that’s sweeping Oystermouth.’

Eline sighed heavily. ‘I’m sure there’s gossip, Will.’ She spoke his name easily now, her self-consciousness vanished beneath the weight of his words. ‘There was bound to be gossip with me leaving Joe and him taking Nina Parks into the house.’

‘It’s not only that,’ Will said, still smoothing her wrist as if to quiet a nervous animal. ‘It’s us, me and you, they say we spent the night together.’

Eline felt her cheeks flush with hot, angry colour.

‘The devils!’ she said. ‘How dare they talk about us and we doing nothing wrong?’

‘You were seen leaving my lodgings in the early morning,’ he said, ‘that seems to be enough meat for the gossips to get their tongues around.’

Eline sank back in her chair feeling suddenly exhausted. ‘And Joe, how is he taking all this?’ She wondered that her husband hadn’t gone for Will with a pickaxe by now for Joe was the sort who laid down one law for himself and another for his wife. ‘He can be violent, you know.’

Will shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I haven’t seen him.’ He leaned towards her. ‘Don’t worry about that, I can take care of myself.’

‘What an awful mess!’ Eline said softly, tears burning her eyes. Will gripped her hand more tightly and would have drawn her close, but she extricated her fingers from his grasp.

‘No,’ she said, ‘we mustn’t do anything that would fuel the flames.’ How could she tell Will that she feared for his life? If Joe were to believe the gossip he would feel that honour must be satisfied and in his book that would mean giving Will and possibly Eline herself a good hiding.

‘Perhaps I should have listened to Mrs Miller and gone away to college,’ she said softly, knowing even as she spoke that it would be impossible.

‘Is that what Emily wants you to do?’ Will asked anxiously. Eline smiled at his tone and looked down at her hands to conceal her delight at his reaction.

‘It is, but there’s no fear of me going to college, I don’t want to leave Swansea.’ Or you, she added silently.

‘Well, I’ve been talking to Emily myself as it happens and between us we’ve come up with a great idea.’ Will took her hands impulsively. ‘So great I wonder why didn’t I think of it before.’

‘What idea?’ Eline asked quickly, her cheeks blushing hotly as Will’s hands closed strong and firm around hers.
Oh Will, she thought, looking at his dear face so close to her own, if only, if only.

‘We thought you could spend one or two days a week with Hari Grenfell, she would teach you all she knows about window dressing and about shoes; no one understands leather like Hari.’

‘Why should she want to spend time teaching me anything?’ Eline asked reasonably and Will smiled down at her.

‘Hari loves her work,’ he said, ‘she can teach you design and drawing; it would all be of help to you if you want to get on in this life.’ He warmed to his subject.

‘Hari was poor once, very poor, she’s got where she is by sheer talent and hard work.’

‘She wasn’t married to Joe Harries,’ Eline said ruefully. ‘She was lucky enough to marry a Grenfell.’

‘Hari made her own way in life,’ Will said gravely. ‘She was a woman alone with a child, she married Craig after she had made her own mark in the shoe business.’ His words were like a reprimand and Eline drew her hands away.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t make comments about people I don’t know.’

Will rose to his feet. ‘I’d better be going,’ he smiled and Eline longed to go into his arms. ‘I shouldn’t be here, really,’ he said, ‘gentlemen followers are definitely not encouraged.’

If only he was her follower, Eline thought wistfully, at this moment anything seemed possible but soon, the dream must end, and she would find herself back in Oystermouth with Joe. She stood in the back doorway of the emporium long after the sound of Will’s footsteps had died away. The lamplight was casting soft pools of gold on the cobbled roadway and suddenly the light swam before the tears that were suddenly burning Eline’s eyes.

It was a week later when Eline met Hari Grenfell at
Summer Lodge, her beautiful home on the soft hills outside the town. Hari looked at her with interest, her eyes alight with welcome and everything about her spoke of success from her neatly pinned dark hair to the tips of her satin pumps.

On the table were spread drawings, designs for shoes and even the cursory glance she allowed herself told Eline that they were good, very good.

‘Sit down and make yourself at home,’ Hari said, ‘there’s no need to stand on ceremony with me, mind.’

Eline took in the elegantly furnished sitting room and the long windows that showed to advantage the splendid views of the golden beach with the sea slipping timidly into the curve of the bay.

‘It’s lovely here,’ she said impulsively and she saw Hari smile.

‘I know, I never get tired of looking out of the windows. The sea is never the same, sometimes it’s racing in against the rocks and other times, like now, it’s so soft and gentle.’

Hari signed. ‘Everyone keeps telling me I’m a very fortunate woman, I know that only too well, sometimes I’m afraid of losing it all.’ She smiled suddenly at Eline.

‘But now to business, I’ve heard so many glowing reports about you from Emily that I’m half-afraid to work with you. What if you know more than I do?’

Eline warmed to Hari’s modesty. ‘I don’t know anything about shoes,’ she said truthfully, ‘but I’d like to learn.’

‘Well, you seem to have a flair for window dressing, I’ve seen your stage set and I think it’s brilliant.’

Eline felt her colour rising. ‘It’s very kind of you to say so, Mrs Grenfell.’

‘Call me Hari, it’s going to be so cumbersome otherwise and you’ll make me feel about a hundred years old if you keep calling me Mrs Grenfell.’

Hari sifted through the drawings. ‘See this one,’ she
said, selecting a piece of paper, ‘it’s a lady’s side-spring boot. I’ve been working on the design for my own version, but I can’t seem to get the elastic vent quite right.’

Eline took the drawing and studied it for a moment and automatically reached out for a pen. With a few strokes she altered the drawing and then set it down on the table.

‘That’s excellent!’ Hari said warmly. ‘Where did you learn to draw?’

Eline looked up a little embarrassed at her own temerity in altering the drawing of the great Hari Grenfell.

‘I painted a great deal when I lived on the farm,’ she said almost apologetically, ‘no one taught me, I just did it.’

‘Well, you are far more talented than I am at artwork,’ Hari said, ‘perhaps we will be able to teach each other a great deal. In any case, I’m going to look forward to us working together.’

She leaned forward. ‘I can teach you about cutting leather, tapping boots and building up shoes for children with foot defects but, as for window dressing and design, I don’t think you’ve got much to learn, it’s just a case of practising as much as you can.’

Hari searched among her folders and brought out a picture and showed it to Eline.

‘This is a design by William Stephens Clark,’ she said. ‘You’ve heard of the Clark’s factory in Somerset?’

Elaine nodded slowly. ‘I think so.’ She twisted her hands in her lap wondering how suddenly her life had been transformed from working in her small cottage scrubbing the unyielding stone floor to sitting in a plushly carpeted room talking to Hari Grenfell like an equal.

‘This little shoe here,’ Hari pointed to the picture, ‘is a child’s dress anklet in black enamel seal and it is still
worn by children today even though it was designed by Mr Clark more than twenty years ago.’ She sighed. ‘I wish I could come up with a design that would become so famous.’ She smiled at Eline. ‘Perhaps between us, we will. Now let’s get some work done.’

Eline spent the next few days at Hari Grenfell’s store, feeling she was in a world of wonderful dreams from which she must surely awake. She watched the cobblers at work and saw, to her amazement, Hari Grenfell cut and mould leather with the best of them. She might be a small woman, but Hari had strength in her wrists that was only matched by her strength of character and Eline found herself admiring the woman greatly.

Eline tried her hand at sewing shoes on the machine, accepted tips from Hari on designing and window dressing and the days seem to fly.

At nights, it was true, she was lonely. She lay awake thinking of Joe and Nina and the mess the three of them had made of their lives. And then, inevitably, her thoughts would turn to William Davies and his very name brought a warm feeling to her heart.

But it was all so hopeless, she was still married to Joe and Eline knew he would never let her go. What she must do, she decided, was to forget love and turn her energies towards her career. And yet as the soft summer nights pressed down on her, the sweet urges of the flesh were very hard to subdue.

It was a fine, crisp, sunny morning and William Davies left his lodgings with a feeling of energy running through him. He breathed in deeply the salt air and looked out towards Mumbles Head where the sails of a pilot ship billowed like a wedding veil in the soft breeze. And he thought of Eline.

She was never far from his thoughts; he wanted her with every fibre of his being, but he would only be content to have her as his wife.

He turned the corner and his footsteps faltered to a halt. The salty wind ruffled his hair but he no longer felt its balmy touch, his attention was focused on the front of his shop.

He moved forward in dismay to see the windows smashed, the boots and shoes covered with what appeared to be white-lime and he knew at once who was to blame.

‘Bastard!’ he said through clenched teeth as he moved forward and pushed open the door that was hanging on its hinges.

‘
Duw
, Mr Davies, what’s happened here?’ Gwyneth Parks was standing in the doorway behind him staring round her in horror, her hands to her cheeks, her eyes wide.

In the centre of the shop was a mound of boots and shoes still smouldering, the smell of burnt leather permeating the shop.

Will clenched his teeth in anger; only one man hated him enough to try to destroy his stock. ‘Joe Harries,’ he said. ‘I’m going round there to see him and have this out right now.’

Gwyneth caught his arm. ‘Don’t be hasty, Mr Davies, begging your pardon, sir, but you got no proof.’ She sighed. ‘My mam is besotted by Joe, she’ll swear he was there with her all the time even if he wasn’t.’

Will took a few deep breaths and then nodded. ‘You’re right, Gwyneth, but I can’t let him get away with it.’ He rubbed his fingers through his hair in an angry gesture.

Gwyneth was rolling up her sleeves. ‘I know what I’m going to do, get this mess cleaned up, that’s the first thing.’ She seemed to have taken charge. ‘You get the constable, Mr Davies, let him see what’s happened here and that will be a start.’

Will looked at her gratefully. ‘You’re a gem, Gwyneth,’ he said warmly, ‘I’ll be back soon and then we’ll
both get to work on the shop. We’ll clean up the mess even if it takes us all day and all night, right?’

As he left the shop, Gwyneth watched him and around her mouth there was a self-satisfied smile; she was getting on the right side of Mr Davies and that is just where she wanted to be.

Joe sat with his head in his hands not hearing the mournful sound of a tug edging shorewards in the direction of the docks or the lonely cry of the seagulls overhead. Sitting on the top of Mumbles Head, the mist swirling around him virtually concealing him from anyone on the beach, Joe felt suitably isolated, he wanted to be alone with his misery.