The Oyster Catchers (25 page)

Will took his seat without protest, it was clear that Sarah did not intend to acknowledge their past in any way but to treat him as if he was a stranger.

He looked at her hard, she had changed very little from the Sarah whose virginity he had taken in a moment of lust mistaken for love. She was as fresh and young as ever, except for her hands. Her nails were short and uneven, her fingers rough and red. He felt a momentary sense of satisfaction, it seemed life had not been so easy for her as she had anticipated.

The past seemed to flash before him in a series of images, Sarah naked in his arms, thugs standing before him beating him to within an inch of his life because of her and worse than all that, Sarah trying to fool him that he was the father of her child. Betrayal was too slight a word for what she had done to him.

‘Vegetables, Mr Davies?’ Sarah’s full lips were moving but it took a few seconds for him to take in the words she was saying.

‘Thank you,’ he could not keep the iciness out of his voice though no one seemed to notice. Will glanced around the table, everything seemed normal, the two elderly Grace sisters were still bobbing gray heads in animated conversation and old Jack Frogmore was saying something to his son. Geoffrey, however, had eyes only for Sarah and Will knew the young man was falling for her obvious charms as he himself had once done.

‘I hear you are in business, Mr Davies.’ Sarah’s voice had lost much of its Welsh lilt, she seemed composed as though acting the lady came easily to her. ‘The same sort of business as my father and step-mother.’

Will inclined his head, acknowledging her words, smiling to himself at the irony of the situation. By a quirk of fate, Sarah’s father, a humble cobbler, had married one of the richest women in Swansea and Sarah, it seemed, was out to use her new background to full effect.

Will became aware that Mrs Marsh was looking expectantly at him, waiting for him to reply to Sarah’s question. For a wild moment, Will was tempted to call Sarah’s bluff, to expose her disguise as a lady but then he realized it would be a pointless exercise, one of spite and malice. And what did Sarah matter to him now? Soon, he would be with Eline, they would find a place to meet, away from curious, prying eyes.

‘I can’t claim that my shop is in the same league as that of Mrs Emily Miller,’ he said pointedly, ‘but I hope I may be of assistance to you some time?’

If there was irony in Will’s voice, it was lost on all but Sarah and she was impervious to it. She lifted her head and smiled coquettishly, turning to the already enslaved Geoffrey.

‘And you Mr Frogmore, what is your calling in life?’ He looked at her, his eyebrows raised apologetically.

‘I am a mere accountant, Miss Miller,’ he said softly, ‘nothing very interesting, I’m afraid.’

Will sat back, inwardly cursing Sarah and all the memories she brought with her. Memories of Sam Payton who had put Will in hospital, had almost killed him, not single handed in man to man combat but like a thief at night, creeping up on Will in the darkness and with the aid of several of his cronies. Payton, the real father of Sarah’s bastard.

Bitterness that he thought long forgotten engulfed him
and as soon as the seemingly endless meal was finished, Will made his excuses and retired to his room.

He sat at the window, staring out into the night trying to come to terms with the anger that overwhelmed him. It was a fruitless emotion, the past was over and done with, he had his future to think of now and that future included Eline.

Will became aware of his door opening quietly and he was not surprised to see Sarah slip into the room and carefully close the door behind her.

‘What do you want?’ he asked, his voice conveying his complete lack of interest in her. Sarah was nothing if not thick skinned and she came to where he was sitting and rested her arm across his shoulder.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked coldly, shrugging her away. She leaned towards him, her mouth half open, her tongue darting across white teeth. Her breast full and round as he remembered pressed against him and he was angered and disgusted by his involuntary response to her nearness.

‘You found me attractive enough once,’ she whispered, ‘remember how we loved each other when we were both so young and innocent, wasn’t it sweet?’

‘It was until you turned the whole thing sour,’ Will said rising to his feet and drawing away from her. She immediately came closer and wound her arms around his neck, pressing herself against him, her pelvis tilting towards his. She laughed softly.

‘You can’t pretend you don’t fancy me,’ she said triumphantly, ‘your body tells me otherwise.’

‘I fancy you, as you so delicately put it, as much as I would fancy any tuppeny whore plying her trade in Wind Street. As a dog chases after a bitch,’ he added cruelly.

‘That’s all right,’ Sarah said thickly, her mouth against his neck, ‘I’m not after love, mind.’

For a wild moment, Will wanted to throw her back on the bed, tear off her clothes, thrust into her with cruel
force, punishing her for all the wrongs she had done him in the past. But then reason asserted itself, Sarah would enjoy her power over him and then she would doubtless cry rape, that was her style.

He propelled her towards the door and flung it wide dragging her out onto the landing.

‘I’m sorry I can’t be of any further help to you, Miss Miller,’ he said loudly, ‘but if you’d care to come to the shop sometime tomorrow I’ll show you our latest fashions.’

He closed his door with a ringing bang and slid the bolt home noisily and he smiled as he imagined Sarah going off sulkily to her own rooms, angry at herself for being defeated.

He sank down onto his bed, his arms behind his head. He was still roused, he needed a woman badly. But now he had found that just any woman wouldn’t do, it must be Eline, she was his love, his darling. She was pure and honest, trusting and child like, so far removed from Sarah as to be from another world.

With a groan, he rose from the bed and let himself out of his room, hurrying down the stairs and into the night. He would walk away his frustrations, forget Sarah and all the emotions she had roused within him, try to forget the urgent needs of his healthy young body. But it would not be easy.

Fon sat in the small kitchen stitching at the fine garment even though the light was poor and her eyes burned with weariness. Jamie was bent over the books, and Fon, glancing up, saw with a dart of pain the way his dark hair curled against the column of his neck. How dear he had become to her though not by a look or a touch had she intimated as much. As for Jamie, he saw her as nothing but a helpmate for Katherine and a nursemaid for Patrick. He was an honourable man and Fon would have had it no other way.

Katherine was asleep now, soothed by the medicine the doctor had given her. She still clung to life by some unknown strength of character and Fon loved her for it.

The women had become very close over the past weeks, Fon spent a great deal of time in the sick room, arranging it so that when Patrick was asleep, she was free to read to Katherine from the Bible that stood at the side of her bed.

Fon somehow understood that the ancient rhythms of the words soothed Katherine as much as the message behind them. And Katherine could do with all the comfort she could get for the illness was slowly and inexorably taking its toll.

Jamie sighed as though reading her thoughts and ever attuned to his moods, Fon looked up at him and smiled.

‘Like some tea?’ She put the sewing aside and rubbed at her weary eyes. ‘I’ll put the kettle on and then go and check on Katherine.’

‘No,’ Jamie said softly, ‘I’ll go, you bide here and make the brew and not too much of the tea leaves, mind, I’m not a rich man.’

Fon smiled to herself. Jamie kept up the pretence of being a thrifty, almost mean, man and yet he was generous of spirit, willing to give to the beggars who came almost daily to his door. There would be a few eggs, a jug of milk or if there was a meal cooking, some potatoes. He was sometimes too generous but Fon loved him for it.

Jamie returned after a few moments and his face seemed long with the misery that darkened his eyes.

‘She’s asleep, Fon,’ he said slumping into a chair and putting his hand over his eyes. ‘She’s getting worse, isn’t she?’

Fon moved to crouch beside his chair, touching the hands that covered his face almost timidly.

‘She’s a fine fighter, mind,’ she comforted, ‘Katherine will not give in an inch to the sickness.’

‘But it’s going to beat her in the end.’ Jamie sounded broken. ‘My Katherine will be gone and I can’t bear the thought of it.’

Fon rose to her feet and impulsively put her arms around him and, like a child, he leaned against her breast. She smoothed back his hair, talking softly to him as though he was Patrick.

‘It’s going to be all right, don’t fret now, it will be all right.’ But she lied. How could it be all right when Katherine was fading away before her eyes?

He looked up at her as though she could work miracles. ‘Will it, Fon, will it be all right?’ he pleaded and she kissed his forehead gently.

‘It’s in the hands of the Lord,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t know any other way but to make Katherine happy while we can.’

‘But I don’t want to live without her.’ Jamie protested as though Fon could make things right for him. ‘She’s
the love of my life, my bride from the time she was just about your age, Fon.’

‘I know, I know.’ She cradled him, rocking him to and fro. ‘I know Jamie love, I know.’

He cried then, the first tears she would ever see him shed and the last. The sobs wracked him so that he shuddered in her arms and she held him, feeling his pain, knowing she could do little to lessen it. After a time, he was quiet and still against her and she reluctantly released him.

‘Right,’ she said with forced cheerfulness, ‘we’ll have that cup of tea and then I’ll go over the books for you, you’re so tired you’ve probably got it all wrong anyway.’

He took the cup from her and moved to the door. ‘I’m going up to bed now,’ he looked beaten, ‘but I’ll see to the boy first, make sure he’s all right.’ At the door he paused. ‘Thank you Fon,’ he said simply, ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

She hurriedly placed her cup on the table and leaned over the books. ‘That’s all right.’ Her voice was muffled, she didn’t dare look up because her eyes were filled with tears and after a moment, Fon heard the door close behind him.

She spent some time correcting the mistakes Jamie had made as she found them. They were small mistakes, made from tiredness and worry, but they would prevent the books from balancing come the end of the month.

She lifted her head hearing a small sound from Katherine’s room and she moved swiftly across the hall, opening the door a crack to peer inside.

‘Come in, Fon,’ Katherine said, ‘I’d like to talk for a little while if you are not too tired.’

‘No,’ Fon lied, ‘I don’t feel sleepy at all.’ She sat beside the bed and Katherine pointed to the Bible. ‘Read me a bit of Matthew,’ she said, ‘you know that part.’

Fon moved the lamp nearer and opened the Bible,
trying to see the words that blurred beneath her tired eyes.

‘
Come unto me all ye that labour and are heavy laden and I will give you rest
,’ she read softly.

Katherine looked up from her pillows, her face grey with pain. ‘I long for rest, Fon,’ she said softly, ‘I pray for it to come. Is that sinful of me?’

Fon felt suddenly inadequate to cope with the pain of the woman in the bed, or of Jamie her husband. Fon watched to fling down the Bible and run from the house and from the responsibilities that were suddenly hers.

She closed the Bible softly and laid it on the table. ‘No,’ her voice was steady, ‘it’s not sinful, you could never be sinful, Katherine, so don’t torture yourself.’

Katherine’s eyes closed and her lids were blue almost transparent. ‘Don’t leave me, Fon,’ she whispered, ‘don’t leave any of us.’ She struggled for breath. ‘I know this is hard on you and I’m sorry but you are my only hope for the future for my husband and my son, I so want them to be happy.’ She reached out and grasped Fon’s hand and her grip was surprisingly strong.

Fon was suddenly filled with strength, it seemed to flow from the thin fingers holding hers into her veins. She bent and kissed Katherine’s cheek.

‘I won’t leave,’ she said, ‘I’ll never leave.’ She sat back into the chair and waited until Katherine had sunk into a weary sleep and then, with renewed determination, Fon made her way to her own bed knowing she must rest to prepare herself for the ordeal ahead.

Eline had waited for what seemed days for Will to come to her, she knew that he would make arrangements for them to be together sometime, somewhere. In the mean time, she was content to get back to her work free from the disturbing influence of Sarah Miller.

She wondered what Will would make of the girl; would he find her amusing, attractive even? A small
snake of jealousy wound itself round her heart and then Eline told herself not to be absurd. If Will had wanted any other woman why would he take up with someone like her who was married and until now had denied him?

‘Eline,’ Mrs Miller came up behind her as she sat at her table, pencil poised over the paper, ‘I’m sorry to disturb you at your work but I wanted to talk to you.’

‘That’s all right, Mrs Miller, I wasn’t working,’ Eline admitted, ‘I was lost in thought.’

Mrs Miller smiled. ‘Well, isn’t that the way most creative work is done?’

She seated herself opposite Eline, her full skirts spreading out around her. She was a beautiful woman, in a graceful elegant way, Eline realized.

‘I know you love working with Hari Grenfell and that’s the best training anyone could have, better than any college, but I would like you to go to Somerset for a few days.’

She paused. ‘I want you to see the factory belonging to Mr Clark of Street, I think it would interest you greatly.’

Eline bit her lip uncertainly. ‘I’ve never travelled very far alone,’ she said, ‘I’m a bit of a baby, I suppose.’

‘That’s all right,’ Mrs Miller said quickly, ‘I will be travelling there with you.’ She lifted her eyebrow quizzically. ‘Not for the first time, mind you. Once I went there alone, not a ladylike thing to do I might tell you, but it was necessary at the time.’