The River Flows On (35 page)

The only blessing was that she hadn’t had to drag Grace around with her today. She had gone to her Granny Baxter’s till tomorrow. When Kate got in she peeled off the old herringbone tweed coat and spread it over the backs of two of the kitchen chairs to dry.

Yee-uch! The damp wool smelled like a wet collie dog. She hated that coat with a passion. Her shoes were sopping wet from the soaking she’d got, not surprising when one of them had a hole in the sole and the stitching of the other was beginning to come apart. Kate stuffed them with a couple of sheets of old newspaper she kept for that purpose and set them down to dry at the side of the range. Then she started towelling her hair, looking at herself in the small mirror which hung to one side of the sink.

‘You look like a drowned rat, Mrs Baxter,’ she told her reflection.

There was a knock at the door. Who in the name of the wee man could that be? Padding over the hard floor on her damp stocking soles she opened the door.

‘Kate?’

Dumbfounded, Kate stared at the two people who stood there: Marjorie Drummond - and behind her the tall elegant figure of her husband.

Chapter 22

Marjorie was beaming at her, the smile spreading all over her good-natured face.

‘Aren’t you going to ask us in, Kate? You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost!’

Bemused, Kate swung open the door and ushered them in. Seen a ghost? You bet she had. Except that ghosts were airy-fairy creatures, trailing white robes behind them. He was far more substantial than that, wearing a smart trenchcoat over a fashionable suit. He was also as handsome as ever, and he was standing in her home, smiling at her.

‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ she said, letting the towel – one of those Marjorie had given her as a wedding present and gey washed-out now - slide to her shoulders. She hoped she hadn’t stuttered as she said it.

Humble was the word. How must her home look to the well-off young Mr and Mrs Drummond? Well, like her father before her, she would have to rise to the occasion.

She whipped her old coat off the two chairs, crossing the room to hang it from one of the hooks on the back of the front door. His eyes were on her when she turned back. Was he remembering the times he had helped her on with it? The first time, perhaps - that day in the tearoom when he had slipped the box of chocolates into her bag? She should just have sent him a thank you letter, Kate thought wryly. It would have saved a lot of heartache.

‘Won’t you sit down? I’ll put the kettle on.’ It was funny how you could come out with the polite phrases while your brain was thinking entirely different thoughts.

Marjorie hadn’t stopped smiling. ‘It’s great to see you, Kate. It really is. How’s life?’

‘Och, fine.’

All too aware that her surroundings and her clothes gave the lie to that particular polite answer, she took her time about filling the kettle and setting it on the range. She wanted to allow them time to rearrange their faces, although it probably wasn’t necessary. They were both adept at hiding their real opinions and feelings: People like them always were. Any minute now Marjorie would tell her what a charming flat she had.

Her visitor was holding out a small paper bag. Kate took it and opened it. It was a packet of chocolate biscuits, not too fancy, nothing to which her fierce pride could take exception - just a little gift between friends. She should have remembered how thoughtful Marjorie always was.

Suddenly Kate was ashamed of herself, remembering how the other girl had tried to keep in contact and how Kate had firmly rebuffed every approach. She wasn’t to know why.

Kate knew. So did Jack Drummond - part of the reason, at least. Marjorie, however, knew nothing. She must have been hurt by the way Kate had so completely cut her off.

‘It’s good to see you too, Marjorie,’ she said, meaning it. ‘I’ve missed you.’

Marjorie’s smile, which had grown tentative, came back in full force. ‘We called at your parents’ house - that’s how we got your address. You have a little girl, I hear. Grace, is it? Where is she?’ She looked eagerly around.

‘She’s at Yoker. You must have just missed her.’ Yes, it was funny how you could come out with the polite phrases. Funny too, how your voice could sound perfectly calm when you said them.

Thank God you just missed her! Now that she saw him again, Kate realized that an anxiety which had been building up in her for some time was well-founded. Not only did Grace have those same blue eyes, there was another resemblance. The little girl had a particular way of extending her hand to you. It was a very graceful gesture - and she had inherited it from Jack Drummond. Change the subject. She had to change the subject.

‘Do you have children, Marjorie?’

‘No... no, we don’t.’ The light died out of Marjorie’s face and Kate cursed her tactlessness. It was obviously a delicate subject. Change the subject again, then.

‘How are you, Jack?’ There, she had said his name - and she was sure she hadn’t stuttered this time. The gracious hostess - even though she was living in a shabby one-apartment house and was dressed in threadbare clothes, with her chestnut locks hanging in rats’ tails around her face. She couldn’t have fixed a worse reunion with Jack Drummond if she’d tried.

Something of the grim amusement she felt at the thought must have shown in her face, for once more he was smiling warmly at her. As handsome as ever, she thought again - and was surprised how unmoved she was by that fact.

He shrugged. ‘Oh well, you know how it is, Kate. Times are hard. I’m afraid I lost my position when Donaldson’s went quiet.’

Judging by his clothes, Jack Drummond’s definition of hard times was a bit different from her own.

Jack turned to Marjorie, laying a proprietorial hand on her shoulder. ‘By great good fortune, however, I married a clever wife.’

Marjorie clipped her head in pleased embarrassment. She still loves him then, thought Kate. Poor Marjorie.

‘The pottery’s doing well?’

Marjorie lifted her sleek head. Confident again now that she was on familiar territory, she answered Kate’s question.

‘Surprisingly enough, the answer’s yes.’ She launched into a speech about how they were managing to weather the Depression. There were still people and organizations with money to spend. It was simply a case of researching the markets - there were always going to be discerning buyers for tableware and crockery of high quality and innovative design. You had, of course, to offer it at the right price to the right market.

‘You see?’ Jack said when Marjorie paused for breath. ‘Isn’t she the complete businesswoman?’ Sitting at ease in one of Kate’s rickety dining chairs, an arm slung casually over the back of it, he was ostensibly lost in admiration of his wife. Kate, however, was aware of an unpleasant undercurrent. She turned to him.

‘Do you help Marjorie in the business, Jack?’

‘Of course he does,’ chipped in his wife before he could answer. ‘He’s particularly good at dealing with some of the male clients. They don’t like to talk to a woman, you see. Jack takes them out for lunch or has a round of golf with them.’

‘Darling!’ said Jack, lifting Marjorie’s hand to his mouth and kissing it. ‘You’re too kind. I do nothing compared with how hard you work. She’s at that place from dawn till dusk, Kate, would you believe it? I hardly see her these days.’ He dropped his wife’s hand.

‘Oh?’ asked Kate politely. ‘Don’t you spend much time there then?’

He gave her a charming smile. ‘I’d only be in the way, my dear. And you know me - I’m a stranger to hard work.’

He meant the comment to be amusing, Kate saw that. That was what had attracted her to him in the first place. He thought everything was amusing. Life was one big joke. Only she knew now that it wasn’t.

Studying him as he sat there in front of her, so relaxed, so elegant, so happy to let Marjorie do the hard work, she saw something else too. Felt it, like a physical sensation, as though a steel buckle had snapped open inside her chest. It gave her a pang - bitter-sweet memories, a twinge of regret - but no pain. No pain at all.

Kate barely realized that Marjorie had started to speak about the pottery again, giving her more details about the business.

Tm glad to hear of someone doing well, Marjorie.’ Kate meant every word of it, but try as she might she couldn’t keep the wistful note out of her voice.

Marjorie took a deep breath.

‘Kate, I’m telling you all this for a reason. I’m doing so well that I really need help - particularly new ideas. I’m getting stale, Kate. I need someone like you.’

‘Me?’

Swiftly, Marjorie outlined her proposals. Kate would work for her two days a week, developing new designs.

Kate’s heart was thumping with excitement, but she put up every argument against it that she could think of.

‘I have a child, Marjorie. What would I do with her when I was working?’

‘Leave her with your mother, or Mr Baxter’s mother, of course. It’s only two days a week. Or you could work at home if you prefer.’

No, that wasn’t an option. Marjorie might see Grace one day. That had to be avoided at all costs. In any case, getting Grace looked after wasn’t really a problem at all. She thought up another one.

‘I’m out of practice.’

‘But you’re still painting,’ Marjorie put in swiftly. ‘One of my friends bought a picture of yours a few months ago - one of the Bluebell Woods. It was exquisite. I recognized where it was and then I looked at the signature, and I saw that you had painted it.’ She beamed again at Kate. ‘That’s what made me think of coming to see you.’

‘I don’t have the practical knowledge,’ Kate objected, secretly basking in the praise. ‘I didn’t do pottery for long enough at the Art School.’

‘I want your design skills. You would get the practical experience quickly enough. I’ve got people working for me who could teach you. Learn while you earn.’ Long and leggy, Marjorie clasped her hands around one silk-clad knee and leaned back in the chair, smiling at Kate.

‘You would pay me?’

Marjorie laughed. ‘Of course I would pay you, Kate. I’m offering you a job.’ She mentioned a figure. It was a generous one. Kate took a deep breath, then let it out again. There was light at the end of the tunnel. A job, doing what she loved and paying good money. It was the answer to her prayers.

A sound broke into the silence which had fallen as Marjorie waited for Kate’s answer. It was the scrape of a key in the lock.

Chapter 23

A dark, brooding raincloud came into the room. Its name was Robert Baxter. Three heads swivelled round to look at him. Kate could see that he wasn’t in the best of tempers. He’d been in Bearsden today, tramping around the big houses up there looking for homers. By the look on his face he hadn’t had a successful day.

Finding Marjorie and Jack Drummond sitting in his kitchen clearly did not improve his mood. Marjorie, sensitive to the abrupt change in atmosphere, had a nervous smile on her face. Kate, knowing how close Robbie was to the end of his tether, felt a wave of anxiety sweep through her. Only Jack Drummond, looking cool, calm and collected, seemed to be choosing not to respond to the sudden lowering of the temperature.

Robert Baxter did, however, remember his manners. Just.

‘Mrs Drummond.’ He unbent sufficiently to give her a tiny inclination of his dark head. Then he became ramrod stiff again. His eyes flickered over Jack. ‘Drummond.’

‘Good to see you, Robbie,’ said Jack easily, relaxing back into his seat and stretching his long legs out in front of him. His ease in another man’s house served only to pinpoint Robbie’s lack of it.

Kate, who had temporarily lost her voice on her young husband’s entrance, leapt to her feet. ‘We’re just having some tea. Marjorie brought us some lovely biscuits. I’ll pour you a cup-‘