Wait For the Dawn (42 page)

In seconds Guy was putting on his hat and snatching up his coat. He followed her out and caught up with her just yards along the street.

‘Lydia, please.’ He reached out, one hand on her arm. ‘Wait – we
must
talk.’

She gave a little shake, and his grip fell away. ‘I shouldn’t have agreed to meet you here today,’ she said. ‘I wish I hadn’t.’

She went on, with Guy at her side getting into his coat as they went, first down the main street and eventually turning onto the road that led to the station.

‘Lydia, don’t do this,’ Guy said. ‘Please.’

‘I’ve got to get back,’ she replied. ‘Alfred and Davie will be wondering where I am.’

‘But Lydia –’

‘There’s nothing to talk about. Not now. It’s too late. There’s nothing we can say to one another that can make any difference.’

‘But I care for you. You must know that.’

‘Don’t. Please. You’ll only make matters worse.’

They had reached the station and together they walked onto the platform for the down line – and Lydia realised that of course Guy must take the same train, for the train that took her to Merinville would take him on to Redbury.

There were only three other travellers waiting on the platform, a solitary man and an elderly couple. Looking along the track, with relief Lydia saw the smoke rising that signalled the approach of the train. She could not wait to get back to Merinville and Alfred and her child.

The train was slowing, coming to a halt, steam belching out. Lydia stepped forward, snatching at the door handle of the nearest compartment. Then, as she pulled, Guy took the door and held it open. It was as he followed her inside and slammed the door behind him that she realised they were alone. Less than two minutes later the train was starting off again.

Lydia sat facing the front of the train, Guy opposite her. The next stop would be Lipscott, after which came Merinville. There was no corridor, so for the moment they were ensconced together, unable to be seen or heard by anyone else.

As the train rattled away and picked up speed, Guy
leaned forward a little and said, ‘What is it? – fifteen minutes or so to Merinville?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, about that.’

‘I had something to say to you,’ he said, ‘but I didn’t want to do it like this, fighting against time.’

She wanted to hear nothing. She turned away and looked at the trees and hedges rushing past, and willed the time to go by.

Then into the quiet between them he said simply, ‘I
know
.’

She continued to gaze from the window, while in her breast her heart began, foolishly, to beat as if a little afraid.

‘I know,’ he said again, then a brief pause, and he added: ‘I know about Davie.’

Her eyes flashed to him at this. ‘Davie?’ she said. ‘You know what?’

‘He is mine.’

Her heart seemed to thud against her ribs. Her hands were fists in her lap.

‘Of course I know,’ he said, and he leaned closer to her now, and reached out and took her hands and held them together between his own. For a moment she put up a little resistance as if she would pull away, but she did not, and remained poised, ready to move, like a bird set for flight.

‘There’s no mistaking whose son he is,’ Guy said with a little wondering shake of his head. He gave a brief laugh, of happiness. ‘Oh, God, no! He’s my son, all right. I can see myself in him as a child. There’s a photograph at home of me, but you could almost think it was Davie. It isn’t only that, though.’ He pressed Lydia’s hands. ‘He told me it was his birthday, his fourth birthday, and as I was walking back through the streets – just after you ran to me with my shoes – it suddenly came to me. Ever since seeing him there in the shop it was as if it was lodged somewhere in my mind, and
I worked out the time, the dates, and realised that it was so – that he had to be mine.’

Lydia sat there, and the seconds ticked by; she realised that he was waiting for her to respond, and she knew also that she had waited too long, and that she had given him the answer he expected.

‘Yes.’ She withdrew her hands from his touch, and lowered her eyes, unable to meet his glance so directly. She turned again towards the window, seeing nothing of the scenery that moved past. ‘Yes, he is your son,’ she said after a moment. ‘I wanted to tell you that it was – was happening – that I was – expecting a child, but I couldn’t. I tried, but you were abroad and although I wrote to you, you didn’t receive my letter.’

He gave a deep frown. ‘No, I didn’t. I had no idea you’d written. When was this – that you wrote?’

‘Oh – not long after you left for Italy. Three weeks.’

‘I swear to you, I didn’t receive it.’

‘I know that.’

‘How do you know?’

She hesitated before answering, then said, ‘I saw your mother.’

‘What? You saw my mother?’

‘After I wrote to you at your home in Redbury I received a letter from her, asking me to go to see her.’

His eyes were wide in surprise. ‘You went to the house?’

‘Yes.’

‘What – what happened?’

‘Your mother told me that she and your father had hopes and plans for you – and those hopes and plans didn’t include a liaison with an impecunious sales clerk.’

He frowned again. ‘Well, I’m sure those might have been her sentiments, but she didn’t say such a thing, surely.’

‘Not in so many words, but that was her meaning.’

‘Oh, Lydia –’ He drew in his breath over his teeth. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘She gave me money, too. At the time I wasn’t sure why, and I still prefer not to think about that. I didn’t cash the cheque; I tore it up.’

He sat back, wiping a hand across his forehead. ‘Dear God . . .’

The light from the window reflected in his eyes, and she could see in them the shadow of his pain. The sight wrought an echo within herself, bringing a lump to her throat. Of course he had had no knowledge of what had gone on.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘having a son of my own, I wonder how far I would go to protect him, to keep him in the life that I think he should have. Believe me, I think I have a better understanding of your mother now than I did at the time.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m truly sorry. I had no idea.’

‘Well – it’s over. It’s all in the past, I have my boy, and I wouldn’t change that for anything in the world.’

The train was slowing; they were pulling into Lipscott. The thought came into Lydia’s mind that other passengers might get into the compartment. If that happened there would be no further opportunity for conversation. The train’s rhythm changed as the train slowed even more and eventually came to a halt. At once Guy got up from his seat, opened the window and leaned out as if looking for someone along the platform. To Lydia he said, murmuring over his shoulder, ‘I don’t want anyone else to get in.’ His action worked, for the few travellers who came forward were put off by his presence there, and went on past to the next carriage door.

Soon the guard’s whistle was blowing and the train was starting off again. Guy sat down and faced her once more.

‘I understand so much more now,’ he said. ‘For instance why you married as you did.’

‘Yes,’ she said. She looked away from him again, out through the window. ‘I was the most fortunate of women. To find Alfred was like a gift from God. He was there just when I needed him, and he asked no questions of me, made no demands. I don’t mind telling you, I was desperate. I didn’t know which way to turn. There seemed to be no way out.’

‘It doesn’t bear thinking of,’ Guy said, ‘your going through all that.’

She gave a little shrug of her shoulders. ‘Yes – well, it’s over with now.’

Taking in the view from the window she recognised familiar landmarks. She pulled her umbrella and the burlap bag closer to her on the seat. ‘We’ll soon be getting into Merinville. Any minute now. The distance between Merinville and Lipscott is very short.’

‘Oh,’ he said, giving a little gasp. ‘I don’t want you to go.’

‘I haven’t any choice.’

‘Lydia,’ he said, ‘I must see you again.’

She hesitated. ‘Why? What for?’

‘Don’t say that,’ he said passionately. ‘How can you ask that?’

‘I must,’ she said, and asked the question again: ‘Why?’

‘Because – because I have to. I knew nothing about any of this – these things you’ve told me.’

She leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing in earnestness. ‘Guy, I know there are things you want to say, things you want to know, but it’s too late for all that.’

‘No – don’t say that.’

‘It has to be.’ They were moving through the outskirts of Merinville; they were slowing. She touched at the collar of her cape, twitched at her bag. ‘Here we are.’

‘You can’t leave like this,’ he said. ‘I’m getting off with you.’

‘No!’ Her voice was sharp in protest. ‘Whatever you have to say to me, Merinville is not the place for it.’

‘But, Lydia –’

The train was drawing in beside the platform now. Lydia picked up the bag and umbrella and got to her feet. She could not look at him, though she could see on the periphery of her vision that he was gazing up at her.

‘Lydia,’ he said again, ‘you can’t go like this.’

The train came to a complete stop, immediately followed by the sound of carriage doors being flung open. Guy stood up beside Lydia as she reached for the door handle. She said quickly, ‘Don’t get off, Guy. I beg you, don’t.’ The door opened under the pressure of her hand and she turned and flashed him a look of pleading. ‘Good bye.’

The next moment she was stepping down onto the platform and pushing the door closed again. She flicked one final glance at his face, then turned and started away.

Lydia arrived home to find that Alfred had got there before her, and was sitting with Davie in the conservatory, reading a storybook. It was the sound of Davie’s laughter that drew her to them and she went through the drawing room to find them sitting together on the old bamboo couch, the book open on Alfred’s knee. Tinny lay on the rug at Davie’s feet. Alfred looked up as she entered and smiled at her over Davie’s head.

‘Everything all right?’ he asked. ‘Did you get everything?’

‘Yes. I put the bag in your study. Mrs Castle and her daughter sent you their best wishes, and hope you’ll be better soon.’

‘Thank you.’

Davie said, ‘Pappy and I are reading
Jack and the Beanstalk
. Pappy’s reading a bit and then I’m reading a bit, but Pappy doesn’t read it properly.’ He turned to Alfred. ‘You don’t, do you, Pappy?’

Alfred put on an expression of shocked bewilderment. ‘Me? I can’t think what you’re talking about. Of course I’m reading it properly.’ Then he gave his attention to the book again, and resumed his reading – or supposed reading – from it, but with a swooping, exaggerated Welsh accent, and with little regard to the printed word:

‘And Jack’s mother cried, “Och! indeed to goodness, look you, Jack bach, you’ve brought no money for the cow but a handful of beans, look you, look you, boy-oh!”’

Davie shrieked with laughter, and then groaned. ‘Pappy, that’s not
right
! She doesn’t say “look you”! You make her sound like Mr Williams, the baker.’ This last was hardly surprising, since the said Mr Williams came from Swansea, and his heavy Welsh accent had hardly been affected by all his years in Wiltshire.

‘Oh, no!’ Alfred said, ‘not like Mr Williams the baker!’

‘Yes, like Mr Williams, the baker.’

‘Oooohhhh, nooooo, Davie-wavie.’

‘Oooohhhh, ye-e-es, Pappy-wappy.’

‘You two,’ Lydia said.

She watched them. Sometimes, she thought, they were like children of the same age, getting up silly voices and silly actions, like children having fun and at the same time trying to outdo one another. They appeared to her, frequently, and with no little surprise, as friends as well as father and son. She thought what a relatively happy life Davie led, secure in the love with which he was surrounded.

‘Mammy,’ Davie said now, ‘Pappy says that in the summer we can go to Weston-super-Mare, and we can watch Punch and Judy on the sands.’

‘Well, that will be wonderful, dear,’ she said, nodding, and vaguely smiling, though only half her mind was on what the child was saying.

Alfred looked across at her, sensing some preoccupation. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘All right?’ She focused on him as if coming out of a dream. ‘Yes, yes, I’m all right.’ She smiled at him now, but the smile looked tentative. ‘I’m surprised to find you at home so soon. I thought you’d still be at the shop. It’s not like you to leave so early.’

‘I didn’t feel like working late today,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d rather come back, have some tea and see my boy.’ He reached up and ran a hand through Davie’s hair.

Tinny got up at this point, stretched and moved to Lydia, his tail wagging.

‘Look at him,’ Alfred said. ‘He’s looking for comfort.’

‘Why should he be looking for comfort?’ Lydia said.

Davie said, ‘Because he’s in disgrace.’

‘Oh? What for?’

‘Because he ran away, and didn’t come back for ages.’

‘Well,’ Lydia said, ‘he looks to be all right.’ She half turned in the doorway. ‘I think I’ll go and make myself a cup of tea.’ To Alfred she said, ‘Would you like another?’

‘No, thank you.’

As she started away, Alfred said, ‘There’s a letter for you, in the hall.’

‘Oh, I must have walked past it.’

‘I think it’s from Evie.’

‘Oh – she’ll be writing about Sunday. I’ve asked her and Hennie if they’d like to come over.’

In the hall Lydia took up the letter, opened it and read Evie’s words, pleased to learn that her friend would be coming to visit.

As she replaced the letter in its envelope she heard from the drawing room Davie’s voice as he said, ‘Pappy, I think
I’d
better read the book. You’re not getting it right,’ and the sound of Alfred’s laughter rang out in the room.

There was a full moon that night. It shone through a crack in the nursery curtains, making a little shaft of light across Davie’s bed. Lydia bent over and looked down at him in the soft glow made up of the moonlight and the little nightlight that burned on the bureau, out of his reach. How peaceful he looked. There was a chair by the bed and silently she drew it nearer and sat down.