‘I was going to ask you for the next dance but now you’ve broken my foot I’m not sure I’m capable of a limp, much less a foxtrot.’
‘I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t mean to …’
‘I don’t think there’s any serious damage, but it might be just as well to make sure,’ he said gravely. ‘As you’re a qualified nurse now, would you help me into the cloakroom so you can make a thorough examination?’
Bethan stood dumbfounded for a few seconds, then saw a peculiar glint in his eyes. ‘You’re not serious?’
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘I’m not serious.’
The MC’s voice crackled over the microphone and the strains of “If I Should Fall in Love Again” filled the room. Andrew took her by the hand, nodded to the fuming Glan, and led her on to the floor.
‘That porter has blood pressure,’ he commented blandly. ‘Just look at his colour.’
Bethan was too mortified to do anything other than stare at the left shoulder of his tailored dinner suit.
‘Are you always this quiet, or is it something I’ve said?’ he asked on the second circuit of the room.
‘It’s what I’ve done,’ she murmured miserably.
‘Tipping orange juice over that porter? I assumed it was a clever ploy calculated to cool his ardour.’
‘I didn’t do it deliberately,’ she protested.
‘I know you didn’t,’ he said gently. ‘It’s been quite a day for you, hasn’t it? Qualifying, helping to deliver your friend’s baby, and now this?’
‘I’m beginning to think that I should have had an early night.’
‘And lost an opportunity to air this frock.’ He held her at arm’s length for a moment. ‘Now that would have been a crying shame.’
Bethan managed a nervous smile as they resumed dancing. She would have been happier if he’d chosen Laura. Laura was more his type. They could have laughed and been witty together, and she could have sat in the corner and watched enviously with all the other nurses. Unlike her, Laura took good-looking, well-heeled men in her stride. But she, for all of her training, or perhaps because of it, was always intimidated by the likes of Andrew John. The first lesson she’d learned in hospital was that doctors were second only to God – and everything about Andrew John – his conversation – his clothes – his accent – confirmed his superiority.
She was used to men like her father who spent their lives grubbing for pennies to buy the bare essentials. What little free time they had was spent earnestly reading and discussing Communism as a possible solution to the problems of the working or unemployed classes.
Even youngsters like Haydn, Eddie and William were too busy trying to scratch a living to have much time or money for fun. In contrast Andrew John looked and behaved as though he hadn’t a care in the world. But she reflected, his father was not only a doctor who didn’t have to fear the spectre of rising unemployment, but also the landlord of several houses, and that, at a time when most families in Pontypridd were hard pressed to keep a roof over their heads, put him firmly in the crache.
The band droned softly on. Perspiration trickled down her back. She became more nervous with every step she took. Yet, much as she wanted to, she couldn’t blame Andrew for making her feel awkward. She couldn’t fault the way he held her. A dance with Glan, or any of the other porters for that matter, would have turned into a wrestling match by now.
‘I don’t suppose I could interest you in an orange juice when this dance is over?’ he asked, breaking the silence.
‘Nurses aren’t supposed to fraternise with doctors,’ she retorted primly.
‘They have to at hospital balls,’ he protested. ‘If they don’t who are we supposed to dance with?’
‘The town’s socialites.’
He laughed. ‘You do have a tongue in your head after all. Now tell me, just who in Pontypridd do you call a socialite?’
‘Well,’ she looked around the room. ‘There are the Misses Rees-Davies, the solicitor’s daughters.’
‘They’re a trifle elderly for me.’
‘That’s unkind.’
‘Unkind maybe, but true.’
‘Miss Henrietta Evans? Now you can’t say she’s too old.’
‘No, but she hasn’t had an original thought since the day she was born, and I’m not sure she had one then.’
‘You don’t need original thoughts to dance.’
‘No, but dancing is such a repetitive exercise it helps to have a partner capable of some conversation as well.’
‘Anthea Llewellyn-Jones?’ Bearing the gossip in mind, she watched his reaction carefully. ‘You can’t accuse her of not having any thoughts?’
‘No, she has too many and all of them boring. I danced with her at the tennis club ball and as a result I can now recite the entire catalogue of recent flood and mine disasters and the names of all the committee that have been set up to assist the afflicted. Please,’ his dark eyes gleamed as he looked at her. ‘Don’t suggest I repeat the experience.’
‘I think people can make all the suggestions they like, but I don’t believe for one minute that you’d be affected enough by anyone’s opinion to do anything you didn’t want to,’ she smiled.
‘Good Lord, you can smile as well as talk. This must be my lucky night.’
‘Are you always like this?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like turning everything into a joke.’
‘Joking is an extremely serious business.’
‘Really?’
‘You must allow me to teach you just how serious, some time.’
The band ceased playing and she broke away from him and applauded. ‘I think, Dr John, it’s time that you danced with someone else, nurse or socialite, it really doesn’t matter.’
‘And if I don’t want to?’
‘If you want to continue dancing you’re going to have to. If remain with you, people will notice. And I don’t intend to attract any gossip, especially with Matron sitting in the room.’
He shook his head dolefully. ‘So beautiful and so hard-hearted.’
She turned her back on him and returned to the table, which had been washed down and dried by the barman. A crowd of porters had gathered around Laura and the two senior nurses. Glan, she noted gratefully, was not among them. There was no shortage of partners for the next dance, or the one after that. But no matter which porter she danced with, her attention wandered, and she found herself looking at her fellow dancers hoping to catch another glimpse of Andrew John.
Flippant and frivolous as be undoubtedly was, he’d breathed colour and life into an existence she’d never considered drab or dull until that moment.
The hours blurred by in a haze of scented heat and soft romantic music. Just before the bar closed at eleven she and Laura treated themselves to a sherry, and bought a conciliatory pint of beer for Glan. They’d only just returned to their table when Laura glimpsed Ronnie entering the room.
‘Oh blast, here comes trouble,’ she complained, hiding her sherry glass in her hands.
‘Haydn’s with him.’ Bethan waved to her brother and he joined them. She pushed out Nurse Fry’s chair. ‘I heard about the job. Congratulations.’
‘The wages aren’t wonderful – it’s only twelve and six for a six day week, but it’s steady, and Wilf said I can still help out on his market stall two mornings a week, so that’ll make it fifteen shillings. Not up to your standard,’ he grinned, ‘but there’s prospects.’
‘Here you are, mate, get that down you.’ Ronnie dumped two overflowing pint pots on the table.
‘I thought “stop tap” had been called,’ Laura complained, edging away from the glasses.
‘It has, but Dai Owen’s behind the bar and be owes me a favour.’
‘When you get to hell you’ll try to tell the devil that he owes you a favour,’ Laura snapped acidly.
‘Been eating razor blades?’ Ronnie enquired mildly.
‘How would you like to dance with me?’ Haydn left
his chair and offered his hand to Laura.
‘I would love to.’ Laura glared furiously at her brother as she walked away.
‘I hope that wasn’t one of dear sister’s hints that I should ask you to dance.’ Ronnie said laconically sinking into the seat Laura had vacated. ‘Because if it was, I’m simply not up to it. I’ve had a swine of a night in the cafe, if you’ll pardon the expression. Nothing but cups of tea, packets of PK and people warming themselves at my expense.’
‘Look on the bright side; at least you weren’t rushed off your feet.’
‘I’d rather be rushed off my feet than lose money on heating and lighting and listen to the moans of my underworked cook. Take my advice,’ he swallowed a large mouthful of beer in between words. ‘Never employ an Italian cook. They’re all raving mad.’
‘As I’m never likely to be in a position to employ anyone I’ll take your word for it.’
Ronnie swung his feet on to a vacant chair, took another mouthful of beer and let out a large satisfied burp as the MC called the last waltz.
‘May I borrow your lady? ‘Andrew asked, leaning over Ronnie’s legs to offer Bethan his hand.
‘Be my guest, take her,’ Ronnie offered expansively.
‘That’s uncommonly generous of you.’
‘Not at all, old boy.’ Ronnie accurately mimicked Andrew’s public school accent. ‘It’s not as if you’re asking me to do anything that requires effort.’
‘Nice boyfriend you have there.’ Andrew observed as he led Bethan away from the tables.
‘Ronnie is Laura’s brother and nobody’s boyfriend.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘Ronnie’s all right,’ she laughed. ‘He just takes a bit of getting used to.’
‘I’d rather not try if it’s all the same to you. But talking about getting used to people, how about you getting used to me? There’s a Claudette Colbert film showing in the Palladium the second half of this week.’
‘I know. Laura and I are going on Saturday.’
‘Laura?’
‘She’s dancing with my brother over there.’
Andrew peered in the direction Bethan had indicated. ‘I’ve seen her somewhere before.’
‘She works on the ward with me.’
‘Ah, a fellow nurse. In that case she won’t mind if I tag along with you?’
‘Nurses aren’t supposed to …’
‘I know – aren’t supposed to fraternise with doctors. But have a heart. I’ve just returned to Pontypridd after six years in London. Apart from my parents and their friends I don’t know a soul here. Now tell me, what possible harm can a trip to the cinema with both of you do?’
‘That depends on who sees us.’
‘I thought people went to the cinema to watch films, not the audience.’
The band stopped playing and streamers of finely cut crepe cascaded down from nets strung close to the ceiling.
‘I’m saying please nicely just as my mother taught me.’ He brushed a clump of red and blue streamers out of his hair. There was such a pitiful expression on his face she burst out laughing.
‘We pay our own way,’ she said firmly.
‘In this day and age of the emancipated woman, I wouldn’t dream of treating you.’
‘All right.’
‘What did you say?’ he shouted above the strains of “Auld Lang Syne”.
She stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear, ‘I said all right.’
Glan, who’d spent the whole of the last dance standing on the side lines watching Bethan and Andrew John chose that moment to step forward. Catching her unawares, he gripped her right elbow painfully and propelled her forward, away from Andrew into the thick of the crowd who were linking arms and singing in the middle of the room.
‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot …’
The music resounded in her ears, closing out all other sounds.
Dr John senior was standing opposite her, his face flushed with heat and whisky. She turned and saw the top of Andrew’s head, but he seemed very far away, separated from her by a mass of chanting, swaying bodies.
‘Happy New Year, Beth, a little late, but better late than never.’ Glan bent his head to kiss her, she ducked and he kissed thin air.
‘Don’t you dare take liberties with me, Glan Richards,’ she hissed vehemently. She broke away and pushed backwards.
Laura was waving to her from the doorway, her arms full of coats. She pointed down and mouthed, ‘I’ve got yours as well as mine.’
‘Come on, sis, follow me.’ Haydn appeared at her side. Pushing ahead, he cleared a path through the crowd. ‘Here.’ He took her coat from Laura and helped her on with it.
‘Thank you.’ Bethan looked around as she slid her arms into the sleeves. Dr John senior was shaking hands with everyone who’d sat at his table, but she could see no sign of Andrew.
‘Come on, Bethan, before the rush,’ Ronnie shouted impatiently from the foyer.
Dragging her feet, Bethan reluctantly followed the others down the stairs and into the arcade.
The Co-op windows were still lit. No expense spared on hospital ball night. They walked towards Market Square, their footsteps resounding over the tiled floor, echoing upwards to the high vaulted ceiling.
‘Holy Mother but it’s cold,’ Ronnie complained, buttoning his coat to the neck.
‘That’s blasphemy,’ Laura crowed victoriously.
‘I was merely making an observation to the Blessed Virgin,’ Ronnie contradicted.
Ignoring their bickering Bethan looked out from the shelter of the arcade into the deserted square. Gwilym Evans’ windows were in darkness. No lights burned to celebrate the ball there. The fine misty rain had turned to a cold, penetrating icy sleet that had burnished the cobblestones to pewter. She turned up her coat collar and pulled her gloves from her pocket.
The heavy footsteps of someone running thundered up close behind them.
‘Goodnight, Nurse Powell, Nurse Ronconi.’
‘Starting a marathon, Dr John?’ Laura asked.
‘No. Getting my father’s car out of the New Inn car park before the rush starts.’
‘You could have gone the back way, mate,’ Ronnie said helpfully. ‘It’s quicker.’
‘It would be if the shutters weren’t down and locked at the Gelliwastad Road end.’ Andrew stepped close to Bethan. ‘Ronconi’s cafe on the Tumble, six o’clock Saturday night,’ he muttered under his breath.
He was gone before she could reply. She looked back. The arcade stretched out behind her, full of laughing, chattering people. She watched as they swarmed towards Gelliwastad Road. The shutters were pulled back, exposing a square of dark sky, cut midway by the dour grey outline of the police station.
A gentle smile played at the corners of her mouth. He’d lied – he’d run to catch up with her! That had to mean something.
Bracing herself, she followed the others into the freezing cold of Market Square.
She was still smiling when she and Haydn let themselves into the house.
They paused on the doorstep to wave goodbye to Ronnie and Laura, who, judging by the erratic way in which the van turned in the narrow street, were still at it hammer and tongs.
‘Italians!’ Haydn said stepping inside as the van finally drove off down the street.
‘Lovely, warm people,’ Bethan said.
‘Like that doctor you were dancing with?’
‘Doctor John?’
Haydn reached past her to hang up his coat and she saw that he was watching her closely.
‘I hardly know him,’ she protested. ‘I only worked with him for the first time today. We delivered Maisie Crockett’s baby. It was touch and go. The baby nearly died.’
‘Maisie from Phillips Street? I didn’t even know she was married.’
‘She’s not.’ Bethan brushed the surface rain from her coat as she hung it up. ‘She’s living in the homes.’
‘Poor bugger,’ Haydn said with feeling.
‘Haydn! Bethan! Is that you?’
‘Yes Mam.’ Haydn frowned as he walked down the passage. ‘We thought you’d all be in bed.’
‘It’s just as well we’re not,’ Elizabeth complained. ‘No one could possibly sleep through the racket you two are making.’
He opened the door and they walked into the kitchen. ‘What in hell …’
‘And I’ll have none of that language in this house.’
‘Sorry, Mam,’ Haydn apologised automatically, as he rushed across the room to where Eddie sat slumped in Evan’s chair. ‘What happened to you, mate?’ he asked, pushing aside the damp cloth Evan was holding over Eddie’s swollen right eye.
‘I would have thought that was obvious.’ With a look of pure venom Elizabeth wrung out a second cloth that was soaking in an enamel bowl on the table.
‘You had a fight?’ Bethan asked, pushing Eddie’s hair back and peering into his eye.
‘They were looking for sparring partners for the boxers at the gym,’ Eddie mumbled from between split and swollen lips. ‘Look, I got two bob.’ He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a coin. ‘I wanted to give something towards the silver nurse’s buckle Dad and Haydn have been saving for. Here, Dad. Take it.’
Tears blinding his eyes,’ Evan fumbled at Eddie’s hand and palmed the coin. Bethan held her father’s hand for a moment, then she took the cloth and dabbed at the swellings on her brother’s face.
‘Being a sparring partner is a mug’s game,’ Haydn said angrily as he checked over the rest of his brother’s body.
‘I know.’ Eddie’s left eye shone with excitement in the firelight. ‘That’s why I asked Joey Rees to train me. You can win as much as five pounds in a good fight. Think of it. Five pounds for one night’s work. I won’t get it yet, of course. But Joey says that I could be a first-class lightweight. Haydn –’ he reached out and grabbed his brother’s arm. ‘I could make more money than I ever would working down the pit or in the brewery yard. I just know I could. A few months of that and we’ll all be rich.’
‘Over my dead body,’ Elizabeth proclaimed.
Pontypridd 01 - Hearts of Gold Page 10