Pontypridd 01 - Hearts of Gold

by Catrin Collier

  Neither Andrew nor Bethan were anxious to repeat the experiment with their respective families. Once or twice a week they went to his rooms but always late in the evening when he knew his parents would be out, or occupied with visitors. If they had a whole day free they generally drove down to the summer chalet on the Gower. If they only had a few hours or an evening they contented themselves with a walk in the country. Not up Pit Road to Shoni’s pond, but further.

  Andrew drove her to the primrose strewn fields around Creigau, or the picturesque woods above Taffs Well in which nestled the Marquis of Bute’s fairy-tale Castell Coch with its red turrets and grey stone walls.

  They were magic times. Bethan was too much in love to question anything Andrew did, said or thought. To her, he was always kind, gentle, funny and loving. Very, very loving. There were moments when she had doubts, particularly when Laura talked about engagement rings, weddings and household linen, but when she was actually with Andrew all uncertainty melted away. He didn’t even have to provide excuses for his tardiness. She thought them up for herself. He was considering her nursing ambitions, allowing her time to complete her midwifery certificate. They were happy as they were – what was the point of hurrying. He’d told her he had very little money of his own. He probably wanted to save a deposit large enough to buy a house like his father’s … she could find a million and one reasons why they shouldn’t rush headlong into marriage like Laura and Trevor. And in the meantime she wrung every moment she spent with him dry.

  For his part Andrew loved Bethan and told her so – often. If his love was more selfish and less intense than hers, neither of them was sufficiently aware of the difference for it to matter. Once he succeeded in crossing the bounds of courtship and became her lover, sexual obsession took over from romance. He lived for the moments when he was alone with her. They made love in his rooms, the chalet, secluded areas in the country and on one glorious, insane occasion in Squeers’ office at three in the morning when Bethan was on duty and he’d been called into the maternity ward on an emergency.

  His parents never said a word in favour of, or against, Bethan. They didn’t have to. His father was politeness personified whenever he came across Bethan in the hospital, even going so far as to acknowledge her presence with a nod, an unheard of courtesy from the senior medical officer to a junior staff nurse. But for all of their forbearance Andrew knew that neither of his parents considered Bethan suitable material for a daughter-in-law.

  To begin with there was her acquaintance with their under housemaid. Then, there was her strong Welsh accent, her upbringing on the Graig, her chapel connections – the John family had been Anglican for three generations … her miner father and his links with the Communist Party.

  Dr John senior had taken the trouble to find out what he could about Bethan’s family, and he’d lost no time in passing on the information he’d gleaned to his son. And quite aside from all the things, which were mentioned indirectly and often, whenever he took his meals with his parents there was the memory of the time he’d brought her to dinner.

  Again it wasn’t what his mother said; it was what she left unsaid.

  Anthea Llewellyn-Jones had such sparkling wit. She had a word for everyone no matter who they were. She was never tongue tied or overwhelmed in company. The praise and the sniping went on and on, and he was left in no doubt that if it had been Anthea Llewelyn-Jones he was “stepping out” with, his parents wouldn’t be pressing him so hard to take up the offer of a short term placement on the surgical team at Charing Cross. Nor would he have received quite so many offers of late night whiskies from his father during which the talk invariably turned to cautionary tales on the dangers of becoming entangled with the wrong kind of girl.

  But he was young, he was in love, and it was easy to shrug off his parents obtuse and not so obtuse hints and advice. Marriage couldn’t really come into the equation, not yet, and not for some time. Ambitious and financially dependent on his parents, he had two more years of study in Charing Cross which he’d have to complete soon if he was going to gain his Fellowship of the Royal College of Surgeons before his thirtieth birthday as his father had done before him.

  Meanwhile he loved Bethan enough to tarry in Pontypridd and delay his return to London. He’d even toyed vaguely with the idea of asking her to accompany him when he did go. But not as his wife. As a nurse.

  As Alec had said, there were plenty of openings for nurses in London. She’d easily get a room in a hostel and they could live very much as they did here. He loved her, but not enough to lower his standard of living to what she was used to, or Trevor was prepared to accept.

  Life in a squalid little house without a bathroom, garden or rooms of the size he was accustomed to wasn’t his idea of bliss. So he put the idea of marriage out of his head almost as soon as it entered it. And then again, why even consider it? Bethan hadn’t mentioned it. They were both of them extremely happy the way things were. Why change them?

  ‘So you’ll come?’

  ‘Andrew, I’ve never been to a garden party.’ She’d been grateful that working commitments had prevented her from going to the last one that had been mentioned.

  ‘All the more reason to go to one now.’

  ‘With you and Anthea Llewellyn-Jones?’

  ‘Forget Anthea Llewelyn-Jones.’ He crossed over to the desk where she was writing reports and took the pen from her hand. ‘Enough, woman, I want you and I want you now.’

  ‘Andrew, the day shift …’

  ‘Won’t be on for another hour and a half. It’s babies’ feeding time, and –’ he kissed the back of her neck, ‘I’ve taken the precaution of locking the door.’

  ‘The reports have to be finished.’

  ‘How much more do you have to do?’

  She picked up another pen, inserted a nib and dipped it into the inkwell. ‘I have to sign the last one,’ she teased.

  ‘Sometimes I think God put woman on earth just to torment men,’ he sighed in mock exasperation.

  ‘And now that I’ve signed it I have to check the ward.’

  Skilfully avoiding his move to intercept her, she slipped under his arm and unlocked the door, opening it wide, so if he spoke he’d risk waking the ward. She paused for a few moments for her eyes to become accustomed to the subdued night lights that burned at either end of the long room, then she trod lightly down the centre aisle checking the occupant of each bed.

  She stopped to place her hand lightly on the forehead of Mrs Roberts in the end cubicle who was recovering from fever. Her skin was still cool, as it had been since midday when the fever had broken. She left the ward and checked the delivery rooms. Clean, bare, they stank of chloroform and antiseptic. Closing the door, she walked back through the ward to the nursery. The trainee was supervising the two ward maids who were feeding the babies bottles of water in the hope that they would eventually stop waking for non-nutritious liquid and sleep through. Not that the ploy worked. It generally meant that the tiny scraps of humanity screamed until six o’clock when they were finally handed to their mothers.

  ‘All quiet, Mills?’ she asked the trainee.

  ‘All quiet, Nurse Powell.’

  Bethan closed the door and returned to the office. It was empty. Assuming that Andrew had gone to check on his patient who was still in the operating theatre, she sat in the easy chair, rested her feet on the hearth and read through her reports. Satisfied that she’d done all she could, she piled the papers on to the corner of her desk, curled her feet beneath her and closed her eyes.

  ‘Asleep on duty, Nurse Powell?’

  She opened her eyes. Andrew was standing in front of her, his face flushed.

  ‘Been outside?’ she asked.

  ‘Left something in the car.’

  She knew what the “somethingˮ was. He, like Trevor had begun to raid the stocks of contraceptives in the family planning clinic in Ynysangharad house in the Park.

  ‘Drink?’ he asked, producing a hip flask from his bac
k pocket.

  ‘Not before I come off duty. Squeers will have my guts for garters if she smells brandy on my breath during the change over.’

  ‘What I like most about you, Nurse Powell,’ he sat on the edge of the desk close to her, ‘Is your delicate turn of phrase.’ He took a long pull from the flask and rubbed his hand lightly along her neck and shoulders. ‘You back for good? Or are you likely to disappear again?’ he asked.

  ‘For good unless there’s an emergency.’

  ‘Reports finished?’

  ‘Quite finished.’ She left her chair, locked the door and leaned against it.

  ‘In that case, let’s begin.’ He sat on the chair she’d vacated and pulled her down on to his lap. Kissing her, he slid his hand up her skirt. ‘Nurse Powell! I’m shocked.’

  ‘Why?’ she enquired innocently. ‘Wasn’t it what you wanted?’ She pulled her bloomers from her pocket and dropped them to the floor.

  ‘Suppose there’d been another doctor on duty.’

  ‘I don’t take them off for any other doctor.’

  ‘That’s reassuring to know.’

  ‘We haven’t much time,’ she whispered, tugging at his trouser belt. ‘I’ll have to check on the ward again in a quarter of an hour.’

  ‘I’ll try to make it last that long,’ he murmured.

  She laughed softly as she thrust her hand down inside his underpants, teasing an erection.

  ‘You’re a great one for promises, Dr John.’

  ‘You’ll see just how great in a moment.’ He wrapped his arms around her. ‘What would I do without you, Beth?’

  ‘Install a cold shower in your rooms?’ she suggested lightly.

  A moment later only the sounds of their breathing and her quiet moans disturbed the night silence of the peaceful office.

  Andrew was waiting for her outside the gates when her shift finished.

  ‘We never did decide about the garden party’ he said as they climbed into his car.

  ‘I told you I’ve never been to one.’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything.’

  ‘I’ve nothing to wear.’

  ‘You can start with this.’ He pulled a small leather-covered box out of his pocket.

  ‘What is it?’ Her heart was racing. It looked like a jeweller’s box. Could it be …

  ‘Why don’t you open it and see?’

  With fingers that had suddenly grown stiff and clumsy she wrenched it open. Nestling on a bed of satin was the locket she’d helped him choose in Cardiff.

  ‘This is your mother’s.’

  ‘No. It was never intended for her. I was going to give it to you on your birthday. But I thought, what the hell, that’s not until December. You do like it?’ he asked anxiously studying the strange expression on her face.

  ‘I love it,’ she whispered, hugging him, hiding her head in his neck so he wouldn’t read the disappointment in her eyes. She’d hoped for a ring that carried the same message of commitment as the one Laura wore on her left hand.

  ‘Here, let me.’ He took the locket from her hand and fastened it round her neck.

  ‘No one’s ever given me anything as beautiful as this,’ she said bravely, fingering it lightly as it hung at her throat.

  ‘Then you’ll wear it to the garden party?’

  ‘I still have nothing to go with it.’

  ‘Then go to this famous aunt of yours that you’ve never allowed me to meet and buy something.’

  ‘Drop me off now and you can meet her.’

  ‘At –’ he flicked open his pocket watch, ‘eight on a Sunday morning?’

  ‘You’ll never find a better time. She’ll have finished work, and be cooking breakfast.’

  ‘Work?’

  ‘She cleans the Graig Hotel.’

  ‘I’ve never paid a social call at eight on a Sunday morning before.’

  ‘Didn’t you just say there’s a first time for everything?’

  Chapter Fifteen

  As Andrew drove into Leyshon Street Bethan directed him to Megan’s house, and he pulled up outside. The only other vehicle in the street was the milkman’s cart. Eddie whistled as he walked towards it, carrying a handful of milk jugs.

  ‘Working?’ Bethan asked excitedly.

  ‘Only for a few days.’ He interrupted his whistling to answer as he laid the jugs on the back of the cart and pulled the top off a churn. ‘Alwyn’s sick, so Dai the milk asked me to take over for a week or two. Dr John,’ he acknowledged Andrew reluctantly, as he dipped a ladle into the churn and began to fill the jugs.

  ‘Win any fights lately?’ Andrew asked amiably, trying to make conversation.

  ‘Only sparring in the gym, Dr John.’

  ‘Please call me, Andrew.’

  ‘Yes, well I’d like to stop and chat but I have to get on. I’m late as it is and church people want their milk early on a Sunday. See you doctor, Bethan.’

  Bethan waved goodbye to him and rapped on Megan’s door as she walked in. ‘Come on,’ she said impatiently to Andrew.

  ‘God, I might have known it would be you,’ William complained as he walked down the stairs dressed only in a pair of trousers.

  ‘The morning after the night before?’ Bethan enquired cheerfully.

  ‘What else?’ He opened the kitchen door for her. ‘Come in, Dr John, please.’

  Wishing he’d never suggested meeting her aunt, Andrew reluctantly followed Bethan into the kitchen.

  ‘Bethan, love.’ Megan was frying salt fish on the stove, just as Bethan had said she would be. She turned her head, saw Andrew and immediately wiped her hands on her apron. ‘And this is your young man?’

  ‘Andrew, Auntie Megan, Auntie Megan, Dr Andrew John.’

  ‘Please, call me Andrew.’ Andrew was beginning to feel as though that was the only thing he said to members of Bethan’s family.

  ‘Well, I asked Bethan to bring you here so we could take a look at you, but I didn’t expect her to bring you first thing on a Sunday morning. You’ll stay to breakfast of course?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t, Mrs Powell, I have to call in on a patient on the way home.’

  ‘Both of you been up all night I suppose?’ She looked sharply at Bethan.

  ‘Yes, but unlike William we’ve been working,’ Bethan said loudly for William’s benefit.

  ‘How do you know I haven’t?’ he answered as he banged the washhouse door on the way out to the toilet.

  ‘I’m sure your patient isn’t going to die in the next half hour, Andrew, so I’ll not take no for an answer. We’ve more than enough fish and bread and butter for everyone.

  Pull up a chair and sit yourself down.’

  ‘Auntie, we couldn’t. You weren’t expecting us.’

  ‘There’s plenty of room if that’s what you’re worried about. Diana and Maud came in so late last night they won’t be up for hours. And mind, not a word of that to your mother. I doubt that she was ever young. Not in the same sense as those two, any road.’ Megan shook the fish briskly in the pan. ‘And the tea’s already brewed, so the best thing you can do is keep quiet and pour us all a cup, Beth.’

  Deciding that further protest was useless, Andrew sat on one of the kitchen chairs and watched Bethan as she removed her cloak and moved around the kitchen, laying bread, sugar and milk on the table.

  ‘Well, from what Bethan tells me this has been going on a good while between you two,’ Megan said as she took the tea Bethan handed her. ‘Serious is it?’

  ‘Auntie …’ Bethan protested vigorously.

  ‘I suppose you could say that,’ Andrew grinned.

  ‘I hope you’re treating her well? That’s my favourite niece you’ve got there you know.’

  ‘My favourite girlfriend too.’

  ‘Mam … Mam … where the hell are you?’ William burst through the washhouse door, his flies unbuttoned, his hair standing on end.

  ‘Language, William,’ Megan reprimanded sternly. ‘We’ve company and if I’ve told you o
nce I’ve told you a hundred times I won’t have you tearing around …’

  ‘Mam, there’s coppers driving up the Graig hill. Four vans and a car packed with them. Mrs Evans sent young Philip up over the backs to tell us.’

  ‘God help us!’ The colour drained from Megan’s face as she struggled to think coherently. ‘Go next door, William, and warn Betty and Judy. Now quick. Not that way,’ she shouted as William went towards the front door. ‘Over the wall at the back.

  Tell them to dump whatever they’ve got in the house. Pass it down the street … get the kids to carry it up the mountain or over to Shoni’s …’

  William didn’t hang about. He was back out through the door, and leaping one handed over the wall before Bethan had time to wonder what was happening.

  ‘Oh God, Huw warned me this was coming,’ Megan moaned. ‘Only yesterday he told me to get rid of everything. I should have listened to him.’ She dropped the fish she was frying on to the range to burn. Running to the door she shouted up the stairs.

  ‘Diana, Maud, quick, bring down all my stock. All the specials. Coppers coming.’

  Andrew continued to sit in his chair, totally bemused by the bedlam that had broken out around him. Megan dashed back through the kitchen and into the washhouse. She thrust a tin bucket under the tap and began to fill it. Black smoke billowed out from the pan she’d left on the range, and Bethan jumped towards it, picking it up, only to immediately drop it again.

  ‘You’ve burned your hand.’ Andrew leaped out of his chair.

  ‘It’s nothing.’ She stooped to gather up the fish that were scattered all over the hearth. ‘Damn, I’ve cracked a tile,’ she swore as she lifted the pan from where it had fallen, face down. A sound of tin scraping over stone came from the washhouse as Megan heaved the copper boiler close to the sink. Bethan left the pan and the fish on the hearth and went to help. She took the lid off the boiler as Megan emptied the contents of the bucket, floor cloth, scrubbing brush and all, into the boiler.

  Diana, wearing a red flannel nightdress, raced through the kitchen into the washhouse and dumped an armful of clothes into the water.