She smiled as he turned to her, expecting him to take her in his arms and give her his first real kiss as her husband, but he said, ‘I think we’d be more comfortable if we got out of our wedding finery.’
Wondering, with a touch of alarm, if this was his way of getting her to bed as quickly as possible, she preceded him up the wide staircase, but once in their room, he crossed to the huge wardrobe and took out two silk dressing robes. ‘We can’t wear them now,’ she protested, ‘it’s still the middle of the afternoon.’
He gave a loud laugh. ‘Do you think it’s decadent to sit around in a robe?’
She didn’t know the meaning of the word, but shook her head. ‘If you think it’s all right . . .’
Timidly, she opened the buttons of her jacket and took it off, glancing at him to see if he was watching, but he was intent on removing his own jacket and shirt, so she stepped out of her skirt, embarrassed to be in only her camisole, stays and petticoat, and bending quickly to lift her robe from the bed where he had thrown it.
‘You’d be more at ease if you took everything off,’ he told her, and she saw that he had removed his trousers and was opening his knee-length drawers. ‘Don’t look so scared,’ he smiled, ‘I’m not going to jump on you. We’ll have to get used to seeing each other with nothing on.’
Remembering the only time in her life that anyone had seen her with nothing on, Cissie began to tremble, but she let him open the laces of her corsets for her and take off her bodice. She was reassured when he held up her robe, and slipped into it thankfully.
‘See? It didn’t bother me.’ Bertram was standing naked in front of her, but she couldn’t help noticing that her nudity had bothered him, and was glad when he covered himself and they went downstairs again.
It was more comfortable with the robe on, she discovered, and settled back against the cushions of a wide armchair to listen to Bertram making ambitious plans for the future of his business. It was not what she had imagined the first hours of their married life would be, but it was quite nice to watch the muscles of his face rippling as he talked, to see the slight shadow on his upper lip – a little gingery – for she had never seen him before when he needed a shave, nor when his hair was all tousled like it was now. It was good to have time to study him like this, his violet eyes illuminated with enthusiasm, his hands expressing points he was trying to make, though she wasn’t really taking in what he was saying.
Her attention was caught when he asked her opinion on the office expansion he was contemplating. ‘You’d be as well to please yourself,’ she answered, carefully. ‘It won’t affect me now you’ve got a new secretary.’
His smile was indulgent. ‘I couldn’t have my wife working for me, Cissie, it just isn’t done, but I’m quite prepared for you to give me some advice. Do you think it would be viable to use a larger part of the warehouse?’
Pleased at being consulted, she said, ‘You’d lose a lot of storage space. Wouldn’t it be better to pull the partition down and build a new office outside the warehouse, at the side next the street? There’s plenty of room, and it would be more businesslike to have your customers coming in by a proper door into a proper office, not a wee booth.’
He considered for a few minutes, trying to visualise it, and then nodded. ‘Yes, I see what you mean, and it would probably be even better if I had two offices, one for the book-keeper and typist, and an inner sanctum for myself and my secretary.’
Cissie was glad that she had chosen a plain, middle-aged widow when she was interviewing for her replacement. If his secretary had been a presentable young girl, she’d have felt jealous of her being alone with Bertram all day. She had wondered if something was going on between him and Brenda at one time, but he hadn’t been in the least upset when the girl left so suddenly because of her mother’s illness.
When Elma, one of the maids, came to say that dinner was ready, she was very conscious of her deshabille, but the girl showed no surprise, and Cissie assumed that robes must be normal wear for rich people.
It was coming up for eight o’clock by the time dinner was over – a lengthy interval between each course to give them time to digest it, and coffee afterwards. ‘Time we turned in,’ Bertram said, nonchalantly, ‘it’s been a long day.’
It was going to be a long night, too, Cissie thought, but she was his wife now and rose obediently from the table. As she went upstairs, she hoped he would go the bathroom to give her time to get into the lovely nightdress he’d given her, though it was so sheer it would hide nothing, but he took it from her hand as soon as she picked it off the bed where Elma must have set it out.
‘You won’t need this,’ he murmured, throwing it carelessly on the floor and pulling off her robe.
Discarding his own, he took her in his arms, his long tender kisses calming her fears, but when he guided her to the bed they came flooding back, and she lay in an agony of terror while he ran his hands slowly over her. It was all the worse because he hadn’t switched off the electric light, and she closed her eyes to shut out the increasing desire she could see in his, but it made no difference. She could feel it against her and hear it in his breathing. It was all she could do now to keep from screaming and pushing him away before he went any further.
She was so tense that it was a few seconds before she was aware that Bertram had drawn away from her and had turned to the table beside the bed to light a cigarette. Why had he stopped? Would he start again when he finished smoking? She felt sick with relief when he pulled the cord hanging from the ceiling and plunged the room into darkness.
Sooner than she thought could be possible, he was asleep, but she was still wide awake. Had he been hurt by her lack of response? Would he be angry? What would she say if he asked what was wrong with her? He knew she’d been married before, and he would wonder why she was so afraid.
At last, Cissie fell into a deep sleep and woke in the small hours of the morning to find Bertram on top of her. She hadn’t time to be scared and realised that her body was responding to the stimulus he must have begun while she was still asleep. It was nothing like she had feared. He was a tender lover and brought her slowly to a point where she would have pleaded with him to go on if he had stopped again, but he didn’t. It was wonderful.
Some time later, Cissie lay beside her sleeping husband, blissfully knowing that she had given him, and herself, the greatest pleasure in the world.
Being alone all day with nothing to occupy her had soon palled on Cissie. Her only diversion was in working out a menu for the evening meal which the cook would have to prepare, and that did not take long. She had been nervous, the first day, with Mrs Gow – a stout, efficient person in a long, crackling white apron and a large cap covering her greying hair – but the woman’s sneering attitude had given her the boost she needed. She could now give her orders in a firm authoritative voice, though she had the feeling that the cook was only pretending to respect her. The two maids – Elma, a well-built fifteen-year-old with rather sly eyes, and shy Georgie, fourteen and still flat in the chest – kept out of her way as much as possible, and Mrs Gow made sure that they did everything they were meant to do and had no time to chatter to each other.
Bored of doing little but reading, she went to Huntingdon to talk to Phoebe, but she had forgotten that Richard would also be there. Her stepmother, now also her mother-in-law, saw her disappointment. ‘Why don’t we meet every Wednesday afternoon? That’s when Richard goes to the mill to see that everything’s running smoothly.’
Grateful that she would have company on one afternoon a week, Cissie went home early, but she could not get over the change in Phoebe. She had always been an attractive woman, but she was absolutely beautiful now – her fairskinned face aglow with love, her dark hair arranged fashionably on top of her head – and the expensive clothes she wore made her look like a high-born lady. Just the same, Cissie reflected, thankfully, she was still the frank, down-to-earth person she had always been.
To pass her time, Cissie
went for long walks, sometimes passing the time of day with the old men who were also out for a stroll to fill the long hours of their retirement, but more often chatting to one or other of the nannies who were watching their charges in whichever park she happened to be visiting. She felt at ease with them, for she was still working class at heart, though she, like Phoebe, now wore clothes bought only in the most exclusive shops. Her spirits lifted when it was time for her to go home, to dress in one of the dinner gowns Bertram kept giving her, though she only had them on for an hour or so before he made her change into a robe. He was so thoughtful, she loved him more and more as time went on, and could scarcely wait for the end of the day when he would take her to bed and prove he loved her.
It was some months after her wedding before Cissie found a friend. She had been ambling aimlessly, annoyed by the smoke which belched out of the tall chimney stacks of the mills and hung like a pall over the city when there were no winds, but she decided to have a seat in Baxter Park. It was very hot for April, and her feet were sore in the strapped, high-heeled shoes Bertram liked her to wear. She sat down on a bench to ease them, and five minutes later another young woman sat down beside her.
‘I’m glad someone else has hot feet,’ the stranger smiled, glancing down at the shoes under the seat.
‘It’s the pavements,’ Cissie excused herself, shyly.
‘Don’t I know it. I’m tired of wandering about all day trying to fill in my time.’
‘You, too? I thought nobody else would be like me.’
‘Thank goodness I’ve found somebody young to talk to for a change. Most of the other wives have children to keep them occupied, and it’s usually middle-aged matrons I sit down beside. You know the kind.’ She adopted an exaggerated accent. ‘ “My eldest son is at Oxford. My daughter married a Lord.” ’ After a little giggle, she gave Cissie a hopeful look. ‘Why don’t we team up? I’m Dorothy Barclay, by the way, and I’ve been longing for decent company.’
‘Cissie Dickson, and I’d be glad of your company, too.’
At first, she worried that she might inadvertently give away her humble origins, but she soon forgot that Dorothy had been born into a different background, and the girl made a tremendous difference to her life. They met at two every weekday except Wednesdays, and went for a walk, or into a tearoom, or ambled round Draffen’s or D.M. Brown’s, Dorothy buying what she called suitable clothes, although she often looked longingly at those she said were considered slightly ‘fast’. She was a model of elegance, wearing dresses that complemented her slim figure and hats that framed her oval face but showed little of her hair. Only once, when they were sitting in one of the parks, did she remove her hat and reveal that her hair, swathed round her head, was a lovely, smooth, silky blonde.
When Cissie told Bertram about her friend, he didn’t appear particularly interested, but after a few weeks of listening to her chattering about what they had done that day, he said, somewhat peevishly, ‘Can’t you talk about something else? I’m tired of hearing how wonderful this Dorothy is.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Cissie said, ‘but I haven’t anything else to speak about, and I’m glad to have somebody with me instead of walking about by myself.’
‘I suppose she’s one of the mill-workers’ wives, is she? You’ll have a lot in common with her.’
‘That’s not a very nice thing to say,’ Cissie burst out, indignantly. ‘And her husband’s not a mill-worker. She said he owns some boats.’
Bertram’s head jerked up. ‘What’s her surname?’
‘Barclay, and she’s just a year older than me.’
‘Roland Barclay’s wife?’
‘Yes, I think she did say his name was Roland.’
‘Good God, Cissie, haven’t you ever heard of him? He owns a fleet of cargo ships.’ Bertram rubbed his chin with his hand, reflectively. ‘It wouldn’t do me any harm to get to know Roland Barclay. I’ve been considering branching out and taking over one of the mills. I know several in financial difficulties.’
‘I thought you didn’t want to have anything to do with mills.’ Cissie couldn’t understand why he was looking so pleased with himself.
‘I didn’t want to work for my father, but I can see the possibilities of having a mill of my own, especially now. Um, will you be seeing Dorothy Barclay tomorrow?’
‘No, tomorrow’s my day for meeting Phoebe, remember?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t see that woman at all. I’m sure she’s a bad influence on you.’
Cissie gave a nervous laugh. ‘She doesn’t try to influence me on anything, and I won’t stop seeing her. She’s my friend as well as my stepmother. She’s your stepmother, as well, come to think of it.’
‘She’s a fortune-hunter, after my father’s money.’
Angry now, Cissie shouted, ‘She’s not a fortune-hunter! She loves your father as much as he loves her. She wouldn’t care if he hadn’t two ha’pennies to rub together.’
He tried to pacify her then. ‘All right, have it your own way. In any case, it’s the Barclays I’m interested in. Next time you meet your Dorothy, invite her and her husband to dinner – say, on Saturday of next week? You can write out a special menu, and give Mrs Gow time to prepare everything.’
In bed, Bertram tried to make up for being angry at his wife. ‘I’m sorry for what I said about Phoebe. I just wanted to protect you from being hurt.’
‘Phoebe would never dream of hurting me, and we love each other like a real mother and daughter – more than some real mothers and daughters.’
He hesitated briefly. ‘Wouldn’t you like to be a mother yourself, Cissie?’
Recalling how she had felt about wee James, she had to swallow her sorrow, and was glad that the darkness hid her. ‘Yes, I’d quite like to have a little daughter.’
‘I want a son, Cissie.’
‘All right, a daughter for me and a son for you.’
‘A son first.’
‘We’ll have to take what comes,’ she laughed.
‘I can’t understand why there’s been no sign yet.’
She couldn’t understand that herself. They’d been married for fifteen months, and once had been enough with . . . no, she couldn’t think about that.
She had no time to think at all, for in the next instant Bertram’s gentle lips and hands were turning her body into a quivering, eager receptacle for his loving. It certainly was not his fault that she was not pregnant yet.
Chapter Twenty
The June dinner for the Barclays was a great success. With no idea what a special menu should be, Cissie had confessed her problem, somewhat diffidently, to Mrs Gow, who had eyed her with a trace of condescension. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m presuming, Mrs Dickson, but I’ve had years of experience at catering for the gentry, and I always found they’re so tired of fancy dishes, they quite enjoy plainer fare for a change. Will I make out a menu for your approval?’
Cissie had taken care not to show her resentment at the inference that she wasn’t gentry. ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Gow.’
The guests were loud in praise of the creamy barley soup, enthused over the thickly sliced pork with apple sauce, accompanied by roast and mashed potatoes, sweet young peas and carrots, and, surprisingly, a whole tender cabbage. When the main course was over, a mouth-watering chocolate mousse was brought in, and Cissie leaned back in some relief as her husband and the Barclays tucked into it. She hadn’t been sure of the menu Mrs Gow had suggested, but it appeared that the cook had been right.
After the coffee, Dorothy patted her stomach. ‘I’m so full I’ll have to let out the laces of my stays tomorrow.’
Roland’s glance held a slight warning, and she winked at Cissie who said, hastily, ‘Are we all ready to go through to the sitting room?’
‘You two ladies carry on.’ Bertram said. ‘Roland and I will join you once we’ve had our brandy and cigars.’
When Dorothy sat down in the other room, she said, ‘Trust me to put my foot in it. You’ve lear
ned my little secret now.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I was only a shopgirl when I married Roland. I do try to behave like a lady, but I suppose ladies don’t speak about their stays in company.’ She gave a tiny chuckle. ‘The old words come out in spite of me, and anyway, he can be a right stuffed shirt sometimes.’
Noticing Cissie’s shocked expression and believing it to show disapproval, Dorothy looked stricken. ‘I should have told you before. Now you won’t want to be friends with me.’
Cissie burst out laughing. ‘I was Bertram’s secretary when he married me, but I used to be a spinner in his father’s mill, and before that, at home in Aberdeen, I served in a little dairy.’
Clapping her hands, Dorothy cried, ‘So we’re both common shopgirls? I thought you’d been born a lady, but I always felt comfortable with you. I never dreamt you’d been playing a part, too, and I suppose we’d better keep it up in front of our husbands. I don’t know about Bertram, but Roland would be absolutely mortified if he knew I’d told you about my murky past.’
Murky past? Cissie’s heart contracted at the thought of her own past, murkier than anything Dorothy could dream of, but her friend was chattering on about the gaffes she had made in front of her cook and Cissie slowly relaxed. They were both laughing when the men joined them.
Roland beamed expansively at Cissie. ‘I wish my wife was more like you. She cuts out all the fancy recipes she sees in magazines and makes our cook try them out, but they’re too exotic for my taste. You can’t beat good plain food.’
About to explain that her cook had been responsible for the menu, Cissie caught the mischievous twinkle in Dorothy’s eye and couldn’t say anything in case she laughed.
Waters of the Heart Page 19