Waters of the Heart

by Doris Davidson

  ‘No, Hugh, I’d never go back to him; it’s you I love. But can’t you see how I feel about this?’

  Whipping round, he took hold of her hands. ‘I do see, my dearest one, and it doesn’t matter a damn to me that we can’t be married, as long as I know you love me.’

  He looked at her pensively for a moment, then said, ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, Cissie, and I don’t know how you’ll feel about what I’m going to say, but I’m going to say it anyway. Isn’t it stupid me going home every night to my lodgings when I could stay here? Now, I’ve said it and I’ll leave you to think about it.’

  He was halfway down the stairs before she got her breath back, and her heart was thumping when she went down to lock up behind him. Her own body had been set alight by his caresses, but she couldn’t let any man make love to her again, not even Hugh.

  She tossed and turned all night, and was still trying to make up her mind when the early dawn was sending red streaks through the sky and the gulls were screeching over something they had found in the street. She was a married woman; what would people say if she let him move in with her? But none of them knew her real circumstances, and they likely thought she was a widow. She tried to imagine Hugh living in her house, and quite liked the idea, but her mind boggled at thinking of him in her bed.

  ‘I’ve been considering what you said,’ she began, as soon as they went upstairs that night, ‘and I suppose it is daft for you to be paying for lodgings when you could be . . .’ She halted, but the joy dawning in his eyes made her hurry on. ‘I’ve a spare room you can have.’

  ‘A spare room?’ he echoed, his voice hollow.

  ‘I’m sorry, Hugh, I can’t let you – not yet, anyway. I’ll maybe tell you some day why I can’t, once I’ve got over it properly. Just give me time.’

  His disappointment was only too obvious, and his lopsided smile nearly made her change her mind. ‘I suppose sleeping under the same roof’s a start,’ he said, ‘and I promise I won’t take advantage of it, not unless you ask me.’ His eyes twinkled suddenly. ‘And I won’t break that promise.’

  ‘Thanks, Hugh,’ she breathed.

  ‘I’ll tell my landlady tomorrow I’ll be leaving at the end of the week, and I’ll move in on Saturday afternoon, if that suits you? I haven’t much to shift, just clothes and some odds and ends.’

  When he was leaving on Thursday night, Hugh said, ‘I won’t see you tomorrow, Cissie. I promised I’d go for a few last drinks with my landlady’s son. I used to pal around with him before, and he thinks I’m off my head giving up my freedom, as he puts it, for I didn’t tell him . . .’

  His shrug told Cissie that he was ashamed to let his friend know of her arrangement – he was maybe afraid that the man would laugh at him for agreeing to it – but she smiled encouragingly. ‘Enjoy yourself tomorrow, Hugh, and remember, I’ll never stop you going out. There’s no strings attached, you know.’

  ‘I wish there were.’

  The following night, Cissie took the opportunity of being alone to write up her books, which had fallen behind since she’d been spending most of her free time with Hugh, and felt annoyed when someone knocked at the shop door. The trilly whistle that followed wiped the frown from her face, and she ran down to let her brother in.

  ‘You look pleased with yourself,’ he greeted her. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve found yourself a man?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when we go up,’ she laughed.

  He was all smiles, too, when he heard how Hugh had come back into her life. ‘I should have told you about him when I saw you in Dundee, but I thought . . . you looked happy enough.’

  ‘It’s all come right now, anyway. He’s going to leave his lodgings tomorrow.’

  Tommy’s eyes danced. ‘So you’ll have somebody to share your bed at last? Good for you.’

  ‘No, no, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m letting him lodge here, we won’t be sleeping together.’

  ‘Are you daft, woman? You surely don’t expect him to sleep in a different room? That’s asking a bit much of any man, especially when he loves you.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t want him, Tommy, I can’t . . .’

  He looked at her speculatively. ‘There’s more to this than you’ve told me. Why can’t you let him sleep with you? Was it what Da did to you? But you married and had a son, so you must have got over that?’

  She hesitated, wondering if she could possibly speak about the revolting things Bertram had done, then decided that she didn’t need to go into great detail. It would be enough just to give her brother a general idea, and let his imagination fill in the rest.

  A deep frown distorted his face when she told him about the teeth-marks and bruises Bertram had left on her, and when she came to a quavering halt, he burst out, ‘I bet there’s a lot more you’re not telling me. I know what that kind of man can do to women, but you didn’t have to put up with it, you should have reported him.’

  ‘I should have told somebody, but I was too ashamed.’

  ‘You’d nothing to be ashamed about! It was him that should have been ashamed. I’ve a good mind to go there and knock his teeth down his bloody throat.’

  ‘No, Tommy, don’t be silly! I only told you to let you see why I can’t . . .’

  ‘It’s you that’s being silly.’ he interrupted. ‘From what I saw of Hugh, he’s a good man. He wouldn’t do anything like that to you.’

  ‘I don’t think he would, it’s just me. Maybe I’ll forget my fears one day and let him . . .’

  He chuckled when she stopped in embarrassment. ‘If you’re stuck for the right word, Cissie, I could give you a lovely four-letter one.’

  She couldn’t help smiling. ‘I’ve no doubt you could. You sailors could turn the air blue.’

  ‘Aye, that we could – but not in ladies’ company.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

  ‘Seriously, though, I’m pleased you and Hugh have got back together, but take my advice and don’t dither too long, or you might lose him again. A man can only take so much, and if he’s desperate, he might turn to somebody else. Now, can I come and see him tomorrow night, or would you rather have him all to yourself?’

  ‘Stop teasing me. You’re welcome to come.’

  ‘Right, I’ll leave you now, for I see you were busy.’ He glanced at the ledger and the pile of invoices on the table as he stood up. ‘See you tomorrow, then.’

  After she’d locked up again, she sat down to carry on with her writing, but her mind wasn’t on it. Was Tommy right? Would Hugh turn to another woman if she kept him in the spare room? Would she lose him again because of the fear her father had created in her, the fear which had increased threefold with her husband’s vile onslaughts?

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  If Cissie had had her son with her, her happiness would have been complete. Since Hugh had come back into her life, her longing for Ricky had increased, and she sometimes dreamed of going to Panache with Hugh to ask Bertram to hand him over. In her dreams, it seemed that a quiet request would bring a quiet acquiescence, but when she woke up, she knew that Bertram would never agree. He would fight to the last stand, and her dreams were – only dreams!

  As it was, Hugh helped by cooking what he brought in with him when he came home from work, and carried it down to eat with her in the store. After he washed up, he stayed in the shop with her until closing time, even serving when she was busy. After closing time, Hugh listened to the wireless and she caught up with her book-keeping, and when she laid down her pen, there came the best time of all, when he took her in his arms to say goodnight, his kisses so sweet that she had to tear herself away to go to bed. She even toyed with the idea of telling him he could sleep with her, and it was only the thought that her fear might end their heaven that held her back.

  They had been living separately-together – the only way she could describe it – for some weeks before she sensed the change in him. At first, it was as if he had something on his mind that made him
restless, but soon he couldn’t settle at all, and when he began to pace the floor one night, she asked, ‘What’s bothering you, Hugh?’

  ‘Cissie, my darling, you know what’s bothering me. I can’t go on like this; it’s not natural. I’m getting scared to kiss you in case I forget my promise and lose my head.’

  She had been giving some thought to this side of things over the past few days, recalling the warning her brother had given her. Also, she was as sure of Hugh’s love for her now as she was of hers for him. ‘Kiss me now,’ she murmured, a little shyly.

  Instead of trying to put into words how much she wanted him in spite of her fears, she let her passion tell him, and when his breathing quickened, she wouldn’t allow him to draw away. ‘Oh, Cissie,’ he groaned, ‘We’d better stop or I’ll end up carrying you through to your bed.’

  ‘Would that be so bad?’ she whispered.

  He jerked his head up from nuzzling her ear, hope shining like a beacon from his eyes. ‘Do you mean – are you . . .?’

  ‘Just for tonight,’ she cautioned, softly, afraid now that she would be unable to go through with it.

  Ignoring her last three words, he swung her off her feet and carried her through to her bedroom, where he stood her up at the side of the bed and kissed her so fervently that her whole body quivered with apprehensive desire. When he started to unfasten her blouse, however, she felt herself shrinking away from him. ‘I’m sorry, Hugh, I can’t let you.’

  He let her go abruptly. ‘I know somebody must have made you frightened to make love, Cissie. Will you tell me?’

  Thinking that he deserved to know at least part of the truth, and that she had to get it out of her system before she could ever act normally with him, she gulped, ‘It was – Bertram.’ She told Hugh even less than she had told Tommy, just enough to make him understand, because she had been so humiliated by some of the things Bertram had done that she couldn’t bear to think of them.

  When she ended, Hugh said nothing for a moment, making her pray that he wasn’t disgusted at her for letting her husband treat her so brutally, and she was about to explain that she had had no choice when Hugh gave a long sigh.

  ‘I’m glad you told me, my darling, but you don’t have to be afraid of me, for I’d never hurt you. I’d best go to my own bed now, though.’

  Even though her emotions were in shreds, she couldn’t let him go without giving him some hope. She couldn’t punish him for what other men had done to her. ‘Maybe tomorrow?’

  He patted her hand, ‘Aye, maybe tomorrow, but only if you feel right about it.’

  Many, many tomorrows were to pass, however, before she put her fears behind her.

  When Hugh came home early one afternoon at the beginning of December, his grim face showed that something was far wrong.

  ‘Some cartons of cigarettes have gone missing,’ he told Cissie, ‘and they think it’s me.’

  ‘They think you stole them?’ She couldn’t believe it.

  ‘They know I live with a woman who runs a shop, and the boss accused me of giving them to you. He’s sacked me.’

  ‘Surely he can’t do that without proof?’

  ‘He’s done it, and how can I prove I didn’t steal them?’

  The shop bell went, and by the time Cissie had finished serving, Hugh had gone upstairs. She longed to go to him, but guessed that he wanted to be alone. He didn’t come down again before she closed the shop, not even with her supper, and when she went up, he was sitting by the fire, his head in his hands. She went over and gripped his shoulder. ‘Have you no idea who’s been stealing?’

  ‘Not a clue.’

  While she fried some bacon and eggs and set the table, Cissie’s brain was as busy as her hands, but she could think of nothing to help him, and she eventually told him to come and eat his supper.

  ‘I couldn’t eat anything,’ he said gloomily.

  ‘You’ll have to eat it now it’s made. I’m ready for it.’

  He stood up reluctantly. ‘I forgot to make anything for you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I survived,’ she smiled, ‘but only just.’

  ‘Burnett said he’s suspected for a while that somebody was stealing.’ Hugh’s mind was fully occupied with this. ‘He’s checking all his stock, and once he knows exactly what’s been taken, he’s going to report it to the police. They’ll likely be round here in the morning, to see if you’ve a new supply of Woodbines. That’s the last lot that disappeared.’

  ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, looking at him in dismay. ‘I got a delivery of Woodbines yesterday, and they’ll likely think it’s the stolen lot.’

  ‘That’s it, then.’ He spread his hands wide in despair.

  They looked at each other hopelessly, then she brightened. ‘The driver would know I got them legitimately.’

  ‘If he’s the thief, he could swear blind he wasn’t here yesterday.’

  She sagged again. ‘There must be something we can do.’

  Their goodnight kiss was superficial, both afraid that, in this emotional turbulence, their passions might not remain suppressed, and neither of them slept for worrying.

  Cissie had just set two plates of porridge on the table next morning when she let out a cry. ‘I just remembered! I still have the delivery note for that Woodbines consignment.’ She jumped up and delved through some papers lying on the sideboard. ‘Yes, here it is!’

  They studied it together, the scrawled signature easily distinguishable as W. Ross. ‘He could have made it out himself,’ Hugh said, uncertainly. ‘He could have got hold of a spare pad of dockets, and this maybe hasn’t gone through the firm’s books at all. If he’s been fiddling for a while, he’ll be up to all the dodges.’

  ‘At least it proves I didn’t know he was giving me stolen goods,’ Cissie reminded him.

  ‘He could say we got somebody else to sign his name.’

  Her face fell again. ‘I can’t understand it, though. Why would he give me stuff he’s stolen? He knows I wouldn’t pay cash, not when I’ve an account.’

  ‘Maybe he just sells what he steals to his mates.’

  ‘And maybe it’s not him at all. Anyway, I’ll show this delivery note to the police if they come.’

  When it was time to open the shop, Cissie said, ‘Come down with me, Hugh. You can tidy up the store; it’ll be something for you to do to keep your mind off it.’

  It was eleven o’clock exactly when a police sergeant came, frowning when he saw what Hugh was doing. ‘You shouldn’t be shifting any of that, Mr Phimister,’ he admonished. ‘I have to check what’s there.’

  Within an hour, Cissie’s stock of cigarettes was lying untidily all over the place, several cartons being isolated in one corner as the sergeant checked them with his list of stolen goods. His polite manner vanished suddenly. ‘We’ve got you, Phimister. They’re all here.’

  Overhearing, Cissie ran through. ‘Hugh didn’t steal any of that!’ she cried, looking at the large pile that contrasted so eloquently with the other items scattered over the rest of the floor. ‘I got the Woodbines two days ago, I can let you see the delivery note I got, and I’ve had some of the other cartons for weeks.’

  The sergeant nodded seriously. ‘Aye, it’s been going on for a while apparently. You will have to accompany me to the station, Phimister, and a van will come this afternoon to collect the evidence.’ Turning to Cissie, he warned, ‘I’ve got every box written down, Mrs Phimister, so you’d better not move any of them.’

  ‘I’m not Mrs Phimister.’ It was out before she thought, and she had to go on. ‘It’s Dickson. Hugh’s just my lodger.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’ The two words held heavy disbelief. ‘You’ll be questioned later to see if you’re implicated, Miss Dickson.’

  ‘Mrs Dickson,’ she corrected, automatically, then burst into tears as it dawned on her that it would probably make things look even blacker for Hugh. As far as the police were concerned, a man living openly with a married woman would be capable of anything – theft inclu
ded.

  When she was left alone, she was so upset that she put a notice in her window, ‘Sorry, closed for personal reasons’, and went upstairs to think. How could she prove to that obnoxious sergeant that Hugh was innocent? It didn’t matter that they thought she was living in sin with him.

  She agonised for the next thirty minutes but nothing came to her and, unable to bear the inactivity, she went down to the back shop, looking at the allegedly stolen property for several minutes. Gold Flake, Craven A, Capstan, Woodbines, Ardath, Senior Service – brands she always stocked, and she had taken in extra supplies in preparation for Christmas. She had paid for every last one of the cartons, except the Woodbines which wouldn’t be due for payment until the end of the year.

  Shaking her head, she turned to go back to her house, but something niggled at her now, something she should remember. She racked her brains for fully ten minutes before it came to her. Invoices! Not counting the last lot of Woodbines, she had invoices – and receipted accounts – for everything. Why hadn’t she remembered, when the old filing cabinet she’d bought about a year ago was staring her in the face? Racing upstairs, she got out her purchase ledger and cash book and carried them downstairs, where she methodically found both invoice and account for every entry under the name of the company Hugh had worked for, going back some months.

  Then she began the more time-consuming task of sorting out the boxes, checking code numbers and letters and putting the whole of each delivery together. It took her the best part of two hours, but at last she stood back. Instead of one large pile and a higgledy-piggledy mess, there was now a neat row of different heights of stacks, each with its corresponding invoice and receipt sitting on the top carton. Letting out a long sigh of triumphant satisfaction, she blessed the training she had received in Richard Dickson’s office. If she’d been like some shopkeepers, she could have thrown out invoices and accounts once they were paid.

  When the police van came for the ‘evidence’, she explained why the boxes had been shifted, but the young constable, a copy of the sergeant’s list in his hand, looked flummoxed.