Clara let out a small sob. It seemed to come from nowhere. At once Vinnie had his arms round her, cradling her head on his shoulder. She dissolved into tears.
‘There, there, lass,’ he crooned, ‘have a good cry. I know how much you miss him.’
She leaned into him and let out the sorrow that had lain like a weight inside her for so long. She had never really mourned her father properly. His suicide had been so fraught with shock and shame, the aftermath too tied up with worry about the sea of debts and how to cope. She had had to keep strong for her mother, for Jimmy, pretending to the outside world that she was not beaten by any of it. Even with her closest friends, Reenie, Benny and Frank, she had been unable to unburden herself fully. Until today.
How could she have guessed that it would be tough, suave, man of the world Vinnie who would slide underneath her defences and unlock her grief? It was as if he knew her better than any of them. No one else had understood her so easily, except her father. And Vinnie was the only one to have said Harry would be proud of her. Everyone else, including her mother, avoided any mention of her father, as if he was for ever tainted by what he had done. Vinnie was alone in talking about Harry as if he was still a good friend. She clung on to him gratefully, soothed by the way he stroked her hair, comforted by his strong arms and the smell of expensive cologne.
Eventually, her weeping subsided and she pulled away, growing self-conscious at the way she had so quickly succumbed to her feelings. Vinnie produced a fresh handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped her tear-stained face. She took it and blew her nose.
‘Keep it,’ he said.
She laughed through her tears. ‘You’ll have no hankies left at this rate. I’ve still got your other one.’
‘Good.’ He smiled.
‘I’m sorry about—’
‘Don’t be.’ Vinnie cut her off. ‘There’s nowt wrong in a lass crying.’ He touched her face briefly. ‘Now I’m ganin’ to cheer you up.’ He bent to retrieve his gloves and stick. ‘Come along, Miss Magee. It’s tea time.’ He ushered her forward.
Out of the boot of the car, Vinnie lifted a wicker picnic basket and a tartan rug. He led Clara to the end of the churchyard wall and round the corner to a sheltered village green. A large manor house stood opposite and a scattering of cottages bordered it on the other two sides. He spread out the rug on the rough grass under the dappled shade of a young willow tree. Opening the basket, he produced a Thermos flask and two neat boxes.
‘Go on, see what’s inside,’ he encouraged.
While he set out two china plates and linen napkins, and poured tea into china cups, Clara investigated the food.
‘Salmon sandwiches?’ she gasped. ‘And chocolate cake! Mr Craven, you shouldn’t have gone to all this bother.’ She was overwhelmed.
‘No bother.’ He smiled. ‘It’s you who’s doing me the favour.’
‘How come?’
‘It’s just the excuse I need to get out in the fresh air and away from all me problems.’ He winked. ‘And how better than in the company of a pretty young lady?’
Clara felt herself blushing, even though she knew this was typical Vinnie flattery.
‘Not pretty,’ Clara snorted, ‘red-faced from all that blubbering.’
Vinnie handed her a cup of tea. ‘No, you’re right, not pretty,’ he said, with a scrutinising look. ‘Just plain beautiful.’
Clara threw back her head and laughed, spilling tea on her skirt. She put down the cup and dabbed at the stains with his handkerchief, still laughing. ‘Now look at me!’
‘Umm.’ Vinnie grinned. ‘I can’t help it. I could look at you all day.’
‘Stop it,’ Clara said, going crimson. He had her quite confused as to how she felt. ‘The lengths you’ll go to just to make me write a nice article about your factory!’ she quipped.
He laughed out loud. ‘That’s my girl; back to the knock-out punch.’
Clara dived for one of the sandwiches and took a large bite. Safer to eat and say nothing. It tasted delicious and she realised how hungry she was. He urged her to eat a second and a third. In the end she demolished most of them and followed up with two pieces of rich chocolate cake.
‘Can’t remember the last time I had cake this good,’ she sighed, licking the sticky icing off her fingertips.
Vinnie smiled in satisfaction. ‘I’ll tell Ella, our cook.’
‘You have your own cook?’ Clara asked, impressed.
‘Ella’s been with us for years,’ he explained. ‘Does a bit of housework and most of the cooking. With Mam working in the business, Ella came to help out. Now we couldn’t do without her.’
Clara leaned back on her elbows, enjoying the sun on her face and the feel of a full stomach. They spoke about their families and Vinnie talked a lot about his boxing business. He alluded to interests in property and exports. He was part of some consortium with other businessmen called Cooper Holdings.
‘Is that why you went to London last year?’ Clara asked.
‘That was mainly the boxing. I was helping to set up a new venue with another promoter. But I made some good contacts while I was there.’
‘So you’re in business with Madame Gautier?’ Clara asked, sliding him a look.
Vinnie shook his head. ‘It didn’t work out.’ He poured out the last of the tea. ‘And you, Clara,’ he said, eyeing her, ‘what do you want out of life?’
She sat up and gazed across at the old manor house behind its rusting gates. ‘I want to live in a house like that,’ she murmured, ‘to move away from the railway tracks. For Mam never to have to worry about money again. For Jimmy to be a prize fighter.’ She laughed at herself. ‘And I’m going to be editor of the Tyne Times one day. Not asking much, am I?’
Vinnie did not laugh. ‘It’s good to have goals in life. I like to see ambition. There are too many people in this world who have no imagination, no vision of the future. Weak, small-minded people who allow themselves to be pushed around. We’re not like that, Clara, you and I.’
She looked at him in surprise. It sounded strange to hear him talk of them as being similar. She thought they had nothing in common. He lived in a different world. It was exciting to be included as one of his kind, no matter how far-fetched.
‘And Benny?’ Vinnie asked abruptly. ‘Is he a part of your future?’
Clara went puce. ‘Benny? I don’t know — I mean — we’re not. . . Goodness, I haven’t thought about it!’ She covered her cheeks with her hands.
‘Well, I bet he has.’ Vinnie said, his smile sardonic.
Clara shook her head. ‘Benny’s more like a brother, really.’
Vinnie said, ‘He’s a canny lad, but he’ll ruin your life if you let him. Can’t control that temper of his. And he’s not interested in the good things in life like you are — in bettering himself.’
Clara felt suddenly disloyal for talking about Benny like that. ‘He’s got more in common with you than you think. I remember him arguing with Frank about Mosley. Benny admired him till his New Party fizzled out.’
‘That’s just it,’ Vinnie declared, leaning closer. ‘Benny blows hot and cold. He doesn’t know his own mind.’ He held her look. ‘Now Frank’s different. There’s a man who thinks deeply about things. He’s got brains and brawn. He’s too attracted to the Communists for his own good - they’re not the answer. But he could go far. Could make an ambitious woman happy.’
Clara gawped at him in astonishment. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. How could he possibly know how she felt about Frank? She did not know what to say. Vinnie watched her. Clara glanced away.
‘Frank lives for his music more than anything,’ she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. ‘For his sake, I hope he can go far with his playing.’
‘Yes,’ Vinnie said quietly, ‘I agree. He needs to get away from that family. They’re holding him back. Their ways of thinking are different from ours.’
Clara gave him a sharp look. ‘The Lewises are the kinde
st people I know. I won’t hear a word said against them.’ She shook the cake crumbs from her skirt and began packing up the basket. She did not dare glance at him again in case she had caused offence with her sudden rebuke.
They walked back to the car. Vinnie carrying the basket. A fresh breeze was blowing off the sea. It was later than Clara had thought. On the drive back to Byfell Vinnie chatted about Lance Jellicoe’s being a friend and a business associate. No mention was made again of the Lewis family. When they pulled into Minto Street, Clara’s spirits flagged. The short time in the country away from the tightly packed, smoky streets, had left her yearning for more.
‘Thank you very much, Mr Craven,’ she said, climbing out of the passenger seat. ‘I really enjoyed that.’
‘Maybe we can do it again sometime?’ he suggested.
Clara nodded. ‘And the visit to the factory?’ she reminded him.
‘How about Friday? Ten o’clock, say. I’ll pick you up in the car.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Turning up in the boss’s car? Doesn’t look very impartial. I’ll walk, thanks all the same.’
As she moved past him, he put a hand on her arm. ‘Clara. I’ve just remembered. I’ve got two tickets for the new Garbo film at the Paramount cinema. Would you like to come?’
Her eyes widened. ‘The new place on Pilgrim Street?’ Reenie and she had talked about going. It was a huge, American-style cinema, but Clara could no longer afford such a luxurious night out. ‘I’d love to go.’
‘Good.’ He smiled. ‘Friday night, seven-thirty performance. We could go for a bite to eat at Fenwick’s tea room beforehand.’
Clara’s face fell. ‘Oh, Friday. I’m sorry, I can’t. I promised Ben — I — er — have to cover a meeting.’
Vinnie shrugged. ‘Not to worry.’ He stepped away. Clara felt a rush of disappointment. She could hardly believe she was giving up the chance of going to the Paramount just to be at Benny’s wretched union meeting.
‘Thanks anyway,’ she said, watching him walk round to the driver’s side.
Vinnie touched his hat to her. ‘Ta-ra, Clara. Don’t work too hard. All work and no play makes a dull girl, as they say.’
He drove off down the bumpy cobbles. Clara stood looking after him, her feelings in turmoil. Why had Vinnie really taken her on the picnic? How could a man of his age and experience be interested in someone like her? Yet he seemed to enjoy her company, flattered her unnecessarily, and wanted to take her out again. She had to admit the thought excited her too. He was good-looking and glamorous. He had wealth and social contacts. She could not help admiring his brash self-confidence.
Clara sighed and made for her grimy front door. A train rattled past on the embankment above, deafening her and shrouding her in sooty smoke. She coughed and slammed the door shut. The ground shook beneath her until the long goods train had thundered by. She must dismiss thoughts of Vinnie. He was only trying to win her over so she would give his factory good publicity in the newspaper. She suspected every move that Vinnie Craven made was calculated. Springing up the stairs, two at a time, Clara determined she was not going to be a pawn in one of his games.
Chapter 16
Walking around the factory on Friday morning, Clara had expected something worse. There was a long, brightly lit room with rows of sewing machines on benches. It was noisy with the clatter of machinery, but the women looked intent on their work, their hair confined in blue mob caps. Below was the cutting room, stacked with bails of cheap cotton and worsted cloth. Here there was a male foreman in charge of half a dozen women.
It was Vinnie who showed her round, not the taciturn Mr Reid, who stayed in his office behind a firmly shut door perhaps annoyed that her meeting with him had been superseded. Vinnie stopped now and again to introduce Clara to one of the workers. He knew all their names and asked after their families. Their faces lit up when he spoke to them. This was not a loathed employer, Clara had to admit.
She had gone determined to unearth tales of woe. But she was completely disarmed by the friendly women and Vinnie’s teasing banter. She could hardly believe they were the same anxious faces that she had seen leaving the factory a few days before. Perhaps they had cares and worries, but they did not seem to be about work.
There was Cathy who had three children to support and could not be more grateful to Mr Craven. There was bubbly Margaret who was in her first job and could not wait to get to work every morning.
‘It’s warm here in the winter and the other lasses are canny. I look forward to me work,’ she insisted.
Vinnie left Clara to interview Vera, a supervisor. ‘We’re shipping clothes to the Continent. Pound’s weak so our exports are cheap.’
Clara raised the issue of joining a union. Vera was dismissive. ‘We don’t want trouble. The lasses aren’t political. We trust Mr Craven to look after our interests.’
‘So he’s warned you not to join?’ Clara questioned.
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Vera’s face. She said hastily, ‘No one wants to. Like I said, Mr Craven takes care of us.’ Clara could get nothing more out of her on the subject.
Afterwards, Vinnie asked her, ‘Satisfied? Or are you going to show me up as a wicked boss who keeps his employees chained to their machines?’
Clara gave him a look. ‘Mr Jellicoe wouldn’t print it, would he? You being such a mate of his.’
Vinnie chuckled. ‘How cynical for one so young.’ He walked her to the gate. ‘Can I give you a lift anywhere?’
‘No thank you.’
‘What are you doing now?’
Clara hesitated. She had intended to go to the office to write up her piece about the factory girls. Suddenly, she realised she had lost interest. There was no story to tell, no scandal to unearth. They were just ordinary women muddling along in a mundane job like scores of others. Maybe unionisation was an issue, but not for her. Jellicoe did not employ her as a political correspondent. He paid for warm-hearted stories about people’s lives or articles on homemaking.
Vinnie saw her indecision and said, ‘Fancy lunch out? I know a nice restaurant in Tynemouth which does the best Dover sole on Tyneside.’
How did he know that fish was her favourite? With difficulty Clara said, ‘That’s kind of you, Mr Craven, but I can’t. I’ve work to do.’
He did not hide his disappointment. Clara wondered again why he was showing her such attention. She had flattered herself that it was the power of her pen that concerned him. But she saw now the foolishness of her conceit. Her article would not make the slightest difference to the way people viewed his business, even if it got published at all.
He gave her a sad smile as he raised his hat in farewell. He turned towards his car.
Impulsively Clara called out, ‘Mr Craven!’
Vinnie stopped. She stepped towards him. ‘I was thinking — wondering if you still had those tickets for the pictures tonight.’ He stared at her and her heart hammered with nervousness. She gulped. ‘Maybe you’re taking someone else now. But if you weren’t — I’d like to come.’ She went red with embarrassment. He made her feel so gauche, surveying her with his dark, knowing eyes. What had made her blurt it out?
Then he smiled and her insides somersaulted. ‘No, I’m not going with anyone else. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than taking you, Clara.’
‘That’s grand.’ She grinned.
‘I’ll pick you up at six. We’ll eat first.’
Clara was so excited she had to stop herself skipping along the pavement as she made for the office. She composed a light-hearted piece about young women at work and talked over an idea with Jellicoe for an article on the latest in furnishings. On the spur of the moment, she sent a letter to Willa Templeton asking to meet up. Willa might be useful.
As Clara hurried to get ready for her trip to the Paramount, she quelled her guilt about Benny. She had never promised she would go to the meeting. And the trip to the pictures would be partly for work; she had told Jellicoe she would review
the film and do a piece on the new giant cinema. It was not a date with Vinnie; he just happened to have a spare ticket.
Yet, as she ironed her only smart dress, pinned up her coils of dark blonde hair and applied some of Patience’s red lipstick in the cracked mirror, Clara knew she was taking more care than if she was meeting Reenie or Benny. Her mother was openly approving.
‘It’s a great honour, you know,’ she said, hovering over her daughter, smoking frantically. ‘Don’t go saying anything cheeky to put him off.’
‘Mam,’ Clara cried, ‘it’s just a trip to the pictures. He means nothing by it.’
‘Still, Vinnie Craven showing my daughter some attention.’ Patience preened. ‘That’ll make the neighbours sit up - all the Mrs Laidlaws and the Mrs Shaws of the world who think they’re above us since we lost the shop.’
Clara shot her mother a worried look. ‘Don’t hang your hopes on anything, Mam. Like I said, there’s nothing in it.’
‘You and Vinnie, eh?’ She smiled and blew out smoke.
Vinnie came promptly at six to collect her, dressed in a smart suit with a lilac shirt and dark tie. His hair was immaculately styled and she could tell from the smoothness of his chin that he had just been shaved and had his moustache trimmed. He smelt of expensive soap and cologne. His smile and bow of the head made her insides flutter. She sank into the leather car seat, clasping her hands to stop them shaking. Vinnie did all the talking. He parked outside Fenwick’s prestigious department store on Northumberland Street and guided her inside.
The tea rooms were full of chattering well-dressed customers. Clara tried not to stare. She had no idea the place was so popular. There was certainly money in some quarters of Newcastle. They were shown to a reserved table in the corner, near to a concert band. With a pang, Clara thought of Frank and how he would love to be playing like this, instead of scratching a living trying to sell second-hand books to people with no money.
A HANDFUL OF STARS An enthralling story of poverty, passion and survival: one of the Tyneside Sagas Page 16