by Iris Gower
‘You are my wife,’ Joe said softly. ‘How can you say it’s a mistake to sleep with me?’
She held up her hand. ‘Just leave me alone until I sort out my feelings, Joe, please.’ She had promised Dafydd she would go to him last night and she had broken her word. How could she live with herself? ‘I’d better go downstairs and talk to the cook about lunch.’ She sighed. ‘Americans seem to enjoy hearty appetites. I suppose that comes from long days spent outdoors.’
She was talking to Joe as if he were a mere guest, someone to whom she had to be polite. Llinos wanted nothing more than to run away, to go straight to Dafydd and explain why she had not come to him, but he would have left for Bristol by now and, in any case, what would she say?
She left Joe alone in the bedroom and went to the drawing room where Shanni was sitting in her usual seat, her shoes abandoned on the carpet, her feet tucked up under her skirts.
‘The Americans seem very nice people,’ Shanni said. ‘They met Dafydd, then.’ Her tone was heavy with innuendo. ‘I saw him ride away as I was coming back from my walk. Dafydd seems keen to be with you, doesn’t he?’
‘I’ll ask you to keep your nose out of my business, young lady,’ Llinos said. ‘Remember that you are a guest in my house and behave accordingly.’
‘So he did call. How awkward.’ Shanni returned to her book, her eyes downcast, but a smile turned up the corners of her full young lips. Llinos wanted to slap her.
The day seemed to pass in a haze of pain and doubt, and Llinos felt she needed time alone to gather her thoughts. The presence of Binnie and Hortense made everything more difficult, but she could hardly be rude to her guests. Otherwise she would have gone to the house she and Dafydd shared, and there she would have waited for his return from Bristol. She would have had time alone to think of a way of explaining to him what had happened.
It was a relief when, later in the day, the carriage rolled up outside bringing Lloyd home from college. Llinos hoped his presence would add a touch of normality to what had become a nightmare.
‘Lloyd, my lovely boy, you’re taller than ever!’ Llinos hugged her son then held him at arm’s length. He was as tall as Joe, with Joe’s startlingly blue eyes but otherwise he favoured her family. ‘Come into the drawing room and meet our friends,’ she said, pinching his cheek.
‘Mother, behave.’ Lloyd was smiling good-naturedly. ‘I’m not a little boy now.’
Binnie greeted Lloyd warmly, and Hortense hugged him then kissed both his cheeks. ‘Seeing you sure makes me pine for my own boys.’ She sounded just a little tearful.
‘Getting homesick already, honey?’ Binnie teased, and Llinos envied the rapport between husband and wife. They had an inner peace, something she and Joe once enjoyed but which was now lost for ever.
That night, Llinos made up a bed for herself in her study. She had no intention of sharing a bed with Joe again. She needed to clear her head, to decide just what it was she wanted. And what did she want?
She could not deny that she had enjoyed Joe’s love-making – he was her husband, he knew what thrilled her. But, she reminded herself, he had shared his passion with Sho Ka, had given the Indian the love he should have kept for his wife.
She lay for a long time staring through the window at the moon and the brightness of the stars against a velvet sky. Somewhere out there was the God she worshipped in her church. Out there, too, was Joe’s Great Spirit. Why did neither of them answer when she prayed for guidance?
The next day it was decided that Llinos would take Hortense on a shopping trip. She dressed with little enthusiasm, wondering dully if Dafydd was home yet. What would he have been thinking when he was away? That she had let him down, betrayed his trust.
In the coach, Llinos made an effort to talk pleasantly to Hortense. She knew the other woman was alert to the tensions in the house. She wanted to confide in Hortense: there was a wisdom about her that was encouraging yet Llinos hesitated. It was hardly right for a hostess to burden her guests with her problems.
It was Hortense who provided the opening she needed. ‘What’s gone wrong, honey?’ she said softly. ‘I know your Joe was not always faithful but he loves you very much. Anyone can see that.’
‘Is that enough, though?’ Llinos said. ‘I am still bitter that he gave his love to another woman, that he even had a child by her. It’s hard to get over a betrayal like that.’
‘It was a betrayal,’ Hortense agreed. ‘But men think differently from us women. They don’t look on intimacy with another woman as a betrayal. If you ask any man, he’ll tell you the wife is important and the other woman . . . well, she’s not.’
‘And would you stand for that with Binnie?’ Llinos challenged.
Hortense shook her head. ‘I would not.’ She laid her hand on Llinos’s arm. ‘But I nearly broke up my marriage because Binnie didn’t tell me the truth about his past. In the end he was honest with me. So long as there is honesty a woman can cope with most trials and tribulations, don’t you think?’
‘Maybe,’ Llinos said. ‘But have you forgiven Binnie for not being honest with you in the beginning?’
‘I came to understand that he kept things from me out of fear. If he’d told me he had a wife at home I wouldn’t have given him a second glance.’ She smiled. ‘And now I would be alone, with no-one to love me.’
‘The trouble with me is I don’t know what I want,’ Llinos said. ‘I do know I can’t give Dafydd up.’ She glanced quickly at Hortense. ‘You knew he and I were lovers, didn’t you?’
‘I knew the minute I saw you together,’ Hortense said. ‘And I can’t tell you what to do or feel. All I can say is that Joe loves you more than life itself.’
The coach drew to a halt outside the large emporium in the high street, and as she stepped out into the sunlit street Llinos felt a flutter of excitement. What if she met Dafydd by accident? Would he stop and talk, or would he walk right past her? It would be no more than she deserved.
Still, she was clear about one thing: she needed to see Dafydd soon. She wanted to be with him, to talk to him, to tell him she loved him.
‘This looks a fine store.’ Hortense was staring up at the huge window display. ‘I’ve never seen the like of it before. Just look at the fine china. The place must be a wonderland inside.’
‘Let’s go in and see.’ Llinos forced a light note into her voice but there was a constriction in her throat: the china Hortense had admired was made at the Llanelli pottery. She followed Hortense, who walked eagerly to the double doors of the emporium. Then she saw it: a sign in bold lettering inviting customers to step inside and meet the pottery owner, Mr Dafydd Buchan.
So Dafydd was home from Bristol and he was here in Swansea. Her mind was racing. Why had he not sent her a note? She struggled for composure.
The store was dim after the brightness of the street, and Llinos narrowed her eyes, peering into the gloom. The porter touched his hat. ‘Which department, ladies?’ he asked.
Hortense smiled. ‘All of them, of course! My goodness,’ Hortense turned to Llinos, ‘West Troy is a backwater compared to Swansea. I’m surprised Binnie ever wanted to leave here.’
Llinos smiled absently but her eyes were searching the faces in the crowd for Dafydd’s. Her heart was thumping. What would he say to her?
The china department was thronged with shoppers; some of its wares were being sold at knock-down prices, a good plan designed to promote the more expensive dinner-and tea-sets.
She saw him then, and Llinos was almost afraid to move. Dafydd was seated at a large table, explaining to a young girl how the painting on the dinner plates was executed by hand.
Llinos stood as though frozen, staring at him, wanting him so badly it was like a pain. How could she ever think of giving him up? He glanced towards her, as though drawn by her thoughts, and stared straight into her eyes. It was as if they were suddenly alone. The sound of voices grew dim and Llinos could see no-one but Dafydd. He was rising, coming towards her, taking
her hands. ‘Excuse us for just a moment.’ He bowed politely to Hortense. Without waiting for a reply, he led Llinos into a small back room and put his arms around her, holding her tightly as if he would never let her go.
‘I love you, God help me!’ His tone was pained. ‘When you didn’t come that night I was devastated. As soon as I returned from Bristol I came to Swansea and to the house to see you.’
‘But I was there all the time. Did Joe stop you speaking to me?’ Llinos said breathlessly.
He kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her mouth. ‘No, not Joe. I tried to stay away, to be honourable, but I can’t live without you, whatever your son says.’
‘My son?’ Her voice was strained. ‘You’ve seen Lloyd?’
‘He talked to me. He’s a very wise young man,’ Dafydd said. ‘He begged me not to ruin your life and I tried to listen but seeing you now, well, I don’t care about anything, not honour, not even the plight of the poor. Without you my life is meaningless.’
She clung to him, burying her head in his shoulder. ‘I know, my love, I know.’ So what if Lloyd knew? The boy had to learn about life sooner or later. She loved her son, she loved Joe, but she wanted to be with Dafydd.
‘Come home with me now, please!’ His voice was urgent. ‘You can’t run away from me, Llinos, you just can’t.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ she said, ‘but first I must tell Graves to take Hortense safely home.’ As he led her out of the store Llinos clung to his arm, weak with the need of him.
Graves was waiting at the roadside and Llinos gave him instructions to fetch Mrs Dundee from the store and take her home. Then, holding Dafydd’s hand, she allowed him to lead her to his own coach and pair at the back of Bagshaw’s Emporium.
She leaned against his broad shoulder as the coach jerked into motion and closed her eyes. She was mad, out of her mind. She was leaving Joe, leaving her son, running away with her young lover. But she could not help herself.
He tilted her face up to his. ‘I love you so much, Llinos, my lovely.’ He kissed her tenderly. ‘I’ve missed you, my darling. I thought I’d lost you for ever.’
‘That night,’ she said, ‘I just couldn’t get away. I wanted you so much but I just couldn’t come to you. I’m sorry, Dafydd, but I just . . .’
He stopped her words with his lips, kissing her passionately, rousing feelings of happiness and hot desire. Llinos clung to him, wanting to tell him what she had done but words failed her. ‘I’m sorry, so sorry,’ she said.
‘Never mind, we’re together now, and I’m never going to let you go again. I love you with all my heart and soul, Llinos. I’d give up everything if I could marry you.’
‘And I love you, Dafydd.’ She did love him but she loved Joe too. All she knew now, all she could sort out from her tangled thoughts, was that she had to be with Dafydd.
Hortense looked at the large clock on the wall and knew in her heart that Mrs Mainwaring was not going to return. She sighed. Poor torn woman. The look in her eyes when she saw Dafydd Buchan had spoken volumes.
She left the store and stood outside on the pavement. She recognized Graves the coachman, who bowed politely before speaking to her. ‘Mrs Mainwaring says I’m to take you home.’
‘Oh, thank you, Graves. I thought I had been abandoned.’ She allowed him to help her into the coach, wondering what on earth Llinos was up to. She stared out of the window as the broad streets narrowed into hedgebound lanes. What would she say to Binnie, to Joe? It was going to be difficult to explain why she had returned alone. Should she lie and say she had become parted from Llinos in the crowds? But was Llinos ever going to come home? Somehow Hortense doubted it.
When she alighted from the coach, Joe was waiting on the doorstep. He helped her down and looked at her with his deep blue eyes. ‘She’s gone to him, hasn’t she?’ he said, without preamble.
Hortense nodded, her throat taut. ‘I’m sorry, Joe. I couldn’t do anything to stop her.’
‘It’s not your fault.’ He led her indoors. ‘Come and tell me what happened.’ The drawing room was empty. Hortense looked round, as if hoping Binnie would come to her rescue.
‘Binnie and Lloyd have stayed at the park.’ Joe had read her mind. Hortense sank into a chair, feeling desperate. ‘We are alone so just tell me exactly what happened.’
‘Well, I only saw them leave the room,’ she said, ‘and after a time I realized that Llinos was not coming back. When I left the store the coach was waiting for me.’ She shrugged. ‘That’s all I know, Joe, but I don’t think she’ll be coming back. I’m so sorry.’
Hortense felt Joe’s pain. His eyes were clouded, his shoulders hunched, as if he had been dealt a physical blow.
‘Was their meeting arranged?’ He could hardly speak.
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Hortense cleared her throat. ‘There was a sign in the window of Bagshaw’s saying the Llanelli pottery owner was in the store. I think it shook Llinos to the core when she saw him.’
‘So, she’s chosen him above me, then.’ Joe sat down abruptly, his head in his hands. ‘How could she?’
Hortense was silent. How quick men were to blame and how blind they were to their own faults.
‘It’s not only you who has been hurt, though, Joe, is it?’ Hortense said at last. ‘How do you think your wife felt when you were visiting another woman in America?’
Joe looked up. ‘I suppose you have a point.’ He got to his feet. ‘Will you excuse me, Hortense?’
As he left the room she wondered where he was going but she was helpless to do anything. She was a visitor in a strange world, and suddenly what Hortense wanted more than anything in the world was to board a ship and sail back across the Atlantic to her home.
‘May I come in?’ Watt could smell baking, and the aroma of fresh bread was mouthwatering. He had been seeing quite a lot of Rosie lately and felt she was warming to him. Maybe one day she would believe he loved her. He had told her so often enough.
‘Of course you can.’ Rosie was looking beautiful, her face flushed, eyes bright, and Watt’s heart leaped with hope. Could it be that she was happy to see him? He felt instinctively that she was, but he knew better than to rush things. He sat quietly at the polished table in the parlour and waited as she washed the flour from her hands.
‘Any gossip?’ Rosie pushed the heavy kettle on to the fire, not looking at him. Some of the water spilled from the blackened spout and hissed against the hot coals.
‘You shouldn’t be lifting that thing,’ Watt said. ‘Couldn’t you find a smaller kettle?’
Rosie bustled into the pantry, bringing milk from the cold slab and cups from the hooks on the shelves. ‘It was here,’ she said. ‘It was left by the previous owner, I suppose, and it seems a waste not to use it.’ She smiled. ‘Old habits are hard to forget.’
‘But you are not poor now, Rosie, you are a woman of means, you don’t need to penny-pinch any more.’ Watt sighed. ‘And perhaps that is the problem.’
As the kettle began to sing on the fire, Watt rose and took the brown teapot from Rosie’s trembling hands. ‘Sit down,’ he said quietly. ‘Let me make the tea. I’m well used to it, you know.’
She did know. Watt had cared for her brothers for a long time, nurtured them until they were old enough to fend for themselves. He had been wonderful to her entire family and she should be grateful to him.
He made the tea and she watched his strong hands replace the kettle on the side of the hob. He was a handsome man, perhaps more handsome now than when she had first married him.
‘I know you’re well off now but I’m not without money myself,’ Watt said. ‘Now that your brothers are working and independent I have nothing to spend my wages on.’
‘Look, Watt,’ Rosie said, ‘none of this is to do with money, you must know that.’ She studied his face. He was a strong-featured man, a man who had worked hard all his life, a man who had suffered. He was a man any woman would be proud to call her husband. But how could she be sure that
he loved her?
She drank some of her tea, uncertain of herself and her feelings. She and Watt were married; he was bound to her by law. Perhaps he simply thought it easier to live with her than to form a new relationship.
Still, it was pleasant sitting opposite him in the small, bright kitchen with the fire crackling merrily, the warm flames leaping upwards. The little house was fine during the daytime and when the sun shone, but when night came and the winds roared down the chimney she felt lonely.
She still loved Watt, she was sure of that. She had never stopped loving him, not for one minute. But she had been hurt and perhaps the pain would linger and blight their marriage, even if she did take him back.
She looked up. He was watching her face as if trying to read her thoughts. She sighed heavily. ‘It’s about love, Watt.’
‘But I do love you, Rosie.’ He spoke urgently. ‘Just give me a chance to persuade you of that.’
She pushed back her chair and got to her feet. ‘And how can you prove it?’ She was suddenly angry. ‘You can speak the words until you are exhausted but that is not proof.’
‘Rosie!’ He sounded wounded.
‘Don’t Rosie me!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was so in love with you and you threw that love in my face.’
She wrapped her arms around her body. ‘You can never go back, Watt, don’t you realize that? Nothing will make me the innocent, loving girl I once was. I have grown up. There are no stars dazzling my eyes, not any more. Any naïve worship I had for you died when I found out that you had never loved me.’
She stood with her back to him. ‘Just go. I can’t think straight, not with you sitting staring at me like some sick animal.’
She heard him rise, heard his footsteps cross the small space to the door and then he was gone. She looked around. His tea was untasted. She remembered how he had held the heavy kettle and poured the steaming water into the teapot. How protective he was of her.
But why did he do things for her when all she wanted was for him to take her in his arms, to beg her forgiveness, to kiss her and promise that he would never desert her? Well, if Watt could not humble himself enough to find the words perhaps it was better for them to remain apart.