by Iris Gower
‘I am, I should have told you. I am sorry, Catherine, I was afraid I would lose you if you knew the truth.’
‘Boyo!’ She stared at him, her hands on her cheeks, her eyes suddenly hot and dry. ‘You are married and yet you made love to me. No, I don’t believe it.’
‘Believe it.’ The voice came from the doorway, Catherine looked up to see the woman she had imagined to be the housekeeper entering the room, slamming the door shut behind her, a look of burning anger on her face. Her whole demeanour had changed from that of a kindly, caring woman to that of an outraged wife.
‘So this … this child is your strumpet, Boyo?’ She spoke fiercely, her eyes gleaming. ‘And she dares to come into my house, sullying my home, has she no shame? Throw her out at once, do you hear me?’
‘No, I will not throw her out; be reasonable, Bethan. You just called her a child, would you turn a child from your door?’
‘This … this piece of rubbish has no place in a decent household, she belongs in the streets.’
‘Hush, Bethan, do you want your father to know all our business? Be quiet, let us sort this out reasonably.’
She seemed to grow calm suddenly, the heat left her cheeks and she sighed heavily. ‘I suppose I might have expected this, I have had enough experience of the double dealings of men while running my hotel. Sort it out, Boyo, and at once.’
‘She will stay the night, tomorrow I will take her back to Swansea,’ Boyo said firmly. ‘Now she must have something to eat, she can take it in one of the bedrooms.’
Catherine was bewildered, she allowed Boyo to take charge. He took her up the gracious staircase and opened one of the many doors from the landing.
Catherine did not see the elegantly proportioned room, nor the silken drapes, she sagged against Boyo and closed her eyes against the warmth of his shoulder.
‘Don’t you worry about a thing,’ he said. ‘Bethan is angry and shocked, of course she is, but at heart she’s a good, kind woman, she wouldn’t want me to turn away an old friend.’
His words hurt. ‘So that’s all I mean to you?’ she said in a strangled voice. ‘You have hurt me, deceived me, Boyo, how can I ever forgive you?’
‘Of course you are hurt and bewildered but for now, let us be calm, think all this through, see clearly what must be done. Look, it might be that you should follow your father’s wishes, make a decent marriage, I just don’t know.’ He ran his fingers through his hair and her heart twisted at the look on his face.
‘I could not marry Liam, you must know that I love you, Boyo. I love you still even though I know you’ve lied to me.’
‘We will talk in the morning. I can’t think clearly just now,’ he said. ‘I’ll have a tray brought up to you and then you must try to get some rest.’ He left the room and Catherine fell onto her knees on the thick carpet and wept.
Later, as she lay in the soft luxurious bed in the strangely large room with the moonlight slanting across the silk quilt, Catherine thought of Boyo in bed with his wife. She bit her lip, wondering if he loved her, this wife of his. Wondered if all his words had been false, if he had lied to her about his feelings from the first day they met. It was growing light by the time she had cried herself to sleep.
Ellie Bennett looked out at the squat church buildings nestling against the green of the countryside. Ilston was a beautiful place, an ideal parish for a young vicar and his wife. The community, sparse and scattered, had viewed them at first with reserve; the vicar was young, in-experienced in the ways of the Church and in the ways of the world, but now the people of Ilston treated Daniel as though he had lived in the village all his life.
Ellie looked up from her chair as Daniel entered the room. He looked so solemn in his dark suit with the white collar that declared his calling. He was so decent, so earnest, so dear to her. He was carrying his Bible and a sheaf of papers and she could see he was having difficulty with his Sunday sermon.
He bent over her and kissed her mouth lightly but he was clearly preoccupied. He sat opposite her and scribbled a few words on his notes. She felt love flow through her. As if sensing her thoughts, Daniel looked up and met her eyes. He smiled and she pouted at him.
‘About time you paid your wife a little attention.’ She pretended to be aggrieved and he immediately put down his papers and came to kneel before her. He took her face gently in his hands and kissed her with passion.
‘That’s much better.’ She put her arms around his neck and nuzzled her mouth against his cheek. ‘You grow more handsome by the day, do you know that, Reverend Bennett?’
‘Flatterer!’ He kissed her again, his hand straying to her breast. Laughing, she pushed him away.
‘Later, vicar, the servants might catch us and then what would they say?’
He made a wry face. ‘They would say what is true, that the vicar loves his wife. But all right, I’ll accept that my advances have been rejected.’ He resumed his seat and picked up his notes again. ‘By the way, I gave a lift from Swansea to a young lady last evening.’
Ellie looked at him archly. ‘I see, dallying with young women already, are you? Was she good-looking?’
‘Very, she was one of the O’Conners from Honey’s Farm, making her way down here to see Boyo Hopkins. She looked a little distressed I’d say.’
‘Oh, dear, I wonder what Bethan Hopkins had to say about an uninvited guest, you know what a stickler she is for what she calls “proper manners”.’
‘It’s none of our business but I must say, I felt responsible for the girl, she was little more than a child really.’
‘Well, Dan, you showed her Christian charity, there was not a lot more you could do without downright interfering.’ She frowned thoughtfully.
‘Boyo used to go to the farm quite a lot, he was walking out with the older girl, April, remember?’
Daniel nodded, ‘I remember.’ He smiled, ‘Those days seem so far away now, don’t they? Such a lot happened while we were in Swansea, so many dramas, so much upheaval, I’m so grateful for the peace we have here.’
‘Me too.’ Ellie smiled, ‘You know, I have never, even for one second, regretted handing over the tannery to Boyo. Although Jubilee was my husband and left me everything he owned, he was more like a father to me. If he had known that Boyo was his grandson, he would have wanted him to have the tannery, I’m sure of that.’
‘You did the right thing, Ellie,’ Daniel said softly. ‘You are far too wise to set store by worldly goods.’
Ellie sighed. ‘I have all I’ll ever want in these four walls with you, my love.’ They exchanged a smile and Ellie’s mouth curved a little. ‘Might I have second thoughts? There is something else I want.’
‘Like what?’ Daniel asked, rising to his feet and holding out his arms. Ellie went into them.
‘I don’t think I need answer that, do I, Vicar?’ Her smile vanished as his mouth, hot and ardent, came down on hers.
CHAPTER THREE
‘We’ve lost it all, even Summer Lodge?’ Hari Grenfell stood near the window of her home, the home she had entered as a happy bride many years before and tried to suppress the panic that was rising within her.
‘It looks that way.’ She heard her husband’s voice crack with fatigue and despair and turning swiftly, she went to him and held him close.
‘Craig, don’t look like that, we still have each other, that’s what’s important.’
He buried his face in her neck and she clung to him, loving him more deeply than she had ever done in the first flush of romance.
‘All I can say is thank God our children are out of it, making a good life for themselves in a new country. At least they won’t have to suffer for my failures.’
‘You are not a failure.’ Hari pushed him away and looked into his face, his forehead was furrowed, his eyes shadowed and etched with tired lines.
‘Come, sit by here then, lovely.’ She slipped into the Welsh, emotion overcoming her as she drew her husband towards the fire. Outside, the rain began
to fall, beating against the high windows as though to emphasize the misery that was growing in Hari.
‘Tell me, exactly what has happened?’ She sat beside him on the deep, cushioned sofa and held his hands. His shoulders were bent in an attitude of defeat and Hari felt tears well in her eyes.
‘I’ve made a bad mistake, Hari, I put my money, our money into shares.’ He glanced up at her. ‘Solid gold, that’s what everyone said, well now the shares have dropped like a stone.’ His eyes were red with weariness. ‘There’s more bad news, I’m afraid. I’ve overextended myself, taken on too many properties, branched out when I should have been drawing tight the purse strings. It will take every penny we have left to simply pay off the debts I’ve accrued.’
Hari swallowed hard. She looked around her, seeing with fresh eyes the house where she had brought up her children. The ceilings were high and gracious, the windows sweeping down to the floor allowing in the misty light. She saw the dog-eared books which Craig had flung down in fury; the books that contained the accounting for all the years of their joint business ventures.
She forced herself to look away from the proof of the disaster that had overtaken them. She stared at the furniture, good solid furniture, polished by loving hands; servants’ hands. She looked down at her own hands, white and small, unused now to hard work. A feeling of strength rose within her, a sense of power. She had been taught the skills of shoemaking, her father had instilled in her, his only child, the knowledge that she could make her own way in the world, earn her own living by her hands.
She had not worked at patterns for some years, neither had she done any designing, for these days boots and shoes were made mostly by machines. Gone were the days when bespoke boots were a sought-after commodity. Or were they? Could she not find a place in the market for new concepts in shoemaking? She had done it once, built up a great emporium from virtually nothing. She had made the name of Hari Grenfell synonymous with style and class and excellence.
She stared into the fire, watching the leaping flames without really seeing the cheerful glow behind the ornate façade of the grate. Could she do it again, could she, in her middle years, find the energy she had known in her youth? Would the skill still be there, in her mind, in her fingers? Questions ran riot through her head.
‘We will go through everything together.’ She rose to her feet with a sudden sense of purpose. ‘We will sift through our assets, see what we can salvage.’
‘It’s no use,’ Craig put his head in his hands, ‘I have failed you, there is nothing left.’
Hari touched his cheek, refusing to be daunted, yet understanding Craig’s despair. ‘You must rest, you have ridden a long way, you are very tired. I don’t want you falling sick, not now when I need you so much.’
‘You would be better off without me, I have bankrupted us.’
‘Come on, Craig, this is not like you.’ Hari allowed her anger to show in her tone. ‘Where is your fighting spirit? We can face this thing together, Craig. We must fight.’
‘I have been fighting, all night,’ Craig said. ‘I have reasoned with my debtors until I have almost lost my mind. I have gone over and over the problems we face and can find no solution.’
‘Go up to bed.’ Hari’s tone softened, ‘I will fetch you something to help you sleep. When you are rested we will talk again.’
She took his arm and urged him up the winding gracious stairway towards the master bedroom. She was concerned about his pallor, he was so subdued, so unlike the forceful, almost arrogant man she knew that she was frightened.
She gave him a glass of hot milk and sat with him smoothing his hand until, finally, he slept. She bent and kissed his forehead, gently touching the white in his hair with her lips. Her heart was full of love, tears burned behind her lids. Resolutely, she swallowed her fear and moved quietly away from the bedroom.
Once downstairs, she picked up the set of accounting books and hugging them against her bodice, took them into the study.
How long she spent working over the books she did not afterwards remember. The daylight hours passed unnoticed, she drank the cups of tea and coffee brought by a succession of maids but left the trays of food untouched. The light faded and she lit the gas lamps, the whitening light making her blink a little with fatigue.
When she lifted her head from the books, it was morning, the dawn, pale and grey, was lightening the sky outside. Hari fell back in the chair, the red captain’s chair that had been in Craig’s family for generations. She rubbed at her eyes wearily. The amount of money owed was more than they could raise, even by selling the house; much more. She looked at her notes and the figures swam before her eyes.
‘Thousands of pounds.’ Her voice echoed inside her head even though she had whispered the words. The bank would foreclose, they would take the house and the Grenfells would still be in debt.
‘No!’ She rose to her feet, she would not let it happen. But how could she prevent it? She had escaped poverty once, how on earth had she done it? She thought back to her younger days, days before her marriage when she had courage enough for anything. She had taken on a building even though she had no money, had asked for a month’s grace with the rent and then had gone out and sublet the place in small units, making an immediate profit. It was with such scant assets that she had begun her business. Could she do it again?
She moved to the small window in the study and looked out; below her was the sea, pewter now beneath the intermittent rain-clouds. She could think about renting the rooms of Summer Lodge to retired gentlefolk in diminished circumstances. Perhaps that way she could keep the house and begin to pay back the huge debt that was owed.
As she stared into the rain-swept day sudden hope filled her, she could make Summer Lodge into an emporium. The bigger rooms could be converted quite easily into showrooms and workshops and the upper rooms would serve as living quarters.
She rubbed at her eyes again and sank wearily into the cold leather of the captain’s chair, facing facts coldly. She had no knowledge of how quickly the house could be converted into a business premises but she could imagine the cost. Wages would have to be paid, shop girls expected to live in, they would need food and heating and lighting. All that would require money she did not have.
She leaned forward, resting her head on her arms, her hands tracing the leather top of the desk. What if she employed married women, women only too glad to go home at nights? That might be the solution. It was a radical idea, but it might just work. Her mind closed in, she was too weary to think any more and she slept.
She woke some time in the afternoon and as the concerned maid placed yet another tray on the desk, Hari smiled, knowing she had her solution.
‘It won’t work, love, just accept that it’s over. The good life is finished for us, we’ll be lucky if we can afford a cottage somewhere.’ Craig was sitting at the dining table, the candles were lit, shimmering on the crystal and silver, reflecting against the polished surface.
‘It will work.’ Hari spoke doggedly. ‘I can design again, I can make boots and shoes that will be sought after in the town and beyond, just as I did before. We’ll have a repair shop where we can tap working boots, that’s a service that’s always necessary.’
‘But love,’ Craig could scarcely conceal his exasperation, ‘that was before machinery became so sophisticated that anything in leather could be produced to perfection.’
‘Yes, mass-produced.’ Hari leaned forward, ‘There are still a great many people in Swansea who go to London for handmade footwear, made to measure on the customer’s own last. These shoes are a perfect fit which the machine-made shoes are not.’
‘Look,’ she spoke again when Craig shook his head. ‘Don’t dismiss my ideas out of hand. We have some stocks of leather left in the storeroom.’ She held up her hand. ‘I know the store warehouses will be sold off but we can shift the stock before the bailiffs move in.’ Even as she spoke, the word ‘bailiff’ brought a chill to her spine. She remembered her child
hood spent in the slums of World’s End, when the visit of the bailiff to one of the houses was a time for fist fights and abuse, when poor sticks of furniture would be put out on the pavement for everyone to see and then carted off to be sold or dumped. It had seemed to Hari then that the poor were being punished because they were poor. If the people had money they would pay their debts. Well, she was in the same position now as the poor from World’s End and the thought was frightening.
She rose to her feet. ‘You see, Craig, I could bring in a milliner and a glove maker, there are many women with talent who are unemployed, women who will take a chance on me.’
Craig lifted his head, swayed against his better judgement by her enthusiasm.
‘The kitchens are huge and there are several unused storerooms, we shall have tearooms with Bara brith made to my own recipe and Welsh cakes and Tiesen lap. What the Clarks have done for Street in Somerset I can do for Swansea. I will make Summer Lodge into a new kind of emporium, you’ll see, Craig. We can do it, I know we can. What do you think, Craig?’
Craig looked at her with a glimmer of a smile in his eyes. ‘I can see you are fired with the old enthusiasm, Hari. I think you, if anybody, can make this mad scheme work.’
‘I’ll make it work, you can depend on it.’ Hari swept around the table and hugged him. ‘Have faith in me, my lovely.’ She sobered suddenly. ‘Convincing you was the easy part, now I have to convince the bank that it would be worth their while to give us a bit more time.’
Craig nodded, ‘Aye, that’s the first step and perhaps the most difficult but you have given me hope, you know. I believe in you, you have to make the people at the bank believe in you now.’
It was two days later when Mrs Hari Grenfell stepped out of the cab onto the pavement outside the Hammet Bank. She looked up at the elegant façade and bit her lip, feeling fear turn her blood to ice. It was a long time since she had needed to beg for anything but if necessary she would go down on her knees, even shed a few tears, if it would get her what she wanted.