Her Heart's Desire

by Vivienne Dockerty

Chapter Eleven

  “So if yer want ter stay ‘ere over Christmas as well, yer very welcome, Charlie. I ‘ear it can get bitter up there.” Jessie Parsons was a good God fearing woman and wouldn’t let an opportunity to help her fellow man like this escape her.

  Charlie considered. The sofa he had spent the night on in his old house had been quite comfortable and although he’d had no plans for staying longer than a day or so before he’d got here, would it do any harm to take up her offer? It would be lonely and cold in his two-roomed croft that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean, where he could watch whales and dolphins frolicking in the summer months. His only respite at this time of the year was to take a walk into the windswept town and have a seasonal drink at the tavern with some of his neighbours. He had brought his notebook and an up to date copy of the Lloyds Shipping Gazette in his now battered looking portmanteau, so that, weather permitting, he could take up his favourite spot near the landing stage.

  He had a change of clothing, although now he was dressed in his best, as befitted a man of substance. A white, high-necked collar shirt, with a thin black tie peeping through the opening, his oatmeal waistcoat that his mother had bought him, a brown, single breasted jacket that he wore with matching narrow legged trousers, under a three quarter length herringbone overcoat. His shoes were a pair of black, highly polished lace ups with a small heel, worn to enhance his stature and his hat was a bell shaped bowler with a tightly rolled brim.

  “Well, that is very kind of you,” he said in an appreciative tone, glancing at the fob-watch he had taken out from beneath his buttoned up jacket, thinking that he probably wouldn’t find somewhere to stay around there anyway. It would mean a trip across the Mersey to find a decent hotel. “Of course I’ll pay you for your trouble, I’m not short of a bob or two.”

  “You certainly will not, Charlie Wilson, and I’ll thank you to take that jacket off and join me for a bacon buttie.”

  It was the day before Christmas Eve and Lily, up to her neck in preparing food for the Christmas Day high tea that her mother had elected to provide, saying that a Christmas dinner was beyond the talents of herself and Lily for such large numbers, suddenly found that she hadn’t enough eggs to make a marmalade cake. The other cakes, such as the Christmas fruitcake, plum pudding and Dundee had been made weeks before, but her father enjoyed a slice of marmalade cake, using the conserve that Hannah had made.

  It was a blowy afternoon as Lily set forth to visit the allotments that were kept by local men to supplement their family’s food. Many kept chickens and, to make a little money on the side, sold a few eggs to a passing trade. She put her hands into the pockets of her dark blue coat and hugged the heavy material closer to her body, glad that she had worn her warm ankle length boots as the chill in the air was bitter.

  “Lily, wait for me!”

  She heard a familiar voice cry out her name, as she paused to look both ways before she crossed the road. Open topped motor vehicles, omnibuses and the odd hire carriage, all used this once quiet highway and it was wise to be a little cautious nowadays. A moment of déjà vu crept into her subconscious and she turned to scan the path behind to see who had hailed her – surely that wasn’t Charlie Wilson? This dapper man, dressed in the manner of a middle class merchant, a gentleman by the cut of the clothes he was wearing and carrying a walking cane.

  “My, my, who got you dressed?” she joked, as Charlie caught up with her, having hurried up the slight incline. “I would not have recognised you had I passed you in the street.”

  “Oh, the years have been very kind to me,” he replied airily, drinking in the sight of her like a drowning man. “If I may be so bold, the passing years have not altered you one whit.”

  Lily giggled, much as she would have done had he paid her a compliment ten years before. Back then he was a gauche and strange young man, who liked to sit near the landing stage overlooking the river, had attended the Wesleyan church and had no lightness in his soul.

  “Oh Charlie, I’ve been married, widowed and returned to my family in all those years. I am sure I have aged considerably and you have developed a smooth tongue.”

  His heart leapt when he heard that his beloved was now a widow. Was this is a chance to press his suit and ask for her hand in marriage? Play out those many dreams of a life with Lily that had invaded his thoughts during his years away from her? Too early, the voice of caution was saying, but would it do them any harm to be just friends?

  “Well I must continue on my errand,” she said, stepping towards the kerb in an effort to show him that she couldn’t stand about all day chatting. “Do you still live in the cottage on Whetstone Lane? If so I will probably see you again in the vicinity.”

  She was interested in seeing him again, alleluia! “Actually Lily, I have removed to Scotland where I run a thriving business, but I decided as the season of goodwill is almost upon us, to reacquaint myself with friends and relations here.”

  “Ah.” Lily stepped back, suddenly curious as to why Charlie Wilson had found it necessary to move to Scotland to start a business. Last time they had spoken, he had just come out of his apprenticeship at the shipyard. “Have you had to leave your business in the hands of your employees, Charlie, as this is usually a very busy time of the year?”

  “Maybe so in your father’s line of business; everyone will be wanting fires in their hearths, but my business is seasonal. But I shouldn’t keep you standing here, Lily. It is just as cold today as I would expect it is where I am now living. Perhaps you would do me the honour of taking a cup of tea or hot chocolate with me at Cavanagh’s Cafe across the way?”

  “I would like to say yes, Charlie, but I only slipped out to purchase some eggs from the allotments. I am in charge of the Christmas spread and my father is quite partial to a slice of marmalade cake.”

  Me too, thought Charlie, feeling downcast that she had refused to accompany him to the local cafe. All his prayers would have been answered had she agreed to his request.

  “Are you staying long? I ask because I will be free to accompany you to the cafe on Monday, when all our social duties for the season have been discharged.”

  Had she said she couldn’t have seen him until the following Easter, an elated Charlie Wilson would have made the trip down from Scotland just to have been near her side! He took her hand and shook it rather formally, resisting the urge to place a kiss upon it, wishing her the compliments of the season and to her family too.

  He couldn’t wait for the Christmas festivities to be over, although he did enjoy celebrating Christ’s birth with the astonished members of the Wesleyan congregation. The Parsons’ treated him as if he was part of the family and had even clubbed together to buy him a pair of woolly gloves. Life in the wilds of Scotland must be tough, they had decided, and Charlie should cover up those calluses and protect his once smooth hands. Albert had taken him to The Grapes for a couple of festive pints, where he had joined incredulous regulars who joked that he must be a ghost. Even Ernie Morris seemed glad to see him and brought him a drink for old times sake.

  Lily wanted the festive season over for lots of reasons, but not one of them because she was looking forward to meeting Charlie Wilson. Christmas Eve and Day had been one long round of visiting, eating, entertaining and exchanging gifts with her extended family, waiting hand and foot on her now portly father and Frederick, who had arrived from London in one of the new fangled motor cars that had lots of smoke and made put-put noises. He was the hero of their terrace, with males of the neighbourhood hanging around the contraption at all times of the day. Lawrence was away on the other side of the Atlantic and Bertha, glad to have a multitude of willing sisters ready to share the supervision of any small kin that needed overseeing, saw the opportunity for some sisterly sniping, whilst helping Lily in the kitchen.

  Since her marriage nine years before, it had to be said that the Bertha, who Lily had once known and dutifully loved, was a bit of a bore when it came to conversation of the female kind. Children, hou
sework, a little unkind griping about her lot in life and the usual moaning about Lawrence hardly knowing his offspring, with him away at sea so much. “You would know what I mean had you been the one who had married Lawrence.” There, it was out; Bertha had waited all this time to declare her true feelings, whilst watching her sister make, what she thought, was sheep’s eyes at her husband over the years. “Let me tell you, being married to a mariner isn’t as romantic as it may appear to be, especially when it is left to the wife to administer his children’s discipline. My three boys are in need of a heavy handed father, but unfortunately they run rings around me instead.”

  Lily was speechless for a moment when she heard her sister’s words. Had it been so obvious that it had been she who had wanted to marry her cousin all those years ago?

  “Oh yes, Lily, I know how you resented me and thought that Lawrence only had eyes for you. We used to smile about it, ‘cause he never would have married such a dreamer, a flibbertigibbet, Father’s little princess. He wanted a homemaker, a mother for his children and someone he could rely on to keep an eye on his old aunties while he’s away.”

  “And you don’t think I could have done all those things for Lawrence?” Lily tried to control the trembling that had suddenly taken over her hands, after her sister had shaken her head and calmly started to wipe the dishes that she had put aside to drain.

  “It didn’t appear to be so when you were married to Roland. Grand-mama said, ‘Had there ever been a mismatch in a married couple, it was you two’.”

  “And she would know, although she only ever saw us at weddings and christenings? None of you had an inkling of what went on between Roland and I and I’ll thank you, Bertha, not to speak ill of the dead.”

  Her sister had shrugged after Lily had stalked away huffily to her bedroom, to spend some time revisiting her hurts. Nobody knew what had gone on between her and Roland. They had agreed to put on a stoical front that told the world that even if theirs was not a happy marriage, because how could you be happy if you hadn’t produced at least one addition to the family, it worked for them and they were content with that. She knew now that the feelings she’d had for Lawrence had been just a childish crush and she didn’t like the man he had become, always barking orders at his wife and children and drinking far too much.

  The sky was overcast as Lily made her way to Cavanagh’s Cafe on the corner of Whetstone Lane. She had dressed accordingly, wearing a light navy mackintosh over her heavy woolen coat, black leather ankle boots and a plain saucer shaped hat upon her head, with no ornament upon it. She was known to take a walk alone, so no one questioned her destination. Sometimes she would walk as far as Storeton Woods, quite a long way away from her home. There had been nothing better than tramping along the country lanes when she had lived at Brookvale, or passing the old windmill on her way through the sandy lane to the village of Irby, when the air had been most bracing, coming as it did across the fields from the Irish Sea.

  She had thought long and hard about this meeting with Charlie Wilson. He was an anathema to her really; not someone she wanted to be bothered with, given that he didn’t have her background or her breeding. In fact the only reason she was there that afternoon, she told herself, was because there wasn’t very much else to do. Her intention had been, after making the hastily made proposition, to forget about their meeting. He’d be in the warmth, not hanging around waiting for her on a street corner, and after a few cups of whatever they were given to drink in such an establishment, he would get the message and go.

  The spat with Bertha though had caused a major overhaul in Lily’s thinking, as she had tossed and turned in her bed that night. Was she to live the rest of her life like sister Mabel, a thin unhappy woman who seemed to hate all men? She could be classed as a spinster too, having never really known what it was like to feel true penetration. She was still pure and virginal, as Roland on his rare visits to the manor house, had always kept to his side of the bed. That’s if you didn’t count that one embarrassing time that didn’t bear thinking about.

  Not quite as pure as you would like to think, said her inner conscience, as she thought of the times when her body yearned for release from the terrible frustration that she felt in the warmth of her bed at night. She could make herself soar to hidden heights of the purest pleasure, if she used her index finger on her special place. Though perhaps marriage to another man could be the answer, especially to Charlie, whom she knew had adored her all his life. That would show Bertha, especially if she was to produce one or two children herself. This time Father would have no say in whom she married; it appeared he had no interest in his pretty princess now that he had grandchildren to pet.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Ah Lily.” Charlie sped to the door of the cafe when he saw his beloved hovering there and looking around nervously. Perhaps it had been a mistake for them to meet in such poor surroundings, but there was nowhere else to go, unless they shivered together on a bench in the one of the park shelters. “Thank you for coming, what can I order for you?” He drew her to a seat at a table near the window, which was steamy from the food and hot drinks that were being served at the counter nearby.

  “A rose-hip tea would be very nice, thank you.” She settled herself on a battered wooden chair, looking around at the down at heel persons sipping drinks from chipped white mugs, or eating fish and chips. Some were even smoking cigarettes!

  “A rose-hip tea? I don’t think they would have such a thing at this establishment.” Charlie’s heart began to sink when he realised what he had done. “I’m sorry, Lily.” He bent down to speak in a whisper, as he didn’t want anyone to hear his words or they’d think he was a snob. “I didn’t give much thought to the circumstances of our meeting. I should have suggested a much more pleasant place to meet.”

  “A glass of hot chocolate then. I would be partial to a glass of hot chocolate on such a cold day.”

  “I think I will join you and we’ll have a couple of butterfly cakes.”

  Charlie brought their drinks, not in a glass as Lily had expected, as the owner of the cafe had laughed when Charlie had requested their chocolate drinks in a glass and suggested he should visit The Adelphi Hotel instead, but in thick white mugs that Lily rather hoped had been washed thoroughly. She noticed that the wings on the cakes looked a little droopy, too, when the owner put a plate of them in front of her.

  “Sorry.” Charlie felt remorseful. This was his beloved, the person who inhabited his dreams and here he was subjecting her to the most awful conditions.

  “That’s all right, Charlie. I suppose one should feel incredibly sorry that places like this have to exist. I mean, the poor have to eat somewhere and the prices in here are really quite cheap.”

  Charlie nodded, he was glad that his beloved sounded sympathetic to the poor. “So, nine years. Nine years, a lot of water has gone under the bridge. Tell me, have those years been kind to you, Lily?” Charlie sat back nursing his mug of hot chocolate and hoped that he wasn’t being indelicate in his inquiry.

  Lily’s face took on a guarded look, as she wasn’t sure how much or what she wanted to tell Charlie Wilson – the truth or fiction? She decided on the latter, it wasn’t any of his business anyway.

  “I married a man named Roland De Crosland, who was a military man from an old Cheshire family who could trace their ancestors back many generations. I moved to their country seat just on the border of Greasby and Irby and I had a maid called Lydia, who tended to my every need. I was heartbroken, of course, when my husband died in the Boer War. He fought gallantly against the Afrikaans of Dutch descent, who didn’t want to give up their mining rights to the British Empire. And now I live back home with my parents in Rosemount Terrace, taking care of my mother who is rather elderly.” There, her description of her former life seemed to be very well received.

  Charlie’s spirits plummeted. Here he was, sitting opposite the most beautiful girl he had ever set eyes on, listening to her description of how she had spent
her past nine years. She had probably rubbed shoulders with most of the local gentry and he was expecting that one day in the future she might agree to marry him – him, a market gardener.

  “I have had similar tragedy in my own nine years,” he nodded sadly. “My mother died and then, unfortunately, my marriage ended very early on when my wife died in childbirth. To cope with my sorrow I decided to leave the area, too many memories you’ll understand, and the shipyard transferred me to Scotland, where I worked for a time on the River Clyde.” Nobody was going to tell her any different, he told himself. “One day, I took a boat trip around the small islands in the vicinity of Oban and I chanced upon a little place called Iona, where a saint named Columba had built a monastery. Perhaps you can imagine it, Lily. A tortured soul, happening upon a place of great beauty, where monks had lived in peaceful silence, tilling the soil and making a living from land and sea. I was allowed to worship at that magnificent place and stayed for a while in contemplation, until it finally hit me on what I should do. I had a sort of epiphany, a sense of wanting to be as one with the land, as the monks had done for centuries.”

  “Phew, Charlie,” said Lily, having listened attentively to this man, who she had always thought of as a little vulgar. “You always were good at growing beans and peas, as I remember. So what did you do next? Did you find a pot of gold at the bottom of a rainbow, which enabled you to begin your enterprise?”

  “Something like that.” Charlie didn’t say that he had to draw all his precious savings from the bank account he had in Glasgow, as the landlord of those acres he worked near Tobermory was a canny man and wanted his tenant to pay upfront. “Finding gold at the bottom of a rainbow is all a bit of a fantasy, if you don’t mind me saying so, Lily. No, I believe my fortune to be sent from heaven. At least everything I turned my hand to became reality.”

  “So, how many people do you have in your employ, Charlie?”