by Lyn Andrews
Lizzie sighed and nodded. ‘Will he be home for long, Martha? Did he say?’
‘A week, he thinks. Then he does a short trip before going off for three months again.’
‘And I suppose he’ll be stopping over there or will he stay with you?’ Lizzie jerked her head in the direction of Nellie Richards’s house.
Martha shook her head, frowning. Her relationship with Frank was so much better these days but she didn’t feel it would be right if he moved back into his former home. ‘He can leave his stuff in our house and have a few meals with us too but he’ll have to stay over there. He is still married to Nora and we don’t want any more trouble with her.’
Lizzie pursed her lips, thinking no doubt it wouldn’t be much of a homecoming for him. Nora seemed to be out enjoying herself most nights and the Lord alone knew with whom. There were bound to be rows. ‘You’ll have to tell him Sophie’s moved, Martha, but tell him not to be going down there trying to see her. I don’t think Hetty Foster would approve, do you?’
‘No, I don’t, but I don’t know if he’ll take any notice of me, Lizzie. He hasn’t done up to now.’
‘Then he might take notice of me. Sophie’s getting on with her life, making a success of things, and she doesn’t need him upsetting the apple cart or giving flaming Nora any reason to start carrying on. In the name of God, Martha, can you just imagine what Hetty Foster would think if that trollop fetched up on the doorstep yelling abuse about Sophie and your Frank?’
Martha finished her tea, her lips set in a line of determination. ‘Leave it to me, Lizzie, I’ll do my utmost to keep him away from Laurel Road,’ she promised.
The time had just seemed to fly by, Sophie thought as they arrived in Laurel Road with the last of their belongings two weeks later. Her sewing machine and all her things had been transferred by her uncle and cousin John, with the aid of Arthur Chatsworth, during the week, and Lizzie and Katie had helped with their clothes and Bella’s toys.
‘It’s that big you’d get lost,’ Katie had muttered on her first visit.
Sophie knew that Frank was due home the day after they moved in, Martha had told her, and although she desperately wanted to see him – she had missed him, missed his smile, his quiet, patient manner and the way he made her feel – she hoped he wouldn’t try to visit her here for she’d said nothing to Hetty about him and didn’t want to have to try to explain. Hetty had never even been ‘walking out’ with a young man, as she’d put it, her parents had never allowed it, so how on earth could she expect her to understand how she had fallen in love with a married man? The old lady would be shocked and most probably horrified.
She had plenty to keep her busy and not only her sewing. She had to get Bella settled in her new school and perhaps even invite some of her classmates for tea one evening to break the ice. She had her fitting room to finish rearranging and sorting out for she had a customer coming the day after tomorrow. Arthur was going to put shelves up in an alcove in her workroom to hold her cards of trimmings, boxes of buttons, reels of cotton and paper patterns and she would need to advise him on where to place them. Hetty was insisting on doing all the cooking but Sophie had promised that she would do the shopping as Maria would be out at work all day while she would be working from home. At the weekends Maria had promised to help her with the housework and the washing and ironing. Yes, there was enough to keep her occupied without having to worry about a visit from Frank or lie awake at night thinking about him. Somehow it had seemed easier to keep her feelings for him under control while he’d been away. Not entirely ‘out of sight, out of mind’, he could never be that, but the knowledge that thousands of miles of ocean separated them had helped her. But the day after tomorrow he would only be a tram ride away and although she wanted to see him, she just couldn’t risk it. After an absence of three months could either of them trust themselves?
Chapter Seventeen
THANKFULLY MARTHA PREVAILED, ALTHOUGH not without some strong words, and Sophie did not see Frank during his time at home, and then she heard from Lizzie that he’d sailed again for South Africa after a brief trip to Rotterdam and Hamburg. She also heard from her aunt that there had been frequent rows between Frank and his wife over where Nora went of an evening and with whom. It was not that Frank objected to her going out, he’d told Martha; he couldn’t care less about that because it meant he saw little of her, but it was the fact that it was obviously with other men that was so humiliating for him.
‘Martha told him not to leave her any money, she just wastes it anyway. Told him to let her “fancy fellas” cough up,’ Lizzie had said.
‘What did he say?’ she’d asked, thinking it rather insensitive of his mother.
‘That by law he had to leave an allotment and if he changed it so that it was left to Martha, there would be more rows.’
Sophie had said nothing to that; Frank’s time at home seemed to be miserable enough without adding to it.
The weather was getting steadily warmer now that it was nearly May and the evenings were much lighter, she thought as she set the table for the evening meal. She had opened the window of the dining room and the late sunlight streamed in making the rich wood of the furniture glow and picking out the gold edges on the china. They ate in some style these days, she mused, compared to Lizzie’s small, crowded kitchen with its deal table, plain gingham cloth and selection of mismatched crockery. Hetty had some beautiful table linen – lace-edged and intricately embroidered – and two complete dinner services of bone china. At first Sophie had had serious misgivings about using it, especially for every day and with Bella, but Hetty had insisted, stating it was much better to use it than have it packed away in boxes gathering dust. Despite the fact that most people thought china delicate, it was in fact very robust and thankfully so far there had been no accidents. Arthur had brought in the first blooms from the little front garden, and she’d arranged the rosebuds in a cut-glass bowl and placed it in the centre of the table.
She smiled to herself as she surveyed her handiwork. It was something of an occasion today. It was Maria’s birthday, she was nineteen and Hetty had planned a special meal and had insisted on making a cake, although there hadn’t been any sugar for the icing.
‘I’m so sorry, Maria, about the icing sugar. I wanted it to be a really special cake.’ Hetty had been so disappointed when she’d discussed it with Maria.
‘Aunty Hetty, it won’t matter to me that it’s not covered in a layer of royal icing. It’s the thought that counts,’ Maria had smiled. ‘And it’s the first time for years that I’ve not made my own cake, so you see it will be very special indeed.’
‘Oh, I do hope it will come up to your standard, Maria, Sophie has told me that your baking skills are quite exceptional,’ Hetty had said anxiously, wondering now if she had done the right thing in suggesting she make a cake at all.
Maria had laughed, but not unkindly. ‘I think Sophie has been exaggerating a little, Aunty Hetty. I like baking and my pastry is light and my cakes . . . passable but certainly not what you’d call “exceptional”. And it’s been quite a long time since I’ve had the time to bake.’
Hetty had been relieved. ‘Did you never think of becoming a confectioner, Maria? Celebration cakes for weddings and christenings are always in demand and usually quite expensive.’
Maria had shaken her head. ‘No, I don’t honestly think I’d be good enough to do things like that and I don’t think I’d have the patience either. All that trelliswork and flowers and bows must take hours and hours and of course icing sugar has been almost impossible to get since before the war.’
Hetty had nodded and smiled at her. ‘Which takes us back to where this conversation started.’
Maria had smiled back. ‘So, no more worrying about it, Aunty Hetty.’
Sophie had bought her sister a silver filigree bracelet to mark the occasion of this, the first birthday Maria had celebrated in Liverpool. It wasn’t new. She’d bought it in a pawnbroker’s shop; it was an
unclaimed pledge but Arthur said she had chosen wisely for there was no tax on secondhand jewellery and therefore she’d got better value for her hard-earned money. Hetty had given her a little box to put it in and she’d wrapped it nicely. A card had arrived in the lunchtime post from Sarah and she had propped it up against the bowl of rosebuds. Both she and Maria missed their mother. They corresponded regularly but it wasn’t the same, and she had promised herself that at some time in the next few months she would try to make the ferry trip home. She smiled to herself. She still had the ‘island’ mentality. People who lived outside Douglas would often consider the journey to the capital a long way to travel and when they moved across to the mainland they seldom visited their former homes frequently.
She knew that both Hetty and Arthur had bought Maria gifts too. Bella had made her a lovely card and had carefully written ‘Happy Birthday Aunty Maria’ on it, and she also had a pretty handkerchief to give her aunt. She wondered if Ben Seddon had bought her sister anything; he’d bought her that nice little brooch at Christmas.
Sophie turned as Arthur came into the room. He never came to the table in shirt sleeves and braces as her Uncle Jim did but always wearing a jacket and tie. In fact she’d never seen him looking anything but neat and tidy. She smiled at him, thinking how well they’d all settled in here, even Bella, who had quickly made friends at her new school and was often asked out for tea. Emily came once a fortnight on a Saturday to play and Billy too had been a couple of times, despite the fact that Lizzie had been decidedly apprehensive.
For a good part of the day she was in her workroom but she knew Arthur often sat with Hetty. They got on well and seemed to have quite a lot in common, although she’d noticed he would never be drawn on his background. He had once let it slip that he’d worked for a firm of chartered accountants but not in Liverpool.
‘The table looks lovely, Sophie. I thought I’d put my gift to Maria beside her place setting, a little surprise,’ he said rather bashfully.
‘Thank you and it’s very thoughtful of you, Arthur. I know she isn’t expecting anything from either you or Hetty.’
‘I know but . . . but I’ve come to look on you both and Bella, and of course Hetty, as . . . family.’
Sophie smiled at him, before tweaking a table napkin she judged to be a little misplaced. ‘We do all get on well, don’t we?’
He nodded. ‘And now that the weather is improving I’m going to suggest that I take Hetty on a few outings. She doesn’t get out as much as I’m sure she’d like to. Perhaps we’ll go over to New Brighton on the ferry or on the train to Southport.’
‘Or on a day trip if she feels up to it, to Llandudno or even Douglas. In fine weather it’s a lovely sail and they have some very nice hotels along the promenade where you can get lunch or tea,’ she informed him.
‘Perhaps we could all go one day, Sophie. Do you never wish to go home – for a visit?’
‘I have been thinking about it, Arthur, it would be nice for Bella to see her Granny Sarah again and for us to see Mam. We’ll see but I won’t mention it to Bella in case we don’t get the time.’
Maria was quite overcome by the fuss that was made of her and was delighted with her gifts.
‘Oh, Hetty, this is lovely!’ she cried upon opening the old lady’s gift of a pure silk scarf in three different shades of blue. She draped it tastefully around her neck. Arthur (at Hetty’s suggestion) had bought her a pair of gloves and Maria carefully stroked the soft cream leather as she tried them on. ‘I’ll save them for “best”, Arthur. I’ve never had a pair of real leather gloves before, thank you.’
Arthur smiled with satisfaction while Maria enthused over Bella’s card and the lace-edged handkerchief.
‘Oh, Sophie! This must have cost a pretty penny, it’s silver,’ Maria exclaimed as she took the bracelet from its box. She had no expensive jewellery, just a few pairs of cheap earrings and a couple of strands of equally cheap beads and of course the brooch Ben had given her. She held it out to her sister. ‘Fasten it on, I’ll wear it tonight.’
‘Are you going out with Ben?’ Sophie enquired for Maria didn’t seem to see as much of him lately, although she knew Katie was out with his brother Matt two or three times a week. She hoped Maria wasn’t giving up on Ben as there still hadn’t been any word from Hans Bonhoeffer and she thought there never would be.
Maria frowned as she nodded. ‘I told him my birthday wasn’t anything special but he insisted. He’s taking me to the cinema. I said I’d meet him in town to save him coming all the way here to pick me up.’
Sophie looked across at Hetty, who smiled and nodded. Ben had indeed called twice for Maria and the old lady had approved of him. Privately, Arthur had told her that someone with Maria’s looks and manners could do better than Ben Seddon but she hadn’t agreed, thinking Ben was far more suitable than a poor farmer whom most people would consider an enemy.
There were cards from their mother, their Aunt Lizzie and from Katie, all of which Maria read out, and then Hetty brought in the cake and Bella helped her aunt blow out the token nine candles, it having been completely impossible to procure nineteen. In fact the ones Sophie had managed to obtain were all of different colours and sizes.
Sophie insisted that tonight she would do the washing up, helped by Bella, for Hetty had prepared the meal. Maria was to concentrate on getting herself ready to go out.
Maria decided to wear the cream linen costume Sophie had made her for Easter. It was very smart and made her look very grown up, she thought. She had a cream short-sleeved jumper and she’d wear the lovely silk scarf around her neck, the blue would set it off, and of course she had her new leather gloves. It was a pity she didn’t have a new handbag or shoes but her black ones would just have to do. You couldn’t have everything, she told herself firmly. She was saving up for them. She fingered the bracelet; it was so good of Sophie to buy her such a lovely thing and she’d treasure it always.
She knew Ben would also have bought her something and she wished he hadn’t. Ever since they’d moved here she’d tried to cool their relationship. She still couldn’t forget Hans and she’d hoped against hope that she would hear from him, that he would remember it was her birthday. He knew when it was for she’d once told him and he’d said he would never forget it because it was his mother’s birthday too. She pushed aside the feelings of disappointment and hurt; everyone else had been so kind and thoughtful.
Ben was waiting for her outside the cinema and she saw the admiration in his eyes as he caught sight of her.
‘Happy Birthday, Maria,’ he greeted her, kissing her on the cheek and taking her arm. ‘You look really gorgeous,’ he added.
She smiled at him, thinking he was a thoroughly nice boy and that it was such a pity she wasn’t in love with him and never would be.
He paid for good seats and after they were shown to them by the usherette and settled in them he handed her a small box. Her heart plummeted for it looked like a box that would contain a ring and she prayed it wasn’t for she just couldn’t accept it. Thankfully, when she opened it she found it contained a pair of silver earrings. ‘These are lovely, Ben, but you really shouldn’t have spent so much on me. You don’t earn a fortune.’
He looked a little embarrassed. ‘I . . . I’ve been saving up, Maria. I wanted to get you something special.’
She didn’t have time to reply for at that moment the lights went down and silence descended as the evening’s programme commenced with the Pathé News.
In the interval she put the earrings on and he admired them, thinking it had been well worth the small sacrifices he’d made to save up for them. His mam had remarked that he was mad spending so much money on her, it wasn’t as if they were even courting steadily or engaged. He’d wanted to say he hoped that by Christmas they might be engaged for he intended to ask her tonight but he’d said nothing, his mam wasn’t known for her tact. In fact he’d heard his da often say she had a mouth ‘like a parish oven’.
�
�There’s something I want to ask you, Maria, later . . .’ he whispered as the lights dimmed.
His words had filled Maria with such apprehension that she didn’t really take much notice of the film. She had a good idea what it was he was going to ask her and she was struggling to find words that would not disappoint him too much while at the same time not build up his hopes. She couldn’t commit herself, she couldn’t. Not while there was the slightest chance that she would hear from Hans.
They decided to walk to the terminus at the Pier Head as it was a fine evening and the film hadn’t finished too late. It would give her time to try to explain, she thought miserably, for she really didn’t want to hurt him.
‘You know I really do . . . like you, Maria. Well, it’s more than just “like” . . .’ he started rather awkwardly.
‘I know and I do like you too, Ben. I . . . I enjoy your company, you are thoughtful, generous and—’
‘And I’ve got a steady job too, Maria,’ he added quickly. It was something that counted for a lot in this city. ‘What . . . what I really want to say is that I . . . I love you and I want to . . . to marry you – one day, when I’ve saved up enough. I wouldn’t expect you to live with Mam, you’d want a place of your own . . . our own. If you say you will, we could get engaged at Christmas, Maria, with a ring and everything.’ It all came out in a rush and not quite in the romantic way he’d wanted it to but he wasn’t all that good with words, he knew that.
Maria stopped walking and turned to look at him, seeing a shy and rather tongue-tied boy who’d just offered her his heart. She bit her lip. How was she going to turn him down without breaking his heart? ‘Oh, Ben, I don’t know what to say! You know I like you, I like you very much but . . . but I don’t love you.’
‘Couldn’t you . . . try, Maria?’ he pleaded.
She shook her head sadly. ‘It isn’t that simple, Ben. I might – in time – if . . . if . . . there wasn’t someone I know who might one day come . . . back to me.’