‘Wouldn’t you?’ she whispered.
‘Come back to the garage, it’s almost time for lunch. I’ll shut the place and we’ll talk. Right?’
She followed him into the street where the icy wind cut into her face and made her reddened eyes feel like wounds. He walked fast but she couldn’t keep up and he slowed then and put an arm around her shoulders in a comforting way that made her cry some more. She was shivering as they turned into the forecourt of his premises. When he had dismissed his trainee, he led her into a shed-cum-workshop that was dirty, untidy and, with a fire burning in the grate, blessedly warm.
From a corner he took a tin containing some sandwiches. He persuaded her to relax, and when she was more composed, to talk.
‘On our wedding night,’ she began painfully, ‘Matthew turned from me and he has never touched my since. He spends most of his time out of the flat, either working, or talking to the dead Vanessa. There, you have it. Now, what d’you think I should do?’
Jacky was silent for a moment, then he put an arm around her more tightly this time, and said, ‘Nothing. Not until we think about it and decide what will be the best for you. You are the important one in all this.’
Her voice was harsh with anguish as she said, ‘But I must be so ugly for him to take one look and then have nothing more to do with me. Why did he marry me if he found me so repulsive, Jacky?’
‘He doesn’t find you repulsive, love. No one could. It’s he who’s the problem. He’s either so inadequate he was afraid to try and love you for fear of failing and looking a fool, or, the man is a fool. To have someone like you in his bed and be able to resist loving you! I don’t know how any man worthy of the name could have the strength. He’d have to be barmy.’
Marion stayed in Jacky’s arms for more than the hour he allowed himself for a lunchbreak and, when the boy returned, he was told to go home and they sat there for another hour. The relief of telling someone after months of misery exhausted her. Marion fell asleep. Stiff and uncomfortable, Jacky did not move until she woke.
* * *
Patricia and Roland spent a lot of time in Julia’s living room that winter. Roland did several paintings, sometimes using the friendly room as a studio, with Julia helping to put his sitters at ease, and it was at Rose Cottage that he varnished the completed works and framed them ready for exhibition. Excitement mounted as March drew near. One day, when Patricia had a half day, they had set out the collection of seven portraits to decide on their groupings, when Julia left them to go to the shops.
‘I’ve made some bread. I’ll buy fruit if I can find some, and wine,’ she said. ‘I’ve saved my cheese ration for more than a month, so we’ll have a cheese and wine party to celebrate the final selection of your exhibition, Roland dear.’ While she was out, Roland began walking around the room, obviously uneasy.
‘What is it?’ Patricia asked. ‘You’ve done all you can. It’s now in the lap of the gods. After this, you’ll have enough commissions to keep you busy for a long time. If someone influential sees and likes your work then you might have to move on.’
‘If I do, will you come with me, Patricia?’ he asked.
‘Come with you? Leave Julia? And my family?’
‘They’ll cope without you. I don’t know that I can.’
‘Roland, you won’t want me tagging along. Once you are recognised for the brilliant artist you are, you’ll be taken up in a whirl of social gatherings and won’t need me.’
‘I want you to marry me. Soon. Before anything dramatic happens to delay things. And as for Julia, wherever the turnings from the straight road take us, I hope she will come with us.’ He pulled her up from her chair and held her close to him. ‘I love you, I think I always have.’
‘I’ve loved you for so long,’ Patricia said softly.
‘Come with me as soon as Julia gets back. We’ll tell my mother. We’ll have a wedding that the whole village will enjoy!’
‘I love you, Roland and I thought you’d never love me,’ she said, ‘But no, I won’t marry you. Not now, when you have so far to go. I love you too much to marry you.’
‘What on earth does that mean?’
‘You’ll be a success. You want a wife who’ll be a suitable partner. The life of a brilliant artist, well, I wouldn’t fit the part. I did try being fashionable, wearing the New Look and making a determined effort to look like something I’m not. But it didn’t work. I’m not a suitable wife. You and I both know it.’
‘Come here you little idiot!’ He kissed her then and between declarations of their love he murmured, ‘We must marry soon. Julia will be happy for us I know and as for your family, surely they’ll approve? It’s my family, my mother, who is the problem. Isn’t that the real reason you’re hesitating?’
‘Shall we wait for a while longer before telling her? Give her a chance to accept me?’
‘How long does she need? Vanessa died in 1941, this is 1948!’
‘You’re right. There’s no advantage to be made in waiting for her to accept me. I don’t think she ever will.’
‘I’ll tell her tomorrow evening. Both of us will. We’ll tell her together.’
‘All right. Until then it’s best we tell no one apart from Julia. Your mother shouldn’t hear this from anyone else but you.’
They were still in each other’s arms when Julia arrived, breathless and flushed, from her short walk to the Ebenezer Street shops.
‘I’ve asked Patricia to marry me,’ Roland said, his face as flushed as Julia’s, and his eyes sparkling with happiness.
‘That’s wonderful news,’ she said and, flopping into a chair, added, ‘My love and best wishes to you both, I hope you’ll be very, very happy.’ She looked up at them and smiled. ‘A lump of cheese not much bigger than mouse bait and a bottle of wine doesn’t seem enough for this celebration, does it?’
‘It’s perfect,’ Roland said, bending to kiss her red, puffy cheek.
‘Are you all right, Julia?’ Patricia asked. ‘It isn’t a shock, is it?’
‘Of course not my dear, I rushed too much, that’s all. If I’d known how you two were occupying yourselves I’d have taken my time!’
When Roland had gone, Patricia asked, ‘You aren’t really pleased with our announcement, are you?’
‘I think you’ll be happy with Roland, and he loves you very much. I knew that long ago, it was clear from the portrait of you he painted. Love for his sitter is there for anyone to see. But I wish you would find something of your own and succeed at it, before settling into a comfortable married life. You’re worth more than being a prop for others.’
‘I’m not ambitious, Julia, you must know that much about me after all this time. I’m one of those women for whom marriage and children is enough. I’ll be utterly happy making a home and creating a calm environment for Roland, to enable him to work. He’s the talented one. I’ll be proud to support him.’
‘Ice cream,’ Julia replied.
‘Ice cream?’ Patricia laughed.
‘What about our plans to make ice cream?’
‘Things change, I have to put Roland’s career before anything else.’
‘Why for heaven’s sake! Why not put yourself first, just for once and convince yourself you can succeed?’
‘It is something I’d love to do,’ Patricia said a little wistfully. ‘A long held wish that I didn’t dare dream about. To open a place where young people can come and sit and talk, drink coffee and eat your – my great-great-grandfather’s special recipe.’
‘Then let’s do it.’
‘How?’ Patricia sat back in her chair and listened while Julia told her about the shop she had seen.
‘It will need a lot of work. It will have to be spotlessly clean if we’re to re-open it, new regulations are in force which make anything but the safest conditions illegal. The equipment seems to be in good condition, the man who owns it has taken care of it through the years he’s been unable to use it and now he’s too old. We’ll h
ave to replace it fairly soon, though. It will be a lot of work and a bit of a risk financially, but we can do it. Will you come and look at it?’
‘Financially it’ll be no risk at all. I haven’t any money!’ Patricia said with a chuckle. Then more seriously she added, ‘Jacky says the bank will offer a loan if they believe the business is viable. He was helped when he started his car repairs garage. We’d have to borrow quite a lot though, and I find that a bit daunting.’
‘I will attend to the finances, all I want from you is a lot of determination and commitment to hard work.’
‘You’ve got it!’ Patricia promised.
The shop Julia had found was small, but with a wall taken down and the good sized living room behind the shop added to the shop space, it was a possibility. It was in a row of shops in the seaside town of Castell Newydd. As they alighted from the train they could smell the sea. Families with children ran along the platform pushing through the barrier past the harassed ticket collector and out for that first magical glimpse. On a headland was a romantic-looking castle ruin. The once new castle from which the town derived its name.
Julia led Patricia through a narrow street to one parallel to the promenade and stopped outside a drab, partly-boarded up shop.
‘The sea is only a short walk away,’ Julia said encouragingly. ‘Several shops make a summer living selling buckets and spades for the sands and gifts for the tourists, who, I am told, are returning to the town in increasing numbers.’
‘It looks very small and in dire need of cleaning and painting.’ Patricia sounded doubtful. This was a mess of peeling paint and dirty windows and there was no room for more than three tables.
Julia argued against all her protests, egged her on, talking about potential, and of dilapidation ensuring a good price, and its enviably perfect position and so on.
The proprietor, Mr Forest, a small grey-haired sixty-year-old, was very willing to discuss the making of ice cream and they stayed for much longer than they intended. It was obvious to Patricia that he and Julia had met on several occasions and that Julia’s mind was made up!
‘I might as well admit it,’ Julia confessed. ‘I’ve looked at about fifteen properties and this is the only one worth mentioning to you. I’ve been here several times and we’ve even made some ice cream so I could be certain the machines and freezers are working.’
Mr Forest led them back to where the pleasant smell of vanilla and the humming of electric motors told them the mixture was being beaten and frozen. He opened the top of one of the cylindrical containers and scooped out a helping for Patricia to taste. It was smooth and soft and very pleasant.
‘Julia, could we really buy this?’
‘If you agree my dear,’ Julia smiled, ‘the purchase price and the loan needed for the alterations is already approved.’
* * *
Roland called at Rose Cottage intending to take Patricia to see his mother and tell her of their plans to marry. When he heard their news he became caught up in it and it was after nine o’clock before they remembered their original intention.
‘Let’s leave it for another day or so, shall we?’ Patricia said. ‘Let’s get the plans worked out for the ice cream parlour. Then, if she thinks I’m a go-ahead business woman, likely to make you rich, she’ll think more kindly of me.’
Roland thought that unlikely but he was only too glad to postpone what would certainly be an unpleasant interview with his mother.
* * *
Before Roland had spoken to his mother about his intention to marry Patricia, Patricia and Mrs Drew met in unfortunate circumstances. Mrs Drew was just outside Cottage Flowers talking to a friend. Patricia was alone in the shop as Sally had taken the afternoon off to take part in a whist drive, and Patricia hesitated on the doorway, trying to pluck up the courage to go out and talk to the woman who would one day be her mother-in-law.
She had been preparing a table centre for a wedding party, one of seven, this one was the most splendid, intended for the bride and bridegroom’s table.
She still had the pyramid form in her hand as she stood in the doorway and waited for the two women to finish their conversation. The words didn’t reach her but from the gestures and the head turning she was clearly aware that Mrs Drew was talking about her, and was saying nothing meant to flatter.
She put down the flower vase, brushed her hands down her skirt to remove the untidy pieces of moss, and walked a few steps towards them. Perhaps the woman would stop spouting her poison if she were within hearing.
‘Wicked and selfish. She takes what she wants and devil take the rest of us. Ruined my daughter’s life, she did. My lovely Vanessa killed herself because of her, and now she’s trying to take my son away from me.’ Mrs Drew didn’t lower her voice but raised it as Patricia approached.
Patricia turned away. It was useless. She would never persuade Mrs Drew that she was a suitable wife for Roland.
‘You needn’t turn away and pretend you haven’t heard!’ Mrs Drew said and there was small comfort in seeing the other woman walk away, obviously unhappy at what was being said.
‘I didn’t kill Vanessa, Mrs Drew. You were partly to blame, encouraging her to take tablets for every slight ailment, real or imagined, and—’
Patricia was startled into silence by the scream of rage which emanated from Mrs Drew. She went into the shop and closed the door. Unable to resist a glance to see if the woman had gone, she was startled to see her writhing on the ground.
‘Go away, get right away from me, I’m all right,’ Mrs Drew gasped as she lay, curled up in pain on the pavement outside the shop.
‘Don’t try to move, I’ll phone for the doctor,’ Patricia said after trying to make the resisting woman comfortable. Mrs Drew was clutching her chest, in obvious pain, and Patricia wished Julia were at home so she could have called her as well. Mrs Drew isn’t going to accept help from me, she thought with alarm. She might die and she’d prefer to rather than allow me to help her!
When she was assured that the doctor was on his way, she rang Roland and told him what had happened. ‘She can’t stand me near her,’ she said tearfully. ‘She’s in pain and obviously ill but she hates me so much she won’t let me help her.’
‘I’m on my way,’ Roland said.
‘Just try to relax and breath slowly,’ Patricia urged, when she knelt once more beside the gasping woman. She felt certain she was dealing with a heart attack, and the woman’s agitation at having her near must be a bad thing. She ought to go away but she couldn’t, not with Mrs Drew so obviously ill. But she shivered at the thought of another death being laid at her feet, so she said nothing, just covered the woman with her winter coat to keep her warm. Mrs Drew threw off the coat as if it were burning her.
‘Go away. I don’t want your coat or your words of comfort. You killed my daughter! Drove her to suicide! Murderer is what you are!’
‘Now Mam, you know that isn’t true so why upset us all by saying it.’ Roland had arrived as his mother had gasped out the cruel words and before he knelt to comfort her he paused long enough to hug the tearful Patricia. ‘It’s all right, darling. She’s just an unhappy and foolish woman.’ But even his whispered, ‘I love you,’ couldn’t stop her tears.
The doctor arrived and within a short time Mrs Drew was in hospital. Roland and Patricia went to the house to collect the clothes and toilet items she would need for a short stay.
‘She refuses to tell me what’s wrong,’ Roland said, ‘but from what she hinted, she’s been suffering from something for several months.’
‘Then there should be some medicines around somewhere, why don’t you look in her room?’
Patricia sat nervously in the living room where she felt the dislike of Mrs Drew oozing out of the very walls, while Roland went up to his mother’s bedroom and looked through the drawers. He found no medicines. What he did find was his sister’s diary.
It was wrapped in a silk scarf that had belonged to Vanessa, and hidden at the back
of a drawer filled with old letters and postcards. He put it back, then, on a sudden whim, took it down and showed it to Patricia.
‘We oughtn’t look,’ Patricia said. ‘It’s like robbing a grave, reading the last thoughts of a woman who’s been dead for years.’
‘I want to look at those last pages, but I’ll understand if you can’t.’
Patricia wandered through to the kitchen and made a pot of tea while Roland sat and began to turn the thin pages of his sister’s diary. He was white faced when she returned to the living room.
‘Look at this, Patricia. You must!’ he insisted as she turned away. With a hand that trembled, he held out the open pages, pointing to the entry for the days before she died.
‘Only a week to go before my darling Matthew plans to marry Patricia. But he’ll come back to me before that happens, I know it’s me he really loves.’
‘Two days from now, on Thursday, I must do it. They are planning to go to the cottage at eight o’clock, my darling Matthew and that treacherous Patricia. Eight o’clock they’ll be there. I will be able to time it precisely so they’ll find me in plenty of time.’
‘I have the tablets ready in my handbag, enough to convince darling Matthew that I am serious about killing myself. He will come back to me. He’ll only have to see me there with the bottle of tablets to believe I mean it. How better to show my love than by attempting to die? Poor Patricia. She’s in for a shock, but how could she expect to take Matthew from me?’
‘Today I am the happiest woman in the world. Matthew will be coming back to me. Poor Patricia, what a fool to think Matthew could love her after knowing me.’
‘It is six o’clock. I have made sure they are still going to the cottage at eight to take up the few paltry presents they’ve received, and which will have to be returned. I will be lying on the floor, dying of love. It will be so romantic. I’ll have to take some tablets to make it convincing but I won’t be in any danger. At eight o’clock Matthew will walk in and – Oh, it’s so exciting. I can’t wait to see Matthew’s loving face as he sweeps me up in his arms.’
Ice Cream in Winter Page 22