The jobs had become boring and although the excitement of the approaching adventure boosted her spirits for most of the morning, by two o’clock she was throwing more on to the pile destined for the ash bin than on the pile to be ironed.
Her grandmother’s irons were solid metal and had to be heated alternatively over the fire. While she waited for one to reach the heat necessary for pressing a skirt, she sat down and counted her money and made a shopping list for the following day.
She felt a little sorry for her grandmother, who preferred her granddaughter’s company to having Mavis and Ralph looking after her, as had become apparent when Sheila had taken Gran her early-morning tea.
‘They mean well, but they do fuss so,’ Gran had complained.
‘Don’t I know it! Why d’you think I’m leaving?’ Sheila had confided.
‘You don’t love this boy, then?’ Her gran’s watchful eyes followed Sheila as she struggled to find an answer approaching honesty but that would also satisfy the old lady.
‘You aren’t leaving because you can’t bear to be parted from him?’ Gran pressed.
‘I do feel something for Freddie, of course I do. But it isn’t love,’ Sheila admitted. ‘Anyway, we can’t get married or anything for ages, so we’ll have time to think about how we feel about each other, won’t we?’
‘I suppose so. But Sheila, be careful. It’s all very well to defy convention but something else to pretend that other people’s good opinion of you doesn’t matter. It does.’
Sheila had tried to block her grandmother’s advice from her mind, as she started her ironing. Now, as she waited for the iron to heat on a fire that had burnt low, she saw Ethel Davies passing the kitchen window.
She stepped back and hoped, with Gran dosing in the living room, she might get away with not answering her mother-in-law’s knock. She felt guilty when she thought of Ethel’s painful struggle up the hill and, after hearing the door knocked three times, she relented and opened it. At least Ethel could have a rest before walking all the way back down, even if she had no wish to hear what the woman had to say to her.
Ethel went in and had a brief word with Gran while Sheila discarded her attempt to finish her ironing. She offered tea and Ethel followed Sheila back into the kitchen to make it.
‘I’ve had a reply to my letter to Maurice,’ Ethel said, sinking with relief into a chair. ‘There was a note for you included with it.’
Sheila’s heart leapt. She had difficulty holding her voice calm as she said, ‘Oh, I don’t think I want to read it, but thank you for bringing it all the way up here. I suppose he’s furious with me for telling you where he was? I had a stinking rude letter I did! I don’t want to read another one. Let your son keep his whereabouts a secret if he wants to, Mrs Davies. He’s hurt me quite enough.’ All the time, Sheila stared at the letter, pushed temptingly close across the table.
‘He wants to thank you for your generosity,’ Ethel said, her deep, dark eyes watching Sheila’s agitation.
‘He what?’
‘He says he was touched by your generosity in passing on his address to me. You have no cause to thank him for what he did, or be kind to me. We’ve treated you badly, far worse than you deserve. Yet you knew how I was worrying and took the trouble to pass on his address. Maurice says you have a generous and forgiving spirit and are a lesson to us all.’
Sheila sat down and stared at the notepaper.
‘There’s poetic. Well, I don’t know what’s happened to change his mind, but I still remember how he answered my letter, telling him about the baby. If I were stupid enough to open this one, I’m sure I’d find more of the same. He might tell you that he’s grateful and appreciative, Mrs Davies, but I’m a lot wiser than you, when it comes to Maurice.’
‘He’s ill.’
‘Oh, so now we’re getting it. He can afford to be forgiving can he, now he’s ill and wanting someone to write and tell him how sorry they are?’
‘Please, Sheila, open it.’
Sheila rattled the lip of the jug against the rim of the cup as she poured the tea she had made and only after the tea was half-drunk did she reluctantly pick up the sealed letter.
‘Read it,’ Ethel pleaded as Sheila held it and looked at it contemptuously. With a thumb, the seal was broken and the paper, blue and crinkled, was spread flat.
The first thing Sheila noted was an address at the top of the page.
‘My Dear Sheila’, she read. ‘I have no right to expect you to even read this, but please let me tell you how I feel. Remorse for the way I treated you is uppermost in my heart. I used you, then discarded you for someone I thought I loved more. I was wrong. I know that now. I want to come home and repay you for my cruelty. I want to be a real husband to you, Sheila. Can you forgive me, or at least allow me the chance to try and make amends? I’ll have to try, somehow, to raise the money to refund my passage before I can come home, but believe me, home is where I want to be. Will you let me come home to you, my wife?’
It was signed, ‘Your foolish, your loving, Maurice’
Sheila felt tears burning her eyes and she wished she had had the sense to wait until she was alone before reading it. She had expected to throw it down and tell Ethel she was a fool to think it would contain anything other than more insults. Now her heart was in turmoil and she knew that if she spoke she would cry. She threw the flimsy notepaper in front of Ethel and whispered, ‘Go on, read it,’ before sobs began to shake her shoulders and wails of pent up despair filled the room.
Ethel’s brown eyes were as tear-filled as Sheila’s when she read the letter. She reached out her arms and tried to comfort the girl.
‘Please go, Mrs Davies, I’ll come down and see you later. But, please, I want to be alone now.’
Ethel made her slow way back down the hill. She too wanted solitude to fathom out whether her son’s words were honest or the result of his being ill and far away from anyone who cared. She crossed her fingers as she pushed the door open, and prayed fervently that if he did return, it would be to make a real effort to settle into marriage with Sheila, and not start something up again with Delina Honeyman.
* * *
Sheila did not go to Ethel’s to discuss the letter. She needed someone independent of both herself and Maurice and there was no one. She threw her things, so carefully pressed, back into cupboards and drawers and tried to write to Freddie. She wrote three letters, the first asking for more time to decide, the second telling him she was no longer sure what she wanted and the third being brutally frank, and explaining that a letter from Maurice had turned her decision to live near him on its head. She posted the third and immediately felt better.
She bathed and put on the suit in which she had planned to travel to Devon and went out. Her hair shone and for once hung exactly as she wanted it to. Her shoes were fairly new and had been polished to a mirror finish. Wearing a few pieces of jewellery and with carefully applied makeup, including her favourite Max Factor crème-puff, ‘Tempting Touch’, she set off to see Delina.
Within her she felt a need to hit back and punish the girl who, in her mind had stolen Maurice from her. The prospect of distressing the young woman sent the last hint of unhappiness speeding off into the night. Maurice had come to his senses. He loved her.
‘I thought you’d like to be the first to know,’ Sheila said when Delina opened the door. ‘My husband is coming home. To me, of course, to his wife, Miss Honeyman. Goodnight.’
She was disconcerted to hear the door close without Delina uttering a word. She would have been even more surprised if she could have seen through the door. Delina was smiling. A ghost had been well and truly put to rest. She had heard the news without feeling anything except relief that for her the love affair was over.
Sheila returned home, took down the picture of Cornel Wilde and from a drawer pulled out a small photograph of Maurice. She stared at it and wondered anxiously if she would still feel the same about him. She also wondered if he genuinely wanted h
er or knew that coming back to his wife would ensure his family’s compassion and their financial help.
She regretted going to gloat over Delina. If it were Delina he really wanted then, legal wife or not, she would lose him again. Had she set herself up for another disaster? Reading and re-reading the letter, she took comfort from it, interpreting from its few lines much more than Maurice, poetic or not, could possibly have intended.
* * *
A few days later, Amy, who knew nothing of Freddie’s disappointment, received a phone call from him, begging her to go and see Sheila and persuade her to change her mind about taking Maurice back.
‘Freddie, I can’t do that! It isn’t up to you or me to tell her to ignore the chance of a reunion with her legal husband!’
‘She’s suing him for divorce, Mam. He’s never been her husband and how can you support him after the way he treated her, him and that family of his!’
In Amy’s mind was the retort that Sheila had not treated Freddie as anything more than a dupe, but she held the comment back. Freddie would not thank her for the reminder.
‘I won’t go to see Sheila but I will talk to Ethel and see what Maurice really said. If there’s anything Sheila hasn’t fully explained, Ethel will know. Ring me tomorrow and I’ll tell you all I’ve found out.’
Amy replaced the receiver and stood trembling with indecision. She knew that if Sheila wanted to mess Freddie about, maybe for years, there was nothing she could do to prevent her. She could only be constant in her support of him, always be there and willing to do what she could to help. This was no exception. After the shop closed she went, with Margaret and Sian, to see Ethel.
* * *
‘So what Sheila told Freddie was true then?’ Amy said when Ethel had repeated what had been in both letters. ‘What shall I tell Freddie then? That once more Sheila is playing silly-buggers with his affection? Nice girl that is! Honestly, Ethel, she’s nothing but trouble, and your Maurice is no better!’
‘Look, Amy, I can’t help you. I only know how glad I am that Maurice is coming back. I’m prepared to let everything else wait till then. Things will settle one way or another and what we think doesn’t really come into it. Go now, and we’ll talk again. Tomorrow perhaps.’
‘You’re right and I’m sorry. It isn’t for me to burst in here and blame you or your son.’ She lowered her voice and added sadly, ‘I have to keep reminding myself of my past. It’s so easy to forget and accuse others of misbehaving.’
‘Easy too to forget that if Sheila had been brought up with less anxious parents she might have been different. She’s never been allowed to have a thought of her own, poor dab.’
Amy called Margaret who was out in the garden, staring up at an old birds’ nest in a hawthorn tree with the aid of a torch. ‘Come on, Margaret, love, we’ll come and see Auntie Ethel another time. We’ll have to get this baby home or she’ll soon let us know she’s unhappy.’ She apologised again to Ethel and they set off home through the dark lane.
* * *
When Nelly was cleaning the shop later that week, news of Maurice’s intended return had leaked out and most people were of the opinion that when he did, it would be to Delina he went and not his wife.
‘I’m selfish enough to wonder how it will concern Freddie, and how it will affect me,’ Amy admitted.
‘Another of them auguries, you mean?’ Nelly said.
‘Yes, I suppose so. I’m wondering whether this will alter what I decide to do about marrying Billie and going to the farm, if Freddie’s still a part of the family.’
‘Ask ’im, did yer? Ask Freddie ’ow ’e felt?’ Nelly rested on her bucket to enquire.
‘Well, no. I think we’ve hardly mentioned it since Sheila’s latest change of heart.’
‘When in doubt do nowt!’ Nelly said, puffing as she lifted the bucket of dirty water to empty outside. ‘Wait an’ see’.
‘For how long? I can’t expect Billie to wait much longer. Had him on a string long enough, I have.’
‘’E ain’t goin’ nowhere.’
‘Neither am I, Nelly, neither am I. Unless it’s round and round in circles!’
Chapter Twenty Three
Prue came home for a week and the extra work made Amy very tired and irritable. Prue had regained her sharp, accusatory manner together with her health and seemed to criticise everything her sister did. She took over most of the responsibility for Sian and seemed at last to delight in her little daughter. Amy knew that soon the baby would no longer be hers to care for and love. Life was so hectic she knew handing the baby back to her real mother would ease the burden but she dreaded the moment when Sian would no longer be her responsibility. It would be a long time too before she felt happy about Prue looking after Sian, she knew that already.
She was loath to allow Prue to take the baby out on her own and was alarmed one day to find the pram and Sian missing from the garden, where she had put her as she hung out some washing. Prue was not in her room and Amy paused only long enough to grab a coat before running from the house to search for her. Not knowing which way she had gone, she settled for the most likely and, taking her bicycle for speed, peddled past Mrs French’s house to where her sister had lived before her illness.
The windows were all open and she could hear Prue singing as she approached. Looking through the kitchen window she saw Prue rocking the little girl and singing to her while Sian crowed her delight. Amy crept away, wondering what to do. She did not think Prue well enough to be left alone with the baby, but feared to do or say something to upset Prue and set back her progress towards full health.
Fortunately the decision was taken for her as Prue opened the door and called to her. ‘I thought I would show Sian the house so it won’t be a complete surprise to her when she comes home,’ Prue said, smiling. ‘Shall we walk back now?’
‘Yes. There’s pleased I am that you’re making plans for the future.’
The following morning Amy went to see Prue’s doctor and between them they decided that the safest plan was for Amy to appoint a housekeeper for Prue. That way the baby could visit in safety until Prue was well enough to care for her. Several people were asked to keep their ears open for someone suitable but it was several days before Amy interviewed Florrie Gwyn.
It was Billie who found her. He was in almost daily contact with Amy either at the shop or the house, still hoping to persuade her that her future lay at the farm.
‘She’s a Mrs Florrie Gwyn,’ he announced one Monday morning as he helped Amy put the vegetables out on to the pavement. ‘A customer of Mary’s she is, and an ex-nurse. Widowed a couple of years ago and she’d be glad of a place. Shares now with her daughter and they both find it a bit of a strain, like.’
Florrie Gwyn was a tall red-haired woman with angular features who, to Amy, looked cold and rather hard. When she spoke though, the lines on her face softened and her surprisingly soft voice reassured Amy.
‘It’s with children I’ve worked mostly,’ Florrie explained. ‘Sick children for the most part of course, but children need the same things wherever you find them, don’t they? Warmth, food and the knowledge that they are needed and loved.’
‘You’ll have to get on with my sister as well, mind,’ Amy said, after Florrie had looked at the child and cuddled her in her capable arms. ‘She might be a bit more difficult to get on with than our lovely Sian, but you’ll soon know when you meet her whether you can cope.’
They arranged to meet at Amy’s house the following Sunday morning and Prue made an extra effort to look smart. Florrie arrived on her bicycle and, although Prue was very formal and almost suspicious at first, the two women soon found shared interests and began talking like friends. Amy breathed a huge sigh of relief. At least that was one hurdle overcome.
Florrie started living at the house straight away so that Prue could go home whenever she wanted to. It was strange to see the curtains billowing out each morning and lights showing at night after the months of dark, still s
ilence.
Billie went several times to see if Florrie needed anything and provoked in Amy a jealousy that surprised her, making her show more affection towards Billie than she truly felt.
At weekends, Prue began to examine the books left by Morgan and surprised Amy by her swift understanding of them.
‘Satisfactory, are they?’ she asked one day as Prue put the books back into the briefcase Morgan used to carry them to and from the office.
‘Well, to be honest, I’m very impressed with the way that young man is managing the place. He’s thorough and honest and very keen to increase the business.’
‘Good. I’m glad you don’t have to worry about that.’
‘In fact I think I’ll continue to let him manage, even when I’m well enough to take back the reins. There’ll still be plenty for me to do and, with Sian to look after – yes, I think I’ll leave things just as they are, and give Morgan a good increase in wages. I’ll keep an eye on things of course, but yes, I’ll leave things stay as they are.’
* * *
Mavis was busily polishing the table, trying to remove a stain left from placing a hot teapot on the polished surface when Sheila had called to see her.
‘You get me all agitated you do, Sheila.’
‘What are you bothering with that, for? It’s Amy’s and you’ll be leaving it behind soon.’
‘When I leave here and go back to Gran’s, you mean? Well I don’t want Amy telling people I didn’t look after the place,’ Mavis retorted, rubbing more furiously than before.
‘Amy won’t make a fuss. Why get so bothered?’
‘That’s the way I am. I care about people’s opinion of me, I do. Pity you don’t!’
‘Oh, Mam, don’t start. I’ve come to tell you I won’t be going to Devon, after all.’
Sheila was surprised at the look of relief on her mother’s flushed face. She had not realised how much her mother had hated the gossip her intention to join Freddie had caused.
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