‘God, that’s the cleverest thing I saw in years,’ he told Belle animatedly when they came out of the booth, all squinting at the bright afternoon. ‘They ought to have it here regular. Ye should go over to the store an’ tell your grandmother what she’s missing.’
‘Why don’t you go?’ asked Belle. ‘Take her to see it. I’m sure you could stand a repeat showing.’
‘Ah no, I’ve somebody to see.’
‘Who?’
‘No one you know. Anyways,’ he began to move away, ‘thanks for inviting me, Belle, You too, Bri. I really enjoyed it.’
‘Hey, wait a moment, Gramps. We were going to take you home for tea.’
‘Buy some pork pies instead,’ shouted her grandfather huskily. ‘They’ll taste better.’
‘Well, at least he’s showing a spark of his old humour,’ said Belle to the doctor.
Brian nodded thoughtfully, then, after they had walked for a while, said, ‘How long has he been having these pains?’ She asked what pains. ‘I saw his face screw up in discomfort once or twice while he was with us.’
She shrugged. ‘Well, I’m sure if there’s anything wrong he’ll tell us.’
* * *
‘Just look at that,’ complained old Mrs Howgego to Vinnie, dustbin lid in hand. ‘I don’t know where they’re all coming from.’
Vinnie stared at the pile of bottles in the dustbin. ‘I’d say the master, but they’re not whiskey bottles.’
The withered cook slammed down the lid. ‘Don’t you be so unkind. Poor old lad. You know very well he only has the one a day now. No… I had a look at the labels. They’re all medicine bottles – and at the number of ’em I’d say someone in this house is very poorly.’
* * *
‘Hello, Patrick!’ Francis paused to hail the Irishman with his cane but the grind of carriage wheels blocked the greeting. There was a large hold-up of traffic down the narrow High Ousegate. When it had cleared Francis looked across the road to call Patrick once more, but the Irishman had vanished into thin air. Farthingale looked up and down both sides of the street, then hoisted his shoulders. Patrick must have gone into that bookshop. He walked on, leaning heavily on his cane.
Above the bookshop was an office where Patrick was now seated, waiting for his turn. Whilst doing so he read the back to front gold lettering on the window: R. BROWN PHYSICIAN.
Chapter Forty-Five
A bullet hit the wall behind him. He knew it was a bullet for he had been shot at once before… besides which, it took the skin off his neck prior to embedding itself in the brickwork. If he needed any more proof that the act had been intentional he had it on the scrap of paper in his pocket – ‘My darling Dickie, I have to warn you that my husband has found out about us…’ Not waiting for the sniper to take better aim, he ran.
It was unfortunate that his assailant was in possession of four wheels. While Dickie’s legs tore hell for leather down the deserted sidestreet the cuckolded husband took potshots from the back seat of his automobile. Dickie wheeled round a corner, gasping for breath. He had only run twenty-five yards and already his thigh muscles were screaming their protest. A crowd – he needed a crowd to hide in. His tortured legs staggered back to the main street, the car still chugging alongside, its rear occupant shouting obscenities, his bullets zinging into the sidewalk – Dusty, I swear, I swear if I get out of this I’ll never look at another woman.
Oh, lovely people! Dickie reached the main street and slipped into the drift of shoppers, hoping this would deter the trigger-happy pursuer. The motor car was forced to halt at the junction, giving him a chance to put a gap between them. But soon it was moving again. He must find somewhere to hide.
The driver of the automobile scoured the crowded street, then flung over his shoulder, ‘I can’t see him, Mr Stone – he musta gone into one o’ those stores.’
The man in the rear seat shoved the gun inside his jacket and threw open the door. ‘He did – that one.’ He gestured towards a fabric store. ‘You wait here in case there’s another exit.’ Dodging the traffic, Stone made straight for the target.
The girl assistant smiled as he approached the counter and said she wouldn’t keep him a moment, she was just serving this lady. He asked if a man had come through here. ‘Oh, yes!’ Her expression showed disapproval. ‘He went out the back – I told him it’s against regulations but he totally ignored me.’
Stone ignored the regulations too, going to the back of the shop and opening a door. The rear of this shop backed onto a meatpacking company. Stone looked around but there were no live bodies, only a row of dead ones strung on hooks. Then something whirred in his brain – the customer who was being served back there had been particularly tall for a woman… and she had seemed reluctant for Stone to see her face. A knowing look replaced the one of hostility. Rushing back into the store he pulled out the gun and without hesitation rammed it into the tall woman’s back. ‘Turn around – very slowly.’
The assistant let out a shriek. Stone told her to shut up and once more urged the tall woman to revolve. She did… her face waxen in terror. Stone balked. ‘Oh, pardon me, ma’am! I thought you were the man I was after…’ She had begun to add her screams to those of the assistant, piercing his eardrums and his trance. He began to move backwards, muttering awkward apologies. Realising that he was still pointing the gun he stuck it away in a hurry and rushed out onto the footwalk. The women’s screams alerted a police officer who now strode over to investigate. Stone ran to his car and ordered the driver to move off as quick as he liked.
Had he bothered to look more closely at the row of carcases behind the fabric store he would have found another. Dickie unbent his legs, swung his feet to the ground and loosed his grip on the steel hook. The knees of his light-coloured trousers were gory from pressing them against the beast’s ribcage. Peeping round the huge side of beef he let out the breath he had been holding and put a hand up to feel his wounded neck. It stung… but not as much as if it had caught him between the eyes. Bringing out a handkerchief to remove the sheen from his brow he made rueful examination of his clothes. That’s it, Dust. That’s the last one. This was just too bloody close. His heart was still beating at an abnormal pace. He stood awhile for it to settle, then made for the door of the fabric shop, pausing once to dip into a bin and extract a meaty bone.
The women were still jabbering hysterically to the police officer who was trying to calm them. All looked up as Dickie sauntered casually past. He bestowed his charming smile and held up the bone. ‘Just popped in to get a little treat for the dog.’
With this he raised his hat and before the police officer could accost him had vanished into the crowd.
* * *
The Irishman studied the ticket in his hand for a long time, indecision wrenching him this way and that. He desperately needed to use that scrap of card, but there were still things keeping him here. Thomasin? No… not really. She was low on the list. What he and Thomasin once had was gone. Oh, sometimes when she laughed he would see, behind that aged mask of materialism, the bright, vivacious creature she had been in her youth, and he would feel that old surge of affection. But he was kidding himself, he knew, if he imagined she felt the same. It was Thomasin’s avid interest in business and saving historical monuments that kept her alive, kept her young and made him old.
Only a little higher on the list were his son and daughter, for they had their own sons and daughters, and though they might try to involve Patrick in their lives he realised it was made out of filial obligation and Christ, he didn’t want to be pitied by his own children.
Belle didn’t pity him. On the imaginary list she was queen, the thing which anchored him to this barren existence. How could he make that final break, put a channel of grey water between them? Yet he had to go. He must.
The solution was to be provided in the final moments of nineteen-hundred.
‘Have you heard of Emily Hobhouse, Gramps?’ was the casual utterance that was to mark the parting.<
br />
Belle and he were in the drawing room of Patrick’s home. Brian was here, too. The children, as usual when they came to visit, were playing hide and seek in the big house. Patrick could hear their distant laughter. He liked to see her children and it was easier for Belle to call on him these days, his aches and pains being what they were. Though of course he had made other excuses for his stay-at-home behaviour.
Concentration brought more lines to the old face. ‘Ah,’ he said eventually. ‘That’d be the one they call “that bloody woman”?’
Brian smiled. Despite this there was a serious fold to his brow, Patrick noticed.
‘That’s her.’ Belle leafed blithely through a magazine as she spoke. ‘I went to one of her lectures last week down in London. She was very interesting.’
‘Was she indeed?’ Patrick sensed the air of hesitancy behind that chatter.
‘Yes. Well anyway, she was telling us about the deep distress of the Boer women and children, how they’re suffering very badly over there – I don’t know if you’ve heard of it?’
‘Oh, I don’t get to read the papers very much now with these eyes o’ mine.’
She broke off her main theme. ‘Yes, Brian said he’d seen you screwing them up as if you’re in pain. Is that what’s giving you bother?’
His alarm was well-concealed. ‘Aye, but ’tis nothing to trouble yourself over, ye know, ’tis just me age.’
‘You’ll have to get yourself some specs,’ prescribed Brian. ‘Don’t be a martyr. I’m sure they’d suit you. I’m as blind as a bat without mine.’
‘Aye, I’m sure they’d make me feel like a new woman. Now ye were saying, Belle, about South Africa.’
‘Oh yes, terrible suffering going on by all accounts, isn’t there, Bri?’ She went back to the magazine. ‘She’s marvellous, Emily Hobhouse. Some people might just rant and rave but Emily is going right to the scene of the crime as it were, so she can see conditions at first hand.’ At last the magazine was deposited in her lap and she faced him. ‘I’m beating about the bush…’
‘I felt the draught,’ said Pat. ‘’Tis not like you.’
‘I’m going with her, Gramps.’
‘To Africa?’ The sinews stood out on his bony hands as they gripped the chair arm more tightly. ‘Does your mother know?’
‘Not yet. I decided to tell you first. I knew you’d be apprehensive at me going all that way but it’s very important to me, Gramps.’ She leaned forward intently. ‘There are children that need help. It’s my duty to go.’
‘Before ye go rushing off,’ said her grandfather quiedy, ‘what about your own kids?’
‘Yes, they do pose a bit of a problem… I’m going to surprise both of you now and admit I made a big mistake – oh, not in taking them in,’ she hastened as their lips parted. ‘But I realise that instead of keeping them with me I should’ve found families for them, a mother and a father. It’s too late for Eddie and his sisters, they’ve been with me too long, but those I took in more recently, well, I’m going to see if I can find anyone who’s willing to take all three of them. Apart from the fact of them needing a mother and father, I just can’t keep them all – the house will burst. Placing the babies is no trouble, but the older ones… well, it’ll have to be someone special, a couple who’re desperate for children – anyway, that’ll all have to wait until I get back. It’s not for long, you understand, I’ll probably be back just after the New Year. Sally’s promised to look after them, but the thing is… she can’t really cope alone. I need to hire some help for her, and well, if I’m over there I won’t be able to sell any articles. No articles, no income…’
‘Glory be to God!’ despite himself Patrick laughed out loud. ‘D’you realise this is the first time in your life you ever actually asked me for anything – asked anyone, I shouldn’t wonder. Brian, get an earful o’ this.’
‘He’s going too,’ she provided.
‘Is he, begod?’ A speculative glance for the doctor. ‘Then there’s hope I’ll see ye married yet. Who can say what those red-hot Transvaal nights will do to a girl?’ Suddenly, with a jolt, Patrick realised what it was that made them appear the old married couple. They knew each other – Knew, as in Biblical terms. He could not say what had made him guess. Maybe it was the look that had passed between them when he had made his last statement, or that aura of intimacy that always seemed to emanate from them – the things he and Tommy used to have. The thought spawned a sudden and unwarranted anger, which just as quickly died. She was, after all, twenty-five years old, and Brian was a good man. The smile that followed brimmed with understanding. It made the feeling of emptiness all the more difficult to understand.
‘Oh, I’m glad to see you like this again,’ she gripped his hand, then, on further impulse, hugged him. ‘I’ve been so worried about you.’ Brian deliberately remained on the outside of the conversation; it was between the two of them.
‘Worry no more, I’m fine. An’ go ahead, hire as much help as ye need. I’ll provide the spondulicks.’
‘It’ll only be temporary, mind, and I’ll pay you back.’
‘Oh, Christ, don’t spoil it!’ Brian joined Patrick’s laughter as the old man slapped her thigh.
She hugged him again. ‘All right, have it your way – but don’t go thinking that just because you’ve given me a few bob I’ll come back married.’
A wink for Brian, ‘We’ll wait an’ see,’ and a loving pat for her.
The mood changed. ‘Please don’t expect too much.’
‘I’ll try not to.’
She held her head to one side. ‘Oy-oy, the noise has stopped. That means they’re up to no good. I’d better just go check.’ She wagged a finger at the men before she left. ‘Don’t be talking about me while I’m gone.’
Nevertheless they did. ‘Ye’ll take good care of her in Africa, Brian?’
The answer came with a warm smile. ‘My pleasure.’
‘Dare I hope she’s got it wrong? Might ye come back as Mr and Mrs?’
Unlike previous occasions Brian was unable to give hope. ‘No,’ he said bluntly. ‘She’ll never marry: me or anybody. I know that now. But then I’m content to leave it the way it is if Belle’s happy.’ Perhaps content was not quite the right word, reflected Brian, for he would have much preferred that Belle loved him as he did her and would bear him a child… but if that wasn’t going to happen, he would make do with what she was willing to give.
‘Ah well,’ Patrick nodded understandingly. ‘Ye’ll be careful, I trust? I wouldn’t see her hurt. She’s very dear to me, that child.’
‘Me too.’ And then Brian looked into the old man’s eyes: Patrick wasn’t simply concerned about them going to Africa – somehow he knew about the intimacy of the relationship. How? Had the giveaway come from Brian? If so, Belle would kill him for upsetting her grandfather. That was the main reason she had forbidden Brian to move in with her; not because of what others might say, but that the old man would not have understood such modern behaviour. Brian felt she was wrong in this belief – at this moment, more than ever, he felt that Pat should know how happy she was with her role. I mean, Brian told himself worriedly, what if he thinks I’m using her? With this thought, he studied Pat’s face. The latter was benign, causing him to rethink. Maybe Pat hadn’t guessed at all – maybe it was just Brian being neurotic after having to keep quiet about it for three years. Nevertheless, he offered a comforting sentence. ‘I won’t hurt her, sir.’
‘How long shall the pair of ye be away?’ Patrick pointed to his pipe-rack and Brian went to select one, passing it to the old man along with his tobacco bowl. ‘I ask because things might’ve changed when ye get back.’
Brian was puzzled. ‘In what way?’
Patrick dodged the question. ‘I don’t want her comin’ back alone. Ye must be with her – d’ye understand?’
‘No…’ Brian’s questioning ‘Sir?’ was left unanswered at the rumbustious entry of Belle and the children.
‘I’m
sorry, Gramps, they’ve been causing havoc in your kitchen again.’ It was obvious Belle was ready to leave. ‘Mrs Howgego was about to use the wooden spoon on Eddie when I got there.’
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ said the boy, who was growing rather large for a wooden spoon to have any effect on him.
‘Oh no, it wouldn’t be. Now go along – quietly, mind – and get your coats. We’re going.’
Patrick puffed contentedly. ‘Will ye send me a postcard?’
‘I will.’ His grand-daughter stooped to kiss him, and found nothing strange in the fact that he clung onto her; she was after all going a long way. ‘And I shall send instructions on my homecoming. I shall expect you there with your Union Jack to meet me at the docks. Come along now, Brian,’ she pulled away briskly. ‘You have a surgery to see to, haven’t you?’
Brian rose from his chair, still puzzling over the old man’s warning, but it was apparent this wasn’t to be enlarged upon in front of Belle. He went for his coat, like Belle not bothering to ring for the maid.
‘Come along, say goodbye to Gramps,’ Belle called the children together.
He patted cheeks and ruffled heads as they crowded about him, but his main attention was for Belle. This was the last time he would look upon that beloved face; he wanted to savour it.
‘Right, we really must be off, Gramps.’ Belle apologetically herded the children out.
‘Take care of her, Brian,’ called Pat as they left.
‘Yes! See you as soon as we get back.’ The door slammed.
She had made his decision for him. When Belle left for South Africa Patrick would make for home.
* * *
‘Have y’ever been to Ireland, Fran?’ asked Patrick during their after-dinner discussion. Francis dined regularly with them and Patrick, realising a long time ago that the man had no designs on his wife, had come to welcome this.
‘No, I never have.’ Francis watched the smoke from Pat’s cigar float up over the Irishman’s head and disperse before it reached the electric light. He recalled the man’s childlike pleasure – as at the motor car – when Thomasin had had electricity installed a couple of weeks ago, rushing about from room to room, switching the lights on and off.
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