‘Start with the flowers,’ she instructed, forgetting all about her task for the moment.
He looked awkward, not unappreciative of the exotic blooms just unsure how to describe them. ‘Well, it depends whereabouts in Africa you are, it can seem like several different countries. In the Cape there are these ones called proteas and, depending what colour they are ’cause they come in all sorts of shades, but there are these dark red and white ones and before they’re opened, when they’re all curled up tightly they look like bloodshot eyeballs.’
‘Oh that’s very poetic I must say!’ Grace ejaculated mirth. ‘Trust a man to come up with that!’
Captivated by her laughing face, his own mirrored her amusement. ‘Well! You can’t expect a soldier to be expert on such things.’
‘I suppose not,’ she smiled, and asked him to go on about Africa which he did for a while.
But, wanting to know more about her he changed the subject and observed, ‘You don’t sound very Irish.’
‘I’ve never even been to Ireland. My grandparents came here years ago.’
He wanted to know everything about her. ‘So, does all your family live in York?’
‘What there is of them, yes.’
‘Are your grandparents still alive?’ He had always envied people who had a grandfather.
‘No – though I’ve a great aunt who’s ancient. She’ll probably outlive us all.’
‘And how many sisters have you got?’
‘Three.’
‘And are they all as pretty as you?’ He hoped he didn’t sound smarmy.
She turned pink at his compliment. ‘Oh … well, they’re much better looking I think.’
‘Must be stunners then.’
‘You’re very kind.’ Rushing on, she told him, ‘I’ve a brother, too, Fred. They’re all older than me.’
‘I’m the youngest as well!’ marvelled Probe. ‘What a lot we have in common. You haven’t by any chance got an Aunt Kit, have you? Now that’s something everyone should have.’
Grace smiled and replied in the negative.
Probyn spoke warmly. ‘She’s lovely, Aunt Kit, don’t you think?’
‘She is,’ said Grace though only out of politeness. She found Mrs Treasure rather a daunting mistress.
Wanting to keep the conversation going, he asked, ‘So, how does working for her compare to chocolate bashing?’
‘There’s no free chocolates here,’ smiled Grace.
He gave a soft laugh. ‘What exactly did you do?’
‘Put the chocolates into boxes. I was chosen for my cool hands. Mine are always like ice even in summer.’ She displayed her fingers.
Probyn looked at them, imagining those cool digits sliding down the front of his trousers.
The sound of cartwheels heralded the family’s return then. ‘Well, I’ve enjoyed our chat, Grace …’ He seemed reluctant to leave her. ‘Er, tell me, what days do you work for Aunt Kit?’ When she told him he smiled to show he was pleased. ‘Then we’ll no doubt be bumping into each other again.’ With a final grin, he wrenched himself away and went to meet his aunt.
* * *
The novelty of English weather already beginning to pall, one minute warm, the next freezing cold, and badly in need of love after his heavy losses, Probyn looked forward to having the gentle Grace brighten his life again and was quick to repeat the experience, many times. It had turned out that her aunt’s illness was more debilitating than had been expected and Grace had taken on the job permanently, an arrangement which suited everyone.
Delighted at the regular visits from her nephew, Kit did not realize what was happening at first, until one afternoon as she was making a pot of tea for Probyn who had ostensibly gone to answer the call of nature, she overheard his voice in the laundry, addressing the O’Brien girl.
‘Sorry, Gobbie, I didn’t mean to make you jump!’ He excused himself as he emerged through clouds of steam, ‘I’m supposed to be on my way to the farleymelow.’
Gobbie? He must know the girl well to apply a nickname! Curious as to what was being said, his aunt moved nearer in order to listen.
She heard Grace laugh. ‘What or where on earth is a farleymelow?’
He explained that it was a family word for the privy, though he was ignorant as to how it had come into existence. He seemed in no rush to go there. ‘Actually, I wanted to ask if you’d come out with me on Saturday night?’
Shaken, Kit covered her mouth and awaited the Irish girl’s response.
There was no coyness. ‘I’d love to, Probe, but my brother wouldn’t allow me to go with a man on my own. However, I’ve a good friend called Charlotte. Perhaps if you’ve a friend to keep her company … ?’ Grace saw the flicker of pain cross his features and immediately asked, ‘Have I said something wrong?’
Probyn tore his mind from Greatrix. ‘No, no! I was just wondering if your friend is as bonny as you, I wouldn’t want to let her down with one of the ugly mugs I know.’
She laughed teasingly. ‘You’re saying you’re an oil painting?’
The cheeky little madam! Kit set her mouth in an angry line.
Then, just in case her remark had hurt him, Grace added quickly, ‘Only kidding! You’re quite presentable.’
‘Don’t get too carried away,’ advised Probyn, tongue in cheek.
‘No, I mean it,’ insisted Grace, oblivious to the sarcasm. ‘I’m very choosy myself, but Charlotte’s not, I’m sure whoever you pick to accompany her will be suitable.’
‘So you’ll come?’ Probyn sounded happy.
Kit almost collapsed as the two arranged to meet in town on Saturday night. What could she do? This would take serious thought. She didn’t want to have to sack Grace but she would if necessary.
Anxious not to be caught eavesdropping, she was pouring the tea when Probyn came back into the kitchen.
‘I was about to send out a search party,’ she told him, eyes darting over his face for signs of guilt.
But there was only happiness. ‘Sorry, Aunt, I was just talking to Grace.’
At least he was being open about it, thought Kit. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you two had much in common.’
‘Oh, you’d be wrong there, Aunt. I’ve asked her to come out with me on Saturday.’ The moment he said it Probyn knew it was a mistake. Aunt Kit’s expression made it obvious she did not want him rubbing shoulders with her Irish servant. He had assumed her to be over such prejudice. He would have to tread carefully here. ‘But then, she wasn’t sure if she’d be allowed so it’ll probably come to nowt – eh, did I tell you I got my Master Cook’s certificate? I’ll be able to cook dinner for you now!’
Kit smiled and projected interest, though silently wondering what on earth to do about this. But for now there was nothing she could do, merely keep it to herself and hope it would fizzle out.
* * *
Since the death of his best friend, Probyn had not formed a bond with any other soldier and doubted that he ever would again. However, he got on well enough with his fellow corporals and on returning to barracks set about persuading one of them, Dawson, into escorting Grace’s friend.
Meeting in Exhibition Square that Saturday night, the two couples went first to a cafe for tea and then to the theatre. He had purchased the tickets beforehand to make sure he would not be embarrassed by being turned away. Nothing could be allowed to ruin this relationship, for even after only a few months and without even kissing her he knew that this joyful personality was the one to whom he would give his name. Grace was everything a soldier’s wife should be: of upright character, clean, tidy, honest, a good listener, not to mention enormously desirable. He did not know how he managed to keep his hands off her.
She was a good conversationalist too, able to discuss anything under the sun, whether knowledgeable on the subject or not, honestly admitting to this lack of experience and willing to learn from her much travelled sweetheart.
Tonight, their time together disappeared as if by magic and alr
eady he was walking her home. How he wished the others would vanish too, though perhaps their presence was a good thing for without a chaperone he could not trust himself to respect Grace’s chastity. Never had he been so physically attracted to anyone. And from the way she looked at him, it appeared that Grace shared this fascination.
Arm in arm, they strolled along the decrepit Walmgate, the summery light not yet completely faded though it was ten o’clock. The discourse had remained constant since they had left the theatre. ‘And what do you think of us women getting the vote?’
‘I think you should have it,’ came the immediate response. ‘The black fellows in the Cape have it and if they’re even so much as contemplating extending it to those in other colonies I think it’s an insult not to give it to British women. The country would collapse without you.’
Grace was pleased he shared her own view, then asked his opinion on the enfranchisement of the Africans.
For a second, Probyn was plunged back into savage war, saw Greatrix wave goodbye, and was only half successful in ridding himself of the image, saying cautiously, ‘Well, I’ve met some genuinely nice people among them, kind and thoughtful. There’s good and bad in every race – there are one or two white men to whom I wouldn’t give the vote either – but in general I don’t think they can be trusted, it doesn’t take much for them to revert to their tribal ways and they need to be protected from each other, ruled with a rod of iron.’
They walked a few steps in silence. Then Grace said, ‘I suppose you must have had lots of lady friends on your travels?’ And she leaned her body inwards slightly, nudging him, though her eyes looked anywhere but at him, as if the question made her self-conscious.
‘Oh, not really,’ he turned his head to smile at her.
Still she did not meet his eye. ‘So you’ve never met anyone special?’
‘Not until now.’ He felt no guilt at saying it. Over the two and a half years since he’d last seen Emily he had come to understand that their affair had been a pipe-dream. Had it been true love he could never have got over her so quickly. She had just been there in a vulnerable moment and in his youthfulness he had mistaken his feelings for love. He hardly ever thought about her at all now except in moments of sexual frustration, treasuring her only as a sweet passionate memory. Whereas this young woman filled his mind constantly. ‘I’m surprised nobody’s snapped you up, though,’ he told Grace fondly.
She responded with a smile, clinging to his arm affectionately.
‘Could we make Saturday night a regular thing?’
Grace beamed into the face she had come quickly to love, nodded eagerly, then cast a glance over her shoulder at the other couple and whispered, ‘The only thing is, Charlotte confided that she doesn’t think much to your friend.’
Probyn steered her around a party of drunkards, using his body to shield her. ‘I thought you said she wasn’t fussy?’
‘That was before I knew you were bringing a gargoyle.’
Probyn chuckled and played with his moustache. He had selected Corporal Dawson as not bad-looking. ‘I thought you women usually admired wavy hair?’
Grace scolded herself. ‘Oh, I’m being cruel, I suppose he’s not bad, but he’s got mucky eyes.’
Glancing at Dawson, he still did not know what she meant. It would never fail to mystify him what attracted a woman to a man. He could have said that Charlotte with her big square face and tiny eyes and mouth was not the sort that could be choosy, but Grace’s friend had a lovely nature and had been very nice to him and so he offered, ‘I could see if anyone else—’
‘It’s all right,’ interrupted Grace with an impish grin. ‘I’ve coaxed her into pretending I’m out with her if my brother asks. I’m sure we don’t want anyone else along with us cramping our style, do we?’ At his smiling shake of head she confirmed her own keenness. ‘So, next Saturday then?’
‘And the Saturday after that, and every day of the week if I had my wish,’ said Probyn, eyes gleaming.
Grace looked flustered but pleased and said that she would like this too.
She drew him to a halt then, saying reluctantly, ‘We’d better part company here, just in case our Fred’s lurking.’
He showed concern. ‘I don’t like leaving you with all these roughs about.’
Grace smiled. ‘I went to school with most of them. They won’t hurt me. Thank you for a lovely time, Probe. I really enjoyed myself.’
Saying the pleasure had all been his, Probyn caught a glimpse of Charlotte beating off an attempt to kiss her and wondered whether he too would be repulsed. But looking into Grace’s desirous blue eyes he thought it safe to risk a quick peck.
As he made his goodbye and walked away he threw a glance over his shoulder and saw that Grace had laid her fingers over the spot on her cheek, as if wanting to retain the kiss forever.
* * *
Kit had been on tenterhooks for days, waiting to find out if her nephew had kept his date with Grace. The shock of finding out that he had was enormous, but this was to be salved by his casual addition that he did not know if he would be seeing her again. Though not wholly convinced by his nonchalant attitude, Kit had wanted very much to believe him and, with his visits becoming less frequent over the next six months and his interest in Grace apparently dwindling, she came to be reassured, seeing this as confirmation of her strategy to let the infatuation run its own course. It was natural that he would tire of one who was so much younger.
Had she but known that Probyn was meeting Grace in town on his days off, in fact courting her at every opportunity, Kit would have been horrified, and even more so had she known that her own past was one of the topics under discussion.
‘You know, I feel that I can say anything to you, Grace.’ He had already spoken about the death of his parents, related some if not all of his terrible time in Rhodesia and the death of his close friend Trix. Now on this autumn evening, seated on a bench by the river, his arm around her, Probyn had just finished informing her of Aunt Kit’s tragic loss of two illegitimate children.
Though inwardly scandalized, Grace passed no judgement for she knew how close Probyn was to his aunt. ‘Ah well, don’t all families have their secrets?’ And she in turn aired family skeletons, though they were in no way as lurid as his.
‘So now we know all about each other,’ smiled Probyn, hugging her into his side, his breath white on the cold riverside air.
Yet there was one name that would never pass his lips; what would be the point in telling her about Emily? It would only hurt her and besides, he would rather forget. Would rather. Why then, was it Emily’s face he saw when he bent to kiss Grace now? He should try and tell her, he really should. What if Wedlock’s intervention had been too late and his marriage to Emily was valid? That would make what he was about to do illegal. He was old enough to know that problems could not be made to vanish simply by not thinking about them. But the strength of feeling he held for Grace made him afraid of losing her, and as his lips settled on her own sweet mouth the image of Emily completely vanished.
They kissed and cuddled for some moments, Probyn becoming so aroused that he slipped his hand inside her coat.
Immediately Grace slapped him. ‘There’ll be none of that!’
‘Sorry!’ Afraid that she seemed ready to jump up and leave he begged her to remain, holding onto her gloved hand. ‘I just couldn’t help meself! I promise I’ll be good.’
‘You will, or else!’ But reassured, she melted into his side. ‘It’s not that I don’t love you, Probe, I do.’
‘Do you?’ He seemed somewhat amazed.
She laughed. ‘Of course I do! I’m not in the habit of giving my kisses away to every man I meet.’
‘They’re lovely kisses.’ He risked another, trying to keep it chaste, but she made it dreadfully difficult for him, giving her lips quite willingly, if nothing else.
Eventually pausing for breath, he asked, ‘Gobbie, will you marry me? Of course I’ll have to get permission from
my commanding officer but if he says yes, will you?’
Grace tilted her chin, projecting thoughtfulness. ‘I suppose I could … though I’ll have to get permission from Father Murphy.’
He looked offended.
‘Well, what sort of a proposal is that?’ she scolded, though lovingly.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I truly want to marry you, Grace. Will you have me?’
‘I will!’ Laughingly, she embraced him, injecting it with every ounce of love.
‘I did mean it about having to get permission though,’ he warned her.
‘Oh, so did I,’ Grace replied lightly, resting her head against his tunic. ‘They won’t allow me to marry a Protestant.’
‘You mean I might have to convert?’ He looked doubtful.
‘I should say so.’ She seemed unduly confident that this would prove no obstacle; to Grace there was only one true church.
Even though his religion had never meant a great deal to him, Probyn was driven by conscience to wonder what his parents would have said; but to Grace he smiled and murmured, ‘Oh well, I’d do anything for you, dear.’
Noting her pensive air, he kissed the tip of her nose and asked what was amiss.
‘I was just thinking what my family will say. I suppose I’d better take you to meet them. We get together on Sunday afternoons. Would that be convenient for you?’
He nodded. ‘Do they know we’ve been courting?’
‘No. Aren’t they in for a shock?’
It took him aback that the Irish could harbour such prejudices too.
Grace hugged him, her eyes brimming with desire. ‘But no matter what anybody says, I think you’re wonderful.’
* * *
At their Sunday afternoon meeting outside York Minster, Probyn asked Grace to come inside with him for a moment, for he wanted to see the memorial that had been erected to his officers killed in the Matabele uprising.
Even though he had shown her his campaign medal, it was only then as she stood in the magnificent cathedral looking at the names of the dead that Grace realized what life was going to be like married to a soldier. ‘Is that the business you were involved in?’ she enquired softly. At his nod she fell silent.
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