Primrose Square

by Anne Douglas

  ‘But aren’t you due back at work at six?’ Corrie asked Elinor, at which she frowned and said there’d be plenty of time if they hurried.

  ‘Skates on!’ Barry said cheerfully. ‘And when we’ve had our tea, I’ll take you back to the club, Elinor.’

  Thirty-Three

  This he did, after a pleasant meal at the flat over the cobbler’s shop, during which he charmed Hessie and Walter as easily as though he were a magician, while Corrie looked on without expression and Elinor’s dark eyes were wide with wonder. Pleasing her mother was one thing, but her father, that was another! Still, Dad seemed to have got over his bad mood and when Barry and Elinor rose to go, urged Barry to come back and see them any time. Any time, now mind, and he’d be very welcome.

  ‘Thanks very much, Mr Rae, I might take you up on that,’ Barry said politely, and after handshakes and thanks all round, he and Elinor escaped for the tram.

  ‘You don’t know how much it meant to me to see you at the match,’ Barry murmured, sitting close. ‘Never thought I’d see you again, after the way we parted.’

  ‘I did want to see you, Barry, but I didn’t think I could.’

  ‘What happened, then?’ He pressed her hand, made her look at him. ‘Something changed, eh? Must’ve done.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  She met his eyes, saw that they were sympathetic, but still looked away. It wouldn’t be right, she felt strongly, that she should speak of Stephen to Barry.

  ‘All right, I understand. But try no’ to worry too much, eh? If you said goodbye to him, you did the right thing. The right thing for both of you.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Aye, it’s obvious. There’d be no point in pretending you felt something you didn’t. He’d soon have found out, and then you’d have hurt him, anyway.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right.’

  ‘I know I’m right!’ He squeezed her hand hard. ‘But let’s cheer up. I can never stay serious for long. Just remember that we’ve met again and we’re happy. Will that bring the smiles back, Elinor?’

  ‘Yes!’ she told him, giving one of the wide smiles that could so change her face. ‘What a wonderful chap you are, then, for looking on the bright side!’

  ‘That’s me,’ he said with a grin, rising for their stop. ‘We get off here, eh? Means we leave all these people behind.’

  ‘And join more crowds in Princes Street,’ she told him, laughing, as they left the tram. ‘You’re never alone at Maule’s Corner.’

  ‘Who’s going to Maule’s Corner?’

  ‘Well, that’s where we can say goodnight,’ she said, her smile fading, as she remembered other goodnights. ‘But we can cut through to the square instead, if you like.’

  ‘Through this lane here, you mean? Leads to the post office, but what we want is a doorway.’

  ‘A doorway?’

  ‘Don’t you know what doorways are for?’

  With dancing eyes and a teasing smile, he guided her into the shadows of the post office lane towards the entrance of a shuttered shop.

  ‘This is better,’ he whispered. ‘It’s so damned light these evenings, you feel there’s nowhere to go. I mean, if you’re poor homeless folk like us.’

  ‘Homeless?’

  ‘With nowhere to say goodnight. But at least it’s darker here, and you see, I’ve found a doorway. Where I can kiss you. And you can kiss me.’

  ‘Barry . . .’

  ‘What’s wrong? Too proud to kiss me here?’

  ‘Someone might see us.’

  ‘If they’re walking past, they’ll look away. Who cares?’

  She said no more, only slid into his arms, let his mouth find hers, and felt the world was sweet. No longer did any thought of onlookers worry her. No memory of her first kisses with Stephen interrupted her rapture. No one, she felt, could ever stir her as Barry stirred her, could ever open up the world of love as he did, and when they released each other and exchanged looks, she knew that he’d recognized his power over her.

  But he only said, breathing hard, ‘Better be getting to your club, sweetheart. You go in the front door, or the back?’

  ‘The area,’ she answered huskily. ‘But you needn’t come with me.’

  ‘What do you mean? I’m seeing you to your door, wherever it is.’ Catching her expression, he shook his head. ‘Och, you’re no’ worrying about folks seeing us again? To hell with that. I’m no’ skulking round corners for anybody.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ she said with sudden decision. ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be seen with me. We’re allowed followers, anyway.’

  ‘And I’m a follower!’ He laughed and took her arm. ‘But don’t be late, eh? Or they’ll blame me.’

  They arranged to meet on her next Thursday evening off, not at Maule’s Corner, but at the Scott Monument in Princes Street, and as she waved goodbye to Barry at the top of the area steps, Elinor was already wondering how she would get through the days until then.

  But she took comfort, not only in the memory of those doorway kisses, but also in a feeling of intense relief that was just beginning to make itself felt. There need be no more secrets. She need never worry about secrets again. If people saw her with Barry, fine. She’d every right to be with him and no one need object. In fact, her parents liked him, which was the most amazing weight off her mind. Even when she opened the door to the club kitchen and saw Mrs Petrie glowering and everyone running around preparing dinner, she felt as free as a bird. A bird in love! What could be better?

  Thirty-Four

  The summer weather of 1914 was glorious. Everyone thought so. Everyone said they’d remember it, though when they said that, they didn’t know they would have special reason for remembrance. They didn’t know it was to be the last summer before the world changed.

  The staff at the Primrose admired the sunshine as much as anyone, their problem being that they couldn’t spend much time in it. With no access to the gardens of the square, they could only take their tea break in the area, where the views were of the feet of passers-by and where there was certainly no greenery. On the other hand, at least, it was better than sitting in the kitchen, with the range sending out heat and Mrs Petrie’s face, bent over her day-old newspaper, getting redder and redder.

  ‘Could you no’ use the gas cooker for the lunches?’ Gerda had the temerity to ask one day in June, at which Mrs Petrie’s face grew redder still, while Vera and Sal shut their eyes, fearing the storm.

  ‘Now, Gerda, don’t you be telling me how to do my cooking!’ Mrs Petrie exploded. ‘I’ve always cooked on that range and a bit of summer weather’s no’ going to stop me now.’ Folding her newspaper, she adjusted her spectacles, glaring around over the top of them. ‘Anyway, seems to me we’re all going to have more to worry about than what I cook on, if this paper’s anything to go by.’

  ‘How’s that, Mrs Petrie?’ Mattie asked politely.

  ‘Why, it’s all here, read it for yourself. Seemingly all Europe’s dying to go to war. There’s France and Germany at loggerheads, and Austria and Serbia, and Russia stirring the pot, so that the least little thing might set ’em all off. And then we’ll be in trouble, too – so the paper says.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Elinor. ‘Why should it matter to us if other countries start fighting?’

  Mrs Petrie’s brow was furrowed. ‘I’m no’ sure, to be honest, but looks like we’ll join in. They’re all men in the government and you ken what men are like. Anything for a scrap!’

  War. As the maids returned to their duties in the heat of that Scottish summer’s day, it didn’t seem at all likely. Not that any of them knew anything about war, of course, except that there had been some fighting with the Boers in South Africa, but that was a long time ago and it hadn’t affected anybody they knew.

  ‘Och, these papers, they’ll say anything, eh?’ Ada muttered. ‘Just hope they’re wrong, anyway.’ She stood still, looking down at the pile of starched dining-room tableclot
hs she was holding. ‘Just hope my laddie would never have to go to war.’

  ‘Or yours, Elinor,’ Mattie said sympathetically, for of course, like all the staff at the Primrose, she knew about Barry.

  Hadn’t they all seen him on Thursday evenings, saying goodnight to Elinor at the area gate? Such a cheerful-looking fellow, eh? Not so handsome as the one before him, as Ada reported, but still the sort you wouldn’t mind walking out with, that was for sure. Even Mrs Petrie, who’d spotted him once or twice, seemed to approve. What more could anybody ask?

  For a moment a shadow crossed Elinor’s face, but then she smiled and put her arm round Ada’s shoulders.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s just like you say, Ada, the papers write rubbish – they only want to sell copies. There isn’t going to be any war.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Ada murmured, sniffing a little. ‘Why, I’ve never even heard o’ this Serbia! Trust Mrs Petrie to go worrying us all!’

  It was Miss Ainslie who explained why Britain might be drawn into a conflict – not that she thought there’d be one, anyway. She had passed Elinor and Mattie taking down curtains for washing from some of the unoccupied bedrooms, and had stopped to ask if the girls were managing all right in the hot weather, her eyes resting mainly on Elinor.

  Oh, Lord, she’s going to ask me about the suffragette meetings again, Elinor thought, groaning inwardly, for Miss Ainslie had more than once tried to persuade her to go back to the meetings once her course was over. Even when Elinor had explained that she now had a young man she saw on her free evenings, the manageress had still remained hopeful. Perhaps an occasional evening, Elinor could attend, she’d suggested, not having any idea how Elinor longed to spend every minute of her time with Barry and would never sacrifice an evening with him for a suffragette meeting, however much she believed in the cause.

  Before anything could be said about meetings, however, Mattie, after saying they were managing well in the heat, had piped up with a question about the newspapers. Did Miss Ainslie believe what they said? That we might get drawn in to fighting?

  ‘They’re only thinking of Belgium,’ Miss Ainslie explained. ‘You see, if little Belgium were to be involved, we’d have to help out.’

  Belgium? The girls exchanged glances. What on earth had Belgium to do with anything?

  ‘We signed a treaty long ago, promising to take care of the Belgians in the event of trouble. So it would be a question of keeping promises.’

  ‘And we’d go to war for that?’ cried Elinor. ‘Doesn’t seem right to me.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it won’t come to war.’ Miss Ainslie’s tone was decisive. ‘There’s not even a real hint of it at present, the papers are just looking for a story. My advice is not to read them. Elinor, may I have a word?’

  ‘I don’t like to keep nagging,’ Miss Ainslie said in a low voice, as Mattie went out with an armful of curtains, ‘but you were such an asset to us, Elinor, I’d very much like to see you back at our meetings. You really don’t think you can manage one or two?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Miss Ainslie. I’d like to, but . . . well, I’ve no time.’

  The manageress sighed. ‘Time, our enemy. Well, maybe in the future, it might be possible. Don’t forget us, anyway.’

  ‘I won’t do that, Miss Ainslie.’

  ‘There’s one other thing – I was just wondering, this course you did – weren’t you going to try for an office job when it ended?’

  Elinor lowered her eyes. ‘I was, but I haven’t done anything about it yet.’

  ‘Because of the young man, I suppose? Well, we must be grateful that this means you’ll be staying with us a while longer. Unless, of course, you get married.’

  Deep colour rose to Elinor’s hair and she turned aside.

  ‘There’s no talk of that yet, Miss Ainslie.’

  ‘That’s another relief, then.’ Miss Ainslie began to move away. ‘Well, I must let you get on. I’m glad we’ve had this little talk, Elinor, but do tell the others not to worry about a war. Why spoil these lovely summer days?’

  ‘What was she on about, then?’ Mattie asked, when Elinor joined her. ‘The suffragettes again? You were her only taker from here, that’s why she canna let you go. Bet she asked about Barry as well, eh?’

  ‘Why should she?’ Elinor called down from the stepladder she was standing on to reach more curtains.

  ‘Well, she might be wondering if you’re going to get wed.’

  ‘Look, I’ve only been out with him a few times, there’s no talk of marriage.’

  ‘He’d be right for you, though, is what we think. I mean, better than the other one. That’d never have worked, eh?’

  As Elinor descended the steps with a load of dusty material, Mattie smiled.

  ‘Why, I bet he never took you to see his ma, did he? That other one? Bet Barry will take you, and pretty quick, too.’

  ‘Barry’s mother is dead,’ Elinor said quietly, at which Mattie’s face grew serious, but not for long.

  ‘That’s very sad, but just think, Elinor, you’ll have no mother-in-law!’

  ‘How I wish you’d stop talking like that!’ Elinor cried, folding curtains with wide sweeping movements and coughing in the dust. ‘Why’d you do it, Mattie?’

  ‘Sorry, Elinor.’ Mattie’s round eyes were woeful. ‘It’s just that I’ve got no laddie of my own yet, and I know if I had, I’d be thinking of getting wed all the time.’

  Elinor set down her folded curtains and said, after a pause, ‘It’s all right, Mattie, I understand. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.’

  But she kept her thoughts on getting wed to herself.

  Thirty-Five

  ‘I understand,’ Elinor had told Mattie. Perhaps too well, for if Mattie would have liked to be thinking about marriage, Elinor actually was thinking about it – and after all her reservations! All her hopes just to make something of her life herself. Even when she and Stephen had seemed so close, she realized now that she’d always been wary of the idea of commitment. When he’d talked of their future, she’d seen the snags. Whereas now . . . well, things were different.

  Different because of Barry. The way she felt about him, it was only natural she should be looking forward to taking the next great step. And she knew he was feeling the same. They were just so happy together, so much at ease, for Barry was himself so easy-going, so good-natured. Having seen at close quarters a father whose moods and tantrums had ruled his family’s life, she could hardly believe her luck that someone like Barry who had no moods or tantrums should be hers.

  ‘An absolute tonic to be with,’ was how Elinor described him to her mother, who absolutely agreed with her. So fond was she of Barry, she was even happy that Elinor should spend her free time with him, rather than visiting home.

  ‘Och, when you’re courting, we don’t expect you to spend time with us!’ she cried. ‘That’s the way things go, eh?’

  ‘I don’t know that we’re exactly courting,’ Elinor said. ‘I mean, there’s nothing been said.’

  ‘There will be,’ Hessie told earnestly. ‘I can tell by the way he looks at you. Oh, yes, he’ll want to be wed; he’s just like a lot of men, scared of the idea. End of being fancy-free for them, you see, but they all come to it one day. The only way they can get what they want, eh?’

  Suddenly, her look on her daughter sharpened. ‘That’s why the lassies have to be careful, Elinor. Or you know what can happen.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Ma. It won’t happen to me.’

  ‘Just remember what I’ve said, though. And hold out for the wedding ring, eh?’

  If only life weren’t so difficult, though, Elinor often sighed to herself. If only there didn’t have to be worries about making love – ‘going all the way’, as folk called it. If only no one need have a baby unless they wanted one. Talk about pie in the sky! No point in wishing for the impossible, was there? Just had to take as much pleasure as you could in kissing and caressing and not expect more until you were married.
Which was why Elinor’s thoughts dwelt on marriage as never before.

  And they did have some wonderful times together, she and Barry, on her evenings off, or her free Saturday afternoons. Sometimes going to the cinema to see the silent films where they watched Charlie Chaplin or Mary Pickford, and listened to the piano keeping up with the action, while they sat at the back, holding hands and looking forward to exchanging kisses on the way home.

  Or, maybe going for walks in the beautiful weather, in the Meadows or by the Water of Leith, hiding themselves under trees if possible, where they might even lie together, though Elinor was cautious at first about that. Barry had laughed and drawn her down to him, saying it was an old Scottish custom for a couples to lie together still in their clothes, now hadn’t she heard of it? No, she hadn’t, she’d laughed, she was sure he was making it up, but she’d lain beside him all the same, and had given herself up to delight in being so close.

  Sometimes, though, it was all much more tranquil, just having tea in a little cafe, Elinor handling the teapot, Barry watching, then walking slowly back to the Primrose, maybe looking over the railings at the gardens, before saying goodbye on their best behaviour, conscious that some eyes somewhere would be upon them.

  How Elinor wished days like these would never end, but in late June Barry suggested something new. A visit to his home with Bettina and Georgie on her next free Saturday afternoon.

  ‘It’s time we had a get together,’ he told Elinor. ‘And you can hear me tinkle the ivories and all.’

  ‘Barry, that’d be perfect! I’d love to talk to Bettina and Georgie and hear you play the piano. It’s very kind of Bettina to ask me.’

  ‘Oh, she didn’t ask you,’ he said carelessly. ‘It was my own idea. She’ll be glad to see you, though. Georgie, too.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Elinor asked doubtfully.

  ‘Sure I’m sure. It’s all arranged. You be thinking of what tunes you’d like to hear and I’ll play ’em for you.’