Dream Catcher

by Iris Gower

  ‘You have no need to worry about that, Annabel,’ he said. She smiled briefly and sat back in her chair, one hand against her waist.

  ‘You’re looking pale as a penny chicken there,’ Llinos said and Eynon smiled at the Welshness of her expression. ‘Are you feeling all right . . . Mrs Morton-Edwards?’ The name trembled on Llinos’s lips as though she found it difficult to pronounce.

  ‘Please, call me Annabel and yes, I’m fine. A little back ache is normal for a woman in my condition.’ If her words were calculated to shock then she was disappointed. Llinos cast a brief glance at Eynon as if to say she now understood the haste of his marriage. Then she turned again to Annabel and there was a note of sadness in her voice when she spoke.

  ‘I lost my baby, it was a terrible blow.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But you are going to be fine, I can tell.’

  Annabel moved closer to Llinos. ‘Oh, you poor dear lady! What a dreadful thing to happen. But you are young and strong and there will be many children, you’ll see.’

  It was ironic, his wife and the woman he loved comforting each other as if they were old friends. Eynon rose to his feet. ‘If you’ll excuse me, ladies, this is not talk for a gentleman’s ears. I’ll leave you to it.’

  As he stepped out into the sunshine, Eynon took a deep breath. If he could not have Llinos, and clearly he could not, why not make the best of things as they were? Annabel was young, beautiful and she would bear healthy children for him. What more could a man want?

  As he walked around the perimeter of the house towards the stables, he knew with a sinking feeling in his heart that he wanted love; passion he could find anywhere, love was more illusive. Well, he had sown his oats and now he was paying for it. As a gentleman he must take the consequences of his actions and try his best to love Annabel. Somehow he knew it was going to be an impossible task.

  ‘She’s very nice.’ Llinos was seated beside Joe on the garden swing; the sun was hot on her face. She breathed in the scent of her husband with love and desire and relief that he was home with her again.

  ‘I felt a little sorry for her at first, she seemed so subdued, so apologetic. But then she asserted herself, took charge and told me she was going to have a baby and I understood everything. I understood Eynon’s secrecy, the haste of his marriage and most of all Annabel’s attitude. Poor girl must feel she’s trapped Eynon into marriage. But love can grow, can’t it?’

  Joe leaned closer and touched her cheek with his fingertips. ‘Eynon is in love with you, he will always be in love with you. As he can never have you, it’s just as well he’s got a wife of his own otherwise I might just be jealous of him.’

  ‘Never!’ Llinos smiled up at Joe. ‘You know you have me just where you want me.’ She was silent for a moment. ‘Joe, there will be other babies for us, won’t there?’

  Joe raised his head to look up at the sky; the line of his jaw was pure, the sun touching his brow and the scimitar of his cheekbones gave golden highlights to his skin.

  ‘It’s all in the hands of the gods, my love.’ That was all he would say.

  Maura sat in the kitchen, a cup of tea held between both hands. She glanced down through the steam rising from the tea and looked at her hands, really looked at them. They were white, well-kept, but then she did no manual work. As housekeeper she supervised; she did not clean vegetables or scrub floors. Her wedding ring, worn for respectability, gleamed up at her like a mockery. She should be installed in her own home, with a brood of children around her skirts.

  ‘Why so glum, Maura?’ The cook was staring down at her, her big arms kneading dough for the bread with ease.

  ‘I don’t know, just thinking about things. ’Tis sad for a woman to be alone, don’t you think?’

  ‘Suits me fine.’ Mrs Benedict was young, tall and strong, a widow newly taken into the household of the Morton-Edwards family. ‘I never liked all that . . . that fooling around. No, I’m content with my lot.’ She looked down at Maura and there was a frown on her face.

  ‘What is it, what’s wrong?’ Maura sat up straighter, aware that Mrs Benedict had something important to say as she brushed the flour from her hands and sat down.

  ‘My sister, Mildred, is wife of the landlord of the Castle Inn. She’s heard talk.’

  Maura suddenly felt a chill shiver along her spine. She knew in her bones that she was not going to like what Cook had to say.

  ‘Sure gossip does not interest me, not at all.’ If Maura had hoped to deflect Cook’s pronouncement, she was wrong.

  ‘It’s about that waster of a husband of yours, Maura. Seems he’s been seen in America somewhere.’

  ‘Oh aye,’ Maura was sceptical. ‘Well, he’s dead and gone as far as I’m concerned.’ Her tone was hard.

  ‘They say he’s got a wife, a brood of little ones and he’s well set-up in some pottery business.’

  Maura swallowed hard. She might hate Binnie from the bottom of her heart and soul but she burned with anger to think of him taking up with another woman and calling her his wife. It was probably all foolish talk anyway. Why should someone, anyone, find Binnie Dundee in America? And yet the story seemed plausible enough.

  ‘Who are “they”?’ she said, staring into her rapidly cooling tea.

  Mrs Benedict shrugged. ‘I don’t know, customers and the like, I suppose. The men who drink down at the inn talk, mind.’

  ‘Well, I don’t believe a word of it,’ Maura said. ‘Binnie would not be such a fool as to take another wife, not when he’s still wed to me.’

  ‘There’s no accounting for men,’ Mrs Benedict said wisely. ‘I had a cousin once who married three times and kept all three wives in the same house!’

  Maura rose to her feet. ‘Such nonsense!’ she said, and before the cook could reply, Maura stalked out of the kitchen and up the curving staircase, wanting only to be alone in the sanctuary of her room.

  Binnie with a wife and family, well set-up in a pottery business. It all seemed very likely. Binnie had never grown up. In spite of the hardships of his childhood and his youth, he had remained a little boy, coveting all he could not have. She longed to scream and shout and rend her clothes. She knew how penitents of old must have felt when they covered themselves in sackcloth and ashes. She thumped her fist against the solid wood of her door.

  ‘Binnie Dundee,’ she ground the name out between clenched teeth, ‘if you are alive and living in sin with some whore, I swear I’ll find you and ruin you and your so-called family.’

  She sank down on the bed, her anger spent. Tears, hot and bitter, rolled down her face. She loved him, in spite of everything, in spite of the bitterness that had grown like a canker within her, she still loved the man who had taken her innocence and turned her from a girl into a woman. She was a foolish woman to get upset. Binnie Dundee was no longer any concern of hers. Why then did she continue to sob and the pain in her heart refuse to go away?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE SUN WAS an orange disc disappearing beneath the horizon. The distant mountains were black against the brightness and Binnie Dundee breathed in the sights and scents of his adopted country with a feeling of affection. America was a good place for a man to mature, to grow and to see his sons grow. The living was good, folded as he was into the bosom of the McCabe family, easy even, a far cry from the days he had spent at the Savage Pottery back home in Wales.

  And yet, sometimes, if he was honest, he was homesick for the greenery, the soft misty rain and the freshness of a spring day in Swansea. Homesick for his friends, for Llinos with whom he had grown up, Watt and old Ben, his friends from a different life. Of Maura he rarely thought; she was a mistake, one he must put out of his mind. He knew he could never go home, never. But then he was fulfilled and happy here in Troy, wasn’t he? He had a loving wife, fine children and a secure job. What more could a man want?

  Hortense came onto the veranda, nursing the baby. She seated herself beside Binnie on the swing and chuckled as she looked down into the face of her
new son.

  ‘He’s the image of you!’ She smiled, her face softened by love. ‘Down to the same tuft of unruly hair sticking up from his crown. He’s the spit out of your mouth, Binnie, you could never deny he was yours.’

  Binnie leaned towards his wife and kissed her lips gently. ‘As if I would want to. I love you, Hortense, and I love the children we have made together. Dan and Jerry and the new babe are the most precious things in my life, after you.’

  ‘I know, honey.’ She touched his cheek. ‘I bless the day you came into my life. I knew I wanted you even then when I didn’t know the first thing about you.’

  ‘Hussy!’ Binnie smiled. ‘And I took you for an innocent little lady.’

  ‘And so I was!’ Hortense protested. ‘The trouble was you were so irresistible and I knew my sisters both had their eyes on you, too. I thought I would be the last one you’d look at . . . until . . .’ She paused tantalizingly.

  ‘Until what?’ Binnie caught her face between his hands. ‘Come on, until what?’

  ‘Until you started hanging around me staring down my dress any chance you got!’ Hortense laughed, her teeth fine and strong and white, her skin with a healthy sun-kissed sheen.

  ‘I’m a lucky man.’ He bent his head and kissed her mouth. ‘I am such a lucky man. I had the pick of the bunch.’

  The sound of voices, high and excited, drifted towards them. ‘Oh Lord, here come the girls, speak of the devil.’

  Hortense shifted the baby on her arm and Binnie sat upright, unwilling to be seen as a milksop canoodling with his wife on the porch, like an old man past his prime.

  ‘Guess what?’ Melia sank down on the porch steps, her gown billowing around her ankles.

  ‘I’ll tell them,’ Josephine said sharply. ‘We’re having visitors from your part of the world, Binnie. What do you think of that?’

  Binnie felt cold. He took a deep breath and composed himself; no-one from Swansea was here, it was impossible. Jo was talking about the British Isles, she must be.

  ‘Oh, who are they?’ he said calmly.

  Melia hugged her knees. ‘Two men have come into town, there’s one with the strange name of Pendennis, John Pendennis.’

  Binnie’s breath escaped with a sigh of relief. ‘Sounds like a West Countryman,’ he said. ‘From Devon or Cornwall. I don’t know anyone called John Pendennis.’

  ‘Well now, there’s one man from your very town,’ Melia said, ‘from Swansea. What do you think of that?’

  Binnie’s mouth was dry. ‘Tell me his name and I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Well, he’s young and handsome by all accounts and knows a thing or two about potting, that’s why they’ve chosen him to come to this neck of the woods.’

  There was still very little chance that Binnie would know him; there were lots of men working at both the Savage Pottery and the larger Tawe Pottery.

  ‘What’s his name?’ Binnie was surprised that he sounded normal; his heart was thumping in his breast and he felt he could not breathe.

  ‘Funny name, Watt Bevan or some such thing.’ It was Josephine who answered. ‘Not that I would mind being Mrs Bevan if he’s as young and presentable as they say.’

  It was as though the red of the recent sunset was blinding his vision. From a long way off he heard the excited chatter of the girls. Watt was here, in America, in Troy; his life was in ruins.

  ‘Are you all right, honey?’ Hortense was saying. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. ‘Yes, I think I was out in the sun too long, that’s all.’

  Hortense handed the baby to her sister. ‘Here, Mel, hold him while I take Binnie inside, he’s been working too hard lately.’ She leaned over him, her arm around his shoulder and he felt the softness of her breast against his cheek.

  ‘And active at night time, too,’ Josephine said, slyly. ‘Lucky girl that you are, Hortense.’

  ‘I know. Come on, honey, come inside in the coolness and rest.’ It was clear that his wife was concerned and Binnie made an effort to pull himself together. He spread out on the bed in the coolness of the room he shared with Hortense and forced a smile.

  ‘I’m fine, I really am just tired, that’s all.’ Hortense put her hand on his forehead. He took her fingers in his.

  ‘One thing you can do for me, my love.’

  ‘What is it, Binnie?’

  ‘Ask the girls where these two men are staying. I’d like to get together with them for a bit of a talk.’

  ‘Are you homesick, hon?’ Hortense asked and Binnie shook his head.

  ‘No. My home is here, with you and the children. You are the only family I’ve ever had or ever wanted.’

  She left him then and Binnie closed his eyes, trying not to imagine how his wife would feel if she found out the truth. It hurt him even to think about it. He must have slept eventually because when he woke, the sun was rising and it was morning.

  Hortense was not beside him. She must have wakened early and gone to see to the baby. He stood at the window and looked out at the land below him. It was his land now; Swansea was a far off place, a place from another life. He could only hope and pray that his past life had not caught up with him.

  ‘It seems strange without Watt to tick us off all the time.’ Pearl’s voice was loud in the stillness. Lily avoided looking at the woman; she was vulgar and her language coarse. Lily was sitting outside the paint shed a little distance from the other women. It was snack time and to eat in the fresh air, away from the smells of oxide and lead, was something of a treat.

  ‘Missing your sweetheart, are you, Lil?’ Pearl bit into a piece of cheese with obvious enjoyment. ‘You was walking out with a fine man there but there’s plenty more fish in the sea as you’ll find out.’

  Lily did not reply and Pearl pursued the subject. ‘Mind you, it’s all your fault you’re not in America right now with a ring on your finger and a fine upstanding man for a husband.’

  ‘Pearl,’ Lily said, growing impatient, ‘will you shut up about Watt? He’s gone away and good riddance to him, I say.’

  ‘Well, you’d better come off your high horse, my lady, otherwise “fish in the sea” or not you’ll end up an old maid.’

  That would suit her perfectly but Lily did not put her thoughts into words. She never wanted a husband; a man to paw her and do all sorts of disgusting things to her. She knew about such goings on, knew too that some women liked to be pestered in that way, but she was not one of them.

  ‘We’d better get back to work.’ She rose and brushed the grass from her skirt. ‘We’ve stayed out here longer than we should already.’

  Pearl looked up at her and deliberately popped another piece of cheese into her mouth. She chewed for a while and then looked up at Lily.

  ‘I’m senior hand in the paint shop, remember?’

  ‘And I’m chief painter,’ Lily retorted, stung by Pearl’s tone of voice.

  ‘Well I’m in charge while Watt is away and I don’t think it’s time to start work just yet. For heaven’s sake sit down and make the most of the peace. You don’t get a medal for working yourself to death, mind.’

  ‘And you get the boot if you sit around gossiping all day!’ With that parting shot Lily returned to the dimness of the paint shed. Her colour was high and she was breathing rapidly. Why did she let Pearl get to her that way? Pearl was nothing, she wasn’t even a good painter, not half as good as Lily herself was.

  She seated herself at the table and picked up her brushes. She cared for her brushes; they were meticulously cleaned after use and never left to stand upright in turpentine the way Pearl left hers. Really she was too good for this place. She wondered what it would be like to paint on the porcelain that was being made at the Tawe Pottery. The production of porcelain had been increased and many of the services were going to grace London tables.

  Eynon Morton-Edwards had experimented with a natural mixture of steatite and china clay which seemed to be producing a much more stable body than the rather glassy porcelain first used. And yet, unstab
le though it was, the glassy porcelain was beautiful: white and so thin you could see your fingers through it. Lily had come by an odd cup with the special ring handle decorated with roses edged with expensive gilding by one of the master painters. It was such an achievement and she wished she had been part of it. Perhaps even now it was not too late. There would be no harm in sounding out one of the workers at the Tawe Pottery about the matter of vacancies for painters.

  The afternoon passed slowly and Lily was impatient to go back to her room at the lodging house and wash away the smell of paint. Pearl was not slow to notice when Lily began to clean her brushes and lay them flat on the table to dry.

  ‘Leaving early, Lil?’ Pearl asked innocently.

  ‘I’ve finished my work for today,’ Lily replied. ‘And I dare say I’ve painted more pots than you have.’

  ‘I dare say,’ Pearl echoed, a smile on her face. ‘But then, we can’t all be Miss Perfect, can we? Some of us are human: we eat, we fart and we go to bed with a man, things that normal humans do. But then you are not a normal human being, are you?’

  Lily turned away, not willing to let Pearl see the angry flush on her cheeks. She left the shed, stepped outside into the cooler air of early evening and walked towards the gate just as Llinos was coming in. Llinos was dressed in a pretty sprigged muslin dress with blue ribbon below the bust and on the hem. She looked cool, pretty and rich. Lily felt envy bite at her.

  ‘Hello, Lily, off home?’

  ‘I’ve got a bit of a bad head, that’s why I’m going earlier than usual,’ Lily said, her tone defensive.

  Llinos looked concerned. ‘I’m sorry to hear you’re unwell, I hope you are not coming down with something nasty. Have you had any sickness or pains in your stomach?’

  ‘No, no, it’s just the heat in the shed and the effort of concentrating. I’ll be all right when I can get out of my working clothes and put on something cool.’

  ‘Everything all right between you and Pearl?’ Llinos asked and Lily felt anger burn inside her.

  ‘That woman is so coarse!’ she said, the words tumbling out before she could think. She regretted them immediately as Llinos looked at her in surprise.