Beyond a Misty Shore (21 page)

He looked a little embarrassed. ‘I . . . I’ve been saving up, Maria. I wanted to get you something special.’

She didn’t have time to reply for at that moment the lights went down and silence descended as the evening’s programme commenced with the Pathé News.

In the interval she put the earrings on and he admired them, thinking it had been well worth the small sacrifices he’d made to save up for them. His mam had remarked that he was mad spending so much money on her, it wasn’t as if they were even courting steadily or engaged. He’d wanted to say he hoped that by Christmas they might be engaged for he intended to ask her tonight but he’d said nothing, his mam wasn’t known for her tact. In fact he’d heard his da often say she had a mouth ‘like a parish oven’.

‘There’s something I want to ask you, Maria, later . . .’ he whispered as the lights dimmed.

His words had filled Maria with such apprehension that she didn’t really take much notice of the film. She had a good idea what it was he was going to ask her and she was struggling to find words that would not disappoint him too much while at the same time not build up his hopes. She couldn’t commit
herself, she
couldn’t
. Not while there was the slightest chance that she would hear from Hans.

They decided to walk to the terminus at the Pier Head as it was a fine evening and the film hadn’t finished too late. It would give her time to try to explain, she thought miserably, for she really didn’t want to hurt him.

‘You know I really do . . . like you, Maria. Well, it’s more than just “like” . . .’ he started rather awkwardly.

‘I know and I do like you too, Ben. I . . . I enjoy your company, you are thoughtful, generous and—’

‘And I’ve got a steady job too, Maria,’ he added quickly. It was something that counted for a lot in this city. ‘What . . . what I really want to say is that I . . . I love you and I want to . . . to marry you – one day, when I’ve saved up enough. I wouldn’t expect you to live with Mam, you’d want a place of your own . . .
our
own. If you say you will, we could get engaged at Christmas, Maria, with a ring and everything.’ It all came out in a rush and not quite in the romantic way he’d wanted it to but he wasn’t all that good with words, he knew that.

Maria stopped walking and turned to look at him, seeing a shy and rather tongue-tied boy who’d just offered her his heart. She bit her lip. How was she going to turn him down without breaking his heart? ‘Oh, Ben, I don’t know what to say! You know I like you, I like you very much but . . . but I don’t love you.’

‘Couldn’t you . . . try, Maria?’ he pleaded.

She shook her head sadly. ‘It isn’t that simple, Ben. I might
– in time – if . . . if . . . there wasn’t someone I know who might one day come . . . back to me.’

‘You never said there was anyone else,’ he said, the pain evident in his voice.

‘I . . . I didn’t think you were so serious, Ben.’

‘Who is he? Where is he?’ he demanded, feeling increasingly upset and humiliated.

‘Someone I met on the island. He went back . . . back to where he came from. It’s a long way away and I . . . I haven’t heard from him since. It’s been a year now.’

‘Then you might never hear from him again, Maria.’

‘No, I might not.’ It hurt her to say it; it hurt her to even think it.

‘Then . . . then . . . why . . . ?’ He didn’t understand why she was turning him down. Couldn’t she see she might be wasting her life waiting for this bloke, whoever he was, to come back from wherever it was he’d gone to? He might even now be married to someone else.

She just shook her head. She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘because I love him and will never love anyone else, no matter what’.

He took her hand. ‘It doesn’t change the way I feel about you, Maria. I love you and I’d still like to marry you. We could make a go of it, I know we could.’

She swallowed hard, fighting back the tears. She knew she should put a stop to this now, it wasn’t being at all fair to him, but she just couldn’t. The words she knew she should say were just too hard and cold, they would cause him too much
pain. ‘I can’t promise anything, please don’t push me to say things I’ll regret. I don’t want to hurt you, Ben, you must believe that. I never wanted to hurt you . . .’

He seized on her words. ‘I won’t push you, Maria, I promise. I’ll wait, wait until you feel . . . until you’re ready.’

She didn’t reply but as they walked the rest of the way in silence she had the feeling that he really hadn’t understood how she felt. But was she being foolish? Was Sophie right? Was she wrong to turn Ben down, waiting for some word from a man who had gone out of her life all those months ago and who might never return?

A
UGUST THAT YEAR WAS
very hot and even though Sophie had opened all the windows, the stifling heat seemed trapped in the very fabric of the house. She had been kept busy all summer as people wanted summer dresses and light jackets made and her list of clients kept increasing as her work was highly recommended. She had also made two special outfits for customers whose daughters were getting married but who had not been able to afford the prices charged by the high-class establishments in Liverpool and had despaired of finding anything ‘special’ enough with their coupons in the less expensive shops. Both women had been delighted and had promised to recommend her to friends with weddings in the offing.

Frank had returned home in July and on a visit to Lizzie’s
Sophie had bumped into him as she’d turned the corner into Harebell Street. Her heart had turned over; he’d looked so handsome in his uniform, his skin tanned by days spent in the sun and by the warm salt breezes.

‘Sophie!’ he’d cried and before she could say a word he’d hugged her and kissed her.

She’d pulled quickly away from him although the feelings that embrace had evoked had made it so very hard. ‘You look well, Frank. I’m glad to see you,’ she’d stammered, trying to compose herself.

‘Do you really mean that?’

‘Of course I do. Your mam must be glad to have you back home too, is that where you are going?’

‘For a bit of supper, although I wish I could move back there,’ he’d said, falling into step beside her.

‘I’m going to Lizzie’s,’ she’d informed him. She’d tried to keep the conversation light and brief but she could see he wanted to linger and in truth so did she. But then Nora had emerged from Nellie’s house in a gaudy, flowered cotton dress, which made her quickly hasten towards her aunt’s house where the front door stood open and brought the fleeting meeting to an abrupt end.

True to his word, Arthur had taken Hetty out. They’d taken the train to Southport and the ferry across to New Brighton, and they’d gone to concerts in the Tower Ballroom. They’d even ventured as far as Hoylake on the other side of the Wirral peninsula. Hetty really did seem to enjoy these outings, Sophie thought, although they tired her; but she had
colour now in her cheeks, which hadn’t been there before.

Today they’d gone down early to the Liverpool Landing Stage where the
St Tudno
was tied up, taking aboard passengers for a day trip to Llandudno. It was so warm that the sail up the Mersey and around the coast of North Wales would be a pleasant relief, Arthur had stated. They intended to have lunch at the Imperial Hotel followed by a gentle stroll along the sea front before returning to the little steamer for the return trip. Nothing too strenuous, he’d promised Sophie.

It was a blessing they were out for the day, she thought, for Billy was coming after lunch, mainly to give his long-suffering mother a bit of peace and quiet. The houses in Harebell Street were like ovens, Lizzie had declared, even though all the windows were open and she kept both front and back doors wide open all day and most of the evening. It was the range; it had to be kept in for cooking and hot water – Sophie should be very thankful that they had a gas cooker – and as it was the school holidays Billy was driving her to distraction with his antics. So Sophie had insisted that he come and spend Sunday afternoon in Laurel Road.

‘You must be mad, Sophie, having to put up with those two in this weather,’ Maria had declared as she got ready to go out too. She was taking a trip on the ferry with one of her friends from work; it was just too hot to go anywhere else and at least on the river there was a bit of a breeze. These days Katie was too involved with Matt to be much company and the last thing she wanted was for her cousin to suggest that
they take the trip with Matt and Ben. She still saw Ben but far less frequently for she didn’t want to raise his hopes, it just wasn’t fair. In fact she regretted now that she hadn’t been totally honest with him and told him she could never marry him, but she just hated hurting anyone.

Sophie had debated taking Bella and Billy to the seaside but, as Maria had pointed out, everywhere would be absolutely packed and knowing Billy, he’d probably go and get lost, so she’d decided against it. Besides, she wanted to have a meal ready for when Hetty and Arthur returned for they’d both be tired and hungry.

She had some hemming to do so she’d sent the two children upstairs to play with the promise that they could have some ice cream later on, providing they behaved. She had the beginnings of a headache but put it down to the oppressive heat.

At three o’clock she gave them the promised ice cream, having grown tired of Bella’s trips up- and downstairs to beg for the treat. Her headache hadn’t lifted and she’d had to lay aside her work so it was with some relief that she heard the first dull rumble of thunder. Thank heaven for that, a good storm might just clear the air, she thought before remembering that Maria and Arthur and Hetty were out. As she closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the chair she hoped they would all be able to find shelter of some kind. Perhaps Hetty and Arthur might even miss it being in Llandudno until five o’clock.

Billy and Bella were bored. They had finished the ice cream and were tired of playing games and now it was raining heavily so there was no possibility of going out.

‘There’s not much to do around here, Bella, is there? I mean at home we used to play out in the street or on the bombsite,’ Billy complained, gazing morosely out of the attic window at the rooftops down which a deluge was pouring.

‘No one plays in the street here, Billy,’ Bella stated.

‘That’s just what I mean – it’s dead boring.’

Bella pursed her lips, thinking her cousin used to be more fun when they lived in Harebell Street; all he did now was complain.

Billy suddenly had an idea and brightened up. ‘I know, Bella, we’ll explore. I bet there’s rooms in this house you’ve never been in; we might even find some treasure.’

Bella was doubtful. ‘What kind of treasure, Billy?’

‘I don’t know, secret papers, code books – stuff like that.’ Billy ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in tufts. ‘Come on, there’s nothing else to do.’

They decided to start in the cellar after first having ascertained that Sophie was busy in her workroom, although to their surprise they found her dozing in her chair and quietly tiptoed away. The cellar proved to be a big disappointment for all they found were boxes of dishes and ornaments that Hetty and Sophie had packed away.

‘Where shall we try next?’ Bella asked as they came back upstairs, their hands liberally coated with dust, some of which had also transmitted itself to Billy’s face. ‘There’s just sewing
stuff in Mam’s room and I know there’s no treasure in the living room or dining room and only pans and stuff in the kitchen. Aunty Maria and Aunty Hetty wouldn’t have any code books or stuff and neither has Mam.’

‘What about Mr Chatsworth’s room? I bet he’s got loads of secret papers. Mam said he would never say what he did for a job or even where he came from, I bet he was a secret agent or something during the war.’ Billy was quite taken by the idea of the mysterious Arthur Chatsworth being some kind of spy.

Bella wasn’t too sure. ‘I don’t think we should go looking in Uncle Arthur’s room, it’s private. Mam wouldn’t like it.’

‘Don’t be a scaredy cat! Anyway, she won’t know, she’s asleep and we’ll be very quiet,’ Billy urged.

Bella had never been in Mr Chatsworth’s bedroom before and looked around curiously as Billy quietly closed the door behind them. There was a bed, two wardrobes, a tall chest of drawers and an easy chair. There was a big plant in a pot on a stand, a small bookcase on top of which were some ornaments and in the bay window there was a desk, which she thought was an odd thing to have in a bedroom.

Billy too had noticed it. ‘Why’s he got a desk in his bedroom, Bella?’ he whispered.

She shrugged, not really interested and feeling uneasy at being in here. ‘I don’t know, maybe he writes a lot of letters.’

‘Who to? I bet he really is a secret agent.’ Billy was convinced now and crossed to the desk. He began to open the
drawers. ‘I bet he’s got a special box somewhere where he keeps his code books. He might even have a gun,’ he said, rifling through the contents, which seemed to comprise mainly of notepads, envelopes and dictionaries.

Bella was losing interest; she didn’t honestly believe that Uncle Arthur was any kind of agent, secret or otherwise.