The White Empress (13 page)

‘I feel so guilty and extravagant!’

‘Don’t be daft! You’ll have to be smartly turned out for interviews!’ Marie advised.

‘But I haven’t got an interview yet, I’ve not even started evening classes!’

‘Stop worrying, Cat, it won’t be hard.’ She turned to her mother. ‘Can Cat leave these things in our house, our—’ she stopped
herself. ‘Mother?’

Mrs Gorry nodded, pouring herself another cup of tea for they had gone to the Kardomah tea rooms to await the arrival of Mr
Gorry with the car to transport them home.

Cat said nothing to anyone in Eldon Street about her new wardrobe, elocution lessons – which she found very frustrating at
times – or her intended disappearance on three evenings a week. The excuse she had ready for any unusual absence was that
she was visiting the Gorrys.

‘We’re not good enough for her now! Miss High and Mighty, now she is! Used to better things!’ Shelagh sneered.

Cat ignored her.

‘And what I want to know is, when is she going to get another job? How long is she going to hang around the
house while others have to go out and work?’ Shelagh was still employed by the British and American Tobacco Company and had
quietened down a little. At least on the surface.

‘I’ve told you, I’m looking for something else and I help Mrs Rooney out in the corner shop over the busy times and while
I’m still paying for my keep, I don’t see that it’s got anything to do with you, so shut up and mind your own business!’

‘Oh, just listen to her! She even talks like them now. “Looking for something else!”’ Shelagh mimicked, emphasising the ‘g’
on the end of the words.

‘Shut up!’ Cat snapped, gathering up the books she had bought from Phillips, Son & Nephew in Whitechapel and the pen and pencil
she had purchased in Woolworths.

Warbreck Moor Secondary School was situated at the bottom of the incline of the same name. It was a red-brick building and
quite modern and therefore bright and spacious. The school and the adjoining yards were segregated. Half for boys and half
for girls, but in the evenings it was mixed classes. Cat, after some initial enquiries, found the large classroom. Other girls
and young men were chatting to each other and taking their seats in the rather small desks and benches. She stared around
her in some confusion.

‘Are you Miss Cleary?’

She turned and looked at a young man whom she judged to be in his late twenties. He had fair hair and moustache and looked
sympathetic.

‘Yes, it’s the first time I’ve been, where do I sit?’

‘There.’ He pointed to an empty place almost directly in front of the dais on which stood a large desk and chair, behind which
was a blackboard. ‘I’m Stephen Hartley, your teacher.’

She eyed the proximity of the empty desk to the dais and her heart sank. She would have preferred to have sat further back
where her struggles wouldn’t be so obvious to him or the rest of the students. Instead she nodded and sat down. After exchanging
a few words with two young men, he came over to her.

‘Don’t be afraid to ask questions, Miss Cleary. No one will think any the worse of you, they are all here because they want
to learn and haven’t had the time or inclination before and my job is to help you.’ He studied the list he carried attached
to a clipboard. ‘I see you’re here for English grammar, arithmetic and geography?’

‘Yes.’

His blue eyes looked amused and instantly she felt defensive.

‘Geography is rather an unusual choice of subject?’

‘I intend to make a career at sea.’

He nodded and then called his class to order.

She hated every minute of it. She had struggled to keep up with everyone else, but she felt so foolish, so slow and so utterly
confused by all the verbs, adverbs and nouns! She had managed the arithmetic quite well as she had a natural aptitude for
figures, and she even found the geography quite interesting, but it was with a sigh of relief and a thudding headache, that
she left the building and started walking towards the tram stop. Her
head bent against a wind that was still cold, although it was the middle of March.

‘Miss Cleary! I walk home this way, I’ll walk with you, that’s if you don’t object?’

She smiled shyly at Stephen Hartley. ‘Of course not. I didn’t do too well, did I? To be honest, I don’t think I’ll ever grasp
the difference between nouns and verbs, let alone pronouns, adjectives and conjunctions!’

He smiled. ‘It’s not that hard. Don’t forget you are only just starting out.’

‘Oh, I don’t know whether this is going to work!’

‘Why not? You have an agile mind and a natural intelligence.’

‘You’re flattering me, do they pay you on the number of pupils you teach?’

He laughed and brushed back a strand of blonde hair. ‘You’re very direct!’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be, it was meant to be a joke!’

‘I know and I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. But, yes, I’m paid that way so I hope you’ll stick at it, if only
for my sake!’ he joked.

Cat found herself liking him more and more. He was easy to talk to, once she was away from the rest of her fellow students.
‘Do you really think I’ll ever be able to pass any kind of examination? I know just how ignorant I am!’

They had reached the tram stop.

‘Yes, I do think you’ll pass, Miss Cleary. Especially if you work hard, as most of my students do, having become mature enough
to realise that education will
open many doors for them and they work harder to make up for lost time. The only ignorance I abhor is wilful, culpable ignorance!’

She made a mental note to look up the word ‘culpable’ in her new dictionary.

‘If you like, I will help you in any way I can?’

‘That’s very good of you.’

He was about to speak when the tramcar rumbled up and clanked to a halt.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening, Miss Cleary.’

‘That you will! Good night, Mr Hartley!’

A friendship soon sprang up between them for he seemed genuinely concerned and impressed by her efforts to catch up on the
years of schooling she had missed. Often she would stay behind for half an hour or so while he patiently went over the intricacies
of English grammar, fractions and decimal points and the climates and rainfall of the various European countries she was studying.

At times she would become so despairing she would throw down the pen, her fingers stained with ink, her cheeks flushed, her
head throbbing. Declaring she would never, never understand it all. He would pick up the pen and put it back in her hand and
they would begin again. Each night he walked her to the tram and only then would the proprieties be dropped. During lessons
she was ‘Miss Cleary’ and he ‘Mr Hartley’, beyond the doors it was Cat and Stephen.

In him she confided her ambition and determination, fuelled by regular Saturday afternoon strolls along the landing stage,
regardless of the weather, to watch the
arrival and departure of the liners. Hoping against hope that one Saturday she would see, far out in the river, that gleaming
white hull above which the three yellow funnels towered. But each week when her eyes scanned the river, she was disappointed.
The White Empress’s home port was Southampton and she had to make do with the black hulls and red funnels of the Cunarders
which, by comparison, were dull and ordinary.

It was Mr O’Dwyer, who like herself was an avid reader of anything he could get his hands on, who read out from the
Journal of Commerce
that the Cunard’s
Scythia
was due to sail from Liverpool to New York the following day.

‘Isn’t that the one that Joe Calligan ’as gorra job on?’ Maisey asked innocently, while eyeing Cat sideways. She sensed there
was a serious rift between them and he hadn’t been round to the house since just after Mrs Travis had died.

‘Aye, I don’t know how many palms ’e greased ter gerrit, but it must ’ave been quite a few! Yer don’t gerra job in the engine
room on one of them without givin’ out a few back ’anders, these days. Especially if yer’ve only done a few trips as deck
’and with B & I an’ a few trips on an owld tub!’

Cat kept her eyes on the page of the book she was reading, but the words became a jumbled mass. So Joe had finally made it.
At least he had a foot on the ladder. It must have cost him something, too.

‘What time does she sail, then?’ Maisey asked.

‘On the four o’clock tide, termorrer.’

‘Are yer goin’ ter see ’im off, Cat?’

She finally looked up. ‘Why?’

‘Ter wish ’im luck, like.’

‘I might.’

Maisey and her mother exchanged glances.

‘Do you not think you should, Cat? He was good to you.’ Her mother chided.

She closed the book. ‘Yes. Yes, I suppose I should. I owe him that much.’

She didn’t see Maisey mouth the words ‘Lovers’ tiff’ behind her back as she watched her mother’s head move in agreement.

The
Scythia
was not a very large ship, but she looked well enough Cat thought as she walked down the floating roadway to the landing
stage the following afternoon. There was the usual hustle and bustle that accompanied a departing ship. A young man in uniform
stood at the bottom of the gangway and she pushed her way towards him.

‘Is Joe Calligan aboard?’

He scanned the list he carried. ‘Sorry, miss, no one by that name here.’

‘I’m sorry, he’s not a passenger, he’s crew. Engine room, I think. This is his first trip with you.’

He grinned, then glanced at his watch. ‘In that case you’ll probably find him in the Stile House being inaugurated. Just make
sure he arrives before we sail and can walk up the gangway on his own!’ he called after her as she turned away.

She crossed the cobbled expanse known as Mann Island, which indeed it was, separated by a floating
roadway from the pierhead itself. The Stile House was the pub frequented by the crews of all the ships docking and leaving
the landing stage and it was crowded. There were a few women inside but it was obviously a very male domain.

‘Looking for someone, luv?’

‘Yes. Joe Calligan, he’s due on board the
Scythia
.’

‘Aren’t we all, luv! Girl here looking for Joe Calligan!’ Her informant bellowed above the din.

She saw him shouldering his way towards her, through the crowd around the bar, and she smiled. She’d never seen him in uniform
before, except the old black jersey on the ferry, and he looked older and even more handsome.

‘I came to see you off. Mr O’Dwyer told me you’d got this job.’

He took her arm and propelled her outside. It was the first time they had seen each other since that day in the park and she
felt awkward, unable to look him directly in the face.

‘I wondered if you would come, Cat.’

‘Did you, Joe? Did you really?’

He took her hand. ‘Really, I did, and . . . and I’m glad.’

She looked up at him. ‘You look grand in that uniform.’

‘I won’t get to wear it very often. It’ll be a boiler suit and up to my armpits in grease and oil most of the time.’

‘Isn’t it what you wanted?’

‘Of course! It’s better than being a steward or galley boy!’

She remembered his bitter words about stewardesses and looked away.

‘Oh, you know what I mean, Cat! They’re going to train me, it’s sort of an apprenticeship. I’m a bit older than the others,
but . . .’ he shrugged.

‘How much did it cost you, Joe?’

‘Don’t ask!’

‘But it is what you want?’

He looked closely into her face, then nodded. ‘Next to you, Cat.’

‘So we’re still . . . friends?’

‘If that’s the way you want it, Cat.’ He replied cautiously, hoping he sounded indifferent. He had vowed he would never speak
to her again for she had hurt him. But when he had sat and thought about it he realised that the thing that hurt most was
his pride. Seeing her again had made him realise that he still cared about her. But he was wary. He would never give her the
opportunity to turn him down flat again.

‘I’m glad, Joe. I didn’t want you to go away and us still be . . . enemies!’

‘We’ll never be that! Come here!’ He lifted her chin in his hand and bent and kissed her.

She clasped her arms around his neck and clung to him. She did care about him and now she realised how much she had missed
him. It was just like the first time he had gone away and somehow she knew it would always be like this.

‘It’s a lonely life for a woman. Waiting, wondering, worrying!’ An echo sounded in her mind. ‘Oh, you dear soul, you were
right!’ she whispered into his shoulder.

He kissed her again as the deafening blast of the
Scythia
’s siren sounded, warning her crew that she would cast off in ten minutes.

Men started to push past them, buttoning up jackets, straightening ties and caps.

He kissed her again and she clung to his lips.

‘I’ve got to go now, Cat!’

‘Take care, Joe! Take care!’ She hugged him quickly then released him. He quickened his steps to a run to catch up to the
others, pulling on his uniform cap.

‘Godspeed!’ she called after him. ‘And come home safe,’ she finished quietly to herself.

S
HE STRUGGLED ON AT
her evening classes, helped and encouraged by Stephen, but there were nights when she walked from the tram stop back to the
house, when hearing the ships on the river, she felt lonely and miserable.

Early in spring she had started to go to the city library in William Brown Street and once or twice Stephen had accompanied
her. It was on one of these visits that he suggested they pay a visit to the Walker Art Gallery with its fluted Corinthian
portico and statues of Raphael and Michelangelo which flanked the doors. It was situated next door to the library, facing
the Wellington Monument. She stood in awe, gazing up at the full-length portrait of King Henry VIII in the entrance hall and
remained silent and attentive as he pointed out such treasures as Stubbs’
Molly Longlegs
, Martini’s
Finding of Christ in the Temple
and de Roberti’s
Pietà
. She followed him, in rapt silence, through the quiet halls, totally enthralled by such beauty and splendour.

When they left, he suggested they take a trip to Otterspool promenade and park at the south end of the docks. It was a fine
day and, loathe to return to the clamour and clutter at home, she had readily agreed. It was so refreshing to walk close to
the river and feel the breeze in your hair, smell the salt in the air and watch the grey surface undergo a transformation
as the sunlight broke through the slowly moving cumulus.

They sat on the grass in the park while she studied the catalogue they had bought in the art gallery.

‘Do you still want to go to sea, Cat?’ he asked.

‘Of course! Why do you think I’m working myself to death, slaving over a hot pen and exercise book? Did people really have
pictures like this hanging in their houses?’

‘Yes, but then they were very wealthy and had big houses.’

‘One day I’m going to have a fine house and fill it with objects d’art – is that what you call them? And all the luxuries
I can afford!’

‘Money doesn’t always bring happiness, Cat.’

‘I know that, but it helps to make life sweeter and besides, if used wisely, it can.’

‘But why choose the sea? It’s not an easy life and it can be dangerous?’

‘I’ve already told you, a hundred times or more!’

‘Of course, the White Empress! It’s difficult to fight a ship, Cat.’

She looked up from the catalogue. ‘What do you mean “fight”?’

‘I think most men could cope with a male rival, but a ship—!’

‘You’re laughing at me!’

‘I’m not!’

‘Then . . .?’

He pulled her gently down on the grass beside him, leaning over her. ‘It’s so hard to fight something inanimate, but I’ll
try anyway. I love you!’

She hadn’t been prepared for any of this and she lay staring up at him.

He traced the outline of her nose with his index finger until it reached her lips. ‘Don’t speak, Cat, don’t spoil it!’

Before she realised it, his lips were pressing against hers. Gently at first, then harder and more demanding. One hand slid
under her back, the other supported her head. The sky began to grow paler, the sunlight less bright as she responded to him.
Her hands locked around his neck and through half-closed eyes, the sun began to spin slowly. Something was stirring in her
that she had never felt before. These were not the feelings Joe’s lips had evoked. These were the stirrings of emotions she
had never felt before. She felt his hand touch the soft mound of her breast and a longing arose within her. His lips, his
gently caressing fingers, were causing tremors to course through her body.

‘Cat! Cat! I’ve wanted you since the day I first saw you!’ His words were muttered with a passion he couldn’t conceal.

A gull screeched overhead and the raucous cry mingled with the laughter of children and these sounds served to drag her back
to reality. She pulled away from him, her hands trembling. ‘Stephen, no! I . . . I can’t.’
Sitting up she smoothed out the creases in her skirt. He still lay on his back beside her as a young family passed them. She
watched them until they were further away.

His hand sought hers.

‘Stephen, I can’t . . .’ She couldn’t trust herself. If he were to kiss her again like that, she would be lost.

‘Is it because of Joe?’

‘No. Well, Joe is part of it!’

‘He doesn’t love you, Cat, he doesn’t own you!’

‘No one owns me!’

‘You know what I mean. Do you love me, Cat?’

She stared out over the river. ‘I . . . I don’t know! I don’t think I even know what love is.’

He reached out for her but she jumped up and ran to the edge of the roadway that bounded the river wall, her emotions in turmoil.
She stood gripping the rail. Of one thing she was certain. Whatever it was she felt for him, it was far stronger, far sweeter
than anything she had ever felt before and she knew if he were to ask her to marry him now, she wouldn’t be as resolutely
opposed to the idea as she had been with Joe.

She gripped the rail harder, staring out down river. The sun was strong and she narrowed her eyes against the glare. Then
her heart lurched, seemed to stop dead, then raced on again. Surely, surely it wasn’t! At this distance and in the strong
light shapes were distorted, colours faded. Her heart lurched again. It was! She wasn’t just imagining it! She turned to where
Stephen still sat on the grass verge.

‘It’s her! It’s her, Stephen! It’s the White Empress! She’s come home!’

By the time they had reached the landing stage, via the tram and overhead railway, the
Empress
was well up-river and had taken on the massive hawsers of the tugs needed to manoeuvre her alongside. Stephen and his advances
were forgotten as she pushed her way through the crowd of people at the landing stage. Again she shielded her eyes from the
sun. It was just as though the years had rolled back. The gleaming white hull rose like a cliff from the murky waters of the
Mersey, but somehow to Cat she seemed bigger and there was something unfamiliar about her shape. Then she saw the black letters
on her bow. It wasn’t ‘her’ ship. It wasn’t ‘her’
Empress
, for the name ‘
Empress of Britain
’ could be clearly read.

‘So that’s the shape of my rival! I’ve got to admit that she’s certainly a formidable sight.’ Stephen was beside her.

‘It’s the
Empress of Britain
.’

‘You sound disappointed?’

‘Perhaps I am, a little.’

‘Then there’s hope for me yet?’

She smiled. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve dragged you all the way here for, well . . .’ she shrugged.

‘Not for nothing. She’s a wonderful sight and besides, if we stay here longer I may see an old school friend. I heard he was
sailing on this particular
Empress
.’

She clutched his arm so tightly her fingers dug into the flesh. He knew someone on board! He had never mentioned this fact.

‘You’re joking! You never mentioned it before!’

‘I didn’t want to mention it, I was trying to block
these great white whales out of your mind, Captain Ahab, or don’t you remember?’

She was too excited to admonish him for his derogatory remarks. ‘Oh, Stephen! Can you introduce him to me? What’s his name?
What does he do?’ She failed to notice the downward quirk of his lips.

‘His name is David Barratt and he’s a junior officer, but I don’t think we’ll be able to see him. He’ll be busy and won’t
disembark until they tie up properly in Gladstone Dock.’

Her face fell and she suspected him of concealing something from her. She turned back to look at the ship, now being nosed
alongside the landing stage, unaware of the hard gleam in his blue eyes.

‘Do you want to wait?’

She sighed. It was too much to ask of him, he obviously thought she was using him to further her own ends. ‘No. Let’s go.’

‘I’ll see you to the tram, then.’

Reluctant though she was to drag herself away from the scene, she followed him. Later she would try to sort out all the conflicting
emotions she felt now. Later she could lie in bed, when Shelagh, Dora and Ethel were asleep, and try to sort out in her mind
the events that had brought about such an extraordinary day.

The
Empress of Britain
’s stay in Liverpool had been brief. A twenty-four hour turnaround before she sailed from the Mersey to her home port of Southampton.
And she had sailed on the early tide so Cat had not seen her go.

She had decided not to mention the matter again to
Stephen as she would not have him accuse her of ‘using’ him. She had also spent long hours turning over her feelings for him
in her mind. At length she had admitted to herself that what she felt for him was nothing like the affection she felt for
Joe. Joe had always been . . . just Joe. A friend, a close and dear friend she knew she could rely on. A haven and a refuge.
But when he had kissed her she had felt nothing of the flood of passionate longing she felt for Stephen. She and Joe were,
well, just like childhood sweethearts. She’d only been a child when she had first met him and he had been the first and only
boy to take an interest in her.

With Stephen the feeling was deeper, stronger and yet, when she searched her heart, she knew that if he asked to marry her
she would have to think about it. She couldn’t rush into it. She wouldn’t rush into it and it was this realisation that made
her wonder if she really did love him. She was nearly nineteen now and often she wished for the uncomplicated, naivety of
the life she had known at sixteen. When all that had mattered was money in her pocket and a roof over her head.

Thanks to Mrs Grindley’s training her Dublin accent had become less pronounced and she was finding evening classes easier.
She still saw Marie often, but usually only at weekends for Marie was now at commercial college and destined to be a fully
fledged shorthand typist when she finished in another year’s time. Stephen took her out on two more occasions, once to the
pictures and once to the museum. He had kissed her goodnight on both occasions in the sheltering doorway of the shops, before
she boarded her tram. She
had felt that same longing, that yearning fill her each time. And the last time she had nearly missed the tram, staying within
the circle of his arms, held in the thrall of his embrace until the voice of the conductor broke the spell and she had been
hauled bodily on to the platform. It had been the last tram going her way that night and as she had tried to hide her embarrassment,
the conductor had laughed and said, ‘There’s always tomorrow, luv!’

There had been quite a few ‘tomorrows’ until Joe had returned home. With a wallet full of pound notes, decked out in his uniform,
he had called for her. Only to find out from Shelagh, who eyed him in a new light and attempted to become coy and flirtatious,
that she had gone to one of her evening classes.

‘I don’t know why she wants to fill her head with all that stuff, it’s not going to be any use to her, not when she’s married
and bringing up kids! I thought you and she were “walking out”? Now if it was me, I’d be waiting on the landing stage for
my bloke. One of these days I just might go and take a look myself at these evening classes. I don’t know what she finds so
interesting, or maybe it’s
who
she finds interesting.’

He inquired where the evening classes were held and what time they finished and after giving his regards to both Maisey and
Mrs Cleary, he left to catch the tram to Warbreck Moor. He tried to ignore Shelagh’s innuendoes – she was a born troublemaker.

He stood opposite in the doorway of a shop and watched while the students filed out, but he saw no sign
of her. The last man he had watched leave crossed the road.

‘Any more in there, pal?’ he asked.

‘Only Mr Hartley, the teacher, and Miss Cleary. She sometimes helps him to tidy up. You a friend of hers?’

‘Sort of.’

‘Sometimes he walks her to the tram, too.’

‘Oh, aye, what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing, pal! Got a light?’

Joe delved into his pocket and brought out a box of matches. He lit one and held it out. The man lit his cigarette, nodded
and went on his way. He tried to push away the doubt Shelagh had planted in his mind. He looked at the new watch he had bought
in New York. Nearly a quarter past nine. He pushed both his hands into his trouser pockets. He’d wait.

A few minutes later they came out, laughing and joking, and he scowled as he watched Stephen take Cat’s arm and guide her
across the road. Then he stepped out, directly into their path.

‘Hello, Cat!’

She gave a cry of surprise that was quickly followed by one of delight. ‘Joe! When did you get in? Why didn’t you get word
to me?’

‘Late this afternoon.’ He was looking past her.

She caught his arm and pulled him forward. ‘Joe, this is Stephen. Stephen Hartley, my teacher and friend.’

He made an effort to smile and shake the man’s hand, but he had taken an instant dislike to him. Something he did very rarely
for he was gregarious by nature. There was something about him, about the way he looked at
Cat. He’d seen that look before. He pushed the thought aside for Cat was linking arms with them both and chattering on as
they all walked in the direction of the tram stop.