Waters of the Heart Page 14

  Having forgotten why she had gone to the butcher in the first place, Cissie was contrite. ‘I’ll go back.’

  ‘Give me the money and I’ll go myself.’

  When Jen went out, Cissie said, ‘I shouldn’t have carried on about the house in front of her, but now she knows we’ve got four rooms, maybe she’ll come with us after all.’

  But Jen didn’t change her mind, so Phoebe and Cissie moved out the next weekend. Having four rooms was like being in heaven, and they could hardly tear themselves away from the long casement windows. From the airy kitchen and the room that was Cissie’s, they looked down on the River Tay, where ferryboats carried passengers across to Newport, and from the parlour and Phoebe’s bedroom, they looked out on to the busy station and the bustling street. As Phoebe said on the day they took up residence, ‘We’ll never be bored, there’s always something to look at.’

  Cissie’s mind was on more mundane matters. ‘Thank goodness we’ve just to share the lavvy with one neighbour again, not a whole tenementful.’

  Two weeks before Richard Dickson’s secretary retired, he offered the post to Phoebe, who was so astonished that it was a full minute before she said, ‘Oh, do you really think I’m up to it, Mr Dickson?’

  ‘Of course you are up to it.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what to say, but – oh, thank you, and I’ll do my best not to let you down.’

  She was turning to leave when the thought struck her. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m speaking out of turn, Mr Dickson, but you’ll be looking for someone for my job, and Cissie’s the very person.’

  ‘Cissie? Cissie Robertson?’ He sounded rather doubtful.

  ‘She’s my stepdaughter, a spinner like I was. We rented a house in South Union Street a month ago, so some extra money wouldn’t go wrong. You won’t regret it if you give her the job, for she’s a good worker, and honest.’

  ‘She has a good champion, anyway,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll have to talk to her before I commit myself, however, so will you ask her to come to see me tomorrow?’

  Cissie, of course, was thrilled when Phoebe gave her the message, and when, after talking to her for ten minutes, Mr Dickson told her that she had got the job, she was ecstatic. When Jen came to supper on Saturday, as she had done every week since they moved, she looked downcast when she heard about it. ‘I’d better not come here again. It’s not fitting for office ladies to mix with spinners.’

  Cissie frowned. ‘Don’t be silly. Where would we have been if you hadn’t taken us in when we came to Dundee?’

  ‘No, it wouldn’t do. It’ll be all right as long as it’s still new to you, but in a while you’ll think yourselves better than me and you’ll not want . . .’

  ‘You’re our dearest friend, Jen.’ Phoebe was unhappily aware that it was the woman who would feel uncomfortable with them, not the other way round.

  ‘And I’ll always remember how good you were to me, but it’s best I stop visiting. I’ll not be on my own, for the lassie that came after Phoebe was put out o’ her lodgings last Sunday and she’s sharing wi’ me now.’

  ‘I feel awful about Jen,’ Cissie observed, when their old friend had gone home. ‘I hope she’s not jealous of us having this house. She did get the chance to come with us.’

  Phoebe shook her head. ‘She’s not jealous, and she’s quite happy where she is. I’m glad she’ll have company, though.’

  When Cissie met Johnny Keating the following night, she burst out, ‘I’m starting in the office two weeks tomorrow.’

  A deep scowl crossed his face. ‘So you’re going over to the other side?’

  ‘The other side?’

  ‘The bosses’ side. I’ve no more time for them in the office than I have for Dickson.’

  ‘They’re just workers, Johnny, the same as you.’

  ‘White collar workers that never get their hands dirty,’ he sneered.

  Her hackles up now, she said, ‘There’s nothing wrong with that, and you can’t blame me for trying to better myself.’

  ‘Ha, so you admit it’s a better job?’

  ‘Of course it is. It’s better pay, and shorter hours.’

  ‘Once you’re an office worker, you’ll not want to be seen dead with the likes of me.’

  ‘I’ll still be the same, Johnny.’

  ‘No, give it a couple of weeks and you’ll be walking the other way when you see me coming.’

  Angry now, Cissie snapped, ‘The boot’s on the other foot, if you ask me, and I’m taking that job whatever you say.’

  ‘If I say I’ll finish with you if you take it, will you give it up?’

  ‘No, I won’t give it up, and if you don’t want to see me again, it’s up to you.’

  ‘Right, then, that’s us finished.’ He turned sharply away from her and stalked off.

  She stood for a few moments, shaking with anger at him for being so pig-headed, then made her way home.

  Phoebe was appalled when she was told. ‘I’m sorry, Cissie. I wish I hadn’t got you the job now.’

  ‘It’s not your fault. Johnny Keating’s not worth bothering about. He’s a Communist, and ignorant into the bargain.’

  It did not take Cissie long – with some help from Phoebe – to understand the workings of the ledgers. She had worried about the typing, and her first two-fingered attempts had been so awful, and so slow, that she thought she would never learn, but she had persevered and was now quite competent.

  She had been a clerkess for just over four months when the owner’s son made his appearance. She knew, from what she had overheard, that Bertram Dickson, late Captain of the Scots Guards, was tall and good-looking, but she had not expected such a strikingly handsome six-footer. His lean figure was straight and lithe in the uniform he would be discarding shortly, his jaw was strong, his fair hair cropped short. His father, introducing him to the office staff he did not already know, came to her last. ‘Our latest recruit, Cissie Robertson, Mrs McGregor’s stepdaughter. She has not been with us long, but she’s shaping up very well.’

  It was when the young man looked directly at her that she got the full impact of his eyes. They were quite dark, not an ordinary brown or blue, but a startlingly deep violet, and they were looking at her with such intense admiration that she felt a flush creeping up her neck.

  ‘Cissie?’ he smiled, ‘I’ll remember that.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  1920

  When Phoebe told her that Bertram Dickson did not intend to take up work at the mill, Cissie’s relief was tempered with disappointment at the thought of not seeing him again.

  ‘He told his father he wanted to enjoy himself for a while before he started work of any kind,’ Phoebe went on. ‘I know Richard’s disappointed, for he hoped he could hand over to his son some day, like his father did to him.’

  Her use of the owner’s first name made Cissie think. She had suspected for some time that there was an attraction between them, and wondered what her stepmother would say if Mr Dickson ever asked her to marry him.

  The end of the war had meant a decrease in orders for the mill, and Cissie was glad to learn that Johnny Keating and Jen Millar were not among the workers who were paid off. She hardly ever saw either of them but was still interested in their welfare, and jobs were hard to come by.

  Despite what he had told her father, Bertram turned up in the office every afternoon, and Cissie coloured nervously each time she saw him looking at her, afraid, yet half hoping, that he would come across and speak to her on his way to or from the little room Richard Dickson shared with Phoebe, and it was fully a month before he did.

  Out of uniform now, he wore grey flannels with a Fair Isle slipover and a Harris tweed jacket, but he was as handsome as ever. His powerful violet eyes seemed to fix on her as soon as he came through the door, and when he said, ‘Good morning, Cissie,’ she answered, ‘Good morning, Mr Dickson,’ praying that her nervousness did not show.

  Smiling, he murmured, ‘The name’s Bertram, Cissie.�
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  ‘Yes, I know, Mr Dickson,’ she replied, not wishing to encourage him.

  ‘You’re a very pretty girl, you know.’

  Her blush deepened. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘How about coming for a spin in my Sunbeam tonight?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ She wished that she could accept, but she couldn’t possibly go out with the boss’s son.

  He pulled a wry face. ‘Oh, Cissie, you’ve cut me to the quick. Look, I promise there won’t be any funny business, I just want a companion. The girl I’ve been seeing has found someone else, and I’m at a loose end. Please take pity on an old soldier?’

  His last sentence made her smile. He was nothing like the poor ex-servicemen who had to beg on the streets because they couldn’t find work, and he had more than his share of charm. ‘That’s better,’ he grinned, ‘the sunshine of your smile has lifted the clouds from my heart.’

  She suspected that his flattery was insincere, but she couldn’t resist him any longer, and his eyes twinkled at her hesitation. ‘You’ll come?’

  ‘Just this once.’

  Phoebe scowled when Cissie told her that Bertram Dickson was calling for her in his car at half past seven. ‘I’m sure he’s a bit of a wolf, so watch yourself.’

  ‘I’m just going out with him once, as an obligement.’

  ‘I didn’t like to say anything before, but Richard – Mr Dickson – has been asking me out, and I said yes today, too. I like him an awful lot, Cissie.’

  ‘What if he gets serious about you?’

  ‘I won’t let it get that far.’

  Phoebe had encouraged Cissie to buy one of the new, short-length dresses a few weeks before, and a pair of beige silk stockings to go with it, but she had never had the courage to wear either. Tonight, however, she slipped on the dress and asked, ‘What d’you think? Is it too daring?’

  The long straight bodice had a deep V-neck, which showed her slim throat to advantage, and the skirt, pleated from well below her waist, sat becomingly on her. ‘No, it suits you,’ Phoebe assured her, ‘but wear the stockings, too. You want to cut a dash, don’t you?’

  ‘I want to look nice, not cheap.’

  ‘You won’t look cheap, it’s all the rage.’

  Running downstairs when Bertram sounded his horn, Cissie hoped he would approve and was pleased when he said, ‘You look so stunning I’d better take you to Edinburgh.’

  To make the journey shorter, he went across both the Tay and the Forth by ferry, but it still took them well over an hour to reach the capital, where he paid for seats for the second house of a variety show. Cissie enjoyed most of the turns, but the two comedians were so suggestive that she felt uncomfortable and was glad when their acts were over.

  To round off the evening, and ignoring her protests that it was too late, Bertram took her to a cocktail bar, and gave her a martini. It wasn’t as strong as gin, and tasted much nicer, but she refused a second, content to survey the other patrons, young men in evening suits and bow ties, and girls who sat with their legs crossed so that their skirts, shorter than hers, slid up to reveal their bare thighs. She glanced at Bertram to see if he was as shocked as she was, but his eyes were on her.

  It was after one in the morning when they arrived back at South Union Street, and he gave her a quick hug before he let her out of the car. ‘We’ll have to do it again, Cissie.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she laughed, and ran inside.

  Phoebe was in bed but not asleep. ‘Come through and tell me how you got on,’ she called.

  After describing everything, Cissie asked, ‘How did you get on with Mr Dickson?’

  ‘He’s a gentleman, Cissie. We had a meal in a restaurant, with wine, and he talked to me like I was a proper lady.’

  ‘Did he ask you anything about yourself?’

  ‘No, he didn’t get personal at all.’

  ‘Neither did Bertram, thank goodness.’

  Phoebe was pensive for moment. ‘I felt like I was cheating Richard, though. Maybe I should tell him the truth about me, but I don’t want him to stop taking me out.’

  ‘He did ask you out again? So did Bertram.’

  ‘It’s different with you, Cissie. You’re free to do what you want, I’m not. Richard’s not like any other man I’ve known, and I’m sure he likes me, but is it wrong for me to let him think I’m something I’m not?’

  ‘Did you feel it was wrong?’

  ‘Not at the time.’

  ‘But you do now?’ Cissie thought for a moment, then said, ‘It’s not wrong, Phoebe. If he asked you out again, he must have enjoyed your company, so you’d given him pleasure.’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Phoebe sighed, then gave a wry laugh. ‘I didn’t know I’d a conscience, but maybe I’ll get over it.’

  When she went to bed, Cissie couldn’t help thinking that it was odd that she and Phoebe were going out with a father and son. The difference was, as her stepmother had pointed out, she was free to encourage Bertram if she wanted to, and Phoebe’s conscience might prevent her from encouraging Mr Dickson, though they would make a perfect couple. Phoebe was tall, dark and elegant, but he was even taller and very distinguished. He had a neat moustache, almost-black hair with just a little silver through it, and his skin was as fresh as a young boy’s yet it seemed to fit in with the rest of his looks. He wasn’t quite as handsome as Bertram, whose fairness must come from his mother, but she understood why Phoebe was drawn to him. His eyes were a definite blue, not violet like his son’s, and they were kind eyes, serious, the eyes of a man you wouldn’t be afraid to trust.

  Could she trust Bertram? She had enjoyed being with him, and he done nothing wrong, but he wasn’t like any other man she had known. Johnny Keating, of course, had turned out to be a Communist, but Hugh Phimister . . . She had practically forgotten Hugh since she came to Dundee, yet her love for him had gone much deeper than her feelings for Johnny. She hoped that he had come through the war – though if he had, he would be back in Aberdeen now and his mother would have told him about the trial. He would likely be thanking his lucky stars that she had broken off with him, and he’d never know what that had cost her.

  She dragged her mind back to Bertram. He was a good man, just a little high-spirited, and of course she could trust him. What had she been thinking of to doubt him?

  Bertram’s thoughts kept returning to Cissie. The other girls he had taken out had let him fondle them, and in some cases, let him make love to them, but Cissie wasn’t like that. She had said she was a widow, so she couldn’t be as untouched as she looked, but he had the feeling she would turn on him if he tried anything, and he would have to go carefully.

  He waited more than a week before asking her out again, and was quite surprised when she agreed. This time, he said he would take her to Perth, but when they came to a thickly wooded area, he drew the car off the road amongst the trees, to find out how she felt about him. He was delighted when she let him kiss her, but her lips kindled a fire inside him, and he had to restrain himself from caressing her. He didn’t want to scare her, but she seemed to enjoy his kisses, and he was confident that, given time, she would respond to them in the way he was longing for.

  The following morning, when he was on his way downstairs to breakfast, Bertram overhead something that made him stand still to listen. ‘It’s high time that lad of yours settled down to some work,’ his grandfather was saying. ‘He can’t go through life sponging off you.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ Richard replied, ‘and I’m going to give him a choice. Either he does what we want and learns the workings of the mill from the bottom up, or he takes a job somewhere else.’

  ‘If he doesn’t?’ This was Old Dick again.

  ‘Then he gets nothing more from me.’

  Bertram drew in a sharp breath, but they weren’t finished yet. ‘When I made my will,’ his grandfather observed, ‘I left him my share of the mill as well as half my money, but the way he’s been gambling and carrying on with fast girls
is making me have second thoughts. He needs somebody with her head screwed on, maybe a working lassie that would make him buckle to and settle down. If he doesn’t see sense shortly, I’m going to cut him out altogether.’

  Not waiting to hear any more, Bertram turned and tiptoed back to his room. Damn them both, he thought furiously, a man couldn’t have any fun these days. When he’d suggested, a few weeks ago, that he’d be willing to go into the mill at management level, his father had said, ‘You’ll start at the bottom like I had to.’ So what did they expect, for heaven’s sake? He wasn’t cut out to be a labourer, not even an overseer, and he would have to think of something before Old Dick changed his will.

  Taking Cissie home two nights later, he said, ‘I’ve been considering starting up in business on my own. Not in jute, maybe something in the wholesale line – groceries or medical supplies, something everyone needs.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ Cissie exclaimed. ‘You shouldn’t be frittering your life away like you’ve been doing.’

  Her enthusiasm helped him to decide. ‘Would you come and start up my books? You know about that sort of thing.’

  ‘But wouldn’t your father be angry if you took one of his clerkesses away?’

  ‘He’ll easily get another, and I want you.’ This was true, in more senses than one.

  ‘I haven’t enough experience yet. I don’t know anything about setting up books, just keeping them.’

  Her eyes, looking up at him so earnestly, were driving him crazy, so he had to steel himself not to be angry. ‘If you don’t want to . . .’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Cissie interrupted, hastily.

  ‘You’ve got to say yes, Cissie.’

  ‘I’ll try, then.’

  His childish pout vanished instantly. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’ Turning to her again, he squeezed her, gave her a quick kiss and drove on before he lost his head.

  Phoebe wasn’t happy when Cissie told her what she’d agreed to do. ‘You must know what he’s after,’ she said, heatedly, ‘and it’s not somebody to start a book-keeping system for him. You’re mad to trust him.’