Waters of the Heart Read online

  After showing their guests out, Bertram returned smiling with satisfaction. ‘That went off even better than I hoped. Roland’s going to give me special terms for importing and exporting once I buy a mill, so all that remains is to find the right place. He even hinted he might invest in it.’

  ‘I’m glad everything turned out well for you, and I’ll tell Mrs Gow tomorrow how much they enjoyed the meal.’

  Dorothy was waiting for her the following Monday, and took her arm as if they were old chums. ‘I’m glad I don’t have to worry about keeping up appearances any more, so would you like me to show you the shops I used to go to? I couldn’t afford to buy anything in the department stores before I married Roland.’

  Recalling the dismal stalls in the market on Dock Street where Jen had taken Phoebe and her to shop for second-hand clothes, where the stallholders kept up a running fusillade of jokes to make their hard-up customers part with a few more pence, Cissie had to smile, and they took the tramcar into the centre of the city. She had a moment of panic when Dorothy turned off High Street into Thorston Street, which connected with the Overgate. She didn’t want Dorothy to know that she had once lived in one of the tumbledown tenements at the back, though her friend likely wouldn’t care. What if they met any of the women who had known her before? Should she speak to them, or would they think she was patronising them now she had come up in the world? And if they didn’t recognise her as the poor waif who used to live with Jen Millar, they’d be embarrassed at being spoken to by such a well-dressed lady.

  Luckily, she saw no familiar faces, and Dorothy was too engrossed in describing the shops they passed to notice her disquiet. ‘Do you see this grocer? You could buy a poke of broken biscuits there for a ha’penny, and bruised fruit cheap from the greengrocer, though you’d to watch what he put in the bottom of the bag wasn’t rotten.’

  Knowing all about this, Cissie just smiled, and her friend went on, ‘The barber kept packets of you-knows under his counter for the men who didn’t want to father any more kids, legitimate and otherwise.’

  Laughing at this, Cissie thought that it was a pity more men hadn’t bought ‘you-knows’ to stop their poor wives, legitimate or otherwise, having to give birth so often, but she didn’t say so to Dorothy.

  Carrying on into the Overgate itself, they walked slowly up the hill past Greenhill, the chemist. ‘They sell a drink called Sarsparilla,’ Dorothy informed Cissie, who had never had enough money to try it. There was more than one pawnshop – hocking her man’s Sunday suit on a Monday and redeeming it when he got his wages on Saturday was a way of life for most wives in the area – and when they passed the three brass balls nearest to the close through to Jen’s tenement, she wondered if poor Jen still lived there. Being after half past two, all the public houses were closed, but the street was still bustling with people, and Cissie knew that some of the characters who were staggering about drunkenly now would be lying in the gutter by nightfall.

  ‘I love walking up here,’ Dorothy observed, happily. ‘You never know what you’re going to see next.’

  The familiar sights and smells were having a strange effect on Cissie – a nostalgia had risen in her for the old times with Phoebe and Jen. They had never had much money, but they had been as close as any three women could possibly be, and now they were separated by a chasm that could never be bridged. She saw Phoebe every Wednesday, but it wasn’t the same – her stepmother still disapproved of Bertram – and she hadn’t seen Jen for years.

  ‘Are you getting tired?’ Dorothy asked, suddenly. ‘You’re very quiet. Will we go in here and have a cup of tea, eh?’

  They had come to a small tearoom, and because Cissie had never had occasion to go in before – it was so close to her old home – she followed her friend through the door with no fear of being recognised.

  ‘I’ve really enjoyed myself today,’ Dorothy said, when they were on their way out to the suburbs again.

  ‘So have I,’ Cissie said, and in a sense, it was true.

  On Tuesday afternoon they went round the docks, Dorothy pointing out two of her husband’s ships, and Cissie showing her the tenement in South Union Street where she and Phoebe had shared a flat. There was nothing to be ashamed of in having lived there.

  ‘You’re very fond of her, aren’t you?’ Dorothy observed as they walked back to get their tramcar.

  ‘Yes, I am, but Bertram doesn’t like her, and I don’t know what he has against her.’

  ‘Maybe he just doesn’t like having a stepmother. Did you not resent her when your father married her?’

  ‘No, I loved her from the day I met her.’

  ‘When did your father die?’

  ‘He isn’t dead, but we don’t know where he is.’ For as close as she was to Dorothy now, Cissie couldn’t tell her that he had been sent to prison over five years earlier. ‘She divorced him for – deserting her.’

  Phoebe had quite a surprise for her on Wednesday. ‘I wrote to Marie on Sunday. Oh, don’t worry,’ she hurried on, as Cissie gasped with dismay, ‘I didn’t give her my address, or yours, I just sent some money to help her out. I’ve often wondered about her and Pat, and I’ve been saving some of what Richard gives me. I’m sure she’ll be glad of the twenty pounds.’

  Marie would consider twenty pounds a fortune, Cissie knew, as she would have done when she was in Schoolhill. She, too, thought of her brother and sister occasionally – and of her other brother, Tommy – but it had never crossed her mind to make Marie’s financial burden lighter. In any case, Bertram didn’t give her much; he preferred to buy her clothes and to pay all the household expenses.

  Changing the subject, Cissie told Phoebe about the dinner for the Barclays, and the invitation to their house in July. ‘Dorothy says we should keep the dinners to once a month, so our cooks don’t run out of ideas. We’re great friends now,’ she went on, ‘and I see her nearly every day.’

  Phoebe smiled. ‘I’m glad you found somebody like that, and I bet Bertram’s pleased you met her. He’s the kind who would want to keep well in with men like Roland Barclay.’

  Cissie decided to keep quiet about Bertram’s intention to buy one of the mills. It would only make Phoebe think she was correct in her estimation of him, though he must have been thinking about it before he ever met Roland.

  On her way home to Panache, Cissie was thankful that Phoebe had not given Marie their addresses. When her father came out of prison, the first thing he’d do would be to try and find her, and she felt much easier knowing that no one could tell him where to look.

  When the clock struck midnight, heralding in the new year, Bertram raised his glass. ‘Here’s hoping 1924 will be as good a year for me as the last one. My profits have doubled over the past four months.’

  Roland Barclay smiled as he drank the toast. ‘Yes, we both seem to be doing very well. And here’s to our lovely wives; we’re two lucky men.’

  Grinning at her friend, Dorothy said, ‘We’re lucky, too, aren’t we, Cissie? Handsome husbands and beautiful houses we don’t have to lift a finger to keep clean.’

  Bertram, having had a few drinks already, sounded a little sour when he remarked, ‘All my dreams would come true if only I’d a son.’

  Roland gave a roar of laughter. ‘Dorothy knows it’s not my fault we have no children.’

  His wife’s face tightened. ‘No, he’s told me often enough there’s little Barclays scattered the length and breadth of France and Belgium.’

  ‘Fathered before I met you,’ he smiled. ‘Didn’t you sow any wild oats when you were in the Guards, Bertram?’

  ‘Plenty, but I was never in any place long enough to find out if they germinated.’

  The two men guffawed lewdly, although Cissie guessed that each had exaggerated in order to impress the other.

  Cissie suspected that Bertram had impregnated her in the early hours of New Year’s Day, but she waited until she was certain before she said anything. Sitting on the arm of his chair, she murmured, ‘Bert
ram, I’ve something to tell you.’

  His nose in the Scotsman, her husband murmured, ‘Mm?’

  ‘Will you listen, Bertram? This is important.’

  Giving a little sigh, he laid the newspaper at the side of his chair and slid his arm round her. ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘What do you want more than anything in the world?’

  ‘A Rolls Royce. Is this some new kind of game?’

  ‘It’s not a game. It’s something you’ve wanted for a long time. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the only reason you married me.’ She grinned to let him see that she was only joking, then burst out laughing at his expression when he looked up at her. ‘Has the penny dropped?’

  Pulling her onto his lap, he said, ‘I can’t believe it! You’re pregnant? Are you sure?’

  ‘I wouldn’t tell you unless I was sure. Are you pleased?’

  ‘My darling, if I was a dog, I’d wag my tail off.’

  After the kissing, they snuggled back in the chair, his arm squeezing her waist, her arm round his neck. ‘Do you know what I feel like doing right now?’ he asked.

  ‘Going to bed?’ she smiled.

  ‘That too, but I’d like to go out in the street and shout that I’m going to be a father at long last. You don’t know how good I feel, Cissie. I couldn’t feel better if I’d just been handed a million pounds.’

  ‘A baby’s going to cost you money,’ she reminded him.

  ‘I don’t care what it costs. Oh, God, my leg’s cramping. You’ll have to get off.’

  In another second, he was crippling around so comically that Cissie giggled, ‘I didn’t think I was that heavy.’

  ‘You’re not, you’re as light as a feather. It was the way I was sitting.’

  ‘I’ll soon be all fat and horrible.’

  ‘It won’t matter to me,’ he exclaimed. ‘And I haven’t thanked you yet, my darling. I’ll be the happiest man alive when I hold my son in my arms.’

  ‘Won’t you be happy if it’s a girl?’

  ‘It’s natural for a man to want a son.’

  That night, Bertram was even more tender than usual. ‘I want to be sure nothing goes wrong,’ he told her, ‘and when you’re nearer your time, I’ll stop altogether.’

  ‘You know, Bertram,’ Cissie said, blissfully. ‘I think you must be the most considerate husband in the world.’

  Next morning, Bertram said, ‘I think I’ll go to Huntingdon this afternoon to let Father know about his grandson.’

  ‘Oh, let me tell Phoebe,’ Cissie pleaded, ‘and she’ll tell him. I bet they’ll both be pleased.’

  Having wanted to see his arch enemy’s face when she heard about the baby, Bertram felt cheated, but to humour his wife, he said, as cheerfully as he could, ‘I don’t suppose it matters who tells him.’

  Bertram would have been bitterly disappointed in Phoebe’s reaction. ‘Oh,’ she exclaimed, in great joy, when Cissie told her the good news, ‘I’m so pleased for you. Maybe I was wrong about Bertram all along.’ She was nearly sure she hadn’t been, but marriage could have changed him.

  Cissie chuckled. ‘I always said you were wrong. He can hardly wait for the baby to be born. He wants a boy, of course, but I don’t think he’ll care if it’s a girl.’

  ‘Of course he won’t,’ Phoebe smiled, ‘and Richard’s going to be thrilled whatever it is. He’s been champing at the bit waiting for a grandchild.’ He had also expressed his sadness at not having fathered another child himself, and she longed to give him one, but her age was against her.

  ‘Bertram wants to call him after his father,’ Cissie was saying, ‘but just think of the muddle we’ll get in with two Richards in the family.’

  Now Phoebe understood. Bertram hadn’t changed. He had been afraid that his father would leave everything to her in his will, and he had married Cissie just to get a son. He would think that Richard would be so delighted to have a grandson he would divide his estate between his wife and the child, and was making sure by naming the boy after him – if it did turn out to be a boy. At first, she was amused at Bertram’s transparency, then she felt sorry for Cissie, who hadn’t the slightest suspicion of her husband’s deviousness.

  Conscious that her stepdaughter was regarding her anxiously, Phoebe gave a soft laugh. ‘We’ll easily sort them out – Big Richard and Little Richard?’

  Cissie frowned. ‘I hate hearing people say that.’

  ‘It might be a girl, and whatever it is, I hope Bertram lets my Richard see it sometimes, or it’ll break his heart. I don’t care if he still won’t be friends with me.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the baby brings us all back together?’

  Phoebe felt like saying it would be a miracle, but kept her sarcasm to herself. Cissie couldn’t see past Bertram, and it was best to let it remain that way until he, himself, pulled the veil from her eyes, as his stepmother was sure he would, one day.

  Bertram had told his wife before he left in the morning that he would have to stay late in the office that night, but, at half past five, he made his way to Barbara Troup’s house, as he had done on all other occasions he had pleaded pressure of work for being late home. ‘I’ve done it,’ he crowed. ‘I’d almost given up hope, but I’ve put a bun in Cissie’s oven at long last. God, I was beginning to think she was barren.’

  The prostitute grinned. ‘Come to bed, my pet. I’ll give you pleasure that wife of yours never could.’

  Accepting her offer, Bertram thought gleefully that once his son was born, he would teach Cissie how to give him all the pleasure he needed, and he wouldn’t have to pay five ruddy pounds a time for it.

  Cissie had been afraid that Dorothy would be jealous about the baby, but her friend could not have been more pleased, and over the next seven months helped her to buy a complete layette – Bertram having been liberal for this good cause.

  ‘I surely won’t need five dozen terry nappies?’ Cissie laughed one afternoon, about two weeks before the birth was due. ‘I’m not having twins – I hope.’

  ‘If it’s wet weather, the nappies won’t dry, and think how often a baby dirties them. And you’ll need the same amount of Harrington squares, too.’

  ‘Harrington squares? What are they?’

  ‘They’re like double muslin, and you use them next the baby’s skin, so the towelling nappies don’t get so dirty. I read it in a magazine.’

  ‘With the amount of matinee jackets, day and night gowns, barracoats, vests and bootees I’ve got stacked away, I could clothe a dozen babies. He – or she – will likely grow out of them long before I’ve got through half of them.’

  ‘We’ve still to get the pram and a cot. No, the tiny thing would be lost in a cot, maybe you should get a Moses basket first.’

  It was as if a well-aimed lance had pierced straight to the centre of Cissie’s heart. This baby – looked for so long and conceived in love – would never lie in a basket. Every time she put it down or lifted it up, she wouldn’t be able to hide her revulsion of the wicker bed, and Bertram would see that she was hiding something. He would demand to know, and in the state she would be in, she would blurt out the story of that night of hell. ‘A cot’s enough, Dorothy,’ she murmured. ‘A basket’s extra expense for nothing.’

  ‘Bertram won’t mind the expense. He’s so happy about this baby he’d buy the sun, moon and stars for it if he could.’

  ‘I’m not having – a Moses basket!’ Cissie spat out. ‘I’ll never – ever – let one come inside the house!’

  Dorothy looked at her in amazement. ‘Keep your shirt on! It was only a suggestion; it doesn’t matter to me.’

  ‘Oh, Dorothy, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. It’s just . . . I once saw a Moses basket being knocked over and . . .’

  Undeterred by the abrupt stop, Dorothy asked, ‘Was the baby inside?’ At Cissie’s mute, miserable nod, she went on, ‘Was it badly injured?’

  ‘He – died.’

  ‘Oh, poor little thing! The mother must have b
een out of her mind with grief.’

  ‘Yes, she was out of her mind.’ With grief, with shock, with anger, with fear, Cissie thought.

  ‘I can see it upset you, too. Never mind, if Bertram wants a basket, I’ll tell him they’re out of fashion. Now, let me buy you a coffee to help you to forget about it.’

  Following her gratefully to the restaurant of the store, Cissie knew that she would never forget. She had succeeded in pushing it as far to the back of her mind as she could – Bertram’s love had helped – but another baby would remind her every day. And if it wasn’t normal, would Bertram love it as much as Jim had loved wee James? Somehow, she didn’t believe he would.

  A hand on her arm made her look up. ‘It was yours, wasn’t it?’ Dorothy asked, softly. ‘It just dawned on me why you were so upset, but don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.’

  The bond between the two young women was cemented even more firmly, and Cissie knew that she could trust Dorothy never to bring up the subject again.

  ‘Roland Barclay’s been as jealous as hell since he learned about the baby,’ Bertram gloated. ‘He blames Dorothy, of course, for they’ve been married even longer than us, and it must be her, because he . . .’

  ‘I know,’ Cissie sighed, ‘and I’m sorry for her. I know how I’d feel if I thought you’d done what he did during the war. You were only joking when you told him you’d sowed a lot of wild oats, weren’t you?’

  ‘Of course I was. I didn’t want him to think I was a poor specimen of a man.’ Recalling the number of oats he had sown during the war, and since he’d come home, he felt proud of how good a specimen of a man he was. For all he knew, he could have a dozen or more sons, but none legitimate. The coming one was the only one that would count.

  He realised suddenly that he was fully aroused, probably with remembering his conquests, and he couldn’t touch his wife when she was so near her time. Damn it all, what was he to do? He could hardly go out now – Cissie would ask where he was going. Wait a minute! What about Elma? He’d already been considering having a bit of fun with her, the only maid who lived in. She had never discouraged him when he gave her derríre the odd pinch, and she hadn’t blinked an eyelid when he grasped her breast one night as he passed her in the hall. She had even licked her lips seductively, so he was sure she wouldn’t turn him down.