The Girl From Seaforth Sands (37 page)

Cuddling down beneath the blankets, she expected to fall asleep immediately, but instead found herself wondering, for the first time since they had left him, just exactly what had brought Paddy to the hospital in such haste. Recalling the moment when Philip had drawn her attention to the tall, dark-haired figure, standing stock still in the centre of the ward, she also remembered how white his face had been until it suddenly flooded with scarlet and how his dark eyes had burned as his glance fell on her. He had been shocked to find her uninjured, she was sure of that, but she could not recall any look of pleasure when he had realised she was unhurt.

The old Amy would have assumed Paddy was disappointed to find her whole, but Amy knew that this was nonsense. Paddy might not like her – did not like her – but she did not really suppose for one moment that he actually wished her harm. After all, she did not like him, but she would have been truly distressed had he been injured when working on the boat. Indeed, when she thought of the sort of conditions the fishermen faced whenever they went to sea in bad weather a chill of dread crept over her. He could easily be knocked overboard by a wildly swinging boom and tossed ashore by the great, white-tipped waves which accompanied such conditions. And there were a thousand and one smaller, less fatal accidents, which were almost everyday occurrences among the fishing fleet.

Now that she had begun on this train of thought, she had hard work to dismiss it from her
mind but she knew she must do so, reminding herself that her beloved brothers, Albert and Gus, were also fishermen and faced the same horrendous dangers daily. She was just thinking that the old animosity between herself and Paddy must be beginning to fade, just drifting into sleep, when she distinctly heard his voice, taunting and shrill, the boy Paddy, screaming after her as he had so often done, ‘Shrimpy, Shrimpy! Who stinks of bleedin’ fish, then? Keep to windward of her, fellers, else the pong will knock you out.’

Instantly Amy found herself sitting bolt upright in bed, all her gentle thoughts of Paddy forgotten. He had been a horrible little boy and was probably now a horrible young man. The fact that she did not see much of him must therefore be considered a huge advantage and she would most certainly not worry about his possible fate aboard the fishing boat, nor continue to exercise her mind with fruitless wonderings concerning his hospital visit.

Resolutely she turned her face into the pillow and presently slept. But even the best of resolutions cannot always be kept and, as she dreamed, she smiled. And the Paddy who accompanied her into dreamland was not the irritating little boy but an extraordinarily attractive young man.

At the time that Paddy was leaving the hospital, Albert was taking his place at a small corner table in Dorothy’s Dining Rooms. When the waitress approached him he grinned up at her, and ordered a pot of tea and some buttered toast and then, with seeming casualness, he asked her if Ruth Durrant was on the premises.

The girl looked at him closely, then smiled. ‘I seen you before,’ she said almost accusingly, ‘you come in a week ago, clincher? Did Ruthie serve you then? She must ha’ made an impression for you to come back so soon!’

Albert felt rather offended but did not intend to show it. The girl made him sound like one of those – what did they call them? – Yes, stage-door johnnies who hung around outside theatres trying to scrape acquaintance with a member of the chorus. He felt like telling her that he and Ruth were old friends, but instead said loftily, ‘Ruth’s a neighbour of mine; we both live out at Seaforth. Is she around? I’d like a word.’

The girl grinned but vouchsafed no answer, merely moving to another table to take a customer’s order and presently went through the swing doors into the kitchen. Albert hoped that his message would reach Ruth and that she would not think he had a nerve to come visiting her workplace. But nothing ventured, nothing gained, his dad had often remarked and this was definitely a case in point. He had known Ruth since their early schooldays; known her better than he knew most girls, because of her friendship with his sister. He liked Ruth very much but had somehow lacked the courage to ask her out. Now, with an afternoon and evening free, he intended to do it. If she agreed to go with him he meant to take her to the Rotunda on the Scottie, since it was on their way home and would not, he thought, be likely to attract either Gus or Paddy, who would go for a theatre in the city centre.

‘Hello, Albert. Lily said you was asking for me.’ Ruth stood by the table, looking interrogatively down at him. She was a small, pale girl
with light-brown hair and honey-coloured eyes and, though she was not pretty, there was a good deal of appeal in her neat, quick movements and ready smile. She smiled at Albert now and began to arrange a teapot, cup and saucer and milk jug on the table before him. ‘Your buttered toast won’t be a minute – the kitchen hand is makin’ it now.’

Albert took a deep breath. ‘What time do you finish, Ruthie? Only we gorroff early today on account of the strike an’ that. I thought you might like to see the show at the Rotunda; we might have a bite to eat an’ all.’

Ruth smiled down at him with an unaccustomed twinkle in her sparkling eyes. ‘I can’t leave work till after eight o’clock and the last house starts at half past seven,’ she said demurely, ‘but it’s a lovely evening; a walk down to the Pier Head and along the waterfront might be nice, and there’s bound to be somewhere open where we could get tea and a buttie, despite the strike.’

Albert beamed at her. ‘It’s a date,’ he said exultantly. ‘I’ll be outside the kitchen door waitin’ for you at eight o’clock on the dot.’

Ella was in hospital for a week and during that time, though she had a number of visitors, no one was as regular in their attendance as Philip Grimshaw. At first he came whenever Amy did and the two of them sat, one on either side of Ella’s bed. They told Ella what they had been doing, chaffed one another over small incidents which had happened on their way to the hospital and generally behaved in a manner which, at first, led Ella to suppose that they were more than friends. This surprised her, since
Amy had seldom mentioned Philip after that meeting in the train and then usually only in connection with her sister Mary.

I suppose it was my accident which drew them together, Ella told herself – until, that was, Philip began to visit her on his own. He popped in at odd times of the day, charming the nursing staff, deferring to the doctors and usually bringing small gifts for Ella herself. Ella, pondering his attentiveness, did not for one moment imagine that he was courting her; his manner was in no way loverlike. What was more, she knew herself to look a positive scarecrow with her hair shaved away on the right-hand side of her head and, because she was not allowed to get the wound wet, the rest of her locks greasy and dishevelled. Furthermore, for the first few days of her stay in hospital she had been pale and listless, reluctant to move in the bed because of her fractured rib and hating the sight of her face, disfigured as it was by an enormous purple and yellow bruise. No one, she thought ruefully, could enjoy looking at a visage so battered. However, she could not believe that he was trying to ingratiate himself with her friend either – how could it be so?

Amy never even knew about the visits beforehand and, when Ella told her, took them for granted. ‘He’s ever so nice, Ella,’ she said earnestly. ‘A really kind young man who is always thinking of others and putting himself second. Why, you’ve even converted him to approving the suffragette movement! He told me the other evening, when he was walking me home, that he has the greatest respect for the way women are trying to claim their rights and wishes them every success.’

So when the doctor told Ella that she was well
enough to leave hospital, she was in two minds over it. Naturally, a part of her was delighted that she was escaping from hospital food and hospital routine – while another part of her thought wistfully that she would really miss Philip’s company. She had begun to realise that the two of them had much in common. They had both received an excellent education and had read many of the same books. They had both visited France and Italy and, though Philip had studied mathematics and the sciences, he could also speak passable French and knew the rudiments of German. Ella loved her room-mates and appreciated their good points, but acknowledged ruefully that they had not had the opportunities which she and Philip had enjoyed and were therefore unable to share her feelings on certain issues.

However, when she told Philip that she would be leaving hospital later that day his face brightened. ‘I’ll fetch a hansom cab to the door and see you back to Huskisson Street,’ he said at once. ‘And having found you, Miss Morton, I don’t intend to lose you again. Nor your friends,’ he added hastily. ‘Has the doctor told you when you may return to work? Until you do so, I’m sure outings to the seaside or the country would do you a great deal of good. And if this is so, I’ll happily take you anywhere you want to go.’ After this formal speech he cocked his head on one side and gave her a grin of such pure delight that Ella burst out laughing. It was grand to have a friend like Philip, she told herself exultantly – and even grander to know that he intended to stay her friend, whether in hospital or out of it.

Fortunately it was a simple matter to get a
message to Amy that Ella would be leaving hospital that afternoon, forestalling Amy’s daily visit, which usually took place as soon as she had finished work for the day. Ella wrote a note and Philip delivered it to the front desk at the Adelphi. When the cab arrived, all Ella had to do was to get into it and be driven back to Huskisson Street in comfort. Philip took the seat opposite her, asking every few minutes if the cabby should be told to slow down, whether she found the breeze from the open window too cool and, almost in the same breath, enquiring as to how she was enjoying being outside once more after so long in the ward.

They reached Huskisson Street and Philip carried Ella’s bag for her, standing it down in the front hall. The front door was seldom locked, but the door to the girls’ room always was, since there was usually a new tenant somewhere in the building who might, or might not, prove to be dishonest. Ella fumbled her key into the lock, suddenly realising with considerable dismay that there would be no one at home at this hour. She could scarcely turn Philip away without asking him inside, yet she knew that her parents would have been horrified to learn that she was entertaining a young man alone.

The problem, however, was solved by Philip. He went ahead of her into the room, holding the door open for her and standing her bag down on a small table just inside the door. Then he gave her his sweetest smile and turned towards the front door once more. ‘This has been a big day,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘The change from an institutionalised way of life to your ordinary, everyday one is always tiring, especially when you’ve been as ill as you have. I’m going back to the office now, and I
think you should lie down on your bed and have a sleep. When you wake up, you might make yourself a cup of tea and sit in the window until your friends get back from their work. Honestly, Miss – oh, this is ridiculous since I feel we’ve known one another for ever – may I call you Ella?’

‘Yes, of course, if I can call you Philip,’ Ella said gaily. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks and pressed the palms of her hands against them. ‘I’m sure you’re right, because although I’ve done nothing except sit in a very comfortable cab, I feel absolutely exhausted. So I’ll take your advice and have a rest on my bed, but before I do so Mr Gr – I mean Philip – I’d like to thank you very much indeed for bringing me home in such luxury. You’ve been most awfully kind.’

‘It was a pleasure,’ Philip said briefly, turning in the doorway to smile at her. Ella saw that, in his turn, Philip’s colour had brightened. ‘I wonder if you will feel fit for a short outing tomorrow? If so, I could take the afternoon off from work easily enough.’

‘That would be very nice,’ Ella said demurely. ‘Shall you call for me here or shall we meet at some mutually convenient spot? Perhaps that would be better. I should be able to get into the city centre quite easily.’

Philip, however, did not think much of that idea. ‘No such thing; I shall call for you here at two o’clock,’ he said firmly. ‘Mind you’re ready for me!’ And with a valedictory wave he was gone, leaving Ella to close and lock her door, to take off her long cotton skirt and the crisp white blouse, which Amy had brought to the hospital the previous day, and to lie down on her bed. She did not immediately go to
sleep, however, but stared at the ceiling and thought, with pleasure, about Philip. He was all that Amy had claimed him to be and more, and she, Ella, was becoming remarkably fond of him. And, she told herself as her lids began to droop, I do believe he is becoming fond of me.

It was October before Ella finally returned to work and by the time she did so she and Philip were going steady in earnest. He had taken her on so many pleasant expeditions, both to the country and to the seaside, that returning to work had been hard indeed, but since she either met Philip for a hasty lunch soon after noon, or in the evening, she was able to pass her working days pleasantly enough.

After the first few weeks Philip had suggested that Amy might like to join them. He was feeling a trifle guilty at leaving his flatmate, Dick Maynard, alone most evenings, so a foursome with Ella’s friend seemed the ideal solution.

Ella enjoyed the outings and knew that Amy did too, though she did not think that Amy thought of Dick as anything but a friend. He was a pleasant, intelligent person but Amy, it seemed, did not wish to get involved with any young man; or so it appeared to Ella. Ella found it impossible to guess why her friend seemed almost indifferent to Dick; it was not that Amy was secretive, merely that long experience of the treatment she had received from her stepmother had made her keep her own counsel, so though she clearly enjoyed both the outings and Dick’s company, by the time Christmas was drawing near Ella was still no wiser as to the extent of her friend’s feelings. What was more, Amy had heard with equanimity that Dick was to return to his home
for two weeks over Christmas and was planning her own holiday with obvious enjoyment, clearly unaffected by Dick’s proposed absence.