Sea Mistress (6 page)

‘I'm starving.' Jubilee smiled, ‘Fetch me my trews, I'm getting up, I've got work to do.'

As she knelt before the hearth, building the fire, listening to Jubilee's heavy footsteps on the boards upstairs, Ellie closed her eyes for a moment in relief.

‘Thank you God,' she whispered fervently and as though in reply, a shaft of morning sunlight slanted, like a benediction, across her face.

CHAPTER FOUR

Arian Smale locked the door of the newspaper offices with a sigh of relief; the last few days had been trying, to say the least. Customers had complained
en masse
of the rise in the advertising rates, giving voice to their protests in no uncertain terms; anyone would think she was proposing to take the last penny out of their pockets.

In her own rooms, she kicked off her boots and sank into a chair. The maid, conscientious as always, brought in her tray holding a carafe of sherry. She had only been with Arian for a few months but already she was proving invaluable.

‘Thanks, Mary, you're a wonder.' Arian stretched her toes towards the fire gratefully; although spring was bringing swaths of daffodils through the parklands of Swansea, the evening air was still misty and chill.

Arian picked up her mail, slicing the envelopes open with a paper-knife. It really was time she engaged the services of a secretary, she had enough to do without answering customers' letters personally.

The first one was from Bridie Marchant, reiterating her complaint concerning the tide tables. Arian bit her lip, it really was too bad of her reporters to get it wrong, it wasn't difficult to consult the experts down at the Swansea shipping offices. Blast Bridie Marchant!

Strange, Bridie used to be a very nice person. When she had come to live in Wales and had stayed with her cousin Jono in his modest home at Clydach, Bridie had been kindness itself. But then Arian had been a nobody, a shoemaker and not a very good one at that so perhaps Bridie had found her no threat. Did that mean that now she did?

Arian looked around at her lush apartment with a critical eye. As her newspaper had flourished she had been able to expand her business, taking on the building next door and adding to her living-quarters so that they were large, almost sumptuous. True she had no grand house, no flower-filled garden in which to walk, but she had the town of Swansea right on her doorstep.

It was just possible that Bridie resented her success. But it went deeper than that, Bridie Marchant was a woman who was very unhappy. The lines etched deeply around her mouth, the small frown that was always present between her brows revealed her state of mind much more than any words could do.

Arian drank a little sherry, allowing the mellow flavour to roll over her tongue, then she rose to her feet stretching her hands above her head. She would have a bath, she would revel in the luxury of her newly built bathroom. She would prepare herself for Calvin's visit.

She was just like a courtesan, she thought soberly, washing, perfuming her body in readiness for her lover. But unlike a courtesan, she had a husband who had tried to kill her. She also had the need to earn her own living.

Lying in the scented water, Arian felt the tensions wash from her. It was good to forget the petty irritations of her day, even better to anticipate the moment when Calvin would hold her in his arms.

A long time ago, she had come to a decision about what was important in life. Facing death at knife-point, confronted by Gerald Simples, her husband, a madman, she had decided that if she was allowed to live she would make the most of her days. So, here she was, waiting for her lover as eagerly as any untried maiden.

Calvin was late. Arian stood at the window watching, waiting for him to come to her, as she had done so many times before. He was all she desired in a man; he was kind, generous, a lover and a friend. What a pity he could never be her husband.

When he turned the corner into her street, anticipation flared through her. She resisted the temptation to rush down the stairs, waiting for his key in the lock and the sound of his footsteps on the stairs with barely contained excitement.

When he entered the room, he carried with him the freshness of the spring air. He took her into his arms and held her close. She didn't admonish him for his lateness, she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of him and knew she loved this man more than she had ever loved anyone.

‘Take me to bed,' she whispered. He held her hand in his and led her through the upper hallway and towards the narrow stairs to her room.

‘Arian, I have waited for this moment all day.' His voice was tender and she kissed his mouth. She loved the way his lips curved upwards at the corners, she touched them lovingly with her fingertips.

‘Damn it! I can't wait, will I never get enough of you, Arian?'

His flesh was warm against hers and as they lay beneath the blankets, Arian held him close to her, closing her eyes, happiness flowing through her.

‘I love you,' she said the words against his mouth as he kissed her. ‘I love you, Calvin Temple.'

He took her with vigour and yet without aggression. She held him close, enjoying the silk feel of his skin against hers. He was so dear to her, had such power to thrill her. She revelled in their passion, losing herself in the dizzy happiness of the moment.

Afterwards they remained side by side, propped up against the pillows and talked. ‘I've had a written complaint from Bridie Marchant about the error in the tide table.'

‘Is it important?' Calvin held her hand, his fingers warm around hers.

‘It is to me, I hate making mistakes.'

‘Well, you know what Bridie's trouble is, don't you?' He was being mischievous, Arian could tell by the smile in his voice.

‘No, tell me.'

‘Her husband is a sailor, he has a girl in every port. Well, at least in one port.'

‘How do you know this?' Arian turned to look at him, her interest aroused.

‘Men gossip too, especially sailors in drink. Call yourself a newspaper hound and you don't know the latest bit of scandal? I bet old Mac knows all about it.'

‘Ah, Mac.' He was Arian's partner as well as being a very good reporter. ‘I sometimes think he knows everything.'

Calvin was silent and Arian punched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Come on, then, tell me.'

‘Paul Marchant is being unfaithful to his wife as is the wont of footloose sailors.' He turned to look at her. ‘It's common talk among the society ladies of the town, brought to them by their servants, I've no doubt.'

‘I wouldn't know from first hand experience.' Arian's tone was dry. ‘As the wife of a madman, I don't warrant invitations to any fancy events. In any case, I suppose I'm the subject of a great deal of gossip myself.'

Calvin raised her hand to his lips and kissed the palm. ‘Do you mind?'

Arian shook back her long hair. ‘No, I suppose not. Sometimes it rankles though, I'm not accepted for myself, Arian Smale, businesswoman, and I should be. All right, I haven't a husband who's made his mark in the town, instead I have a husband who is capable of violence, who killed a young girl.' Her face softened. ‘Who would have killed me if you hadn't been there, my darling.'

‘Hush, don't rake up bad memories.' Calvin slipped out of bed. ‘I'm going to take a bath, come with me?'

‘Not now,' Arian smiled. ‘I don't want to throw caution entirely to the wind. I wouldn't like Mary to hear my gurgles of delight as she sits in her room.'

‘She's discreet enough, isn't she?' Calvin stood naked, a tall well-muscled man, looking down at Arian.

‘I suppose so, I think I can trust her. I don't really care either way. I live my life as I see fit, even if I wanted respectability I'd hardly be able to achieve it, would I?'

‘Am I enough for you, then? The little bit of time we have together, is it making you happy?'

‘I have you and I have my newspaper, that's all I'll ever want.' When she was alone, Arian pondered on her own words. Was it enough for her, this hole in the corner affair? In any case, had she any choice but to accept such a compromise?

Calvin was free of encumbrances, he had divorced his first wife in spite of the furore it had caused. Since then, he'd taken mistresses, no-one blamed him for that, and now she was one of them.

Arian sighed. She was still married to Gerald Simples; whatever he was, whatever he had become, he was her husband and nothing could change that. It was something she had told herself many times before but it didn't get any easier.

She rose from the bed. She would wash in the water from the basin, it would be cold but later she would luxuriate in her bath once more, remembering every little detail of how Calvin had looked and what he had said, going over and over it in her mind. Precious memories, was that all she would ever have?

Bridie stood in the window watching as the cab carrying Paul away from her disappeared along the drive. Once she would have gone with him to the docks, stood waving to him as his ship prepared to put to sea. Now it was different.

She turned away and moved towards her desk. She took the key from her belt and unlocked the roll-top desk. Seating herself comfortably, she pulled her notebooks towards her and began to study them. Here she kept her private records of the business transactions carried out by the main body of the fleet of ships she owned. Steel, tin-plate, coal, she wasn't fussy what the cargo was so long as it made her money.

The accountant was very efficient, he worked diligently over the regular books but Bridie did not wish to trust anyone entirely. So she kept her own accounts.

Paul might not be aware of it, but lately, Bridie had taken to relegating the cargos on board his ships with the less profitable loads. Instead of letting him take the long haul trips to China and India, she had manipulated matters so that he took the short runs to Bristol and Ireland. These brought in little return but strangely he made no protest, indeed, he seemed happy to accommodate her wishes. What he failed to realize was that her fortune was growing and his was diminishing; it was one way of keeping her husband in line.

If there was any bitterness in the way she thought about him, she chose to ignore it. Paul was being unfaithful, she was sure of it. Oh, it would be difficult to prove, he was too careful to allow any evidence of his infidelity to become apparent. But he was not the shrewd business man he believed himself to be, or else he trusted his wife implicitly, because while he was betraying her, she was finding ways to arm herself against his possible desertion.

She doubted he would go so far as to cause an open split in their marriage, he wanted the regard of his sons, his fine home, the acquiescent wife he supposed Bridie to be. Well, she was not so gullible, he would find that out one day to his cost.

She pored over the books for a time, adding figures, making calculations and then, carefully, she closed her desk and locked it. Let Paul Marchant try to get one up on her and he would learn that she was not such easy prey as he imagined.

She wandered into his room; this last trip he had made an excuse to take one of the other bedrooms for his own so as not to disturb her. Disturb her indeed! Did he think she was a fool?

Systematically she searched through the drawers; there were his clothes, his underwear, his socks and in the wardrobe his pristine shirts hung stiffly in a row. She smelled them, wondering if she could detect perfume on the fine linen but no, they were freshly washed, there was nothing but the scent of soap and the hot iron.

At the bottom of his wardrobe she found an old cloth bag that he'd left behind this trip. She had bought him a new one, ashamed of the shabbiness of the one he usually carried, finding it distasteful for a man in his position to be so careless of his possessions.

On an impulse, she picked up the bag and carried it to the bed. Perhaps she would find his notebook again and this time make more sense of it. In the depths of the battered bag, she found a jacket which Paul must have overlooked. She pulled it free of the bag and as she did so she heard a crackling in the pocket. Her mouth was suddenly dry as she took out the piece of paper and unfolded it.

If she had hoped to catch him out, to prove his infidelity, she was disappointed, there was nothing written on the slip of paper but the time of the outgoing tide from Swansea docks.

But wait, it wasn't in Paul's hand, his writing was strong and bold, with large loops and curls. This was small, cramped, the handwriting of a woman. On an impulse, Bridie thrust the paper in her pocket and glanced at the ornate clock on the mantelpiece. There was over an hour yet before the ship sailed, why had her husband left too early? He had a master to see to the preparations for hauling anchor and preparing the ship for sailing. Well, she would take a look down at the docks, try to find out just what Paul was up to.

Ellie walked towards the docks feeling the softness of spring cool her hot cheeks. Shortly, she reached the entrance to the harbour where the pier jutted out to sea like a long arm reaching for the distant shore across the water.

The scents of tar and rope mingled with the overpowering smell of the fish market as she walked rapidly past the open shed where the fishermen had displayed their wares. A few housewives and serving maids were bartering loudly beside the boxes of cod and whiting and no-one noticed Ellie as she made her way to one of the shipping offices situated in the streets surrounding the docks.

Her spirits were light because Jubilee was up and about again, his illness vanished as quickly as it had come. The doctor was amazed at Jubilee's powers of recovery, declaring him a tough old bird. The sickness and fever, which remained undiagnosed, had vanished as if it had never been and though Jubilee was still a little unsteady, his powers of leadership were as strong as ever.