The Oyster Catchers (17 page)

She would miss the sea, Fon realized with a sudden dart of homesickness; she would miss the wash of the waves on the shore and the sound of fog horns mourning through the mists. She swallowed hard reminding herself
that she would also be missing the spiteful gossip and the continuing shame of seeing Mam grow bigger with child and her not married.

‘When shall I start?’ she asked quickly. ‘That is if you find me satisfactory.’

‘As soon as you like,’ Katherine said. ‘If you take Patrick with you, Jamie will drive you in the cart to fetch your things, save you another long walk today.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs O’Conner,’ Fon said earnestly. ‘I will work very hard and I will make up for your kindness to me.’

‘I know,’ Katherine said, ‘and don’t call me Mrs O’Conner, please call me Katherine. I’m not like the rich snobs who live around here, I’m an Irish woman with no side.’ She smiled and for a moment she looked almost pretty. ‘I want us to be friends.’

When she stood once more in the kitchen of the farmhouse, Fon looked round her feeling as though the tide had come in and snatched her off her feet. This was to be her home; tonight she would be under a strange roof and events suddenly seemed to be moving too fast for her.

Nina sat in the kitchen staring into the flames of the fire, it was so hot, too hot with the sun streaming in through the open door and windows, but she needed the fire to cook Joe a fine meal when he got home.

She knew he would be down at the pool, white-liming his boat, the
Emmeline
. The skiff was old and needed care and she knew that even though Joe now owned the brand-new
Oyster Sunrise
, he would never love the new skiff as much as he loved his old one.

She smiled wryly; perhaps he would never love Nina Parks the way he loved his wife. Nina patted her hot face, but now that Eline had chosen to run off, Nina would make a damn good job of making Joe happy. It couldn’t have worked out better, she mused, here she
was safely ensconced in Joe’s house, his wife in all but name. It was only the bitter anger of her son that cast a shadow over her happiness.

There was talk of course, talk enough about Nina and Joe living openly together as man and wife. Furthermore it was quite obvious now that Nina was once again with child and she a woman rising forty.

Nina’s lips curved in gratification as there was also talk about sweet little Eline who, it seemed, had spent the night with Will Davies, owner of the boot and shoe emporium. The crafty little bitch had not been so clever because she had been seen leaving Will Davies’s lodgings in the early hours of the morning.

Joe didn’t know anything about that and it was something Nina intended to keep up her sleeve. A weapon to use against Eline, should she ever need it.

Nina sighed; if only Tom would come to terms with the fact that she loved Joe and needed him. After her son’s threats, she wondered why he had not confronted Joe face to face; perhaps, she thought uneasily, Tom was biding his time and would pounce when Joe least expected it.

A dark shadow fell on to the clean slate floor and Nina looked up smiling to see Joe entering the kitchen. He smelled of tallow and white-lime and there was about him an air of dejection that Nina could not ignore.

‘What is it, Joe?’ she asked, rising to push the pot of stew on to the fire. He slumped into a chair and pushed back his thick hair.

‘She’s in Swansea, my wife, working for that Mrs Emily Miller,’ he said bluntly. He thumped the table with his fist. ‘I told her I didn’t want her working, I told her!’

‘Joe,’ Nina said softly, sensing she was on dangerous ground. ‘Don’t fret about her, she’s nothing but a headstrong girl who wants her own way.’ She put her arms around his neck and wriggled herself on to his knee.

‘Forget Eline, Joe, put her out of your mind. She’ll come running home when she sees how hard it is living in the outside world alone.’

Nina knew that this was not the time to put in her barb about Eline staying the night with Will Davies; let Joe become used to the difference in his life-style, let him see how good it was to be looked after by a mature, loving woman and he’d soon stop missing Eline or worrying about what she was doing. But for the time being, Nina knew she must play the game very carefully.

‘Don’t you think that she’s wishing right now to be home in Oystermouth with you, Joe? Any woman who would exchange a job in Swansea for a life with a fine man like you must be out of her mind. She’ll be back, Joe, give her time.’

She bent to kiss his mouth. ‘In the mean time, Joe, let’s enjoy what we have here, we’re getting the bad name, so let’s earn it, right?’

She put his hand on her full breast and heard with pleasure the sudden deepening of his breathing. Appeal to what a man hides in his trousers and you had him cold. She pressed closer to him, darting her tongue into his mouth.

‘Come on, Joe, take me to bed,’ she whispered softly. ‘I want you so much, my lovely, you are a real man and you know how to make a woman feel good.’

He took her in his arms and carried her up the stairs. On the landing she put her head against his shoulder, her eyes closed.

‘It’ll have to be your room, Joe,’ she said softly, ‘I’ve taken all the sheets off the bed in the spare room and they’re still on the line.’

He seemed to hesitate and Nina held her breath; would Joe resist this last bastion, breach the code that so far had prevented him taking Nina to his marriage bed?

‘You don’t need anyone but me, Joe.’ She kissed his mouth. ‘We’ll show the world, won’t we, my lovely?’

He kicked open the door to the bedroom and set her down on the wide bed, his marriage bed. Nina felt a moment of pure triumph, she felt that now she was truly mistress of Joe Harries’s house.

Fon found the baby a delight to care for; Patrick was good-natured and adapted well to the routine she had set him. During the afternoons, Patrick had a nap and afterwards, Fon would take him round the farm, holding his hand, guiding his stumbling feet across the fields, telling him baby stories about oysters and fishing boats.

There had been a few tricky moments when Jamie had taken her back to Oystermouth and Tom had been sitting in the kitchen, a bottle of gin on the table before him.

‘Who’s he?’ Tom had demanded. ‘You’re not going the same way as your mother, are you, Irfonwy?’

The situation had been taken out of Fon’s hands when Jamie stepped forward. ‘I’m James O’Conner,’ he said easily. ‘My wife and me have employed Fon here to take care of our son. Are there any objections I should know about?’

Tom had thought for a moment and then his shoulders had slumped. ‘No, I suppose she might as well be out of all this.’ He’d reached up and pulled Fon towards him.

‘Look after yourself, girl’ – his eyes seemed misty – ‘a good name is all you got so keep it.’ He turned his back on her then. ‘Choose a husband well when the time comes or you could end up like poor Emmeline, out on the street with no one to care for you.’

There had been silence on the drive back to Townhill until Jamie drew the horse up outside the low farmhouse.

‘We won’t say nothing about this to Katherine, she doesn’t hold with folks drinking’ – Jamie smiled mischievously
– ‘though I manage one myself from time to time.’ He lifted down her bag.

‘This Emmeline your brother talked of, would it be Eline Harries, Eline Powell as was?’

Fon looked at him in surprise. ‘Why, yes, do you know her then?’ Her mouth was dry; what if Jamie and Katherine were friends of Eline’s? How would they feel about employing the daughter of the woman who’d stolen Eline’s husband away from her?

‘Not know her exactly,’ Jamie said. ‘It’s just we bought the farm from her or rather from her husband. Bit of gossip about the family, is there?’

Fon sighed heavily. ‘Aye, gossip enough,’ she said, ‘Joe and Eline have gone their separate ways, so it seems.’ Fon hoped she wouldn’t be asked to enlarge on what she’d said.

Jamie helped her down from the cart and then lifted the sleeping Patrick on to his shoulder. ‘I always thought that Joe Harries looked old enough to be Eline’s father, so I did,’ Jamie said thoughtfully. ‘Spring and autumn don’t make good bedfellows.’

To Fon’s relief he had left it at that and moved inside the house and now, as Fon sat at the table, spooning porridge into Patrick’s eager mouth, she looked around her, wondering that Eline had been brought up within these walls; it was a small world as her mam was fond of saying.

She sighed and glanced out of the window at the rolling fields outside. Eline must have loved this land, the place where she had been born, but give Fon the open seas any time. Suddenly, Fon felt very close to Eline, both of them had lost their homes and suddenly Fon’s eyes were misted with tears.

Eline’s first impression of Mrs Miller had been confirmed when William had taken her to the grand emporium up on the hill in Swansea to talk with the elegant owner of the boot and shoe emporium. Emily Miller was beautiful, with a serene expression in her eyes that must come, Eline decided, from being secure in her husband’s love because it was plain for anyone to see that Mr Miller adored his wife. The way his eyes followed her when she moved and the gentleness with which his hand brushed hers whenever they were near each other was touching to see. Mrs Miller was a very fortunate woman, Eline thought enviously.

She and Will could have that sort of love, Eline mused, if only things had been different. Will had been so kind to her; after putting her up at his lodgings for the night he had arranged for her to have an interview with Mrs Miller almost straight away. Eline knew that Will must have intervened on her behalf, because it was clear that the job had been hers before she even set foot into the splendid emporium that dominated the entire length of College Street.

To Eline’s surprise, she had quickly learnt that the emporium was not only for boots and shoes, but housed a clothing department as well as a floor that sold furniture and carpets. It was incredible to consider the money that must pour into the tills every day; Mr and Mrs Miller must be very rich indeed.

And now that Eline was settled in her job, she realized that although she was a very small cog in the smooth-running
emporium, she was quickly accepted by the rest of the staff.

The lady assistants lived in, the rooms on the top floor of the emporium having been converted into bedrooms and one large, communal sitting room. There was a large kitchen equipped with the latest stove for cooking and an elegant bathroom which was so ornate that Eline felt she scarcely dare touch anything. And she was almost happy.

This morning she had been asked to decorate one of the large windows and tentatively she had begun to assemble a few items that she thought might make a tempting picture.

She had spent quite a long time in thought, sizing up the window and studying the sort of people who stopped to look into the store. It seemed to Eline that the folk who patronized Mrs Miller’s emporium were mostly the well-off residents of Swansea, ladies who would put high fashion before comfort and gentlemen who took to whatever their wives told them.

Eline was hesitant at first, asking diffidently if she might have a carpet laid in the shop window, but once Mrs Miller gave her approval, Eline grew more confident and soon, a small suite of furniture, discreet in colour, was set around the window as if it were a drawing room.

So engrossed was she that she was entirely unaware of the audience that was gathering both inside the shop and outside the large window.

At the foot of one of the soft chairs, she set a pair of ladies’ shoes, high heeled and elegant, something an older lady might wear and in the chair opposite a pair of fine gentlemen’s boots of polished calf. At the base of the sofa, a pair of soft pumps, decorated with amethyst, nestled against fashionable boots, tooled with intricate design, as though the wearers were lovers, sitting close together. Finally, near what would have been the fireplace had the room been real, Eline set out several pairs
of children’s shoes in an apparently untidy huddle, but the entire effect was of a family together as though spending an evening at home.

She stood back to admire the scene but something was lacking and she knew suddenly just what it was. Carried away with enthusiasm, she asked for curtains to be brought and hung at the front of the window display and at last she was satisfied. The effect was of a scene on stage with the actors invisible except for their shoes.

When she had finished, there was a burst of spontaneous clapping and Eline looked up in surprise, her colour rising as she saw the crowd of people watching her. She retired to the back of the shop and rubbed at her temples with dusty fingers, realizing she had been at work for hours without noticing it.

Later, Mrs Miller sent for Eline and she wondered if she was going to be reprimanded for what could be seen as her arrogance in ordering so much stock and causing a great deal of work, but Mrs Miller was smiling.

‘Sit down, please,’ she said and Eline perched on the edge of a leather chair, awed by the sumptuousness of the office.

‘I congratulate you on your display,’ she said gently. ‘The only other person who could better what you have done today is Hari Grenfell herself.’

This was praise indeed and Eline warmed to it. ‘Thank you, Mrs Miller,’ she said humbly. She waited, hands folded in her lap, for her employer to go on. There was clearly more to come and Eline was a little apprehensive as to what it might be.

‘How would you like to make a career out of window dressing?’ Mrs Miller said at last. ‘You seem so sure of yourself that you must have had some sort of training.’

Eline shook her head. ‘No, my father was a farmer, he owned Honey’s Farm over at Townhill.’ Mrs Miller seemed a little disappointed so Eline added quickly, ‘I always liked painting pictures, though.’

‘Well, no matter,’ Mrs Miller said, ‘Hari Grenfell had no training either; I expect this sort of talent must be a gift more than anything.’

She smiled suddenly. ‘How would you like to go to a ladies’ college and further your education?’ She spoke as though on a sudden inspiration. ‘I know you can write beautifully, I’ve seen the requests you made for your window dressing today.’