The Piper's Tune (46 page)

‘I thought you loved me.'

‘Hah! Who could love a daft little cow like you? Oh, aye, sweetheart, you're daft all right. You're soft in the head, mad as a bloody hatter.'

‘I thought you wanted to marry me.'

‘
Marry you!
I wanted to
bed
you and' – he sucked in a shuddering breath that lifted his chest high – ‘and I've done that. You've nothing left, Sylvie, nothing left to offer me, especially that, that
thing
you think is mine.'

Her tears ran in two straight lines that met only at the point of her chin. She uttered no sound, not a breath or whisper. At least she has that much sense, Gowry thought, that much dignity. He regretted having slept with her, not because she'd disappointed him but because he couldn't step back past their frantic intimacies and pretend to be her friend. He could not even pretend that he cared for her, daft as she was. He had closed off love through selfishness and hated the emotional impotence that was all that was left of it.

Sylvie pulled the gown down and seated herself at the table again.

She did not throw herself forward, scatter the scraps, spill the paste, topple the scissors. She simply sat there, narrow shoulders slumped, and let the tears fall silently into her lap.

‘F-Forbes, I d-don't think she understands,' Gowry stammered.

‘Oh, she understands all right,' Forbes said. ‘For the first time in her life, she understands. Now come on, let's get out of here before I choke.'

Pivoting, he stalked out of the apartment, Gowry trailing at his heels.

And never saw Sylvie again.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Deciding Factor

The wonders of the warship were many and varied. Lindsay had taken several tours of such vessels with her father and her admiration for the mechanical marvels of the big boats had not lessened even when she learned more about their construction. Of the prototype submarine in the slip at Aydon Road she knew little or nothing, however, for the secrets of the navy's latest ‘box of tricks' were jealously guarded.

Franklin's workers refused to talk about it even in bars crowded with men to whom the latest commission at Stephens or Fairfields or Connells held more than passing interest, for they were proud that they had been chosen to participate in forefront development and enjoyed taunting their rivals by singing dumb about what lay behind the specially rigged sail sheets that hid the Aydon Road vessel from prying eyes.

By the first day of May the steel shell was packed with a mass of pipes, cables, tanks and gauges so complex that even Tom Calder, armed with the plans, had a problem relating one part to another. Tours of the prototype were not only forbidden but were well-nigh impossible and neither Tom nor her father would have dared to invite Lindsay to go below. Lieutenant Commander Paget, however, had more authority, and late one May afternoon he collected Lindsay from Brunswick Crescent in a motorised taxi-cab and drove off with her into the softly falling rain. Peering from the front windows of the house, Winn and Blossom were outraged. As soon as the motor vehicle passed out of sight behind the trees, they loped into the piano parlour where Eleanor Runciman was seated by the fireplace casually embroidering a pillow slip.

‘He's taken her with him.'

‘In a hired motoring car.'

‘Hmm,' Eleanor purred.

‘Where have they gone?'

‘What's he going to do to her?'

‘Will they be back before Forbes comes home?'

‘Why won't you tell us? Is it –
bad?
'

Eleanor glanced up from her needle which, in fact, was only a prop in her performance and had added hardly more than four stitches to the design.

‘Secret,' she said. ‘State secret,' and tapped the side of her nose with her forefinger. ‘I am sworn to tell no one.'

‘Not even us?' said Blossom.

‘Not even you, my dear,' said Eleanor, and returned to the work in hand.

*   *   *

In the taxi-cab Geoffrey took off his cap before he kissed her. He did not care that they were in plain sight of the driver and, for once, did not dictate to himself a castigatory memo. He acted on an impulse that had been nurtured throughout a fortnight's sojourn in Rosyth and a week of tedious meetings in London.

During this time he had thought of Lindsay constantly, even while seated at table with Jackie Fisher and Sir Edward Moncur, chairman of the Navy Estimates Board, gentlemen upon whose good opinion his future depended. Lindsay had accompanied him along the marble corridors of Admiralty House, had been with him in his room in his club, on his strolls across St James's Park; on the night train, at the breakfast bar at Waverley railway station, on the quays and docksides of Rosyth; had been with him while he shaved in the morning and when he bathed before dinner, even when he addressed the crew who would take over the D-Class prototype and the storemen who would stock her for her sea trials.

He could hardly believe that she was with him now in body as well as spirit and experienced immense relief when she returned his kiss, rubbed it lightly upon his upper lip. She tasted of lemon, he thought, like a fragrant Italian gin. She put her hand down by her side and clasped his fingers.

‘I missed you,' she said.

He knew he would have to go soon, would have to leave her, not just for a week or two but for months, perhaps years; yet he felt steady, oddly steady, just having her hand to hold.

‘And I you,' he said.

‘How long do we have?' Lindsay asked.

‘An hour is all I can spare, I'm sorry.'

‘No. I mean, how long…'

‘A week or so, that's all.'

‘But you will be back, won't you?'

‘For the launch and then the trials, yes,' Geoffrey said.

He had told himself that he only wished to be her friend, to strike up a friendship that was as close to platonic as possible, but he knew now that he had been deceiving himself all along and that if she had not been another man's wife he would have found a means of possessing her completely. He had never been an opportunist, though, and reluctantly he drew away.

Lindsay said, ‘Will you write to me, Geoffrey?'

‘Is that wise?'

‘Perhaps it's better to be just a little unwise than totally foolish.'

He nodded: ‘Yes, I'll write.'

Outlined against the window's smudges of spring rain, Geoffrey's features were almost too clean cut, too regular. She saw control there, tautness, the angular discipline of the jawline. She knew so little about him: of his wishes and desires she had no knowledge at all. There would be so much to discover in the months of separation. Next time they met, whenever that might be, there would surely be unity, a kind of harmony, for although they had loved without loving and had nothing but tender memories to share, next time they would not be strangers to the notion of being in love.

The taxi-cab prowled among the tenements that guarded Aydon Road and, forty minutes before shift-change, drew to a halt in front of the office block. Lieutenant Commander Paget gave Mrs Lindsay McCulloch his hand.

But only to help her alight.

*   *   *

Gowry said, ‘Look, I really don't have much time. I have to pick up his lordship at half past five o'clock.'

‘Kind of you to spare us any time at all,' said Bertie sarcastically. ‘Does he know you're meeting me?'

‘Sure and he does. He sent me,' Gowry said.

‘Why didn't he come himself?'

‘In case you brought Sylvie with you.'

‘So he really doesn't want to see Sylvie ever again?'

‘That is about the size of it,' Gowry said. ‘Talking of size, how is she?'

‘Showing.'

‘Have you called in a doctor?'

‘She won't have it. It's her child, she says, and she'll not have anyone fiddling with it.'

‘That isn't right,' Gowry said.

‘I know it isn't,' Albert said. ‘If only Forbes would come to the house and talk to her, I'm sure she'd listen to him.'

‘Perhaps she'll listen to me.'

‘Only Forbes. She's never listened to anyone but Forbes.'

‘What are they saying about her down at the Mission Hall?'

‘She's stopped going. In fact, she's stopped going out altogether.'

‘That isn't right either.'

‘What am I supposed to do about it?' Albert said testily. ‘I didn't knock her up. I haven't left her in the lurch.'

‘Not exactly in the lurch,' Gowry said. ‘There will be some sort of financial arrangement. Something to keep you going.'

‘Did he tell you to say that?'

‘He's not
that
callous, Bertie,' Gowry said. ‘He'll pay rent on the apartment for two years, then, if Sylvie hasn't found a husband by that time, the arrangement will be reviewed.'

‘That's fine as far as it goes,' Albert said. ‘But what are we supposed to live on in the meantime? I'm not fit to work and I'm damned if I'm going back to begging on the streets.'

‘You were never a beggar,' Gowry said.

‘As close as you care to imagine. I couldn't have done it without Sylvie and I'm not dragging her back to that existence, not now she's almost a mother.'

‘Fifty shillings a week.'

‘Insufficient.'

‘Sixty, that's as far as Forbes'll go.'

‘Three quid a week' – Albert pulled a face – ‘won't go far enough.'

‘Three quid a week and a roof over your head,' Gowry said. ‘Good God, man, thousands of Clydesiders would jump at an offer like that.'

‘I'll have to let the servants go.'

‘Aww!' said Gowry.

‘Make it a fiver?'

‘No.'

Albert shifted his buttocks on the massive arm of the lock-gate.

Gowry and he had arranged to meet on the towpath of the canal at the bottom end of Wordsworth Street. At that hour of the afternoon the path was almost deserted and there was little enough traffic on the canal these days, only an occasional horse-drawn barge or a puffer nosing across country. Albert wore a flannel donkey jacket and a knitted cardigan over a collarless shirt. He hadn't shaved and the stubble on his jowls was frost white. He looked shabby, Gowry thought, like a man on the road to becoming a liability.

Albert said, ‘Forbes isn't the only fish in the sea, you know.'

‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?'

‘She's not entirely dependent on him.'

‘Who is she dependent on then?' said Gowry. ‘You?'

‘She still has a papa,' Bertie said. ‘He might be very interested in what's befell his daughter. I'm sure he'd be willing to shoulder some of the burden if only he knew what sort of plight she was in.'

Gowry swore and got to his feet.

The surface of the canal was smoored with rain, hardly rain at all, really, just a pinkish sort of haze that held the city's smoke within it, along with tints of early summer. The nap of Gowry's tunic was pearled with moisture and a little bead or two gathered on the brim of his hat, like sweat.

For a moment there was no sound but the splash of water in the sluice of the lock and the distant clanking of tram-cars from the direction of Maryhill depot. Then Albert said, ‘I mean, your brother's not the only rich man of my acquaintance, not the only one who's feathered his nest through marriage.'

Gowry swore again, walked four or five paces along the towpath and returned. He put his hands on his hips. He said stiffly, ‘I take it you're referring to Tom Calder? Has she been in touch with Calder?'

‘She wants nothing to do with him.'

‘What makes you think Sylvie will agree to taking money from him?'

‘She doesn't have to agree.' Albert put his arms behind him and leaned back a little. ‘In fact, if I play it right Sylvie needn't know anything about it. Like – what – an anonymous benefactor?'

‘Calder won't fall for that. He'll want to see her.'

‘Oh, that can be arranged too, I'm sure.'

Gowry dug his hands into his trouser pockets and had another little stroll to himself. He turned, walked, returned, said, ‘It's a good one, Bertie, that I will admit. Play Calder against Forbes. Blackmail them both.'

‘I thought you'd like it,' Albert said.

‘I don't suppose it matters that you might ruin two marriages or, at best, bring a whole lot of misery to two ladies who've done nothing to harm you.'

‘I have Sylvie to think of,' Albert stated.

‘Calder will pay up,' Gowry said, ‘but Forbes might not.'

‘Forbes might not? Really? Forbes might not? Oh, how I'd like to be a fly on the wall when Tom Calder and your precious brother come face to face. Do you suppose for one minute that Calder will let Forbes keep his mucky little secret intact? He'll pay, of course he will – Tom Calder, I mean – but he'll make damned sure that Forbes pays too.'

‘Aren't you forgetting one thing?' Gowry said.

‘What's that then?'

‘The baby.'

‘Baby?'

‘Sylvie's baby,' Gowry said. ‘In four months or so there's going to be a real live baby squawking in your ear.'

‘I'm not scared of babies. I learned a lot about babies from my dear departed wife, though we never had none of our own. I raised Sylvie, didn't I?'

‘Sure and look at the hash you made of that.' Gowry clamped a hand to Albert Hartnell's shoulder. The wall of the lock loomed behind him, dark brown water swirling below. ‘Still, it's not for me to judge, is it? Poor cow never had much of a chance, however you look at it. She isn't quite right in the head, Bertie, I suppose you've realised that?'

‘She's just – just her own person.'

‘She's got a little screw loose, Bertie. She needs a lot of care and attention.'