The River Flows On (42 page)

‘Aye, well, you know,’ stumbled Kate, making it up as she went along. ‘He hated being idle.’

‘You’ll miss him though.’ There was the smallest of question marks at the end of the statement.

Miss him? Dear God!

Unable to speak, Kate nodded. Her mother-in-law put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

‘That was a stupid question, eh? Well, never mind, the time’ll go past quicker than you think. He’ll be home soon. And you know you and Grace are always welcome here.’

And Kate, wracked with guilt, wondered how warm that welcome would be if Agnes Baxter ever learned the truth.

One short week after Robbie’s departure Kate knew she was going to have to admit defeat, give up the tenancy of the flat and go back to live at her parents’ house. It was the last thing in the world that she wanted, but she could see no alternative. There simply wasn’t enough money coming in. In fact, there was no money coming in.

She had received a formally polite letter from Marjorie, curtly terminating her employment with the studio and enclosing a week’s pay in lieu of notice. Kate had wrestled with her stubborn pride for days over whether or not she should keep that money.

Pride, in the end, had to give way to practicality. If she and Grace were going back to Yoker she would have to pay for their upkeep. The longer she delayed, the more the emergency fund would be depleted. There was more space now Granny was gone - she had died the previous summer - but with Pearl leaving, which had been another nine days’ wonder, and her father on the dole, the Cameron family was in no position to feed another pair of mouths. Jessie, newly qualified as a teacher, was earning, but precious little.

There was Robbie’s money, of course, but she was certainly too proud to take that. Proud was the wrong word. She was too ashamed to take it - too ashamed to go up to the offices of the shipping company in the Broomielaw in Glasgow and ask for something from her husband’s pay. She had no right. Yet, came a treacherous voice every so often, if she did that she could keep on the flat, maybe even have Jessie to live with her for company ... not have to go back and live with her father’s drinking and her mother’s temper.

She might have to take some of Robbie’s money for Grace’s sake. He wouldn’t mind that, would he? Often, during the hard times, she had sat and watched him put food from his own plate onto his daughter’s. Then she would remember that Grace wasn’t really his daughter, and the wound would open and bleed afresh.

It made her toss and turn at night, doing endless calculations in her head, as she’d done once before when she’d been planning how to get to the Art School. Those had been happy sums, though. These ones only added to her misery.

Two weeks after the
SS Border Reiver
left the Clyde a listless Kate answered the door to a smart double knock. It was Jack Drummond. He didn’t wait for an invitation, sweeping past her and into the flat.

‘What are you doing here?’

Turning to face her as she followed him into the room, he raised his fair brows in a pained expression.

‘Really, Kate, I might have expected a more friendly welcome than that. God,’ he said, ‘you look terrible. What happened?’

What happened?

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear - she hadn’t bothered combing it today - and wrapped her cardigan more tightly about herself.

‘My cat died.’ It wasn’t a lie. The bairns who lived in the close had come clattering upstairs yesterday afternoon to tell her that ‘the old cat’ was.lying out in the back court and, ‘We think he’s deid, Mrs Baxter.’ He was, and Kate had lifted Mr Asquith’s stiff little body onto her lap and, with Grace hanging around her neck, had cried inconsolable tears over it, alarming the children so much that they’d gone running for help. They’d cannoned into Peter Watt, coming through the close in search of her.

‘Robbie came to see me before he left. Asked me to look in on you now and again,’ he explained as Kate lifted her tear-stained face to him. That had set her off again and Peter had patted her shoulder, made her a cup of tea and then helped bury Mr Asquith under a lilac tree in a corner of the back court. The children had all been very solemn about it, conducting a brief but moving ceremony and putting a wee home-made cross on top of the freshly dug earth. Peter Watt had smiled at Kate over their heads and she had managed a shaky smile back.

‘Was that the cat that sat on my lap? Oh, that’s too bad,’ said Jack Drummond. He looked around the room. ‘Where’s my daughter?’

Out playing with her friends, thank God, thought Kate, and only over my dead body are you going to see her. She folded her arms across her chest and gave him back look for look.

‘She’s not your daughter.’

‘No? I understand from my aggrieved wife that she is.’ Without waiting to be asked, he threw himself down into the armchair by the range. ‘I also understand that’s the reason why the gallant Robbie has taken himself off. Nursing his broken heart and his sense of betrayal on the high seas, so I hear. Sit down, Kate. We’ve got things to discuss.’

‘You and I have nothing to discuss!’

‘No?’ He took out a cigarette and lit it, looking up at her where she stood so stiff and unbending in the middle of the room. ‘I have a proposition to put to you. It might be in your best interests to hear me out.’

Her heart began to thump. Was he going to offer her money to help pay for Grace’s maintenance?

‘My wife’s left me, you see. Nursing
her
broken heart. Off to Southampton to take a boat to America. Oh, I’ve no doubt she’ll come back eventually, but temporarily it leaves me rather bereft. And I’m a normal man - with normal needs.’

Kate sucked her breath in sharply. ‘I rather thought my sister had been meeting those.’

Jack Drummond shot her an odd look. He had misjudged her again - as he always had done. She could almost see the cogs turning as he re-evaluated, calculating what he could say to her to get what he wanted.

‘Your charming sister and I have agreed to part.’ His gaze swept once more round the flat. ‘A woman like you shouldn’t be living in a place like this, Kate.’ It was shabbier than usual. She’d been going through the motions, doing the bare minimum of cleaning and tidying since Robbie had left.

‘A woman like me? What sort of a woman is that?’ Her voice was sharp.

He smiled up at her from the depths of the armchair, leaning forward, reaching out a hand to her.

‘A woman nothing like her sister. A talented and very lovely woman. A woman I’ve missed very much.’ His voice was very soft, his smile less confident - the little boy lost look. He was very good at it, she’d have to give him that. It was a pity she knew now that it was all an act.

Ignoring the outstretched hand, she looked him over. She wondered if she’d ever loved him, or if she’d simply been dazzled by what he had seemed to represent: elegance, ease, wealth - an escape route from the poverty of her childhood and towards her dream of artistic achievement.

‘Come on, Kate.’ His voice was a coaxing murmur. ‘I can’t believe you don’t miss me, my darling. I’ve certainly missed you.’

That, thought Kate, was probably true. It changed nothing.

‘I don’t miss you.’

His eyebrows shot up in the amused gesture she remembered so well.

‘Playing hard to get, Kate? I can see your sister must have shared a few tricks of the trade with you. Pity. You used to be such an innocent. No doubt experience has its compensations.’ The blue eyes roamed from her face down over her body and back up again. The look sent shivers down her spine.

‘Wouldn’t you like to live somewhere a little more spacious? With a separate bedroom for the brat?’ He paused and took a long pull on the cigarette. Then he looked her straight in the eye. ‘And a bedroom for you - and perhaps, now and again, for me?’

The blood froze in her veins. There were so many things she wanted to say to him then. She turned her back so he couldn’t see the expression on her face. ‘And what would happen when you get Marjorie back?’

‘That would be up to you. I know how moral you are. Perhaps I would have to hope that Marjorie doesn’t come back to me too quickly. Think about it though, Kate. A nice little flat in the West End - near the Botanic Gardens maybe, so you could take the kid for walks in the fresh air. I daresay I could stretch to a nursemaid. You could go back to the Art School.’

Dear God, that was cruel. He knew exactly what to offer. For a few seconds Kate could see that spacious flat. There would be a wee room for Grace, space for herself to paint... It would be a short tram ride away from the Art School, maybe even walking distance.

She turned to face him, squaring her shoulders and drawing herself up to her full - if unimpressive - height.

‘Get out of my house,’ she said, her voice a splinter of ice. ‘And don’t ever come back.’

‘I can’t honestly believe you’d rather have him than me.’

That made her smile, as did the incredulous look on his handsome face.

‘No, Jack, I don’t suppose you can believe that, but it happens to be true.’

‘You’re turning me down and you don’t even know if he’ll ever come back to you?’

‘I’m prepared to take that risk. I love him, you see. I think, probably, that I always have done. It just took me a long time to realize it.’

Whatever Jack Drummond read in Kate’s face and stance, it was enough to make him rise to his feet, pausing on his way to the door to stand in front of her.

‘You know, Kate, I always thought you were like a lily on a dung heap. Now you’re telling me you want to stay on the dung heap. Even if you do get him back - which I doubt - the two of you will never get out of this dump.’

He raised a hand to her face. She jerked back, but he was too quick for her. His free hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her rigid while his fingers traced the line of her lips. He spoke directly into her face, his voice a whisper.

‘Such a pity - all that loveliness and talent going to waste.’ His eyes dropped to her mouth. ‘And me prepared to offer you a helping hand.’

Her voice too was a whisper, but none the less definite for that. ‘I don’t care to pay your price.’

The blue eyes met hers. ‘You’re never going to do it on your own. You do know that, don’t you?’

Straining against the hand imprisoning the back of her neck, she spat out the words. ‘Just watch me, Jack. Just watch me.’

Jack Drummond laughed. ‘So fierce, my little Clydebank girl.’

Bracing herself to resist the punishing kiss she felt sure was coming, Kate stared him out, daring him to do it. He laughed again, released his hold on her and kissed her so swiftly on the mouth she had no chance to pull back.

‘Goodbye, Kate.’ The eyebrows went up again. ‘Or perhaps I should say
au revoir
. I’m going to enjoy it when you change your mind and come running to me for help.’

The door swung closed behind him. With a trembling hand, Kate wiped her mouth. She sank into a chair.

‘Never,’ she whispered, ‘not in a million years. I’m going to make Robbie forgive me and I’ll get back to the Art School. However long it takes. Even if I’m an old lady before I do it. And that’s a promise, Jack Drummond.’

She tossed her head and ran her fingers through the dishevelled chestnut waves. Then, her head falling forward, she burst into tears.

Chapter 28

The brave words she had flung after Jack Drummond came to seem like a bad joke in the months that followed. If it hadn’t been for Grace, Kate would have felt her life had been a dream. Here she was back where she had started, living with her parents, putting up with her mother’s temper, living a life of drudgery. Uncomfortably aware that she and Grace were an added burden on the household, she took the lion’s share of the chores on her narrow shoulders, despite her increasing tiredness as her pregnancy advanced. Life was no longer a joy, it was something to be endured, every day an ordeal to be got through. Her father noticed.