Authors: Benita Brown
Tags: #Technology & Engineering, #Sagas, #Fisheries & Aquaculture, #Fiction
A Safe Harbour (31 page)
Caroline remained silent. Richard often wondered whether she altogether approved of Prince. She had certainly expressed surprise the first time she had found him wandering about the upper floors of the house.
Richard glanced at her but her expression told him nothing. Caroline had sat well back but he could see that she was gazing into the fire. He allowed his eyes to enjoy her beauty. The dark hair framing the classically oval face. The gentle slope of her shoulders and the curve of her breasts beneath a white blouse. She had lifted her feet up on to the small footstool and the tips of a pair of velvet embroidered indoor shoes protruded from her skirt’s voluminous grey folds. He felt desire stir as hot and as potent as the French brandy he had recently consumed.
No doubt becoming aware of his gaze, Caroline looked up. What did she see in his eyes that caused her to blush? He knew that the reflected firelight had nothing to do with the flush that spread over her ivory complexion. But whatever she saw, she was not displeased. She smiled at him, her lips parted and her eyes shining. Her smile was inviting him to imagine what it would be like to make love to her.
He allowed the fantasy to play in his mind. But to his consternation, he had barely reached the moment when he would have taken her in his arms when the black hair changed to shining coppery red, the dark eyes to the greeny-blue of the summer sea. The face in his dream dissolved and formed again into something stronger: high cheekbones, a generous mouth – and was there just the faintest scattering of freckles – sun kisses – across the bridge of the nose and her cheeks? The illusion was so strong that it left Richard shaken. He knew very well whom the face belonged to.
Richard closed his eyes and kept them closed until the vision had gone. He was aware of a shadow crossing before him and opened his eyes to find Caroline looking down at him.
‘Are you all right?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look all right.’
‘Blame the brandy.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ She sounded shocked.
‘It’s all right. I’m not turning into a drunkard but my scar was hurting and perhaps I had a glass too many to ease the pain. And after a long day . . .’ He was aware that he was floundering. But if he couldn’t blame the brandy what could he say? That he had become obsessed with Kate Lawson – a fish lass? He could never tell Caroline that.
‘Oh, poor Richard.’
The concern in her voice filled him with guilt and what she did next took him completely by surprise. She knelt down before him and took his face in her hands. Then, leaning forward, she placed her soft lips over the scar on his cheek and kissed him gently. ‘There, let me kiss it better,’ she said.
Richard reached up for her hands and held them both in his. ‘Caroline, you shouldn’t . . .’
‘Have I been forward?’ Her voice was soft, teasing. He realized to his consternation that she was seducing him.
‘We are alone here,’ he said.
‘So?’
‘Your reputation . . .’
‘For goodness’ sake, Richard,’ there was an edge of controlled temper to her voice, ‘this is not a romantic novel. I am not some milksop heroine and you the dastardly villain. This is real life. We have been friends for over a year, and your mother knows perfectly well that we are “alone”’ – she emphasized the word as if holding it up to ridicule – ‘together. In fact she encouraged—Oh!’
Caroline had risen swiftly, stepped backwards and trodden on Prince’s tail. The dog yelped and leapt to his feet, causing Caroline to stumble. But Richard saved her. He rose quickly and caught her in his arms. She was trembling.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘It’s all right. Prince isn’t hurt. Look, he’s forgiven you. He’s wagging his tail.’
The dog, now thoroughly awake, ambled over to his water bowl but Caroline barely glanced at him. ‘Oh, good,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t mean Prince – at least, I’m sorry I stood on his tail, but I meant . . . oh, dear . . .’ She stifled a sob.
Richard put the fingers of one hand under her chin and raised her face. She was crying. ‘Please don’t cry,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to apologize for.’
‘Isn’t there?’
She sounded so unlike herself. So vulnerable, like a child almost, that Richard put both his arms round her and held her close. Her nearness meant nothing to him. There was no leap of desire, now, no welling up of tenderness. Just a feeling of sympathy. Gradually her trembling ceased and she uttered a deep sigh.
‘I’d better get ready to leave, I suppose. My carriage will be here soon.’
‘Yes. I’ll ring for Joan – no, it’s late, I’ll go and get your things myself. Why don’t you sit down?’
Richard had decided to fetch Caroline’s cloak and shoes not so much out of consideration for the young housemaid as for the fact that he needed to get away. And he suspected that Caroline, too, would appreciate a moment or two on her own to get over her embarrassment.
As he left the room he looked back and saw that she was sitting and gazing into the fire again. Prince, always ready to forgive, had lumbered over to her and placed his head on her knee. He was looking up at her as if to ask what the matter was.
By the time Richard returned Caroline had regained her composure. She changed her shoes, slipping her indoor shoes into her slipper bag, and stood up so that he could help her into her cloak. The cloak had a velvet-lined hood which Caroline pulled up and forward so that her face was in shadow.
‘Your carriage is here,’ Richard told her.
Neither of them spoke as they went down the stairs. Richard didn’t ask when she was to visit his mother again and Caroline didn’t offer the information. He took an umbrella from the stand and saw her into the carriage.
‘Goodnight, Richard.’ Caroline’s tone was formal. Something about her attitude suggested to Richard that she may have forgiven herself for what had just happened but she had not forgiven him. Pity was not the emotion she had meant to arouse.
‘Goodnight.’
He stood and watched as the carriage drew away. Then, as he turned to go back into the house, a gust of wind seized the umbrella and turned it inside out before tearing it from his hand and hurling it up into the air. Prince, who had followed them down, began to bark with excitement. Richard watched as the umbrella flew up towards the moon and the racing clouds, sailed over the boat field, and then plummeted down over the cliffs. Prince couldn’t contain himself any longer and dashed away across the road.
‘Heel!’ Richard shouted and the dog stopped in his tracks and came back, head down but eyes slanted upwards, watching his master’s face to see if he was in trouble. ‘That’s all right, boy,’ Richard said and patted his head. ‘You’ve been patient. I’ll take you out now. How about if we go down to the beach and see what’s happened to that umbrella?’
When Richard had donned his waterproof coat, he and the dog set out, turning towards the village to go down the slope to the beach. Maybe it was because poor patient Prince had had to wait longer than usual for his evening walk, or maybe it was the wind ruffling his coat that excited him, but he soon took off and raced ahead of his master. Richard wasn’t unduly worried. Prince knew where they were going; Richard had uttered the magic word ‘beach’.
Clouds sped across the sky, often obscuring the moon, but there was enough light from the gas street lamps strung along the seafront road to light his way. But when he reached the old part of the village he realized that he had lost track of Prince. Usually the dog waited at the top of the slope for the command to go down to the beach. But he wasn’t there.
Then Richard heard a low growl, then a hiss. Prince must have disturbed a cat – probably one of Howard’s motley crew.
‘Prince! To heel!’ he called but it was too late. The sounds of a furious chase echoed from the darkness of one of the narrow streets behind him. Prince was barking cheerfully but the cat was yowling as if its last days had come. Then there came a yelp of surprise. Richard realized that Prince must have been bitten on the nose or scratched for his pains.
He followed the sounds. Lamps shone dimly from behind curtained cottage windows. Now and then the moonlight reflected from the wet cobbles. There was an open doorway a little way ahead; a small figure was framed in the light.
‘Go away!’ the figure shouted. ‘You shouldn’t frighten little cats!’
As he drew near he saw it was Betsy, Martha Smith’s granddaughter who had accompanied the old woman to Howard’s studio and now seemed to be acting as chaperone to Kate Lawson. The child was holding a squirming bundle of black fur to her body with one hand and pointing at Prince with the other. The dog backed away but began to wag his tail as if trying to convey that he’d meant no harm; he’d only wanted to play.
Richard had reached him by now and added his reproaches to that of the child. ‘Bad dog!’ he said. ‘What have you done?’
Prince looked utterly forlorn. He came towards Richard, his tail drooping, and Richard told him to sit and stay. Then he approached the child in the doorway. He was disconcerted to see that tears were streaming down her face. ‘Is the cat all right?’
Betsy sniffed but didn’t answer.
Richard’s heart sank. He hated the thought of any animal in pain and distress. ‘Here, let me have a look.’
The girl used both hands now to hold the cat even more closely to her body. Richard was afraid that, in its frightened state, it might claw her face.
‘All right. You keep hold of the cat, but why don’t we go inside and I can have a look at the poor thing, see if it needs patching up. You want to help it, don’t you?’
‘Yes!’
Betsy backed into the cottage. Richard commanded his now thoroughly miserable dog to stay where he was and followed the girl into the cottage and closed the door. He was struck by the neatness and cleanliness of the place, and also by the fact that apart from the girl, the cat she was holding and another one asleep on a chair near the fire, there was no one else there.
He knew very well that whole families crowded into cottages like this. Yet the girl was here alone. The weather was bad tonight. There was wind and rain and even with the door closed he could hear the sounds of the sea; it was running high. Had the men decided to go fishing despite the weather? Were they already down on the beach preparing to set out? But where were the women? Maybe they were with the men helping to launch the cobles. But surely Betsy’s grandmother, old Martha, should be here?
‘Here, look.’ Suddenly Betsy thrust the cat towards him. It seemed she trusted him.
That was more than the cat did. Richard grabbed the poor beast and tried to soothe it, stroking and petting it as gently as he could. He was rewarded with a scratch on his hand. But he held on tightly and was eventually able to assure Betsy that there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with it. He placed it as gently as he could on the hearthrug from where it glared up at him balefully before beginning to wash itself vigorously.
‘It scratched your dog’s nose,’ Betsy said.
Richard couldn’t tell whether she was pleased or sorry. ‘Don’t worry,’ he told her. ‘The dog deserved to be put in his place.’
‘You’re not angry?’
‘No. Well, yes, I am. With my dog, Prince.’
Betsy nodded as if this pleased her, but after this momentary distraction she sighed and began to look miserable again. Soon she was sobbing out loud.
Richard didn’t like to leave her in this state. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know where she is,’ Betsy said puzzlingly.
‘Who? Your grandmother?’
‘No, Kate. She hasn’t come home.’
Memory stirred. Of course. Kate had been living here with her aunt. Meg Lawson had been teaching Kate how to sell fish from door to door. Richard had assumed that she had moved in to keep the old woman company and had gone home to her family after Meg had died.
‘Where is she?’ he asked.
‘I telt you,’ Betsy said, ‘I divven’t know!’ Her tone was sharp.
Richard suspected she was near to panic. He tried to calm her down. ‘Perhaps she’s gone to visit her mother?’
The girl shook her head violently. ‘He won’t let her. Her da – he won’t let her go home.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Because he’s a bad ’un.’
Richard realized that whatever the reason was Betsy did not know it. He was perplexed. He didn’t know what to say.
‘Me ma was shouting at me,’ Betsy told him, suddenly becoming voluble, ‘so I came to see Kate. She’s kind. The door was open and the rain had blown in. The ginger cat was on the chair. The black one was on the table eating the bacon. I chased it out. I couldn’t find Kate so I thought I would just sit here and wait for her. I divven’t know how long I sat here.’ She glanced towards the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘I can’t tell the time. Kate’s teaching me – big hand and little hand.’ She paused and smiled at what must have been a happy memory. ‘But I forgot to shut the door, and then that one flew in again.’ She nodded towards the black cat who was now curled up on the hearthrug. ‘All wet and spitting. Your dog came in after it but the cat turned and scratched his nose. I chased the dog out. You know.’
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