Arian (45 page)

‘I’ve got us a cab waiting,’ Bridie said, reluctantly withdrawing her hand from Paul’s fingers. ‘I thought Arian would like a ride home for a treat.’

Paul laughed. ‘Good idea. It’ll take a bit of time for her to get her land legs back again, I expect.’

He winked wickedly at Arian.

‘Goodbye.’ She shook his hand formally. ‘And Paul, many thanks for all your kindness.’

Sandwiched between Jono and Bridie, Arian made her way through the throng of people on the dockside and her spirits were lighter than they’d been for some time. She had hope for the future now, some sort of plan. She felt strong again, her own woman. She had shaken herself free of Gerald’s oppressive influence and had begun to think for herself again.

As though conjured up like a bad dream, Gerald stood before her. ‘Arian,’ he said forcefully, ‘I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve come to take you home.’

Calvin Temple stared out of the window into the night-shaded garden, not seeing the rain dripping from the glossy-leaved laurels or the way the intermittent moonlight washed the ground with light. He was taking stock of his life, trying to make sense of his feelings, wondering at the despair he felt whenever he thought of the future.

It was the latest gossip about Arian that had unsettled him, of course. Arian had managed to get right away from that charlatan Simples. She had married the man for all the wrong reasons and now, it seemed, she had walked out on him. It appeared she’d run away to sea with Paul Marchant, the young shipowner, the darling of the matrons who hoped for a respectable marriage for maiden daughters.

Talk was that Arian had sailed with him for the West Indies, had spent long weeks aboard his ship. He could just picture her on some sunwashed island, her and the handsome Marchant together. He clenched his hands into fists. Why didn’t he forget her? Why didn’t he just forget her, start a home and family with someone who would be suitable to his sort of life-style? He’d tried marriage with a woman out of his class once before and look how that had ended.

The latest news was that Arian had just returned home to Swansea but where she was now, no-one seemed to know. He sank down into a chair and closed his eyes, his mouth curving into an unwilling smile. Arian led the most amazing life, he had to admit that much. She had guts enough to do what she wanted to do, not what people expected of her. She certainly wasn’t one to conform as other women did, settling for domesticity and the quiet life. This, Calvin recognized, was part of her charm.

He rose from his chair abruptly. It was about time he made some decisions, stopped idling about like a young untutored lad. If he wanted a home, a family, he’d better start thinking seriously about finding himself a wife.

He thought briefly of Daphne but dismissed the idea at once. He knew without a shadow of doubt that motherhood did not feature as any part of her plans. Daphne was a mistress, a damn fine mistress but she did not want the responsibilities of marriage and children and frankly he didn’t blame her.

Arian wasn’t cut out to be a wife either, sweet fragile Arian, perhaps too frail for childbearing. What Calvin needed was strong heirs and a good woman to rear them. Families needed stability, a sense of continuity. And yet, without doubt he would take Arian on any terms, he would pay any price, he would even settle for her being his mistress, any children they might have being illegitimate. No problem was insurmountable if there was the will to overcome.

Why didn’t he find her then, tell her of his feelings? What did he have to lose? She might laugh in his face, might turn him down flat, but on the other hand, she might just want to be with him. He could set her up in a nice house somewhere. They could live together, fall in love together, because she would love him, given time, he knew it in his bones.

The clock in the hall chimed the hour, ten o’clock. He turned towards the window, staring out at the darkness. It was too late now to go making social calls but tomorrow he would look for her, find out where Arian had gone. It would be easy enough to track her down, surely?

With an impatient movement, he rose and drew the heavy curtains against the night, his thoughts racing like a rat in a trap. He was losing his mind, becoming obsessed. He covered his face with his hands. ‘Arian.’ The name fell softly into the darkness of the room that was lit only by the dying embers of the fire.

‘It’s a lovely house.’ Arian looked up from the long dining table and stared round at the pictures hanging on the walls. Bridie had good taste, that much was obvious and the money with which to indulge her wishes.

‘I thought you’d have a nice surprise.’ Bridie smiled amiably, putting down her napkin. ‘It was high time I gave Jono back his privacy. I couldn’t live there in his cottage for ever, could I?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Jono grumbled amiably, lifting the glass which looked ludicrously tiny in his big hand.

Arian could see that Paul Marchant was impressed. He hadn’t realized quite how well-set up Bridie was or how extensive her shipping fleet. Early in the evening, Bridie had mentioned casually that she and Paul must get together some time with a view to joining forces; as she’d said, a woman needed a man as a figure-head, especially in something as hazardous as transporting goods overseas.

Arian knew Paul’s love of the sea, of ships, and she had seen the blaze of interest in his eyes. If Bridie had set out to bribe him into marriage, she couldn’t have chosen a better inducement.

Marriage and a partnership with Bridie would be a step up for him; Paul would be extending his enterprises and the merger would be more to his advantage than Bridie’s. And yet, what could be more sensible? It was what Bridie really wanted. Arian secretly revised her impressions of Bridie. She was growing up, losing her petulant, almost childish behaviour. She intended to keep a reign on her business and by doing so, keep Paul in check.

Arian genuinely liked Paul. The voyage and his company had helped her find her sense of adventure that she thought had died. Somehow she had been cleansed of her past mistakes and failures by her absence from Swansea. She supposed that going away to other lands had given her a sense of perspective.

‘Glad to be home,
cariad
?’ Jono’s voice was gentle, and Arian felt a momentary pang of guilt. Jono was a kindly man who thought the best of everyone. It was Jono who’d blocked Gerald’s path when he’d threatened to take her to his home by force, Jono who’d warned Gerald that if he ever saw him near Arian again he’d give him such a thrashing that he’d never bother anyone again.

Arian had expected Gerald to put up a fight – he was a powerful man and no coward – but he’d stepped aside and allowed them to pass, more for appearances’ sake than anything else; he was a man who liked to be respected, it wouldn’t become him to be seen brawling on the docks like a common drunk.

‘I am glad to be back,’ she smiled. ‘I’ve got plans now, Jono. I’m going back to Swansea to set myself up in the newspaper business. I’m going to stop wasting my life.’

The look of dismay on Jono’s open face would have been comical had it not been so sad. ‘Oh, no, girl, not going to leave us, are you?’

She smiled and put her hand on his arm. ‘I can hardly stay with you now, can I? Not with Bridie set up in her own home?’

‘I wouldn’t care what folks thought,’ Jono protested. ‘Let ‘em gossip. Sticks and stones won’t hurt me and I won’t let anything hurt you.’

Arian shook her head. ‘We needn’t lose touch altogether, Jono. Perhaps you can help me, when you’re not working on the Mond building, that is.’

She smiled, touched by the relief in his eyes. ‘My father’s presses will have gone rusty, they will all need maintenance. The typeface should still be all right; it was always kept well greased to prevent rusting.’

‘You’ll need money,’ Jono said slowly. ‘I have some. I can give it to you, if you like. I have no use for it.’

Arian was silent for a moment. ‘I wasn’t thinking of money but practical help. I don’t want to take anything from you, you’ve been kind enough already.’

‘You’ll need backers.’ It was Bridie who spoke, her voice firm. ‘Let Jono and me put some money into the enterprise – it sounds like a good one from what you’ve told me.’

‘I am going to need backers,’ Arian agreed. ‘If you really want to risk some of your money then I’m only too glad of the help, from you too Jono, if you really meant it.’

‘I meant it all right.’ He was eager to keep a foothold in her life. ‘I don’t want much to live on, you know that, and Bridie insists on giving me a share of the profits from the ships.’ He smiled. ‘So that’s fixed then.’

‘Aye, that’s fixed.’ On an impulse, Arian kissed Jono’s cheek. He flushed scarlet with happiness.

‘Perhaps I may be permitted to get in on this new business, too?’ Paul was leaning back in his chair. ‘Like Jono here, my input will not be very large but it all helps when you’re starting out.’

‘Thank you, all of you.’ Arian felt overwhelmed. ‘You’ve given me more than just the promise of money, you’ve given me a chance to start up my newspaper business sooner than I’d thought possible.’

Jono beamed. ‘I always knew you and me was meant to be together.’

Arian bit her lip. ‘Don’t read too much into all this, mind,’ she said. ‘I need backing. You’ll be a wonderful asset to me in many ways but, Jono, don’t forget that I’m married, will you?’

‘I won’t forget, girl.’ His voice was heavy. ‘But if that man tries to interfere in your life again, I’ll send him packing, don’t you worry.’

Bridie and Paul had moved away from the table and were seated close together, heads bent, engrossed in conversation. She half smiled. Paul was nothing if not an opportunist and could she blame him? Bridie was alive and glowing, her very skin seemed to radiate happiness and suddenly Arian felt lonely. Was she forever to be locked in a loveless marriage?

Stop feeling sorry for yourself. She almost spoke the thought out loud and glanced quickly at Jono. He was staring at her with a love-sick expression in his eyes. The sooner she was away from Clydach the better, she thought ruefully.

Arian, Jono and the small army of people he’d somehow roped in to help, took little over two weeks to renovate the top rooms of the old
Cambridge
offices. The building was very run down but the rent was cheap. Fresh curtains provided by Bridie hung at the windows and an old desk, covered by a cloth, served as a table. The kitchen had always been there. The sink, old and cracked, needed to be replaced but the stove on which the workers at the newspaper used to boil water was, after a thorough cleaning, still functional.

The privy was the main problem. It was all the way down three flights of stairs and out at the back of the building. Not something to look forward to on a cold winter’s morning, Arian thought sombrely. Still, she would live quite comfortably and, at last, she would be independent.

While she worked scrubbing the floors of the offices free of years of dust, Jono was downstairs in the bowels of the building attending the old presses. His presence during the day was something of a comfort but Arian worried that he was neglecting his own work and that he might be dismissed from the newly opened nickel works if he took too much time off.

‘Don’t you worry about that, girl,’ Jono reassured her, while they stopped for a brew of tea and some thick slices of bread. ‘They need me too much. Good with the engineering, I am, see and no-one knows how to make things work like Jono Morgan. ‘Well, it’s coming into shape, now,’ Jono looked at her over the edge of his cup. ‘Bit o’ paint on the outside next, is it?’

Arian nodded absently. ‘Once the worst of the clearing work is over, I’ll face the most difficult task of all, Jono. I want suppliers willing to provide paper and ink and prepared to wait for their money.’

‘What about the money you’ve got in the bank then, love?’ Jono asked, biting a huge chunk out of his bread.

‘Most of that will be needed to pay the wages of a typesetter and reporters.’ Arian knew she could do much of the actual writing herself, but she would need a young eager man who could go into areas where she would stand out like a sore thumb. She would also want an editor, and a sub, two if possible.

‘We must find advertisers, Jono.’ She put down her cup. ‘They pay part of the costs of publishing the paper. I’ll need to approach the owners of furniture stores and general emporiums, that sort of thing. There’s an awful lot to do before we get this thing off the ground.’

‘It’ll come, girl,’ Jono spoke with an easy confidence that she envied. ‘It will come, don’t you worry.’

The first night she slept in her own home right on the top of the tall building, Arian felt such a sense of release it was almost like a rebirth. She was her own woman at last, about to make her own mark on the world. It was a heady feeling.

She slept well and in the morning, dressed in her neatest clothes, made her way around town in a hired cab.

It might seem an extravagance but the expense was worth it for the time she would save, and to arrive in style would make a good impression on prospective advertisers.

It was easier than she’d expected. Her rates were competitive and her first approaches were made to people with whom she’d had dealings before.

Craig Grenfell’s foreman at the leather company took notes and assured her that she would have some business from them and the fact that his eyes were taking in every detail of her appearance didn’t deter her at all. Indeed, if men found her attractive, so much the better for her business.

John Miller spoke to her personally. ‘I will be very happy to place an advertisement with your new newspaper, Miss Smale. Anything I can do to help, just let me know. It’s people like you, with a bit of go in them who deserve a hand up.’ Arian warmed to him; tactfully, he had accepted her maiden name without question. She had no intention of being known as Mrs Simples; she and Gerald were married but that didn’t mean he owned her.

It was the owner of one of the smaller boot and shoe establishments who struck the one and only sour note.