Arian (46 page)

‘Aren’t you the young lady who lost a whole load of French calf in the most odd circumstances? No, I don’t think I shall be advertising in your newspaper. No, indeed not.’

In spite of that one incident, the entire day passed swiftly and fruitfully and, feeling weary and a little overwhelmed by the ambitious nature of the task she’d taken on, Arian decided to sit for a while on a bench in Victoria Park.

It was a fresh day. The trees around her were swaying in the salty breeze coming in from the sea. She glanced along the path and with a shock of recognition saw a familiar figure making his way towards her.

‘Eddie Carpenter, what are you doing here? Taking time off from doctoring?’ She studied him. Eddie was more mature, obviously more polished in his behaviour and manners but he was still the same old Eddie who’d lain with her in the grass.

‘Arian, you look better. You’re well over your fever now, and to answer your question, yes, I’m having a day off. I’m entitled you know.’

‘Eddie, come and sit down by me, let me tell you all that’s been happening lately. I feel like getting an objective view on my chances of making a success.’

‘A success of what? When I know what you’re talking about I might be able to offer an opinion.’ Eddie listened quietly as she described the way she’d set about starting up the paper and when she’d run out of breath, he leaned over her.

‘We could do with another rag in Swansea.’ He smiled and she knew he was teasing. ‘I might even be persuaded to give some small financial backing to this wonderful newspaper
and
I have a good lead story for you to kick off with.’

‘What? Tell me.’

‘Patience, Arian, but then that was never one of your virtues, was it? Come to think of it, you had no virtues at all.’ He dodged her fist. ‘All right, keep calm. It’s just that I’ve arranged a meeting next month of doctors from the surrounding areas. I want them to come to a conference in Swansea. I’ll invite other responsible delegates such as our MPs and the members of the Chamber of Commerce so that we can all discuss the appalling conditions that still exist in parts of Swansea. Shall I go on?’ Arian nodded.

‘We have too many slums. Even in these so-called enlightened days some people are still living in uninhabitable hovels, drinking water from stagnant ponds, even from the canals. We want better water supplies and more efficient sewage works if we’re to stamp out fever and pestilence.’

‘Quite a speech.’ Arian regarded him steadily. ‘Can I use all this as a personal interview?’

‘I don’t see why not.’ Eddie frowned. ‘I don’t suppose it will make me over-popular in certain circles but then I never did care what anyone thought, did I?’

‘Eddie, I could kiss you,’ Arian said sincerely, and he raised his eyebrows in mock alarm.

‘You’d better not. My wife and four children might not understand.’

‘Eddie, I’m so pleased for you. A family man, a fine doctor, but still with fire in your belly. I couldn’t be more delighted.’

‘Ah, but you helped make it all happen,’ Eddie said. ‘You it was who got Calvin Temple to put up the money for my training. I owe you a great deal for that.’

‘You don’t owe me anything,’ Arian said, ‘but if I can’t kiss you, can I at least give you all my thanks?’ She embraced him and realized that her feelings of weariness had been replaced by a burning enthusiasm to write up all that Eddie had told her. It would make a fine lead for her first issue – controversial and yet caring for the people.

A month later, the first edition of the newly named
Swansea Times
appeared on the streets. Ragged boys stood on corners shouting the news, posters papered to walls gave out the headlines, LOCAL DOCTOR SPEAKS OUT.

Arian was deeply in debt. She had paid her workers for the next two weeks and after that, unless the paper made a profit, she was lost.

She leaned out of the window of the
Swansea Times
and felt excitement build up within her. All she needed now was for the townspeople to buy, then she would be on her way.

It was a tense day. Her young reporters sat around sharpening pencils, trying to think of the next week’s news. In the bowels of the building typesetters worked to meet the deadline but Arian felt too overwrought to write or even think.

But, by the end of the day, she knew it was going to be all right. It was Eddie who broke the news. He came into the office and held up a bottle of champagne.

‘Congratulations, Arian. The first printing is sold out on the streets. There’s not one copy of the
Swansea Times
to be had anywhere and I should know, I’ve scoured the town.’

She hugged him and he lifted her from her feet and swung her round. ‘Tomorrow,’ Arian said breathlessly, ‘the letters should start coming in. You must give me more quotes Eddie, keep me up to date with your progress. We’ll make a local hero of you yet.’

‘God forbid,’ Eddie was smiling. ‘I’ve had my hand shaken so many times today, I don’t think I’ll ever use it again.’

Arian worked late that evening. It was as though she was inspired. It was only when Bridie and Jono came hammering on the door and burst into her rooms carrying bottles of ale and plates of sandwiches that she raised her head from her writing.

‘We’ve come to help you celebrate,’ Jono said hugging her. ‘I bet you’ve had nothing to eat all day.’

Bridie was more restrained but just as pleased. ‘You’re on your way, Arian,’ she said. ‘I can see the
Swansea Times
becoming part of everybody’s life.’

Arian made a wry face. ‘Aye, all I need now is to keep up the good work, find the stories, keep the adverts coming. Not much if you say it quick.’ But as she took a glass of ale and lifted it to clink glasses with Bridie and Jono she felt a sense of warm achievement sweep over her. She had done it, at least made a good start, a very good start. It was ironic, really, that by following in her father’s footsteps, she was finding a sense of fulfilment. Even if she was never going to know happiness with a man, then she would work her fingers to the bone for the
Times
, make news, and people who made the news her living. It was a heady prospect.

‘I’ve never seen you looking so well and happy,’ Bridie observed. ‘You have obviously done the right thing, setting up this paper.’

‘I couldn’t have done it without your help, I’m grateful to both of you.’ Arian, looking at Bridie, wondered how much she guessed about her past. Bridie had never asked questions, had taken Arian on face value but she must have heard stories, been told the scandal of the lost load of French calf, not to mention the way Arian had lived her life, flaunting all the conventions, running wild about the countryside. But she was not a woman to judge.

Bridie met her eyes and smiled wanly. She didn’t speak but Arian had the distinct impression that not much missed Bridie’s shrewd eyes.

As the days passed, the
Swansea Times
became part of the fabric of the town. Circulation continued to rise and Arian knew that she must take on a more senior reporter. There was no way she could administer the business side of things and seek out the stories too.

She wrote out an advertisement which would appear in several editions of the paper and specified that the reporter must be a woman. She wanted no more complications in her life, no more men cluttering up her offices.

She would be breaking new ground, possibly antagonizing many with her views, but it was high time women were given a chance to break into what hitherto had been a man’s world.

She was putting on her coat, intending to walk to the shops when the bell on the office door clanged. Arian expected to find someone wanting to advertise in her paper and hurried downstairs, her coat flapping around her legs. She stopped in the doorway, drawing a breath sharply as she recognized the man standing near the counter.

‘Arian,’ he spoke her name softly, ‘Arian, it’s taken me so long to pluck up the courage to come to you. I never thought it would be easy but I didn’t know how difficult it would be to face you.’ He paused and looked down at her as though he would leap the counter and take her in his arms.

‘Calvin.’ She said his name on a sharply drawn breath. She longed to take him in her arms, to hold him and kiss him and tell him that without him, her world, her achievements, were empty. She’d filled her life with work and yet, now that she saw him again, she knew she wanted more, much more. And then her strong feeling of common sense asserted itself. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked more calmly.

‘I want you to come and live with me. I’ll give you the finest house, I’ll give you anything you want, you can come to me on your own terms.’

How she had longed to hear him say those very words but not now, not just when she was beginning to make something positive out of the ruins of her life.

‘You forget something, Calvin. I’m still a married woman. What sort of reception would I get, would we both get, from the people of Swansea if we lived openly in sin?’

The door swung open and a young boy placed a note on the desk and hurried out. ‘It’s from an advertiser, I expect,’ Arian opened the paper and saw that she was right. She dropped it into her file and looked up at Calvin.

‘Come upstairs. We can’t talk here.’ She walked briskly around the counter and slid the bolt on the door into place. She felt his nearness, sensed his longing to reach out to her and she moved quickly towards the stairs.

He followed her and soon, they were standing together in her apartment. He made a move towards her but she held up her hand and he stopped, looking at her, waiting for her to speak.

‘Calvin, I’m married. Nothing can change that,’ she said shortly. ‘I don’t want to be a mistress, not any more.’ She looked up at him knowing that she loved him but the price she would have to pay for his love was too high.

‘Arian, I’m offering you my love, my protection. I won’t treat you as a mistress, I’ll treat you with the respect I would give my wife. You’ll
be
my wife in everything but the law. I’ll make a will and you will be cared for. I love you, Arian.’

It would be so easy to give in to him, to fall into his arms, to let him take charge of everything, but then she would be nothing more than a kept woman. She shook her head.

‘It wouldn’t work, Calvin.’ She knew now she must hurt him. He was silent, waiting for her to continue and she swallowed hard.

‘You’ve had mistresses. You know full well it’s not the same as having a wife. And I’ve been a mistress, and a wife. Now I want more out of life. Having you that way wouldn’t be enough. Can’t you see that, Calvin?’

He stepped back a pace, hurt as she knew he would be by her bald refusal of him. She spoke quickly in a brisk, businesslike voice.

‘What I am looking for is backers for my newspaper. If you should be interested in risking your money with me again, please don’t hesitate to get in touch.’ She turned her back on him and there were tears in her eyes as she heard him leave the room.

His footsteps on the stairs were heavy. She heard his measured tread, listened to the outer door being opened and knew she’d turned away the only man she’d ever love.

‘Goodbye, Calvin.’ Arian took off her coat. She was in no mood for shopping, not now. She sat in a chair, curled her legs beneath her and tried not to remember the look of pain in Calvin’s eyes. Was it worth it, the newspaper, the whole damn shooting match? Was anything worthwhile if she was never to know a man’s love?

It was a fine day. The sun was breaking through the clouds and the birds were singing when Bridie walked out of St Peter’s church on the arm of her new husband.

‘Happy?’ Paul looked down at her and Bridie longed to reach up and kiss him. He was so handsome, his eyes so bright as they looked into hers, his tanned, lean face turned towards her as though she was the only thing in the world he wanted to see.

She nodded, unable to speak. Of course she was happy. She had just what she wanted, Paul at her side, his ring safely on her finger. Admittedly she’d schemed a little, seduced him with promises of their business merger and yet, she was vain enough to think that in the intervening weeks since they’d met, he had fallen in love with her, if only a little.

Bridie was nothing if not realistic. Had she been Jono’s poor relation, Paul wouldn’t have found her in the least interesting but then she was not a beautiful woman. She was the first one to admit it. She would be a good wife to him and a good mother to their children when they came along and she would always love him, whatever he did.

She wasn’t a stupid woman. She knew that there had been relationships before; he wasn’t a man to live as a monk. That he was experienced in affairs of the heart was as plain as the nose on her face. She smiled a little at her own self-deprecating joke. Paul touched her ringed finger gently.

‘I can see you are happy by the look in your eyes and I promise to try always to keep you feeling that way.’

She looked up at him wistfully. ‘Just love me a little, Paul,’ she said. ‘Just a little, that’s all I ask.’

‘You have that already,’ Paul said. ‘I do love you Bridie. You are gentle and honest and good. I know I will always be the only man in your life, you are that sort of woman.’

‘You read me well,’ Bridie said. ‘There’ll never be anyone else only you.’

He smiled down at her. ‘Something worth more than gold or diamonds,’ he said, ‘a faithful wife.’

Why did the words make her sound so dull? Bridie wondered. She was so different to the women Paul must be accustomed to, so different and yet wasn’t that what attracted him? Well, he was her husband now and his ring was on her finger. They were bound together by the ties of the church and the law, and by her devotion for Paul.

She held onto his arm and felt a wave of joy flood through her. She was a bride, something she thought never to be and beside her was the most handsome man in all the world.

As the days and nights of her marriage slipped by, Bridie discovered that she was a passionate woman. Her love for Paul was more than matched by her desire for him, something which seemed to give him great happiness. He delighted in giving her pleasure and though she was still a little shy of being naked before him, he was not offended. Indeed, he seemed to relish her modesty.