Primrose Square (10 page)

‘What happened to summer?' Stephen asked.

‘Just a memory,' Elinor answered, holding on to her hat.

When their tram came and they were sitting together, she asked him the time and he pulled out his watch.

‘Half past nine.'

‘You see, there wouldn't have been time to go to the café, would there?'

‘I know a little place in the West End where we might have snatched a cup of something.'

‘No' worth the worry. I'll just go back to the club.'

‘For God's sake!' he cried out. ‘Why are things so difficult?'

She had no answer for that.

When they left the tram, he took her arm.

‘Still twenty-five minutes to go. What shall we do?'

He gently put his hand against her face. ‘I suppose you don't have a key to those gardens in Primrose Square?'

‘A key?' She laughed shakily. ‘If only I had. But we couldn't have sat there, Stephen. Just imagine, if anyone looked out of the club and saw us there together, what would they think?'

‘To hell with what they'd think.'

‘It's no' so easy for me to talk like that.' She shook her head. ‘Though I'd like to.'

‘We could still go to Princes Street gardens,' he said softly. ‘They're not busy at this time of night.'

‘It's too late, I'd better go.'

‘What am I thinking of, anyway?' he muttered. ‘Asking you to walk with me in the gardens. Your father'd be right to knock my head off. Or this Miss Ainslie you talk about. If she's responsible for you, she'd have something to say to me.'

‘As Brenda says, I'm responsible for myself!' Elinor cried. ‘And I would walk with you in the gardens if I could, but it's too late. I'll have to say goodnight.'

‘Look, let's think of a way to meet,' he urged. ‘We want to be together, don't we? Promise me you'll think of something.'

‘I will, I promise. But now I have to go.'

Once again, she left him, running to Maule's Corner, turning, waving. Once again, he watched her, before walking slowly homewards.

Back at the club, the front door was open and Miss Ainslie was in the hall, greeting Elinor with a smile.

‘Well done, Elinor! No problems tonight getting in on time.'

Oh, no problems, Elinor thought on her way upstairs. No problems at all.

In spite of everything, though, her heart was light. It was true that she and Stephen were so fenced round by rules they might never be able to meet. But Stephen wanted to, didn't he? And that was something new. A wonderful man wanting to be with her. An admirer, a follower, something she hadn't even thought she wanted, but now found she wanted very much indeed. She felt like telling everyone, but knew she wouldn't tell a soul, not even Ma. Oh, certainly not Ma, who'd be sure to tell her father, and heaven knew what he would say.

Getting ready for bed, chatting to Mattie and Gerda as usual, her secret stayed firmly that, locked away for herself alone, to take out when she was able, as though it were some precious object to polish and cherish, before closing it up again.

Nineteen

As the year declined towards winter, through cold, bright October and into grey November, neither Stephen nor Elinor solved the problem of how to meet. They had their snatched moments after class when they travelled home on the tram, and their long farewells at Maule's Corner, and did once try the little café Stephen had mentioned. That, however, was a failure, for they barely had time to sit down with coffee before Elinor was asking about the time, and Stephen was groaning.

‘Why do you worry so about your manageress?' he asked, searching Elinor's face with the grey eyes she so much admired. ‘I mean, what's the worst that can happen if you do get back late? She gives you the sack and you find another job? Well, why not?'

‘I don't want another job – I mean, in service. Unless I can find something better, I want to stay at the Primrose. It's much better than being in a household; Miss Ainslie is good to us, and  . . . well, I like the gardens.'

‘Even though you've no key?'

‘I can still see them.' Elinor was putting on her gloves, getting ready to leave. ‘And if you'd ever lived in Friar's Wynd, you'd know what it means to see a garden.'

‘I understand,' he said quietly. ‘But if you get an office job, you'll have to leave the gardens here.'

‘I know, but I won't forget them; I'll still see them when I can.'

He nodded. ‘Ah, well, we'd better go.'

Outside, though, on the pavement still filled with passers-by, he made her stop her hurried walk and return his gaze.

‘You promised me you'd think of something, but here we are, unable to go for a meal and talk and get to know each other as we should.' He ran a hand over his brow. ‘It's getting me down, Elinor. You must feel there's something special between us.'

‘Yes,' she whispered, knowing what he said was true, scarcely daring to believe it.

‘You feel it, too?'

‘I do.'

‘And yet, we get nowhere. Look, we can't talk here; I'd better see you on your way.'

It was the following week, when they left the tram that he again suggested they might just walk for a little while in Princes Street Gardens, which were so close to hand and so shadowy that no one would see them. He promised they wouldn't stay long.

‘We just need to be alone, don't we?' he whispered urgently. ‘I mean, being all the time with other people, it's a form of torture. Yet it seems impossible to get away from them.'

‘Let's go to the gardens, then, though there might be people there, too, you know.'

‘Not at night, and as I say, if there are people around, they won't see us.' He seemed strung up, on edge, as he took her arm. ‘You're sure you're happy about this?'

She nodded, as excited as he, and together they made their way into the West Princes Street Gardens; by day, filled with strolling visitors taking in the park-like atmosphere, looking at the statues of famous Scots, listening to the band, but now, of course, dark and quiet. Not completely empty, though. Elinor was sure there must be other couples around somewhere. She decided not to try to see them.

‘The thing is, I feel guilty,' Stephen was murmuring. ‘Asking you to walk with me here at this time of night. What would your parents say?'

‘I'm a grown-up; I've a right to walk with you if I want to.'

‘You know that's not how it is. Girls – they have to be protected.'

‘Protected?' Elinor smiled. ‘Have you seen the way some folk live in the tenements? Girls there have to learn to protect themselves.'

‘Have you had to do that?' he asked quickly, but she shook her head.

‘No, I've been lucky.'

‘There have been men in your life, though?'

‘No. No men.'

‘Come, there must have been. Someone who looks like you – you're telling me there've been no admirers?'

‘Stephen, when would there have been men in my life? When I left school, I went straight into service where the only man was the lawyer married to my employer and he never even looked at me. Then I moved to a women's club.' In the semi-darkness, Elinor's smile was now gently teasing. ‘So, you see, no men.'

‘No men.' He drew her slowly into his arms. ‘And no kisses?'

‘No,' she whispered. ‘No kisses.'

He held her close. ‘Would you mind if I kissed you now?'

‘You're asking?'

It all seemed strange to her, not what she'd expected from this closeness in the darkness of the gardens. Did men usually ask before they kissed a woman? It wasn't what she'd heard. But perhaps men like Stephen did. Men who felt guilty if they walked with a girl and her father didn't know?

‘No, I'm not asking!' he suddenly cried, and kissed her on the mouth, holding her shoulders with his hands, making the kiss long and at first gentle, then stronger, until he finally let her go and they stood together, breathing hard.

So this was what kissing meant? This was why men wanted it and girls liked it, Elinor was thinking, for it stirred up so much feeling, so much pleasure. She knew, of course, what it could lead to, although only in theory, for it was true what she'd told Stephen: there had been no men in her life, and certainly no kissing. And certainly not what could follow kissing, either, though she knew about that, too. Had seen the lassies with their bairns, sometimes with wedding rings, sometimes not. So, in a way, she felt herself experienced. But this was her first kiss.

‘You minded?' Stephen asked anxiously. ‘That I kissed you?'

‘No.' She put her fingers to her lip. ‘I knew you would.'

‘Oh, God, I knew I would, too. Look, I'm sorry.'

‘Stephen, there's no need to be sorry. I didn't mind, I liked it, but now I have to go, eh?'

‘Yes, of course. Of course, you have to go. The last thing I want is for you to be late.'

They began to hurry from the gardens, hoping, in their moment of intense feeling, that no one would see them, or, at least, would take no notice of them, and no one did. Together, they ran across the road to Maule's Corner, but when Stephen sighed and said he supposed he'd have to let her go on by herself, Elinor told him not to look so glum.

‘I've thought of a way we could meet.'

‘You don't mean it! How, Elinor, how?'

‘Well, you know I've been going home twice a month on free Saturday afternoons? It suddenly came to me that I could see you on one of 'em. I could say I had to go shopping, or something. Then we could meet, have tea, walk somewhere?'

‘Oh, that'd be wonderful!' His eyes were shining, his hand in hers, pressing hard. ‘Oh, Elinor, what a terrific girl you are! When will it be? When can we meet?'

‘I'll tell you at the next class,' she promised, and for a long moment they stood, holding hands, exchanging looks, until she pulled herself free and they both walked fast away, feeling, as their feet touched the old pavement flags, that they were walking on air.

Twenty

‘Oh, my, where's the jug, then?' asked Mrs Petrie, fixing her eyes on Elinor coming into the kitchen on a Saturday afternoon two weeks later. Lunch was over and Maisie was toiling over the washing-up, as Vera scrubbed the table and Mrs Petrie herself sat drinking tea by the window. Elinor, in her dark brown winter coat and large fawn hat trimmed with ribbon, stopped and stared.

‘What jug, Mrs Petrie? What d'you mean?'

‘The cream jug, of course! Don't tell me you've no' seen yourself? You look just like the cat that's been at the cream – is that no' true, Vera? Sal?'

Sal, looking in from the scullery, blushed, nodded and retreated. Vera, setting down her brush, gave a thin smile.

‘Aye, you're looking very happy, Elinor.'

‘Very pleased with herself, I'd say!' cried Mrs Petrie. ‘All this just to see your folks, then?'

‘It is my Saturday afternoon off,' Elinor replied smartly. ‘I suppose I can look happy if I like?'

‘You've looked happy for days, is what I've noticed. Got a secret admirer, then?'

‘No!' Elinor cried, a flush staining her cheeks. ‘Look, I'm off. See you tonight.'

‘Well, don't be late. There's plenty work waiting.'

‘No need to tell me.'

Elinor, closing the back door with unnecessary force, ran up the area steps with her brows drawn together and her mouth set in a straight, angry line. Oh, trust Mrs Petrie to try to spoil things, eh? Couldn't let a lassie enjoy her time off without putting her spoke in, doing her best to cause trouble. Well, she wasn't going to spoil this precious afternoon with Stephen, that was for sure. No, no, she must control her feelings, stop frowning, look happy – for she
was
happy, radiantly happy, to be snatching a few hours off with the man who would be waiting for her at Maule's Corner. The nicest man in the world, in Elinor's view. Aye, and probably would be, too, in Mrs Petrie's, if only she could see him.

How wonderful it would have been, if she and everyone else could have seen him, if he need no longer be a secret. But it wasn't possible. At least, not yet. For now, it was best to keep him hidden, safe from comment, disapproval, and maybe envy. Yes, for now, that was the best thing to do.

By the time she arrived at the familiar corner, she had smoothed out her brow and relaxed her lovely mouth, so that when she saw him waiting for her, leaping forward, in fact, to greet her, she had no worries that he would need to ask her what was wrong. For nothing was wrong, everything was amazingly right now that they were together again.

As he took her hands and looked at her with shining grey eyes, she gave a little inward sigh. On that cold day, he was wearing a fine dark overcoat and trilby hat, which he had just replaced after sweeping it off at sight of her, and it seemed to her, as it so often did, a thing of wonder that anyone like him should be waiting for her. Yet mixed with that wonder was a little question. Why shouldn't he wait for her? Why was it the way of the world that it should be so surprising? She knew it was, though, and as they stepped aside from the Saturday shoppers, her question died and her wonder remained.

‘Oh, Elinor,' he was whispering, ‘I was so afraid you might not come, might not be able to come, I mean. That somebody'd said you couldn't have the time, or something  . . .'

‘Nothing would have stopped me from coming,' she said firmly. ‘But tell me, where are we going? I've to be back by six.'

‘Six? My poor Cinderella.' He laughed, tucking her arm in his. ‘Oh, but I wish you were Cinderella, and then you'd have till midnight. Where are we going? To the station; we're catching a train.'

‘A train? Why, Stephen, you know we haven't got time for train journeys!'

‘We're only going to Colinton, takes fifteen minutes, or less. There's country there and a nice place for tea, so let's be quick and get the tram to Waverley.'