Primrose Square (11 page)

‘I've never been to Colinton,' she told him as they ran for a tram. ‘Is there really country there?'

‘You bet. Why, it's a village. Not part of the city at all, though they say that'll be coming.'

‘I'd love to see it; love to see some real country.' As a tram rolled up and they took their seats, Elinor's smile lit her face. ‘Nearest I get to it is the square, but then I love that, too.'

‘This'll be different from the square, I promise you. It used to be our favourite day out, to go to Colinton, before my father died.'

‘You've never told me about your father.'

‘We've had so little chance to talk at all.' His eyes were serious. ‘But today, I want to learn all about you.'

Her gaze fell. ‘Nothing much to know about me, Stephen.'

‘Now, why do people always say that?' He leaped up. ‘Here we are – here's Waverley. Let's hope we don't have to wait too long for a train.'

They were in luck. As soon as Stephen had bought the tickets and they'd found the platform, their little train came steaming in and they were aboard, Elinor as excited as though she was going to London at least, and Stephen indulgently smiling.

‘Don't tell me you haven't been on a train before,' he murmured, as they took their seats in a compartment with only one other passenger, an elderly man reading a newspaper.

‘Of course I have!' she cried. ‘We did a trip from school to North Berwick, to see the sea.'

‘Never went on holiday anywhere?'

She only looked at him, her brows raised, and he coloured a little.

‘Sorry, probably wasn't possible.'

‘You're right. But this'll be sort of a holiday, eh? Seeing somewhere new? And the country?'

‘Wish it could have been longer.'

‘I'm lucky it's happening at all.'

Certainly, their journey was short enough, for they'd hardly settled into their seats when they were rising again, and a porter was calling out, ‘Colinton!'

‘We'll take the lane away from the village,' Stephen told her on the windy little station platform. ‘I thought we'd walk a bit first, then come back to the teashop. What do you think?'

‘Oh, yes, I want to see some grass and trees. Cows as well!'

‘When we came with my dad, we always went to the Dell, where you can see the Water of Leith and the weir, but there are always people there, and we want to be alone, don't we?'

He took her arm, guiding her away from the steep main street of the village towards a lane that wound away into open country, explaining that she would get her chance to see a cow or two in the fields, and horses, too: they would be passing a little farm very soon.

‘A farm?' she cried, charmed. ‘Oh, Stephen!'

It was all he could do to drag her away from the farm premises when they came to them, for she was exclaiming over the chickens, the milk churns, the tackle lying everywhere, the dogs barking as she looked through the gates, and the farmer's wife at the washing line.

‘No, no, Elinor, we can't stop,' he cried desperately. ‘We need time alone. You want it, too, don't you? We want to be together.'

‘Oh, yes, I want to be with you,' she told him. ‘It's just – well, you don't see many farms in Edinburgh, eh?'

‘But there are the cows you wanted to see, in that field there. I daresay there'll be horses further on.' He pressed her arm against his side. ‘I hope you'll spare me a look, too, from your beautiful eyes.'

She laughed delightedly, until he took her hand and led her into a little copse of trees at the side of the lane, where she became serious, following his mood, which was not just serious, but intense. They didn't speak, just went into each other's arms and stood for a moment. Then began to kiss.

It was wonderfully sweet, that kissing. Elinor had been expecting it, knew that she wanted it, and responded wholeheartedly. But then it began to dawn on her that Stephen was holding back, that his kisses and caresses could have been much more passionate, much stronger, except that he seemed afraid.

Afraid? He was afraid of her? Or of himself? Her great eyes on his face were filled with more wonder.

‘I won't break,' she whispered. ‘Don't worry about me.'

‘How quick you are!' He shook his head, running his hand over his brow. ‘You don't need to be told anything.'

‘I want you to kiss me,' she said softly. ‘It's why we're here. Why we wanted to be alone.'

‘Yes, but I think we should go back now.' He straightened up, putting on his hat which he had thrown aside. ‘We'll go and have tea, shall we?'

‘You don't want to kiss me any more?'

‘Elinor, I want it too much. Look, let's go. We have to think of the time, you know.'

She had to hurry to keep up with him as he strode back down the lane, but by the time they'd passed the farm again, he'd slowed down and seemed calmer. She took his arm.

‘I know what kissing can lead to,' she told him. ‘Girls like me, where we live, we learn. But it doesn't have to happen, eh? What I'm saying is, there's no need to worry.'

‘I do worry, that's the point. Your parents don't know you're with me, do they? What would they say if they knew?'

‘Why, they'd understand,' she said uneasily, wondering if they would. Stephen was not the sort of young man they'd have expected her to get to know, maybe not the sort they'd trust, because of his position as a professional man. Where'd be her hope for a future with him? they'd be asking, and she wouldn't be able to tell them. She wasn't, in any case, thinking about the future.

‘Let's leave worrying about them now,' she said quickly. ‘Let's just keep on as we are.'

‘Meeting in secret?'

‘Well  . . . have you said anything about me to your mother?'

‘Not yet. Only because you seem so anxious for other people not to know about us.'

‘I thought you were anxious, too,' she said evenly.

He flushed and bit his lip.

‘You're remembering what I said, I suppose.'

‘About tutors and students? Yes, well, you did say it was frowned on, forming friendships.'

‘I know, I know, I did say that. Look, everything will be fine when the course is over at the end of March. Then we won't be tutor and student.' He was relaxing, managing a smile. ‘Elinor, we can be just what we want to be.'

‘So, for now, like I said, we keep on as we are?'

‘For now.' He looked along the narrow village street. ‘See, the café's just here. Shall we have tea, then?'

‘Oh, yes, please!'

‘Are you hungry? I am. Must be this wonderful country air.'

Twenty-One

They were given the last free table in the tea room for, it being Saturday, the café was busy, but it was a table they might have chosen anyway, being in a corner and not too close to any other.

‘Now you can tell me more about yourself,' Stephen was beginning with some satisfaction, when a tall young waitress appeared with the menu.

‘Scones, teabread, assorted fancies, pound cake,' she reeled off, ‘and mince pies.'

‘Mince pies?' Elinor repeated. ‘It's no' Christmas yet.'

‘We always serve mince pies in December,' the waitress said firmly. ‘Folk like 'em.'

‘May we just have tea and buttered scones?' Stephen asked. ‘And cakes afterwards? That all right, Elinor?'

‘Oh, yes, grand,' she answered, but as soon as the waitress had gone, she turned to Stephen and groaned.

‘Mince pies! I've just remembered, I promised to make some for our do.'

‘What “do”?'

‘Why, we break up next week, and we all said we'd bring something for our party. You said it was what all the classes did.'

‘Oh, God!' He put his hand through his fair hair. ‘I did say that, I remember, but it had gone right out of my mind that we'd be breaking for Christmas next week.' He gave an apologetic laugh. ‘But you see what you've done to me, Elinor. There's nothing in my head except you.'

‘No, no, when you're taking our class, all that's in your head is your work. Teaching us what we should know.'

‘I'm glad you think so, or I'd be feeling guilty.'

‘No more guilt.'

As the waitress brought their tea and scones and she began to busy herself with the tea things, Elinor shook her head at him, smiling, and he smiled back.

‘Come on, now, talk,' he whispered. ‘As I keep saying, I want to know all about you.'

‘And I keep saying, there's nothing much to say.'

She passed him a scone, took one herself.

‘You know my dad mends shoes for a living, and we live in Friar's Wynd. Well, my grandfather was a cobbler, too, and Dad learned his trade from him, but he never had his own shop and neither has Dad. Grandad's dead now. So are all the grandparents. We've very few relatives at all.'

‘But you've a brother, you once said?'

‘Cormack – we always call him Corrie. He's two years younger than me, works at the tyre factory but wants to be a draughtsman. Thinks he might go to night school.'

‘I can give you all the information,' Stephen said eagerly. ‘He sounds just the sort of chap we want to help.'

He covered her hand on the table.

‘You sound a very happy family, Elinor.'

She bent her head over her plate. ‘Things are better than they were,' she said in a low voice.

‘How d'you mean?'

‘I don't want to say too much, but Dad – well, he's no' the easiest of men. Still isn't, though Ma says he's mellowed a bit. We're getting on better now.'

Stephen's hand on hers tightened, his eyes sharpening.

‘Elinor, he – doesn't  . . .?'

‘No, no.' She met his gaze. ‘Ma said we were lucky, he's never been one for the belt. Just  . . . well  . . . likes his own way. Got a bit of a temper. Like some more tea?'

‘Please.' He sat back, sighing. ‘Things can be difficult, I know, for some families.'

‘Cakes?' asked the waitress, placing a loaded cake stand on the table. ‘I can recommend the macaroons.'

‘Your turn,' Elinor said quietly, when the girl had gone. ‘Let me hear about you.'

‘Supposing I say, like you, there's not much to tell?'

‘You could tell me about your father, anyway. I'm sorry he died.'

‘Yes, it was a tragedy for us. He worked in a bank, thought he might rise to manager.' Stephen passed the cake stand to Elinor. ‘Then he caught a chill, it turned to pneumonia, and he never survived the crisis.'

‘The crisis?' She shivered. ‘I know about that. I've heard of folk in the tenements going through it.'

‘Comes after about six days. Everything depends on how the temperature works. If it goes down, you recover.' Stephen shrugged. ‘If it keeps going up, you don't. Father didn't.'

‘How old were you?' she asked gently.

‘Twelve. My sister, Jeannie, was nine. It was hardest for Mother, of course, because she'd to carry on, bringing us up on very little money. She sold the house, moved to a flat, did a wonderful job, managing. An uncle paid for our schooling, I went to university, learned something about business in a city broker's firm, but then when the WEA started up, I got interested. Thought it was just what was needed to help poor folk learn what they'd missed.'

‘Like me!' Elinor cried. ‘Oh, you've got the right ideas, Stephen!'

‘The rest you know. There's really no more to tell. Jeannie married and went to live in Canada; I'm still in Mother's flat, looking round for my own house, working for the WEA.' He leaned forward. ‘And very happy to be here with you, Elinor.'

‘No' for much longer,' she told him, suddenly rising. ‘I can see a clock over there and it's time for me to go. I mustn't be late.'

‘I'll get the bill, but don't worry. You'll be back in time, I promise you. Just wish you hadn't always to be watching the clock.'

‘Everybody watches the clock, Stephen, if they go to work.'

‘Not the way you have to watch it, though.' He helped her on with her coat, watched her pull on her gloves, adjust her hat. ‘Forever worrying about being late.'

‘Nothing I can do about it, is there? If I want to keep my job?'

‘Aren't you looking for something better? You're wasted, doing what you do.'

‘You really think I could get something different?' Her eyes glinted. ‘Because of your course?'

‘Because you're you,' he said quietly. ‘You have a good brain, Elinor, only you've never had the chance to use it. Like a lot of people, you're held back by circumstances.'

‘Exactly what I say, Stephen,' she told him eagerly. ‘Folk need chances, they need education. That's what we should work for.'

‘I think you're already on your way. Here's the girl – I'll pay the bill.'

In the train moving fast towards Waverley, Elinor, feeling so re-assured by what Stephen had said to her, had quite forgotten to think about the time until he told her again that she need have no worries.

‘It's as I said, we've plenty of time, you'll be back well before six.'

‘It's been a lovely day, Stephen, I'll never forget it.'

‘Why, it's going to be the first of many, isn't it?' His smile was uneasy. ‘We're not saying goodbye, you know. We'll meet for our “do”, won't we?'

‘But then there'll be no more classes till January, and on days off, I'll have to see the family. Ma's looking forward to it.'

He lowered his eyes and for some moments was silent, as the train continued on its way. ‘How are we going to get through?' he asked at last.

‘I don't know. Things are difficult.'

‘What about Christmas, then? Surely, we'll meet over Christmas? Or do you have to spend every minute with your family?'