Queen of the Mersey (33 page)

‘I can’t imagine us carrying passengers but, just in case we do, there’s another bedroom at the stern,’ Theo said.

‘What happens if there’s a storm?’ She giggled. ‘Will the bed slide across the floor when we’re asleep?’ Though she couldn’t imagine sleeping in a storm.

‘Everything’s screwed down, even the chairs. Nothing can move.’

‘It’s very impressive,’ she marvelled. She couldn’t find the words to describe how impressive it was.

‘The crew’s quarters and the galley are at the front,’ Theo said. ‘Trefor can show us them later. Shall we go upstairs and have a drink?’

‘Yes, please. I’d love some orange juice.’

In the lounge, she sat in one of the squashy armchairs. It was like sitting on air. Theo handed her the drink and helped himself to a brandy. He leaned on the back of her chair and caressed her face. She bent her head, so that her cheek rested perfectly in his hand.

‘I love you, Queenie,’ he murmured, kissing her hair.

‘And I love you, Theo.’ She sighed, utterly content. ‘Will we be sailing anywhere in my boat?’ she asked lazily.

‘But of course, my darling. Trefor is getting a crew together and later this year, when things aren’t so busy at Freddy’s, we shall sail to Kythira, the island where my father was born. His family were very poor, and he returned, many years later, to build a beautiful villa overlooking the Mediterranean.’

‘Is that where we’ll stay?’ He’d told her about the villa in Kythira before.

‘Yes.’ He gave her hair one final kiss, before sinking into the chair beside her. ‘When we’ve finished our drinks, we’d better let Trefor show us around.

He’s prouder of this boat than I am.’

‘But not as proud as me.’

It must be the heat that was making her feel so tired. She followed Theo when he went to look for Trefor, who took them to the engine room, which looked incredibly complicated, the second bedroom, not quite so grand as the first, the neat galley, his own tiny, scrupulously tidy cabin, the other cabins for the crew, the fo’c’sle where the anchor was kept, the mess deck. When they’d seen everything there was to see, and Theo and Trefor had become engrossed in a map of the Mediterranean, she excused herself. ‘I think I’ll lie down for half an hour.’ Trefor glanced at her inscrutably. She wondered if he disapproved of women who lived with married men.

She collapsed on the lacy, four-poster bed, which smelt of lavender. She hadn’t noticed before that the boat was moving, ever so slightly. The tide must be coming in or going out. The gentle motion was very soothing. She lay with her arms outstretched, as if she were floating, and thought about her wonderful present, and how much she would like to be Theo’s wife, not his mistress.

Irene positively refused to give him a divorce. When Theo had told her this, Queenie had said she didn’t blame her. ‘Laura wouldn’t divorce Roddy. She wasn’t prepared to give him up just because he loved someone else.’

‘Yes, but Laura still loved Roddy,’ he said emotionally. ‘Irene hates me. We only married for our fathers’ sakes.’ Their fathers were old, childhood friends who’d achieved riches beyond their wildest dreams, he explained. ‘Irene and I were only twenty, young enough to go along with their wishes. Older, and I, for one, would have refused.’ The marriage had been a failure from the start. ‘She acted as if I was the one who’d forced her into it and claimed to have been in love with someone else. I offered her a divorce then, but she turned on me like a wild animal.’ He sighed. ‘She is the most unreasonable of women. I am at a loss to understand her. Nothing I say is right. Everything I say is wrong.’

‘Poor Theo.’ She remembered rubbing her face against his. ‘Never mind.’

It had been inevitable that they would come together one day. She hadn’t been working on Ladies’ First Floor Fashions long, when one of the women, Breda O’Neill, had remarked it was odd, but normally they didn’t see Mr Theo for months on end, yet he’d visited the department three times that week. ‘I can’t think why.’

‘Perhaps he’s got a crush on you,’ laughed Judy Channon, a member of the War Widows’ Club, with whom Queenie ate lunch in the staff restaurant.

‘I only wish.’ Breda rolled her eyes. ‘Actually, Queenie, it was you he spoke to each time. What did he want?’

‘He wants me to go to London with Miss Hurst on Friday. There’s this new label, Fleur. He’d like her to see their winter designs before anyone else, so Freddy’s can put in an advance order. He’s been back a few times to tell me about train times and where to meet Miss Hurst, that’s all.’ Although this was the exact truth, even to Queenie’s ears it sounded as if she’d made it up.

‘Fleur? I’ve never heard of them.’

‘Miss Hurst ordered some lovely frocks for autumn,’ she explained. ‘Mr Theo was very impressed. He hopes, if he buys enough from them, they’ll promise not to sell to the other Liverpool stores.’

‘But why send you with Miss Hurst?’ Breda demanded hotly. ‘You’ve hardly been here any time. Me, I’d go to London with Miss Hurst like a shot. Anyroad, why does she need a nursemaid?’

Judy laughed. ‘Because she drinks like a fish, that’s why. By afternoon, she’s not totally compos mentis. And Queenie may only have been at Freddy’s a short while, Breda, but she’s had far more retail experience than you. She was at Herriot’s for five years.’

‘Still …’ Breda looked sulky.

Queenie wasn’t all that surprised when Mr Theo had turned up at their hotel in London on Friday night. He’d had business with the representative of an Argentinian furniture manufacturer who was only in London for a few days. It was a pity he’d had to come the day before, otherwise they could have travelled down together on the train. ‘Never mind, we can keep each other company going back tomorrow. And, of course, since I’m here, I’d like to take you both to dinner.’

‘How nice of you, Mr Theo,’ Miss Hurst said in a distinctly wobbly voice.

They had only just finished the first course, when she complained of not feeling well and fell asleep in front of their eyes. Mr Theo and a waiter helped her to her room.

They’d met Wilfred Carter of Fleur in the foyer of a modest hotel in Victoria.

He obviously didn’t believe in plying buyers with drink and had bought them just a coffee each. It had been left to Miss Hurst to order whisky after whisky for herself. By the end of the meeting, she was glassy-eyed.

Mr Theo returned, looking grave. ‘She’s past retirement age. I think it’s time I found her a comfortable job in the office where she can drink as much as she likes, but it won’t matter. How did you get on with Wilfred Carter?’

‘He had some wonderful designs,’ Queenie enthused, feeling quite at ease in his company. ‘He only had one sample, the rest were sketches, because he’s dead busy with the autumn lines.’ She told him that Rosa, his sister, had been working in Paris as a model for Christian Dior. She was sworn to secrecy not to reveal the designs, but naturally she told Wilfred about a completely new look that no one else would know about until Paris Fashion Week in July. ‘Long, full skirts, almost ankle-length, tight waists, very soft and feminine. Wilfred likes to be original but, as he said, it’s silly to buck what will almost certainly be a trend, so he’s adding his own individual touches. He’s ordered bales of wonderful cloth from India; flowered velvet and corduroy. He showed us swatches.

I’ve never seen material like it before.’ Her eyes shone, remembering. ‘The model he brought was navy-blue corduroy patterned with rosebuds. It had a lace collar and cuffs and a petticoat underneath with the lace showing. It was incredibly pretty.’

‘And did Miss Hurst order many of these incredibly pretty garments?’ Mr Theo asked with a smile.

‘Well, no.’ Queenie felt uncomfortable, as if she were telling tales. ‘She thought they were a bit too experimental, too different.’

Mr Theo frowned. ‘Didn’t Wilfred Carter inform her that the designs came straight from Dior?’

Wilfred Carter had, but by then Miss Hurst had been too hungover to take it in.

‘I can’t remember,’ she said.

‘I see.’ His tone of voice told her he could see very well. ‘I think it might be a good idea if we met Mr Carter tomorrow and had another look at his designs. Do you have his card?’

‘Yes, he works from his home in Camden. We met him in a hotel.’

‘Tomorrow, we shall meet him in this hotel,’ Mr Theo said firmly. ‘It seems to me that Mr Carter is in need of a backer, someone to pay for factory premises, more staff, an office and showroom in the West End. Tomorrow, I shall ask if he’d like a sleeping partner.’

After they’d finished the meal, they went into the bar where he ordered champagne. After a single glass, Queenie felt quite tipsy and, with a feeling of horror, wondered if that had been his intention, that he was about to make a pass, as Gordon Mackie had done in Herriot’s. She refused a second glass, saying she was tired and would like to go to bed.

‘I’ll take you to your room,’ Mr Theo said.

Her heart was in her mouth as they went up in the lift, but outside her door, Mr Theo merely shook her hand, said how much he’d enjoyed the evening, and wished her goodnight.

‘Goodnight,’ she murmured.

She was unlocking the door and he was walking back towards the lift, when suddenly he turned.

‘Miss Tate?’

‘Yes, Mr Theo?’

‘Did you mind my turning up and taking you to dinner? If the truth be known, I very much enjoy your company, but don’t want to become a pest. Please say if you’d prefer it didn’t happen again.’

Queenie stared at him along the corridor. His dark eyes burned into hers and his face bore an expression of naked pleading. For a moment, she felt so dizzy that she had to hold on to the door knob for support. The words had held a meaning that was all too obvious. In a roundabout, very tactful way, he was asking if she was willing to have an affair, become his lover. Much depended on her answer, which could possibly change the course of her entire life. Was this what she wanted?

He took a step in her direction, then stopped. ‘Forgive me, Miss Tate. That was an impertinent question for someone so old to ask of someone so young. Forget I spoke.’ He turned again towards the lift.

‘Mr Theo?’

‘Yes, Miss Tate?’

‘I would very much like to have dinner with you again.’

‘Then I shall arrange it very soon.’ He bowed. ‘Goodnight, Miss Tate.’

Her thoughts were disturbed by the sound of voices outside the cabin. A few minutes later, the door opened and Theo came in. ‘Trefor’s gone to buy sandwiches from the pub. Have you had a nice rest?’

‘Mm. It was lovely. The bed’s so comfortable. I love my boat. I wish I could take it home with me.’

He lay beside her on the bed and began to stroke her breasts. Her body became alive with desire in an instant. Without a word, she sat up and untied the halter of her white frock, slipped it off, removed her strapless bra and pants, and turned to him, completely naked. Theo uttered something that sounded almost like a sob and removed his own clothes. He kissed her with long, slow kisses, made love to her with long, slow movements, until she wanted to scream because it was so deeply thrilling, so utterly wonderful. They came together in a rush of tenderness and passion, and he said gruffly, ‘It gets better and better.’

Queenie was too exhausted to speak. They lay in silence for a long while. ‘Are you sure,’ Laura had said, years and years ago, ‘that you’re really in love?

That you’re not influenced by the fact he’s a very rich, very good-looking man who loves you?’

‘That’s rubbish.’ Later though, Queenie had wondered if perhaps Laura was right.

It was all part of Theo’s attraction. It was who he was . She was flattered beyond belief that, out of all the women in the world, she was the one he’d fallen in love with, whereas Jimmy’s love felt more like a burden, a responsibility she felt obliged to shoulder.

Jimmy! She could still cringe, all this time later, at the memory of his shattered face when she’d said she wasn’t going to marry him. She had given him back his ring, and he’d looked at it sadly, unbelievingly, then put it in the pocket of his shabby jacket. Of course, she should have told him sooner, but she’d felt as if she was leading two entirely different lives – one with Jimmy, the other with Theo – and the two lives would never coincide. Except they had, when Theo had asked her to live with him in the apartment at the top of Freddy’s, be his partner for all time. He would have preferred her to be his wife, but that wasn’t possible.

A year later, Vera had told her that Jimmy had taken Tess and Pete to live in Australia. It made her feel better about things, but not much.

‘I love you,’ she said to Theo now. ‘Really love you. I don’t think I could live without you.’

‘One day, my darling,’ he said gently, his face sad, ‘you will have to. I am twenty-four years older than you and when I die, you will still be a relatively young woman.’

She buried her head in his shoulder and said in a muffled voice, ‘Please don’t die. I won’t be able to bear it.’

There were footsteps on the deck. Theo got off the bed and began to get dressed.

‘That’s Trefor back with the food – why didn’t we think to bring some? Come along, my darling, it’s time we made our toast to Queen of the Mersey.’

It was ten o’clock by the time they got back to Freddy’s and Theo’s vast apartment on the sixth floor, with its enormous furniture that had belonged to his father. It was from Peru, and covered with swirls and whirls, carved angels, carved animals, carved flowers, mother-of-pearl knobs and handles. There were secret cupboards, secret drawers, false bottoms, pretend keyholes.

Theo went to bed immediately. The drive and the fresh air had tired him, but Queenie felt wide awake. After a restless hour, she did what she often did on such occasions, got out of bed and went downstairs to the fifth floor, where there was usually a whiff of either food from the restaurant or the creams and lotions used in the hairdresser’s. Tonight, though, the only odour was the highly perfumed disinfectant that the cleaners used, which would be gone by morning.

She entered the restaurant. Soon it would be the longest day and it was still faintly light outside. A soft tinkle came from the chandeliers, glittering dully in the dusk. There must be a draught somewhere. In another twelve hours, the room would be full of customers having their morning coffee or tea – hard to imagine as she stared at the empty tables and chairs, which, as far as she knew, might be occupied by the spirits of customers long departed.