Sinners and Shadows (13 page)

‘I won't need the carriage again until my train gets into Tonypandy station at ten-thirty tonight, Julia, so Harris can wait and bring you home after your suffrage meeting. I will be dining at my club in Cardiff, Mabel.'

‘You're never home these days.'

‘It is business,' Edward snapped. ‘Good morning, Mabel.'

Mabel went to the dining-room window after Edward and Julia left. She watched her husband hand his daughter into the coach.

‘May I clear the table now, ma'am?' Mindful of Mrs Williams's rule that no maid was to remain alone in the same room as the mistress, Bronwen hovered in the hall.

‘Yes, Bronwen,' Mabel snapped. She walked to the door. ‘Has Mrs Williams returned from the fishmonger's?'

‘Yes, ma'am.'

‘Tell her that I want to see her in the library immediately. The ladies will be arriving in two hours. You have prepared the drawing room?'

‘Yes, ma'am. Mrs Williams ordered it done first thing.'

Mabel crossed the hall and entered the drawing room. Everything was exactly as she'd envisaged it during the planning stage. The Victorian brown varnished paper, oak dado and flowered frieze had been ripped out and replaced by tasteful wallpaper; a most becoming small blue flower pattern on a cream background. She had banished the dark oak furniture her predecessor had chosen, exchanging it for up-to-the-minute pieces that she had picked out from the catalogue of Liberty's in London. Two elegant beechwood sofas and three chairs, all upholstered in cream velvet, were grouped around the fireplace. The antique bronzes and Staffordshire ornaments Edward's father had bequeathed him had been packed away. In their stead stood a collection of brass candlesticks she had inherited from her maternal grandmother and modern silverware that she had bought for an exorbitant price from the catalogue of a silversmith in Bond Street.

The drapes and tablecloth were cream damask; the oil painting that hung above the fireplace an original her father had given her and Edward as a wedding present. Painted by a Carmarthenshire artist who had once exhibited at the Royal Academy and entitled
Noontide Peace,
it depicted four horses and a dog sleeping in a sun-drenched field.

The room had pleased her – until she had compared it to Mrs Hadley's recently refurbished drawing room. Now, the furniture looked dated. It was, after all, several months old, and Mrs Hadley had opted for a patterned dark blue chintz. So much more serviceable than plain cream, which showed every mark, including the one Gerald had made when he had dropped a lobster mayonnaise sandwich on to the sofa at Easter tea-time. Probably deliberately just to annoy her.

She loathed boys and, although she would never have admitted it, was a little afraid of them, regarding them as clumsy, sniggering and disrespectful louts. She wished Edward would find somewhere other than Llan House for his son to live during the school holidays. Mrs Hadley sent her sons to France every summer. The entire roomful of ladies had laughed when she had told them about it.

‘They can learn the language and do whatever it is boys want to do without disrupting
my
household.'

If only she were on better terms with Edward so she could suggest it to him.

Not wanting to think about how far her relations with her husband had deteriorated, she returned to her critical study of the room. The candlesticks also looked wrong. Brass was not only old-fashioned, it belonged in a farmhouse. But then her grandmother had been a farmer's wife. And the silverware she had lavished so much time choosing and so much of Edward's money in buying was too shiny, too contemporary and too ostentatious. She imagined Mrs Hadley whispering in Mrs Hodges's ear.

‘You can see she comes from farming stock. So
nouveau riche.'

She ran her finger over the mahogany mantelpiece, hoping to find fault so she could reproach Mrs Williams. But she was disappointed. Her finger left a smudge on the polish and the more she rubbed it, the worse it became.

The room would have looked better if Edward had allowed her to change the fireplace. She had even picked the one she wanted. A design featuring cherubs in light cream marble, just like the one in the garden room at the manor house nearest to her father's vicarage. But Edward had not only baulked at the price, he had disliked the style, referring to it as ‘overblown and tasteless'.

She sank her head in her hands. All her life she had wanted a husband and a home of her own. But she had never expected to pay the price of loneliness to achieve her goal. Or be so despised by the man she married, once she'd realized it.

Chapter Seven

‘Joey, I didn't expect you this early.' Rhian breezed into the kitchen in her knitted suit, carrying her coat and hat. Her smile was infectious, her pleasure at the sight of him so obvious, Joey weakened in relief. He had considered asking Mrs Hopkins not to mention Tonia's visit to anyone, but he suspected that she would take his request as an open invitation to spread gossip. And the one thing he was certain of was that if his neighbour had said anything to anyone, the news would have reached Mrs Williams by now.

‘I want to make the most of our time together. Sali's commandeered an hour, remember?' He helped her on with her coat.

‘I remember.' She kissed his cheek and Mair giggled self-consciously.

‘Quiet, girl!' Mrs Williams scolded.

Rhian pinned on her hat and checked her reflection in the mirror above the sink. ‘Bye, everyone.'

‘In before ten o'clock, mind, Rhian.' Mrs Williams continued to put the finishing touches to a tray of vases she had filled with white tulips, white being Mrs Larch's preferred colour of the moment. ‘Joey, as you are now officially engaged to Rhian, you can walk her to the back door and give her a goodnight kiss. But I'll be watching from the pantry window and if you misbehave in any way or keep her out until one minute past ten –'

‘You'll get out your carpet-beater,' he grinned.

‘You've got it in one.'

*……*......*

Julia ordered her father's coachman, Harris, to set her down in the yard of Pontypridd railway station and asked him to pick her up outside Miss Bedford's house in Tyfica Road at seven o'clock that evening. She waited until he drove off, before walking briskly down Taff Street. She had spent the last week trying to devise excuses that would allow her to visit Pontypridd – alone – so she could call into Gwilym James and see Geraint Watkin Jones. When her stepmother had set the date for her all-consuming, all-important coffee morning, she had seized the opportunity it offered. But now the moment was actually upon her, she didn't feel anywhere near as brave or determined as she had done in the privacy of her bedroom.

She entered Market Square, faced Gwilym James, squared her shoulders, forced herself to put one foot in front of the other and marched towards the front door as if she were about to go into battle.

‘Miss Larch.'

She nodded to the doorman and kept walking. Everything depended on her seeing Geraint Watkin Jones, And if she didn't? If today should prove to be his day off? What then? It might be months before her father's wife organized another coffee morning, especially if it didn't turn out to be the success she hoped for.

‘Miss Larch.' Geraint Watkin Jones joined her as she hesitated in the aisle that separated hosiery from lingerie.

‘Mr Watkin Jones, can you help me?' she blurted breathlessly. ‘I am looking for a birthday present for my father.' Her father's birthday wasn't until September but Geraint Watkin Jones wasn't to know that.

‘I am always delighted to help you in any way I can, Miss Larch,' he replied smoothly. ‘Have you any particular gift in mind?'

‘None.' She looked up into his deep-brown eyes and felt the colour rush to her cheeks. She was big-boned, square and clumsy and had a face like a horse. Would a man as handsome and cultured as Geraint Watkin Jones really consider marrying her, even for the fifty thousand pounds her grandfather had left her?

‘Perhaps I might suggest a few things. Clothing, or perhaps jewellery? A gift of cuff links or a tiepin is always considered acceptable.'

‘Do you have any of the new wristwatches?' Ever since she could remember, her father had worn the pocket gold watch her mother had given him as a wedding present. But wristwatches were becoming more common. Her brother had mentioned that the boys at his school found them more convenient. She wasn't sure her father would appreciate one, but the fashion in wristwatches was not dependent on the season, so she wouldn't have to explain why she was giving him a lightweight summer shirt in September when the warm weather was ending.

‘We have some very fine wristwatches, Miss Larch. If you will come this way, I trust we will be able to accommodate you.' Geraint stood back to allow Julia to precede him to the jewellery counters. He clicked his fingers at the assistant. The young man folded the cloth he'd been using to polish a chain and stood to attention in front of them. ‘Would you prefer to see gold or silver wristwatches, Miss Larch?' In one sentence Geraint downgraded the assistant to an errand boy.

‘Gold.' She gripped the counter to steady herself. So far her plan was going better than she'd fantasized in her wildest daydreams. She was basking in the warmth of Geraint's body as he stood next to her, breathing in the heady aroma of his cologne, richer and spicier than her father's. The breath caught in her throat as her imagination ran riot and she pictured herself spending every day of the rest of her life with him.

He took the tray the boy handed him and she noticed that his hands were square and capable, with manicured fingernails. He flicked open half a dozen boxes in turn. ‘All gold and, as you see,' he handed her a watch, ‘all hallmarked eighteen carat. We do, of course, have nine carat, which some gentlemen prefer as it doesn't mark or show signs of wear so easily. We also have watches with leather straps, which are more suited to an active gentleman.'

Wishing the assistant to the other end of the store, Julia tried to concentrate on the watches but they all looked the same to her. ‘I'd prefer eighteen carat.' She recalled that her father's pocket watch was eighteen carat and she didn't want to buy him anything less.

‘These are Swiss made.' He lined up the boxes in front of her. ‘As you are aware, Miss Larch, Swiss movements are prized for their accuracy and quality.'

‘How much is this?' Julia held out the one he had handed her.

‘At twenty guineas, that is the most expensive we stock. The price reflects the quality of the gold in the case and strap. And that particular model has an eighteen jewel movement.'

‘I'll take it.' She had chosen the watch solely because it was the first one Geraint had handed her.

‘An excellent choice, Miss Larch.' Geraint tried to keep his voice on an even and subservient keel as befitting his position. But it wasn't easy. The watch Julia Larch had taken barely five minutes to purchase would cost her more than he earned in six weeks. ‘It will be waiting for you at the cashier's desk when you leave. Do you have any other purchases to make?'

Julia opened her handbag when the assistant moved to the other end of the counter to invoice and wrap the watch. ‘No, Mr Watkin Jones, I do not. But,' she rummaged past her purse, hairbrush, smelling salts, handkerchief, fountain pen and cologne, too terrified to look up at him in case he rejected her, ‘Miss Bedford has asked me to sell tickets for a Women's Suffrage Society meeting to be held on Friday in the YMCA. There will be several eminent speakers and refreshments will be served afterwards.'

‘What time is the meeting being held, Miss Larch?'

Her spirits soared. He wouldn't have asked the time if he didn't want to attend, and surely he realized that she had only asked him to buy a ticket because she would be there. ‘Seven o'clock, Mr Watkin Jones.'

‘Then I am afraid that I will not be able to attend. The store is open until ten o'clock on Thursday, Friday and Saturday evenings.'

Julia stuffed the tickets back into her bag and snapped it shut. ‘Of course, how stupid of me.'

‘I am embarrassed to confess, Miss Larch, that I know virtually nothing of the Women's Suffrage Society.' Geraint sounded anything but. ‘I do, however, have Mondays off. Perhaps you would do me the honour of accompanying me to Cardiff, where I can buy you lunch so you can enlighten me as to the aims of the organization. And afterwards, if you have time, perhaps we could visit a motion picture theatre?'

‘I would like that very much indeed, Mr Watkin Jones. Thank you.' Overwhelmed, she found it difficult to restrain her relief – and delight.

‘Shall I meet you at twelve o'clock on Cardiff station?' Geraint knew that if he arranged to meet her on Pontypridd station, they would be seen and tongues would wag. His experience with Elizabeth Hadley had taught him that if he were going to succeed in his aim of marrying money, his courting would have to be circumspect and out of the sight of his target's parents.

‘I will be there, Mr Watkin Jones.'

‘Until then, Miss Larch.' He gave a slight bow, but was careful not to touch her or shake her hand lest anyone notice their familiarity.

‘Until then, Mr Watkin Jones.'

He remained at the jewellery counter, watching as she walked to the cashier's desk. Her figure was more suited to a washerwoman or barmaid than a lady of fashion. Her clothes were drab, her complexion even dingier. She was worse than plain, she was ugly, and he wondered why he hadn't thought of Julia Larch before he had approached Elizabeth Hadley.

An unattractive girl was bound to be more appreciative of a man's attentions than a pretty one because the experience would be entirely new to her. Julia was of age, her own mistress, and rumoured to be worth a fortune. He had also seen at first hand the antagonism between her and her stepmother. As a consequence, she would probably be anxious to leave home. All he had to do was discover her exact worth and if it was sufficient for him to live the life of a gentleman, woo and marry her. Then he would be able to leave Gwilym James – for good.

‘Mrs Evans told me to tell you that she is waiting in the fitting room, Mr Evans. And on no account are you to accompany your fiancée there.'

‘I know when I'm not wanted,' Joey answered the doorman in a resigned voice. ‘I'll meet you back here in one hour,' he said to Rhian. ‘If you are going to be any longer, send someone down to tell me that you've been delayed.'

‘I will.' Rhian walked up the stairs to the second-floor fitting rooms.

‘Is Mr Horton in?' Joey didn't particularly want to see the manager but he felt that as he was in the store he ought to pay his respects.

‘Mr Horton is away attending a family funeral, Mr Evans. But Mr Watkin Jones is in the manager's office. Shall I tell him that you want to see him, sir?'

‘There's no need for you to trouble yourself, Sam.' Joey forced a smile. ‘I'll announce myself.'

*……*……*

Julia crossed Market Square, entered the arcade and walked into the teashop. Oblivious to the women sitting around her, she ordered a plate of cream cakes and a pot of tea. She had made progress. Only a beginning, but an auspicious one. She felt as though she had taken her first step on the path that would lead her to the rest of her life, and hopefully a better and happier one than the one she was living at present.

Joey knocked once on Mr Horton's office door before walking in. Geraint was sitting behind the manager's desk, staring into space.

‘So
sorry to disturb you when you are hard at work.' Joey closed the door behind him.

Geraint's face darkened. ‘It is customary to wait outside a door until permission is given to enter.'

‘I am a manager; you are an assistant manager.' Without waiting to be invited, Joey sat in the visitor's chair.

‘You are not the manager of this store.'

‘I hold a senior position to yours in the company.' Joey pulled a silver case from the inside pocket of his coat. He opened it and removed a cigarette without offering it to Geraint.

‘A monkey can wear a crown and still remain a monkey,' Geraint said childishly.

Joey flicked the silver lighter Lloyd and Sali had given him for Christmas. ‘Tonia told me that you two are finished. Did you walk away from her because of what I told you about Connie's store?'

‘What happened was between Antonia and me, and is none of your business.' Geraint moved his chair back and it hit the wall.

‘Careful, you're chipping the plaster, and that won't please Mr Horton. You know how particular he is about his office.'

‘He allows me to use it in his absence.'

‘Really?' Joey raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘And for your information, what happened isn't just between you and Tonia. She is eighteen, three years under age, and six years younger than you. Tell me, if you weren't after Connie's store, why did you set out to seduce her?' Joey's tone was conversational, the expression in his eyes, menacing.

‘I didn't,' Geraint blustered, ‘I –'

‘Before you say another word, I saw exactly what you were doing to my cousin.'

Intimidated by the look in Joey's eyes, Geraint left his chair and backed towards the door, but Joey was quicker than him. He leapt up and hit Geraint soundly on the jaw.

Caught off guard, Geraint flew back and hit his head against the wall. He slid down, slumping in a crumpled and bleeding heap at Joey's feet.

‘It's beautiful, Sali, but a gown like this costs the earth. I couldn't possibly afford it.' Rhian gazed at herself in the cheval mirror. She was finding it difficult to believe that the reflection was her and not an illustration of a princess from one of Bella's fairy tale books.

The store's senior dressmaker, Miss Collins, took a pin from one of her juniors and tucked in a fold of white satin at the back of the gown. She concealed it beneath the train that flowed loose from the shoulder seams and swept for a full yard over the ground behind the hem. ‘This particular model is two sizes too large for you, madam. But I doubt you'll find another wedding gown that will suit you half as well.'

‘It is perfect, Rhian,' Sali concurred.

‘It will take twelve weeks to make one to madam's exact measurements. It's the Austrian crystals, Mrs Evans,' Miss Collins apologized to Sali. ‘They are a special order and we have to send to Vienna for them.'