The River Flows On (48 page)

‘They’re beautiful. They’re from the heart. Your heart.’

They were derivative. She could see what he meant. But he had underrated himself. There was an originality in the poems and a way of using words that was all his own. She told him so, and he blushed and kissed her and told her he’d write better ones for her one day.

‘But not until after we put the 534 onto the river,’ he added with a rueful grin.

She was launched less than six months after work had resumed. The whole town went Cunarder-daft for that, with special concerts and events of all sorts to celebrate the launch, including Robbie’s play. The name of the liner had been a big secret up till the moment the Queen herself stepped forward on the platform. Forgetting that the ceremony was being broadcast to the nation on the wireless, she whispered anxiously to her husband the King, ‘Which buttons do I press?’

Then she gave the 534 her own name. The Cunarder was to be called the
Queen Mary
.

Typically, it rained cats and dogs on the day of the launch. Everyone got soaked to the skin, but nobody minded. It was a great day all the same, even if Grace Baxter was disappointed.

‘Why’s the ship got no funnels?’ she wailed. ‘And why is she such a horrible colour?’ The hull was painted a dull grey.

Her Uncle Davie, a Brown’s apprentice now himself, crouched down to her and gave her the benefit of his knowledge.

‘There’s a lot of work to be done yet, wee yin. The engines and the boilers - aye, and the funnels, too - have all still to go in. Then they’ll paint her in bonnie colours. And then there’s all the fancy bits that the cabinet-makers like your Daddy do - the decks, and the bulkheads and the cabins and a’ that.’

Robbie smiled at his brother-in-law.

‘It’s not the likes of me that does the really fancy bits. That’s the interior designers and the artists and all those kind of folk. Just wait till you see how fancy the
Mary’s
going to be. There’s never been a ship like this one.’

After the launch the frantic activity resumed. They were all working towards the sailing date. She was the greatest liner ever seen, the world’s largest. She was also to become the fastest, twice winning the coveted Blue Riband for the swiftest crossing of the Atlantic. Because of her great size she needed to leave the fitting-out basin on a high tide in order to get safely out - and safely down the river to the Tail of the Bank and the open sea. That high tide, occurring as it did only twice a year, made the date of completion of her interior of crucial importance.

Robbie often came home tired and worn out, but it was a happy tiredness. He was proud of what he was doing. All the men were. This ship was special.

He managed to get Kate on board for an organized tour of the ship shortly before she was due to sail. His wife was entranced. She’d been able to see for herself, from the outside, that the ship was huge. She hadn’t realized that the vessel was like a floating town, supplied with everything the inhabitants of that town might need. Not only was the
Mary
fitted out with suites and cabins and restaurants and saloons - all as luxurious as you would expect - she also had a chapel, a hospital, a cinema and theatre, libraries, gymnasia and even tennis courts. There were playrooms for children, writing rooms for adults, a hairdresser’s and a beauty parlour.

The grand salon, right in the centre of the vessel and going through three decks, was truly breathtaking. Like the other public rooms it was not only fitted out in the best of modern style - it was also decorated with paintings by some of the finest artists of the day.

There were maritime scenes, like the exquisite
Madonna of the Atlantic
, which showed Mary and Jesus in front of a group of old high-masted sailing ships. Kate thought that was one of her favourites. There were bustling harbour scenes and pastoral views of the peaceful British countryside.

‘Probably to help a’ the rich folk forget where they are when they’re feeling seasick,’ one man said out of the corner of his mouth to Kate.

She flashed him an automatic smile, but barely heard him, stunned by the beauty and elegance of her surroundings. They were guided to one of the smaller lounges, where they were told of the attention paid to the details - down to the design of the ashtrays which also had to fit in with the overall theme: cutlery and crockery too, of course. Their guide opened a cupboard in illustration, showing them the cups and saucers from which the passengers in this particular lounge would be drinking their morning coffee.

Kate looked. Then she looked again. The crockery was her own Rowan Tree Ware.

She mentioned it that night, as the three of them sat at the table with their Friday treat: fish suppers bought from the chip shop along the road. Robbie was enthusiastic.

‘Really? Och, that’s great, Kate. I’ll need to go and have a look. Which lounge did you say?’

She told him, and changed the subject.

Later, when he was helping her with the dishes, he brought it up again.

‘With your pottery and my carpentry I reckon that makes the
Mary
a joint effort - a Baxter family production!’

‘I suppose.’ She laid another plate on the draining board.

He put down the plate he was drying and placed his hand on top of her wet and soapy one.

‘What’s the matter?’

Kate, one hand still in the sink, was staring out of the window at the back green. ‘It’s lovely to think that when she sails away she’ll have something of both of us on board,’ she said softly.

‘But?’

She took her hand back and washed the third plate, wiping her hands on her apron before she answered. ‘I loved designing things and then seeing them become real. It’s like a ship, I suppose. Only not on such a grand scale.’

He was drying the remaining plates, letting her talk, his eyes on her face as she struggled to put her thoughts into words.

‘A ship starts as a drawing on a piece of paper, but if enough people work hard it becomes something real... and special. I worked hard at the designs for Rowan Tree Ware and I worked hard at learning the technical side. I used to dream of doing so much ...’ She gave him a sheepish smile. ‘Even used to daydream about having my own pottery studio. And I love the art club, I really do, but I wanted to make a lot more pottery and maybe I never will.’

‘Come here,’ he said, putting the last plate down and tossing the damp cloth to one side. ‘You,’ he said, his hands on her waist, ‘are most definitely going to do a lot more pottery. Would you not consider going back to the Art School extra-mural classes? I know they’re expensive, but we could manage if we were careful. I’d look after Grace.’

Kate shook her head. ‘No. We don’t know if there’s going to be any work once the Mary goes. And anyway, I’m a different person now - your wife and Grace’s mother. The Kate who dreamed of being a great potter belongs in the past.’

Robbie made a rude noise. ‘Just because you’re a wife and mother doesn’t mean you haven’t still got your talent. You’ve proved that by becoming a tutor at the art club - and with your set designs for the drama club. Everyone’s said how good they are.’

‘Och, that,’ Kate said dismissively. ‘Well, it’s fun, but it’s not exactly difficult. Not quite the same challenge as throwing a pot or making a lovely plate/

He smiled and dropped a kiss on the end of her nose. ‘Kate Baxter, you need some sorting out!’

What he meant by that she didn’t find out till Sunday. He took Grace out for a walk in the morning and the little girl came back clutching a fistful of dandelions which she presented to her mother.

‘Bonnie, aren’t they?’ asked Robbie, as Kate fetched an empty jam jar to put them in, the best green vase being far too big. ‘Grace is like you. She finds beauty in the most unlikely things. I bet those dandelions would make a real nice picture. Unusual, like.’ He walked over to the box bed in the kitchen where Grace slept and went down onto his knees.

‘Robbie, what are you up to?’

He was pulling something out from the cupboard underneath the bed.

‘It’s taken me weeks to make this,’ he grumbled. ‘I could only work on it when I was sure you were going to be out for a couple of hours at the art club. I’ll set it up through in the front room. You’ll get more light there. Here Grace, take these bits.’

It was an easel. She could see that immediately. He went on talking as he pulled everything out.

‘It’ll sit on that table through there, and it’s adjustable, so you’ll be able to sit or stand, depending on what you’re doing ... and you can adjust the rake too, so that it can be completely perpendicular or like a sloping desk. You maybe wouldn’t want it too sloped for water colours, would you? Although I was really thinking you might want to practise your oils if you had a bit more space to do it in, and not just once a week at the class.’

He stood up. There was a dirty mark on his cheek. She’d have to remember to clean under the bed next time she was doing the floor. Grace marched off to her parents’ bedroom carrying the parts of the easel which her father had given her.

‘I’ve made the base a box where you can keep your paints. I didn’t know what to do about canvases but we can maybe go up to Glasgow next weekend and get you some supplies?’ He shot Kate a look of enquiry and then, in mock dismay, surveyed the base box and the other pieces of wood he held.

‘With a bit of luck I’ll manage to get everything put together in the right place. In about a fortnight.’ He grinned at Kate. ‘Are you coming ben the hoose to see how it works?’

‘Robbie,’ she whispered. ‘You made this for me?’

‘Well, I couldn’t manage a potter’s wheel or a kiln, but I thought maybe you could work on your painting until you can get back to that. It’ll surely all help. Give you a proper studio, like.’ He grinned again. ‘Now you’re an art tutor and no’ just a mere art student. Aye?’

‘Och, Robbie!’

‘Hey, hey, hey!’ He bent at the knees, laying the parts of the easel carefully down on the floor before crossing the room to her, pulling her into his arms.

‘You’re a daft bisom, Kathleen Baxter. What are you greeting for?’

‘Because I don’t deserve you.’

‘Well, that’s true enough,’ he said, and laughed softly when she punched him on the shoulder. He held her so they could look at each other.

‘It’s a sin to waste talent, hen. Now, give me a kiss and let’s get this thing assembled.’

A few weeks later, Robbie, home from work, came into his house and looked around the kitchen in a way which made Kate, sitting at the range with Grace on her lap, laugh out loud. A million miles away from being a domineering husband, he was nevertheless used to finding his meal ready for him to eat as soon as he came home. It was the way things were. Not tonight, though. The table was bare.

‘We’re having fish suppers tonight,’ she announced gaily, lifting Grace off her knee and standing up to kiss his puzzled face.

‘On a Tuesday?’ he asked. ‘Have you robbed a bank or something?’

‘Better than that.’ She crossed to the table, opened her handbag, took some notes out of her purse and counted them in front of his incredulous eyes. Forty pounds. Except when he’d paid off the
Border Reiver
, he’d never seen so much money all at once.

‘Forty pounds?’ Then realization struck. ‘You got forty pounds for your painting? The oil of the street scene? The one with the tram in it?’

Kate nodded, beaming all over her face. Inspired by his gift of the easel, she had not only immediately done a water colour of Grace’s dandelions but also a large canvas of the view from their window on a wet summer’s night: figures scuttling for shelter out of the rain; a brightly lit tram trundling through the twilight. She had revelled in using oil paints to capture the way the shiny puddles on the road reflected the warm yellow of the tram’s interior lights. She had known it was good, had known the gallery would like it too.