Wait For the Dawn (19 page)

‘That was nice of him. I heard from him when Mother died. I told you that. He wrote a letter of condolence. Just a brief note, but it was nice that he took the trouble.’

A few moments went by, then Evie said, looking at Lydia judiciously, ‘I suppose you find quite a few differences now you’re living and working in Redbury. I don’t suppose you miss Cremson’s at all, do you?’

‘Cremson’s?’ Lydia shook her head. ‘No, not a bit. I haven’t got time to miss it. You’ve never seen such a busy office as the one I work in, and the store itself . . . I know I’ve told you before, but – oh, there’s nothing it doesn’t sell. Why, they even have a lending library. I work in the department dealing with the orders that come in by post – and you should see the value of some of those orders! You would think some people had so much money it was no object.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘But sometimes some of the ladies change their minds, and won’t accept the goods
when the van tries to deliver them. They get their maids and butlers to say they’re out.’

Evie laughed at this. They spoke of various matters and people known to them both, and then Evie asked after Ryllis, and Lydia told how she had seen her the previous Sunday, and that they had had tea together.

‘I didn’t tell you,’ Lydia said, ‘but she’s met someone. He came into Redbury to meet us in the teashop.’

‘Oh – well, how nice. I hope you approve of him.’

Lydia said after a moment’s hesitation, ‘Well, as a matter of fact, I just found him to be sometimes – disagreeable, and he wasn’t as pleasant to Ryllis as I would have liked him to be. Too much finding fault for my liking, though Ryllis forgave him everything, it seemed.’ She shook her head. ‘But I mustn’t say anything else against him. Ryllis said he was suffering from the toothache, so I’ve probably misjudged him. I won’t say any more.’

‘What about you?’ Evie said.

‘Me? What about me?’

Evie smiled. ‘Have you met anyone? Now you’re living in the city. What about in your office? Or in the store? There must be so many good-looking young men around.’

Lydia gave a little shrug. ‘Oh, yes, I suppose there are.’

‘You suppose there are?’ Evie’s tone and expression were arch. ‘I felt sure you’d get back and tell me you’ve met someone. Haven’t you made some friends in the store? Surely you have.’

‘Oh, well, they’re all friendly enough,’ Lydia replied, ‘but everyone seems to be too busy for much in the way of casual chatter. The supervisor’s there all the time, so everyone generally gets on with the work. It’s only during our tea break and dinner break that there’s any chance to chat.’

‘Well, that’s a start. A good enough opportunity to meet some nice young fellow.’

‘Oh, not really. The men and the women tend to keep apart at those times.’

‘Oh, that’s a pity,’ Evie said dolefully. ‘Then what about people
outside
the store?’

‘What d’you mean?’

Evie gave a little groan. ‘Oh, Lyddy, you’re such a disappointment. I could have bet a shillin’ that you’d get back and tell me you’d met someone special.’

Lydia did not answer, but feeling Evie’s eyes upon her, looked away.

‘Ah, so you have, have you?’ Evie said, moving her head to try and peer into Lydia’s face. ‘So now we’re getting near the truth.’ She gave a nod. ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it, and I’m glad you haven’t wasted any time.’

‘Oh, don’t,’ Lydia said. ‘Don’t say that. Not like that.’

‘I’m teasing you,’ Evie said, ‘but tell me, please. I’ve got to know everything. Is he nice looking?’

‘Oh, yes. Yes, he is.’

‘And what’s his name? How old is he?’

‘His name is Guy. Guy Anderson. He’s twenty-five, and he’s just come out of the army after several years abroad.’

‘And what does he do? What work does he do?’

Lydia gave a sigh and looked away. ‘Oh, Evie – that’s just the trouble. I look at his background and – well, how can I fit into it? It just doesn’t seem possible.’

‘What about his background?’

‘His parents are well off. Very well off. I mean, for goodness’ sake, they own a newspaper – and a business in Italy.’

‘Oh – sounds very grand!’

‘Quite,’ Lydia replied. ‘And look at me. I’ve got nothing. My father works in a factory and I’m a clerk in a department store.’

‘But if he really cares for you . . .’ Evie said. ‘I mean – at twenty-five he’s old enough to know what he wants.’ She
reached out and pressed Lydia’s wrist. ‘How does he feel about you?’ she asked.

‘Well, he – I’ve only known him a week.’

Evie nodded. ‘It’s not long, is it?’

‘Mind you,’ Lydia said, sighing, ‘it’s been the most wonderful week. We’ve met several times. I’ve even been to the theatre.’

‘The theatre!’

‘Yes! Oh, it was so exciting.’ Lydia gave a breathy, nervous little laugh. ‘The whole evening. I didn’t want it to end.’

Evie said after a moment’s silence, ‘Do you – feel deeply for him, Lyddy?’

Lydia lowered her head, avoiding Evie’s gaze. ‘Yes, I do,’ she said. ‘Do you think I’m foolish?’ She raised her head again, looking earnestly into her friend’s eyes. ‘Oh, Evie, I know it’s only been a week – but I never thought it would be possible to feel this way.’

Back at home Lydia put on the kettle for tea, and when it was made she served it with some cake that Mrs Harbutt had left in the pantry.

‘It’s good,’ she said. ‘Mrs Harbutt’s fruit cake – it’s very nice.’

‘It’ll do,’ he said. ‘It’s not like your mother’s, but you’ve got to make the best of what you’ve got. She doesn’t iron my shirts properly either. Not the way your mother did, nor the way you did. Nor Ryllis, for that matter.’

Lydia said nothing. There had been no change in her father in the two weeks she had been away, but somehow her brief absence allowed her to look at him more closely. She took in the cold eyes behind the spectacles’ lenses, and the thin mouth, and thought how unhappy and disapproving he looked. The lowness of spirits brought on by his cold did not help. She looked at the clock on the
mantelpiece and pushed aside her empty cup. ‘I think it’s time I was going,’ she said. ‘I’ll wash up and then go off to get the coach.’

As she stirred in her seat, about to rise, he said: ‘You don’t care a fig about me, do you?’ There was a sad bitterness in his voice, and Lydia was halted in her movement.

‘Don’t – don’t care about you?’ she said. ‘Of course I care about you. How can you say such a thing?’

‘But you’re going.’

‘Well – well, I have to. I’ve got to get back.’ She paused. ‘Father, please – don’t,’ she said. ‘Don’t do this.’

‘I’m being foolish,’ he said. ‘I somehow convinced myself that you might come home for good. I had the idea that two weeks away from home, living in lodgings and eating whatever’s put before you might have been enough. I thought, the girl’s bound to see the light eventually, and she’ll get fed up and want to come home. I know things have been difficult here – what with your mother’s going . . . but things settle down and life goes on.’ He looked away from her. ‘I’d like you to come home,’ he said gruffly. ‘I wish you’d come home.’

‘Father –’ she began, but he cut her off, saying, ‘You don’t have to go back to Cremson’s, you can find another job – and if you don’t, what does that matter? It’s not important. We don’t need a lot, just the two of us. I earn decent money. Not a fortune, but enough. We could manage all right.’

She could see it before her, so clearly. A life of days moving into weeks, into months, into years. Her youth slipping away into middle age, while her father grew old. She had seen it happen. The women were never taken seriously after a time; they were regarded with varying degrees of pity as they grew older, and became more seemingly eccentric with the passing years. And what had they to show for it – those spinsters who, in the end, were always left alone?

‘Supposing I asked you,’ he said, briefly stifling his pride, ‘Suppose I asked you to reconsider? You could go back and give in your notice. Supposing I asked you . . .?’

Now Lydia got to her feet. ‘Oh, Father, I can’t do it. I’m sorry if it upsets you, but I just can’t. Please don’t ask me.’ She felt tears springing to her eyes, and quickly with her fingers she wiped them away. ‘But I’ll come and see you when I can,’ she said, ‘and Ryllis will too. You’ve got two of us, you know.’

‘Yes, I know all about that.’ He did not look at her as he spoke. After a moment he waved a dismissive hand and said, ‘You’d best get off, then, or you’ll miss your coach.’

A little while later, without an embrace, without a kind word of goodbye from him, she left the house.

There was an unexpected delay at the Rising Sun inn when one of the coach horses had to be changed, which meant Lydia was late getting into Merinville. Missing her intended train to Redbury, she was forced to kick her heels on the platform for a further thirty minutes, waiting for the next one. When it came she got in with relief, glad to be finally on her way again. She felt strangely alone, and the miserable scene with her father had left her depressed and unhappy. She would not be seeing Guy until after work tomorrow. The rest of Sunday evening stretched before her.

At Redbury she got out of the train and made her way along the platform to where the ticket collector stood at his post. Beyond him, on the other side of the barrier, she saw the familiar tall figure of Guy.

He came towards her as she passed through, and reached out and took her hand.

‘Lydia,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d never come.’

‘I missed my connection at Merinville.’ She could scarcely believe that he was standing before her. ‘I had to
wait for the next train, and then –’ She broke off and gave a nervous little chuckle. ‘What – what are you doing here?’

‘I had to see you,’ he said. His voice and face had an earnestness that she had not seen before, but she was thrilled to see him, thrilled that he had come to meet her train. Smiling, she said, ‘Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow?’

‘I can’t see you tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Something’s happened. Something’s come up.’

‘What? What’s happened?’

‘I’ve got the trap outside,’ he said. ‘Can you ride with me for a while?’

‘Well – yes, if you wish.’

‘Oh, yes – please.’ He took her arm and led her out on to the street to where the mare and the carriage were waiting.

They were moving away from the town centre, Lydia saw at once. ‘Where are we going?’ she said.

‘We’ll drive out a little, into the country,’ Guy said. ‘Do you mind?’

Briefly she hesitated. ‘No . . .’

‘Have you got to get back in a hurry?’

She thought of Mrs Obdermann, leaving the cold plate in the larder. ‘No,’ she said again. She could tell that something was amiss. ‘No, it’s all right. I don’t need to rush back.’

Guy drove looking straight ahead of him. ‘I waited for you,’ he said. ‘I’ve been at the station since five. I had to see you.’

‘All that time. But why? What’s happened?’

‘I’ll tell you. Give me a minute.’ Still he did not glance at her, but kept his eyes on the road before them. He wore a brown, soft felt hat, and the brim cast his eyes in shadow so that their expression could not be seen.

After a time they were leaving the town houses behind them, and the dwellings were getting fewer, the gardens and the spaces between them larger. Then they were moving out into the open country, along a road where there was little other traffic. Still she said nothing, respecting his unspoken wish for silence. She sat close beside him on the seat, so close that often his arm brushed hers as he held the reins.

There were wheatfields on either side of them as they
drove, the wheat high and golden, waiting for the harvest to come, very soon now by the appearance of the crops. The sun on the corn was bright and oblique, the sky above hazy and settling into the mellow light of the evening. The hooves of the mare rang clear on the hard road.

They were coming up to a short lay-by now, Lydia saw, and suddenly Guy adjusted the reins and called on the horse to move to the left. ‘Over now, Tessie,’ he called, and the horse and carriage moved off the main road, drove on for a few yards into the lay-by, and came to a halt.

Guy gave a deep sigh, as if relaxing after sudden exertion, and Lydia turned to him on the seat, looking at his strained expression. ‘Guy, what is it?’

‘I had to see you,’ he said. He turned to face her now. ‘I had to explain that I can’t meet you tomorrow. I’ve got to go away.’

‘You’ve got to –’ She frowned, shaking her head. ‘But – but what’s happened? Something’s happened? What is it?’

Some moments of silence went by, then he said, ‘I had a wire from my mother yesterday, in Italy. She wrote to say that my father’s suffered a dreadful accident and is very ill in hospital.’

‘Oh, Guy,’ Lydia breathed. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. So your mother’s with him, is she?’

‘Yes. She went out there with him. They’ve been gone about three weeks.’ He sighed, and sat with eyes downcast. ‘I’ve got to go. I’d never forgive myself if something worse should happen.’

‘Of course you must go.’

‘My mother wrote that he’s too sick to travel. She’s obviously very concerned – and she’s not one to over-dramatise a situation.’ In a brief gesture he put up his hands, covering his face. ‘Oh, Lydia, I’m so worried.’

‘I’m sure you are.’

‘My mother will need me to help take care of things as well. She’s in no condition to do it.’

‘When will you go?’

‘Tomorrow. I must get there as soon as I can.’

‘Of course you must.’ She wasn’t taking it all in as she should. He was leaving, going away. ‘When’ll you be back?’ she said.

‘Well, I hope it won’t be long. I just hope we can get him well enough to travel so that I can bring him back to England again with the minimum delay.’

‘Did your mother say exactly what was wrong?’

‘She didn’t go into detail, but she said he’d had a bad fall.’

They sat there in silence for some moments, then Guy said, ‘I’ll write to you, of course. I hope I shan’t be away for long. My father – he’s a tough old fellow. He doesn’t let much get him down for long, but as I say, he’s not young.’ He gave a nod in affirmation of his words. ‘I’ll see you as soon as I get back,’ he added.