A Kiss and a Promise (3 page)

‘They wouldn’t want me,’ Stella said smugly. ‘They like older women. Anyway, when Lizzie goes, I’ll be doin’ me share of the housework which means scrubbing floors, I suppose.’

Presently, breakfast finished, the two sisters reached down hats and coats from the hooks beside the kitchen door and Michael jumped to his feet. ‘I’d best be gettin’ back to me ship,’ he said, slinging his kitbag on to one shoulder and smiling at the assembled Bennetts. ‘T’ank you for the loan of your kitchen floor; I’ve never slept better in me whole life. And t’anks for me breakfast … and for your kindness to a stranger in your city.’

George nodded and began to clear the table whilst Mrs Bennett took herself over to the sink. Michael left, walking between the two women, but presently Lizzie drew to a halt at the junction with Upper Duke Street. She kissed Stella warmly, giving her a slight hug as she did so and telling her to take care to be a good girl and not to forget to eat her carryout at dinnertime. Then she turned to Michael and held out a hand, shaking his warmly. ‘No point in sayin’ goodbye, since I’ve a feelin’ we’ll be seein’ a good deal of you in Victoria Court,’ she said gruffly. ‘But you’ll be off back to sea presently, no doubt?’

‘Aye, in another ten days or so, I believe,’ Michael said. ‘I’ll book meself into the Sailors’ Home but I’d be right grateful, Miss Lizzie, if – if I might trespass upon your hospitality again.’ He had forgotten that he had intended to go home to Kerry. Now, his one desire was to be as near Stella as possible.

He was interrupted by the arrival of a tram clattering to a halt. It was a No. 3 and Lizzie immediately joined the short queue of people waiting to get aboard. ‘Stella usually walks from here because it’s not far to Ranelagh Street, but I go on by tram,’ she said. ‘Ta-ra then, Mr Gallagher.’

The two young people stood and watched the tram out of sight, then Stella tucked her small hand into the crook of Michael’s elbow and they set off along the pavement, Michael quite dizzy at her closeness and Stella chattering away nineteen to the dozen. It seemed no time at all before they were in Ranelagh Street and Stella was preparing to go into Grundy’s by the staff entrance, but as she was turning away, Michael caught hold of her sleeve. ‘Miss Stella, what time do you finish tonight? Would – would it be all right if I was to come and meet you, escort you home?’

‘But I thought you were wanting to go home to Ireland, weren’t you?’ Stella asked, her eyes widening. ‘I was certain you’d only be in Liverpool for an hour or so today.’

Michael felt the hot blood rush into his cheeks; it was true, he had meant to go back to Ireland if time permitted, but that was before he had met Stella. He looked down at her and saw, from the teasing expression in her face, that he might as well be honest, since she had clearly already guessed his reason for changing his mind. ‘Sure and aren’t you the cleverest colleen I ever did meet?’ he said ruefully. ‘Yes, I did mean to go back to me mammy and daddy if I’d time to spare, but now … well, any spare time I have I’d rather be spendin’ with you.’

Stella gave a little gasp and Michael watched as rosy colour bloomed in her cheeks. For the first time, he allowed himself to hope that the feelings which had caught him unawares had touched her also. ‘Is it the same for you, then?’ she said wonderingly. ‘There’s always young fellers around our house and there’s young men in Grundy’s who’ve asked me if I’d like to go to the picture house or out dancing, but – but I’ve never felt like this before. I don’t know whether it’s right … Lizzie might think badly of me …’

‘Lizzie made it pretty plain that she understood I’d be hangin’ around for a bit,’ Michael said frankly. ‘What time shall I meet you?’

‘Half past six,’ Stella said, blushing rosily once more.

Michael grinned exultantly, happiness flooding him. ‘See you at half past six, then.’

Lizzie, crammed into the tram, had liked Michael from the first but that did not mean she approved of his starting up some sort of relationship with her little sister. At sixteen, Stella was far too young to have a beau – except that she clearly had one, of course. Lizzie had only had to look at Michael to realise that he was smitten. Naturally there were others, a great many others. The local lads surrounded Stella like bees round a honey pot. The difference with this fellow was that Stella was taking him seriously. Lizzie knew her sister as well as she knew herself and had unerringly read the signs: the brilliance of her eyes, the rosy flush in her cheeks and the way she kept stealing glances at Michael whenever she thought herself unobserved.

He was a grand-looking fellow too, over six feet tall, with curly black hair and eyes as dark as Stella’s own. He had good white teeth, a strongly cleft chin, and his smile had an appealing quality to which Lizzie herself was not immune. If only he had not been Irish! Lizzie had nothing against the Irish – she came from Irish stock herself – but if she was right and the feeling between the two of them was as strong as she imagined, then one day Michael would take Stella away from her and Lizzie could not bear that. She had always known that Stella would marry and had hoped, for the girl’s sake, that she would meet someone who could rescue her from the grinding poverty shared by most families living in the overcrowded and unhygienic courts. She had dreamed of Stella bringing home a solicitor’s clerk or a local government officer, someone who would have a house in the suburbs, with a garden, and a view of something other than sooty bricks. With luck, there would be pleasant neighbours who would help the girl to settle into her new surroundings, and enough money to ensure the comfort of both Stella herself and any children that she might produce.

But an Irishman! If he had been from Dublin it would not have seemed so bad since such a personable young man would surely be able to get well-paid work somewhere in Liverpool. But a country boy from Kerry, whose father caught fish and grew potatoes for a living, was not at all the sort of match that Lizzie had had in mind for Stella. The thought of her beloved little sister wearing a sacking apron and toiling in a great, wet field to dig up potatoes sent a pang of real pain through her heart. Her own grandmother had come from Irish farming stock and the tales of deprivation and near starvation suffered by such people had left an indelible mark on Lizzie’s mind. I would do anything to prevent Stella suffering as Grandma suffered, she told herself fiercely. If only Michael were not so handsome!

Lizzie’s thoughts were interrupted as the tram lurched to a halt and she suddenly realised that this was her stop. She fought her way off the vehicle and a soldier trod on her foot, reminding her sharply that there was a war on. Anything could happen in the next couple of years, she told herself, making her way along the crowded pavement. It was pointless meeting troubles halfway and making herself miserable over something which might never happen. Besides, was her own life not about to change? To be sure, Birkenhead was only a ferry ride away, but she would not be seeing as much of her darling once she was settled in her new job. And anyway, you never knew, Michael might take to city life like a duck to water, or Stella might meet someone else … or Michael’s ship might be sunk and he might be drowned …

‘Mornin’, Miss Bennett! There’s a lady on Sackville Street giving a party for around thirty people. She’s asked us to give her a quote for six dozen milk rolls, three dozen fancies and a birthday cake. I telled her you’d work something out and the lad would take a quote round to Sackville Street by eleven o’clock. Was that all right?’

Miss Miller was a conscientious employee and would probably take Lizzie’s place when she went off to Birkenhead, but she lacked self-confidence and Lizzie knew that this was something she should rectify so far as in her lay. Therefore, she smiled brightly at Miss Miller and told her that she had done exactly as she should. ‘Though you are quite experienced enough now, Miss Miller, to have been able to do the quote yourself,’ she added.

Miss Miller, a thin, intense young woman with mousy hair and light hazel eyes behind a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles, looked doubtful. ‘Oh, but what about the discount, Miss Bennett?’ she asked anxiously. ‘We don’t often have big orders except at Christmas time, and when we do, Mr Albert or yourself decides what discount should be given. I – I wouldn’t want to overcharge someone … or undercharge them for that matter.’

‘There! What a good job you said, Miss Miller, because once I leave you’ll have to understand exactly how the discount system works.’ She smiled at the other assistant, a fat and spotty teenager who would never have been employed by Lunt’s in the usual way, since she was slow and could not add up without pencil and paper. However, all the bright youngsters were working in munitions or other war work and earning much more money than they could as shop assistants, so the firm had been glad to get anyone. ‘You will take care of the shop, won’t you, Miss Frost, whilst Miss Miller and I work on this quote together. If you need one of us, you only have to call.’

Lizzie accompanied Miss Miller into the tiny office and began to root out from her desk drawers a number of bills and receipts and her large red order book. She would not now think of young Michael Gallagher, nor of her darling Stella; work had begun.

By the time the
Thunderbolt
sailed for New York once more, Michael and Stella were fathoms deep in love and knew it. Stella tried to tell herself that Lizzie’s antagonism was merely due to the fact that she was secretly worrying over her own move to Birkenhead, for how could anyone not love Michael Gallagher? The ten days she had spent with him had been the happiest of her life and she had waved him off with such a feeling of desolation that she had scarcely known how to bear it.

But he would be back, of course he would, and she meant to write to him every single day, even though he might not get the letters with anything like such frequency. The
Thunderbolt
did not simply cross the Atlantic; it shepherded its flock of merchant shipping all over the world, wherever the Allies needed supplies, which meant that it might be many months before she saw him again. But he had told her that letters followed one around the globe and might be picked up at almost any port, hence her determination to write regularly.

‘Customer, Miss Bennett!’

Stella, who had been tidying a pile of delicate lace handkerchiefs away in a drawer, turned immediately to face the counter, thanking Miss Murrell with a quick smile for drawing her attention. Miss Murrell was serving an irritable-looking lady with elbow-length kid gloves, otherwise she would undoubtedly have attended to the customer herself, for he was a good-looking young man, despite having hair so red that Stella wondered it did not set fire to his boater. He tipped his hat, then leaned, confidentially, upon the wooden counter top.

‘Good morning, sir. How can I help you?’ Stella gave the customer her most engaging smile.

The young man smiled back and produced, from one pocket, a rather crumpled-looking suede glove in a shade between blue and grey. ‘I’m trying to buy my mama a birthday present. I’ve borrowed one of her gloves for a colour match; is it possible that you might have a handbag in this shade?’

Stella looked doubtful but pulled open the big bottom drawer that contained all the handbags not already on display. ‘I don’t think I could find an exact match, sir,’ she said regretfully. ‘Oh … is the bag for evening wear? If so, we have several very pretty velvet ones …’

The young man, however, was shaking his head. ‘No, not for evenings. My mama wants something practical for day wear,’ he explained. ‘Do you think something with a little more grey in it might be suitable?’

Stella did not think so; she thought a grey handbag with blue-grey gloves would look absolutely awful, but she was far too sensible to say so. Instead, she began producing navy handbags, which were the best she could offer, and thought they looked quite nice with the gloves though obviously not as nice as a matching bag would have done.

Finally, she was forced to advise her customer either to look elsewhere or to buy gloves as well as a handbag, though she realised that this might not suit the lady, who sounded by no means easy to please for her son grew more flustered by the moment.

At the mention of trying elsewhere he looked rather relieved, and she suggested that he should try Lewis’s, who had a larger handbag department than this one. ‘Or you could go to Bunney’s, on Church Street. They sell the most beautiful oriental gifts,’ she assured him.

He cast a hasty glance round and then leaned towards her over the counter. He had an open, honest face with greenish-hazel eyes and these gazed imploringly into hers. ‘I – I’m afraid I don’t know Liverpool at all well, miss. Do you – do you have time off at midday? If so, and I were to buy you luncheon, would you do me the honour of – of accompanying me to Lewis’s or Bunney’s? I’m sure with your help I might find the very thing my mama wants, even if it isn’t a handbag.’

Stella was about to advise him, rather sharply, to make up his own mind when she saw the desperate look in those green eyes. She said gently, ‘Do you have no sister you could consult, sir, no aunts?’

The young man looked cast down. ‘I have no female relatives, apart from my mama. The thing is, miss, my furlough is almost up. I go back to the trenches tomorrow and I wanted her to have a nice keepsake, something she really wanted, because … well, I expect you know what I mean.’

Stella’s heart was touched. She knew all too well what her customer meant, for it was clear that he was an officer and it was widely known that the life expectancy of such a one was liable to be short. She felt sure that if Michael knew of the young man’s request, he would tell her at once to go with him to help choose the gift. What harm could there be in it, after all? Lizzie and her mother had both told her she should know more young men before she decided that Michael was the only person she would ever want to marry. They would be pleased to think she was taking their advice, and because of the strength of her own feelings, she knew that nothing would shake her love for Michael. So she looked up at the young man and gave him her sweetest smile. ‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘Yes, of course I’d be happy to help you choose a gift and equally happy to have luncheon with you, though I could not possibly let you pay for my meal. I shall be free in another twenty minutes, so if you would like to come round to the staff entrance on Cases Street at one o’clock …’