A Kiss and a Promise (5 page)

The tram was full, for there were many early workers making for the city centre from Bootle, but Michael and Stella had managed to get a seat on one of the long wooden benches and now, as Stella looked up into Michael’s face, a strange thing happened. A picture flashed into her mind, a picture of a long, low room with oddly shaped windows. It was rather dim in the room, and crowded too, with men hanging up what looked like bundles of canvas and rope. Stella suddenly realised that the men were slinging hammocks, that this must be a scene aboard his ship which Michael had described to her. She thought, with a slight shock, that this was not the first time she had seen pictures of something Michael had described … or had he? Certainly, he had talked about his life on board ship at some length but never, she now realised, in the detail of the pictures which formed in her mind. He had told her about the places and people she saw, but only vaguely, never with the exactitude of her visions, if you could call them that. She began to speak to him, and as soon as she did so the picture disappeared and all she saw were the bodies of the men strap-hanging and Michael’s gentle, loving face as he looked down at her.

‘They never tell us where we’re bound until we’re well clear of land, but you will write, won’t you, sweetheart? As you know, letters catch up with us eventually, even if I do get five or ten at the same time. But if you number the outside of the envelopes, I can read them in the right order. This furlough has been grand, so it has. The best four days of me entire life, but in a way it’ll make the missin’ of you worse. Mrs Williams will have to let the room because I can’t afford to pay her rent when we’re not there, but she says if it’s occupied next time I’m in port, we can have the other attic room, the really small one, for a shillin’ or two. Ah, here’s our stop.’

The tram drew into the Pier Head and there was a mass exodus, during which Stella’s toes got trodden on and elbows landed painfully until Michael put a protective arm about her and drew her close to his side. It was still very early, the street lamps reflecting in the dark water. Once they got clear of the Pier Head itself, there were fewer people about. Sailors were making their way back to their ships, a few cats gathered round the strong-smelling piled up fish boxes and hopeful urchins, eager to earn a ha’penny, offered to ‘Carry your kitbag, sir?’ in piping tones.

They reached the end of the gangway and, heedless of onlookers, Michael swung Stella into his arms and kissed her soundly. Then he stood her down and cupped her face in his hands. ‘With my body, I thee worship,’ he said softly. ‘Take care of yourself, alanna, and remember …’ he lowered his voice to a husky whisper, ‘… if you should be finding yourself in the family way, be sure to let me know quick, and tell your mam I’m ready and willin’ to make an honest woman of you next time I’m in port. Once we’re wed, we’ll take the room on permanent if that’s what you’d like.’

‘I hope I
am
going to have a baby,’ Stella said. It sounded shocking, put so bluntly, but she told herself she was only speaking the truth. ‘If it’s the only way to get us married, then it’s good enough for me. And I’d love the little room, only – only I’d be rather lonely when you’re at sea, darling Michael.’

‘That’s true, but I don’t think this war’s goin’ to last much longer. And once it’s over, we shan’t be wantin’ the little room because we’ll marry and go back to Ireland,’ Michael said. ‘Oh, me darlin’ girl, I must get aboard and sling me hammock and reserve a space for Toby. He’ll be comin’ later. Oh, Stella, I love you so much, it hurts.’

Stella smiled tremulously. ‘Me too,’ she said. ‘I – I love you so much that sometimes I seem to see what you’re thinking. Oh, darling Michael, take good care of yourself and come back to me quick, quick!’

A month after Michael had left, Stella was setting out a selection of scarves for a customer when Miss Murrell nudged her in the ribs. ‘Here comes a friend of yours,’ she whispered. ‘Shall I take over here for you? I’ll be bound he’s wanting to speak to you because it can’t be his mam’s birthday every day of the week!’

‘No thank you, Miss Murrell,’ Stella said politely, giving her friend an indignant glance. Miss Murrell knew very well that one did not abandon a customer to another sales lady, not even if the Lord Mayor of Liverpool was waiting to be served. However, she did glance in the direction her friend had indicated, and knew the young man at once, despite a change in his appearance. It was Mr Brett, the young officer who had taken her out for luncheon, and he was on crutches, one foot and most of his leg heavily plastered.

He saw at once that she was busy and limped slowly past, giving her a rueful grin over her customer’s head which she returned with a quick and sympathetic smile. Poor Mr Brett! But at least he was alive, although clearly injured – and badly enough to be brought home, too. Stella had heard that the hospitals in France were full to bursting and was glad that he had been judged sufficiently well to return to Blighty. She found herself hoping that he would ask her out again so that she might tell him a little about Michael. She would have liked to have confided in Gwen Murrell, but hesitated to do so in other than vague terms. Miss Murrell came from a similar background to her own. She lived in a crowded terraced house not far from Victoria Court, shopped in the same shops, frequented the same picture houses and knew many of the same people. She knew that Stella was seeing a seaman of whom her family did not approve, knew that her friend was set on marriage, but did not know Michael’s name, or that they were lovers. Indeed, Stella did not mean to tell Mr Brett of the intimacy between her and her young man, but anything she told him would remain strictly between the two of them, mainly because their lives ran on parallel lines which would never touch. Furthermore, one of her mother’s favourite arguments was that she, Stella, had simply never known any man well, apart from Michael. On the spur of the moment, she decided that it might be a good thing to talk about this young officer, perhaps to take him home. Then it would be all the more convincing when she stubbornly insisted on marrying Michael, for there was no doubt about it, Mr Brett was a far better match than ever poor Michael could be. He lived in a large house in a smart and expensive neighbourhood. His father was a banker and his elder brother was at Cambridge, studying law. Stella knew little about his mother, save for her taste in gloves and handbags, but from the way Mr Brett spoke of her, she was used to having her own way and had probably never dusted a shelf or baked a cake in her entire life.

How delighted Mam would be if I married into that little lot, Stella thought now, with an inward smile, still bending solicitously over her customer. She herself would hate it, of course, feel like a fish out water, but that would simply never occur to her mother. Mam would just see a golden future for the daughter she adored. She would tell herself that Stella, too, would never need to dust a shelf or bake a cake, would be a real lady with a big house and scores of servants. She would boast about her daughter’s brand new motor car, about the charitable works she would undertake to keep boredom at bay. When the babies came along, there would be a smart nursemaid to push the big perambulator and the children would wear beautiful clothes and go to expensive schools. And I’d never have to wash a nappy, Stella thought with an inward giggle. Wasn’t it ridiculous how one’s imagination could run on, given the slightest opportunity? What a good thing she was deeply in love with Michael and unlikely to be swayed by the worldly goods which her imagination had just laid before her!

‘You’ll take the pink
and
the grey? I think madam has made a wise choice,’ Stella said glibly, picking up the two delicate chiffon scarves, fine as wreaths of mist, and beginning to pack them in tissue. ‘That will be eight and tenpence, please, madam – do you have an account with us?’

The woman gave her account number and Stella, aware of the supervisor whose sharp ears appeared to hear every word her staff uttered, asked if madam would like to see some gloves in the same shades. To her great relief, the customer replied courteously, but firmly, that the scarves would be all and presently left.

Mr Brett, who had been hovering, came forward, swinging along on his crutches, and stopped in front of Stella. ‘Same time, same place?’ he asked rather breathlessly, and Stella realised that he had noticed the supervisor’s beady-eyed attention.

Stella might have prevaricated a little, might even have decided that it would be better not to go out with him again, but the presence of Miss Ellison put a stop to any such hesitation. Stella only had time to say, in a hissing whisper: ‘All right, then; one o’clock at the staff entrance,’ before the supervisor bore down upon her. Mr Brett turned away leisurely, as though he had all the time in the world, and began to limp across the shop floor.

‘Miss Bennett! I really cannot allow you to entertain your – your gentlemen friends whilst you are supposed to be working,’ the older woman began, but Stella broke in at once.

‘I’m
so
sorry, Miss Ellison; the young gentleman was asking me if I could tell him the way to the gents’ toilets.’ She turned her wide, limpid gaze upon the older woman. ‘Would it have been more correct to send him to you for such information? I told him the floorwalker would direct him.’

Miss Ellison went turkey-cock red and glared bale-fully before turning away without another word, but after a decent interval Miss Murrell carne over to her, grinning from ear to ear. ‘I ain’t never seen no one cut the carpet from under Miss E. like what you can,’ she hissed gleefully. ‘That’ll make her think twice before she tries to interfere if one of us gets a male customer again. I wonder if she believed you, though.’

‘I don’t care whether she did or not,’ Stella replied tranquilly, but with a lurking twinkle in her eyes. ‘I’m going to meet him for luncheon, like before. He’s awful nice and ever so generous.’

‘I thought your naval beau was the only feller you cared about,’ Miss Murrell remarked, as the two of them began refolding the rejected scarves and replacing them in the long drawer beneath the counter. ‘I thought you was as good as engaged and goin’ to get married just as soon as you could.’

‘So we are,’ Stella said defensively. ‘But I thought it wouldn’t hurt to throw a bit of dust into me mam’s eyes. She’s always nagging me to see a bit more of other fellers, and though Mr Brett is only a friend I reckon it’ll please her. But it’s all right, I’m going to tell him all about Michael over our meal.’

It was a mild and sunny day, with a brisk March wind blowing in their faces, when Stella and Mr Brett caught the train up to Southport. Stella had been seeing a lot of Mr Brett, and he had suggested a trip to the seaside resort on her day off. Mr Brett – only by now she called him Peter – was still on crutches, and it seemed as though he was glad of any quiet diversion which would take his mind off the pain in his foot – and also off his return to the trenches which, he guessed, would not be long delayed once the plaster cast came off.

As Stella had intended, she had told him all about Michael without giving away that they were lovers, and had found him a sympathetic and interested listener. He told her that he himself had grown very fond of a young nurse when he had first been sent into hospital, and hoped to renew the acquaintance one day. It made Stella feel even more at ease in his pleasant and undemanding company and the staff at Grundy’s grew accustomed to seeing him hovering at the staff entrance as the door closed.

Despite her earlier intention to take the young officer home, Stella had not done so. Now that Lizzie no longer lived with them, the small house in the court wore a neglected air and the kitchen was often downright dirty. Mrs Bennett resented what she regarded as unnecessary housework, and though she cooked a meal every night for herself and her daughter, the food was uninspiring.

However, as Stella and Peter Brett walked companionably along Lord Street, she was astonished to hear herself hailed. ‘Stella Bennett! Are you so toffee-nosed that you’re goin’ to walk straight past your own sister? And what are you doing in Southport, may I ask?’

It was Lizzie, looking very smart in a navy coat with a hat trimmed with a wreath of pale blue roses around the brim. She was with another woman of about her own age, also smartly dressed in a tweed suit with a little cape around the shoulders.

‘Lizzie!’ Stella squeaked. She gave her sister a hug and a kiss, then stepped back. ‘Come to that, what are
you
doing in Southport? Me and my friend, Mr Brett, have come up for a look round the shops and a stroll along the prom. It’s my day off and he’s – he’s still not well enough to rejoin his regiment.’ She turned to her escort, aware that her cheeks were hot. ‘But I’m forgetting my manners. Mr Brett, this is my eldest sister, Miss Lizzie Bennett. Lizzie, Mr Brett.’

‘And I’m forgetting mine,’ Lizzie said heartily. ‘How d’you do, Mr Brett? And this is my friend, Miss Parsons.’

The four of them chatted idly for a short while and then Lizzie said that she and Miss Parsons must be going. ‘We aren’t on our day off like you youngsters are,’ she explained. ‘We’ve come up to take a look at some property. The boss is thinking of starting up in Southport so Miss Parsons and myself is giving the once-over to three vacant shops and we’ve only seen one of them so far.’ She held out a hand towards Stella’s companion. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Brett.’ She turned to her sister. ‘Tell Mam I’ll be over on Sunday and do try to get her to buy a decent joint of pork; the meat we had last time I were home were tough as old shoe leather.’

Stella laughed and promised to see to it, and she and Peter Brett went on their way. Stella was not sure whether to be glad or sorry that they had met up with her sister but decided that it was probably a good thing. Lizzie would report back to Mam and perhaps her mother would stop nagging her over her insistence that she meant to marry Michael. At any event, it might take some of the pressure off her. Mrs Bennett had several times suggested that she should bring Mr Brett home and Stella knew that her mother only half believed in her ‘officer beau’. Now that Lizzie had actually met him, however, any doubts would surely be laid to rest.