Paradise Park (3 page)

Katie smiled. ‘Aye, you do look a bit like a rag-and-bone girl! How about we go up to my house and I find some fresh clothes for you?'

‘Oh, I don't know,' Rhiannon said quickly. Could she bear to see Bull as the master of his own home with his wife at his side?

‘Bull isn't in at the moment.' Katie had read her reluctance well. ‘He's up the railway line with the men checking the track. Come on, we can't sit here for ever and we must find you some work.' She paid the bill and they left the hotel.

‘Why are you being so kind to me?' Rhiannon asked. ‘We haven't seen much of each other over the last year, have we?'

Katie looked at her. ‘I know, but I felt so guilty about finding my happiness at the expense of yours. I'll never forget how you looked the day the Great Western Railway opened.'

‘How did I look?'

‘When you saw Bull take me into his arms in front of all those people you were so sad. I know you loved him, but so do I,' Katie said. ‘I'm sorry, Rhiannon.'

‘Don't be, I'm well over Bull Beynon by now.' Rhiannon knew that Katie wasn't convinced. ‘Being with Mr Cookson helped. He was a fine man and so kind to me. He'd be angry if he knew his sister had turned me out of the house.'

Katie's steps slowed as she came to the hill leading up to her house. She leaned on a wall and took deep breaths. ‘I'm as heavy as a cow at milking-time,' she said. ‘This baby is going to be a big one.'

Rhiannon felt a stab of jealousy that Katie had everything she wanted: Bull for a husband, a baby on the way and a nice house to live in.

‘Did you know Bull and I have a new home?' Katie asked. ‘His employers thought so much of him they bought him the house by way of a bonus.'

Rhiannon looked at the large gates and at the square, solid house behind them. ‘No, I didn't.' She had often heard Mr Cookson talking about Bull, of course. The two men had worked together until Mr Cookson retired, but he had never discussed matters of business or finance with her. ‘Bull has done well,' she said proudly. ‘I always knew he would.'

Katie looked at her quickly, ‘He speaks highly of you, too, Rhiannon. And I hope you don't think I'm showing off about the house because I wouldn't hurt your feelings for the world.'

‘Why are you such a nice person?' Rhiannon asked, in exasperation. ‘I couldn't hate you however hard I tried.'

‘I suppose it's easy to be nice when you're happy,' Katie said simply.

They entered the large hallway and Rhiannon looked round in appreciation. ‘What lovely colours you've got in here,' she said, unaware that she sounded wistful. ‘The pale blue silk paper on the walls and the deep blue of the carpet go so well together.'

A young maid hovered around them, taking Katie's shawl and waiting politely for Rhiannon to take off hers. Rhiannon was impressed. ‘Imagine having a maid of your own! You have gone all posh, Katie. And you've got a cook too now. You never have to light a fire or bring in coal or spend time in a hot kitchen. It must be so nice.'

‘I suppose I've got used to it,' Katie said. ‘I never had such luxuries at home, mind, and then when Mam died I worked as a maid myself. You know that, Rhiannon, you came to work with me for a while.'

‘I remember it well,' Rhiannon said. ‘I more or less pushed you into asking Mr Morton-Edwards to take me on. He thought a lot of you, didn't he?'

‘Aye, but only because he nearly ran over me with his coach and horses! It was then I met Bull. I used to think the navvies a rough lot and I never thought I'd end up marrying one.'

‘Well, Bull's hardly a navvy, is he? He's a posh manager with a respectable wife and a lovely home. It's what you both deserve, though,' Rhiannon said, ‘and I don't grudge you any of it.' And she didn't, but she would have lived with Bull in a shabby, rat-infested hut for ever and been the happiest woman alive.

‘I'll get you something fresh to wear.' Katie's voice broke into her thoughts. ‘If you're going for a job we have to make you look nice, don't we?'

‘It would be nice to work here.' Rhiannon regretted the words as soon as they were spoken. Of course she couldn't work in Katie's house. How could she live under the same roof as Bull and not pine for him every moment of the day? ‘But I can see you've enough staff as it is,' she added quickly, ‘and I know it wouldn't work me being here. In any case, you've been kind enough as it is.'

‘Sit down, make yourself comfortable,' Katie said, ‘and I'll see we're brought a nice cup of tea.'

She left Rhiannon alone in the sitting room and Rhiannon stared around her at the pictures, the curtains and the cheerful fire burning in the grate. One day, she decided, she would have a place like this, somewhere of her own. She smiled ruefully. Right now she needed to get a job. Then she could think clearly, make plans for her future: she did not intend to be in service for the rest of her life.

The maid brought in a tea tray and smiled pleasantly at Rhiannon. ‘Like sugar in your tea, miss?'

Rhiannon nodded. ‘Please – milk too.'

The girl handed her the cup and Rhiannon looked at her curiously. ‘Do you like working here?'

‘Oh, yes, miss. It's my first job and though I did miss my mam and dad at first I soon settled in. Mrs Beynon is so kind, Mr Beynon too. I'm very lucky.'

The girl seemed young, little more than sixteen. She had an air of innocence about her that Rhiannon envied. When she had been sixteen she had known nothing about kindness. All she knew was the dark underworld of street-walking. By seventeen she had lost count of the men she'd been with. Some were kind but some were rough, handling her as if she had no feelings. Even now the indignity of it all made her feel ill.

Katie came back into the sitting room and sat down slowly, adjusting her legs to accommodate her belly. ‘I swear I'm getting heavier by the minute.' She smiled. ‘Now, I've laid out some clothes on my bed. First we'll have our tea, then go up and see how they fit you.' She pointed to the plate of dainty cakes the maid had put on the table. ‘Go on, help yourself. I expect you're still hungry.'

Rhiannon took a cake to please her rather than because she wanted it. She felt uncomfortable, as though she was an intruder in Katie's house. As soon as she could, she rose to her feet. ‘You sit here by the fire and I'll go and find the clothes for myself. I don't want to drag you upstairs again, do I?'

Katie smiled and nodded, and eased off her shoes. ‘Go on, take anything you fancy. All my clothes are far too small for me.'

Rhiannon went up the stairs, holding on to the polished banister. The sunlight poured in through the window giving the house a glow of warmth, and Rhiannon stood on the landing wondering which room she should look in. She opened a few doors and knew at once which one Katie shared with Bull. There was the scent of him here, the unmistakable, pleasant odour of a man. Her memories rushed in. She was in Bull's arms, clinging to him, kissing him, being loved by him. He was the one man who had aroused any feelings in her; with Bull she'd learned that making love could be a beautiful, magical thing.

She must get out of here quickly: knowing that Bull lived in this house, that he slept in this bed, was too much for her to bear. The pain of him leaving her for Katie was as raw as it had ever been.

Quickly, she selected some clean, pressed clothes, a good woollen skirt with red and black stripes, and a jacket to match. When she was dressed she drew a red shawl around her shoulders and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was tangled over her face and, in spite of the fresh clothes, she still looked a sight.

On the table was a silver-backed brush and Rhiannon picked it up and brushed her hair until it shone, then twisted it into a knot at the nape of her neck and pinned it into place. That was better. She looked like a respectable woman now, not an outcast from the workhouse.

With a last look round, Rhiannon left the bedroom Bull shared with Katie – and heard the maid opening the front door for the master of the house to enter.

‘Bull!' Rhiannon murmured his name, but he seemed to hear her because he looked up and their eyes locked. Rhiannon took a deep breath: she must get a grip on herself – she couldn't let Bull know that she was still in love with him. ‘Hello, Bull, I haven't seen you for ages but I must say you're looking very well.' Her voice was light, and gave no indication of her inner turmoil. She went downstairs and then she was standing close to him, so close she could have touched him. But he was no longer her man. Bull belonged to Katie.

‘Rhiannon, it's good to see you and looking so beautiful too.' He spoke impersonally as if they had never been lovers.

Rhiannon summoned up a smile. ‘You can thank your wife for the way I look because she's just lent me some of her clothes. I'm hoping to find work this morning and Katie's determined I'll look my best.'

‘I meant to get in touch with you and tell you how sorry I was about old Cookson. He was a fine man and I owe him so much.'

They stood in silence for a moment. Then Bull spoke again: ‘I caught a glimpse of you at the funeral but you left before I could offer my condolences.'

They were speaking to each other like strangers and Rhiannon knew then that whatever Bull had felt for her in the past had dissipated.

Katie came into the hallway and smiled as Bull took her in his arms. They looked so happy, so much in love, that tears came to Rhiannon's eyes. ‘I'd better be off then,' she said quickly. ‘Thank you, Katie, for your kindness. I won't forget it.'

‘Oh – take this,' Katie said. ‘I've written out a reference for you. I know I'm far below the Buchans in society but I thought it might do a bit of good.'

‘I'm sure it will.'

‘Come back and let me know how you get on,' Katie said. ‘I'd like to know you were safely settled somewhere.'

‘I will.' Rhiannon smiled and left. She closed the front door behind her and began the long walk across the hills to where the élite of the town lived. She was alone now, but she was strong and one day the whole of Swansea would know that she was a woman to be reckoned with.

JAYNE BUCHAN WAS
a pretty woman with pale blond hair and a fine complexion. She had been born to wealth: her father Eynon Morton-Edwards was one of the most influential men in Swansea. She appeared to have everything a young woman could want: a handsome, successful husband, a fine home and a doting father. But Jayne's pale beauty was marred by the downward droop of her full lips, which revealed that she was an unfulfilled woman.

She was in need of a new maid – maids were inclined to come and go from the Buchan household in quick succession. She looked now at the girl standing before her. She seemed sensible enough, clean and neat, and willing to work. ‘So, you kept house for Mr Cookson, the engineer, then, for almost a year.' Jayne pursed her lips consideringly. ‘Why haven't you a reference from him?' She might be in desperate need of new staff but she would not take just any girl who chanced along.

‘He died suddenly, Mrs Buchan,' the girl looked down at her feet, ‘and when his sister came from England to take over the house she dismissed me.'

‘Wouldn't she give you a reference?'

‘She felt she didn't know me well enough, Mrs Buchan.'

Jayne studied the girl, who looked familiar, but couldn't place her. ‘Have I seen you before?'

‘I worked for your father for a time, and Mr Morton-Edwards was always very kind to me.'

‘Ah, that's it.' Jayne made up her mind to take on the girl. ‘I'll give you a month's trial. I haven't many rules, except that I don't like my maids encouraging callers. If you want to go courting, do it on your days off. Is that clear? And remember your place especially when Mr Buchan is around. He's inclined to be too lenient with the maids.' Jayne felt it wise to offer a warning: this girl was good-looking in a world-weary way, with a full figure and luxuriant hair. Not that Dafydd Buchan had resorted to bedding the maids yet but Jayne did not mean to take chances. ‘Do you understand me?'

The girl nodded. She seemed grateful for the job and that was all to the good: she would work hard to keep her position.

Jayne rang the bell and almost at once the maid appeared in the doorway. ‘Yes, Mrs Buchan?'

‘Show the new girl to her room. The one in the attic, please, Vi.' Jayne smiled: Violet had only been with her for a few weeks but she had a sweet nature and, so far, they had got on well. ‘Go with Vi now. She'll show you where you're to sleep. What's your name again?'

‘It's Rhiannon, Mrs Buchan.'

‘All right, Rhiannon. I hope you're going to be comfortable here. And, Rhiannon,' Jayne smiled, ‘I can sometimes be a bit crotchety but you mustn't take any notice of that.'

‘Yes, Mrs Buchan, and I'll do my best to fit in, I promise.'

When the two maids had left the room Jayne returned to her writing table and picked up her pen. She had one invitation still to write. The rest had been no problem but this one was to Llinos Mainwaring. Jayne swallowed hard, tasting the bitterness of jealousy. Llinos had had an affair with Dafydd, and however hard she tried, Jayne couldn't forget it. Llinos had even borne Dafydd a son. How her poor husband, God rest his soul, had put up with it, Jayne failed to understand.

Llinos was quite an old lady now, past her fiftieth year, yet she remained irritatingly beautiful. Jayne had often caught her husband staring at Llinos. It seemed that even though their affair had ended long ago Dafydd still had feelings for her. ‘Damn him!' she said aloud.

She rose and looked at her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace. She was much younger than Llinos and owned a fortune in her own right. She and Dafydd should have been soul-mates and ardent lovers but the marriage had gone wrong almost from the first moment she and Dafydd were alone together in the intimacy of their bridal suite.