The Bright One (43 page)

‘The important thing is that everything is all right between you and me, and always will be. Nothing can alter that. Not my father, not anyone. The rest can be settled later.'

When the store closed at one o'clock Breda rushed home, washed and dried her hair and brushed it until it shone like red silk.

‘What shall I wear?' she asked Josephine. ‘Not that I have a lot of choice.'

‘Well, it's a nice warm summer's day so you can wear a summer dress. Your pale blue cotton is nice.'

‘But is it smart enough?'

‘Of course it is. You look lovely in it. In any case, no point in trying to be something you're not. Just be yourself, love. That's good enough for all the Mr Henry Princes in the world.'

When Graham came he echoed Josephine's words. ‘You look gorgeous!'

‘Not too much lipstick?'

‘Just right, except that I'd like to kiss it off – and I will later on.'

His thoughts were not as jaunty as his words. Unless his father's mood had changed since this morning, there would be fireworks.

‘Don't let my father rattle you,' he said. ‘I think he'll be all right, but if he's awkward, if he upsets you, we shall just walk right out on him.'

Sitting on the bus, Breda thought how excited she would be, going to visit Miss Opal's house, if only it was in different circumstances. She had a deep curiosity about the inside of people's homes.

Mrs Foster answered the door and showed them into the large, comfortably furnished sitting room. Henry Prince rose to meet them.

‘Father, let me introduce Breda O'Connor, my fiancée.'

He knew by the flash of steel in his father's eyes that he had said the wrong thing, but he had said it on purpose. He wanted everything plain from the beginning, no beating about the bush.

Henry recognized what his son was doing. He stifled his spurt of anger. It was, after all, what he himself might have done in the circumstances. Graham had more grit in him than he would once have given him credit for. His wife, he knew, would say that the son had inherited the father's stubbornness.

He held out his hand to Breda.

‘Good afternoon, Miss O'Connor. Won't you sit down?' He was every inch the polite, well-mannered man of business.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Prince,' Breda said.

She perched uncomfortably on the edge of an easy chair – there was not a single straight-backed chair to be seen – and was greatly relieved when Graham sat on the broad arm of the same chair. His nearness gave her confidence.

Henry Prince took the seat opposite. So it was to be like that, was it, he asked himself? The two of them indivisible, he thought. A united front against him.

‘Well,' he said, ‘we all know why we're here, don't we, so let's not beat about the bush! My son tells me, Miss O'Connor, that you and he are engaged to be married!'

Breda looked him straight in the eye. ‘Indeed we are, Mr Prince.'

‘Well, in my opinion you are both far too young—'

‘We've gone into this before, Father,' Graham interrupted. ‘I'm of age.'

‘I was speaking to the young lady,' Henry said smoothly. No matter what, he wouldn't lose his temper.

‘And 'tis I will answer,' Breda said. ‘I'm sorry you think that, Mr Prince, but I don't agree with you. We are both very sure about each other.'

‘And you realize my son could not possibly keep a wife? If he persists in his artistic dreams he will have nothing. If he goes into the family business, of course he will have a job, but he will earn very little in the first few years. I don't believe in paying for inexperience. But being in love, I don't suppose you've thought of these things?'

‘I don't like to be contradicting you,' Breda said, ‘but of course we have. Whatever Graham decides to do, I will stand beside him. If he wants to be a painter, then, for as long as that's necessary, I will be the one to earn the money for the two of us. 'Twill be the same if he goes into your business. I will either make do on what he earns or I will take a job myself. I am not afraid of work. And the choice of what he does is his.'

She looked afraid of nothing, Henry thought, sitting there so upright.

‘And you've thought that you might have to live in London? It's all very different.'

‘I have so. I wouldn't choose it, but I've already come from Ireland. I left my home there, where I'd lived all my life. 'Twas the most difficult thing I ever did. So I suppose I could put up with a few more miles. After all, I would be with Graham, and that's what counts, not
where
I am.'

As the words came out of her, so her last remaining scrap of fear left her. She held up her hand and Graham took it in his. It was true what she had just said. Nothing mattered as long as she was with Graham. What was more, she realized that this man sitting opposite to them, no matter how important he was in his own world, could never come between them.

Henry shook his head. He felt almost bewildered, an emotion hitherto unknown to him. He could not have believed, an hour or two ago, that he would be beaten. But he was. He had not reckoned on this gutsy Irish girl, who also had enough charm to tempt the ducks off the water. She and his son made a formidable pair.

‘Well,' he said, ‘I admire your loyalty, young lady. Graham can count himself lucky on that score. But I still think you're far too young to be married. Marry in haste, repent at leisure. True and wise words.'

‘We had not thought of marrying in haste,' Breda said. Her voice was gentler now. She knew she had won this round. ‘We have not set a date.'

‘But we don't want to wait too long,' Graham said.

‘We will marry when we are ready to set up home together,' Breda said. ‘Not before.'

‘Well, Miss O'Connor, it's true I can't prevent you and my son being engaged, but I'd like you to promise me you won't rush into marriage.'

‘Sure we'll not do that,' Bredà said. ‘And could you please call me “Breda”?'

‘I shall have to break the news to your mother,' Henry said to Graham. ‘And I would have liked to have met your family,' he said to Breda. It was something his wife would certainly want to know about.

‘If you can stay a little longer you could meet my aunt and uncle tomorrow,' Breda said. She put the thought of him encountering Grandma Maguire swiftly out of her mind.

‘I'm afraid I can't do that,' Henry said. ‘I have to be back.'

There was a silence.

‘Well then, perhaps now would be the time to have that cup of tea Mrs Foster promised us,' Henry said.

Graham and Breda left soon after tea. Henry stood in the window and watched them walk down the drive together, arm in arm. For a moment he envied them – so sure of themselves and each other. Perhaps Opal was right. Perhaps Graham had done himself a good turn when he'd chosen this girl. And if she persuaded him to stay in the business, then he would have her to thank for that. In any case, he could not but like her, though it would take every bit of her determination and charm to cope with life in London. She was, after all, a simple Irish girl. Yet perhaps not so simple, he thought.

The two of them had been gone no more than an hour when Opal returned.

‘I didn't expect you,' Henry said. ‘I thought I'd have left for my train before you returned.'

‘I wanted to be back,' Opal told him. ‘How did it all go?'

‘Well, you were right about the girl. And you were right that there's very little I can do. An obstinate pair.'

‘I'd say determined rather than obstinate.'

‘I don't know how she'll fit in in London,' Henry said doubtfully. ‘I don't know what Miriam will say to it all.'

‘I have been wondering . . . ' Opal began.

‘What?'

‘Would it be a good idea if Graham were to stay on longer, a few more months? There's still a lot for him to learn, plenty we could teach him before he goes back to you. And it would give Breda a chance. I think she deserves that.'

It was only part of the idea forming in her mind, but now was not the time to tell Henry Prince.

‘I don't know. I shall have to think about that, see what Miriam says. She misses him.'

Henry Prince rose from his seat in the first-class Pullman car as the train slowed down, drawing into King's Cross. He stepped off the train the second it stopped, and in an instant a porter sprang towards him and took his overnight case.

‘A cab,' Henry said. ‘Quick as you can! Victoria.'

If he was lucky he would catch the last train to Reigate. If he missed it he'd have to stay overnight at his club, and that he didn't want to do. He was anxious to get home. He had telephoned Miriam from Opal's so that Tompkins, his chauffeur, would be waiting for him at Reigate.

‘How are you? Is Graham all right?' she'd asked. ‘Is he there? May I speak to him?' She had wanted to keep him talking on the telephone but he had cut her short.

‘I'll have to go or I'll miss the train,' he said. ‘Don't wait up!'

I hope she won't, he told himself as his cab sped through the labyrinth of streets towards Victoria. All the way from Yorkshire he had thought about Graham, and about the girl, Breda. He should never have sent the boy to Opal's. He had good connections in the trade; there were half a dozen stores in London and the home counties which would have welcomed his son, places closer to home, where he'd have continued to mix with his own kind.

It was too late now. He still reckoned that Opal had let him down, but she hadn't agreed. ‘I couldn't have done anything differently, Henry,' she'd said as he was leaving.

‘You could have sacked her.'

‘You don't suppose he'd have stopped seeing her? It would have had quite the opposite effect. You know better than I do how obstinate he is.' A chip off the old block, she'd thought. ‘Anyway, aren't you making too much of it?' she'd asked. ‘It could be worse!'

Would Miriam see it in that light, he wondered, paying off the cabby at Victoria, hurrying for the Reigate train and catching it by the skin of his teeth. He hoped once again that she would have gone to bed. One thing was certain: he wouldn't bring up the subject tonight. A good sleep was what he wanted. Time enough for the rest in the morning.

On the verge of sleep, Miriam opened bleary eyes and half-raised herself as Henry tip-toed into the bedroom. ‘Was everything all right?' she asked drowsily.

‘Quite all right,' Henry said firmly. ‘Go back to sleep. We'll talk in the morning.'

When he came down in the morning, having slept longer than usual, Miriam was already at the breakfast table, slim and trim, her greying hair becomingly waved. She smiled at him and spoke in a cheerful voice. ‘You had a good sleep, darling! Were you very tired?'

‘I was.'

She poured his coffee and handed it to him.

‘So! How did it go? How was Graham? When will he be home? Was Opal pleased with him?'

‘Very pleased. Good reports all round.'

‘That's lovely! I shall be pleased to see him back.'

‘I'm afraid it's not as simple as that,' Henry said.

A piece of toast was halfway to Miriam's mouth. She put it back on the plate, and looked at her husband. He was never the most cheerful man in the world at breakfast, but now he looked unusually grim. ‘What do you mean, not simple? I don't understand. Is something wrong?'

‘You're not going to like this, Miriam. Graham has got himself engaged to be married!'

She stared at him, not believing her ears. ‘
What
did you say?'

‘I said, Graham has got himself engaged to be married.'

‘I don't believe it!' she said. ‘How in the world has that happened?'

‘I assume in the way it usually does!' Worry made him brusque. ‘He said “Will you marry me?”; she said “Yes!”'

‘You know that's not what I mean,' Miriam said. ‘Has he . . . ? Is she . . . ?'

‘She is not pregnant,' Henry said. ‘And having met her, I'd say she's not that sort of a girl. No worries on that score.'

‘So what sort of a girl
is
she?' Miriam demanded. ‘Please, Henry! You're telling me nothing!'

‘She's young – eighteen. She's pretty. She's very bright. And I'd say she's as much in love with Graham as he is with her – which is a lot.'

‘But? There is a but. I can tell by the look on your face.'

‘She's an unsophisticated country girl, not long from Ireland. She's an assistant in Opal's store. Although she's bright, she's not educated.'

‘And her family? What about her family?'

‘She's living with an aunt and uncle in Akersfield,' Henry said. ‘I didn't have time to meet them. Graham says they're decent people.'

‘Whatever that means!' Miriam said. ‘And it probably means she won't fit in. And she's undoubtedly after him for his position and his prospects.'

‘I don't somehow think so,' Henry said.

Miriam hardly listened. ‘Oh, why did Graham have to be so foolish? And why didn't you bring him right back with you so that we could talk some sense into him?'

‘Because he's not a child,' Henry said impatiently. ‘He's a grown man. He'll come home when he chooses, and I can tell you for certain, he'll not come without Breda.'

‘Breda?'

‘Breda O'Connor.'

‘She sounds very Irish.'