The Loom (39 page)

‘It looks nice on you, Mrs. Pringle,’ Leah said quickly. ‘That colour really suite you.’

Ugh! She made herself sick at times they way she mealy-mouthed at some of her customers. She liked most of the people she dealt with but Mrs. Pringle was not one of them. She detested her! She did nothing but complain! Thank God she’d made her change her mind about the large flowering print, which had been Mrs. Pringle’s first choice. She would have looked the size of an elephant in that!

Leah sighed and adjusted the hem. She glanced at the clock. It was well after five and she was still at it, thanks to this annoying woman who wasn’t satisfied with anything. If she’d had her way she would only sew for those who could show off her creations to the best advantage and it was definitely not Mrs. Pringle, who was a human version of Mt. Everest. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, although she certainly wasn’t a beggar. But picking and choosing customers did not make money, so she just put up with people like Mrs. Pringle and said, ‘Yes, Mrs. Pringle, no Mrs. Pringle, three bags full Mrs. Pringle.’

Leah walked to the front of rhino woman, who further endeared herself by saying. ‘How long are you going to be? I haven’t got all day.’

‘Not long, Mrs. Pringle.’ Cheeky sod, Leah thought. She’s the one who didn’t like this and didn’t like that. She had just placed a pin in the hem when the bell on the shop door rang. She looked up, surprised. She thought she’d locked the door!

‘I’ll only be a minute,’ she said, hurriedly putting in the last pin.

‘Make sure it is only a minute. I want to get home. I’ve the tea to make you know,’ Mrs. Pringle called after Leah’s retreating back.

Leah pulled aside the curtain separating the front and the back of the shop. She saw a man standing waiting with his back to her, looking out onto the Square. Another surprise! She didn’t often get many men in her shop.

When Raymond heard her step he turned around.

‘
Hi,’ he began, then stopped. Surely this wasn’t that skinny kid he’d known. She’d certainly changed. She stood for a moment, arm up, a thin white (vulnerable) arm, holding the curtain aside. That picture of her, standing there, arm raised, was like a cameo, which he reran, later, again and again: that arm, blue dress, the surprise and incredulity on her face. All there like a photo snapped in that instant. She was looking at him very strangely and then, before he could continue and introduce himself she fell on the floor.

‘
What the…!’ He ran forward and bent over her. Her eyes were closed, but that lovely bosom was still rising and falling under the light summer dress.

Leah had never fainted in her life before. It was an odd sensation, as though she’d taken leave of all her senses (which she had more or less, when she saw the man in her shop). Her head began to spin as though it would leave her neck and go flying off into space. She had the unreal feeling that she was being catapulted back in time, that she was in some kind of time warp because the shop and everything in it receded until there was only that face in front of her. Then that disappeared as well and she was walking in a meadow in a long white frock sprigged with tiny roses. It was a very pretty frock and she must have thought so, too, because she kept picking up the skirt and twirling around. The bright yellow buttercups in the meadow brushed against it and she watched, dreamily, the dandelion clocks rising in the air. She was carrying a basket and looking up at the sky, which was obliterated a little by the brim of the white straw hat she wore.

When she came to she was staring into the blue eyes of the man she’d thought was Stephen. How stupid of her because this man, now she could see him clearly, didn’t look at all like Stephen, although she supposed she could have been mistaken in that first glimpse. He was tall (as Stephen had been), but this man had a thinner face, cheek bones as sharp as knives and a slightly crooked nose (broken in a fight in the Yukon, but she wasn’t to know this), and his hair was light brown and not black.

He was supporting her head. She moaned and tried to get up and he helped her onto a chair.

‘
Sorry, silly of me. Must be the hot weather,’ she muttered. He patted her hand.

There was a gasp behind them. Raymond turned around and saw an awful apparition: a big woman in a half-made dress, who glared at him as though he’d committed a murder.

‘
Young man, what are you doing?’

‘I…hm…she fainted, I think,’ he stuttered. She reminded him of matron at school, who had terrified all the new boys and plied them with castor oil and dire threats of beatings if they didn’t behave themselves. (Which, of course, he hadn’t and consequently was made to swallow gallons of castor oil and suffered from perpetual sore bottom).

‘It’s all right, Mrs. Pringle. I don’t know what on earth came over me,’ Leah whispered. She still felt weak. She’d read in novels about women fainting. It was supposed to be an airy-fairy type of thing, where they sank gracefully down onto a sofa or into the arms of their beloved. Not landing flat on the floor like someone dropping a bag of flour. She’d hit her head as well. She felt at the back and winced. Yes, there was a lump the size of an egg.

Raymond stood awkwardly between the two women. He wouldn’t have come into the damned shop if he’d known this was going to happen. As he looked at Leah he had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, which was slowly working its way into the region of his chest. Odd! She did have beautiful eyes!

‘Are you all right now?’ he said.

‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry, I must have given you an awful shock, fainting like that.’

‘Well, it wasn’t what I expected.’

Leah was trying to place the accent. It sounded American but there was a trace of English as well. He was staring at her strangely. She blushed, feeling awkward. Mrs. Pringle was still standing watching them suspiciously.

‘I’ll be with you in a minute, Mrs. Pringle,’ Leah said, turning to her. ‘If you’ll go into the dressing room I’ll come and help you off with that dress.’

Mrs. Pringle looked from Leah to Raymond and then walked back into the dressing room, reeking of disapproval. What was that Leah up to now? There was always something going on where she was concerned. Usually something to do with a man, so she shouldn’t have been surprised at what had happened.

‘If you’ll excuse me a moment,’ Leah said to Raymond, ‘I’ll just attend to my customer. You don’t mind waiting do you?’

‘No, no, not at all, I’ve plenty of time,’ Raymond replied. He walked over to the window and looked out onto the Square again. Something had shifted in his mind, as though everything was being rearranged, like changing furniture around in a room to give it a better look. The town didn’t seem so bad, his spirits weren’t so down and he had the distinct impression it was all to do with Leah Hammond!

Leah went back to attend to Mrs. Pringle, trying to ignore the disapproval on her face. She could just go to hell, she thought, nosy parker. She was fed up with people trying to dissect her life, prying into her affairs, trying to take her down a peg or two. In fact she was fed up with Harwood and even of sewing at the moment and now she felt even worse because there was something about that man out there which disturbed her. And she didn’t want to feel disturbed. She’d had enough trouble in her life and she wanted everything to run smoothly for once. For her life to be peaceful and, yes, even boring if need be. When Mrs. Pringle had gone she’d go right back into the shop and politely but firmly get rid of that man, whoever he was.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

J
essica feels she’s been waiting all her life for this day. Of course she hasn’t, it just seems so. Those lost years when she’d been in some kind of limbo were now of no consequence at all. And does one really want to know the future? There’s only one guarantee about
that
! It’s the present that counts, that’s the reality, to be treasured like a precious jewel, because it slips so quickly into past.

‘Just put the empty suitcase in the back, thank-you Grimsby.’

‘Yes, madam,’ Grimsby replied, still as thin as ever and more loyal to the Townsend’s than ever. His long serious face looked unusually animated. He was excited, in fact, a feeling quite foreign to him for there was little that seemed to stir his placid personality (apart from a bomb, Maud would sometimes think). She would have liked to shake him at times, although you had to admit he wasn’t a troublemaker, not like some people she could put a name to.

Today, however, he felt different and all because Mr. Townsend was coming home. After all that time ‘
in that there looney ‘,
he had said to Maud. ‘Sanitarium,’ Maud said sharply. ‘Just watch what you say, Alf.’

‘Well, whatever it is he’ll be glad to see the back of it,’ Alf replied, also sharply.

Maud could be a bit bossy (like all women that’s why he’d never married. Who wanted that all the time?) But it was good about Mr. Townsend because he’d always liked him, and found him a good boss to work for. And at last the Hall would be more like it used to be.

Maud had been up since the crack of dawn, bustling around, cooking and baking, singing in a light contralto ‘on Ilkley Moor baht ‘at’. Overdoing it again, Grimsby thought, but said nothing as he watched Maud scurrying around the kitchen, her face flushed, her eyes bright like a bird who’d just found something delectable for her young.

Beattie and Clara were upstairs opening up the rooms, which had been closed for the last two years. They would need a good airing, dusting; a good sweeping and scouring and cleaning, Mrs. Townsend had said when she told them, her eyes bright, too, with anticipation. Jenny now the downstairs maid, as well as working in the scullery, was scrubbing and polishing as though her life depended on it.

‘I’ll be off, Maud,’ Grimsby said, putting on his chauffeur’s hat. He brushed a few crumbs off his coat and some specks of fluff off his trousers and bent down and polished his shoes again with his handkerchief.

What a fuss pot Maud thought, watching him, but a kind soul and who wouldn’t harm a hair on anyone’s head (who would want to harm hair, anyway, as the thought struck her?)

‘Good.’ She looked at the clock. Six! Mr. Townsend was to be discharged at eight o’clock. Good thing it was daylight until almost ten. Mrs. Townsend didn’t like driving at night and they would stay in Manchester after they’d picked up Mr. Townsend, then come back early tomorrow.

The Rolls was parked outside on the drive. Grimsby waited, leaning against the car bonnet and smoking a cigarette. He blew smoke in the air, thinking about Mr. Townsend and then Mrs. Townsend walked down the steps to the car. Grimsby stubbed the cigarette out on the gravel, then picked it up and put it in his pocket. (He was terribly tidy, too, about everything, including cigarette butts).

Mrs. Townsend looked a treat, he thought. All in white like a bride, although not in a long dress of course. She had on a short dress with a pleated skirt that twirled around her legs like a fan. She had white court shoes on, beige stockings and her hat was white, as well as her gloves. Even her handbag was white. The only thing not white was a flimsy kind of scarf at her throat in peach. A fair treat to look at he thought again!

Jessica felt wonderful, like she was floating on a cloud, buoyed up by cotton wool fluff balls. She’d waited a long time for this; a long time to bring George home.

‘Let’s get going, Grimsby,’ she said and smiled at him as he opened the door for her, putting a hand under her elbow to help her in, like Sir Walter Raleigh almost, when he’d thrown his cloak on the muddy ground for Queen Elizabeth.

Jessica settled into the back seat. Grimsby walked ponderously round to the driver’s side (he couldn’t hurry if his life depended on it Jessica thought in exasperation).

She’d waited so long for this day and she’d thought it would never come. All those months and years of watching George wither before her eyes and then the joy as he had slowly recovered until he looked more like the George of old, except that now his hair was almost completely white.

They set off. The sun was getting low and a magnificent sunset was being born, silhouetting the trees on the edge of the lake, flushing the water into pale blues, lilacs and mauves. Long shadows dappled the lawn and Jessica thought how lovely Hyndburn was, in spite of all that had happened. How terribly lonely she’d been in the last few months after Frieda had returned to Germany.

Germany! Hitler was taking Germany by storm and it seemed as though the whole nation was flocking to National Socialism (including Paul). She had hated it on her last visit. Hated the Nazis and all they stood for. She couldn’t wait to get back to England, realizing at last where her allegiance truly lay. How ignorant she had been to think that she could put aside her English upbringing, the ideals of fair play, of courage, honesty and integrity. Sadly she realized a lot of her friends were still very pro German. Didn’t they realize what was going on there, or didn’t they care? She would never go back, not whilst the Nazis were in power.