The Promise (12 page)

‘Actually, I think you do.’ Then he pulled her into his arms and this time he did kiss her, very thoroughly. It was a savage kiss, hard and brutal, but Chrissie made no protest, rather gave a little moan deep in her throat. She leant into him, couldn’t seem to help herself, all her
resolutions melting away at the sensations racketing through her body as his mouth moved possessively over hers. Demanding and insistent, he coaxed her lips open and, to her shame, she allowed his tongue to tease and dance with hers. Chrissie couldn’t ever remember feeling like this, as if this was the place she wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world, the place she belonged, in Ben’s arms.

And then she remembered how she’d vowed never to let herself feel anything for a man ever again. How she had vowed not to fall in love, not to risk the pain of losing that love. Bursting into tears she thrust him from her and ran to the loft without looking back.

He was sitting outside the next morning when Chrissie finally emerged, rather late and bleary-eyed, for breakfast. The night before she’d taken a hot bath and been ashamed to find herself crying into the soapsuds like some foolish young schoolgirl. What had she expected? What had she hoped for? That Ben Gorran might suddenly become the new love of her life? What dangerous folly that would be. Look at how weak she’d been over Peter, letting things muddle along because she couldn’t bear to be alone when she was still grieving for Tom. And consider how she allowed her own mother to control her life, running her errands, waiting on her hand, foot and finger, even telling lies for her. Hadn’t she firmly resolved to make a fresh start, to be strong, and fight for her freedom and independence, to think for herself in future and stop being the good little girl who wanted to please everyone? Now
look at the state of her, all because she’d been stupid enough to forget her own rules. Well, it would not happen again. She would build a shield of iron around her heart which no good-looking male could breach.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, stomach churning despite her resolve.

‘I’ve waited by your door all night to beg your forgiveness,’ he murmured.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Maybe I am ridiculous, but it’s the truth. I’m sorry I messed up.’ And taking her hand he kissed it. Encouraged when she didn’t protest, he kissed her mouth, very softly, then the pulse of her throat.

Only then did it occur to her how dishevelled he looked, how his rough, whiskery chin had scraped against hers. Chrissie pushed him gently away to study him more closely. He was still wearing the same clothes, save for the navy jacket which he’d discarded and now hung over the gate. The smart blue shirt was badly creased and grubby, sleeves rolled up, his hair tousled, as if he’d spent the intervening hours constantly combing it through with agitated fingers. Perhaps he had. Her senses skittered, for the rumpled look rather suited him, making him look sexier than ever.

‘I don’t believe you would do such a thing,’ she protested, eyes fluttering closed on a faint murmur as he continued to trail kisses round to her ear.

He held her away from him, his gaze warm as it met hers. ‘I am so sorry for my daughter’s behaviour. She’s just turned nine, going on thirty-nine. Feels she has to watch
over me, and is very bossy. I’ve told her to apologise to you herself. Please don’t say it’s over between us before we’ve even begun. I beg you to please give me another chance.’

There was a desperate appeal in his voice, in his eyes, which Chrissie found dangerously alluring. She could find no words to answer him, her mind in a whirl, a torrent of emotion searing through her just by the way his hand was smoothing her arm.

‘You must know how I feel about you, Chrissie. From the moment I first saw you walking along the shore in that yellow dress, it felt like a little piece of sunshine had fallen into my life. I’ve done my best to be patient, knowing how vulnerable you are, afraid I might frighten you off if I spoke too soon. I’m just hoping that I haven’t completely blown it. Could we start again, do you reckon?’

He was looking at her with such pleading in his eyes that she felt something shift inside, as if her heart had flipped over. Her lips twitched, the corners lifting slightly into the shadow of a smile.

So he’d put off telling her about his daughter because the girl was being difficult. And like all men he would hate emotional confrontations. No doubt that was the reason he was having problems with the child in the first place.

But what was he asking of her? What did he want? Could she trust him? Should she forgive him for not being open and honest with her? And had he truly given up on his marriage, or was there some truth in what Karen said?

She felt herself trembling at the top of a slippery slope
which could swoop her into a wonderful, new exciting life, or lead her down into a morass of problems she’d much rather not be involved with. Chrissie closed her mind to the sweetness that had flowed through her a moment ago at his touch, and, keeping her tone deliberately cool, almost indifferent, she calmly informed him that she intended to return to London. ‘I shall be leaving first thing in the morning.’ She saw how his face fell, his disappointment all too plain to see, and she relented a little. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back. I mean to take that little shop.’

‘You do?’ His joy was transparent, rather like a small boy on Christmas morning.

Chrissie couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I’ve signed the contract and everything. As for you and me, I’ll think about it. Let’s take things slowly, shall we, one step at a time? I’ll be away for about a week collecting my stuff. Then we’ll see.’

‘I’ll be waiting, just as long as it takes.’

Despite herself, Chrissie rather hoped that he would.

Maybe the episode with Karen, or else the kiss, had acted as a sort of catalyst, but Chrissie rather thought that she’d at last made up her mind. She wasted no time in returning to the agent to set the necessary arrangements in motion. He was delighted by her decision. She agreed to bring in a cheque for the deposit before she left for London and he promised to have the lease ready for signing on her return the following week. She still needed to go home to London to pack her belongings, and no doubt there’d be some explaining to do, arrangements
to make for her mother. Vanessa would not be pleased by the news, and would no doubt hit the roof in one of her tantrums.

But no matter how difficult a challenge she faced, Chrissie was determined that she wouldn’t allow herself to be persuaded out of this decision. Her mind was made up. It was time to put herself first.

If she’d anticipated surprise when she announced she was staying for good, she had seriously underestimated Georgia. ‘Ah, yet another to fall victim to Lakeland’s charm?’

‘Well, it is rather irresistible. I feel the move would be good for me since I’m in need of a fresh start.’

‘That’s what people always say when they come here, then once under the town’s spell they never move again.’ Georgia gave her gentle smile. ‘Consider carefully before you decide. It could be a lifelong change.’

Chrissie couldn’t help but laugh. ‘I’m willing to risk it. I’ve decided to take a little shop, initially on a
two-year
lease, which I hope will give me sufficient time to see if I can make a go of it. But I was wondering,’ she hurried on, ‘if I could extend my stay in the loft for a little longer, maybe another month. I shall be moving into the flat above the shop but it needs some work doing to it first, a good scrub down and a lick of paint mainly. I also need to pop back down to London to collect some of my things.’

‘And to tell your family of your decision, I imagine. How will they react, do you think?’

The question sounded so odd coming from her own
grandmother that it unnerved Chrissie a little and she took a moment to recover. Should she blurt out who she really was here and now? Would that make things worse for Vanessa, or better? Perhaps she should at least have the courtesy to tell her of this decision first. ‘I’m sure my mother will point out the likely problems, as all parents do. But I believe this one is right for me.’

‘I’m sure it is, and it’s really nobody’s business but your own what you choose to do with your life.’ Georgia settled on her favourite seat in the garden. ‘So tell me about this shop. What will you sell in it?’

Chrissie went to sit beside her. ‘Second-hand books mostly, plus maps, and a few cards and gifts.’

‘How wonderful. We could do with a bookshop in town. I love reading. We have a huge library here at Rosegill Hall. In fact, I’m quite certain there are several books you could have to help get you started.’

‘Oh, that would be wonderful, thank you. I was also thinking of putting an advert in the paper.’

‘Good idea, but take care how you word it. You don’t want damaged books on your shelves that have been kept in a damp old cellar for years. Do insist they are clean and in good condition.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. I mean to make a success of this business.’

‘I have no doubt you will succeed, my dear.’

They talked as they worked contentedly side by side, harvesting potatoes, leeks and onions, sowing winter lettuces and transplanting cabbages, while Chrissie spilt out her ideas. She grew increasingly enthusiastic
and confident as her grandmother listened so patiently, only interrupting to offer suggestions, or approve a particular plan. She didn’t issue the kind of lectures Chrissie had grown accustomed to from Peter. Nor did Georgia make any demands upon her as Vanessa constantly did. They talked as equals, and the old lady listened with interest to what Chrissie had to say, respecting her answers.

‘It all sounds such fun, and of course you are welcome to stay on here as long as you like, till you’ve got the flat entirely to your liking. There’s absolutely no rush. Hetty and I will be glad to help in any way we can. I’m rather handy with a paintbrush myself.’

‘Bless you, you’re very kind, I do appreciate your support.’ Was this the moment to reveal her true name? But how to break the news gently? ‘I seem to be able to talk to you so easily, easier than with my own mother. Why is that, I wonder?’

‘Ah, the mother-daughter relationship is not an easy one. It is fraught with underlying jealousies – the mother fearful of her child’s growing independence and awakening beauty, the daughter testing out her new powers.’ She gave a sad little smile. ‘And on top of all that comes the guilt. Whatever a mother does, she feels she should do better, because she’s the mom, right? And in her turn, every daughter loves and wants to please her mother, needs her approbation, although the price of achieving that is sometimes too high and goes against her own needs or desires.’

Very softly, Chrissie asked, ‘Did you pay too high a
price for the decisions you made? What happened with you and Ellis? Did your mother discover your secret? What plans did she have for you?’

‘Oh, marriage with a suitable young man, of course, and she set about the matter with her customary zeal. The consequences were very nearly catastrophic.’

Suitors were allowed to call on Thursday and Sunday afternoons. Prudence would flash her eyes and flutter her lashes, then reject them all. But still they came back for more, entranced by my sister’s wit and beauty. She would offer dazzling smiles at their compliments while Mama regaled them with tales of how her darling daughters had personally baked the scones and cakes with our own fair hands. An absolute fiction, particularly in Prue’s case, as she wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to begin. I too was a walking disaster in the culinary arts and Cook had actually banned me from the kitchen, my having burnt one too many meat rolls for her patience. But the fiction must be upheld that we were proficient in the feminine arts of baking muffins, embroidery, crochet, tatting and other fancy work. That way, Mama was confident we would attract a suitable husband.

I was gifted in none of these skills, nor in the art of seduction, certainly not with young men I found dull and unattractive.

One wet Sunday afternoon that autumn I was enduring yet another ‘At Home’. Today our guests were Leonard Stibley, a dandy who was fussy and fastidious; Willie Wyman, profligate and selfish; and Samuel Morgan, about whom the least said the better. And it took every ounce of my strained patience and feeble charm to fend off Marcus Coleson’s advances.

He was plump with bright-red hair and had already grown a moustache, at barely nineteen, which lay like a dead rat above a full upper lip. He had fat fingers that were constantly fidgeting, smoothing his superfine jacket, adjusting his silk cravat or primping said moustache. The thought of those hands ever touching me made me feel quite ill.

But he was the eldest son of a wine exporter of considerable means, therefore a candidate of note in Mama’s eyes. Even now she was conversing with him far more than I, telling him how I had embroidered the napkin he was using.

Smirking disdainfully at the article in question, he used it to dab at those moist, full lips of his, and inclined a slight head bow. ‘I am deeply impressed. However, Miss Georgina’s greatest charm is her beauty, her glossy black hair, red lips and delightful smile.’

Since I was not considered to be the beauty of the family, and hadn’t smiled once at him all afternoon, this was all fanciful nonsense on his part.

Mama simpered, sending me a furious glare in a silent plea to converse with him properly.

‘Prudence is the pretty one,’ I firmly responded. ‘And Mama, you know I cannot embroider for toffee. That is actually one of Prue’s napkins. My effort was a grubby mess that you quite rightly threw in the trash.’ I smiled at Marcus. ‘My skills lie in quite another direction. I have a fancy to be a nurse, Mr Coleson. Now what do you think of that?’

‘Do you mean to tend the sick?’ He looked quite shocked, as if I’d said I wished to enter a bawdy house.

‘I do, I can think of no better calling than to help those less fortunate than ourselves. What say you?’

‘I … er … um … really couldn’t say.’ He glanced about in desperation as if he might catch some dread disease simply by talking about it. The podgy fingers suddenly grew quite agitated as they eased a neckcloth that seemed to have become oddly tight.

To be fair, everyone lived in fear of sickness, and families would leave the city in summer to avoid any risk of contagion. To have a wife who deliberately laid herself open to such risk would be quite beyond the pale. Which was why I raised the subject.

Mama was fanning herself furiously with her lace kerchief. ‘What she means, dear Marcus, is that my
darling
daughter may well find herself obliged to take up some unseemly profession if she is unsuccessful in making a suitable marriage.’ As she most certainly will be if she does not make more effort, her flint-like gaze silently informed me. I dropped my own, realising
I’d gone too far in my teasing. I would indeed enjoy having a job that involved caring for others, even as I recognised Mama would never allow it. But there were limits to my acts of rebellion, and mine were already beginning to wither on the vine. I did not have my sister’s skill with banter, nor her desire to flirt with a noted bore.

He left soon after that, as did the other young men, without any requests to call again, much to Prue’s amusement and Mama’s despair.

After they had gone there followed the inevitable analysis. Mama would order Maura to clear away then bring us a fresh pot of tea while we picked over the afternoon’s offerings and issued our judgement, rather like a talent competition or horse fair. Really most degrading.

‘So what did you think of Wyman? Pleasant enough, I thought, but not quite up to the mark.’ It was Mama’s favourite phrase.

Prudence would make some cutting remark, as she was doing now. ‘Samuel Morgan’s crowning glory is undoubtedly his nose, but I couldn’t abide the constant honking.’

This reduced even Mama to choking giggles.

My mother then turned her gimlet eyes upon me. ‘Georgina, why can you not just once show a little interest in your suitors. Is it asking too much that you at least be polite and entertaining? Marcus Coleson is a charming young man, and of considerable means. Any young gel he takes as a wife will live in a fine house in the
Napa Valley, in the lap of luxury, and consider herself blessed.’

‘I have no great wish to live in luxury, and I really do not care for him, Mama.’

She let out a heavy sigh. ‘You cannot go on finding fault with these fine young men or you will live and die a spinster, my girl.’

‘I don’t care if I do,’ I stubbornly responded. ‘Better that than marrying such as Coleson. He would simply bore me to death. Anyway, I don’t like his hands.’

‘What on earth is wrong with his hands?’

‘His fingers are most dreadfully podgy.’

I could see her struggling to disagree, and finding it quite impossible she settled for her usual bland remark. ‘He is a fine, upstanding young man, of solid worth.’

‘Certainly solid,’ giggled my irrepressible sister.

‘Prudence!’ Mama reprimanded in her sternest tones. ‘I shall invite him again on Thursday, allow him one more opportunity to shine.’

‘Please don’t, Mama,’ I begged. ‘I assure you I could never like him. Nor do I care for his red hair.’ Horrified by this suggestion, I was desperate to find something, anything, to put a stop to her matchmaking.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. What does the colour of his hair signify?’

She was quite right, of course. It did not signify at all when choosing a husband. It was just that I preferred a certain pale gold, and a face with a wry grin and a smattering of freckles. But I couldn’t tell her that. Or could I?

For some weeks I suffered these At Homes in silence. Hopeful young men would come and attempt to dazzle us with their wit and charm, then quietly steal away disappointed or disillusioned. Prudence continued to flirt outrageously while I would sit like a wooden dummy, saying nothing, feeling stiff and awkward, wishing I were anywhere but in Mama’s front parlour. I ached to be out in the fresh air, walking with Ellis in the Japanese Gardens, my hand warmly held in his, or sitting beneath the eucalyptus trees talking about nothing in particular. Following that first tentative meeting we’d met regularly, usually in the park. I constantly chewed over in my mind how I might persuade Mama to invite this certain young sailor, with whom I’d quickly fallen head over heels in love, to tea, but never quite plucked up the courage.

Dearest Ellis, who had been my partner in a most thrilling adventure. Life seemed dull when he wasn’t around. We met also at the Institute, and I enjoyed my work there. I found great satisfaction in seeing how much pleasure we brought these men, who were so far from home, with the home-made suppers we provided, and the games and entertainment we organised for them.

One of their favourite activities was a tug of war. The men absolutely loved the challenge and were hugely competitive. The British would vie with the American ships to win, the French against the Germans or Russians, the floor slippery with their efforts despite the sawdust that was constantly thrown down. The winner was always the best out of three, and some of the men, the
Scandinavians, for instance, were powerfully built and formidable opponents.

One particular evening Ellis was in the team pulling against these Norse giants and I was filled with pride to see Ellis take his place … By no means the broadest but certainly one of the tallest in the British team, and with some power in those shoulders.

The captain gave the signal to start, and after much tugging and heaving, grunting and gasping, the British pulled the Scandinavians over the line, then repeated their success a second time. I was so thrilled that as Ellis turned towards me, a grin of pure triumph on his laughing face, I threw myself into his arms and kissed him.

The entire room erupted. The assembled seamen roared and cheered, stamped their feet, and I would not wish to repeat the ribald comments I received. I quickly broke away, crimson-cheeked with embarrassment. Prue was laughing along with the rest, seeing no real harm in my impulsive gesture. Surprisingly, it was Maura who was the most disapproving, and she lectured me all the way home.

‘What if someone should tell your mother?’

‘Mama doesn’t know anyone who attends the Institute.’

‘That Molly person might tell her, or – what’s her name? – the woman who organises the suppers? She must be somebody’s daughter, some woman who in turn might attend one of Mrs Briscoe’s bridge parties or sewing bees.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Maura, you really are worrying unduly. I think it highly unlikely.’

‘Stranger things have happened. You should be more careful. It was a foolish thing to do, miss, to kiss him like that in front of everybody. You might even consider calling an end to this madness.’

I looked at her askance. ‘It was just a
spur-of-the-moment
kiss. What is so wrong with that?’

‘It was rather public, old thing,’ Prudence whispered.

‘And clear to everyone that it was not your first,’ Maura added, her face unusually stern.

I was surprised by her sharpness, and said so. ‘I think you exaggerate. In any case, I get the distinct impression that you are rather sweet on John, and really have no objection to these little escapades.’

My maid’s blushes told their own tale, and I laughed. ‘I know I can rely upon you to keep my secret. You won’t breathe a word either, will you Prue? I know I can trust you both with my life.’

Prudence hastened to assure me that was most certainly the case. ‘You can, of course, rely upon my absolute loyalty. Oh, but Maura’s right, you must take more care, dearest. But she won’t tell either, will you, Maura? We can depend upon your discretion, can we not?’ And she turned to our ever-loyal maid.

After a short pause, Maura answered. ‘Indeed, haven’t you always been able to trust me?’ Her tone was dry, the words rather lacking in the required conviction, something which didn’t occur to me until later. Far too late. I did, however, appreciate their concern, and
realised Maura had made a valid point. I vowed to be more circumspect in future. But not for the world would I give him up.

I stubbornly continued to meet Ellis every Wednesday without fail, and there were many more stolen kisses. Only to yield my mouth to his sent my senses skittering with fresh desire, filling me with an exquisite pain. I would curl my fingers in his tousled hair, and he would press my soft body against the hardness of his own, murmuring my name over and over. He never asked for more than kisses; even so, I was aware how I sinned, and was quite unable to resist him. Touching, tasting, my mouth bruised and swollen from his kisses, I would have to sneak quickly upstairs to the bathroom on my return. Had Mama ever set eyes on me before I had freshened up, she would have guessed at once, just by the glazed expression of love in my eyes.

I continued to meet Ellis and defy my parents, sometimes without even Maura at my side, slipping out for a prearranged tryst at the corner of the block. The risks we ran in order to be together were both reckless and dangerous. But I did not hesitate to run them, nor pause to worry over what punishment Mama might inflict were she ever to discover my deceit, knowing it would be severe and long lasting. It made no difference; I would take any chances to be with him. I could have lived for ever in his arms, loving him as I did with all my heart and soul.

Sometimes Ellis would take me down to the waterfront
so we could watch the ships come and go in the bay. I didn’t care where we went, so long as he was by my side, although he was adamant that he would never take me to the more dangerous wharves, among the shabby bars, or into the seedy underbelly of Frisco.

‘That is no place for a lady.’

‘Huh, and I’m no fainting violet,’ I briskly informed him, cuddling close with his arm tight about my waist. ‘I can look after myself,’ and he burst out laughing.

‘I’ve seen the evidence of that with my own eyes. Even so, if I am ever to be received by your family that must never happen again.’

His words sobered me, for it was true. Meeting in secret like this was all very well – delightful, exciting, thrilling – but what of the future?

I lived in fear that any day he would tell me that he was leaving. I was thrilled that Ellis had let the SS
Kronus
leave without him. I flattered myself that he couldn’t bear for us to part, but I knew he must take another berth soon. At some point he would need to go back to sea as he had his living to earn. Besides which, hadn’t he made it plain that he never stayed anywhere very long, that he was an adventurer who suffered from itchy feet and must move on? I just prayed it wouldn’t be soon.

Perhaps driven by this fear as much as by the risks we ran, one afternoon I at last plucked up the courage to put forward my request. ‘Mama, may I invite a friend of mine for our next At Home?’

She looked up from her sewing to glare sharply at me.

‘A
friend
?’ As if it were impossible to imagine that I should have one. But then I had little opportunity to make the acquaintance of young gentlemen who were unknown to her. ‘And who might that be?’ Then she set down her embroidery with an irritated click of her tongue as she read the truth in my face. ‘Not that dreadful sailor, the one who allegedly rescued you from the masher? I knew it was a mistake to allow you to help out at the Seamen’s Institute.’