The White Empress (24 page)

Without a word he took the money from his wallet and just stared into space as she went to the bar.

She put the change in her purse and put the drinks down on the table. He left his untouched.

‘Carryin’ on with a married man! It would ’ave broke my Ma’s heart if she’d ’ave known. That’s how she got her job, she threatened
to tell ’is poor wife about it all unless he got you to help her. Joe Calligan wasn’t ’alf mad about it!’ She sipped the drink.
She was enjoying every minute of this. It had been Stephen Hartley who had recounted to her these details, cursing Cat viciously,
when by pure coincidence she had mentioned her sister to him on one of his weekly visits.

The whisky burned his dry throat. ‘Joe. Joe’s just . . . just a friend,’ he muttered, inanely.

She laughed raucously. ‘Is that what she told you? Oh, Joe’s a friend alright, a very old friend! That carry on ’as been goin’
on ever since she was sixteen!’

He felt ill and his throat was so dry he couldn’t utter a word.

‘I’ve seen ’er a couple of times, leavin’ the ship. Done up to the nines ’an laughin’ an’ jokin’ with that Marie Gorry. Mind
you, they was good to take her in after Ma died. Pa never knows what day of the week it is, always half-cut, he is. But give
credit where it’s due, she was never a fool, was Cat. She’s done alright for herself, especially landin’ a catch like you!
I’ve ’eard them say you’ll be the youngest captain in Liverpool soon. God, but there’ll be no holdin’ our Cat then! Bloody
Lady Muck, she’ll be then! Probably ’ave to make an appointment to see ’er, we will! Probably won’t even ask
us to the weddin’.’ She seethed with mock indignation. ‘Another drink, luv? Can’t do any ’arm, havin’ a few drinks with me
prospective brother-in-law, can it?’

He didn’t know how he had got out of the pub and back on to the ship. He remembered nothing, except that once back in his
cabin he had taken his ‘docking bottle’ and poured himself another whisky. It hadn’t helped. He couldn’t get Shelagh Cleary’s
revelations out of his mind. Everything fitted, like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle. He would have dismissed the whole thing as
a pack of vicious lies, except for one thing. Stephen Hartley. Cat had never mentioned him in all the years he had known her,
except on that first occasion in the Imperial Hotel. And she had admitted that she had a sister called Shelagh. He flung the
empty glass against the bulkhead where it shattered into a million pieces on the floor. It summed up his life, he thought
bitterly. Shattered into a million pieces by a lying, cheating, conniving . . .

There was a knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ he barked.

‘I’m sorry, David, am I interrupting you?’ Cat said.

‘No. There’s no one I’d sooner see, come in!’

She had never heard him sound so angry. Then she noticed the whisky bottle on top of the locker and the fragments of glass
on the floor. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I’ve just had a long talk with someone you know very well!’

The anger in his eyes and the fury in his voice drained all the happiness from her. She had come to tell him about the baby.
There was only a skeleton crew aboard and Miss Sabell had already left the ship, so there was no
one to tell tales or spy and she had judged this to be the right moment. Obviously it was not. ‘Who . . . What?’ she stammered.

‘Your sister! Shelagh Cleary, or Mrs O’Mara as she now calls herself! The Mrs O’Mara of some repute among the lower elements
of the crew and not only of this ship – any ship! A whore!’

The room began to revolve slowly and everything she had intended to say was forgotten.

‘And it was not a pretty tale she told me, either!’

‘She’s always hated me, David!’ she cried.

‘I can believe that! But why all the lies, Cat, and for so long? Lies about your family, about Marie and her family?’

She was too stunned to think clearly. ‘Because . . . because . . . I love you! I didn’t want you to think . . .’

‘I could have forgiven you that, except for Stephen Hartley!’

She clung to the edge of the locker for support. How had Shelagh found out about him? She started to protest but he cut her
short.

‘You never did tell me how you met him, in fact you would never even speak of him, but your sister told me! She told me just
what you got up to and how you blackmailed him!’

‘No! No! It wasn’t like that! I didn’t know he was married . . . he used me!’

‘And what about Joe Calligan? That affair has been going on since you were sixteen, hasn’t it? I’ll bet you’ve both been laughing
yourselves silly behind my back!’

‘It’s all lies, David! Filthy lies! She swore she’d get
even with me, one day, because I wouldn’t help her! Don’t you see, it’s all lies!’

‘I don’t think they are! What had she to gain? What had she to lose? Nothing! While you . . . you stand to gain everything
and lose everything. Everything you planned and schemed for! Someone of my background with my future! You used me, latched
on to me and to my aunt, to claw your way up from the gutter and then, when you realised I was vulnerable . . . you could
sit back and be a lady for the rest of your life! Live in luxury! But of course you could have the best of both worlds, couldn’t
you? A lovely home, comfortably off and with a loving husband conveniently out of the way for months on end, so you could
carry on your little liaisons – providing you were discreet! And me, bloody fool that I am, would never have known! You’re
beneath contempt!’

‘David! David!’ she cried imploringly.

‘God, you’ve made a fool of me! I even bought you a ring! Half the crew of at least two ships in this port must be rocking
with laughter!’

She reeled back before this verbal onslaught, her back pressed against the cabin door, and dimly she realised she was losing
everything and that she must try to fight back. She had never lacked courage.

‘So I told you a pack of lies, but not about Joe or Stephen Hartley and you can ask Marie for verification! Ask her! Go on,
ask her!’ she screamed. ‘I’ve never slept with anyone but you and you know that! You were the first. You knew and I don’t
care if you believe me or not! I love you, David! I’ve loved you for years and I’ve
waited for you, despite the fact that I know just how domineering your mother is! Many a girl would have given up years ago!’

‘But you didn’t give up, did you?’ His sarcasm was scathing. ‘You knew you had too much to lose! Don’t try to lie your way
out of this now, Cat! It’s over, finished, and I never want to see you again!’

‘I’m having your child!’ she screamed at him. She was past caring now, she didn’t care if the whole ship heard her.

The expression on his face didn’t change. In fact he hardly moved a muscle, but his eyes were so cold and hard that she cringed.
She had never seen such cold contempt as that now portrayed in his glacial stare. And when he spoke his voice was cold, too.
It was the voice of a stranger.

‘Don’t add to the lies! Do you think I’m fool enough to fall for that one? Don’t you think I’ve enough intelligence not to
see you’re grasping at straws? You can’t fool me any longer! Get out! Get out before I forget I’m a gentleman!’

Her breathing was shallow, her hands were placed palms flat against the door, as though she were using the pressure to keep
her upright. Something inside her head snapped and she turned on him. Her mocking laughter echoed round the cabin.

‘Gentleman! Gentleman! Is that what you think you are? There are galley-boys who are more of a gentleman than you’ll ever
be! And they’ve got more guts too! They aren’t tied to their mother’s apron strings, afraid to open their mouths and express
an opinion! Promising
“Mother” they will be good little boys and not get married! Not until she lets them! I’m going and I never want to see you
again! I hope you rot in Hell! You’ll never see your child and I’ll make sure it grows up hating you, you spineless, gutless
toad!’

When she reached her own cabin she was violently sick. She leaned over the basin, her head swimming. Shelagh! Shelagh had
caused all this! She hoped venomously that her sister would one day be found in some alley with her throat cut!

Hours later Marie found her lying curled up on her bunk, staring at the wall. She tried to console her. She wanted to go and
try to talk some sense into him but she vehemently refused to let her do that.

‘I have my pride! There’s not much of it left right now, but I still have enough left to stop you from crawling to him! I
could have stood his anger at the lies about my background, I deserved that, but he believed the lies she told him about Joe
and Stephen Hartley! How did she find out about Stephen Hartley?’

‘I don’t know, Cat, maybe she didn’t know, maybe she was only guessing. Maybe she met Stephen some time!’

She didn’t care. She felt as though she would never, ever care about anything again.

S
HE HAD FINALLY PLUCKED
up enough courage to tell Mr and Mrs Gorry on the Sunday evening. She had been so withdrawn, so weighed down by shock, that
she knew nothing of the events of that fateful Sunday. She walked into the parlour that evening, ready to tell them that she
was bearing a bastard. She found them grouped around the radio set. She heard the voice on the radio. A quiet, serious voice.
A voice she remembered having heard before, a few weeks ago aboard the
Empress
as they had sailed home from Canada. It was the King’s voice. She wondered vaguely why King George was making a radio broadcast.
As the serious tones continued she realised why. Britain was at war with Germany.

She hadn’t told them that night, they were too shocked by the news. But she told them the following morning after everyone
had spent a restless night, wondering what the next months would bring. Only Mr Gorry, who had served in the Royal Navy in
the first Great Conflict, had any conception of what faced them.
Mrs Gorry had not wept or raged or shown her the door. Sadly she had shaken her head, patted her shoulder and then, as always,
looked to her husband for advice.

‘He won’t marry you, Cat?’ Mr Gorry asked.

It was Marie who had related David’s betrayal, prompted by Shelagh’s vindictiveness. When she had finished Mrs Gorry had tears
in her eyes.

‘Then it’s well rid of him, I say! A fine husband he would have turned out to be. I never could understand why he kept you
dangling about for so long. He could have married you years ago and still carried on with his career!’

‘Mum, there’s no use talking like that now, it won’t help,’ Marie chided gently.

‘I can’t stay here. I won’t bring this shame on you, not after all you’ve done for me and for Eamon. It was partly my own
fault, I shouldn’t have lied to him about my family. I shouldn’t have embroiled you in my lies, it was wrong! I can’t bring
more shame on you. There must be a home for . . . for girls like me, but I don’t think I could bear it in Liverpool!’

‘We’ll have no more talk like that, Cat! You’re not going into a “Home”, you’re not a bad girl! Foolish, maybe, but not bad!’
Mr Gorry retorted.

‘I can’t stay here, you have your reputation . . . the business and then there’s Marie and Doreen and Marlene!’

‘They are both married, it’s nothing to do with them.’

‘But what about Marie? What about Brian?’

‘Oh, to hell with me! And Brian’s not like that . . .
that swine!’ She squeezed Cat’s hand. ‘Have you still got the address of the parents of that Welsh girl you met on your first
trip? Didn’t you say you’d get out to see them some time?’

Hope flickered. ‘That was years ago! They won’t remember me, probably Megan expected me to go years ago!’ But it was a tiny
ray of hope in all the darkness. ‘I’ve still got the address somewhere.’

‘Then that’s the answer! Go and stay with them!’

‘I couldn’t do that! They’re total strangers and what will I tell them about . . . the baby?’

‘Marie’s right. I’ll write to them today. There are lots of mothers-to-be being evacuated now. God alone knows what we have
to face with the country at war! It’s the best for you.’

‘At least you won’t have to resign from the company, not with us all being laid off because of the war.’

Cat smiled wryly. That was true enough. She could leave with an unblemished record. This terrible war was, in that way, a
blessing in disguise. No, there was nothing about the months that faced them all that could remotely be described as a ‘blessing’.

‘You’ll have to call yourself Mrs,’ Marie interrupted her thoughts.

‘Mrs what?’

‘Well, you haven’t seen Joe for years and he is away at sea.’

‘Marie, I can’t tell more lies! It’s because of all the lies that I—’

‘Not entirely. I was partly to blame, I encouraged you, but your Shelagh’s got a lot to answer for!’

‘I can’t Marie, I can’t lie anymore!’

‘Cat, you’ve got to try to build a new life and not just for yourself, for the baby. You can’t tell them the truth, wasn’t
that why Megan went to Canada? No one will ever know except us and you haven’t heard from Joe in years and you’re not likely
to! You’ll have to tell them you’re Mrs. Calligan. Do you want your baby born in a home for fallen women? The place and address
will be on the birth certificate! How will you explain that away in later years? You’ve got no choice, not if you really think
about it!’

So with reluctance and foreboding she agreed.

The reply came back quickly. Yes, Mr and Mrs Roberts remembered Cat, Megan still asked about her, if they had seen her. Yes,
they would be delighted to have her stay. Megan was doing very nicely in Canada now, she had a husband and two children. She
would never forget how kind Cat had been to her, and it definitely wasn’t safe for her, in her condition, to stay in such
a vulnerable city.

With a cheap wedding ring on her finger and her case, she and Marie had been driven through the Mersey Tunnel and the quiet
lanes of North Wales to the little market town of Denbigh, with its ruined castle on the hill and its cobbled market square
and stone market hall. In Lenten Pool at the bottom of the steep hill, they had asked the directions for the tiny village
of Henllan with its church and chapel, its schoolhouse, a few rows of cottages, one shop and Mr Thomas Roberts’ new house
and building yard; set admist the rolling green pastureland of the Clwyd Valley.

Mr and Mrs Roberts came out to greet them and Mr Roberts took the luggage from Mr Gorry, handing it to his son, Thomas, of
the new house and building yard. Hands were shaken all round and they were ushered into the farm kitchen where tea and Bara
Brith were waiting. Mrs Roberts was a small, rotund woman with a fresh complexion and dark eyes. She asked Cat when the baby
was due and said she must stay with them until it was born. The country was the place for babies, not smoke-filled, noisy
towns that were likely to be bombed. She asked when Mr. Calligan would be home and Cat answered, truthfully, that she didn’t
know. Mrs Roberts had tutted sympathetically.

She had thought about Joe during those early months, when she went for solitary walks, out past the little thatched pub. He
had said he wouldn’t be around to pick up the pieces and he wasn’t. She hadn’t seen him since that day. She’d heard of the
movements of the
Aquitania
of course, but her heart was heavy and she felt so alone and lost without him to turn to.

Her baby was born on 30 March and she called her Hilary Josephine. One of the ships of the Booth Line had been called Hilary
and she had always liked the name; she added Josephine after Joe. Her labour had been short and the birth easy but her recovery
was slow, plagued by a sense of loss and uncertainty and depression. For days she lay prostrate, incoherent and half-delirious.
She wasn’t recovering as most women in Mrs Roberts’s experience had and she wondered if she should send her to the hospital
in Denbigh.

For Cat the hours before dawn were the worst. She
would lie in the narrow bed, the crib beside her, and watch the cold, April light creep into the room. She felt that life
held out no hope, that she was just waiting for the beginning of another empty day whose hours stretched before her like purgatory.
She stared at the wall with eyes that saw nothing but cold emptiness. A heart that was like a piece of stone, a mind that
would not let her rest. But gradually she pulled round. She was healthy and the post-natal depression lifted. The day came
at last when she had taken Hilary into her arms and felt for the first time a surge of tenderness and a fierce protectiveness
for this tiny scrap of humanity that had been born into such a world of sorrow.

She thanked Mrs Davies and closed the door of the tiny shop behind her. The bell tinkled. She bent and placed the few groceries
in their brown paper bags, on top of the pram, then adjusted the sun canopy. The June day held the promise of being hot but
it was early yet. She’d walk the long way around. Down the hill, up past the church and along the shaded lane. That way she
wouldn’t meet many people or pass the school or Thomas’s fine house, Bryn Arwel, with the building yard at the back. He was
also the local undertaker and passing that yard always depressed her, although he was pleasant and his wife, Margaret, always
had a cheerful word for her.

Further up the road she sat down on the little wooden bench in the shadow of a huge elm tree. The baby was asleep. The long
shadow of the square, stone tower of the church fell across the pram. Her head was beginning to ache. She closed her eyes
and sat for a while, listening
to the droning of the bees in the hedgerow. Then she glanced up at the church clock. She’d better get back, she’d promised
to help with the baking. She looked around at the green fields, peaceful under the clear blue sky, the meadows lush with grass,
the black and white cows grazing beneath the trees. The overhanging trees shut out most of the sunlight and it was pleasantly
cool, their shadows dappling the narrow lane.

You could see the farm once you rounded the next bend. The house was old and stone-built, its small windows gleaming in the
sunlight. Behind it and beside it were the stone barn and byre. She remembered the day she had first seen it. On a bright
October morning when the leaves were turning orange, vermilion and gold. When the air smelled damp but pungent with the earthy
odours of autumn. When the stubble fields had turned their cropped faces to the pale sun. The house was in sight now. The
door open, the chickens scratching in the yard and Peg, the old border collie, lying with her head on her paws, just outside
the door, waiting for her master.

When she had closed the wicket gate behind her she bent and patted the dog’s head before lifting the groceries from the pram.

‘On guard, Peg!’ she said softly, for the baby was still asleep. The dog instantly pricked up its ears and moved closer to
the pram. Not even the Angel Gabriel himself would get past that dog now, she thought. She could hear voices in the kitchen.
It must be later than she had realised. Mr Roberts was in for lunch. She lifted the latch of the low, wooden door and stepped
inside.

‘Hello, Cat!’

She gave a shriek of delight and flung herself into Joe’s arms. ‘Oh, Joe! Why didn’t you let me know you were coming! How
did you—’ she stopped herself, remembering her hosts.

‘Isn’t that a nice surprise, now? Came in on the early bus he did,’ Mrs Roberts beamed. ‘Wanted to go and meet you, he did,
but I said to wait. Better to have some privacy here than have half the village looking on.’

She’d never expected to see him again. Waves of joy and relief swept over her. She just stood staring up at him. Oh, how she’d
missed him. Then she noticed the uniform. It was that of the Royal Navy. A puzzled look came into her eyes.

‘Now why don’t you both go into the parlour, you must have such a lot of news to catch up on and you’ll want time on your
own and I have this lot to feed, see. I’ll bring you in a tray,’ Mrs Roberts urged.

She thanked her profusely and led the way into the parlour. For the first time she felt uneasy in his presence. ‘How . . .
how did you find me?’ she asked after she had closed the door.

He eased himself down into a chair. ‘Marie. I went looking for you when I got home, to tell you I was . . . sorry. It wasn’t
time for harbouring old anger.’ He looked down at his hands, as if embarrassed. ‘I heard that the
Empress of Britain
is now on war service and I knew you’d have been laid off.’

She began to pluck at the hem of her skirt, a lump rising in her throat. She felt despicable, somehow dirty
and soiled. She found it hard to think, to speak. ‘Did she . . . did she tell you—?’

‘She told me everything,’ he replied quietly but one glance at the dark eyes told her he was betraying nothing. Not anger,
not contempt, not hurt – nothing.

‘It was Shelagh.’

‘She did you a favour, Cat.’

‘Favour?’

‘I never liked him.’

‘You never liked anyone that—’

‘If he’d have loved you he wouldn’t have kept you hanging about so long.’

‘It was what we both wanted – at the time.’

He rose and faced her. ‘I’ve known you too long to know when you’re lying, Cat. You never were much good at it. Not with me,
anyway.’

She couldn’t meet his eyes and her words came slowly, painfully, bringing back memories she wanted to forget. ‘It served me
right, living all those lies for so many years. You . . . you can’t build a life on lies, not a secure one.’

He said nothing and she stood, head bowed, eyes filled with incipient tears.

‘I’m still doing it,’ she choked. ‘Sometimes I get so tired of it all, I just want to tell everyone the truth! They are so
kind, so generous! Oh, Joe, where will it all end?’

He took her cold hands in his and she wanted to cling to him as she had done in the old days. But there was too much hurt
between them now. She bit her lip. She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want his pity.