Threads of Silk (20 page)

Ellie lined up the sheets of silk, taut in their wooden frames, and switched on the overhead spotlights, adjusting each one to shine directly on to the painting. She stepped back to let Alex see.

‘These are excellent, but what else could I expect from my talented wife?’ He dropped a kiss on her head. ‘I don’t want you overdoing things, though.’

She ignored his condescending tone. Since she’d told him she was pregnant, he treated her as if she might break. At least the tension between them had lessened and she didn’t want to jeopardize the fragile thread that held them together.

She smiled. ‘Painting relaxes me,’ she said. ‘I was a bit worried about these though – it’s the first time I’ve tried anything really modern or abstract.’

‘We must get some proper frames made,’ Alex said, pointing. ‘I like that one – it’ll look good on the dining room wall over the fireplace.’

Ellie bit back a reply. She’d been working on the new designs for several weeks and, although Alex seemed pleased that she’d regained her usual zest for life, he still treated her art as if it were a hobby. She knew she should have told him about her commissions for Sylvia before now but the opportunity hadn’t arisen. Besides, he wasn’t really interested. All he could think about was the baby and whether she was taking care of herself.

Would it do any good to try again – to make him see that she needed more than just being a wife and mother? She took a deep breath. ‘Alex, I’ve had an idea,’ she said as if she had only just thought of it. ‘Why don’t we use some of these designs on the new fabric?’

He frowned. ‘I don’t think so. The plain material is doing well. Besides, Don and I have some ideas of our own.’

‘But Alex—’

‘No, Ellie, you won’t have time for all that once the baby comes.’

Ellie bit back her reply but later, as they sat down to their meal, she decided to try again. Before she could frame the words, Alex raised his glass and smiled at her across the table. ‘Here’s to my beautiful, clever wife,’ he said.

Smiling, she took a small sip of wine. Perhaps this wasn’t the right moment. It was good to see Alex looking so happy. To him, the coming baby had set the seal on their marriage. It would be stupid to spoil things.

But he had to know about her business venture some time. Her
hand-painted
scarves were now being sold in exclusive shops in Ipswich and Norwich as well as Sylvia’s in Colchester and she’d recently been in touch with one of the new boutiques in London. How could she keep it secret now that demand for her work was increasing? She’d even started reproducing her designs in bulk ready for the expected influx of orders. At one time she’d have asked Alex for help but, wary of his reaction, she had found a screen printer in Chelmsford who had agreed to run off small numbers to start with.

Deep in thought, she didn’t notice he was staring at her, one eyebrow raised. ‘Is everything all right, darling? You looked a little worried.’

‘Everything’s fine.’ She touched his hand, hesitated. ‘Alex, I’ve something to tell you.’

Before she could continue he squeezed her fingers. ‘It’s not the baby, is it?’

‘No – I told you, everything’s fine.’ She took a deep breath, wondering why she felt so nervous. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

‘You know how much the girls at the mill liked my scarves. Well, I made some more. And when I went into this lovely little shop in Colchester, the woman there admired the one I was wearing. She asked me where I bought it.’

‘Don’t tell me she wanted you to make one for her,’ Alex said with an indulgent smile.

‘No, she wanted me to make half a dozen – for her shop.’

‘Very flattering, darling. I hope you refused.’

‘Of course I was flattered but I didn’t see any harm in agreeing to make a few scarves for Sylvia – exclusive to her shop. I’ve been wanting to do something like this for ages.’

‘But why? You’re my wife, you have this house, our baby soon. Isn’t that enough for you?’

‘The baby’s not due for months and Mrs Mills does everything in the house.’ She paused. ‘I get bored, Alex. I’m not used to a life of leisure.’

‘I don’t understand you, Ellie. Most girls would give anything for the kind of life you have. Look at those mill girls, and your friend Norah – ask them if they’d like a life of leisure.’

‘I didn’t think you’d understand,’ Ellie said, pushing her chair back. She rushed out of the room.

Upstairs she sat at her dressing-table, brushing her hair with furious strokes, fighting to hold back the tears. She wished she’d kept quiet now but she already had enough secrets from Alex. Besides, she understood in a way. He was concerned about her – and the baby.

She looked up as he came into the room and carried on brushing, looking at him in the mirror.

After a few moments he said, ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, darling, but you must see things from my point of view. I’m the factory owner. I can’t have you producing things in competition with me. Besides, what’s the point of telling this woman you can supply her when you won’t be able to keep it up? She’ll want more when those are sold and, once the baby comes, you won’t have time for all this nonsense.’

‘How dare you say it’s nonsense,’ she said. ‘Besides, she’s already sold them and I’ve promised her a new batch next week.’

‘You can’t do it, Ellie. I forbid you.’

‘But Alex, I’ve promised her. I can’t let her down.’

He sighed. ‘Well, I suppose it won’t hurt. But that’s it – no more.’

As Ellie opened her mouth to protest, he grabbed her wrist. ‘I mean it. You must think of the baby. I can’t let you wear yourself out like this.’

Ellie nodded. Let Alex think he’d got his own way. She felt a twinge of guilt – she really had meant to tell him everything.

The next day she phoned Norah, listening with a smile as her friend rattled on about how good life was in their little seaside town. ‘And what about you, love? Keeping well, are you? I bet you and Alex are excited. Have you thought about names yet?’

‘Not really.’ She paused and took a deep breath. ‘Actually, we had a row last night. I told him about making the scarves for Sylvia’s shop.’

‘And he didn’t like it, I suppose?’

‘He called my business nonsense, said I’d forget all about it when the baby comes.’

‘Maybe you will, love. Babies take up a lot of time. Besides, it was just a hobby wasn’t it – something to keep you occupied while Alex was spending so much time at the mill?’

‘It’s not just a hobby. Why doesn’t anyone understand?’

‘I do, Ellie. But what about Alex?’

Ellie bit her lip. ‘I didn’t tell him everything. He thinks I just made a few for Sylvia.’

‘Oh, Ellie. You must tell him everything.’

‘I can’t, Norah. He’ll insist I stop. Besides, I’m committed now. I’ve got an order from a shop in London – a boutique in Carnaby Street.’

Norah shrieked. ‘Carnaby Street! I’ve been reading about those shops and all those weird fashions. Well, I’ve got to admire your guts, Ellie. But is it worth risking your marriage?’

‘I suppose not. But I can’t let the shop down now. I’ll just have to tell them I can’t keep up production.’ She paused. ‘I expect you’ve guessed things aren’t right with me and Alex. I’ve tried to put a brave face on things….’ Her voice choked on a sob.

‘Don’t cry, love. I’m sure things will get better once you have the baby.’

They spoke for a few more minutes and when she rang off she felt better. She picked up the phone again. There was one more thing she had to do. But she was too late. The editor of the magazine told her regretfully that the issue with the article about her had already gone to press.

How she wished she’d refused to be interviewed when the reporter had got in touch with her. She’d agreed almost without stopping to think. That’ll show them, she’d told herself, remembering Auntie Vi’s snide comments and her father’s taunts. The fact that they were most unlikely ever to see the expensive glossy publication didn’t matter. But Alex was sure to hear about it. Should she own up before the article came out?

But she didn’t get the chance. When her complimentary copy dropped through the letterbox, Ellie snatched it up, flicking through the pages eagerly. The two-page spread showed her in her studio and there were pictures of her designs including the original one of delicate butterflies and flowers that she’d done for Sylvia.

Later, she bought an extra copy of the magazine to send to Norah, knowing how proud her old friend would be. ‘It doesn’t sound like me at all,’ she wrote in the accompanying letter. ‘They’ve made me out to be a sort of leader of fashion – but I’ve only copied what everyone else is doing. To be honest I’d rather be painting the more traditional stuff.’

A couple of days later she had a reply. ‘Alex must be so proud of you,’ Norah wrote.

Ellie bit her lip and glanced up to see Alex watching her. ‘From Norah?’ he asked. ‘How are they? We must invite them over while the café’s closed for the season.’

She managed to smile back at him. ‘I don’t think I could cope with visitors the way I am now,’ she said, putting a hand over her growing bulge. ‘Maybe after he’s born.’

‘It’s up to you, darling,’ Alex said, getting up from the table and kissing her goodbye.

As he left for the mill he said, as he had every morning since she’d told him about the baby, ‘Don’t go overdoing it now. Remember the doctor said you must rest.’

She nodded dutifully, telling herself it was good that he cared, although it still irritated her when he chided her for overdoing things. She’d tried to make him see that it was natural to feel a little tired at the end of the day. And she was a healthy young woman – the doctor had told her there was no reason why she shouldn’t carry on normally as long as she felt able to. Sometimes she felt that it wasn’t her Alex was concerned about, but the baby.

He probably felt she was putting her work before the welfare of their child, but she didn’t see why she couldn’t combine a career with motherhood. Her own mother had done it – out of necessity it was true. But Mary had gained a satisfaction and fulfilment from nursing in addition to her very important contribution to the family finances. Ellie didn’t need to work – not for money anyway. But she had always felt that her life was incomplete without her art. And earlier this year, when she’d been feeling so depressed, it was her art that had saved her.

Alex didn’t mind her doing it in her spare time, but she didn’t want to be a hobby artist. There was far more satisfaction in seeing her creativity giving pleasure to others. If it came to it, Ellie wouldn’t give in easily. She would fight for what she wanted.

Harry served the queue of customers, automatically exchanging his usual backchat with the regulars, but his heart wasn’t in it. Mary was out of hospital but he was worried about her. Even a couple of months after her operation, she was still weak.

She’d been warned to do only light housework, but Harry often came home to find Mary leaning on the edge of the sink, her face pale and drawn, as she struggled to peel potatoes for their evening meal. He did his best to help but there weren’t enough hours in the day. If Bert lent a hand, things would be easier. Fat chance, he thought.

As if he didn’t have enough to worry about, there was his concern for Sid. He seldom complained, although it was obvious he was in pain and he refused to go to the doctor.

‘I don’t want to die in ’ospital, ’Arty. I wanna be in me own bed,’ he said, clutching his stomach, his forehead beaded with sweat, even though the day was freezing.

‘You won’t die, Sid. They can do wonders nowadays,’ Harry told him with more conviction than he really felt. He didn’t want to believe his old friend was dying but he had a feeling it wouldn’t be long.

Sid knew it too, although he continued to make light of his symptoms. He heaved himself up from the chair which Harry had provided to replace the wooden box he’d always used as a seat. ‘I’m a bit tired, son. You can carry on ’ere, can’t yer?’

‘Yeah, go home, mate. I’ll bring the takings round later,’ Harry told him. ‘Won’t be able to stay long though.’

‘Mary still poorly, is she?’ Sid asked.

‘Not too bad – but she will overdo it. I can’t get her to rest.’

‘That lazy bugger of a husband should pull his weight. I bet ’e don’t do sod all.’

Harry didn’t answer. The mere thought of Bert made him see red. Fortunately, he spent more time hobnobbing with Tommy and his cronies than he did at home and Harry managed to keep out of his way. It was at times like this that he wished he’d stayed in the army. But what would have happened to Mary if he hadn’t been there? Sheila hardly ever came round these days and Ellie had disappeared, apparently without trace.

When Sid had left, Harry found himself thinking about Ellie, as he did so often these days. When Mary was taken ill he’d been determined to find her and had used some of his precious savings to hire a private detective. He’d made enquiries in Colchester, where the cards Ellie had sent had been posted, but had drawn a blank.

‘The thing is, Mr Scott, she may not want to be found,’ the detective said, shrugging. ‘She could have got someone else to post the cards for her.’

Harry didn’t want to believe that Ellie had cut herself off deliberately. She’d been hurt and unhappy when she ran away, scarcely more than a child. Even if she regretted her hasty action she probably thought her family wouldn’t forgive her. If only he could find her, he would make her see how much she was loved and missed. He pictured the joy on Mary’s face when she was reunited with her long-lost daughter – a tonic that would surely set her on the road to recovery. If only for his foster mother’s sake, he’d have to try once more to find her. He tried not to think what it would mean to him to have her home again. But just to know she was safe and happy, surely that would be enough….

He called in at Sid’s flat and made him a hot drink, leaving it on a side table with his tablets. ‘Make sure you take them – and if you still feel bad in the morning, don’t worry about the stall. I’ll manage,’ he said as he went out of the door and down the stairs. The newsagent’s shop under the flat was closed, Mr Cook having locked up and gone home to his wife and family hours ago. Harry reflected that if Sid were taken ill during the night there’d be no one to hear. He should have the phone put in, he thought, resolving to see to it himself.