Winners and Losers (20 page)

‘As I have already accepted an invitation from Mrs Jones to attend your wedding, Mr Evans, I would regard it as an insult if you refused my gift. Mrs Jones' father was one of my closest friends. I have known her all her life.' He gave Sali a small smile. ‘She is a valued friend and I hope that, given time, we will also become friends.'

‘I hope so too -' Lloyd began.

‘Then it is settled,' Mr Richards interrupted. ‘I will arrange for a modest lunch to be served in a private room at the New Inn Hotel.' He held out his plate as Mari cut second slices of the chocolate cake. ‘Will you also be going to the wedding, Mrs Williams?'

‘I most certainly will,' Mari answered warmly.

‘You have invited your family, Mrs Jones?' Mr Richards took two of the chocolate curls from the top of his slice of cake, added them to Harry's and winked at him.

‘I have, but I don't expect any of them to come.' Sali hadn't held out much hope before Geraint's unexpected attack on the way she was bringing up Harry. Now, she had none. Where Geraint led, Gareth and Llinos inevitably followed.

‘They may surprise you.' From the expression on Mari's face, Sali suspected she was planning to speak to Geraint about it.

‘I doubt it. My mother isn't well enough to leave her room and Geraint couldn't have made it clearer that he is opposed to our marriage.' Sali left her chair, took a fresh cup and saucer from the tray Mari had left on the sideboard, poured a cup of tea, added milk and sugar, and cut a slice of chocolate cake. ‘I'll take this up to Mother, Mari.'

‘She's in one of her moods,' Mari warned.

Sali looked at Harry, who had finished his tea and cake. ‘Would you like to come upstairs and say hello to your grandmother with me?'

Harry squirmed on his chair. Sali knew he hated visiting her mother. It wasn't just her stuffy bedroom, which she insisted be kept as dimly lit and shrouded as a tomb, it was also the peevish, whining tone she used to air her endless complaints to anyone courageous enough to venture into her company.

‘After you've visited your grandmother you can go into the nursery and play with the toys,' Sali coaxed, reminding Harry of the nursery across the landing that had belonged to Edyth's late nephew, Harry's father Mansel. She picked up the tray.

Lloyd left the table and opened the door for her. He looked questioningly at Harry, who made a face at him. When Lloyd didn't laugh as he usually did, Harry gave a theatrical sigh, slipped off his chair and followed his mother out of the room.

‘Did Mrs Jones tell you what her brother said at the trustees' meeting this afternoon, Mr Evans?' Mr Richards asked Lloyd when he returned to the table.

‘She did,' Lloyd replied shortly.

‘She had every right to be upset.' It was the closest Mr Richards had ever come to criticizing a member of the Watkin Jones family.

‘I'm sorry, Mr Evans, this isn't an easy time for either you, or Miss Sali.' Mari poked at the uneaten cake on her plate with her fork. ‘Her brothers and sister will never accept your marriage.'

‘Never is a long time, Mrs Williams.' Mr Richards attempted to inject some optimism into the conversation. ‘Things are difficult at the moment, but circumstances change. And if there is ever anything you think I can do to speed up those changes, Mr Evans, please, let me know.'

‘Thank you, Mr Richards. Your friendship means a great deal to Sali, and to me,' Lloyd added sincerely. He took his teacup and wandered over to the window.

‘Won't you even consider moving into this house, Mr Evans?'

‘Move in here –into Ynysangharad House?' Lloyd turned and stared at Mr Richards as if he had taken leave of his senses.

‘Mrs Jones did say that it was out of the question. But it would make her position with the trustees so much easier if you did.'

Lloyd set his teacup on the sofa table. ‘The trustees want Harry to live here and Sali told them I wouldn't move in?'

‘You said she told you what happened at the meeting ...'

‘She told me that Geraint asked the trustees to make him Harry's guardian so he could bring Harry up in this house and send him away to school. Not that the trustees wanted the boy to live here.'

‘Shame on Mr Geraint,' Mari understood only too well what Geraint Watkin Jones was trying to do. ‘Rather than work to regain the family's inheritance that his Uncle Morgan embezzled and lost when he was his guardian, he'd part Master Harry from Miss Sali to make himself more important in the eyes of the world.'

‘So you haven't discussed moving in here with Mrs Jones?' Mr Richards asked.

‘No, but Sali knows the last thing I want to do is live off Harry's inheritance.'

‘Her mother, brothers and sister have no such compunction, Mr Evans.' Mari pursed her lips disapprovingly.

‘As they all live here rent and board free, courtesy of the trustees of Harry's estate, do you really think they would welcome Sali, Harry and me with open arms if we did move in?' Lloyd didn't wait for them to answer. ‘If you'll excuse me, I'll go upstairs and play with Harry in the nursery while Sali visits her mother. His favourite game at the moment is war and he believes that it takes two sides to make a battle.'

The windows and curtains in Gwyneth Watkin Jones' bedroom closed out both world and light. And, if the musty atmosphere in the room was any indicator, no breeze had been allowed to stir the air for months. The fire was banked high, the temperature unbearably hot. The scents Sali had associated with her mother for the last ten years filled the air. Pungent medicinal odours from the dozens of bottles of patent medicines ranged on her bedside cabinet, a faint fragrance of lavender that failed to mask the stench of the chamber pot and slop bucket, and the stale smell of gravy and meals left to congeal, although there was no evidence of food.

Gwyneth lay in bed on pillows that had been plumped high to support her in a half sitting, half reclining position. The oil lamp was lit and a book lay within her reach but Sali knew she hadn't read to herself in years. She was wearing a robe over her nightgown, and although the doctor had told her that she was well enough to leave her room weeks ago, Sali doubted that she ever would.

The psychological ill-health Gwyneth Watkin Jones had taken refuge in to escape the world after the birth of her youngest son had become more real to her than anything or anyone else. Mari had mentioned that it took half an hour of coaxing, which in Mari's terms Sali suspected meant bullying, to get her mother out of bed just so the maids could change the sheets and even then Gwyneth only went as far as the day bed next to the fireplace.

‘It's Sali, Mother, I have brought Harry to see you.'

‘Sali?' Gwyneth opened her eyes languidly. ‘So, you've finally come. I could die and rot in this room for all that anyone cares.'

‘You know that isn't true, Mother.' Sali set the tray she'd carried up on a side table and moved the medicines on the cabinet to make room for the tea and cake.

‘You should be living in this house so you can take care of me. I get lonely lying here day after day with no company.'

‘You have Mari and Geraint, Mother.' Sali knew better than to mention the servants. Her mother regarded them as beneath her. She looked around. The stale smell was due to her mother's abhorrence of fresh air, but every surface gleamed with polish, the fireplace was clean, the hearth swept, and there was fresh linen on the bed and tables.

Harry pulled at her skirt to remind her of his presence.

‘Harry would like to say hello to you, Mother.'

The boy stood behind the footboard of his grandmother's bed, waved and mouthed, ‘Hello.'

‘Harry.' Gwyneth squinted at the child, who had been named after her late husband. ‘You have no idea what agony it is to be in ill-health, Harry.'

Harry frowned, uncertain whether he should answer.

‘I live every day in pain, Harry. Have you any idea how that feels?'

‘No, Grandmother,' he replied politely.

Sali saw her son hop from foot to foot and knew he couldn't wait to leave the room. ‘You can go to the nursery now, Harry.'

‘Children are so noisy,' Gwyneth complained irritably, as Harry ran across the landing. ‘He needs curbing, Sali.'

‘Harry is a well-behaved, normal child.' Sali handed her mother the cup of tea.

‘He has a sly look about him that I don't like. You need to move in here to see that this house is run properly,' she added, returning to her favourite topic of conversation whenever her eldest daughter visited. ‘Mari and your aunt's housekeeper are extremely wasteful.'

‘Mr Richards checks the household accounts every week and he has found no evidence of waste, Mother,' Sali contradicted.

‘There you go, crossing me again. If your Uncle Morgan had only moved into this house with us ... or better still, if you had allowed me to stay with him in our house, instead of moving into this great draughty pile of Edyth's ...'

Sali walked to the grate and pretended to check the fire. Her mother's brother, Morgan, had embezzled and lost Geraint's fortune, including their family home, before killing himself. But, categorically refusing to believe Morgan capable of suicide, Gwyneth constantly referred to him as if he were still alive, and the only person who cared for, or understood her. Sali glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece to check the time. ‘Geraint will be home from the store soon.'

‘That will make no difference to me. Geraint can never spare five minutes to sit and talk to me. In that respect he takes after your father. He doesn't care how ill I am.'

‘Geraint has to work, Mother.'

‘I don't see why, when your father left us well provided for. Or perhaps that's only what he told me before he died. Your Uncle Morgan said we were short of money. He had to make economies ...'

Unable to listen to any more of her mother's ramblings, Sali confronted her. ‘You know Uncle Morgan lost all our money in bad investments.'

‘That's right, blame my brother. He never comes to see me either.' Gwyneth plucked nervously at the lace bedcover and Sali wondered if her mother actually believed her own stories.

‘I am getting married again.'

‘Widows shouldn't remarry,' Gwyneth snapped with sudden and astonishing vigour. ‘Those whom God has joined together should stay together. Your father may be in heaven, but when the time comes for us to be reunited I couldn't face him, or my maker, if I had married another. It is a sin on a level with adultery.'

‘Lloyd Evans and I are very happy, Mother, and he will make a good stepfather for Harry.'

‘Selfish to the last. Your place is here, caring for me.'

‘You are well looked after, Mother, and I have Harry and my future husband and his family to consider.'

‘Mari doesn't even allow me to keep my medicine in the room.' Gwyneth's voice rose to a shriek. ‘And she never gives me enough. I am in such pain.' Gwyneth snatched at Sali's arm with a claw-like hand. ‘I need more medicine. Now!' she hissed. ‘You must know where Mari keeps it. Twelve drops –just twelve drops ...'

‘Mari keeps it under lock and key, Mother, and you know the medicine wasn't doing you any good. The doctor told you that it was making you ill.'

‘It was the only thing that was keeping me alive.' Releasing her, Gwyneth buried her head in her pillow and started howling hysterically. Sali felt intensely sorry for her but pitied Mari more. She had heard some of the abuse her mother hurled at Mari for following the doctor's orders. But Mari had stuck determinedly to his advice and had succeeded in halving Gwyneth's consumption of the laudanum Sali's Uncle Morgan had been feeding her.

‘I'm sorry, Mother. I will tell Mari that you are upset. Perhaps she can bring you some cocoa.'

Gwyneth lifted her head from her pillow and screamed, ‘I want my medicine!'

Sali kissed her on the forehead and left. The pretence of ill-health had become reality and there was nothing that she could do to help her mother, beyond ask Harry's trustees to continue paying her living expenses and medical bills.

‘That was wonderful.' Megan's eyes shone, as the audience –who filled every seat in the Empire Theatre, courtesy of the manager, who allowed union men in for half price on production of their cards –rose to their feet and applauded the artistes taking their final bows. The loudest applause and noisiest catcalls were reserved for the star, vocalist Miss Zena Dare, but the ventriloquist Charles Lewis drew the most laughs when his doll bowed and lost his head.

‘Do you want to stay to see the bioscope?' Victor asked.

‘Not really, we saw it at the beginning. And although Mrs Palmer didn't tell me what time to come in, I don't want to get back too late.' Megan lifted her cloak from her seat behind her and handed it to Victor who draped it around her shoulders.

‘I'll have to send Joey round here to help shift the scenery more often while the strike is on.'

Megan followed him to the end of the aisle and they waited for the crowd to disperse ahead of them. When they reached the foyer, Beryl Richards' husband Alun stepped out in front of Megan.

‘I wonder that a coppers' whore has the guts to show her face among decent people!' Before Victor could stop him he spat full in Megan's face.

Megan cried out. Victor tried to hold her, but she slipped past him and ran into the Ladies' cloakroom.

Victor turned to Alun, pulled his fist back and punched him. He hit the wall and slid to the floor.

‘Your bloody girlfriend is working for the enemy, Victor Evans,' Alun's companion shouted. But he was careful to remain out of Victor's reach.

‘Megan Williams is my fiancée, and like the rest of us, she is only trying to make a living.' Victor glared at the men around him. ‘If anyone else speaks out of turn to her, touches her, or does what he just did,' he pointed to Alun who was crawling towards the door on his hands and knees, ‘they'd better be prepared to answer to me.'