Twenty-Two

Plans for the opening of Opal’s of Hebghyll under its new management moved with the speed of light. It would start with a bang on New Year’s Day, with a grand clearance sale.

‘A clean sweep,’ Opal said to George Soames. ‘Everything that’s old or tatty or out of date goes in that sale. I want a fresh start, with everything clean and bright and up to date.’

She would have liked, with a few exceptions, to have made a clean sweep of the staff, but it was not on the cards. There was not enough time to recruit new staff, even if they were to be had.

‘In any case, it wouldn’t do,’ George warned her. ‘What sort of an image would you have in the town if you started off by sacking people?’

‘Oh, you’re quite right,’ Opal agreed. ‘It was never anything more than wishful thinking. Anyway, they can’t all be as bad as they seem. They’ve just been allowed to get slack. Perhaps what they need is a good shaking up.’

A few members of staff had already decided to leave, not liking the thought of a new broom which looked ready to sweep everything thoroughly clean, and none of it under the carpet. They were mostly the older ones, some due for retirement, some already well past that age. Opal and George Soames between them had drawn up pension plans which were more than generous.

‘The rest will weed themselves out without any help from me, once the retraining scheme starts,’ Opal said.

In the meantime she would manage with the addition of the hand-picked team from Leasfield – although its members could only be spared for a short time – and a few new assistants she had been able to get locally. ‘We shall have to manage,’ she said firmly. ‘No two ways about it. If it means we all have to work harder, so be it!’

How much harder they could all work George was not sure. The team from Leasfield was at full stretch behind the scenes, putting in evenings and weekends when the place was closed. George had also managed to recruit some of the Hebghyll staff, who were keen for the changes as well as pleased to earn extra money, to work overtime.

Within ten days of returning from the visit to his parents Graham had left Leasfield for good. He had expected to travel to and from his new job each day, but Opal had insisted that he found lodgings in Hebghyll.

‘Let’s face it,’ she said, ‘as Deputy Manager you have a lot to learn, and it’s best learned by putting in the hours on the spot. It will also do you no harm to be seen around the town. Let people know who you are, what you’re doing.’

For Breda it was another matter. She was sent to Hebghyll, together with Jim Sutcliffe – only the two of them could be spared, as it was coming up to Christmas – at the same time as Graham, but for the moment she must travel daily. Miss Opal paid her fares, but there was no question of her financing lodgings, which Breda would have preferred but couldn’t afford.

She and Jim Sutcliffe were put to work with the two existing members of Hebghyll Display, but with Jim firmly in charge, his word to be law, his decisions, though he would listen to the others, to be the final ones. Miss Opal had made this quite plain. It was not a popular ruling with the Hebghyll faction.

‘So what will it be like when you go back to Leasfield and I’m left here?’ Breda asked Jim after a particularly argumentative session.

‘You’ll be all right,’ Jim assured her. ‘I’ll back you to hold your own any day of the week.’ He had watched her growing confidence ever since she’d started to work under him. And she was certainly talented. He’d be sorry to lose her from Leasfield.

Then, as the weeks rushed by towards the end of the year, Breda was so busy, there was so much work to be got through if the appearance of the store was to be changed to fit Miss Opal’s idea – and they were not all Miss Opal’s ideas; some of her own had been accepted – that she had no time to worry about dissensions and pinpricks.

Besides, wasn’t Graham there? What else mattered beside that? Since the store was small, and his job took him into every part of it, she saw him often, even if only in passing. In business hours they spoke to each other only when work made it necessary, but he was there. She was aware of his presence and it lightened her life.

The only fly in the ointment was that she saw so little of him outside work – there was so little life outside work. Almost their only time together was when they had both finished for the day and he would walk her to the station to catch her train. The nights were cold and dark, but the darkness meant that they could walk with their arms around each other, stopping to kiss, and as for the cold, held close to Graham Ereda felt nothing of it. Only when she left him, watching out of the carriage window as long as ever she could discern his shape on the dimly lit platform, did Breda begin to shiver, and feel the cold all the way until she was safely inside her aunt’s house in Waterloo Terrace.

Two nights before Christmas the weather was particularly nasty, with a strong wind from the north and showers of icy rain. Josephine, hearing Breda’s step on the path, opened the door to meet her.

‘This is ridiculous!’ she protested. ‘You look perished! Come into the warm at once. I’ve got some cocoa ready. How long is it since you had a bite to eat?’

‘I had a sandwich at tea time,’ Breda said. It seemed an age ago, and she was hungry, but even more she was cold and tired. What she wanted above everything was to thaw her chilled body and go to bed.

‘Well, I’ll not have you going to bed on an empty stomach,’ Josephine said. ‘I’ve saved some potatoes and onions to fry up for you. They’ll not take a minute. What I want to know is, how long is this state of affairs going to go on?’

‘I suppose until we take over properly in the New Year,’ Breda said. ‘We might get back to normal shop hours then.’ And I’d be able to see Graham in Hebghyll in the evenings, so I’d be home just as late, but it wouldn’t matter then, she thought.

Josephine moved the potato mixture around in the frying pan, turning up the gas to get it crisp and brown. The savoury smell teased at Breda’s nostrils and suddenly she was famished.

‘Well, I never thought to hear myself say it,’ Josephine remarked, ‘and it’s not that I want to lose you, but I do think it’d be a sight better if you could take lodgings in Hebghyll. You could still come home at the weekends.’

She thought of her house as being Breda’s home. She had grown so used to her, so fond of her. She felt towards her almost as she did towards her own daughters.

She served the potatoes and onions onto a large plate and placed it in front of Breda.

‘Get that down you!’ she said. ‘It’ll do you no harm – though goodness knows it would half kill me with indigestion! But at your age I don’t suppose you know what indigestion is.’

‘I don’t,’ Breda said. ‘And as for going into lodgings and coming home at weekends, I couldn’t afford it. It’s been hinted I’ll get a raise in the New Year, so it might be possible then. I wouldn’t want to leave you, Auntie Josie, but . . . ’

‘But you’d like to see more of Graham! Well, that’s understandable, love.’

If only we could be married, Breda thought with longing. They had done everything that was required of them. There was nothing now except to wait. How much longer?

‘Have patience, love,’ Josephine said, reading her niece’s thoughts.

On the morning of Christmas Eve Opal drove straight from her home to Hebghyll.

‘I’m not staying long,’ she told George Soames. ‘As you know, Daniel’s coming up from London to spend Christmas at home, and not for the world would I be elsewhere when he arrives. He comes north all too seldom.’

‘In fact, I hardly expected to see you today,’ George said.

‘Oh, I told you I’d be here, but I also have to go into Leasfield. I couldn’t fail to visit my own store on Christmas Eve. I just wanted to check how things were here and to have a word with a few people. Especially I want to see those who are leaving. Will you arrange for them to come in turn to my office, starting in half an hour? Give me ten minutes with each one. Tell the switchboard I don’t want any interruptions.’

The short time she spent with each of the leavers seemed, to them, totally unhurried, since her whole interest was concentrated on each one in turn, enquiring about their plans, wishing them well for the future. To those who were leaving after long service she presented gifts – bracelets for the women and gold tiepins to the men. When the ten minutes were up she rose leisurely to her feet, came around to the front of her desk, and shook hands. ‘I hope you’ll come into the store often,’ she said. ‘We shall value your custom, but if not to buy, then just to look around.’

When the last one had left, George Soames returned. ‘Have we time for a quick coffee?’ Opal asked. ‘And then I want to go around and speak to as many people as I can. I’d like you to go with me. I want to make it clear that though they’ll see me from time to time, you are the one in charge.’

‘If you hadn’t suggested I accompany you,’ George said, ‘I’d have done it on my own. It’s been a difficult time over the last few weeks, and on the whole people have been quite co-operative. I also think it would be a good idea for Graham to do his own tour. Christmas greetings and all that.’

‘Fine!’ Opal said. ‘Are you pleased with him?’

‘Very pleased. He’s shaping well, learning fast. It was good thinking on your part to take him on.’

From the pleased and surprised reception the two of them received as they went around, Opal formed the opinion that such a thing had not happened before. ‘That went down well,’ she said to George afterwards. ‘I was particularly impressed by how many names you knew! I can’t hope to catch up with you on that.’

‘I’ve still a number to learn,’ George admitted.

Opal crossed to the coat cupboard and took her coat from its hanger. George held it while she slipped her arms into it. It was the pride and delight of her life, this coat; black Persian lamb with a dark mink collar. At the same time, she felt it a great extravagance to own such a coat even though she told herself she had earned it. She had worked long and hard for this luxury. She pulled it around her, snuggled into it. ‘I’ll be off, then,’ she said. ‘I think those who have to go back to Leasfield shouldn’t leave it too late. The weather forecast is bad.’

‘I’ll see to it,’ George promised.

‘Right! Then we’ll expect you and Mary for Christmas dinner!’

Breda snatched a word with Graham in the brief interval she took at midday to eat her sandwiches.

‘Do you think we’ll get away on time?’ she asked anxiously. ‘I don’t want to be late. I promised to give Auntie Josie a hand with the Christmas preparations.’

Graham was to go home with her and stay the nights of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. The latter was on a Saturday, but although Boxing Day was officially on Monday they had promised, along with some others, to go into work that day.

‘I don’t see why not, sweetheart,’ Graham replied.

Breda’s face creased into a smile. ‘You’re not supposed to call me “sweetheart” in working hours!’

‘It’s your dinner break,’ he said. ‘I can call you anything I like – sweetheart, gorgeous, beautiful, darling!’

Breda glanced around nervously. ‘Stop it! Someone might hear you. Can we catch the six-thirty?’

‘I expect so,’ Graham said.

He had received an imploring letter from his mother, asking him to go home for Christmas. He was glad to have the excuse that, in the circumstances, he couldn’t take enough time to make it worthwhile. In fact he would not have gone whatever the position in Hebghyll. He did not plan to make another visit to Reigate before he and Breda were married. Sometimes he wondered, with a degree of impatience, when that would be. He couldn’t understand the delay, saw no reason for it. It all seemed quite simple to him.

Just before two o’clock the snow started to fall. It fell in great, heavy flakes, staying where it fell, except where it was blown into drifts by the sharp wind. Customers coming into the store for Christmas Eve shopping appeared like snowmen, hats and coats covered in a layer of thick flakes. By three o’clock the stream of customers had thinned to a trickle.

Graham looked out from his office window. It was coming down as fast as ever, falling onto a silent and now largely deserted street. Only an occasional car went carefully down the hill. He watched a solitary pedestrian slithering and sliding on the opposite pavement. Then he went in search of George Soames. ‘Have you seen what it’s like, Mr Soames?’ he asked.

‘I have! It doesn’t look good, to say the least. I’m thinking I’ll send home at least half the staff, those who live farthest away. But we can’t shut the shop until closing time, half-past five.’

‘I doubt we’ll get anyone in, sir,’ Graham said.

‘Probably not. But we must stay open. Come with me and we’ll go round and see who we can send home.’

By four o’clock two-thirds of the staff had been despatched and there was not a customer left in the store. Graham was ordered to make a thorough check in every department.

‘There’s no-one except staff,’ he reported. ‘The maintenance man is trying to clear a path from the pavement to the main door but as fast as he shovels, the snow comes down and covers the ground again.’

‘Right!’ George Soames said. ‘I’ll now send everyone home except one person in each department, and if no customers come in the next half-hour, that’s it. We’ll close.’

No-one came. Outside the warm, brightly lit store, with its stands and shelves and counters filled with gaily coloured offerings, the world was another place; strange, alien. There were no sounds at all now, everything was deserted, even the footprints and tyre marks which had shown in the snow a while ago had been obliterated, as if no-one had ever passed that way.

‘We’ll lock up,’ George Soames decided. ‘Tell everyone to leave as quickly as possible, and where they can, to go in twos and threes. And when you’ve done that you and Breda had better get off. Leave the rest to me.’

The station was no more than a quarter of a mile off, although the way looked impenetrable as Graham and Breda set out, arm in arm.

‘You should perhaps have left earlier, with the rest of the Leasfield lot,’ Graham said to Breda. ‘It would have been easier for you.’

‘I wouldn’t have gone. Not without you, and I knew you couldn’t leave. Never mind, once we get on the train we’ll soon be home – though we don’t know what it’ll be like in Akersfield, do we?’

And they were not to know. Waterloo Terrace was not to see them for Christmas. A solitary porter emerged from the station office. ‘Sorry, sir! No trains at all getting through. There’s deep drifts on the line in both directions.’

They stared at him in disbelief. ‘No trains?’

‘That’s what I said, sir. And none tomorrow, it being Christmas Day – even if they clear the line.’

‘What shall we do?’ Breda asked Graham.

‘Only one thing to do,’ Graham answered. ‘We go back to my digs and see if Mrs Wharton can find you a bed for the night!’

‘And if she can’t? What then?’

Graham smiled. ‘You can always share mine!’

Mrs Wharton looked doubtful when a room was requested. ‘I can’t honestly say there isn’t an empty bed in the house, because it wouldn’t be true. There is, but by rights it belongs to Miss Evans. She’s a teacher and she’s gone home for Christmas.’

‘Do you know anywhere else I could try?’ Breda pleaded.

‘I don’t. And it’s a night not fit to turn a dog out. So I’ll take it upon myself to let you have Miss Evans’s room for tonight and tomorrow. She’s a kind lady. I reckon she’d understand.’

With Graham following, she showed Breda to the room. It was clean and bright, but cold. ‘There’s an electric fire you can switch on,’ Mrs Wharton said. ‘But I’ll ask you not to leave it on when you’re out of the room. It comes a bit expensive.’

‘I’ll be careful,’ Breda promised.

‘This is very good of you, Mrs Wharton,’ Graham said. ‘We both appreciate it.’

‘Well, if you’d like to come down in about half an hour I’ll make a bite to eat, though I don’t promise what it’ll be. I’m up to the eyes. And in the meantime, take off your wet coats and I’ll see to them drying. We don’t want them dripping over the carpet, do we?’

‘I’ll carry them down,’ Graham offered. ‘And our shoes, though Breda doesn’t have a change.’

Mrs Wharton looked at Breda’s feet. ‘I reckon you’re about the same size as Miss Evans. I dare say in the circumstances she wouldn’t mind if you borrowed a nightgown and her slippers. She’s sure to have some lying around.’

She had. There was a pair of fluffy pink mules under the bed, not at all the kind of thing Breda would have chosen, but when she took off her wet shoes and stockings and thrust her cold feet into the slippers it was heaven.

Graham was back in five minutes. He came into the room and immediately took Breda into his arms. She relaxed against him, the warmth of his body seeping into hers as he held her close. He was kissing her, deep, passionate kisses, while his hands moved over her body. She returned his kisses, pressing her body hard against his. She stroked the back of his neck, ran her fingers through his hair, pulled his head down towards her, until he was kissing her neck, her face, her closed eyelids. Without a word, he began to push her towards the bed, and she was lying down and he on top of her. She shifted under his weight, turned her face away from him. ‘No! I can’t! You mustn’t!’

‘I must,’ he said. ‘I want you. I can’t wait. I can tell you want me.’

‘I do,’ Breda said. ‘All the time I do. But we can’t.’

She turned her face away, wriggled her body from his grasp, and sat upright. He rolled over onto his back, his eyes closed, lying there without speaking, without moving. Breda watched him helplessly. She felt wretched. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m truly sorry! Please say you forgive me!’

Without a word, without looking at her, he jumped from the bed and walked out of the room.

Breda sat on the edge of the bed. She had seldom felt so deeply miserable, or so confused. He hated her, didn’t he, because she had been prudish? Yet she wasn’t a prude, she knew she wasn’t, and when they were married she would show him that. If ever they were married, if he didn’t tire of waiting.

Ten minutes later there was a sharp knock on the door and Graham came back into the room. Breda jumped to her feet and rushed to meet him. He held out his arms and she ran into them. ‘Oh Graham, I’m sorry!’ she cried. ‘Please forgive me! Try to understand.’

‘I do understand. And we’ll forgive each other. We can’t spend Christmas at loggerheads. So tidy yourself up and we’ll go down and eat.’

He spoke in level tones of reason, as if devoid of feeling, yet Breda felt herself swamped by differing emotions fighting against each other: relief that he had come back to her, her own sexual frustration, which she was sure he did not understand, condemnation of herself that she had hurt him by her denial, and the underlying feeling that it had been right to do so, it had been all she could do.

She crossed to the dressing-table and surveyed herself in the mirror. She looked a mess. The ends of her hair were still damp and she was wearing her working clothes. Moreover, she would have to wear them right through Christmas Day. Hadn’t she planned to wear something especially becoming – a red dress she had bought in Opal’s, and about which she had told no-one, not even Auntie Josie? She had planned to make an appearance in it for Christmas dinner.

The thought of Christmas dinner reminded her that her aunt would not know where she was, and would be worried.

‘I have to get in touch with Auntie Josie,’ she said to Graham.

‘That’s not difficult,’ Graham said. ‘At least it won’t be unless the lines are down. There’s a phone in the house.’

The lines were not down. Josephine was relieved to hear from Breda, disappointed that she would not be with them all for Christmas and, by the tone of her voice, though nothing explicit was said, slightly disturbed that her niece would be spending Christmas as good as alone with Graham. But I’m glad I am, Breda thought. Other than spending Christmas as his wife, and in spite of the difficulties of the early part of the evening, she could think of nothing she would rather do.

It was clear enough, after they had eaten, that Mrs Wharton did not want them to linger in the dining room. She had preparations to make for the next day, when her family would be there in full force. ‘Providing they can get here, though they live in Hebghyll, so I suppose they can walk,’ she said. ‘And the two of you are more than welcome to join us for our Christmas dinner.’

They thanked her, and went back upstairs. Graham had found a pack of cards, and for an hour they played various games, in an atmosphere fraught with physical longings and frustrations. In the end it was Breda who put an end to it.

‘I’m really very tired,’ she said. ‘I’d like to go to bed, if you wouldn’t mind.’

Their good-night kiss was chaste and hurried. Breda undressed, got into bed and put out the lamp. In spite of her fatigue, any hope she had of going swiftly to sleep was not fulfilled. She lay awake in the dark, hearing the sounds from downstairs, until even those ceased and the whole house was quiet. She felt as though she was the only person in the world lying awake. Her thoughts were wholly occupied with Graham, until at last she drifted into her first sleep.

It came as no surprise, therefore, when the bedroom door was quietly opened and Graham came towards her. Half waking, half sleeping, she made no demur when he climbed into her bed and lay down beside her. It was not until he began to take off her nightgown, hold her breast, that she became fully awake, and then there was no turning back for either of them.

They made love silently, as if it was happening in a dream, as if it carried no responsibility, no denial. It was simply the most natural thing in the world, as if they had done it for ever. She was aware that at one moment she briefly cried out, but in ecstasy rather than in protest.

When it was over, Graham kissed her gently, and left her.

On Christmas Day the snow still lay deep. Breda got out of bed, crossed to the window and drew back the curtains. It was not quite daylight, but the brilliance of the snow took what light there was from the sky and offered back a white world. She would not, she thought, be able to get to Mass. The church lay down by the river; Mrs Wharton’s house was at the top of a hilly road which led straight on to the moor. There was no way it could be done, though in her heart she knew that even if the church had been next door she could not have gone this morning.

She was thankful for the impassable snow. No-one except herself – and God, of course – would know what really kept her away. She doubted if even Graham would think of it. It was the first thing which had happened to her since she had met Graham which she would feel unable to share with him.

Her room faced the moor. She stared out at it. The thick, white blanket under which it lay was unbroken, unmarked. Pristine, pure. She could not face that word, and turned away, went back to bed until she could hear the rest of the house stirring.

By Monday the thaw had set in. Clearly the snow, having inconvenienced all except those who liked an old-fashioned, white Christmas, was going to be as swift in going as it had been in coming. Teetering down the hill from Mrs Wharton’s house, Breda clung to Graham for fear of going flat on her back in the slush.

Christmas Day and Sunday had gone well enough. They had been warm and well fed – Mrs Wharton had seen to that, inviting them to join in the festivities with her family. Between Graham and Breda nothing had been said of their lovemaking on Christmas Eve, except that on first meeting the next morning Graham had said, ‘Shall I say “I’m sorry”, my love?’ and Breda had shaken her head.

Nevertheless, she felt changed, felt that she must look different, and that everyone would notice this. Would it be apparent to the people at work?

Everyone who had promised to turn up for work that day did so, including Opal. She was accompanied by her ten-year-old daughter, Emmeline, and a tall, handsome young man whom she introduced as her son, Daniel.

‘They’re both here to work,’ Opal explained. ‘No passengers allowed. We’ve got exactly five days to give this place a new look, and most of what we’re doing will have to be kept under wraps until Friday night, so as to keep the impact for the opening sale on Saturday.’ She turned to Jim Sutcliffe. ‘I thought Daniel might give you a hand on Display, he being the artistic one – if you can use him, that is. Emmeline can help to mark sale prices on everything.’ She smiled fondly at her daughter. ‘That should keep you quiet!’

‘You’d better come with me and the Display lot and look at the plans,’ Jim Sutcliffe said to Daniel. ‘We’ll decide where we go from there.’

It was the beginning of the busiest week of Breda’s life. Every morning she arrived early, and every evening she caught the last possible train back to Akersfield, trudging up Waterloo Terrace, not knowing how to put one foot in front of the other. Sometimes she thought that the hot meal and the warm welcome which awaited her from her aunt, followed by her own comfortable bed, were all that enabled her to get as far as number 52.

But wasn’t it all worthwhile, she thought, when Saturday came and the customers, eager to snap up the bargains they had seen temptingly displayed in the windows over the last three days, and advertised in the newspaper, rushed in the minute the doors were opened? She wondered how many of them knew it was Miss Opal herself who stood just inside the doorway, greeting them.

For her own part, Breda’s work was largely over. For today she had to be on hand to take anything out of the windows, since only Display staff were allowed to do that. Apart from that, only small emergencies would claim her. As long as she could be found when wanted, she was free to wander around the store, to see the work in which she’d taken part actually on show. She eyed the intricate draping of materials on the Fabrics department, the colourful display of scarves and gloves, the piles of towels and bed linen, and the artistically designed sales cards, most of which had been done by herself and Daniel Carson.

Jim Sutcliffe came up to her. ‘I reckon it looks good,’ he said.

‘I agree,’ Breda said. ‘And the tills are ringing. Won’t that please Miss Opal!’

Half an hour before closing time Miss Opal sent for her. ‘I want to thank you – as I have the others – for all the hard work you’ve put in over the last few weeks. You’ve done your part exceptionally well. I’d like to say that you and some of the others could have a day or two’s holiday but I’m afraid it’s not possible. I’m hoping you’re going to be very busy here – and Mr Sutcliffe and the others from Leasfield have to be back there on Monday morning.’

‘I don’t expect a holiday—’ Breda began.

Miss Opal interrupted her. ‘You’re going to have more responsibility. As time goes on perhaps more than you’ve bargained for. For that reason I’m giving you a pound a week rise as from Monday.’

Breda’s eyes widened. A pound a week! It was far more than she’d expected. Now she would be able to take lodgings in Hebghyll! ‘Thank you very much, Miss Opal,’ she said. ‘I’m very grateful.’

‘Oh, I shall expect you to earn it,’ Miss Opal said.

Isn’t it the best New Year’s Day I’ve ever known, Breda asked herself as she left Miss Opal’s office. She would find Graham at once, and give him the news.

He was as excited by it as she was.

‘You might be able to get a room at Mrs Wharton’s,’ he suggested.

‘No!’ Breda said quickly. ‘No. I couldn’t bear it, and nor could you.’

But wasn’t the best thing of all about the New Year was that it was the one in which they’d be married? No more separate lodgings. They’d have their own place, and they’d be together for ever. Wasn’t everything leading up to that?

But way down deep inside her there was one nagging worry which she wouldn’t voice to Graham or to anyone. But for today she wouldn’t let it nag at her. Just for today she would put it away from her.