The Bright One

‘It’s quite possible,’ she said to Mary, ‘that when he feels better – and he is getting better, we can all see that – he’ll want to come back. It wouldn’t be fair either to him or to young Graham if I made a move too soon.’

‘If it’s anything to do with me he won’t come back at all, so please don’t encourage him,’ Mary said. ‘Oh, I know he’s loved his job. He’s lived for it all these years and it’ll be a wrench to leave it. All the same, I think he will.’

‘Well, just don’t push him,’ Opal cautioned. ‘Let him decide in his own time.’

In the end, and in spite of advice from all directions, it was George who made his own decision. It was true he felt better every day – well, most days – but he knew he was no longer the man he had been. He thought of the hustle and bustle of the store at sale time, he remembered it in the Christmas season, and knew that it was beyond him. And as that knowledge grew so his desire to be in the store, in the thick of things, waned.

One day in July Opal called to see him, as she frequently did, keeping him in touch with what was going on. She found him sitting in his beautiful garden and he told her what he had decided.

‘Why not take a little longer to think it over?’ she suggested.

‘I’ve done all that,’ George said. ‘I’m quite certain, Opal. I’ve enjoyed every minute of the years with you, but now it’s time to lead a different life. Read all the books I’ve never had time for; sit in the garden. I shall enjoy it all, and I shall enjoy spending more time with Mary.’

‘Well, if you’re sure . . . ’

He took her hand in his. Such capable hands she had: square palms, long fingers. ‘I’m quite sure, love.’

‘Oh I do! I do indeed,’ Graham said. ‘I just wish it could have come to me in happier circumstances.’

‘I think George is happy to leave it,’ Opal said. ‘And remember this, you’re not to do things just because it’s how George always did them. You must follow your own bent, have the courage of your own convictions. George frequently followed his way rather than mine, and he was right to do so.’

Breda, though sad about George Soames, whom she had always liked and always would, was delighted for Graham.

‘It’s wonderful!’ she said. ‘And I know you’ll be a success. In fact, Miss Opal wouldn’t have offered you the job if she hadn’t thought so too. The only thing is, my darling, don’t work too hard.’

‘You’re a fine one to talk,’ Graham said. ‘Six months pregnant and still hard at it.’ There was no anger in his words. Seeing how fit and well Breda was, how happy, he had become used to the situation. He trusted her to give it up when the right time came.

‘I enjoy it so much,’ Breda said. ‘Every day is different.’

There was no shortage of clients – ‘Let’s call them clients, not customers,’ Miss Opal had suggested. Mrs Alderton had been delighted by Breda’s transformation of her drawing room and had immediately recommended her to two friends, but the woman Breda was to see this afternoon had telephoned in response to the announcement in the newspaper.

Breda received her in the alcove which had been chosen for the purpose, on the first floor. Opal had thought that an alcove was more suitable than an enclosed office. ‘Let people get used to seeing you at work,’ she said. It was furnished with two comfortable armchairs, a low table, swatches of fabrics, colour charts – and fresh flowers. The first meeting was always in the store, but it was no more than a preliminary.

‘I think I’ve got the picture,’ Breda said when they had talked for a while. ‘The next thing is, I’d like to visit you in your home.’

Mrs Stevens hesitated. ‘Is that necessary? I mean . . . I thought . . . ’

‘It really is,’ Breda said. ‘I can do a much better job for you that way. Is there some reason why not?’

‘Not really. Only it’s so awful, I wouldn’t like you to think any of it was my taste. My late aunt lived there and I inherited the lot.’

Breda smiled. ‘That’s a wonderful starting point. Between us we can do so much. And, of course, this consultation and the first one in your own home are entirely free. Only if and when you decide to go ahead do you begin to pay. We’ll discuss that then.’

‘It sounds fair enough,’ Mrs Stevens said. ‘Could it be next week?’

Breda consulted her diary. ‘Yes, Wednesday afternoon. I’ll bring some of the patterns and charts we’ve looked at, but I’ll also bring others as well. Don’t be surprised if I suggest something totally different once I’ve seen the room.’

She needed also to be able to see the house, and the view from the window. If the view was good she would work with it, incorporate it in her design; if it was bad then she would do all she could to minimize it. Also, in addition to recommending decorations, chair covers, curtains and so on, she would often suggest ornaments, china or glassware, a picture. Most of what she suggested would be obtainable in the store, but if it was not she would do her best to get it elsewhere. It was all part of the service.

She wrote down Mrs Stevens’s address. ‘Then I’ll look forward to seeing you at two o’clock next Wednesday,’ she said. ‘And if you have any ideas about things you’d especially like, jot them down and we’ll discuss them. It’s important that you end up with what you want.’

‘I’m looking forward to this one,’ Breda said to Opal later. ‘Mrs Stevens sounds as though she’d like to make a clean sweep.’

‘I hope it goes well,’ Opal said. ‘But bear in mind that it won’t always. One of these days you’ll come up against a smart operator who’ll pinch all your ideas, then carry them out herself instead of using our men and our goods.’

‘I dare say I will,’ Breda agreed. ‘But what can I do about that?’

‘Not much. Watch out for it. Don’t leave too many loopholes. And if you lose, put it down to experience.’

‘I don’t think Mrs Stevens is in that category,’ Breda said. ‘I liked her.’

In fact, Opal was as pleased as punch with the way it was going. It was only the beginning, but people were starting to talk about it simply because there was nothing comparable in Hebghyll – or in Leasfield or Akersfield as far as she knew. And that being so, she felt confident that clients would eventually come from those places too.

The pity of it was that as each week passed she realized just how much the enterprise depended upon Breda’s unique talent. What would she do if she lost her? It was very much on the cards but she must do all she could to prevent it happening.

Because of the fluid nature of the work Breda, encouraged by Opal, had been able to pace herself. On the rare days when the child inside her felt heavy, or the weather was too hot, she could work at home on designs. When she felt more vigorous she could, if she wanted to, put in more time at the store. The only thing she couldn’t change, and would never try to, was her appointments with clients.

‘The job’s as tailor-made for me as my designs are for the clients,’ she said to Graham.

‘Well, that does seem to be the case,’ he admitted. ‘But just don’t push yourself too far.’

‘I won’t,’ Breda promised.

The baby was due early in October. With luck, and her present state of good health, she reckoned she might work until early September, though she would probably go less often into the store as time went on.

‘I must say, the extra money from both of us is useful,’ Graham remarked. He was earning a General Manager’s salary now, and Breda a 2 ½ per cent commission on the fees of what were sizeable jobs, plus 2 per cent on extra items bought on her recommendation from Opal’s.

‘I reckon we could think of buying our own house,’ Graham said.

‘But do we want to?’ Breda asked quickly. ‘We’ve made this so nice now. I love living here. And it will be a healthy place for the baby; no traffic, no smoke.’

‘Well, if it suits you, then it suits me,’ Graham said. ‘At least for the present.’

‘I’m looking forward to this being our baby’s first home. We’ve been so happy here. You do agree with that, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do, sweetheart,’ he said.

Towards the end of August Breda sought out Opal. ‘I think perhaps, Miss Opal, I shouldn’t take on any more jobs now. I’ve got plenty of time to finish the ones in hand and on the list, but if I took on anything new, I might not be able to complete it.’

‘Very sensible,’ Opal said. ‘I quite agree with you.’

‘Can I ask you something else?’

‘Of course!’

‘Since I can’t say for certain whether I can come back after the baby’s born, do you mind telling me if you’re going to take on someone else in my place?’ It cut her to the quick to say the words, but she had to know. ‘And if you are,’ she continued, ‘will you want me to teach her something of it before I go?’

Opal shook her head. ‘No, Breda. I’ve already thought about that, and I’m not taking on anyone else. I’d rather suspend things for a time until I know what’s going to happen. In any case, where would I find someone? It’s not a question just of teaching someone to do what you do, it’s a matter of finding someone with the talent.’

Breda felt weak at the knees with relief. At least the way was to be left open to her if she could come back. ‘I would let you know as soon as I could,’ she said.

‘Well, yes, I would have to know,’ Miss Opal said. ‘Because if you’re never coming back, then I shall have to look for someone else. I think the idea is too good just to let it go. So what I suggest is that I give you two months after the baby is born to see how you feel, and how Graham feels. By then I reckon you should be able to tell me something.’

‘Oh, I will, Miss Opal!’ Breda cried. ‘Perhaps long before then. Almost everything will depend on whether I can get the right person to look after the baby for part of the day. I haven’t anyone in mind at all, as yet.’

‘It’s an important decision. I’ll ask around,’ Miss Opal said. ‘Whoever it was, she’d have to come very well recommended.’

It wouldn’t be the only difficulty, Breda thought as she left Opal’s office. There was Graham to consider. He had been very co-operative over the last few months, but that could change once the baby was here. Let’s face it, she thought, it could change for me too. I don’t know how I’m going to feel.

Josephine embraced Breda warmly. ‘How are you keeping, love?’ she asked.

‘Very well indeed.’

‘You look it, I must say,’ Josephine said. ‘And no-one would know to look at you, you were more than six months gone! I don’t know where you’re keeping it!’

‘I know she’s there all right,’ Breda said. ‘She kicks!’

‘So you’ve decided it’s a “she”?’

‘I had. Now I’m wondering if I haven’t got a footballer in there!’

She wanted a girl, so did Graham, but she knew it wouldn’t matter in the end. Just a lovely, healthy baby was all either of them asked.

It had already been arranged that Josephine would come to Hebghyll a day or two before the baby was due, so that she would be with Breda when her labour started.

‘I don’t like to think of you without another woman nearby,’ Josephine had said. ‘It’s a lovely place you live in, but isolated.’

Breda was to have the baby in the Hebghyll Maternity Home. In the two weeks she would remain there, Josie would return to Brendan, and then come back again to give Breda a hand when she came home with the baby. Josephine was quite looking forward to it. She said as much now while they sat at dinner. ‘I’m hoping you’ll feed us every day on Yorkshire pudding,’ Graham said. ‘It’s not the dish Breda does best in the world.’

‘And what will I be eating while my wife’s busy feeding you?’ Brendan spoke with gruff good humour.

‘It’s very good of you to spare Auntie Josie,’ Breda said. ‘I do appreciate it.’

‘He’ll be well enough looked after,’ Josephine said briskly. ‘Kate and Maureen will fall over themselves to see to that!’

‘And who will look after me?’ Grandma Maguire demanded suddenly.

‘The girls will,’ Josephine said patiently. ‘As you well know, it’s all in hand. You’ll not be neglected.’ She won’t let herself be neglected, Josephine thought. Part of the reason she was looking forward to going to Hebghyll was that for a spell she would be away from her mother-in-law.

‘All this fuss!’ Grandma said. ‘There was none of this in my day. You just got on with it!’

‘How are your mother and father?’ Josephine said, turning to Graham. She had quite liked Henry Prince, and might have liked his wife, could she have got to know her better.

‘They’re both well, thank you,’ Graham said. ‘They’ll come on a visit after the baby’s born.’

The minute the Princes had heard of Breda’s pregnancy, Miriam had wanted to arrange for the birth to take place in Reigate. ‘We have a wonderful nursing home close by,’ she’d written, ‘and our doctor is simply splendid.’

Graham recalled it now, and laughed. ‘My mother doesn’t think there are any proper doctors north of Watford!’ he said.

‘I hope you told her it’s got to be born in Yorkshire,’ Brendan said. ‘In case it’s a lad. Otherwise he’d never get to play for the county!’

Breda and Graham left Akersfield by mid-afternoon. ‘It’s strange these days how I always want to get back home,’ Breda said as they sat in the train. ‘I’m sure it’s to do with being pregnant.’

As they walked back from Hebghyll station to their cottage on the edge of the moor she took deep breaths, filling her lungs with the clean air. It had been hot and stuffy in Akersfield, but here the air was crisp and clear.

‘I wouldn’t want to be living anywhere other than Hebghyll,’ Breda said as Graham turned the key in the lock.

‘What about Kilbally?’ he asked. He opened the door and stood aside while Breda entered the house.

‘Ah!’ she said. ‘Now that’s another matter! My first love. But Hebghyll feels like home now, and isn’t that because it’s our home? Wasn’t it here you carried me over the threshold, then?’

‘And I’d not like to do it now!’ Graham said.

‘This is the room I thought I’d have done,’ she said.

It was dark and gloomy, but that was not so much to do with the windows, which were large, but with the fact that everything in it was dark: floors covered in close-patterned Turkey carpet, woodwork and furniture heavy oak, walls dark green embossed paper, and hung with sombre oil paintings. Whatever light came in through the windows, themselves closely curtained, first with Nottingham lace and then with crimson brocade, was at once absorbed by the dark surfaces.

Breda caught her breath at the sight of it. Her first impulse was to draw back the curtains as far as they would go, then tear down the Nottingham lace, let in more light.

‘It is quite a challenge,’ Mrs Stevens said nervously.

‘I’m sure we can meet it,’ Breda replied.

She felt less confident than she sounded. No doubt Mrs Stevens would want to keep all that heavy carved furniture, those overstuffed chairs and the monstrous sofa. She crossed to the window and looked out.

To her great surprise the window gave onto a walled garden, with a lawn, well-filled borders, roses and clematis in abundance climbing the walls, and a delicate birch tree in the far corner.

‘Why, this is lovely!’ she cried. ‘We must certainly bring this into the room, and I suggest the very first thing we do is to take down the lace curtains. Would you agree to that?’

‘I’d be happy to!’

Breda turned at the unexpected firmness in Mrs Stevens’s voice. ‘May I ask how long you’ve lived here?’ she asked.

‘Only three months,’ Mrs Stevens replied. ‘Since my aunt died. It’s just as it came to me, and the rest of the house is the same. I didn’t really know how to start, and then I saw the advertisement.’

Breda took off her shoes, stood on a chair, and unhooked the lace curtains, dropping them to the floor. ‘You see the difference at once, don’t you? I think that has to be the priority, to make the whole room light and fresh. Of course it’s Victorian, and that’s not fashionable now, but fashions go in cycles and it might well come back. Different covers and curtains, paler walls, would make a world of difference. Would you, for instance, be prepared to have a new carpet?’

‘Anything! Absolutely anything!’ Mrs Stevens said. ‘My aunt left me some money, as well as the house, and I’m prepared to spend it.’

‘Well then,’ Breda said. ‘Let’s see where we start.’

They discussed every detail, down to the pictures on the wall, which Mrs Stevens declared herself more than ready to part with. She was a most amenable woman; not many ideas of her own, but willing to be guided. What more could I wish for, Breda thought?

‘Well, I’ll make some sketches,’ she said in the end, ‘sort out more fabrics, now that I know what’s needed. Could I come again next Wednesday?’

‘Certainly!’ Mrs Stevens said. ‘And may I ask you something?’

‘Of course!’

‘I can see you’re having a baby – oh, it doesn’t show much, but I can tell. So I just wondered when, and if you’d be giving up work. I mean, altogether, after the baby’s born. You see, I’d like most of the house doing, a bit at a time of course.’

‘My baby is due in October,’ Breda said. ‘I think I shall have to leave Opal’s early in September, but of course I shall finish this room before then. I won’t leave it half done, I promise you.’

‘And afterwards?’

‘I don’t know,’ Breda confessed. ‘I want to take up my job again, at least part time, but it all depends on whether I can get the right person to look after the baby. It would have to be someone really special, someone I could trust absolutely.’

When Breda returned to the house on the following Wednesday, Mrs Stevens looked pleased and excited to see her. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said, about finding someone to help with the baby,’ she said, taking Breda through to the drawing room. ‘I just might have the answer!’

‘Really?’ Breda sounded non-committal. It was too quick, too good to be true, but Mrs Stevens was a client, she must at least listen to her.

‘It’s my niece. Her name’s Grace Paterson and she was widowed in the war. Only nineteen, she was. She’s been working as a nanny for the last four years, but now the family is emigrating to Australia. She doesn’t want to go with them.’

‘That sounds . . . promising,’ Breda said.

‘She’s a very nice person, and she adores babies,’ Mrs Stevens said. ‘In fact, I took the liberty of inviting her here this afternoon. I thought you might like to meet her.’

Any reservations Breda had were swept aside almost from the moment she met Grace Paterson. She was everything she had imagined in the woman she had hoped to find: softly spoken, wholesome to look at, with her blonde hair, creamy skin and ready smile. She also had four years’ experience of two children, from birth, and it was clear from the way she spoke that she was fond of them, unhappy that they were leaving.

‘I think we might suit each other very well,’ Breda said. ‘Though you understand I’m not quite sure yet exactly what I want to do?’

‘I understand that,’ Grace Paterson said. ‘It’s a big decision.’

‘And I’d want you to meet my husband.’

‘Of course!’

How would Graham take it? Breda asked herself the question all the way home. When Graham came in she could not hold it back.

‘It’s all very sudden,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you’re not just . . . well . . . clutching at straws?’

‘’Tis not like that at all,’ Breda said. ‘And I have not committed myself in any way. She knows she will have to wait until after the baby’s born before I make any decision.’

‘You really liked her?’

‘I did so. But you’ll have to meet her for yourself. It concerns us both. Will I ask her to come here?’

‘Very well,’ Graham said.

Breda finally left Opal’s in the middle of September. She was sorry to go. ‘I’ve enjoyed every minute of my time here,’ she told Miss Opal on her last day. ‘But especially the last few months.’

‘You’ve done a good job,’ Opal said. ‘I dare say it’s selfish of me, but I hope you come back to us.’

‘We shall have to see,’ Breda said.

In some ways it was a good time to go. She was clear of appointments. Mrs Stevens’s room had gone very well, and the lady was delighted with it. ‘It’s unrecognizable!’ she said. ‘So light and fresh. You really are clever, and I wish you were doing the rest.’

But I’m really tired, Breda admitted to herself. I’m fit enough, but really tired. The doctor had advised her to take things more easily for the last few weeks and she was happy to heed his advice. Grace Paterson would be in from time to time to give her a hand when she needed it. Graham had met Grace twice by now.

‘I have to confess, I like her,’ he said. ‘She seems a trustworthy person.’

Aunt Josephine arrived at Heather Cottage, as arranged, two days before the baby was due. ‘They do say first babies are always late and second ones always early,’ she said. ‘But best be on the safe side. I’ll help you pack what you need, so there’s no rush at the last minute.’

‘’Tis all packed,’ Breda said. ‘Nightgowns, bedjackets, baby clothes, the lot. And two new books. Once it’s over, I shall just lie back and read and sleep!’

‘Make the most of it,’ Josephine advised. ‘You’ll be too busy to read, once you’re home! By the way, Grandma Maguire sent this for the baby.’ She produced a small, bone teething ring. ‘She says it belonged to Brendan when he was a baby. All I can say is, she never passed it on to me for any of mine, so count yourself honoured!’

‘Oh I do!’ Breda said. ‘I’ll write and thank her tomorrow.’

As it turned out, there was no chance to do that. At half-past midnight her labour started. Graham, in a lather of anxiety, far more so than she was, telephoned at once for the taxi, and took her to the maternity home.

‘You can go home now, Mr Prince,’ the sister in charge said after the first ten minutes. ‘We’ll take care of your wife. This is no place for a man.’ She had no time for husbands hanging around.

‘But when . . . ?’

‘Oh, the baby won’t be born for hours yet. They take their own time. Telephone around six in the morning and we’ll let you know what’s happening.’

At one minute after six o’clock, Graham telephoned.

‘My wife,’ he said hurriedly. ‘My wife! Is she . . . I mean . . . ’

‘It would help if you told me who your wife was,’ the nurse said gently.

‘Oh! Mrs Breda Prince!’

‘Just a moment. I’ll find out, Mr Prince.’

‘Why doesn’t she know?’ he demanded of Josephine. ‘Why is she stalling? Is something wrong?’

He jumped as the voice sounded in his ear. ‘You have a lovely little daughter, Mr Prince!’

‘What did you say?’

‘A daughter, Mr Prince!’

‘Oh! Thank you! And my wife? What about my wife?’

‘She’s well. They’re both well.’

‘I’ll be there at once!’

He put down the receiver, and turned to Josephine, tears streaming down his face. ‘A daughter! I have a daughter!’