The winter carpet of frost sparkled on windows, dusting the hills with rime. Colder mists were rolling in between the twin hills of Sweyn’s Eye, seeming to muffle the Sunday bells. And Mary Sutton sat in her gracious drawing room before a blazing fire and had never felt so alone in her life.
She was acutely aware of the silence enfolding the big house as she stared down into the garden, her eyes moving to the wide expanse of the sea beyond – it was restless, without colour, like pewter that had not been cleaned.
In her lap was one of Brandon’s old letters, in which he assured her he was well but that he was not allowed to tell her the name of the place from which he was writing. He had not enjoyed the sea journey; there had been a sudden gusting wind that had battered the ship, tossing it towards France as though delivering him into enemy hands.
Mary sighed, finding it ironic that he had spoken little of love, but she guessed he had been self-conscious with other men around him. But now her being ached for some reassurance that their love had been good.
Folding the letter away, she put it in the drawer of her desk with trembling fingers. She felt weak and ill; her heart seemed to pump fast in her breast and her head swam as if she was about to swoon. She returned to her seat and stared down at her hands, knowing her sickness was nothing but her conscience playing tricks on her – she was as strong as a horse, had she not always been so?
The door opened and Mrs Greenaway stood uncertainly on the threshold.
‘Dr Soames is here. I didn’t know you’d sent for him, merchi, though pale as a penny chicken you’ve looked to me lately, with such big shadows under your eyes. Tell him to come in, shall I?’
Mary sat up straighter in her chair, rich colour suffusing her cheeks, but he had to be faced sometime and it might as well be now.
‘Yes, tell him to come in, Greenie, it’s all right.’
The doctor entered the room quietly, as composed as ever. He was a fine handsome man, younger than Brandon by several years and he had been so virile when they lay together. Mary tore her gaze away from him, washed with a feeling of shame.
‘Please sit down, Dr Soames and make yourself comfortable.’ She managed to speak lightly, though she knew the crimson was still in her cheeks. He did not obey at once but he moved towards her, taking her hand and raising her fingers to his lips.
‘Mary, I’ve been desperate to see you again and you’ve been putting me off. Did you think I would embarrass you or perhaps make demands? If so, you mistake my intentions.’
Mary sighed. ‘I’ve been so confused, I needed time to think.’
He sat opposite her then and smiled easily. ‘And have you come to any conclusions?’
She nodded. ‘What we did was wrong and must never be repeated. I was weak and foolish and I don’t blame you at all – indeed, it was my fault.’
‘Don’t punish yourself with recriminations, Mary,’ he said gently. ‘Life’s far too short for that.’ He paused, ‘I’ll admit I knew nothing of your grief and I’m glad about that – otherwise I might have felt I was taking advantage of your state of mind. But if you want me to pretend it never happened, then I can’t – to me it was a wonderful experience, one I shall never forget.’
Mary bit her lip. ‘Don’t, please, you’re only reminding me…’ her words trailed away and the doctor shook his head.
‘No one will ever know what happened between us for unless you choose to speak out, I never will. But can you not think of me as a friend and please… call me Paul, won’t you?’
He stared at her, his brow creasing into a frown. ‘You look peaky, Mary, why don’t you let me take you for a drive? I have the horse and trap today, as Bryn Thomas has no calls to make.’
Mary shook her head; how would it appear to others if she were to be seen driving through town with her doctor?
He seemed to know what she was thinking. ‘It would be very proper and natural,’ he assured her. ‘You know that a doctor is considered above reproach.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ Mary rose to her feet, realising how much she felt hemmed in by the four walls of the room and by the silence of the day. Lately, Sundays had been so lonely. The rest of the time she had plenty to do – she could keep herself busy enough between the emporium and the work she did on the trams and at night she was so tired that she fell into bed and slept at once through sheer weariness. And after all, what harm would there be in going for a drive with her doctor?
‘Greenie, will you fetch my coat please?’ Mary called. ‘I’m going out for some fresh air.’
Mrs Greenaway concealed her surprise and did Mary’s bidding, but it was clear she was torn between approval that Mary was going outdoors and doubts as to the propriety of the occasion.
The mists were rolling away and the sea had lightened, the waves softly tumbling against the crescent of sand that edged the shore. The long encompassing arm of Mumbles Head had become visible, standing out against the sky, dark and craggy.
As the doctor helped her into the chill leather seat, Mary’s spirits were suddenly lifted and her gloom evaporated like the mists that had earlier wreathed the seas.
The clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the road was soothing, reminding Mary of the time when she had driven a van around the valleys, selling her shawls to the wives of miners and beginning to make her business pay. She had been happy then, her goal in life to be a successful businesswoman so that she need never fear a return to the poverty which had dogged her childhood.
Why had she become discontented, she wondered – and why had she allowed her marriage to be eroded by her own selfishness? Look at her now: sitting beside a virtual stranger, knowing in her heart that she was playing with fire. She must stop all this nonsense, she told herself sternly; the young doctor must not be allowed to insinuate himself into her life.
Suddenly she felt a surge of her old determination and strength, telling herself sharply that she had become weak of late – a moaning self-centred woman. She worried about what had happened in her husband’s past, torturing herself with doubts about his faithfulness when all the time she had the makings of a floosie deep within her own soul.
‘Stop, please, I want to get out,’ Mary said suddenly and Paul Soames looked at her in surprise.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, his hand resting on hers. ‘Do you feel sick or something?’
Strangely enough, in spite of her clearness of mind Mary did feel quite ill. As she stepped down into the road her whole body seemed to tremble; perhaps she was coming down with a chill, she thought, for she had been working in the rain a great deal lately.
‘I would just like to walk, if you don’t mind.’ She stared at him with clear eyes. ‘There must be nothing more between us, ever, do you understand?’
He inclined his head. ‘If you say so, Mary, but don’t be silly about this; let me at least take you home.’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’m all right, I can look after myself. I’ve done so for most of my life after all – and brought Heath up too, come to that.’
The doctor seemed uncertain. ‘I don’t know, you look a little pale to me, are you sure you’re all right?’
And then Mary was not sure at all as she leaned against the rough stone wall at the side of the road and tried to combat the dizziness that was swamping her. A feeling of nausea made her retch and she was suddenly grateful for strong arms holding her as the world spun away into darkness inside her head.
She opened her eyes slowly to find herself lying on a long leather couch. The room was vaguely familiar, but it was only when she turned her head and saw the skeleton in the corner that she realised she was in Paul Soames’ surgery. She felt rather than saw a movement and then he was bending over her, his sombre eyes staring down.
‘What’s happening to me?’ Mary whispered fearfully.
He glanced away quickly. ‘It’s what you’ve been wanting for a long time, Mary.’ He paused for a moment and his eyes met hers, seeing the dawning understanding in her face. ‘That’s right, you are going to have a baby.’
She sat up and stared at him in disbelief. ‘But how do you know, how can you tell, if I didn’t know?’
‘Ask yourself one or two simple questions, Mary. For example, have you been seeing your monthly courses lately? And have the mornings been a little of an ordeal, with a feeling of faintness and nausea just as you experienced today?’ He smoothed back his already neat hair. ‘Apart from these things there are certain physical indications clear to any doctor and I’m quite certain – I half wish I wasn’t, believe me.’
Mary sat up and smoothed her skirts over her knees; her hands were trembling and she still felt slightly sick. Paul Soames helped her to her feet, staring at her quizzically. ‘What can I say? I’m as mixed-up as you appear to be.’
She glanced towards the door and he interpreted the gesture at once. ‘There are no other patients outside, don’t worry.’
Mary’s thoughts were tumbling over themselves and she could not form even the simplest of queries. She looked up mutely at the doctor and he patted her shoulder clumsily.
‘These things are often a shock at first, but once you’ve accepted the idea you will be delighted, I’m sure. After all, you wanted a baby, didn’t you?’
But not like this, Mary thought in anguish. ‘Will you take me home?’ she asked, her voice trembling.
He virtually had to lift her into the trap; his hands were strong and supportive and she was grateful for his help. Her mind was scurrying round in circles as she studied the long street of high, narrow houses – staring upwards at the smoke-filled sky, leaning back in her seat, noticing how the leather creaked coldly as she eased herself into it. She could not think, begin to work things out; she needed to get home to her room, close herself in, crawl into her bed and hide from her thoughts.
The doctor did not speak, he simply drove in silence and she was grateful. When they arrived he handed her over to Mrs Greenaway with a few brief words of explanation and then took Mary’s hand, though she refused to meet his eyes.
‘I’ll come to see you soon, Mrs Sutton,’ he said formally, ‘and in the meantime, get all the rest you can.’
It seemed an eternity before she was in her nightgown and alone in the silence of the big bed. As she closed her eyes, tears forced themselves from beneath the tightly shut lids and the pain that squeezed her heart was almost physical. But at last she slept and in her dreams she was in Brandon’s arms, loving him, giving him all of herself, and for a brief time she was happy.
It was dark when she awoke and the moon was silvering the room, casting a glow over the bed that made the white of the sheets appear like snow that had drifted into folds. Mary sat up, her mind clear as she lit the lamp, pulled on her dressing gown and sat in her chair near the grey ashes of the dead fire. She thought carefully, going over dates in her mind – sifting, remembering – but there was no answer to the question that reared up in her mind. Only one fact stood out plain and clear: she did not know who was the father of her baby.
She had lain with Brandon the night before he had gone to join his regiment. The coupling had been soured with mistrust and discontent – could such a union have resulted in the child she so desired after such a long barren time? Or was it not more likely that her stolen night with a virtual stranger was the occasion when she had conceived?
She bit her lip… if so, then she had betrayed Brandon in the most cruel way a man could be betrayed. Clasping her hands together, she wondered if she could pluck up the courage to speak plainly to Paul Soames and if she did, whether he could possibly answer her questions?
And yet slowly the misery began to vanish. Mary wrapped her arms around her still smooth stomach and joy rose within her like great coloured bubbles, shimmering golden and bright and making her breathless with joy. Here within her was the child for which she had pined, the baby she thought she would never conceive! Hot, happy tears poured down her cheeks, so that she gasped with the force of her feelings and softly rocked herself to and fro. ‘My baby,’ she whispered between her tears.
So the days passed in a haze where Mary’s feelings fluctuated between overwhelming joy and equally overwhelming guilt. She began to make a reassessment of her life, realising she had loved Brandon as deeply as any woman could love her man and yet had betrayed his memory. This was a fact which she could not alter and so she must come to terms with it.
At first she continually blamed herself for the momentary weakness which had allowed her to give herself to the doctor, yet common sense told her that she had been out of her mind with grief, needing consolation and comfort from contact with another human being. Gradually she came to understand if not forgive herself, deciding at last that what she had done must remain hidden away for ever. The guilt of her betrayal might gnaw at her for the rest of her life, but it was the price she must pay to keep her child’s name unblemished.
Now Mary stood on the high platform of the tram, her uniform heavy and uncomfortable, the waist already feeling a little tight. This was her last day as part-time conductress, for she did not think it good for the health of her unborn baby to be rushing upstairs and down in all kinds of inclement weather. She smiled as two soldiers boarded the tram, wearing the blue uniform of the wounded.
‘Going to Parc Beck are you, girlie?’ One of the men smiled down at her and Mary tried to ignore the empty sleeve pinned over his breast.
‘There’s daft you are, mind, doesn’t it say Parc Beck on the front there?’ She smiled cheekily and the soldier responded by planting a kiss on the tip of her nose.
‘Duw, there’s good it is to hear an honest-to-goodness Welsh voice. I never want to go to “Froggie land” again!’
Mary frowned in confusion and the two soldiers laughed. ‘France, girl! Don’t you know there’s a war on?’
She watched the men take a seat; there was no need to issue a ticket because the wounded travelled free. There was a pain inside her as she thought of Brandon lying buried in an unmarked grave in France – oh, she knew there was a war on, all right.
At the end of her shift she prepared her figures, hoping and praying that the money she had taken would tally with the tickets sold. Sometimes there was a discrepancy and then it worried her that she who was so good with figures should have made a mistake.
When she left the terminus she wandered into the street, staring at the tram which was swallowing up the waiting crowd and feeling a pang as though there was something lost. Yet she had never set much store by her job as a conductress – it had been merely a way of helping out when there were hardly any men left to do such jobs.
But now she was unaccountably lonely. Although she did not feel like going back to the house yet, she was not dressed for the store and her uniform would be hot and uncomfortable. Suddenly she brightened: she would go to see Katie. They had not talked since just after the terrible explosion at the munitions factory and Mary felt guilty, she had been so wrapped up in herself that she had given no thought to anyone else, nor to how Katie must still be suffering at the loss of her two young friends.
There was a chill wind blowing along Market Street and the stalls clustered together in the square brought back swift, sharp memories of the time when Mary had worked in the market, enduring all sorts of weather as she endeavoured to build up her trade. She remembered the duplicity of Alfred Phillpot who had tried to outwit her, starving her of supplies so that she would be forced to sell her stalls, but she had beaten him in the end.
She frowned, for even now he was bent on provoking her and there was the business of the woollen goods he had bought from Yorkshire, changing the labels so that she believed the articles to be Welsh. Well, Mansel Jack – mill owner from whom Phillpot had purchased – had come down to Sweyn’s Eye himself to sort that one out. Strangely enough he had remained to run the munitions factory where Katie Murphy worked and the terrible accident had occurred.
The pungent smell of fish hung on the breeze and Mary wrinkled her nose in disgust. Yet here in this house she had received such hospitality, sharing a curtained-off section of Katie’s own room. She sighed, for she had been remiss in neglecting her friend so badly.
Katie was looking much better and the gash on her forehead was almost healed, but there were shadows still beneath her eyes.
‘Come in, me darlin’, sure ’tis lovely to see you.’ Katie took her arm and hustled her into the kitchen where Mrs Murphy sat as usual in her chair, skirts hitched up and knees bare to the heat from the fire. Mary’s heart sank – there would be no chance to exchange confidences today. The youngest of the Murphy boys was playing on the floor, running a red-painted wooden tank over the rag mat.
Katie held her hands to her head and frowned in mock annoyance, then pointed to the stairs. ‘Come up to my room – we’ll not hear ourselves speak down here with that boy making so much noise.’
‘Oh, Katie!’ said her mother, ‘shame on you taking away our company like that, you don’t consider your old mammy at all, do you?’
Katie sighed heavily. ‘We’ll talk to you after, don’t worry yourself… and how about making us a nice hot cup of tea? That’ll give you something to do, so it will.’
Katie’s room was different from the time when Mary had shared it and now there was linoleum on the floor, covered with strong tufted mats. The walls had been decorated and the window and bed were hung with good heavy coverings.
‘Nothing so posh as your house, Mary.’ Katie’s shrewd eyes were watching her and Mary shook her head.
‘No, but it’s very nice Katie – a palace compared with the hovel I was brought up in – and don’t you forget it, for I won’t!’
‘I know that. Come and sit down and tell me what’s been happening. I can see in your eyes there’s something important you want to say.’
Mary smiled. ‘There’s knowing you are,’ she said, ‘far too nosey if you ask me, mind.’ She settled herself on the bed and leaned back against the wall, clasping her hands around her knees and wondering how much she was going to tell Katie – her mind buzzed with the need to confide in someone who would understand.
‘I’m going to have a baby!’ The words fell into the silence of the room and if Mary had expected great surprise she couldn’t have been more wrong. Katie merely smiled and brushed back her red-gold hair.
‘I knew that the minute I set eyes on you.’ Her smugness was infuriating. ‘Not that your belly’s got big yet, but there’s something about your eyes; you can always tell.’
‘Oh, can you indeed!’ Mary laughed, a little piqued at being deprived of her moment of glory.
Katie put her hand on Mary’s shoulder. ‘This is something you’ve been wanting for a long time. I know how much it means to you and I’m so pleased for you Mary, but then you know that. Can I be godmother?’
Mary smiled. ‘Yes, but you don’t deserve it for guessing my secret without me having to tell you.’ She stared through the small window for a moment and saw that the coast of Devon was barely visible through the mists that were rising from the sea.
‘Then why aren’t you happy?’ Katie’s words dropped softly into the quietness and Mary did not turn to look at her. She knew she must speak, the words were burning at her and she so needed a friend – one person to whom she could tell her awful secret so that the burden would not be so heavy.
‘Katie, I’m not sure that Brandon is the father of my child.’ The words fell into a pool of silence and Mary realised at once that she had made a mistake.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph!’ Katie was genuinely shocked.
Mary turned to her earnestly: ‘I’d had the telegram to say Brandon was dead… I don’t know what happened to me then – oh, I can’t begin to explain…’
The silence seemed to stretch interminably and looking at Katie, Mary felt she was staring into the eyes of a disapproving stranger.
‘Mary, how could you?’ Katie asked, her tone as well as her words holding a reproof. ‘You and Brandon were so… so right together, I didn’t think you could be unfaithful and so soon after…’
Mary looked down at her hands as her friend’s voice died away. ‘Katie, with your past I should have thought you would understand more than anyone.’ As soon as the words were spoken, however, she regretted them. Katie had loved William Owen and had lain with him in the hills and been his woman, but it was not until long after he had died that she had turned to another man.
‘I’m sorry, forget I said that!’ Mary apologised quickly, ‘There’s soft I was to burden you with all this, there’s nothing anyone can do about it.’
Katie stared at her in silence and Mary felt moved to try to explain how it had happened. She had no wish to be at the receiving end of Katie’s outraged anger. ‘I was unhappy, anyway. I thought that Brandon was interested in Mary Anne Bloomfield again. Indeed, when he was on leave he went to see her.’ She knew she was babbling but she could not help herself.
‘And so you wanted to pay him back for what you thought he’d done? Mary, that’s not worthy of you!’
‘I didn’t plan any of it,’ Mary said in despair. ‘I can’t explain it even to myself.’ She rubbed her hand over her eyes. ‘Oh, I don’t know how it happened – the doctor was kind and I needed kindness just then… it was all so easy somehow.’
Katie rose to her feet, her face aghast. ‘Mary, you didn’t go to bed with the young doctor?’ She brushed at her long hair, her eyes wide. ‘By the name of all the saints, don’t tell this to anyone else – you could destroy that man’s whole life, don’t you know that?’
Mary bit her lip. This meeting was not turning out at all as she had planned; she had wanted help, advice, reassurance perhaps, but all she was getting was condemnation.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you.’ She spoke in a low voice and then felt Katie move away from her.
‘You’ve behaved like a spoiled little girl, Mary.’ She spoke harshly: ‘I think you deserve a good hiding, if you must know – not sympathy.’
Mary got to her feet and stared at Katie, suddenly angry. ‘All right, if you’re going to be “holier than thou” all of a sudden, then I’ll go. I’m sorry if I’ve upset your fine sensibilities.’
She strode from the room and hurried down the stairs, her heart beating swiftly. Barely nodding to Mrs Murphy, who was pouring a cup of tea, she made her way quickly through the kitchen and along the passage out into the street.
Behind her she could hear Katie calling but she didn’t stop, hurrying down the hill towards the docklands where she and Brandon had spent much of their time together. Her eyes were filled with tears and though she recognised them as self-pity she could not check their flow. She sat at the quayside, oblivious to the cold air that blew in from the Channel as she stared at the ships waiting to go out on the tide. Katie’s attitude had hurt deeply and yet Mary knew the Irish girl was right – nothing could ever excuse what she had done.
After a time she began to walk back through the town. Her thoughts were still in a whirl and when she found herself outside the shabby house where Doctor Soames had his surgery, she paused – wanting, needing to talk to him.
‘Come in, Mrs Sutton.’ He spoke formally, but his eyes were warm and Mary felt glad she had called.
She sat in the cold leather seat, staring at the familiar bony skeleton in the corner and took a deep breath.
‘A doctor is like a priest, is that right?’ The words came out baldly and he looked at her in surprise. ‘I mean… you can’t ever repeat what you hear between these four walls?’
Her tone was desperate and Paul Soames looked at her in concern. ‘You can say what you like to me, you must know that, Mary.’ He smiled down at her and she averted her gaze. She tried to relax the tenseness in her fingers, stretching them wide and staring at the thick gold wedding ring on her finger.
‘Is there any way we can tell who’s the father of my baby?’ Now she had said it and she glanced at him, relieved to see that he had not recoiled from her.
He shook his head. ‘It’s very difficult,’ he said softly. ‘There are ways whereby probability may be decided upon, but nothing we can pinpoint with any certainty.’
‘I was with my husband before he left for France – could the child be his?’ Mary had to ask the question though the words were torn from her lips.
The doctor shrugged. ‘Let me speak plainly, Mary.’ He took her hand in his. ‘The likelihood is that I’m the father of your baby, don’t you see that?’ He looked away from the pain in her eyes. ‘There is a possibility, a remote one, that you conceived that last time with your husband – but it’s not really likely.’
Mary took a deep breath. ‘So there’s no way I can know for sure?’ She met his eyes and read sympathy there as he shook his head.
‘I’d advise you to forget this – to go on home, have your baby and enjoy it. If there’s anything I can ever do to help, you only need to ask. It would be a privilege and surely I owe you that much.’
She forced a smile. ‘You owe me nothing. Thank you for your kindness.’ As she rose and opened the door of the surgery a figure moved smartly away and Mary froze into stillness.
‘Hello, honey!’ Mary Anne Bloomfield smiled enigmatically, her eyes running over Mary’s figure knowingly. ‘It seems we may have more in common than I first thought.’
The words were innocent enough, but Mary knew without doubt that the American woman had heard everything.