The suspicions that Joe had deliberately set fire to the bicycle shop were unpleasant while they lasted. It began when Willie Walters repeated Joe’s words about the shop being like a bloody albatross around his neck and wishing something would happen to release him from its problems.
“But I didn’t mean something like this!” Joe insisted. “How can burning the property help me sell it, for God’s sake? Tell me how?” He explained about the cancelled wedding to reinforce his argument, but the investigators just looked at him stony-faced, then continued with their questions.
The police had found the burnt-out remnants of a box of matches and some burnt newspaper near the seat of the fire and Joe insisted he had not left them there.
“I use a lighter,” he said, showing it to them. “I don’t smoke but I carry a lighter. Whoever left matches there it wasn’t me!”
Charlotte cried with dismay when she saw the results of the fire. She told the police that Joe had been with her at Mill House earlier that day.
Harriet didn’t help, insisting that, as far as she knew, there were no immediate plans for them to marry, hinting that Charlotte had changed her mind anyway.
“Why did you leave a heater on, Mr Llewellyn?” the investigator asked with quiet insistence. “Mid-summer it is and the night was very warm, wasn’t it? Thunder if I remember right.”
“There was a patch of plaster that the purchaser insisted needed doing. I didn’t fancy paying for such a small job so soon after having the back wall replastered, so I did it myself.”
“The heater?” the man persisted.
“I put the heater on low to help dry it quickly so I could get the painting done and sell the bloody place!” Joe snapped. “That’s the seventh time I’ve explained all this. The man who is buying the property—”
“Was, buying the property,” the man smilingly corrected.
“Was buying the property, then. He kept finding things he wanted done before he would sign the contract. I agreed to the small repair in the vain hope of getting the matter settled. I have a shop all ready to move into. He’s kept me waiting for months with one stupid thing after another. This fire has ruined everything for me!” He felt his anger rising.
The questions and veiled accusations went on and when Joe was about to explode and hit someone, the man nodded, snapped his notebook shut and said, “Well, Mr Llewellyn, I think I can clear you of the suspicion of arson. As you say, there was more to lose than gain from such an accident. Now,” he went on, as Joe stuttered his thanks. “Now, do you have any idea how the fire could have been caused?”
“Someone might have gone in to shelter from the rain. That’s all I can think of. It’s happened before, see. I once found the back door open and evidence of someone having slept there.”
“And you didn’t change the lock? Reinforce the door? Really, Mr Llewellyn. I’ll have to look with greater care at your policy. Carelessness is not to be condoned. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I ignored such an admission!”
The man went at last, the police declared themselves satisfied and Joe began the messy job of clearing out the burnt building. Charlotte came to help.
Danny knew he had left a box of matches in Joe’s shop. He and Lillian had crouched close to the heater, and he remembered watching with amusement as Lillian’s fumbling hands took out a red-tipped match and struck it, her face screwed up with the concentration of lighting her second cigarette.
The box of matches had been there, close to the heater, but he did not have it when he reached home. His final cigarette of the day had been lit with a paper spill from the dying fire in Bertha’s living room. The heat must have caused the matches to blaze up and with plenty of oily cloths and combustible material, it would not have taken very long for the fire to take hold. He knew he was responsible for the blaze but did not own up. Best they were left thinking it was some poor old tramp.
He was confident that Lillian wouldn’t tell anyone they had been there. The evening was a secret and one she would enjoy keeping. Besides, she wouldn’t risk losing the occasional outing with him by letting anyone know. Poor kid, he sighed. She hadn’t had much fun in her life. Being taught to behave, to be quiet, and to keep out of sight as much as possible.
When he left at the end of his leave he gave her a bag full of pennies, twenty-four all together, two shillings worth and enough for some more fish and chips or a few ice creams. He felt adequately paid just seeing her childish face bubbling with unacustomed pleasure.
She was on the verge of tears the morning he left to return to his ship. She helped him to heave his kitbag onto his shoulder and watched sadly as he set off to walk to the station. He was sorry to leave her, guilty almost, after adding a small amount of fun to her drab life. But forgetting Lillian, poor dab, the real regret was leaving Charlotte behind. He had that special feeling about her, knowing that they might have a future together.
It wouldn’t be hard to oust Joe Llewellyn from Charlotte’s life altogether! The man was a bumbling fool, messing about trying to please a buyer who was nothing but a time-waster. Joe should have found someone else to take on the shop and because he hadn’t, he, Danny Saunders, was in with a chance. The fire might not have helped Joe Llewellyn but Danny Saunders could benefit greatly!
Lillian spent hours daydreaming of Danny’s return. Everyone knew that he had been kind to her but no one had learned about the evening of the storm and how they had sheltered in Joe’s shop, eaten fish and chips and shared a packet of cigarettes.
Danny had explained that it was their secret, a private moment not to be shared. She sighed, her child-woman’s face intense with happiness. Her jaw dropped, the wet lips parted, the blue eyes stared into space as she saw again the events of that evening. Hers and Danny’s, a secret to be kept and enjoyed.
Rhoda gradually came out of her deep depression, helped by Joe as well as by Harriet. With her mother down helping Rhoda with the sale of her home and Joe spending his time between Rhoda’s affairs and his own, Charlotte was free to go to the factory.
Not knowing the routines thoroughly, she hovered around doing very little but gradually understanding the stages of the bookbinding processes. She couldn’t match the skills of the work force no matter how she tried. She persevered for a while but then gave up.
Besides the practical knowledge, she used Jack Roberts’ occasional absences to find her way around her uncle’s peculiar book-keeping system. Her father would be able to help, the accounts had been his special responsibility. But when he was home, at weekends, he refused to even allow her to talk about what went on at the factory.
“It has been in your uncle’s capable hands all the time I was away,” he said with his gentle smile. “I wouldn’t insult him by daring to interfere.”
That all was not well had been apparent for some time. Now, with her slowly increasing comprehension, she was able to at least stop some of the gaps. She wished Jack would allow her to work with him for a while so that she could understand at least the basics of his book-keeping. If she were even to consider running the firm one day, she needed to be fully conversant with the accounts, but Jack insisted that she had enough to do dealing with the factory floor.
“It’s marvellous having you see the work through and making sure there aren’t any hiccups causing delays,” he smiled. “It leaves me free to concentrate on what I do best, getting the bills out and the money in. Your father must be proud of you; your Uncle Peter sings your praises every day.”
Uncle Peter gave her a hug. “Valuable you are, Charlotte.” He gave a sigh. “And it seems no time since you were a little girl coming up here and having a ride on one of the trolleys.”
She looked around the empty workshop. It was after six on a Friday evening and everyone had gone home. With Joe doing some work on the damaged bicycle shop, Harriet and Rhoda at the cinema, her uncle settled next to the radio, her father enjoying his evening with his other family, she had taken the opportunity to spend a few more hours sorting the work and making notes for a few simple changes to the layout of the place for when she was able to do things her way.
She wanted so much to be in charge, to be able to tell the employees what she wanted done and when. She knew she could ensure that promises were kept, rebuild the factory’s reputation for first class work and reliable delivery dates. The dream filled her with excitement.
She was examining a discarded batch of booklets, dismay and frustration at the waste showing on her face. They had been ordered for a local train spotters club, intended to be offered for sale at their annual general meeting, to which many out-of-town members regularly came. They had failed to complete in time and now the order, both this year and future years, was lost to them.
She was about to drop them in the rubbish bin to clear the table for fresh work, when she heard a sound. The outside door was unlocked, footsteps were coming through the small entrance hall and the doors of the workroom were pushed open. Frightened, aware of the emptiness of the building, she instinctively ducked down behind the large guillotine.
She sighed with relief when she saw it was Jack. But something made her stay hidden and she watched from the safety of the heavy machine as he walked through the workshops to the office.
She was concentrating so completely on Jack, who was standing at the safe, turning the lock and heaving open the door, she was unaware of the main door reopening and Gaynor Edwards coming in. Jack slipped something into his inside pocket and when Gaynor reached the office door the couple embraced and Jack kicked the safe door shut with his foot. As the kiss continued, he bent down and gave the knob a couple of turns before lowering Gaynor to the floor and their combined breathing echoed loudly through the quiet room.
In a state of panic, afraid of being seen, Charlotte crawled between the tables and machines until she was only a few yards from the door. Taking a chance she ran, scuttling, almost on her knees. She went out of the door and around to the back of the building where she had left her bicycle.
Joe was sitting on the grass kerb, leaning on the gate when she reached the gate of Mill House.
“I’ve been waiting for you for an hour,” he said, kissing her damp cheek. “Where have you been, ghost hunting? You look as if you’ve been running for miles.”
Breathlessly and with some embarrassment, she told him what she had seen.
“He was meeting her, not going to do some work,” she explained.
Joe was beginning to wonder about Jack Roberts, who had been twice involved in a fight and who kept appointments with other men’s wives. Stalwart member of the community perhaps, but the man was beginning to show a dark side. He would love to know what had been taken from Peter Russell’s safe.
They went in and Charlotte prepared supper for when Harriet and Rhoda returned, mashed potatoes with some cheese and marmite added, browned under the grill. While she worked, Joe talked to Peter. She hoped Joe wouldn’t stay long. She wanted to think about a new order that she had found casually placed on one of the tables. Like so many others it would probably be lost amid the chaos. If she could be there every day, neglected orders simply wouldn’t happen. She decided to try again to get permission from her mother to spend regular hours there. It should be she running the business, not Jack, who was using his keys for other things!
Eric was helping Miranda with the Friday evening meal. This had become a ritual, a welcome home to Eric after five days at work, a celebration of the weekend just beginning. As usual, the sounds from the kitchen were reminiscent of a party.
They heard a long drawn out crash as plates and saucers and cups slid to the floor. Harriet stood up.
“Now what have they done!”
“Go and see, Mam,” Charlotte suggested. Her mother went towards the kitchen, wrenching open the door, and then stopped. Charlotte stared at Joe and her sister as Harriet’s rarely heard full-throated laughter rang out.
Petula, Harriet’s undoubted favourite, had slipped from her chair and pulled the table cloth with her: the resulting chaos, with the table contents spread across the room, the solemn little girl sitting in the middle of it, seemed so funny that Harriet forgot her resentment and her uneasy relationship with Eric and ran in to help.
Surreptitiously, Charlotte crossed her fingers, unaware that Joe was doing the same. If Harriet and Eric grew closer together. they might stand a chance of taking control of their own lives. Joe’s thoughts were of finally marrying Charlotte; Charlotte was thinking of running the factory.
Joe offered to walk Rhoda home. While Miranda settled the children into bed, Charlotte helped her mother and Eric wash the dishes, in water softened by soda and with a cloth rubbed with soap. Soon, she went to her room.
She found she was unable to think about the factory as she usually did. Besides the almost obsessional desire to run Russell’s, there was Danny to dwell on. He was due for another leave soon and she began to think about meeting him, listening while he told exciting stories about his travels. He made her laugh and forget her problems. She was excited at discovering things about him. She and Joe knew everything there was to know about each other. She gave a melancholy sigh. There were no more surprises to be had with Joe.
Harriefs main concern now was that no one learned about her youngest daughter’s suicide attempt, but the town’s information service worked as efficiently as usual.
Harriet overheard Bessie reporting the details to her friends in the queue for tomatoes at the greengrocers and knew it must have come from Joe. Without waiting for the following day, when Bessie was due to clean, Harriet stood tight-lipped and told her she was no longer required.
“Saves me giving notice that does!” was Bessie’s reply. “Don’t know how I’ve stood it so long. What with your complaining and the way you neglect that poor dear brother-in-law of yours. No wonder your Eric left you. Miracle is that he was brave enough to return. Desperate he must have been.”
“Loyalty and control of your wicked tongue,” Harriet said. “Those are the things you lack. You and that nephew of yours.”
“It wasn’t my Joe who let on, so don’t think it. No, Bertha told me. She heard it at the doctors. Don’t go blaming Joe.”
“Bertha Evans is as bad as you. Fine pair you are, no wonder you’ve never found yourself a man!” she hissed.
“At least I’d look after him if I had one and visit his brother if he was in hospital!” Lowering her voice, and turning to the rest of the queue. Bessie said lugubriously. “You can tell a lot from the way a woman treats her in-laws.”
“I’ll talk to your nephew about this. You’re wicked, Bessie Philpot.” Unable to wait for a taxi, Harriet walked home, fuming at Bessie and her repair-man nephew and with Charlotte for involving herself with them.
“Now what will we do!” Charlotte wailed, when her mother told her Bessie was no longer their cleaner. This was another problem that would increase her burden. “I’m not doing it, I want to spend more time at the factory with Uncle Peter, not less!”
“Miranda must help more.”
“She’s busy with the baby.” Charlotte argued.
“I saw that Danny when I was in town with Rhoda,” Hariet said to change the subject. “I expect he’ll be coming to call, don’t you?”
Harriet was pleased when the young seaman began showing an interest in Charlotte; it couldn’t be anything but good for someone to push that Joe Llewellyn out of her daughter’s life.
She didn’t want Charlotte to marry Danny any more than she wanted her to marry Joe. He was just a diversion, a means of getting her free from the bicycle repair man. She would encourage him for a while but not for long. She didn’t want a pregnant daughter to cope with… everyone knew what sailors got up to.
Bessie was distressed at leaving Mill House, where she had worked for so long. Notice had been given and accepted many times and had been ignored, but this time she knew Harriet, the old screech, had meant it.
She soon found work to replace the hours she had given to Harriet. Kath, who had managed all the work in her small boarding house herself, agreed to Bessie giving a hand with some of the routine cleaning.
Charlotte couldn’t persuade her mother to discuss the need for a replacement for Bessie so she and Miranda, and Eric when he was home, shared the work between them. Harriet did nothing extra, but pointed out any areas where their efforts were less than perfect. It was hard though, cleaning several mornings each week, feeding Eric’s brood and attending to the endless washing and ironing. Twice a week, the kitchen was filled with steam, as they boiled whites and rubbed the coloureds on the washing board. Eric being the only one able to use the new washing machine.
Harriet accepted the situation without a moment’s guilt. Eric was to blame, so Eric should deal with it. She ignored the fact that it was her daughter, and young Miranda, who bore the brunt of the extra work.
One day, she returned from an afternoon shopping trip with Rhoda and flopped in her chair. The house was unusually quiet. The fire was almost out. She wondered where Charlotte was. She relit the fire with sticks, set the kettle to boil and waited, relishing the thought of a good strong cuppa, even if she did have to make it herself.
There was a knock on the door and a delivery van stood outside, the driver’s assistant waving a piece of paper.
“Got a delivery for a Mrs Eric Thomas,” the driver announced.
“That’s me, but I’m not expecting anything,” Harriet frowned.
“There’s a cooker by yer, smart white one it is, and electric. My missus would give her eye teeth for one of them – if she had any! And there’s a fridge as well. God ’elp missus! Someone loves you all right! Fifty-six pound for the fridge alone! Don’t I know! I’m buying my missus one on the never-never, paying six shillings a week I am.” Joking, and chattering about how fortune smiled on some, the two men struggled through the passageway and into her kitchen where they set up the machines, connected them, tried them, and left a bemused Harriet stroking them as if they were pets.
Danny’s sister Miranda had been born in 1932 while Gloria was married to Geoff Saunders, who had been killed during the war. She was now eighteen and, when her mother died soon after giving birth to baby Matthew, she had given up her job of shop assistant, to look after her half-brother and -sisters. When Eric arranged for the family to move to Harriet’s house in Bryn Melinau, she had continued to care for them while Harriet determinedly went on with her own life.
She had been in the park, with baby Matthew in his pram and Petula, aged two sitting on the edge of it. Four-year-old Louise was walking beside her, chattering happily about all she could see. Isabelle and Ellie were at school, and after playing ball with the two little girls, Miranda sat outside the school and waited for them.
She was very like her mother Gloria in appearance, long, wavy hair, a serene expression on her face, a quiet manner that made people warm to her.
She smiled a welcome as the two girls ran out of the school gates to kiss Matthew and hug their sisters. Throwing their bags, cardigans and books onto the pram, they began out-shouting each other, telling her all that had happened in the hours they had been apart.
The move from the small terrace in Barry to the large house in Bryn Melinau had been a happy one. Here there was more room for the children to spread their treasures; a town filled with caring people who took the motherless family to their hearts. The upheaval seemed to have affected the young ones very little and Miranda knew that most of that was because of Harriet’s kindness in allowing them to stay. She would always be grateful to her for keeping the family together and perhaps, one day, she would find a way to repay her for her generosity.
Harriet walked up and down with impatience, stopping now and then to listen to the hum of the fridge motor, and give the new cooker an extra wipe, waiting for Eric to return. He came in at five, after the children had had their tea and were out in the garden building dens with the empty boxes.
She wondered if this gift had been intended as the start of a new phase to their relationship. It had been a complete surprise. She had complained about the difficulties of cooking on the small, worn-out stove but never on the lack of a fridge. She was pleased and intended to tell him so. Perhaps her grateful thanks would grow into a closer partnership. She decided she would take out one of her best nightdresses just in case.
Apart from brief moments when the children did something amusing, there had been a formality between them since his return with which it was more and more difficult for her to cope. Eric was polite and he seemed relaxed during the occasional moments they were together, but he had never even attempted to touch her. His thanks, often repeated, were given in the company of others. It was a further humiliation.
To her friends she had pretended that she’d had to fight him off, declaring loudly that she would never take him back into her bed.
“A stranger he is, mind,” she told Rhoda and the customers of Vi and Willie’s café. “All that time being out of his mind has changed him. I don’t want a stranger in bed with me.” But still she hoped.
She heard him coming through the door and felt the familiar surge of blood as her heart began to beat faster. She stood near the cooker, a cloth in her hand, giving it yet another rub. Eric smiled at her as he came in, stopping at the kitchen door and nodding approval.
“Pleased then, are you?” he said. He was smiling, looking into her eyes, a warmth in his expression which she read as invitation.
“Delighted.” She stepped forward, half expecting him to hug her but sensing the move he turned and said. “Glad I am to be able to help, after all you’ve done for me and my family. A saint you are, and that’s a fact.”
Embarrassed by her incipient show of affection that he had neatly fielded, she began to wipe the dishes resting on the draining board.
“Your Miranda told me to tell you it’s only corned beef hash for your supper,” she said sharply. “We haven’t worked out how to use that cooker yet. And I don’t know where Charlotte’s got to.”
“Well look at it afterwards,” he said, his eyes showing guilt and regret. “Sorry, Harriet.”
“What for?”
“For landing you with all this.”
“I can cope.”
“Could you cope with the children for an hour or two tomorrow? I want to take Miranda to buy a new dress for her birthday. She has so little and deserves a treat.”
“I can cope,” Harriet repeated dully.
Danny went straight from the station to Bertha’s cottage near the old bridge. Lillian was feeding the hens and he stood at the door waiting for Bertha to rise from where she was deeply embedded in an armchair and come to answer the door.
“Hi yer, Lillian,” he called and the girl spun around. She threw down the rest of the feed and came to greet him.
“Danny! There’s lovely,” she said in her slow voice. “Shall we go for fish and chips again?”
“Yes, but not tonight,” he whispered. “I’ve got a date, with any luck.”
“Kissing and all that stuff?” she asked, blushing to the roots of her pulled back hair.
“All that stuff,” he laughed.
Bertha gave him the room as before and he unpacked his belongings, drank two cups of tea and went to find Charlotte.
The door of Mill House opened as he was about to knock. “Charlotte. You look stunning!” he smiled. Her slim-fitting dress was of crisp seersucker cotton. It was white with sprigs of flowers over it. She had a pair of lacy gloves on her hands, in which she grasped a shopping basket. “Aw, just going shopping are you? I’d hoped we’d be able to go for a walk,” he sighed.
“Hello again.” Charlotte was thrown by his unannounced appearance. “I’m only going for a few duck eggs from Bertha.”
“I’ve just come from there. What say I bring some up for you tomorrow’? Then you’re free to come for a walk up on the hill.”
She laughed and put the basket down on the hall table.
“Mam’?” she called. “I’ve changed my mind about the eggs. I’ll get them tomorrow. I’m off for a walk, all right?”
Harriet’s pained voice pleaded with her not to be too long. Gloves discarded, sandals changed for more comfortable shoes, Charlotte set off.
As they left the main path and began to walk amid the summer display of cornflowers, poppies and lilac-hued scabious, Danny took her hand. The path narrowed and it was almost impossible to walk side by side but he didn’t release his grasp. When they reached the shelter of the first ruined windmill, he pulled her to face him, looked down at her with such a loving expression on his face that her heart leapt; then he kissed her. His hands played up and down her spine, pressing her against his body in a way she found utterly thrilling.
“I’ve dreamt of nothing else but this since we parted,” he said.
“But there’s Joe—” Her feeble protest was stifled by his lips.
He touched the back of her knee and gently lowered her to the ground and they lay kissing, caressing each other. Danny wriggling until he was half on top of her, Charlotte more daring than she had ever been with Joe. The wonder of it made her want to stay for ever in Danny’s arms. Thoughts of Joe and her disloyalty danced like dust motes in a sunbeam, faded and were gone.
He began to slide her skirt up, his hands roving further and further, exploring her thighs. Hypnotised by the sensation, she lay there, knowing she should stop yet wanting him to succeed. Then, as every inch of her began to respond in an alarming, rhythmical way, she pushed him aside and stood up. She was shaking. “No Danny. I’m sorry. I – I shouldn’t have led you on like that.”
“Its all right, Charlotte. I’d never do anything you didn’t want. You must believe that. I wouldn’t harm you, you’re too precious. Come on, I’ll take you home. I was overcome. I’ve been filled with longing, you see. I’ve wanted you so much, ever since we first met and you showed me the mills on the hill.”
They walked back silently, still holding hands. Charlotte’s heart racing, her body hungry for his loving. Confused and guilty, she was hoping that Joe wouldn’t call that evening as he sometimes did. She couldn’t face him, not until she had calmed down. He would look into her eyes and he was sure to guess.
Joe worked all day and often long into the night to get the shop ready to sell. Thankfully, soap was no longer rationed. The original purchaser, after messing him about for months, had backed out but a new one had come forward and it seemed to Joe that at last he could make a start on his new business. With petrol off ration – although the price had increased to three shillings a gallon – the future for the British motoring industry looked hopeful.
On the evening of Danny’s return, he cycled up to Mill House to invite Charlotte to see what he had done. The last lick of paint had been applied, the shop was spotless, the smell of burning had been vanquished. Shelves were pristine, waiting for the new stocks which were about to arrive.
“Come and see the shop, Charlotte. It looks great. Never think there’d been a fire. Now we can move into our marble hall,” he said, as they embraced in the little hall. “Don’t let anything stop us this time, Charlotte, my pretty,” he said. “I want us to start out new life together at the same time as starting the business. We’ll grow together, a proper little empire, you, me, the shop and our family. Sounds perfect, doesn’t it?”
“I want that too, Joe, but—”
“Oh, not more ‘buts’! What’s the old Dragon dreamt up to stop us this time!”
“Nothing. It’s just me. I want to work for a while at least in the factory, that’s all.” She could hardly admit that her thoughts were on Danny, that now she wanted time to decide whether her future lay with him or Joe.
“At least let’s go and tell your father. He’ll be pleased for us,” he pleaded.
‘No, not yet.”
“But what’s there to wait for now?” he asked, exasperated. “Worked damned hard I have so as to get the shops sorted and for us to make our plans. Our home is ready, waiting for us to move in.”
“Mam’s superstitions have begun to rub off on me, I suppose,” she lied. “Each time we announce our wedding plans, Uncle Peter’s taken ill.”
“You are joking! Please tell me you’re joking, Charlotte, that is nonsense.” He turned away from her, biting his lip in irritation.
They cycled down to admire the replenished bicycle shop and rode past the old butcher’s shop with hardly a glance. Joe suggested they cycled out of town and stop somewhere for a drink but she declined and said she wanted to go home. The strain between them was inexplicable to Joe.
They rode in silence through the town, like two people who hardly knew each other. As they dismounted on the hill and began to walk, Joe looked at her face, its expression taut and strained. He wanted to hug her, tell her he loved her and they would work out whatever was worrying her but was afraid to risk even reaching out and touching her: a dread in his heart warning him that the moment was a precarious one, without understanding why.
He wondered if it was the extra work tiring her, now that his Auntie no longer worked at Mill House.
“What if I ask Auntie Bessie to defy the Dragon and go back to doing your cleaning? Won’t say no, will she, your Mam? Although,” he said stiffiy, “I don’t suppose any of the extra work has affected her.”
“It’s the factory, Joe. I want to work there full-time.”
“I think it’s great, you wanting to get the family business back on course. I do. I really do. I’ll support you from my feet to the top of my trilby, but why can’t we be supportive of each other at the same time? As man and wife?”
“It won’t be easy and—”
“Listen my pretty, now Rhoda is getting over her double loss she’ll keep your mother out of your hair and you can spend time working beside your uncle. There’s glad he’ll be to have your help. Smart girl you are, my pretty. I can spare you for a while, all day, every day, I won’t mind. We’ll manage the chores between us, how’s that? A real partnership, until the babies start coming,” he whispered, and laughed at her blushes.
“Can’t we leave it until Christmas? That will give me time to satisfy myself that I’ve done something to help.”
“We can marry now, this month. You can cycle up to the factory in about twenty minutes, and freewheel back down the hill in ten!”
“No, Joe, love. I don’t want to marry until I can give you my full commitment.”
“That sounds ominous! Not going off me are you?”
“How could I? Part of my life you are Joe Lewellyn and always will be.”
“It’s what part that worries me,” he said slowly. “You still want to marry me, don’t you? After all the hanging about trying to start a new business, your uncle ill, then your father turning up like that, and your Mam acting the dragon and putting every obstacle in our way. It’s enough to put anyone off.”
They had reached her front door. She didn’t reply but pressed herself closer to him. She couldn’t answer, not with complete honesty. She was no longer sure whether she wanted him for his love or because he offered a safety net in case she fell from the suddenly discovered charms of Danny Saunders with a bump.