Twenty-Seven

Slowly, the winter passed and March arrived, with the promise of spring. More than that for Elinor, for the end of March would bring the end of Stephen’s course and probable changes to their relationship. Maybe even to her job, for nothing was certain.

She knew she had done well on the course, would be sure to be given a good reference, as Stephen had told her often enough, but whether or not she looked for a new job depended on more than a reference. With the end of the course, she would no longer be Stephen’s student, and at their secret meetings, he often said he could hardly wait for that day to come. Nor could Elinor, of course, but for her there was always a little apprehension. How would it all work out? Could she really be so lucky? She tended to put the thought of decision time to the back of her mind.

So wrapped up was she in her own concerns, it came as a shock when Brenda admitted to her and the other girls in the WEA class that she and Tam MacLean were ‘walking out’ together. Like the rest, Elinor had noticed nothing.

‘You and Tam?’ she’d cried. ‘Why, I’d no idea! You two never got on!’

No one could believe it, but Brenda’s rather sheepish expression said it all. Seemingly, they did now ‘get on’. Very much so, but Brenda said maybe they wouldn’t tell Mr Muirhead. No doubt he wouldn’t approve of his students going out together.

‘Oh, no doubt,’ Elinor had agreed, her spirits sinking, wishing with all her heart that she could tell Brenda the truth about her own relationship with their tutor, but determined all the same not to say a word just yet. She couldn’t help rather envying Brenda, though, that everything for her seemed so straightforward.

One morning after tea break, she was surprised to find Miss Denny calling to her from Reception as she passed by. Outside, as she had seen from the upstairs windows, the first daffodils were already flowering in the square and now through the open front door, she could see buds on the magnolias and forsythia and many shrubs she couldn’t name. How she wished she could have just stepped out, unlocked the garden gate, smelled the air and walked on the strong fresh grass for a little while! But of course that wasn’t possible.

‘You wanted me, Miss Denny?’ she asked, approaching the desk.

‘Yes, there’s a letter for you, Elinor. I have it here.’

‘A letter?’ Elinor was astonished. She never received letters, for who would need to write to her? Something business, was it? To do with her job?

No, the envelope Miss Denny handed over was small and blue, quite cheap-looking, certainly nothing official, and whoever had written her name in large uneven capitals didn’t know how to spell it. ‘Miss Eleanor Rae,’ she read, ‘Care of the Primrose Club’.

Well, here was a mystery.

‘All right, dear?’ Miss Denny asked, turning to attend to a club member who had just arrived.

‘Yes, thanks, Miss Denny.’

Elinor walked hurriedly on towards the back corridor she was due to clean, but as soon as she’d checked there was no one about, she opened the letter and took out the one sheet of paper it contained. As she read its signature and few lines of wavering handwriting, her eyes widened and two spots of colour burned on her cheekbones. Hurriedly, she looked round to see if anyone was about, but seeing no one, read the letter again.

‘Dear Eleanor,’ it ran, following an address in a street in the South Bridge area, ‘hope you won’t mind me writing to you, but I am doing some work for a firm in the square and I’ve been looking out for you but never seem to see you. Do you never get time out of that club? If you could come out in your dinner hour, say twelve o’clock, I will be at the far side gate to the gardens. We could have a nice wee chat. Yours ever, Barry.’

Her heart beating fast, Elinor stuffed the letter into her pocket, just as Mattie arrived, carrying a mop and feather dusters.

‘You’ve beaten me to it this morning,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’ve just seen Miss Ainslie and she said, could we be sure to do the picture rails this morning?’

‘We always do the picture rails,’ Elinor answered absently.

‘Aye, but she doesn’t know, eh? Just thinks on now and again what we should be doing.’ Mattie glanced curiously at Elinor. ‘Are you all right, then? You’re awful red in the face.’

‘Got a headache. Think I might just run out to the chemist’s before I come down for dinner. See if they’ve got anything.’

‘I’ve some wee cashews might help.’

‘Thanks, but I’ll just check first what they’ve got. Will you tell Mrs Petrie where I am if she asks?’

‘Sure, I’ll tell her. And she’s sure to ask.’

Sensible Barry, Elinor thought, as she slipped out at twelve o’clock. He knew they would not be so easily seen at the far gate as at the one nearest to the club, and now all she had to hope was that he’d be there, at the far gate, for she hadn’t much time.

He was there, dressed in his painter’s white overalls, a cap on the back of his head, as he’d worn it when she saw him in the Wynd that time, and she gave a sigh of relief. Until she saw a large van parked quite close, with the name of a painting and decorating firm on its side, and immediately thought his painting colleagues must be about, watching them. Not that they would know her, of course, but she felt so strung up, so uneasy, anyway, it was upsetting.

‘Is that your firm’s van?’ she asked without preamble. ‘Are there people you know in there?’

‘Ashamed of being seen with me?’ he asked, smiling.

‘No, of course not, just wondered if they might be watching.’

‘There’s nobody there, they’re all at the back o’ the house, having their piece. Thanks for coming, anyway. You got the wee note?’

‘Yes, I was so surprised. Why ever did you write to me?’

‘Wanted to see you again.’

She gave a little laugh. ‘You’ve taken your time about that.’

‘I’ve thought about you ever since Boxing Day,’ he said seriously. ‘But I wasn’t sure you’d be interested. Then I got taken on to help in this big job here, doing up a house, and it seemed too good to miss the chance of seeing you. So I wrote you that letter.’

‘Spelled ma name wrong.’

‘Oh, glory, did I? What should it’ve been?’

When she told him, he shook his head.

‘That’s me, eh? Trying to cut a dash, and I get your name wrong. But it’s grand to see you again.’ His bright eyes were searching her face. ‘I was wondering – maybe you’d like to go out with me? There’s a Mary Pickford picture on this week. Thought we might go.’

For a moment, her eyes met his, then fell. When she spoke, her lips were dry.

‘I’m very sorry, Barry, I’ll have to say no.’

‘No?’

‘I  . . . well, I have  . . . someone.’

‘Suppose I’m no’ surprised. A girl like you, there’d have to be  . . . someone.’

She was silent, still not letting her eyes meet his.

‘On the other hand, why come out to meet me today?’

As she said nothing, he moved closer to her.

‘Must’ve wanted to see me,’ he said softly.

‘I think I just wondered  . . . what it was about.’

‘Now you know, would it matter so much? Just going to the pictures?’

‘You know it would matter.’

‘Aye, I guess so. I was just being hopeful.’

‘I couldn’t meet you, anyway, Barry. I only get one evening off and that’s when I go to evening class.’

‘Evening class?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You doing handicrafts, or something?’

‘Office management. I want to get a better job.’

‘Ah.’ He grinned. ‘And you’ve probably got the brains for it. No’ like me. All my brains are in my feet. But, look, maybe we could meet after this class, then?’

At the expression on her face, a look of understanding swam into his eyes. ‘That’s where he is, eh? This someone? Looks like I’ve really missed the boat.’

But Elinor was becoming preoccupied with time again.

‘I’m sorry, I have to go. I shouldn’t really be here, anyway.’

‘I’ll walk back with you.’

‘Better not.’ She gave a hasty smile. ‘Thanks for asking me out. It was nice to see you.’

‘Do you never get an afternoon free? A Saturday, maybe? You could come and see me play again. The team often plays on a Saturday.’

‘I do get a Saturday sometimes, but I usually see my folks at home then.’

‘Bring ’em with you. Why not? Look, tell me when your next Saturday is and we’ll work something out.’

She was beginning to turn away, shaking her head, when he took her hand, pressing it in his own, and she stopped and stood very still. His touch. His hand in hers. She’d never before experienced such a sudden a rush of feeling. It was ridiculous. Crazy. He was only Barry Howat, somebody she’d known at school and who’d never meant a thing. Why, even when she’d seen him playing kick the can in the Wynd that time, she’d felt nothing for him. How had it come about that she felt so much now? Just when she shouldn’t be feeling anything at all?

She knew she must go and walked away fast, skirting the railings of the gardens, not looking back, until she reached the area entrance to the club. On the steps down, she paused to straighten her hat and jacket before facing the staff at dinner, but Mrs Petrie’s sharp eyes still saw something awry.

‘My word, Elinor, what’s up with you? You look as though you’ve got the furies after you – whatever they are.’

As Elinor, taking off her hat, made no reply, Mattie asked sympathetically if she’d found something for her headache.

‘They said they had this aspirin stuff, but it’s really silly – I forgot my purse.’

‘All that rush for nothing!’ the cook cried. ‘And now you’ve to be quick with your dinner, time’s getting on.’

‘It’s all right,’ Elinor sighed. ‘I’m no’ very hungry, I’ll just have a cup of tea.’

‘Hope you’re no’ sickening for something,’ Mattie said, rising to put the kettle on. ‘You were that flushed before and now you’ve lost all your colour.’

‘It’s to do with that silly class you’re going to,’ Mrs Petrie declared. ‘No wonder you’re getting headaches, studying and that. What’s it all for, anyway?’

As the maids at the table looked at one another, Elinor knew they were thinking of her ‘young man’, the one she’d met through the class. And so was she. At least – she hugged the thought to her – she hadn’t told Barry when she had the next Saturday afternoon free. He wouldn’t come to her home; he wouldn’t know when she’d be there.