Читать книгу The Railway Girl - Nancy Carson - Страница 8

Arthur was particular about punctuality, but then he had a reliable watch in his fob pocket to assist him. Lucy, however, possessed no such device, and she was ten minutes late. Dusk was upon Brierley Hill and the sun, about to dip below the distant Shropshire hills, had daubed the western sky with intermingling hues of red, purple and gold that reflected in Lucy’s eyes, setting them aflame. Arthur was moved by the effect. The air was mild, and the musky, smutsy smell of industry encompassed them, but was barely noticed.

‘Have you been waiting long?’ she asked, an apology in her tone.

‘Only a minute or two,’ he replied with easy forgiveness. He smiled, happy and relieved that she had turned up at all, for he had set much store by this tryst.

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘Well … Nowhere in particular, Lucy … I thought we might just go for a stroll. It’s such a grand night for a stroll.’

‘If you like,’ she agreed pleasantly. ‘Which way shall we go?’

‘Which way d’you fancy?’

She shrugged. It was hardly a decision worth making and not one she’d been expecting to make herself. ‘Oh, you decide.’

‘Downhill, eh? Towards Audnam and the fields. We’ll see what’s left of the sunset as we go.’ So they turned and set off at a tentative stroll.

A horse and buggy drove up towards Brierley Hill on the other side of the road, its wheels rattling over the uneven surface. The driver called a greeting to the lamp-lighter walking in the opposite direction, whose lantern was swinging from the ladder balanced over his shoulder. For the first few long moments neither Lucy nor Arthur could think of a word to say. The pause seemed ominous. Both realised it simultaneously and their eyes met with self-conscious, half-apologetic smiles.

‘What have you been doing today?’ Lucy asked, aware that maybe she ought to set some conversation in train.

‘I had to go to a churchyard in Pensnett and finish an inscription to a headstone,’ Arthur replied, thankful that Lucy had found something to say, for he was inexplicably tongue-tied. ‘I should’ve done it Saturday but I couldn’t.’

‘Oh? Why was that?’

‘’Cause I had the diarrhee bad. I was taken short.’

She burst out laughing.

‘It’s not that funny,’ he said, disappointed that she should appear to mock him so early on. ‘Haven’t you ever had the diarrhee?’

‘Even if I have I’m not about to tell you. But it isn’t the fact that you had the diarrhee I’m laughing at. I know you can’t help that. It’s just that …’

‘What?’

‘Well, the first time I saw you on Saturday night you had to run off afore you’d finished drying spilt beer off your trousers. I thought then as you’d been took short, and when I asked your mate what was the matter with you he said as how it was something you’d ate.’

He laughed with her, realising how ridiculous he must have seemed. ‘So you guessed?’

‘It doesn’t take a genius to fathom it out. I hope you’ve got over it now.’

‘Yes, thank the merciful Lord. I don’t want another bout like that in a hurry, I can tell you. I’ve had a bit of toothache today, though.’

‘Toothache? Maybe you’ll have to have it pulled.’

‘I’m hoping as it’ll go away of its own accord. I don’t fancy having it pulled. It’s one of them big teeth at the back. They can be murder to pull out, they reckon.’

‘Maybe it’s just neuralgia,’ she suggested.

They were approaching the canal bridge where Wheeley’s Glass House stood with its huge brick cone that shielded from view the furnaces belonging to the same company. Over the bridge, on the other side of the highway was Smith’s Pottery.

‘So tell me what it is you have to do to describe a headstone,’ Lucy said, not wishing to discuss Arthur’s unexciting ailments for fear there were more, but veering obliviously onto a subject which had the same potential to assign her to wool-gathering.

‘Inscribe, Lucy, not describe.’ Her error amused him and he smiled. ‘I have to cut the letters into the stone or slate.’

‘So you have to be able to read and write well?’

‘Oh, yes. But I went to school, see? Can you read, Lucy?’

‘Oh, yes, some. My father used to spend two shillings a week to send me to school when I was little. They taught me my letters. I can’t read big words easy, though. But I can count, and do sums. I’m hopeless at spelling though. Hopeless.’

‘Ah well, it isn’t so important for a woman to be able to read and write, is it?’ he said consolingly. ‘Except maybe to write down a list of stuff you need to buy for the house.’

‘I suppose not. All the same, it would be useful to be able to do it well.’

‘Got any brothers or sisters, Lucy?’

‘I got a sister – Jane – a bit older than me. She married a chap called Moses Cartwright. He was a soldier in the Crimea, but they sent him home ’cause he got wounded. He’d been stuck in some makeshift hospital for weeks at the front.’

‘No brothers then?’

‘Yes, four brothers. All wed. One of them lives in Canada, so we don’t see him any more. We don’t see the others very often either … Come to think of it, they might as well all live in Canada … And you’ve got a brother, haven’t you, Arthur? Any sisters?’

‘Just one brother … He’s wed to Magnolia—’

‘Magnolia?’

‘I know. It’s a funny name for a woman.’

Conversation promised to flow naturally at last. They crossed the road at Hawbush Farm and turned into the footpath that led over fields to an area called Buckpool and eventually to Kingswinford parish. But it was getting dark and they would not have been able to see where they were going, so they lingered at a stile. Lucy perched herself on the top bar while Arthur leaned against it. By this time they were easier in each other’s company, to Lucy’s relief and surprise, for she found she was enjoying herself and actually liking Arthur.

Arthur complained how he and his father were always at cross-purposes, how he was expected to do the more menial tasks of stonemasonry and not the more glamorous ones of designing and building graves. It was obvious to her how it irked him.

‘So why don’t you leave home and find lodgings? Then you’d be out of his way.’

‘I might. If I left home I’d have to leave the business as well, and that would show him good and proper.’

‘What about your mother? Do you get on with her?’

‘Oh, she’s all right. It’s just me father I can’t stand. I feel sorry for her having to put up with him.’

‘Is he that bad, Arthur?’

‘He’s a miserable old devil. It always seems to me that he’s tried to do without love in his life, and that’s what makes him so vile. It’s almost as if he’s made a little garden for himself, but if the family’s love is sunshine he’s certainly shaded himself from it. And he’s planted this garden with bitter herbs, not beautiful flowers, yet he believes it’s the whole world – that the whole world is like that. He’s pig ignorant, Lucy. He never says “That’s a good job you’ve done there, our Arthur”, or “I’ll pay you a bit extra for doing that, ’cause you was late getting back”. Oh, not him. He’s too tight. He wouldn’t give you the drippings off his nose.’

‘I don’t think I’d want the drippings off his nose,’ Lucy asserted, which made Arthur laugh. ‘You make him sound vile.’

‘He is vile.’

‘Have you ever courted anybody before, Arthur?’

‘Once. When I was about twenty. A girl from Brockmoor. There’s some pretty girls in Brockmoor. But we split up after about six months.’

‘And you never bothered since?’

‘I never met anybody I fancied since … till I met you the other night.’

Lucy was touched by his sincerity. ‘That’s a lovely thing to say, Arthur. So what was it about me that took your fancy?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t really know …’

‘There must have been something,’ she said, miffed that he could think of nothing.

‘What I mean is, you aren’t flashy,’ he was quick to add, realising he’d unwittingly said the wrong thing. ‘You’ve got such lovely eyes and such long eyelashes, though … and a lovely smile to match.’

Immediately Lucy was mollified. ‘You think I’ve got nice eyes? I think they’re a funny colour.’

‘I’ve never seen eyes such a lovely colour. You’ve got a decent figure as well … and you have a nice way with you. I took a fancy to you as soon as I saw you.’

‘I bet I’m not as pretty as that girl from Brockmoor, though,’ she fished, relishing his compliments that boosted her confidence.

‘She was only pretty, Lucy. But you’re beautiful.’

Lucy’s eyes twinkled in the half light. ‘That’s the nicest thing anybody ever said to me.’ She slid off the stile and planted a kiss tenderly on his cheek. ‘Thank you.’

In return he put his hand on her shoulder and touched her. It was the first time he had touched her in that way and his emotion was too pure for desire, too respectful for sensuality. ‘You kissed me,’ he said with astonishment.

‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she replied, returning to her perch.

‘Lord, no.’

Another awkward pause developed and Lucy realised that maybe she had been hasty, indecorous in kissing him, a regular churchgoer, when she hardly knew him.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, relieving the tension. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. I bet you think I’m a proper strumpet. I’m not, though, Arthur. Honest I’m not.’

‘Oh, I liked it, Lucy. I don’t think you’re a strumpet at all. You can do it again if you like.’

‘I’d better not,’ she replied with a laugh that to him sounded like a silver bell tinkling.

The last of the daylight had all but gone and a full moon was already high, sailing through wispy clouds. In the distance they could hear a locomotive puffing tiredly on its arduous journey up the incline towards the Brettell Lane and Round Oak stations.

‘Tell me about your father,’ Arthur suggested, eager to learn what he could that might give him an inkling as to why his own father evidently didn’t admire the man. ‘What’s he like?’

‘He’s lovely and I love him,’ Lucy answered simply. ‘He’s kind, he cares for us all. He wouldn’t do anybody a bad turn – he’d rather help somebody.’

‘What’s he do for a living?’

‘He’s a shingler at the New Level ironworks. D’you know, Arthur, every time it’s payday he buys me a little present? It might only be a quarter of cough drops, but he always brings me something.’

‘That’s being thoughtful,’ Arthur agreed, and realised that here was a way he too could enhance his standing with Lucy. ‘He sounds the dead opposite of my father … What about your mother?’

‘Oh, she’s a bit fussy. We only live in a little cottage, but it always has to be spick and span. She’d have a fit if she saw a silverfish in our house. Our clothes always have to be spruce as well. She’d have another fit if I went out in something that looked dirty or shabby.’

‘Well, every time I’ve seen you, Lucy, you look nice,’ Arthur remarked. ‘So she must be a good influence.’

‘I just hope I can be like her if I ever get married.’

‘I hope, Lucy – if I ever get married – I’ll be lucky enough to pick a wife like that.’

Whatever was being implied, however inadvertently, and whatever was being likewise perceived, seemed to put paid to their conversation entirely and they remained unspeaking for long embarrassed seconds, until Lucy thought of something to say to divert them.

‘Can you ride a horse, Arthur?’

‘After a fashion. It isn’t my favourite method of transport though. Awkward, stupid animals, horses. I don’t feel comfortable on a horse. Not since I fell off and broke a rib.’

‘You didn’t!’

‘I did.’

‘Well, you’re a real knight in shining armour and no mistake,’ she laughed, ‘falling off your horse.’ It was just like him to do that, she thought.

‘I’d rather drive our cart and have the nag in front of me. The worst he could do is take fright.’

‘You drive a cart?’

‘Course I do. It’s what we lug our stone and masonry around with.’

‘I fancy riding on a cart. I’ve never ridden on a cart in me life.’

‘Honest?’

‘Honest.’

‘Maybe one of these days I’ll take you for a ride.’

‘Mmm, I’d like that, Arthur … You ain’t got a carriage, have you, by any chance?’

‘A carriage? God’s truth, who d’you think we are? Lords of the manor?’

‘I was only wondering. It doesn’t matter. A cart will do. As a matter of fact, a cart will do nicely … I’m getting off this stile, Arthur. I got pins and needles in my bum … Shall we carry on walking?’

‘If you like. Let’s walk to Stourbridge. It’s light enough with the moon as bright as it is.’

So they walked to Stourbridge and back, chattering away, getting to know each other in the process. On the way, Arthur claimed he was parched and they stopped at the Old Crown Inn on Brettell Lane before he returned Lucy home. They stood on the corner of Bull Street, within sight of the Piddocks’ cottage, but at a respectful distance.

‘I’ve really enjoyed tonight, Lucy, talking and walking with you,’ he said sincerely. ‘How about you?’ In the scant moonlight he discerned her smile.

‘Yes, so have I.’

‘Can we meet again then?’

‘If you want,’ she agreed. ‘When?’

‘How about tomorrow?’

‘I help out at the Whimsey tomorrow.’

‘Well, I could come and walk you back after.’

‘My dad will walk me back. We’ll have to leave it till a night when I’m not working.’

‘When’s that?’

‘Thursday.’

‘That’s the night of my bible class.’

‘Oh.’

‘But I could meet you later.’

‘How much later?’

‘Just after nine, say.’

‘My mother wouldn’t let me out that late. She reckons I should be abed by then.’

‘What if I call for you?’

‘And let you meet my mother?’ He saw the look of doubt in her eyes. ‘I don’t know, Arthur. I haven’t told her about you.’

‘What then?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘How about Saturday afternoon? Or Sunday?’

‘Saturday afternoon I sometimes go to Dudley with my friend Miriam. I could meet you Sunday afternoon though.’

‘It’s a long time to wait, Lucy. Nearly a week. I’ll have forgot what you look like by Sunday.’

She shrugged again. ‘Maybe your toothache will have gone by then.’

‘It’s gone already,’ he said brightly. ‘Maybe I’ll come to the Whimsey one night when you’m working. Just to say hello.’

She shrugged. ‘It’s up to you.’

‘You don’t sound very bothered,’ he suggested.

‘I just don’t see the point. I won’t be able to walk home with you. Not with my father there.’

‘But I’ll see you Sunday at any rate, Lucy. Does three o’ clock suit?’

‘Yes. And thanks for asking me out, Arthur.’

She sounded sincere, he thought, and was encouraged. ‘It’s been my pleasure …’ He grinned like a schoolboy. ‘And thank you for the kiss earlier. I shan’t be able to sleep for thinking about it.’ He turned and went on his way, euphoric.

Arthur could not help himself. So taken was he with Lucy Piddock that he could not sleep properly at night for thinking about her. He fought the urge, but found it impossible to keep away from the Whimsey any longer, where he knew she would be. He would have gone on the Tuesday, the evening after their first tryst, but had the sense to realise that he might appear too keen. If he’d had even more sense he would have known he should keep away altogether and let Lucy wonder why he hadn’t been nigh, let her watch the door every night to see if the next customer entering would be him. But Arthur was unacquainted with the foibles of young women and how to better gain their interest. So, on Wednesday evening at about nine o’ clock, just two nights after their outing, he sauntered into the taproom, his heart a-flutter, aching to see again this delightful girl who had turned his world upside down.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ Lucy remarked when she saw him standing at the bar waiting to be served.

‘Hello, Lucy.’ He grinned amiably, but was deflated by what he perceived as aloofness in her greeting. ‘A pint please.’

She held a tankard under the tap of a barrel and placed it, full and foaming, on top of the bar before him. ‘What brings you here?’

He handed her tuppence ha’penny. ‘Well, I’ve a right to come in here if I’m of a mind,’ has answered defensively. ‘But the real reason I came was to see you.’

‘But you can see I’m working, Arthur. I thought I wasn’t seeing you till Sunday.’

‘I just wanted to come and say hello.’ He smiled again perseveringly.

Lucy turned and afforded a polite smile to her next customer, however, a young man who had a confident bluster about him. Arthur leaned on the bar and lifted his tankard to take a drink, watching her and the young man. Her blue eyes seemed even wider by the glow from the lamps that hung from the ceiling, and that look of ethereal gentleness and perilous vulnerability they exuded wrung his heart with longing and a desire to be her guardian angel for eternity. This was how true love felt, this delightful yet sickening feeling that filled his breast, that made his heart hammer inside and his head swim with emotions. It was a sensation that neutralised all physical, gastronomic hunger, save for his raging hunger for her love. He felt no physical lust, no carnal desire for her, for to engage in such activities would be to violate her, and how could he violate somebody so soft and gentle, so innocent and susceptible? Even if she were to consent, which was unlikely.

Lucy smiled coyly at the young man with the confident bluster and he made some comment to her, which Arthur was fortunately unable to hear through the high ambient noise. Then the man turned to his mate who was standing behind him and made a gesture that signified a dark and dangerous lust for the girl. Arthur was incensed, indignant and utterly resentful of the man for having elicited an innocent smile from Lucy with his contrived ingenuousness. He prayed silently that she was not gullible and unable to see through it. Yet what could he do? He was not a fighting man. And even if he was, he was not certain of his standing yet with Lucy. He had no prior claim on her, save for this searing love he felt that so far had not been entirely reciprocated, nor yet showed many encouraging signs. This, he realised for the first time in his life, was how it felt to be jealous, and it was not a feeling he enjoyed.

Nobody else was clamouring to be served just then and Lucy turned to Arthur, moving along the bar to stand closer to him and so obviate the need to shout. ‘How’s your toothache, Arthur?’

‘It’s come back,’ he said and rubbed his cheek gently to indicate where the pain was centred.

‘Oh, that’s a shame …’ He had a short nose hair protruding from a nostril and Lucy focused on it almost to distraction. ‘Where’ve you been working today?’ she asked, managing to look away for a second.

‘Netherton. I had to work on a stone in St Andrew’s churchyard.’

‘Pity the weather’s turned, eh?’ But again she could not detach her eyes from this obnoxious nose hair, and yet she longed to. It was so off-putting.

‘You’re telling me! The wind blows up there at the top of Netherton Hill like it does in St Michael’s graveyard up the road. I swear I’ve caught a chill.’

‘Maybe you should have an early night then,’ she suggested, in the hope of avoiding any embarrassing situation later with her father present. ‘Have a nip of brandy and get yourself tucked up in bed all nice and warm, and sweat it out.’

‘I thought I’d wait and see if your father comes in. If he don’t, I’ll walk you home.’

‘He’s here already,’ she said, and nodded towards a group of men playing crib at a table behind him.

‘Oh? Which one’s your father?’

‘The one scratching his head under his hat.’

‘Maybe I should make myself known to him, Lucy …’

She felt a pang of apprehension at the notion. ‘What for?’

‘To tell him I’m walking out with you.’

This Arthur was taking too much for granted, and much too soon, but she hadn’t the heart to tell him so. ‘Maybe if you bought him a drink …’

‘A good idea, Lucy,’ he beamed, encouraged. ‘If you pour it, I’ll take it to him.’

‘I don’t think he’d take too kindly to having his match interrupted. Better if I beckon him, then he’ll come over when it’s finished.’

Lucy signalled her father and she continued making small talk with Arthur between serving customers. When Haden had finished his crib match he stood up.

‘Arthur,’ Lucy said hesitantly. ‘First I’ve just got to tell you …’

He looked at her anxiously, fearing she was going to let him down badly, that she was about to shatter his dreams by confessing she was already promised to another. ‘What?’

‘You’ve got a little hair sticking out down your nose.’

‘Oh,’ he exclaimed brightly, grinning with relief. ‘Have I?’

‘It’s driving me mad … Your left nostril.’

He found it and gave it a yank, then tilted the underside of his nose towards her for inspection. ‘Better?’

‘Yes, better,’ she said with a smile of gratitude. ‘Look, here he comes. I’ll pour the beer that you’re buying him.’

Haden Piddock presented himself at the bar, his old and crumpled top hat shoved to the back of his head. Arthur was instantly aware of his presence, a hefty man, big chested, but not running to fat. He sported a big droopy moustache and mutton-chop sideboards. His smouldering clay pipe was clenched between his teeth.

Lucy shoved a tankard of fresh ale in front of him. ‘This young man wanted to buy you a drink, Father,’ she said and tactfully moved away to collect empty tankards while they became acquainted.

Haden looked at Arthur suspiciously. ‘That’s decent of yer, son. To what do I owe the honour?’

Arthur felt a tickle inside his nose where he had pulled out the offending hair. He sneezed violently. ‘Oops. Sorry about that, Mr Piddock. I just pulled a hair from down me nose.’ He sneezed again. ‘To tell you the truth, I think I might have a chill coming an’ all.’

‘Sneedge over the other way next time, eh, son?’ Haden suggested pointedly. ‘I ain’t too keen on it tainting the beer what you very kindly bought me.’

‘My name’s Arthur Goodrich,’ Arthur said, stifling another sneeze with a violent sniff. ‘I wanted to make myself known to you, ’cause me and your Lucy have started walking out together.’

‘Oh?’ His eyes searched for his daughter. ‘Since when?’

‘Well … Since Sunday night.’

‘As long as that?’ Arthur thought he detected irony in Haden’s tone, but he missed the look of sardonic frivolity in his eyes. The older man lifted his tankard. ‘I wish you luck, lad.’

‘Thank you, Mr Piddock.’

Haden took a long drink. ‘It’s news to me about anybody stepping out with our Lucy … Did you say your name was Arthur?’ Arthur nodded. ‘I’d have appreciated you having a word with me fust, so’s I could’ve run me eye over thee …’

‘Oh, I would’ve, Mr Piddock, but I didn’t know who you was. Anyway, I’m here now. I thought it only right and proper that you know.’

‘Well then … Tell me about yourself, young Arthur. I hope your intentions towards me daughter am decent and honourable.’

‘Oh, yes, Mr Piddock,’ Arthur replied vehemently. ‘I’m a churchgoing man. A regular worshipper at St Michael’s and at Mr Hetherington’s Bible class. I believe in honour and virtue and clean living, Mr Piddock. Lucy’s honour is safe with me. Safe as the safest houses. You need have no fears.’

‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. ’Cause so sure as ever anything amiss happened to our Lucy, and it was down to thee, I’d separate ye from your manhood.’

Arthur winced at the terrifying prospect. ‘Like I say, Mr Piddock. You need have no fears.’

‘Good.’ Haden lifted his tankard and emptied it. ‘Here, let me buy thee a drink now, just to set a seal on our understanding, eh? Same again, lad?’ In Lucy’s continued absence he called Ben Elwell’s wife to serve him. ‘What do you do for a living, young Arthur?’

Arthur told him.

‘Goodrich, did you say your name was?’

‘Yes. Arthur Goodrich.’

‘Then you must be Jeremiah’s son?’

‘You know me father?’

‘I do, the miserable bastard.’

‘Oh, I agree with you a hundred percent.’ Arthur said. So there was some antagonism between Haden and his father.

‘I knew your mother, see.’

‘Oh? How d’you mean?’

‘Well, lad, I used to be sweet on your mother years ago, when she was Dinah Westwood.’

‘Honest?’ Arthur guffawed like a regular man of the world at the revelation. It was obviously the reason his father had such little regard for Haden Piddock.

‘Oh, aye. Not that your old chap had got much to fear from me. I was never high and mighty enough for your mother, being only an ironworker. Her father had a bit o’ property, I seem to remember, so nothing less than a stonemason, a skilled craftsman, was good enough for Dinah Westwood.’

‘Yes, she is a bit high-faluting, me mother,’ Arthur agreed amiably. ‘Puts on her airs and graces when she’s out.’

Haden guffawed amiably. He quite liked this son of Dinah Westwood, despite who his father was. ‘And who wouldn’t put on airs and graces if they was used to owning property?’

‘Owning property is all well and good, Mr Piddock, but the inside of our house is nothing to shout about. Be grateful that me father got her and you didn’t, else you’d be forever tidying up after her, especially if you was of a tidy nature.’

Haden laughed at Arthur’s candour, and Mrs Elwell put the two refilled tankards in front of them. Haden paid her and turned to Arthur.

‘Well … It done me a favour in the long run, young Arthur, and you’ve confirmed it. I started courting Hannah not long after that, and Hannah is a tidy woman. Very tidy. Hannah’s Lucy’s mother, you know.’

‘I hope to make her acquaintance some day.’

‘And so you might, lad. All in good time, I daresay. So I expect you’ll want to walk our Lucy home after, eh?’

Arthur beamed. ‘If it’s all the same to you, sir.’

‘Aye, well just remember, I’ll be right behind thee, so no shenanigans.’

‘No shenanigans, Mr Piddock, I promise. Thank you.’

Arthur was pleased with the progress he’d made in establishing himself so soon with Lucy’s father. That evening, he walked her home proprietorially, leaving Haden behind in the Whimsey.

‘I like your father, Lucy.’

‘I told you he’s a decent man.’

‘He is, and no two ways. Maybe I’ll meet your mother soon.’

She chuckled. ‘Soon enough, I daresay, at the rate you’re going.’

They were approaching Bull Street where Church Street levelled out like a shelf before commencing its long descent into Audnam, the stretch known as Brettell Lane.

‘Shall I come and meet you tomorrow after me Bible class?’

‘It’ll be too late, Arthur.’

‘But your father knows we’re walking out together.’

‘I’d rather wait till Sunday to see you, like we arranged.’

‘What about Friday? I could come to the Whimsey again and walk you home.’

‘I’d rather wait till Sunday, Arthur,’ she persisted.

Arthur sighed. ‘I want to be with you, Lucy,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t put palings up around yourself as if you was some special tree in a park.’

‘I’m not,’ she protested mildly, but touched by his tenderness.

‘Well, it seems to me as if you are.’ He thought painfully of the young man with the confident bluster whom she’d served earlier. ‘Do you see some other chap some nights?’

‘No, I don’t,’ she replied, as if he had a damned cheek to suggest such a thing.

‘So why don’t you want to see me sooner than Sunday?’

‘’Cause I feel that you’re rushing me, Arthur. I don’t want to be rushed.’

‘You mean you’re not sure about me?’

‘Yes … No … Oh, I don’t know … I mean, I like you and all that …’

Arthur sighed again frustratedly. ‘But?’

‘But I’ve only known you a few days. You can’t expect me to be at your beck and call when I’ve only known you a few days. It takes longer than that.’

‘I’m sorry, Lucy,’ he said pensively. ‘I suppose you’re right. It’s just that I’m a bit impatient …’ He looked at her in the moonlight, his heart overflowing with tenderness. He reached out and took her hands, holding the tips of her fingers gently. ‘Haven’t you ever wondered whether your perfect mate would ever come along, Lucy?’

‘Many a time,’ Lucy answered quietly, content that it was the simple truth.

‘Well, Lucy, I feel that you’re my perfect mate … I know it’s a bit soon to be professing love and all that, and I’m not … not yet …’cause I might yet be wrong. But it’s what I feel at this minute. And knowing what I feel at this minute, I get impatient and hurt that you keep putting me off so as I can’t be near you.’

‘Oh, Arthur …’ Lucy realised right then what agonies he was suffering on her account, and felt ashamed that she should be making another person unhappy – another person who actually held her in high esteem. If the situation were reversed she would not relish being made unhappy. But she really was not sure of what she might feel for Arthur in the future that she did not feel now, and it was no good saying she was. She did need time to discover. Maybe, given time, she might grow to love him; he was a deserving case, he seemed a good man. But she didn’t fancy him enough, and she had to fancy somebody before she could commit herself. Why wasn’t he that man in the guards’ van on the railway? If only he was that man, she would want to be with him every night that God sent, especially if he was as gentle as Arthur.

‘But how can you feel like that, Arthur, when you’ve only known me five minutes?’ she asked. ‘You don’t know anything about me. I might not be worthy of your … your tender feelings.’

‘In the long run, Lucy, you might turn out to be right. I only said, it’s what I feel now.’

‘You’re a really nice chap, you know,’ she said sensitively, and meant it.

‘I am as I am, Lucy. I can’t help the way I am, no more than you can help the way you are. But I’ll heed your words. I’ll make myself wait till Sunday to see you again …’

‘It’ll be for the best,’ she agreed, and stepped forward with a smile and planted a kiss briefly on his lips. ‘I’ll see you Sunday then, like we arranged. Here at three.’

Arthur felt the use drain out of his very being at the touch of her lips on his as he watched her walk away, a silhouette in the darkness. It was such a fleeting but a blissfully tender moment, a moment he would never forget, whatever might befall them.