Twenty three
One summer day when Blake came in off the foreshift there was a car parked in the back lane outside his house, and it was no ordinary car, it was a big shiny silver Bentley. It looked completely out of place, almost comical and the local children had gathered around to stare at the size and the sheen. It filled most of the street. No one he knew except Sylvester Richmond could have afforded such a car and since they had had nothing to do with him for so long he could not believe that Irene’s father had come to visit them.
He went up the back yard and into the house and there was Sylvester sitting by the kitchen fire looking very big in the small room. Blake could have smiled. Not even for her father would his wife have opened the front door or put him in the front room to show that he was special. She was a true pitman’s wife was Irene these days.
‘We have a visitor,’ she said, getting up from the table as Blake came in.
Sylvester was sitting sideways at the table looking as out of place as anybody Blake had ever seen in his life. He was such a big man that he dwarfed the room and Blake had forgotten or had just not seen in so long the very expensive clothes which he wore. Everything in the room took on a shabbiness which it had lacked until now.
‘Good afternoon, David,’ he said, getting up as Blake stepped into the house.
‘What do you want?’ Blake said.
Sylvester flushed at the lack of respect and perhaps from embarrassment, Blake thought.
‘Do I have to want something? You married my daughter and in spite of my objections. A pretty pass you’ve brought her to here.’
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ Blake said.
‘Perhaps you’d like to go and sit in the front room, Father?’ Irene said politely.
‘What?’
‘Until David is washed and changed,’ and he allowed her to usher him into the front room and close the door.
‘What does he want?’ Blake asked softly.
‘I don’t know. He’s only just arrived. I wouldn’t have let him in but I got such a shock I didn’t know what to do.’
‘Don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything.’
When Blake had washed and changed she called Sylvester back into the room. Luckily it was Friday. Irene always baked on a Friday and although Blake thought that Sylvester would have been happier not to eat he did dig into a still-warm egg-and-ham pie and Blake didn’t blame him. Irene’s pastry was the nearest thing to heaven. He also meekly accepted a cup of tea and said little. Irene ate nothing. Blake squeezed her hand under the table and she smiled at him. Things were harder than ever workwise but the house was spotless, the fire was generous and the food was good.
‘Simon has joined the army,’ Sylvester said after the silence had gone on for a long time with nothing but the scrape of knives and plates to punctuate it. ‘I begged him not to but he wouldn’t listen. All that nonsense. There’s about to be a war. He’ll only get himself killed.’ He glanced at Blake. ‘Will you go into the army?’
‘I expect so, yes.’
Sylvester paused, looking down at his empty plate.
‘There’s no one to help me run the shipyard,’ he said.
Blake looked sharply at him.
‘You’re not talking to me, are you? I know nothing about shipyards.’
‘You could have done.’
‘Yes, I could have done but I don’t.’
‘You’re not much more than a lad. You could learn.’
‘I’m not interested.’
‘You mean you like mining?’
‘No, I don’t like it but it pays and there’s nothing else.’
‘Shipyards are booming with the threat of war.’
‘So will everything else, I expect.’
‘I need help.’
‘You have help. You have a board of directors, a good manager, engineers, draughtsmen—’
‘I meant somebody from my family, somebody to talk to. Simon was never any good. You had ability, lots of it.’
‘You weren’t interested in my ability.’
‘I’m interested in it now. You can’t mean to make my daughter live here forever.’
‘I’m not making her do anything.’
Irene got up from where she was sitting and went over and from behind Blake’s chair she put her arms around his neck so that she was facing her father. Blake ran a thumb over the inside of her wrist.
Sylvester watched them for a moment or two and then looked down.
‘I have nobody,’ he said finally, ‘nobody and nothing. All I’ve got is that great big house. I want you to come back. I want you to help me, David.’
‘I told you. I’m not an engineer. I have no training. I can’t help you.’
‘You have good instincts. You were the best engineer ever in that office and then you went and spoiled it.’
‘I spoiled it?’
Sylvester looked him straight in the eyes.
‘If it hadn’t been for you my daughter would have married a gentleman. She’s far too good for you and you know it. What do you expect? You should be grateful I came here and offered you so much. You could have everything.’
‘I don’t want it,’ Blake said.
* * *
Later, when Sylvester had gone, Irene went upstairs to bed but he couldn’t go after her. He and Irene had found a kind of peace during the short time that they had been married. She liked having her own house, he knew, she liked being here with him and they had grown used to the way of living and to one another even though sometimes it was anything but easy and now her father had spoiled that hard-won peace. Blake looked up when she came down the stairs in her nightdress.
‘Aren’t you coming to bed?’ she said.
‘No.’
‘Do you want to talk about this, David?’
‘No.’
Irene stayed where she was for a few seconds and then she went back upstairs and after a little while he followed her. He wasn’t sure whether she was asleep but she didn’t move so he turned away from her and closed his eyes and lay still for a long time listening to the silence.
The following week Irene burned the dinner twice, left the washing outside in the rain, produced almost inedible custard tarts and burst into tears twice for what Blake didn’t consider a reason. The second time he sat her down by the kitchen fire.
‘I think we should talk about it,’ he said.
‘There’s nothing to talk about. My father behaved unforgivably and I’m not going back at a time of his choosing after what he did to us.’
‘But you’re upset about it. I don’t think I can go on eating pastry that tastes like pitprops.’
Irene laughed a little through the tears.
‘You’re very rude,’ she said.
‘Irene, I fear for my teeth. My grandmother made me eat lots of carrots and turnips when I was little to get them like this. I don’t want to break them on your pies.’
Irene laughed and he took her into his arms and then down on to his knee.
‘I just can’t stop thinking about him,’ she said, ‘he’s sixty, you know. He was older than my mother. It’s old to run a shipyard by yourself.’
‘He doesn’t run it by himself.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘No, I don’t. If Simon hadn’t gone off to fight the war he wouldn’t be coming near us. He doesn’t want us, not really. He threw us out. He doesn’t like me. We’re not going back there—’
‘Are you dictating to me, David Blake?’
‘You want to go back?’
‘No, but—’
‘I’m not going back there,’ and he shoved her off his knee and went as if to move past her.
‘Don’t you walk out of the room when I’m fighting with you, David.’
‘There’s nothing more to be said.’
‘Yes, there is.’
‘Do you want to go back? I thought you liked being here with me?’
‘David, he’s my father.’
‘He put you out. He sent you to live with that miserable old bitch—’
‘Don’t swear. He’s still my father.’
‘And I’m still your husband and we’re not going.’
‘You unreasonable, pig-headed . . .’
‘Yes?’
Irene said nothing but her face was pink with temper. They rarely argued.
‘I wouldn’t be any use to him,’ Blake said. ‘I wasn’t allowed to study and learn about the shipyard—’
‘That’s what rankles, isn’t it?’ Irene was on her feet now and almost shouting. ‘You won’t go back because my father didn’t give you the chance and you loved the yard.’
‘I didn’t!’
‘He’s giving you the chance now.’
‘Oh yes, now after all he’s done to us. If we went back there we’d have to put up with his moods and his whims. He could throw us out again. I won’t be nice to him for something I can gain.’
‘Not even for half a shipyard?’
‘Not for the whole bloody world!’
‘That doesn’t sound like a principle to me, that sounds very much like stubborn stupidity.’
‘You what?’
There was a short silence before Blake added, ‘Does that mean you’ll go without me?’
‘No. I love you but that doesn’t stop him from being my father.’
‘I wouldn’t know about things like that.’
‘Yes, you would. You cared a lot about him and he hurt you, I know that he did but you shouldn’t let that influence your judgement now.’
‘I thought he cared about me,’ Blake said flatly, ‘but he didn’t and when I think about it now it seems incredible to me that I should actually have thought that he might. Now all he wants me there for is his shipyard.’
‘I don’t think that’s quite true.’
‘Irene, you always think the best of people even when they’ve done awful things to you.’
‘He’s my father and I love him.’
‘So if I threatened you and shouted at you and threw you out and then came and wanted you you’d say “He’s my husband and I care about him”?’
Irene didn’t answer.
‘I hope you wouldn’t.’
‘He wanted me to marry Robert.’
Blake was silent for a few moments and then he said, ‘You want to go back, don’t you?’
‘I feel so awful about it.’
‘Did he feel awful when he put you out and for something you hadn’t done?’
‘I had done something. I had disappointed him.’
‘And you think that isn’t the fate of all parents?’
‘Don’t go clever on me, you know exactly what I mean. I don’t like not seeing my father and Simon and not being part of the family. It doesn’t feel right to me. I can’t help that. It’s got nothing to do with how they treated me. Blood’s just that, there’s nothing you can do about it, the ties are there. I have the opportunity now to put that right. You wouldn’t have me say no?’
‘Why can’t you accept that it’s your father who’s at fault here, that no matter how much guilt you feel it’s your father who’s done the wrong thing? Your guilt is directed at yourself when really it’s anger that you should have for your father. When he takes his clothes off he’s nothing but a man and he makes mistakes every day of his life just like other men and he made a mistake with you.’
‘He didn’t want me to marry you, that’s all and he knew that I loved you. He tried to prevent it, that’s all he did. Now it’s done and he can’t prevent it but we could try again differently.’
‘Your father can’t try differently, Irene, he’s too old and too selfish.’
‘I loved him once and he loved me. Nothing can change that,’ Irene said.
Twenty four
Gradually Irene became downhearted. At first it was only the cooking but as the days turned into weeks and they did not mention her father she became tired and listless. She took to going for long walks on the beach when the weather was good and sometimes when it wasn’t with the result that she caught a heavy cold and was ill enough to stay in bed. Her cough lingered. She had nothing to say when he came home, she would pretend to read and stare into space. Blake decided that things had gone too far. He suggested to her that they should go and see her father and she agreed.
They went the following Sunday when they were sure of finding Sylvester at home. Blake had forgotten what that area was like, how prosperous some people still were and the house was a shock. It was so big. The gardens around it were lavish with flowers, the lawns were lush and green and perfectly cut. Sylvester was sitting in the garden in a wicker chair with a table in front of him on which were a jug and glasses. When she saw him Irene’s face broke into the biggest smile that Blake thought he had ever seen and Sylvester got up and caught
her into his arms. Blake looked at his father-in-law across
Irene’s head and did not miss the gleam of triumph in Sylvester’s eyes.
They sat down and drank whisky and soda with ice and lemon and Blake tried not to look around him too much. The garden air was heady with roses and the big trees all around the inside walls were heavy with leaves.
‘Such a beautiful day you chose to visit. You should have let me know. You could have come for dinner.’
As it was they had tea in the garden. Blake looked at the array of food, the tiny salmon sandwiches, the rich fruit cake, the china tea in the cups that you could see your fingers through and he despaired of ever getting Irene away from this place.
A maid waited on them. Blake noticed how ordinary Irene’s dress looked and how shabby his suit against Sylvester’s and after tea they went into the house and he could see Irene’s hungry eyes taking in the house she had been driven away from.
She said nothing on the way home. Blake was meant to go to bed, he was on the early shift but he couldn’t sleep. She never came to the door to greet him when he came home now, she rarely turned to him in bed, there was no show of affection. Sylvester, he thought grimly, had destroyed their peace. When Irene finally came to bed he turned over towards her.
‘If you really want to go home we’ll go.’
‘No.’
He thought of walking back into the smell of the pit town and then of Sylvester’s garden. He thought of what he could do if he was given the chance. How one day he might even be able to build the kind of ships that he liked.
‘You can’t want to stay here, Irene.’
‘I’m not going anywhere without you.’
He pulled her to him and hugged her.
‘I want to go too.’
‘You don’t want to live with my father.’
‘I’ll do it for half a shipyard.’
‘You’re a fibber, David Blake. I don’t want you to be unhappy.’
‘I couldn’t be unhappy anywhere you were,’ Blake said.
* * *
Going back to Sunderland as Irene’s husband was just that. He should have been called Mr Richmond, Blake reflected over the first few days. He panicked. The house seemed bigger than ever, it was like a mountain and the old man was no easier than Blake had thought he would be. Never had a miner’s cottage seemed so comforting and to his dismay Irene stopped being a miner’s wife the minute she stepped back into her father’s house and became a lady. She was somebody else, ordering dinner, seeing to the house and the servants. Once again she wore the clothes of a rich young woman. Blake was intimidated. To come to this house as a visitor on a Sunday was one thing. To live there in luxurious rooms, to be waited on, to have to dress accordingly was another and if the house was a mountain the shipyard was Everest. He didn’t just doubt himself there, he wanted to run away, and to go along with Sylvester to the office each day was the most difficult thing he had ever done. He fell into bed exhausted at night, his own bed, vast and empty. Irene had her own room and if he walked in there was always somebody doing her hair or putting her clothes away or undressing her.
Sylvester’s Bentley was the nearest thing to a ship Blake had ever seen that didn’t float, the house was filled with expensive furniture, the gardens were perfect, ladies came to tea in the afternoons and people were invited to dine in the evenings where there was an array of knives and forks that would have defeated a gourmet and all the right things were said and done.
In particular there was Irene’s best friend, Pauline Kington. They had gone to school together and Irene confided to Blake that the only thing about her wedding day that she regretted was that Pauline had not been her bridesmaid. Pauline, a pretty blonde woman, had a lot in common with Irene. Her father too owned a shipyard.
Irene didn’t seem to notice Blake’s discomfort in her father’s house. She was at home, she had everything familiar around her. Blake felt so out of place that he went often to see Mary Ann and Ralph. Occasionally Irene went with him but she looked so wrong there in her fine clothes with her pretty jewellery and her professionally cut hair. He knew that Mary Ann did not know how to talk to Irene any longer. He scarcely did himself. Sylvester invited them to Sunday dinner. Blake wondered whether that was just in case he might be tempted to change his mind and leave.
When Simon came home he laughed at Blake.
‘Quite the boss, aren’t you?’
‘No,’ Blake said quickly. ‘You could have done it if you’d wanted.’
‘Thanks very much, I couldn’t stand it. Sitting very pretty now, aren’t you? It was a good day for you when you married my sister. I underestimated you, David, you did know what you were doing. What a step up for a pitman and what a shame all the things you must have learned down the pits aren’t any use in the shipyard, but of course you’re not labouring in the shipyard, are you? You married the boss’s daughter so you must have some special kind of ability. I wonder what that is?’
Since this occurred to Blake several times each day he didn’t need to hear it from Simon. He felt foolish, he knew so little but he wanted to be there. He liked the smell and feel of it all, the excitement, the decision-making. He liked watching the skilled men and listening to the intelligent ideas of the designers and engineers. He didn’t put forward any ideas, he didn’t say anything much at all. He was just there, he was part of it. The shipyard became the object of Blake’s fascination. He learned as quickly as he could at Sylvester’s side. Best of all, the manager, Wilson Stokes, liked him and since Blake had respect for the man it pleased him that Wilson was prepared to put up with his ignorance not just because he was family but because he seemed to like him.
Sylvester was so pleased that Simon had come home that he was easier to bear but after Simon had gone away again he was less and less tolerant. At every meal he criticised Blake, censured everything he had done, every comment he had made at work, every move. He talked about Simon, how much better he would have been, how much he had wanted Simon in the business, how he wished that he had another son until Blake thought he couldn’t stand it.
In the middle of one evening when Irene had gone for a bath he went off to the peace of his own room and stood drinking whisky. There was a balcony, and it was a nice night so he finally sat out there on his own. The room overlooked the big gardens at the back of the house and now it was quiet with the shadows beginning to fall across the garden.
There was a soft knock at the door and when he didn’t answer Irene opened the door and said, ‘May I come in?’
There had been no polite enquiries when they had lived in the pit town, Blake thought ruefully. Those days she was always flinging herself into his arms. Now it was like having antiques all over the place. He was always frightened he was going to knock something over or break it and that included Irene. She didn’t look much like the girl he had married, she was too self-assured for that and now particularly, coming into the bedroom wearing a nightdress that made him stare. It was almost transparent. She was like another man’s wife, a rich man’s wife. He had a sudden longing for tea in the kitchen in Seaton Town and Irene in a remade dress. He looked carefully at her as she came out on to the balcony. The clinging stuff had thin straps over her bare shoulders and it was the palest cream like ivory. It showed every curve.
‘Do you like it?’ she said.
‘I think it’s disgusting,’ he said and pulled her down on to his knee and kissed her. Irene laughed. She put her arms around his neck and looked at him.
‘Are you very unhappy?’
‘How could I be unhappy with you?’
‘That doesn’t answer the question. I’ll put it another way. Do you hate it here?’
He smiled in recognition of the question he had put to her when she burned the dinner at Mary Ann and Ralph’s.
‘Yes, I hate it. I’m not a gentleman, Irene, and I’m never going to be.’
‘I don’t care. I adore you. I know that my father and Simon are impossible but Simon isn’t here very much and Daddy . . . is awful. Do you want me to talk to him?’
‘No, it won’t make any difference.’
‘You must admit,’ Irene said, fingering the lapel of his jacket, ‘that you do look very nice these days. Tailoring is so important. I’m frightened to let you out in case some woman steals you. Must you wear such dark suits and white shirts?’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, darling, it drives women wild.’
‘Don’t be daft, Irene.’
‘Davy, I don’t think you ever look into a mirror. Are you going to make love to me or am I to starve? I went shopping today and bought this ridiculous outfit so that you would slaver. Please?’
She only ever called him ‘Davy’ in the bedroom. Blake liked it. He kissed her. Irene looked at him.
‘You look like somebody else’s wife,’ he apologised.
‘Adultery is meant to be fun.’
Blake carried her into the bedroom and put her down on to the bed and kissed her and then he took off his jacket and pulled at his tie and she sat up, said, ‘I’ll do that,’ and then there was a knock at the door.
Blake glared at it.
‘Go away,’ he said.
‘Mr Richmond says you’re to go downstairs at once.’
‘Tell him I’m busy.’ Irene was undoing the buttons on his shirt now.
‘He says it’s important, sir.’
‘Bloody hell. Don’t move, Irene, I’ll be back in a minute.’
He put on his jacket and pushed back his hair and followed the maid down the stairs. The door of Sylvester’s library was open and Sylvester stood by the desk where the telephone was.
‘What is it?’ Blake said and as he did so all his impatience fell away. He shut the door. Sylvester was leaning on the desk as though he couldn’t stand up. ‘Are you in pain?’
‘It’s Simon,’ Sylvester said.
Simon was still in training. He couldn’t be hurt. Blake searched his mind for possibilities.
‘What’s happened?’ he said.
‘He’s been shot.’
‘Shot? How could—’
‘It was an accident. Some boy . . .’
‘Is he badly hurt?’
‘He’s dead,’ Sylvester said.
Blake had met disaster often enough for his reasoning to encase itself in ice but even then he didn’t know what it was like to lose a son. He thought that the nearest he had come was the loss of his grandfather. He knew that Sylvester Richmond no longer liked him, that he had not done so for a long time. Ever since they had met he had desperately wanted to be the son that Sylvester had wanted. Simon was not and now he never would be but he knew that Sylvester resented that he was there and Simon was not, that he had a fine natural ability for business which Simon had lacked. He could almost feel the way that Sylvester Richmond hated him and worst of all there was nothing he could do to ease the pain. There was nothing anybody could do. He had never been anything other than a source of amusement to this man and now he was a means to an end so that Sylvester could go on being powerful, having the shipyard. He was of use and that was all. Now he had another use.
‘You can tell Irene,’ he said as though he was conferring a favour.
Blake went over to the cupboard where the decanter stood and poured him some brandy. He didn’t offer it to Sylvester, he was too afraid the man would dash it out of his hands. He placed it just within reach and then he left the room. He walked slowly up the stairs and into his bedroom. His wife was sitting up in his bed, naked, and she was smiling.
‘That didn’t take long,’ she said and then she saw the look on his face. ‘David? Tell me what’s wrong, tell me quickly.’
He sat down on the bed and tried to find the right words before he realised that there weren’t any.
‘Simon’s been hurt.’
‘Badly hurt? He’s dead.’
‘Yes.’
He knew that her grief wasn’t for the man that he knew or even the man that she knew, it was for the memories. It was for being children and growing up together and all those things which could never be tampered with now or destroyed and it hurt the more for that. He knew that she couldn’t understand how they had grown so far away from one another, of how much she had wanted Simon to be the brother he had been when they were children but he hadn’t been for so very long now. She put on the ridiculous nightdress and covered it with a suitable wrap from her room and then she ran downstairs to her father. Blake went after her. The old man’s mood was uncertain and he didn’t want her hurt any more by these people who claimed her and then rejected her and then reclaimed her. Sylvester took her into his arms.
‘You’re all I’ve got now,’ he said and the room echoed to Blake of the little hillside farm. He tried not to think too often of those days, it turned his emotions upside down. You could think too much about the things which had damaged your life. He couldn’t bear to think of Alistair and Annie there. Mary Ann had told him that Annie had had a little girl. He thought of her being brought up there and playing outside and of how his mother had done the same thing and he shuddered.
* * *
Sylvester didn’t go to the yard that week. Blake went alone. He knew so little without Sylvester that he felt like an intruder. Irene had wept over her brother. Blake had held her in his arms all night but after that first reaction with Irene Sylvester showed no emotion of any kind. He was silent and still, he didn’t eat or sleep and there was the funeral and another week and still Sylvester wouldn’t go to the shipyard.