She had to tell him. Davey was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his legs and his hands clasped beneath his chin as he stared straight ahead. She had to tell him what Shane McLinnie had tried to do that night, and about him visiting Zachariah’s house and all the hoo-ha that had followed. But as Flora stared at the bowed profile the words wouldn’t come. Rosie was married now, she had Zachariah and she said she loved him. She was
happy
, she was. It was better to let sleeping dogs lie, for Davey to continue to think along the lines he’d thought for five years, it’d do no good to tell him the truth and maybe stir up all the old feelings he’d had for Rosie - that wouldn’t help him at all. And then the innate honesty that was a basic part of Flora’s character added, And it wouldn’t help you either, more to the point, would it?
But Davey was back, he was back, and she wouldn’t have another chance like this again, she knew she wouldn’t. And Peter? She felt a sharp stab of guilt that she immediately quashed. She had never said to Peter that she loved him. All along, right from when she had first agreed to walk out with him, she had said she wanted them just to be friends and see what developed. She hadn’t made any promises. And they could still be friends, if he wanted that. In fact she would be sad to lose his friendship, if she thought about it.
‘This Zachariah, I saw him one time.’ Davey paused now, as though searching for the right words, and then he said, ‘I don’t understand, Flora. Does she love him?’ And before Flora could answer, ‘What does he do anyway?’
‘Do?’
‘A job. What sort of line is he in?’
‘I don’t know, not exactly. I know he spends quite a bit of time at the Maritime Almshouses, Rosie said he’s on the board or something, and he owns his own house, I know that. Mrs McLinnie--’ ‘Aye, what about Mrs McLinnie?’ Davey asked as Flora stopped abruptly.
‘Well, Mrs McLinnie said - and I don’t know if it’s true, mind, and I’ve not discussed it with Rosie - but she said at the wedding when she’d had a few that she had heard Zac’s mam used to be in with them that did the shifting down in the docks when the Danes’ boats were in. She said Zac’s mam had made a packet according to some folks. His da was a Danish sea captain so it might be true. He . . . he seems well set up anyway.’
So she had let one paw her for pleasure and the other because she had set her sights on a life of ease? And then, when Flora said hesitantly, ‘Don’t look so sad, Davey,’ he turned to her, a bitter twist to his mouth as he replied, ‘I’m not sad, Flora.’ Angry - furiously, murderously angry - and disappointed, oh aye, disappointed, but he was damned if he would let himself be sad.
‘They’ll be back soon, from honeymoon, and I know Rosie would like to see you.’
Maybe. His eyes had left her to roam the neat little park as though searching for an answer to the sick turmoil that had gripped him, but now, as Flora placed a light hand on his arm he looked at her. She was waiting for his eyes. ‘Aye, lass, well maybe I won’t be staying over long. I hear tell it’s bad here, the work situation? I might make my way down south and see how the land lies there.’
Flora gave an involuntary jerk, and her voice was rushed and high when she said, ‘Oh no, don’t do that, not yet when you have only just got back. I can have a word with Peter - he’s . . . he’s the son of the man who owns the shipyard I work for, and he’s in charge of selecting men for the different shifts - and ask him to help if it’s work you need. He won’t mind.’
‘Well, we’ll see, lass.’ Davey rose to his feet, offering her his hand, and again his attraction swamped Flora and it was all she could do not to shiver as she placed her fingers in his warm flesh.
He couldn’t go, she wouldn’t let him go, no matter what she had to do to make him stay. This was her chance,
it was
; the way things had worked out it was all meant to be, and she would make him fall in love with her if it was the last thing she did. Oh, Davey . . .
Chapter Fourteen
‘Zachariah, where
are
we going?’
Rosie had known Zachariah was excited and keyed up about something from the moment she had awoken in the big double bed at the hotel and found him lying on one elbow watching her, his eyes as bright as a bairn’s on Christmas morning. He had made the excuse that he was eager to get home now their honeymoon was over and start being Mr and Mrs Price, and at first she had believed him. But now their horsedrawn cab had passed Hendon and she smelled a rat.
‘Trust me, lass, eh?’ He grinned at her, raising his eyebrows before adding, his voice conciliatory, ‘It’s a surprise, a nice ’un, an’ that’s all I’m sayin’.’
Rosie grimaced at him but her eyes were soft. They had something special, very special; they were friends as well as lovers. Now if she spoke that out loud to any of her friends - even Flora - they wouldn’t have a clue what she was on about. As far as they were concerned life followed a certain pattern: you started courting, and only on particular nights mind, ones that didn’t interfere with the lad’s darts matches and such like, and in due course you got married. Then the wife started having bairns and the man continued with his regular nights at the local club along with Saturday afternoons watching football which he’d take his bairns to - them being lads of course - as soon as they could toddle.
Would Davey have been like that? The thought came from nowhere and made her blink, but immediately she answered, Aye, yes, he would have been. He had been a working-class northerner - he would have thought and spoken in a certain way and she would have expected him to, and in spite of his desire to get out of the pit and work above ground he would still have been as narrowminded as the rest of them, as
she
would have been if Zachariah hadn’t broadened her understanding and encouraged her to think for herself more and more.
When they drove into Roker the sun was out and the light was luminous on the glittering blue sea beyond the sea-wall facing the dignified houses of The Terrace. Their driver stopped the cab at number seventeen, and Zachariah almost bounded onto the pavement, his handsome face lit up from within as he held out his hand for Rosie to step down.
‘We’re home, lass.’ The vivid blue gaze showed an intensity of purple, and Rosie, staring deep into the beautiful eyes, saw a depth of love that almost pained her.
She made a barely perceptible motion with her head, but what he saw in her face appeared to satisfy him and he smiled, unclasping her hand and drawing her arm through his as he said, ‘Come on, Mrs Price. Come an’ inspect your new habitat.’
And so it was like that, their fingers entwined and their bodies close, that they entered their home.
And now it was their first Sunday at number seventeen, The Terrace, and the bright August sunshine and mild warm breeze furthered Rosie’s sense of wellbeing as she prepared the vegetables for lunch in the big stone-flagged kitchen at the back of the house. Zachariah had thought of everything when he had had the house furnished, she thought tenderly. From the lovely carpet and rich three-piece suite in the sitting room, right down to mundane essentials like the shining set of kitchen knives in the well-equipped cupboards in the kitchen.
She was lucky, she was so, so lucky, and not because of this house and her sudden newfound wealth either. No, it was Zachariah she was thankful for. What other man would have been happy for her to continue working when they were married? Not one, not
one
she knew of, especially if he was as well set up as Zachariah was. The men round here would have expected their wife to be at their beck and call, there would have been no question of their spouse working outside the home unless dire necessity commanded it. But Zachariah knew how much she loved her job and that it would have sent her mad to sit around and twiddle her thumbs all day.
And of course it helped that he had his own interests and outlets, begun years before he’d met her. He was a stout member of the Hendon working men’s club, and she knew his financial contribution and time spent organizing the club’s various activities were generous, but his main concern - the Maritime Almshouses in Bishopswearmouth which stood between Crowtree Road and Maritime Place - was a responsibility he took very seriously.
As the name suggested the almshouses were intended for the care of the widows and unmarried daughters of master mariners, and with Sunderland’s high proportion of seamen the problem was not a small one. The almshouses had been built in 1820, but by the beginning of the twentieth century they were providing relief for an average of three hundred widows and eight hundred children.
Zachariah spent several half days a week at the grim line of terraced dwellings which were enclosed by a high wall and approached through an arched gate, and, as chairman of the board, had fought to raise living conditions for those the almshouses were supporting, and create a sense of purpose and encourage initiative for those inmates attempting to better themselves.
He was a good man, such a good man, and she loved him so much. She wanted everyone to be as happy as she was; Flora for instance. Rosie’s smile dimmed and her hands became still. She had sent a note inviting Flora and Peter to lunch but had heard nothing. Her mother and Hannah and Joseph were coming, along with Sally and Mick, but it wouldn’t be the same without Flora, not for her at least. She had thought of asking Mr and Mrs McLinnie but her mother had told her Annie was ill in bed with influenza and so she hadn’t bothered. But this with Flora, she didn’t understand it. She would make sure she saw her friend this week and find out if anything was wrong.
‘You finished in here yet, lass?’
Zachariah’s voice caused Rosie to turn and smile at the fair-haired figure in the doorway before answering, her tone cheeky, ‘Oh, I’ve married a slave-driver, I should have known it was too good to be true. If you’re so worried there’s another knife on the side there and the carrots to do.’
‘Aye, all right.’
As Zachariah approached the kitchen table Rosie said quickly, ‘I was only joking, you know I was only joking. Go and sit down.’
‘Why?’ asked Zachariah with lazy good humour, his eyebrows raised.
‘
Why?
’
‘Aye, why? I’m sittin’ there like King Canute in the sittin’ room an’ missin’ you, an’ you’re workin’ in here. It’s daft, lass. We might as well sort out the dinner atween us.’
‘But . . .’
‘What?’ The raised eyebrows dared her to say it.
‘It’s not done. I mean, it’s a woman’s job to get the meals and all . . .’ Her voice trailed away as he shook his head sorrowfully.
‘By, I can see there’s still plenty of work to be done in the education line with you, Rosie Price.’ Zachariah grinned at her, but then his tone changed and the look on his face made her warm as he said, ‘I’d be with you every minute if I could, lass, you know that, an’ there’s no his an’ hers, not in this house. I don’t care what the rest of ’em outside these four walls do an’ think, I only care about us two, an’ we both know I’m the man an’ you’re the woman, all right?’
‘All right.’ She smiled slowly and then, when he moved to her side and began undoing the front of her blouse she protested, but weakly, ‘They’ll be here soon an’ I’ve all the vegetables still to do.’
‘There’s more important things than vegetables to see to.’ He had peeled back the cups of her bra and was supporting the ripe fullness of her breasts on the palms of his hands, and as he bent his head she trembled and arched at what his mouth began to do to her. She was panting when he raised his head again, her lips half open and moist, and when he drew her over to the large thick clippy mat in front of the enormous range she went willingly.
Dinner was half an hour late but no one seemed to care; with Sally on top form, it was doubtful if anyone even noticed. Once lunch was over Rosie shooed everyone out into the garden, promising a tray of tea once she had done the washing up, and accepting Sally’s offer of help with a smile and a nod.
‘I reckon Mr Green’s fair gone on your mam.’
‘Sally, shush.’ Sally’s voice carried and the window was open.
The two girls were alone in the kitchen but Rosie still made a flapping motion with her hand as she glanced out of the kitchen window to the little group settled under the shade of the beech tree at the far end of the small thin stretch of lawn.
‘It’s all right, they can’t hear, but I’m tellin’ you I’m right. Haven’t you noticed him moonin’ over the biscuits an’ sighin’ into the cheeses these days, an’ he’s dead keen for her to take Mabel’s position now she’s leavin’. He’s called round at the house twice this week an’ all, an’ when I answered the door the last time he was all red round the collar.’
‘I’m not surprised, with you answering the door,’ Rosie said drily. ‘I bet you put the poor man in a spot.’
‘No, not really.’ It was too airy, and Sally came clean as she grinned wickedly and added, ‘I only asked him who the flowers were for an’ began whistlin’ “It had to be you”, that’s all.’
‘He bought her flowers?’