Pearl had a good fire burning in the grate and the house smelt of freshly baked bread. Watt followed Rosie into the kitchen where. Pearl was brewing a pot of tea. Willie was dozing in the chair beside the fire, his fiddle across his lap. Pearl dug him in the ribs.
‘Wake up, Willie, we’ve got company.’ She was looking pale and drawn but she smiled happily at the couple. ‘About time you came home, we’re all starving waiting for you.’
Watt sat in the chair Pearl pulled out for him and looked at the snow-white cloth, the dish of raspberry jam and the thin slices of buttered bread. ‘This looks like a feast for a starving man,’ he said warmly. He liked Pearl, he was comfortable with her. She understood the pottery, knew the work better than most. Pearl was a woman he could rely on.
‘It’s not much, Watt.’ Pearl put the pot on the stand. ‘But it’s all good home-made food and you’re welcome to share it with us.’ She turned her head. ‘Willie, come on, boy, take your place at the table or do you want me fetching and carrying for you?’
Willie nodded good-naturedly and did as he was told. He always did. Rosie sat down beside Watt. ‘Where are the boys, Mam?’ she asked, her interest centred on the slice of bread she was transferring to her plate.
‘When I saw you and Watt were going to be late I sent them over to Aunt Vi’s. She called over the back wall to say they were having tea there, thank goodness.’
Pearl still looked far from well, Watt thought; there were shadows under her eyes and she seemed to be thinner about the face.
‘You all right, Pearl?’ he asked quietly and Pearl nodded. Watt glanced at Rosie, she seemed oblivious to her mother’s tiredness. She lifted the slice of bread and bit into it with obvious delight, her white teeth making indentations in the soft jam. Over her jam-stained mouth, her eyes sparkled at Watt.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Watt asked and Pearl threw her daughter a swift glance before answering.
‘I’m just a bit worried, love, but I’ll talk to you about it at work, it doesn’t concern anyone else, see?’
He did see; Pearl had a problem she did not want to discuss in front of Rosie or Willie. He nodded. ‘Aye, fair enough.’
When they had eaten all the bread and jam and emptied the teapot twice over, Rosie cleared away the dishes.
‘Remember to put the butter on the cold slab, now,’ Pearl admonished, ‘and cover the dish to keep the creatures off it.’ She took the pristine cloth from the table and folded it, careful to keep to the same creases. ‘Saves on the ironing,’ she said.
After tea, Willie took up the fiddle and played a haunting tune that reminded Watt of Maura. He was glad of the dimness of the candles as moist tears came to his eyes. He could almost see her, smell the scent of her; would he ever forget her?
It was almost dark when Pearl’s sons returned to the house. The kitchen suddenly seemed crowded, the boys arguing who should drag in the tin bath. Watt guessed it was time he left.
‘Thanks for keeping me company.’ He kissed Rosie. ‘Are you coming back to the house now or shall I go on ahead?’
‘I’ll stay with Mam for a bit,’ Rosie said. ‘Help her to get the boys to bed. If you see Mrs Mainwaring though, tell her I won’t be long.’
Watt patted Pearl’s shoulder. ‘Now if you don’t feel better tomorrow, take time off, no-one will mind.’
As he made his way back to the house he wondered if he was becoming too friendly with Rosie, giving her false hopes. But then she was a sensible girl, look how she had stayed to help her mother. Anyway, she knew he was still pining for Maura, he had told her often enough. He gazed up at the sky, darker now, and felt tears smart in his eyes. ‘Maura, if you are looking down at me from heaven, I want you to know I miss you like hell!’
As if in reply, the clouds parted momentarily and a shaft of moonlight illuminated his face. Then it was gone, back behind the clouds from where it had come. ‘Thank you, my love,’ he said softly.
‘I do not understand what you are saying, Alice.’ Edward Sparks sat in the stuffy drawing room of the small terraced house he was so proud of. His chair was nearest the fire, he liked to think he was master in his own home.
‘I’m telling you that Eynon Morton-Edwards and that Llinos Mainwaring woman are, well
sleeping
together.’ She was seated opposite him, her feet – small slender feet – propped up on a cushioned stool.
‘Sleeping together?’ he said as though the words were foreign and he had never heard them before. He could be so obtuse at times.
‘Fornicating!’ She almost shouted the word at him. ‘Is that clear enough for you, Mr Sparks?’
‘Language!’ he said. ‘No need for vulgarity, Alice, I know what you mean by sleeping together, I was merely questioning the veracity of your statement.’
‘I was in the glove shop, you know I’ve become quite friendly with Mrs Morgan the proprietor, she told me about it.’ Friendly was too strong a word for the association she shared with Mrs Morgan but the woman was a good source of gossip, meeting everyone from ladies to maidservants as she did.
‘Mrs Morgan saw them together, said they were looking into each other’s eyes in the way that lovers do. Another thing, that Indian man, the husband, he has a new lady love, out of town somewhere. Their maid was sent to Swansea to pick up some linen cloths; it seems the girl was more than willing to gossip about the strange ways of her master.’
Edward rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. The Mainwaring woman thought she was a cut above me. I did not like her attitude at all. You know she actually insulted me.’ He sniffed. ‘No-one insults Edward Sparks and gets away with it. There I was, trying to guide her, as a good bank manager should, expecting her to accept a very good price for the pottery. Do you know, my dear, the woman was too stupid to see it.’
He looked over his wife’s head. ‘I do agree with you about one thing, Alice, for that woman to marry a foreigner tells us a lot about her lack of moral rightness.’
It was something that her husband was actually agreeing with her. Alice looked at him, seeing the balding head, the mean mouth and narrowed eyes and wondered if she had ever disliked a man so much in her entire life. And she had a problem. She was with child. It was not Edward’s child.
She was well aware that Eynon Morton-Edwards chose not to believe her but the truth was her husband had not come to her bed for many months. It was not through any lack of trying on her part but Edward seemed not to need the physical release that played so important a part in her own make-up.
She looked at him carefully; somehow, she had to lure him to her bed, he had to believe the child she was carrying was his. Perhaps at supper she could urge him to drink a little more than usual in the hope of rousing his dormant libido. She sighed inwardly, libido was too strong a word for it, Edward’s attempts at sex were fumbling, inept. No sooner had he started than he finished, leaving her frustrated and sleepless.
That evening Alice took care with her appearance. Mr Sparks did not like displays of vulgarity, as he called the fashion for low-cut bodices. The gowns she wore for him had to be made with excessive modesty, too high across the bodice to be elegant. So perhaps a little guile was called for.
At the supper table, Alice kept surreptitiously filling her husband’s glass, careful not to overdo it; she did not want him falling asleep half-way through his duties. She smiled and flattered him until even she felt she was flattering him too much but, being a vain man, he drank it all in, a superior smile on his face.
‘I don’t think it will take you long to be top dog at the bank,’ she said, her eyes wide with feigned admiration.
‘Senior manager, Alice. The use of the words “top dog” are vulgar and are a careless use of the English language. As wife to a bank manager, you must be circumspect at all times, please remember that.’
‘I will, Edward,’ she said humbly. She paused for a moment, watching him drink the mediocre wine that he insisted went well with the beef dish they were eating. He was so pompous, so lacking in real style. A man from poor beginnings who had made a good marriage, that’s all he was and he dared to teach her how to behave. Still, she needed to keep her acidity in check, at least for now.
‘I wonder, Edward,’ she said softly, ‘if you would be considered more suitable as a senior manager if you were a father.’ She looked down in false modesty at her hands. ‘I know you don’t like me to speak of such things, it is not delicate, but I do think that to father a child gives a man standing in the community.’
He was silent for a long time, considering her words. She did not look up, afraid that the habitual look of displeasure that crossed his face whenever she mentioned anything remotely sexual would put her off the act itself. She must think of it as a necessary chore, something that must be done for her own self-preservation.
Damn Eynon Morton-Edwards! If he had been an honest man he would have swooped her up and run off with her, treated her to a much more luxurious life than Mr Sparks could ever provide. But she would miss him, no doubt about it. Eynon was a good, considerate lover, always thinking of her needs before his own.
Her husband’s voice startled her. ‘I think you have a point, Alice.’ His tone was cold, he had no real interest in her and she knew it. She knew she was too much for him, her drive too strong. He needed a woman who would be grateful for a quick coupling, who wanted no more than her husband’s release. Well, he had chosen a red-blooded woman and that was his mistake.
‘I would be obliged if you would come to my room tonight, Alice.’ He rushed the words out as if in themselves they were dirty. He emptied his glass and gestured for her to leave him. ‘We shall retire early.’
Alice left the dining room and wandered into the kitchen. The house Edward had rented for them was small and the kitchen reflected that fact. There was the cook and one maid, no men servants and, coming from a well-to-do home, Alice felt that she had come down in the world.
‘Evening, Mrs Sparks.’ Cook looked up from her task of rolling pastry for next day’s pies. ‘Can I get you anything?’
In her father’s house Alice never associated with the servants but here, in the cramped conditions of the misnamed Pleasant Row, she had no-one else to talk to.
‘A glass of sherry would go down nicely, Cook,’ Alice said. Cook looked over her shoulder and addressed the girl standing at the sink.
‘Did you hear, Martha? Fetch the bottle out for Mrs Sparks and be sharp about it.’
‘All right, Mrs Johns, I’m going as quick as I can.’
Cook grimaced as the girl went into the pantry. ‘Not very bright but works ‘ard,’ she confided. ‘Special occasion, is it?’ She nodded to the bottle that Martha placed on the table. ‘The sherry, it’s not like you to drink strong liquor, if you don’t mind me saying.’ She looked at Martha. Well, get a glass, you stupid girl! Mrs Sparks can’t drink it without.’
Alice looked at the cook; she was a woman of about fifty with grey hair and a careworn expression. On her plump finger she wore a gold band; she had been married once, had enjoyed the sins of the flesh no doubt. Alice shook her head.
‘Mr Sparks is in a happy mood tonight.’
‘Oh I see.’ Cook frowned. ‘I spects you need fortifying then.’
Alice sighed inwardly. It was Edward not she who needed the courage found in a glass. He was always anxious to get the act over and done with. He was a strange, pinched man and Alice would never have married him if her father had not given her an ultimatum. It was either marry or go live on the streets. Her father was tired of her wild ways and vowed never to give her another penny unless she made a respectable marriage.
As the wife of Edward Sparks, Alice’s father gladly paid her an allowance, enough at least to keep her out of his way.
She finished her sherry. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better go and see to Mr Sparks.’
Once upstairs, Alice searched for her most modest night attire. She knew Edward by now; he would lift the hem of her gown, climb upon her and carry out his task as coldly as if he was filling in a balance sheet. There would be no pleasure in it for her, except the pleasure of knowing she was fooling her husband.
She crossed the landing into Edward’s room. It was larger than her own room with a big window facing the shallow valley below. At one time the view might have been, as the name of the row suggested, pleasant. Now the outlook was ruined by a coal shaft cutting across the greenery like a scar.
Edward came into the bedroom smelling of porter. He divested himself of his clothes and slid into the bed beside her. His feet were cold as they touched her flesh and she resisted the urge to draw away from him and call off the whole silly episode. She resented him taking his quick release at her expense. But it was necessary, she must just grit her teeth and put up with it, her one consolation being it would not last long.
He was so predictable. He lifted her gown to just above her waist, not touching her breasts in the way Eynon did. Eynon enjoyed her breasts; he told her they were beautiful. Edward would never know, he never got that far.
He jerked away above her in his usual ragged manner and she scarcely knew he was there. He must be so small a man in every way that his efforts made no impression. Mr Pencil, she should call him instead of Mr Sparks. The thought made her want to laugh but she stifled the feeling, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. And then, he was falling away from her, panting as if he had run a marathon.
He never asked her if it had been good for her and that was just as well or she might have been tempted to tell him the truth. She made to slip out of the bed but his hand on her arm stopped her.
‘Stay,’ he said and it sounded as if he were commanding a disobedient puppy. ‘I might want to try again later. I think it would be just as well to make sure that you get with child, the sooner the better.’
Alice stared up into the darkness. Edward never made love by candlelight, it was not modest. ‘Very well, Edward,’ she said meekly. Then she turned her face into the pillow. Edward could do what he liked; even if she was asleep it would make little difference, she would not even stir. Once she had safely delivered the child, there would be no more. From now on, Alice Sparks would please herself regarding what she did and with whom.