The Loom Part 25

'I've made my own way since I left Harwood and I think I'll carry on doing so,' he'd said, in a bantering tone. Jessica did not press the matter. She saw in his eyes how he felt.

George, obviously happy these days, was silent most of the time, as though pondering on the imponderable; or walking with Jessica or reading the paper, sometimes commenting on various articles, although not often. He hardly made any comment about what Raymond had done in the thirteen years of his absence from Hynburn.

'Alaska, you say,' he'd said one day. 'Big country, yon,' he'd added.

George had begun to use dialect quite often. Jessica did not seem to mind. Once she would have been beside herself to hear her hushand saying 'nowt', 'aye', 't'mill' and the list seemed to be growing.

'I'll be using it myself soon,' she said to Raymond jokingly. Wonders would never cease!

He finished his breakfast, a huge affair, which Maud Walters saw fit to cook as 'Master Raymond always had a good appet.i.te.' The sideboard was piled with eggs, bacon, kidneys, kippers, porridge toast, and a variety of jams, honey, and fresh fruit. He wouldn't be able to fit through the door soon he told Maud when he went down to see her in the kitchen. He had a cup of tea with her and Grimsby while he was there, feeling more comfortable than in the living room upstairs.

'Nice chap,' Grimsby said to Maud after he'd gone.

'Aye, a right smasher as well,' she said, rolling her eyes.

'Maud!'

Raymond crossed the Town Square and began the steep climb up Belmont Road. Even in his light slacks and short sleeved shirt he was perspiring heavily. What on earth had happened to the rainy, dreary, day after day of drizzle which had been the Harwood he remembered, often even in summer? His bare arms bulged with hard muscles from heavy work in Alaska and the blue of the shirt emphasized the smoky blue of his eyes (women's eyes tended to follow him as though drawn by a magnet).

As he drew nearer Leah's house (right at the top, number thirty), he began to feel apprehensive. What was he going to say to her? Why was he visiting her at all? She belonged to another man. He pursed his mouth in a grimace as he thought of Walter. He couldn't imagine Walter and Leah in bed together. He felt sick at the thought. That skinny runt with luscious Leah! He had tried not to admit how much he was taken with her; had tried to get her out of his mind. He had even begun a letter to Mike and Paquita telling them when he'd be back, then torn it up. He'd never been in love before and didn't even know if what he was feeling was love. It was frustrating, to put it mildly. Did he want to be in love if this was it? As though he was in limbo? Neither here nor there, not knowing if he was coming or going (quite literally was he going back to Alaska or was he here to stay?) How the h.e.l.l was he to know? Then there was the other side of the question. How did Leah feel about him? It was all a conundrum but perhaps he'd be clearer in his mind after this visit.

Yesterday he'd called at Glebe Street. Emma had told him that Walter was fixing cupboards for his mother today so he decided to pay Leah a visit whilst Walter was out of the way. Emma was taking Christine and Stephen to Blackpool for the weekend so Leah would be on her own and they could have a talk. He reached the gate of number thirty and pushed it open. It squeaked on a rusty hinge, and must have heralded his visit because the door opened as he walked down the path.

'I heard the gate,' Leah said, beaming at him. He heaved a sigh of relief. So she was glad to see him! She looked good enough to eat in a simple blue and white check dress, and her hair tied back with a blue ribbon. Her legs were bare and she wore white sandals. She looked young and ravishing and enchanting and took his breath away where it wafted up to the sky and try as he might he couldn't get it back until he swallowed and took another deep breath.

'Just having a walk and thought I'd pop in and say h.e.l.lo,' he finally managed. He was sweating again.

'Come and have a cup of tea, then. I've just put the kettle on.' She stood aside to let him in and her arm accidentally brushed his. A tingling sensation, almost like an electric shock, pa.s.sed through him (had his hair stood on end as well?) Leah closed the door and walked ahead of him down the pa.s.sage to the kitchen. Raymond followed her, wondering how to start what he'd come for. What had he come for, anyway? There was only one way to find out! He suddenly realized that except for that first meeting when she'd fallen down in front of him, (if you could call it that), this was the first time they'd been alone together.

He sat on a chair and looked around the kitchen as Leah got the tea things ready. She clattered around a bit with the cups and saucers. She was obviously nervous! It was a bright kitchen in green and white, check curtains at the windows, white cupboards and green oilcloth on the floor. There was a bowl of yellow roses in the middle of the table.

'When are you going back?' Leah said as she put the cups and saucers on the table then picked up the teapot and began to pour.

'I'm not sure.' He could see she was avoiding eye contact, making a great display of getting up to get some biscuits from a tin and putting them on a plate.

'Oh.' There was silence for a few minutes as she sat down and they drank their tea. Raymond looked at her over the rim of his cup. He put the cup down on the saucer with a clatter. Leah's eyes flew to his, startled.

'What?'

'Mother and Father would like to meet Stephen.'

She looked wary. 'I don't know, Raymond; why now, after all these years?'

'They're regretting that, Leah. Give them a chance, will you. They've been through a lot.'

'So have I,' said with some bitterness.

He put his hand across the table involuntarily and squeezed hers. 'I know.'

Leah looked at his hand on hers. 'All right,' she said. She pulled her hand away and he sat back, awkwardly.

'Only if Stephen wants to, I don't want to force him.'

'No, no, of course not, what about Sunday, then? They'll be back from Blackpool and I can pick him up from your mother's.'

Leah nodded. 'That should be all right, I suppose.'

She still didn't sound too happy about it. He didn't blame her. There was silence again. He looked through the open kitchen window onto the meadow beyond. There were b.u.t.tercups and daisies in the field waving their bright heads in the wind as though nodding to him. A bee droned lazily past the window, birds chirruped and he almost expected to hear sheep baaing and cows mooing, the scene outside was so rural.

'Nice view,' he said, nodding towards the window.

'Yes. One of the reasons I wanted this house at the end, although it is a fair walk up.'

'And steep,' he said. Leah laughed at the expression on his face.

Unsaid words seemed to be flying around the room, looking for some way to burst out. There was tension building. It was palpable, and Leah could feel it pounding at her from the man sitting across the table.

She had thought she'd never feel the same way about anyone as she had about Stephen. She'd been a girl then: naive, and innocent in every sense of the word. Now she was a woman, the blood pounding through her body, sending messages to her brain, which really, did she want? Did she want to go through that turmoil again? She wasn't at all sure she did. Her life before Raymond's sudden appearance had been settling into a peaceful, easy existence. Perhaps even boring (she thought of Walter) but it was preferable to the highs and lows of what she'd experienced in the past.

'Leah.' She blinked as Raymond spoke her name urgently as though trying to force her into something she didn't want. He was so positive, so forceful, that voice so deep, so masculine, penetrating right to the core of her and setting every nerve on edge.

'What?' Her eyes flickered in alarm.

'We have to talk.'

'We are talking.'

'Not like this. How're you, how's the weather, what will the weather be like tomorrow. I want to talk about us, you,' he pointed his finger at her, 'And me.'

Leah glanced over to the window, avoiding his gaze. The sunlight streamed bright like a golden river onto the kitchen sink, creating dazzling patterns of light.

'There's nothing to talk about.'

'You don't believe that for a minute.'

She looked up, angrily. 'How do you know what I believe, Raymond, you hardly know me.'

Raymond laughed and raised his eyebrow (as Stephen used to). Leah caught her breath. 'You can know some people for years, yet never really know them. Others you meet for two minutes and it's as though you've known them forever. That's how I feel about you, Leah. If you're honest I think you feel the same about me.'

'So what good does that do?'

'Come on.'

She looked at his earnest face, those blue eyes, the lank of dark brown hair on his forehead (wanted to touch it, press her face close to his), but she knew if she showed one sign of weakness she was doomed. Doomed because this enigmatic, volatile man was playing such havoc with her emotions she felt dizzy.

Raymond lent forward and gripped her hand. He put his face close to hers and she could feel his breath on her, not disgusting as she thought of Walter's, but intoxicating. 'I love you, Leah. G.o.d, you must know it.'

She was mesmerized by the intensity in his eyes. He continued as she remained silent, her eyes wide.

'You must be blind if you can't see it.' He shook her arm as though trying to get some response from her.

She suddenly thrust his hand off her arm and jumped from the chair.

'What about Walter?'

'd.a.m.n Walter.' He got up and stood in front of her, dwarfing her. She backed away until she was against the cupboard.

'I'm happy with Walter. I feel secure with him and G.o.d knows I've had enough ups and downs to last me a lifetime.'

Raymond tried to control his anger. Leah could see the pulse throbbing underneath the smooth tan of his skin. She had the almost irresistible urge to press her lips to it. I must be mad, she thought looking quickly away.

Raymond's hand shot out and he gripped her chin, turning her face to his. 'Just tell me you don't feel anything for me, Leah. Go on, tell me that and I'll leave you alone. Tell me you love Walter. That's all I want to hear.'

Leah's mouth was dry and she wet her lips. Raymond still had hold of her chin so she couldn't look away and really, she felt so weak she couldn't have moved if a bomb had exploded right next to her.

'I...I...' She went silent. Then she was pulled roughly forward and kissed her. His lips were moist but not wet and had a delicious taste; he pressed her to him as though trying to absorb her. She felt him, hard, thrusting. Her arms went round him, hungrily. She was famished for him, wanted to devour him, eat him up, to burn him with all that fire that was rushing through her. At any moment she would melt completely if this continued. She pulled away abruptly (later she didn't know how she did this). No, she couldn't go through all that emotional upheaval again, all the entanglements, commitments and often torments, which went with loving a man. She just couldn't do it (for love or money as her mother would have said.) 'No, no...I won't. I don't want you,' she gasped.

Raymond let his hands fall to his sides. She sidled away from him and out of his reach.

'Have it your way,' he said heavily and turned to go. He looked back at her. 'You'll regret it though, Leah. How many people get a chance at real happiness? What are you afraid of? Life! Run away from me, Leah, but you can't run away from your feelings. Even when I go they'll still be there to haunt you. Do you honestly think you'd be happy with Walter? He'll bore you to death within six months, probably less, if he hasn't already.'

Leah was suddenly angry. How dare he presume! What right had he to come barging in here, upsetting her.

'It's none of your business what I do with my life, Raymond. I just want you to go and leave me alone.' Her eyes were brilliant, glaring.

Raymond looked at her for a moment in silence, then turned and walked quickly out of the room and up the pa.s.sage. He banged the front door loudly behind him.

Leah sat on a chair with a thud. She felt weak as though all the stuffing had been taken out of her (as her mother would have said again: fer funny (Mam again). Sometimes she felt she was turning into her Mam the way she was adopting all her sayings, which were often trite but always true! The house was unnaturally quiet after all the shouting and carrying on. She sat with her chin on her hand, elbow on table, gazing into s.p.a.ce.

She'd done the right thing. Hadn't she? The clock on the dresser ticked loudly, tick, tock, tick, tock, some children called to each other in the field, Mr. Burton next door was calling to Mrs. Burton to come and have a look at his roses.

Why had she done that? Why had she sent him away? Who was she fooling? She'd never in her life (not even with Stephen) felt so alive; so vibrant as when she was with Raymond. This dangerous, exciting thing she had for Raymond was completely different to what she'd felt for Stephen. It was the urgent, raw desire for a man who had stirred the depths of her and found waiting a pa.s.sionate longing which had never been a.s.suaged. When he held her she felt that violent need take over: a primitive yearning for him to tear off her clothes and take her there and then.

She covered her face, which had gone hot at the thought, and moaned. Like a proud fool she'd let him go and like a proud fool she'd never admit (to him) she'd been wrong. She could never, never go to him and tell him what she was thinking at this moment. She dropped her head onto her arms; she wouldn't cry, she wouldn't. She was never going to cry about a man again. She'd stick with Walter and be bored stiff (Raymond had been right) but at least she'd never want to cry over him.

She sat up and looked around her as though waking from a dream (or was it a nightmare?) Walter! With him she wouldn't have to worry about emotional commitment, about desires (because she hadn't any with him). She wouldn't find herself shattered as she had been in the past. She'd learnt the hard way and she didn't intend to go through all that again. Raymond had talked about happiness. Well, there were all kinds of happiness.

Her happiness would be her peace of mind!

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

To some people time means nothing. They are today as they were yesterday and would be tomorrow and all the tomorrows to follow. They never change, in other words. Time stands still for them except for the physical aspect (no picture in the attic, unfortunately).

Gertie Wicklow, (now Barnes) steps out of the spanking new Rover onto the gravel drive of Hyndburn Hall. She smooths down her equally new outfit, the height of fashion, she thinks smugly as she adjusts the collar of the grey suit and straightens her red hat. She looks around her and has the distinct impression, in spite of her new outfit and new car, that she will soon don her ap.r.o.n and cap and take a tray up to the mistress. She shakes herself. She doesn't like that image flashing through her brain.

'Come on, Fred. Get a move on. I've a few other places to call before we leave Harwood.'

Fred Barnes looked at his wife in annoyance (she annoyed him a lot lately). She was a bossy 'un: his mother had told him this before he'd married Gertie he should have listened to her.

'All right, all right, hold your horses,' he said sharply.

'Let me get out of the car, will you!'

Gertie was already heading for the kitchen garden gate of Hynburn Hall. They'd parked the car at the front of the house (well, why not? She wasn't a servant here anymore she had to keep reminding herself of this) and before she turned the corner to the back of the house she saw two figures (male) making for the main entrance. One was tall and broad and the other only a boy. She stopped to watch. They were engrossed in each other, talking away and their voices floated over to her on the breeze. They didn't notice her. She heard the last couple of words...Uncle Raymond!

Gertie's eyes narrowed and an understanding gleam appeared. Uncle Raymond! So that was Leah's brat and the other one was the one who had been a brat years ago and had returned from G.o.d only knew where. She continued to watch as the two disappeared inside. So it looked as though after all this time that Raymond Townsend was back from traipsing those heathen lands. Well, well, fancy that, seeing them two on the very day she'd decided to visit her old friend, Maud!

'What's wrong with you,' Fred said. Gertie's face was now an even brighter shade of red than the hat. Now what was up? She'd been as happy as Larry when they set off, preening and prinking in the mirror in her new outfit, a smirky, self-satisfied smile hovering on her face all the way from Manchester. Now she looked like thunder, ready at any minute to let go with a great flash of lightning as well. It didn't take much to rile Gertie. Sensibly, he refrained from saying anything as they made their way up the path to the kitchen door.

Maud Walters had just prepared the soup, chicken: with barley and celery and onions and a heap of chicken wings and other pieces she'd popped in for good measure. It smelt good, nourishing she always said, not that it was soup weather but she remembered how Master Raymond had always loved her soup so she'd decided to surprise him. She began to make the suet dumplings, a bit heavy again, but she couldn't make soup without dumplings.

Maud was happy again, in her element she would think, like a fish caught and then thrown back in the water. Tonight there would be four for dinner. She smiled to herself as she thought of the Townsend's grandson who would be one of the four. And not before time, she thought as she broke off another piece of suet mixture and rolled it deftly into a small, round ball. They were going to have a lighter main course, smoked salmon and salad and then fresh strawberries (from the garden) and cream, for dessert.

She counted the row of dumplings in front of her. Twelve! She'd make another ten and that should be enough. She had just started on the next one when there was a loud, sharp knock on the door, which almost made her drop one of the dumplings on the floor.

Maud looked up angrily. No need to knock that loud! The knocking continued and she dusted the flour off her hands, wiping them on her ap.r.o.n as she went to open the door. Whoever was knocking was certainly an impatient b.u.g.g.e.r. She called out, 'all right, all right. I'm coming. No need to knock the door down.'

The knocking stopped and Maud opened the door.

She almost fell over when she saw who it was (and nearly slammed the door in her face as well, she told Alf Grimsby later).

'Well, if it isn't Gertie Wicklow,' Maud said in a most unfriendly way and not per her usual self. Gertie's face darkened and the man standing next to her began to back away.

'Gertie Barnes now, Maud. And this is me husband, Fred,' she said imperiously, indicating the man behind her, who had turned to go. Gertie grabbed his arm.

'Where the h.e.l.l do you think you're going, Fred?'

'I'll just wait in the car, love.'

'No you won't. We won't stay a minute. Well,' she looked at Maud. 'Aren't you going to invite us in for a cuppa. We've come all the way from Manchester.'

Maud nodded sharply and left the door open for them ungraciously so they could follow her in. 'Aye, well, come in for a minute, but I'm busy at the moment so I won't be able to sit down with you.'

Gertie Wicklow, or whatever she was called, was the last person she wanted to see. She had a cheek, she had coming back after what she'd done, but she had a skin as thick as orange peel. Why couldn't she be left in peace today of all days to enjoy her baking? But no, it wasn't to be because here was this fow piece interrupting her and with a husband in tow as well.

Gertie plonked herself on a chair. 'We won't be staying as I've a few other calls to make,' she said. 'So how are you getting on Maud?'

'I'm all right, as you can see,' Maud said shortly, rolling another dumpling in her hand. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Gertie. Brand new suit obviously and the latest hat! Come up in the world but she still had that big bust that looked like you could stack books on it.

Gertie took off her gloves and returned Maud's critical look. Maud must be well over fifty she thought enviously and still had that trim figure and not a line on her face. It wasn't fair. If she even looked at food the pounds just piled on.

Fred stood awkwardly behind Gertie. He could feel the tension building; why had Gertie wanted to call, he wondered. She obviously didn't like this Maud. Just to show off, of course. He knew Gertie.