The sound of his name jerked him out of the black mora.s.s of his thoughts and he spoke quietly, saying, 'I'm sorry, Vera?'

'I asked if it's all right if I come back with you an' Amos today? Horace is on the mend after that fall on the ice, he went back to work the day, an' the la.s.sies'll see to his meals. I'd like to see our Bett through the funeral if nowt else.'

'Of course it's all right, we expected nothing else. It's one of the reasons I accompanied Amos when he said he was coming, me having the use of Pearl's uncle's carriage. It'll make it easier with whatever luggage you want to bring with you. Your place is with your sister at a time like this and I know Betty is longing to see you.'

'Aye, I'd like to see her through the worst,' Vera repeated somewhat dazedly. By, for this to happen now. She'd been wondering about looking for work now Shirley was gone, but had decided to stay her hand until Josie had finished at the Avenue and the Palace so she could see a bit of the la.s.s while she was here. They had said they'd have her back at the corn mill, and after the last few years of looking to Shirley's every need, she would go stark staring barmy if she sat on her backside all day. She had given up her job at the mill within a few months of her old friend moving in, recognising there was going to be a period of intensive nursing involved, and she'd been glad to do it. Mind, with what Josie had insisted on sending she'd been better off than working.

The last thought prompted her to rise, saying, 'I'll just go an' pull me things together then. You lads help yourself to a bit more gingerbread an' jam roll, now then, else I'll think I'm losin' me touch. Josie, come with me, la.s.s, an' I'll fill you in as to what wants doin' while I'm gone.'

However, once the two women were in Vera's bedroom, Vera said softly, in what could be termed a conspiratorial whisper, 'Look, la.s.s, I don't know how long I'll be with our Bett or what's goin' to happen about the house an' everythin'. I can't see Bett managin' the rent an' all on her own with her lot to feed an' clothe.'

Josie nodded. There had been three more additions to the family in the last four years - two boys and a girl - and with the twins only ten years old, things looked bad.

'It'll take a while to sort out what's what, but I'm goin' to stay until things are settled one way or t'other, an' then I might be bringin' the whole lot of 'em back here from where I'm lookin', it bein' a tied house an' all. Anyway, we'll cross that bridge later, hinny, but afore I go I want to give you this.'

Vera had been rummaging in the blanket box tucked away in a corner of the room while she spoke, and now she pulled out a small cloth bag which she thrust at Josie.

'What . . .' The bag was heavy, and Josie stared in amazement at the notes and coins it contained. 'Vera, what's this? Where has all this come from?'

'You, la.s.s.' Vera smiled at her. She hadn't intended to give Josie her money in these circ.u.mstances, she'd had it planned quite differently, but needs must. 'I told you in the beginnin' me an' Horace didn't want to make owt on havin' your mam, but you wouldn't have it. So I thought if it made you feel better I'd take the money you sent an' put it away until . . .' Vera paused; she'd almost said, 'until your mam was gone' '. . . until the situation was different. There's nearly sixty pounds there, mounted up over the last years, an' that's with us havin' the money for your mam's medicines an' the doctor, an' a bit besides, enough to carry on like when I was workin' at the mill. But we don't want this extra, hinny, we really don't. If we can't help each other out as we walk this road it's a poor do. An' Horace sees it same as me, afore you ask. We never had no bairns of our own an' we both see you as ours. I know there's bin times when you've gone without to send your mam's money, an' only the thought of this day has helped me sleep nights.'

Josie was beyond words. She stood quite still, the bag held in her hands, and stared open-mouthed into the smiling face of this woman she loved so much. Not as a mother, although that was part of the feeling she had for Vera, but it was wider than that. Vera was mother, friend, confidante, ally, advocate - oh, a million and one things, and all of them precious.

'Vera, I can't. I can't.'

'Aye, you can, if you want to please me, la.s.s.'

'But it's too much.'

'It's yours, la.s.s. I'm only givin' you back what's yours, what I've been holdin' for you if you care to look at it like that. It's four years' hard graft an' you know it.'

What had she ever done to deserve being loved like this? Josie's eyes were large and dark with the force of her feelings. 'Vera, I don't know what I'd do without you, and I don't mean because of this,' she added, flicking her head at the money. 'I do love you.'

'Go on with you.' Vera flapped her hand, evidently embarra.s.sed. Josie was always ready to put her thoughts into words in a way no one else would dream of doing. They might think it but they wouldn't say it. You just didn't. But then the theatre was like that, she supposed. Them sort of people were different, people with a gift. And her la.s.s had a gift, all right. 'Put it away with your things an' let's hear no more about it.'

'Vera, you'll never know what this means, and I appreciate it from the depths of my heart,' Josie said, causing the older woman to blink rapidly and shake her head, 'and I agree with you it's a poor do if we can't help each other out. So with that in mind I want you to take this to Betty.'

'Bett? Oh no, no, la.s.s.'

'Please. You know how things are. She won't get much from the colliery and the union will only help out so much, and it will be at least another three or four years until the twins can work full-time, even if they get something after school and on a Sat.u.r.day in the meantime. She could buy one of those three-roomed cottages on the West Side with this if she puts it with the bit she'll likely get from the colliery.' Josie was warming to her theme. 'I'm sure Barney and the others will try and help out a bit as best they can, but things are going to be tight for all of them with Reg and Neville off.' She had been there herself in the old days; you missed one week's rent and then another, and before you knew it the debt was huge. Oh yes, she could remember times when her da had drunk or gambled away every last penny they'd had, and the soul-destroying visits to the p.a.w.nshop with anything that wasn't nailed down would stay with her for ever.

The last thought created a sense of urgency flavoured with deep compa.s.sion, and she said, 'Vera, you know what this would mean to Betty, and her with nine bairns. And it's not really mine anyway, it's yours. It is, it's yours.'

'Oh, la.s.s.' A quiver pa.s.sed over Vera's face and she looked down at her feet bewilderedly. They were killing her the day; her ankles overflowing the tops of her heavy black shoes. And then she caught herself sharply. What did her feet matter, for crying out loud! She raised her eyes again, but she had only said, 'This isn't right,' before Josie interrupted her, her voice eager.

'It is, Vera. It is right, and you know it at heart. What would Gertie and me have done if you hadn't taken us to Betty's that day? And she welcomed us with open arms, her and Frank. I owe them more than I can ever repay.'

'But what will you do, hinny?' Vera was finding it hard to take in the turn-around. 'You need new stage costumes, shoes an' hats an' all - Gertie was saying. An'--'

'What's that compared to Betty's need?'

The truth was unarguable, but Vera had one last try. 'But I wanted you to have it.'

'And I've taken it, and now I'm giving it to you to give to Betty,' Josie said softly. She couldn't say she didn't want the money; it would sound like the height of ingrat.i.tude and she didn't mean it like that, but the truth of the matter was that she didn't want it. It was Vera's first and foremost, but her mam's too in a funny sort of way. It might be a small fortune but no, she didn't want it.

'Aye, well, I know you when you make up your mind about somethin'.' Vera sighed. 'An' I can't say I won't look forward to seein' Bett's face when I give her it. By, you're a one.' Her face was comical. 'I dunno whether to smack your backside or hug you, la.s.s, an' that's a fact.'

'I'm too big for the first so it'd better be the second, Vera.'

The two men hadn't touched the gingerbread or jam roll when Josie and Vera came downstairs, and it didn't seem as if they had been conversing either. Each was sitting with their hands on their knees, and they seemed awkward and ill at ease.

For Amos's part, his mind was on his wife who was due any minute with their fourth child. She'd been near hysterical ever since the siren had sounded at the pit, and he was worried about her. As the eldest brother and head of the family, it had been his duty to come and see his stepmother's sister, but he wanted to get back to Newcastle as soon as he could.

Barney, on the other hand, was not thinking about his wife and had no wish to pre-empt the return journey. His earlier reflections had led him on to thinking about the first time he had paid a visit to Ginnett's to see Josie performing. It had been Josie's last week there and he had been married nearly nine months by then; it was Pearl who had forced the issue of the visit. He would have gone to see Josie earlier, but Pearl had been driving him mad with her demands that he leave the concrete factory and work for her uncle, and it had put him off visiting the theatre before. He had been of a mind in those days that he wanted to succeed or fail in his job of his own accord and not have one handed him on a plate by his in-laws. Now, in view of the enormity of the disaster that was his marriage, working for Ernest seemed neither here nor there. However, eventually he had given in and they'd gone along. He could remember every minute of that night.

There had been the usual bairns doing a bit of clog dancing; a female impersonator who had ranged from falsetto to robust tenor; a burlesque actress turned dancer; a xylophonist-c.u.m-comedian; a troupe of clowns and a wizard dressed as a Chinese Mandarin who'd juggled silver b.a.l.l.s, keeping a hypnotising stream of them weaving through the air, but the real spell-binder of the evening had been a young slim la.s.s with golden-brown hair and enormous dark eyes. Josie had been wearing an old stage dress that one of the other female performers had kindly given her; she'd cut it down and added a few ribbons and a bit of lace too, she'd confided later. By, she had looked bonny. And then she had sung, much like she'd done at his wedding do, and suddenly he had known . . . But it was too late. Months and months too late.

Maybe he had been stupid to suggest they all go out to dinner afterwards to celebrate Josie being offered a spell at a theatre in Gateshead at double what she was getting at Ginnett's, but Pearl had been all for it at the time. Or had seemed to be. They had enjoyed a slap-up dinner at a cla.s.sy hotel in Newcastle, and he'd felt he had come alive for the first time in months. He couldn't remember what they'd talked about, only that the time had sped by and when he and Pearl had dropped Josie off at Frank and Betty's, he'd been unable to believe it was after midnight. Contrary to the way she had chattered all evening, Pearl had maintained a stony silence until they were home and he had paid the driver of the horse and carriage. And then all h.e.l.l had broken loose.

Pearl had accused him of all sorts of things concerning Josie, and when he had reminded her that Josie was not yet fourteen and that in spite of her air of maturity and the fact that she had been working in the theatre for a good few months she was still very young, it hadn't made any difference. Perhaps he hadn't been convincing enough. Or perhaps the knowledge that had exploded on his consciousness earlier that evening, the knowledge that fate had played one of her nasty tricks in not telling him to wait for two or three years, had been all too evident? Whatever, Pearl had been beside herself.

The things she had thrown at him had caused him to remind her that in nine months of marriage - nine months - they had only made love three times, and that included the fiasco of their wedding night when she had sobbed and cried before he'd so much as laid a finger on her. He was sick and tired of treading on eggsh.e.l.ls all the time in case he offended her finer sensibilities. She wanted a provider, a male eunuch, who would give her the respectability of being a wife with her own home but who would obey without demur, giving in to all her whims and fancies and effectively subjugating himself on every front. She'd barely bothered to deny it. That had been the beginning of the end.

'Right, lads, we'd better be makin' tracks.' Vera's voice was overbright, and as if realising this she turned to Josie, her tone more subdued as she said, 'Explain to Gertie won't you, la.s.s, that I couldn't wait to say goodbye?' Gertie was at the Winter Garden in Bishopwearmouth with an old friend. The conservatory at the rear of the museum and library building which was an idyll of tropical plants and flowers was a regular meeting-place for folk. The invitation had been extended to both Josie and Gertie but although Josie had encouraged Gertie to accept, she'd declined herself, preferring to stay with Vera who seemed a little lost since Shirley's pa.s.sing.

The men were standing now, and as Amos pulled his cap on to his head he nodded at Josie, saying, 'So long, la.s.s,' before turning to Vera and taking her travelling bag as he added, 'Here, let's get this into the carriage, shall we?'

'By, hinny.' Vera gathered Josie into her embrace in an unusual show of affection and the two women hugged silently for some moments.

'Doubtless Horace will be up at the weekend, Vera, when I explain. Give Betty my love, and if there's anything I can do . . .'

'Anythin' you can do? Oh, Josie.' Vera's eyes were full. 'It'll make all the difference, la.s.s. All the difference.' And on this enigmatic note - as far as Barney and Amos were concerned - Vera pressed Amos before her, saying, 'Come on then, lad, let's be off.'

'Goodbye, Josie.' Barney was within an arm's length of her, and his face was grim.

The feeling that always rose in her when she saw him brought its tight control to her face and voice, but there was only friendliness in her eyes when Josie said, 'Goodbye, Barney. I'm so very sorry about your da. He was a grand man.'

'Aye. He was an' all.'

He still stood looking at her after he had spoken, and something in his gaze brought Josie's heart jerking in her chest, even as she warned herself, Don't be daft. You're imagining it. Barney's a married man, and whatever the situation between him and Pearl he wouldn't think about you in that way. And Pearl's bonny, right bonny.

'How . . . how long do you think you'll be staying? I mean . . . at the Avenue and Palace. How long are you contracted for?' By, he was making a right mess of this, stuttering and stammering. Barney took a hold of himself as he added, 'You know Ernest'd be keen to have you back at Ginnett's any time you fancy a stint in Newcastle. And likely he could offer more than two shillings a night, eh?'

The last had been said jokingly in an effort to lighten the atmosphere, and Josie responded with a smile as she said, 'I know, I know, two and thruppence, no doubt!'

'Josie . . .' Barney stopped. And then he said again, 'Josie.' And then he just looked deep into her eyes.

She stared at him, her eyes wide and her stomach churning. No, no, it couldn't be . . . could it? And then the moment was broken as Vera spoke from the doorway. 'Josie? Josie, la.s.s.' Her voice was slightly uncertain. 'There's a man here, a gentleman. He says he's spoken to you before.'

Josie wrenched her gaze from Barney's and it was only in that moment that she became aware that for a little while she had been blind and deaf to anything but the tall young man in front of her, and also that Vera was looking at them very strangely.

'A gentleman?' Her voice sounded dazed even to herself.

'Good afternoon, Miss Burns.' Oliver Hogarth was standing just inside the doorway. 'I must apologise for presuming to call without an appointment but I had some business in these parts with an old friend in the profession who has links with the Palace, and he happened to mention your name and where you were residing. We never had a chance to continue our conversation in Hartlepool, did we, and so I thought that, as I was pa.s.sing . . .'

Oliver Hogarth here. Here. And now, with Barney. Convention necessitated her responding, 'Good afternoon, Mr Hogarth. Come in, won't you,' but Josie was fl.u.s.tered and it showed. 'This is my friend, Mrs Briggs,' she added, as Oliver stepped into Vera's large kitchen, 'and this is her . . .' here Josie's mind couldn't work out exactly what Barney was in relation to Vera, and so she continued quickly, 'this is Mr Robson. He . . . he called with some bad news, I'm afraid.'

'Oh, I am sorry.' Oliver had turned to look directly at Vera, and now said quietly, 'If I have called at a difficult time, Mrs Briggs, please accept my apologies. I will take my leave at once.'

Vera looked at the tall commanding figure in front of her, her eyes taking in the quality of his greatcoat and hat, and the overall odour of wealth, but it was more what she had glimpsed in the few seconds when she had caught Josie and Barney unawares that made her say, and warmly, 'Not at all, Mr Hogarth, not at all. Do come an' have a seat, you look frozen. Josie, la.s.s, put the kettle on. I'll tell Amos to come an' sit himself down for a minute or two.'

Oh, Vera. Short of being downright rude there was nothing Josie could do but smile and do as she was bid, but she had seen Barney's eyes narrow and darken as he had surveyed the big man in the doorway, and she suspected Oliver Hogarth had too.

However, it was clear Vera didn't intend to leave her alone with this unknown ent.i.ty - something Josie would have been thankful for in other circ.u.mstances - and as she busied herself making a fresh pot of tea and listened to the others making small talk, it became apparent that everyone was being careful not to speak out of turn. At least, that's how it was at first.

Interest was politely expressed when Oliver mentioned his occupation but when he didn't elaborate on the reason for his visit, Vera jumped into the brief silence, first explaining about Josie's recent loss before going on to disclose what had brought Barney and Amos to Sunderland.

Oliver nodded slowly. He had friends among mine owners; most of them the kind who never set foot outside London and controlled their fortunes with managers and overseers, but he didn't think this was the time to mention such connections. The last time he had had a conversation with one such friend, the man had been seething about the liberties the unions were trying to take; he had countered by sacking the miners he'd heard were the ringleaders and throwing them out of their cottages. 'Warning to the rest of the rabble,' was how he had put it, if Oliver remembered correctly. 'They can rot, them and their families with them. They'll be begging me for the privilege to work before I'm finished.'

'I understand five thousand miners are on strike in Austria?' Oliver now said carefully, deciding caution was the best policy. He didn't want to get on the wrong side of Josie's friends at this stage, if indeed these two men were her friends? Certainly the younger one, the one who had been eying him somewhat aggressively ever since he'd set foot in this miserable room, seemed hostile for some reason.

'Oh aye?' Amos was acutely uncomfortable. This acquaintance of Josie's was a toff, you only had to look at him to know that, and when he opened his gob his accent confirmed he'd never got his hands dirty with real work. 'Dunno nowt about that. All I know is that this country owes where it is now to the miners, but you wouldn't think so, the way it treats us. The Durham Miners a.s.sociation was formed nigh on thirty years ago, but all the unions are still fightin' for decent livin' wages an' safety underground, same as then, an' nowt's improved. 'Course, you don't have the la.s.ses an' bairns underground now, but the conditions are the same. Mebbe it's the same in Austria an' that's why they're out?'

Oliver cleared his throat. If he had spoken the truth he would have had to admit he shared Lyndon's view of the average miner. From what he could tell from the troubles reported in the newspapers, they were underground peasants, most of them ignorant and coa.r.s.e with none of the sensibilities that differentiated n.o.ble man from lowly beast.

Perhaps something of this feeling came through in his face, because Barney now entered the conversation and his voice was belligerent. 'Can't be worse than here anyway, Amos. In most pit villages you can't call a miner's wage his wage at all; it's merely a juggling of payments and fines by the coal company. The weighman makes sure he keeps in with the owner by downgrading or rejecting as much stuff as he can; didn't Da say he could remember his own da coming home with less than he started with because of the weighman's fines? And what hope of a fair hearing in the courts when only the employer is ent.i.tled to give evidence and not the employee? Magistrates are landowners which means they're employers anyway, so it's pretty short shrift for a pitman when his summons is heard.'

'Aye, well, we're not here the day to discuss the whys an' wherefores of all that,' Vera said briskly. 'Here, have a cup of tea, Mr Hogarth, an' a piece of me gingerbread.'

Oliver didn't want a cup of tea or a slice of gingerbread. Although he was looking at the older woman he was seeing a slim figure in a pale blue dress with the most beautiful head of golden-brown hair. Josie had looked charming on the stage, and their brief encounter that night in Hartlepool when he'd waited for her had told him she was a beauty, but it had been dark then and she had hurried away before he'd had a chance to look at her properly. Now, without any stage make-up or artifice, he could see that the cream-coloured skin was perfect, without blemish, and her eyes were the largest, the most arresting he had ever seen. But he must be careful not to stare or display undue interest; he didn't want to frighten her. This thought was a new one to Oliver; the sort of women he usually consorted with were not the kind to be nervous of a man's attentions. But this was different. She was different. Like a diamond set amongst the d.a.m.n coal they'd been discussing.

'Thank you, Mrs Briggs. This is most kind of you.' He turned his charm on the older woman, sensing he needed a foothold here.

'My pleasure, Mr Hogarth.' Vera was rising to the occasion, and although she was burning with curiosity as to the reason for his visit, she didn't betray the merest flicker as she said, 'How long are you stayin' in these parts?'

'I return to London tomorrow.' At least, that had been his original idea. Now he wasn't so sure.

Vera nodded. He was one of these agent types and not a poor one either, and he'd sought her la.s.s out. And at just the right time. She agreed with Gertie on the quiet over this; Josie needed to spread her wings.

'I had been hoping . . .' Oliver allowed himself a moment's hesitation, having decided on the strategy he was going to employ. 'But this is clearly a difficult time.' He turned his head, looking straight at Josie now who had just seated herself at the kitchen table. 'I had been hoping to discuss a business proposition with you, Miss Burns. Perhaps over dinner? And of course your family are most welcome to join us,' he added with a winsome smile at Vera. He wasn't dealing with a brash young thing here and poor as they obviously were, he sensed the proprieties would be expected to be upheld. Indeed, the working cla.s.s were fiercer on that sort of thing than the middle and upper cla.s.ses, from what he could make out. Certainly with regard to their women. Well, he'd play the game. He turned back to Josie, and the wide, heavily lashed eyes were waiting for him, causing his pulse to leap. Oh yes, he would play the game.

Strangely, the whirl Josie's mind had been in - first due to the shock of Barney's unspoken declaration and then Oliver Hogarth's sudden appearance - had cleared in the last moments. She knew why Oliver was here, of course; Lily had been explicit on that - he wanted to become her agent. And Barney? She didn't know what he wanted, she only knew she needed to get as far away from him as possible. He was married. To Pearl. He shouldn't have looked at her like that, he shouldn't. The beating of her heart was loud in her ears. It was wrong, and this feeling she had for him was wrong - this secret, guilty feeling that had been with her since the night he had rescued her from her da and Patrick Duffy, and which had grown relentlessly in the following years despite all her efforts to destroy it.

She knew Barney's eyes were hard on her face when she smiled at Oliver, and said quietly, her voice level and low, 'My sister and I - you met her that night outside the theatre? - would be pleased to have dinner with you, Mr Hogarth. My . . . my situation has changed considerably since we last met due to my mother's pa.s.sing. Until now I have always felt restricted to working in the north-east.'

'I see.' Oliver forced himself to show no sign of the surge of excitement that made him want to grin from ear to ear. 'I am, of course, sorry to hear of your loss, but there is no doubt the London stage would benefit from your presence, Miss Burns.'

Smarmy blighter. Barney's teeth were clenched, his jaw rigid. The London stage. So that was the carrot he was dangling under her nose, was it? And he had business in these parts, did he? Business be d.a.m.ned. The only business Hogarth was interested in was Josie. He swallowed deeply, his voice brusque as he said, 'This old friend you're up to see, wonder if I know him?'

'You?' There was no animosity in Oliver's tone, merely surprise that a miner's son should think they might have a common acquaintance.

'Aye. I'm in the business - under-manager at Ginnett's in Newcastle,' Barney said, before Josie, her face straight now and her tone cool, said, 'I think Mr Hogarth's business here is his own affair, don't you?' and before Barney could reply one way or the other, added, 'Another cup of tea, Mr Hogarth?'

'No, thank you.' Oliver smiled as he spoke, even as his mind was saying, So that's it. He wants her. This great lout of a man wants her. Does she want him? He is good-looking enough and young. Nearer her age . . . He rose to his feet somewhat abruptly, saying, 'I must apologise again for delaying you, Mrs Briggs, but the tea was most welcome. Thank you for your kindness.'

'Oh, it's nowt, lad.' Vera had been thrown off-balance by the tense atmosphere in her kitchen as her reply indicated, and she hastily added, her face flushed, 'It was very nice to meet you,' in a primmer tone.

When, in the next moment, the front door opened and Gertie's voice called, 'There's a carriage outside! What's goin' on?' the interruption came as a relief to more than Vera. 'Oh!' Gertie stopped at the doorway, her eyes taking in the a.s.sembled company and widening at the sight of Oliver.

'h.e.l.lo, la.s.s.' Vera bustled forward, quickly explaining the reason for Barney and Amos's presence before she added, 'An' this is Mr Hogarth up from London.'

'We have met briefly,' Oliver said smoothly, nodding at Gertie before he added, speaking specifically to the small girl in the doorway, 'I was visiting a colleague, Miss Burns, who happened to mention your sister's name. A fortuitous coincidence after our meeting in Hartlepool.'

He wasn't going to give her away. Gertie smiled at Oliver, her eyes bright, and if he had but known it, he'd won a friend. 'It's nice to see you again,' she said circ.u.mspectly.

'You'll be seeing me a little later, too. Your sister has accepted an invitation to dinner on behalf of you both.'

She had? Gertie regarded him steadily as her smile widened. London, here we come. There was nothing to stop them now, and she had the feeling Oliver Hogarth was a man who would let nothing stand in his way when he wanted something. And his presence here today proved he wanted Josie.

Certainly she, for one, wouldn't be sorry to leave Sunderland. Several times lately, starting at her mam's funeral, she'd had a funny p.r.i.c.kly feeling on the back of her neck and found herself looking around her, and today it had been stronger than ever. She'd actually found her heart pounding as she'd walked home along Borough Road, and by the time she'd got to Church Street East she'd thought twice about taking the path at the back of the church which was a bit more lonely. Likely she was being daft. As she listened to Oliver arranging to meet them after Josie's last evening performance, Gertie shivered. Aye, likely she was, but she'd pack her bags this very minute if she could, and that was the truth.

It was late when Barney eventually let himself into the imposing hall of the house in Windsor Terrace, and he stood for a moment just looking around him as though he was a stranger in the place. But that was how he felt at heart about this house. Pearl had spent a lot of thought and time on furnishing the downstairs of the house and their bedroom - her bedroom now - but the other three bedrooms had been empty until he had moved into one of them, and then all he had required was a bed and a wardrobe. Four bedrooms for the two of them when whole families lived in one room! Why had he agreed to move from St James Street? And then he answered himself bitterly. Why ask the road you know? He had still hoped then, deep in the heart of him, that somehow he and Pearl could learn to live together. She'd insisted this house was her dream house, that she'd never ask him for another thing if they could move here, and a tiny part of him which had longed for peace - just peace, nothing else - had thought it might make her happy. And for a time she had seemed more contented. But it hadn't lasted and it certainly hadn't made her softer towards him.

There was Betty back in Spring Garden Lane, consumed with grief over his da to the point where it had been painful to look into her face, and yet other couples, like him and Pearl most likely, would continue down the years and into old age together but in a state of semi-hostility. Life was d.a.m.n ironic. Barney felt the tidal wave of grief for his da which had been threatening to overwhelm him all day sweep in with renewed intensity, and he fought it frantically. He couldn't give way now, not until he was in his bed and there was no chance of Pearl surprising him. Somehow he'd rather walk barefoot through burning coals for the rest of his days than let Pearl see him cry.

And then, as though the thought of her had conjured her up, his wife stepped into the hall from the sitting room. Pearl looked poised and calm as she stared at him for a moment, but Barney saw the tightness of her mouth and the faint flush staining the creamy skin of her neck and he knew she was het up about something. 'I thought I heard the door.' Her voice was clipped and cold. 'Did you really have to take so long? It's gone eleven.'

'I'm aware of the time.' He had long since given up trying to pacify her when she was in one of her moods.

So that was the tack he was going to take, was it? Pearl's light blue eyes were icy cold. She'd had to cancel a dinner-party she'd been looking forward to for weeks just because Barney had insisted on accompanying his brother to Betty's sister's house. And it hadn't really been necessary. Amos could have used the train or hired a carriage himself. Pearl chose to ignore that either option would have stretched Amos's limited income to the limit. Barney must think she was stupid if he didn't realise she knew the reason he'd gone to Vera's: it had been to see Josie. She had warned him, when she'd refused to go to Josie's mother's funeral with him, that if he went she'd make his life h.e.l.l. And he had merely answered that he would have to care about her for that to be a reality, but as it was she could do whatever she liked, and he was going to Shirley's funeral with or without her. And gone he had.

Pearl drew her small tight body upwards. 'So, you've finished with your gallivanting for one evening?' she said testily. 'Now you've managed to ruin the evening for me. Had a nice cosy chat with her, did you?'

'Her?' For a moment Barney thought Pearl meant Vera before the penny dropped, and then his voice was loud when he said, 'What's the matter with you, woman? I went to tell Vera me da had been killed. Me da, Pearl! Doesn't that mean anything to you?'

Pearl glared at him, and then she knew she'd gone too far when she said, 'No, it doesn't, if you want the truth.'

He'd hang for her before he was finished. It took Barney a full thirty seconds before he could master the hot fury her words had caused, and in that time he dared not move. He knew he wouldn't be responsible for what he might do to her, should she say or do anything. She was fond of the caustic one-liners, Pearl, and she delivered them with venom, but more often than not Prudence was round here of an evening and so he tended to direct most of his conversation at his sister before he retired, often before Prudence went home. It was ironic, when you thought about it, the number of times he had thanked G.o.d for Prudence's presence at the house in the evenings, and not just as a buffer between him and his wife either. Prudence talked sense and she kept up with the political and social events in a way Pearl was incapable of.

But Prudence wasn't here tonight and he had to go carefully. He had never yet raised his hand to a woman but he'd come d.a.m.n near the night. One more word out of her, one more disdainful glance from those soulless clear eyes of hers when she talked about his da . . .

But Pearl had seen what was in her husband's eyes and she remained as still as he was, and she still stood there for some moments more after Barney had turned on his heel and left the room.

Chapter Ten.