The Urchin's Song Part 24

'Why?' It was one word and not said loudly, but the tone was such that it caused the other two men to shuffle their feet, their expressions revealing they were stunned by the sudden change in events.

'You take one step towards us an' I'll cut his throat afore I see to you.' Jimmy had swung Patrick round in front of him as he spoke to the two henchmen. Patrick's lackeys were not chosen for their intelligence but they were bright enough to know who had the upper hand, and furthermore they were well acquainted with Jimmy's ruthlessness and knew he meant what he said. They exchanged a bewildered glance but they weren't about to argue with Jimmy's gutting knife which they'd seen in action many times before. When Jimmy motioned them into a corner of the cellar they went without demur, watching silently as, under Jimmy's instructions, Hubert untied Josie before brother and sister went across to the unconscious Oliver and between them began to haul his limp body up the cellar steps, Jimmy and Patrick following them.

'Jimmy, Jimmy man, listen to me. I had to do it. I didn't want to but I had to, you know how it is.' Patrick had been pleading softly and desperately ever since reality had dawned, but apart from keeping the knife to his throat Jimmy had ignored him.

But as they reached the top of the stairs and emerged through into the stone-floored scullery, Jimmy said quietly, 'Stepped into me da's boots and found 'em a grand fit, eh, Patrick? Took his life an' then his sons an' all? Well, you did a good job, I'll give you that. Took me for a right 'un. As Hubert's fond of saying, thought the sun shone out of your backside, me.'

He had slid the bolt on the cellar door as he spoke, locking Patrick's two men below.

Josie and Hubert were standing panting, Hubert holding Oliver's upper torso and Josie her husband's legs, and now she said, 'What are you going to do, Jimmy?'

Jimmy ignored her, looking instead at Hubert as he said, 'I should've listened to you, little 'un, but at least I can make it right for Da now. I know a nice little spot where me an' Patrick can . . . discuss exactly how me da died for as long as it takes. Then I'll disappear. I've had a bellyful of this little racket. Like she said, the smell's gone putrid. Funny, but I'd always seen meself taking over Patrick's spot one day but now I'd rather cut me own throat than touch anything with his stamp on it.'

'What'll you do?'

'Start somewhere else. I'll make sure the body isn't found' - a small whimper came from Patrick - 'and his lot'll be scratchin' their heads while they divide the plunder. I don't reckon any of 'em will object over much when they realise me an' Patrick have disappeared an' it's all theirs. Do you?'

Hubert stared into the face of the man who, in his own way, had loved and cared for him all his life. 'Will I see you again?'

'I don't think so, lad. An' that grieves me.'

'Jimmy . . .' Josie spoke again, stammering a little as she said, 'You can't . . . you can't . . . not in cold blood.'

The piercing blue eyes looked at her. 'Don't go soft on me now, la.s.s, not after all this, an' besides,' he smiled, a cold, hard smile and the resemblance to their father was heightened, 'I've got the knife and I tell you straight, I'll take down anyone who tries to stop me. I've waited a long time to get even with the person who did for Da. Funny, but in the heart of me I think I always knew he had to be dead, even in the early days when I was always lookin' out for him everywhere I went. Da wouldn't have gone you see, not without me.'

In spite of the fact that her brother was a fully grown man who had proved himself to be every bit as dangerous and ruthless as any in the criminal fraternity, there had been something pathetic and almost childlike in the way in which he had said the last words.

'But the police would deal with him, he'd get sent down the line for sure. It doesn't have to be this way.'

Jimmy didn't even bother to reply to this last plea from Josie, but jerked his head at his brother, saying, 'Give me a minute or two an' then you can leave an' all, all right? Look after yourself, man, an' don't wait too long to start courtin' Laura or likely she'll be off with someone else, a bonny la.s.s like that.'

Hubert's warm blue eyes widened. 'How did you know? I haven't said owt to anyone.'

'You're me brother, man. I used to wipe your nose an' your backside an' all. 'Course I knew.' And then Jimmy's voice changed as he said, 'Move out of the way an' let me pa.s.s, an' you stay put until me an' this piece of sc.u.m are away.'

'You can't let him take me.' Duffy's voice was shrill with terror. 'You can't.'

'They've no choice, Patrick. Same as you didn't give me da one, I'll be bound.'

Jimmy pa.s.sed them, walking out of the scullery and to the end of the hall near the front door. He opened it and peered outside at the deserted quay before he turned, glancing once more at Hubert who had tears streaming down his face now. 'By, little 'un,' he said. And then he and Patrick Duffy were gone.

Josie and Hubert remained where they were for some moments, neither of them feeling they could move, and then they carried Oliver along the hall and out into the fresh air which was already tinged with the subtle glow of dawn on the horizon. Jimmy and Patrick had vanished.

By unspoken mutual consent they lowered Oliver to the ground and Josie sank down beside him, her legs suddenly giving way, whilst Hubert scrubbed at his wet face with his sleeve. Not a word had been spoken but they both gulped at the fresh morning air as though they had been drowning.

It could only have been a minute or two before the sound of running footsteps was heard, and Josie and Hubert both stiffened before relaxing again with relief as Barney and Georgie, hotly followed by Gertie, Prudence and the bulk of Ada and Dora came panting round the corner of the quay.

'Josie!' Barney's voice was hoa.r.s.e and it didn't sound like him. 'Thank G.o.d! Are you all right?' He reached her before the others, kneeling down beside her as he took her cold hands in his warm ones. 'Have they hurt you?'

She shook her head, knowing if she tried to speak at that precise moment she would cry.

She wasn't aware she was trembling until Barney put his arm round her and said, 'It's all right, it's all right, it's over.'

Over. With her brother walking away with murder in his heart and a knife to Patrick Duffy's throat, and her husband lying on the cobbles as if he was dead? And as though Barney had read her mind, he said softly, 'Don't worry about Oliver, you're safe now and we'll get him straight to a doctor. He'll be fine.'

But he wasn't.

Oliver lingered in the infirmary for a week but never regained consciousness, and on the day of the funeral, those who cared about Josie feared for her mental health. She was blaming herself for Oliver's death, and nothing anyone said or did could convince her otherwise.

Useless to say the confrontation with Patrick Duffy would have happened one day because the little Irishman would have made sure of it; that the evil shadow of Duffy had been lifted off many lives, not least Hubert's, allowing folk to live without fear; that Josie playing the Sunderland halls one day had always been a foregone conclusion and would have happened long ago but for the fact of Oliver pressing her to stay in the capital; that what had happened was Fate. Inescapable.

Oliver was dead, and Josie seemed determined to punish herself to the maximum. The funeral was held in London and all Josie's friends and family from the north-east came down to the capital, but although she spoke politely to them all and thanked them for coming it wasn't like Josie at all. She never once looked at, or spoke directly to, Barney. He was perhaps the main barbed whip she was scourging herself with and she couldn't bear to see him in the flesh. Guilt made her voice brittle and her face tight, and the weight was dropping off her in a way that made her sisters and others desperately worried. She had betrayed Oliver. Oh, perhaps not by any physical weakness, she acknowledged bitterly, but Barney had been in her head, her mind, her heart, and now she was reaping retribution. Or rather Oliver had paid the price for her. And with his death there had opened in her a void of hopeless regret, of sorrow and of utter loneliness that no amount of calm logic and comfort from her family and friends could a.s.suage.

Strangely, the one thing that brought her out of the abyss to a limited extent and gave her the will to go on was the news which her sisters had feared would be the final straw to her delicate state of mind. Oliver had left debts, vast debts. Sums of a nature to be overwhelming to the average man and woman.

Josie listened to all Oliver's solicitors said, took all the papers and correspondence relating to her husband's liabilities, and wrote to each and every creditor a.s.suring them that the debt would be honoured in full if they could but be patient.

At the end of September she walked out of the house in Park Place with little more than the clothes she stood up in and the contents of her wardrobe, and moved into the residence at the back of the Caledonian Market. At Lily's insistence, they converted the sitting room into Josie and Gertie's living quarters, and Josie threw herself into her work.

Oliver's agency had died with him, but when Anthony found another position at the end of October he asked Gertie to marry him and she immediately accepted. Josie was pleased for her sister, and when there was talk of the marriage being deferred out of respect for Oliver, she told the young couple in no uncertain terms that Oliver would not have wished it and neither did she. They must marry when it suited them to do so, she said. Time was a precious commodity and who knew what tomorrow would bring? And so Gertie and Anthony set the date for the following summer, and Gertie immediately began sewing her wedding dress in any free moments she had.

Barney wrote to Josie in November but she did not reply to his letter. He wrote again in December, a letter on the lines of the first one - kind, understanding, warm and friendly, but making it clear she was on his mind constantly. This time she replied with a cool note thanking him for his concern but making it plain she did not wish him to write a third time.

She would never go to the north again. Josie sat by the glowing range in the huge kitchen which was the focal point of the three converted houses, and glanced round at the merry faces singing carols. Lily and the rest of the women, plus Ada and Dora, had all collected for the little party Josie had thrown for Christmas Eve, and poor Mrs Wilde, who had no family of her own and didn't like her new position with a retired colonel and his wife, had come along too. Gertie was spending Christmas with Anthony and his mother.

No, she would never go home again. Josie smiled as she accepted another gla.s.s of hot mulled wine from Lily, who had had several and was singing l.u.s.tily as she bustled round filling everyone's gla.s.ses and thrusting s.h.i.+ves of Christmas cake on all and sundry. 'Get it down you, la.s.s.' Lily bent over Josie, her eyes soft as she set a plate containing an enormous wedge of cake on Josie's lap. 'Good old northern recipe this, with a bottle of Guinness and black treacle and all sorts. None of your southern doings with a cherry and sultana a piece, and maybe a walnut if you're lucky.'

'Hey, Lily, you watch it!' Teresa, a c.o.c.kney by birth, chipped in here. 'You'd go a long way to beat my ma's Christmas cake, G.o.d rest her soul. Quarter bottle of brandy she used to use, and enough fruit, peel and nuts to feed the Coldstream Guards for a week.'

'No, no, it is the Christmas fare in my country which is best.' Maria, an old Spanish singer and dancer, spoke up, her plump cheeks glowing from the effects of the wine and the heat in the kitchen. 'And in northern Spain, where I was born, we have the hollow log known as Uncle and we place him near the fire. He is oh so n.o.ble, that log, and filled with presents and sweetmeats . . .'

More of the ladies, not to be outdone, chimed in, and Josie was content to sit and listen to these women she considered as part of her family. This house and its occupants came first, before anything, and then the slow and steady diminis.h.i.+ng of Oliver's debts. She had estimated they would take some time to clear - maybe two years or more - and that was if she continued to earn top money. But her new agent was good; he'd make sure she was treated well. Short, balding and approaching fifty, Timothy Tattle was a staunch family man and grandfather of three, and he suited Josie down to the ground. No complications of the emotional kind with Timothy.

Josie caught Ada's eye across the room, and as her sister smiled at her and she smiled back, Josie thought, I'm lucky in a way, I am. I've got Ada and Dora in my life again and all these good friends, and my work. Aye, thank G.o.d for my work. Hubert is so happy with his Laura, and he's content working for Mr Foster. If I could just get peace of mind, just enough to let me sleep all night through without the nightmares, I'd be content. I would, I'd be content with peace of mind. But then, as Ada had said to her more than once since Oliver's death, time was a great healer. 'Look at me,' Ada had persisted when Josie shook her head in disbelief that she'd ever feel happy again. 'Times I wanted to die when I was a bairn, an' when I was a mite older an' all. But for Dora I'd have done meself in afore I reached twenty, an' Dora's said the same about me. But we're happy now, probably happier than them that've never known the valleys. How can you really appreciate the mountain tops if you've not gone through the valleys?'

Josie had said she didn't know the answer to that. She had the feeling she knew very little these days. But she did know how to sing . . .

Part 5.

The New Life 1912.

Chapter Twenty-six.

The next seven years saw the campaign for women's suffrage waged with increasing violence, and unlike the ma.s.sive unrest among the miners, the dockers, the railway workers and the rest of Britain's industry, it was not the working-cla.s.s contingent who were most vehement, but those women in the middle and upper cla.s.ses. These ladies had taken on the fight for their so-called sisters who lived and died in the sweatshops of the big cities, the women who worked fifteen- and sixteen-hour days in the mills and factories and shops, and in conditions not fit for animals.

Josie, encouraged by the fiercely active twins Winifred and Victoria, took an ever-increasing interest in the Movement. By March, 1912, when Sir Almroth Wright wrote a long letter to The Times in which he argued that militant suffragettes were s.e.xually and intellectually embittered, Josie was as furious as the rest of her sisters in the Movement.

Mrs Winston Churchill's effective reply, also published in The Times, Josie considered a masterpiece. '"After reading Sir Almroth Wright's able and weighty exposition of women as he knows them, the question seems no longer to be 'Should women have votes?' but 'Ought women not to be abolished altogether?' . . . We learn from him that in their youth they are unbalanced, that from time to time they suffer from unreasonableness and hyper-sensitiveness, and that their presence is distracting and irritating to men in their daily lives and pursuits. If they take up a profession, the indelicacy of their minds makes them undesirable partners for their male colleagues. Later on in life they are subject to grave and long-continued mental disorders, and if not quite insane, many of them have to be shut up . . . Cannot science give us some a.s.surance, or at least some ground of hope, that we are now on the eve of the greatest discovery of all - i.e. how to maintain a race of males by purely scientific means?"'

'By, la.s.s!' Josie had just read out the letter from the newspaper to Lily, who had become bedridden over the last year and whose eyesight was failing fast. 'I wish I could pen words like that. That's telling 'em all right.'

'It's not so much that Almroth Wright wrote the letter which bothers me as the fact that the press could treat such claptrap with respect.' Josie rose from her seat at the side of Lily's bed and walked across to the open window, breathing deeply of the mild spring air, before she added, 'But it will come, Lily, the vote for women, and soon. It's happened in Finland, and if the government had the sense it was born with it'd realise women are showing themselves to be every bit as good as men. Look at Madame Curie winning a second n.o.bel prize this year.'

'Aye, I know, la.s.s, I know. And I'll tell you something else; there's not a woman on this planet who can't juggle a hundred and one things at the same time, but men have this problem of only being able to do one thing at a time. What woman worth her salt isn't used to cooking and cleaning and seeing to the bairns, as well as having her man's dinner on the table for when he walks in, and all that often after a hard day's work taking in someone's was.h.i.+ng or carding b.u.t.tons or whatever to make ends meet. I tell you, la.s.s, it's a man's world.'

Josie smiled at her old friend as she turned from the window, but she said nothing. Lily would think she was mad if she said she'd give the world to be an ordinary housewife and mother, even one who had to make a penny stretch into two, especially if she revealed who was forever in her thoughts and her dreams.

Barney had ignored her plea not to write and had written twice more before he had come down to London to see her himself. It had not been a happy meeting. She was being ridiculous, he had said, to cut off her friends and family in the north at a time when she needed them most. When she had replied that this was not the case at all, and that she would be expecting Vera and Betty, and Hubert and his young la.s.s too, to come and see her in London now and again, Barney had said that wasn't quite what he had meant. He had not gone on to explain what he had meant because Josie's stiff manner had made it clear she did not wish him to.

Two more letters had arrived before he had come to the house in the Caledonian Market again, three months after the anniversary of Oliver's death. Josie had not been ready emotionally or mentally to see him, and again it had been a difficult meeting. Guilt had still been uppermost in Josie's heart, and it had made her reserved and very distant towards him. When Barney had mentioned he was thinking of taking a position in one of the London theatres, she had told him she did not think that was a good idea. He had left shortly afterwards and he had not written again for a full twelve months, by which time Vera had informed Josie that Barney had a la.s.s, a nice Sunderland la.s.s.

Barney's letter had stated that he understood Vera and Horace were coming to spend Christmas with Josie in her new home; she had cleared the last of Oliver's debts a few months previously and had purchased a small threebedroomed property in a quiet part of Richmond. The house was nothing grand, but it had a pleasant rear garden and the luxury of an indoor privy being part of a new development close to Richmond Park.

Josie could have afforded a larger property but she had fallen in love with the house - and especially the garden in which the builder had had the good sense to leave several mature trees - the first time she had viewed it, and it was more than large enough for her purposes. She invited Mrs Wilde to leave the colonel and housekeep for her - something the woman accepted with alacrity - and with one bedroom spare for guests the property was ideal.

So . . . Barney's letter had gone on, he felt he ought to write and let her know that Vera's legs weren't too good and he and Horace felt it best Barney made the journey down to London with them. He had business in the capital, he'd written, which would involve a couple of visits, so he could help Horace with Vera on the return journey too. He trusted his brief presence for a minute or two on both occasions would be acceptable?

Josie's letter to Barney saying that this would be quite in order crossed in the post with one from Hubert. Jimmy had been in touch, Hubert wrote, and he could scarcely believe it but the letter had come all the way from Australia. Jimmy hadn't said exactly what he was involved in out there - here Josie had bitten on her lip and tried to dismiss from her mind the hundreds of nefarious activities the newly formed country had to offer - nor had he given his address, but he had said he was fit and well and he just wanted his brother to know that.

Jimmy had wished his brother a long and happy life and had asked to be remembered to Josie and his other sisters - Josie didn't think she believed Hubert here, but it was nice of him to say Jimmy had thought of them - and had added that Hubert had to forget the past and everything that had happened; the only thing that mattered was the present and what you made of the future. He'd finished by saying he wouldn't be writing again.

Something had changed in Josie when she had read Hubert's letter. Call it a release or a deliverance or whatever - she couldn't really put a name to it and she didn't actually try - but suddenly the weight of the remorse and guilt she had carried for two years was lifted off her shoulders, and it had been instant. For days afterwards she awoke expecting the old self-condemnation to rear its head, but it did not return, and she couldn't understand why. Oliver was still dead, Jimmy had still committed murder, but for the first time in over two years she could see that none of it was her fault. Patrick Duffy had manipulated and caused all the events which had brought her family such misery, and the eventual showdown had been inevitable from the day she had defied him and her da and taken Gertie to Newcastle.

And as to her husband, dear Oliver, she had not betrayed him. She hadn't been able to stop loving Barney, but she had worked at her marriage 100 per cent. She would always regret Oliver's death, and she was so glad they had been happier than perhaps they'd ever been together in those last twenty-four hours, but she had to look to the future now.

She agonised for weeks as to how she was going to put all her newfound wisdom to Barney, but in the event she needn't have bothered. He came to the door with Vera and Horace but would not even stay for any refreshments, and Vera informed her that Barney's young lady was waiting in the carriage. Harriet had never seen the sights of London before and so they had all thought it would be nice for her to accompany them.

Harriet lasted until the summer; after that a Frances was on the scene briefly, followed by Esther who hung on for almost twelve months. Josie lost track of Barney's lady friends after that, although every time she saw Vera or her friend wrote to her, Vera always included the line, Barney wishes to be remembered to you.

So much had changed . . . Josie sat down again and commenced reading the paper to Lily, but her heart wasn't in it. Once she'd vowed she would never visit the north again, mainly because of her feelings for Barney, but now she spent several weeks each year in Sunderland and their paths hadn't crossed once. Hubert and Laura were the proud parents of three bairns; Ada and Dora now owned a guest-house by the sea in Hartlepool with money she had settled on them once she was on her feet again - Hartlepool was far enough from Sunderland for their past not to be known but near enough for them to feel they were home - and Gertie and Anthony were now running their own agency, and very successfully too. Prudence had married her Georgie and now had twin boys, and their birth had given Vera a new lease of life, especially with Prudence and Georgie renting a house a couple of streets away from Vera. According to Horace, who wasn't totally enamoured of the situation, if Prudence wasn't in their house it was a darn good bet it was because Vera was visiting Prudence's! Everyone was sorted. Everyone.

And she . . . she had her career. Her wonderful career. And it was wonderful, oh aye, it was, but lately she had become tired of the constant travelling and different venues, and she had told Timothy so. All her family were well set up now, and if she never sang again she had enough in the bank to live comfortably for the rest of her life, and support the establishment at the back of the Caledonian Market. That was still important to her. Timothy had been aghast at the prospect of her retiring from the halls but Josie had expected that, and in answer to what she'd do with her time she had answered that she would probably travel a little, but for pleasure rather than rus.h.i.+ng from one venue to another.

She might do the Grand Tour of Europe for a year or two; everyone said the Mediterranean climate was wonderful, and it was well known that travel broadened the mind in a way little else could.

Josie didn't reveal her ultimate plan to her agent; that of setting up an establishment which would be a secure and safe place for mothers with young bairns. For a long time now she had thought that if her mother had had somewhere to run to when she had first understood what her husband intended for their two oldest daughters, the whole pattern for the family would have been different.

Josie felt she had cut her teeth on the dwelling place for Lily and the other elderly women; she now knew what was involved in running and maintaining a large establishment. But the other home would be different. She had no illusions that such an undertaking would be easy, and no doubt she would have to employ at least one man to provide some sort of protection against angry husbands or fathers, but her beginnings had left a deep impression on her which had been enhanced further by her involvement in the Suffrage Movement. Women had virtually no protection in the male-dominated society in which they lived from males within their own family.

Timothy had been non-committal about her plans to travel, but he had made it plain he expected Josie to continue with the project he was in the process of setting up which had already cost him a great deal of time and trouble.

Josie was to complete a tour of New York and Was.h.i.+ngton, and she would have the honour of travelling on the maiden voyage of the t.i.tanic. He would arrange for her to perform nightly on the magnificent liner, Timothy had gone on, as further publicity for the tour.

Josie knew the tickets for this voyage were like gold dust, and she rather suspected Timothy's enthusiasm for her to appear with the band was financial more than anything else. This way she would not only travel to the venue in New York in style but get paid for the privilege. However, such deals were the mark of a good agent and she had no argument with the proposal. The t.i.tanic, the pride of the White Star fleet, had been launched in May the year before from the yards of Harland & Wolff in Belfast amid great publicity, and Josie, like everyone else in the country, was intrigued by the ma.s.sive s.h.i.+p which was proclaimed to be unsinkable because of its sixteen water-tight compartments. But this would be her swan song, she told Timothy. From Was.h.i.+ngton she would probably begin her trip to Europe, and a new stage of her life would begin.

Poor Timothy . . . Josie knew she had tried his patience since he had become her agent and she was a great disappointment to the dapper little man. She simply didn't fit into the role Timothy considered suitable for such a successful and popular music-hall star. She didn't live in an enormous house or drive one of the new motor car contraptions which were becoming all the rage; in fact, she didn't even keep her own horse and carriage, and all Timothy's persuasive powers regarding more fame and fortune had failed to move her from her intended plan.

However, one aspect of it all had caused Josie great heart-searching, if only Timothy knew. The tour, followed by the trip to Europe, would mean she was away from England for many months - possibly even a year or two - and both Vera and Lily were in poor health. She'd discussed her plans with them individually and they had both urged her to go. Vera had Horace and more especially Prudence's bairns to shower her time and attention on, and Lily was surrounded by friends in the home. 'Follow your heart, la.s.s,' Vera had said bracingly. 'Life's too short for regrets.'

Josie agreed with the sentiment but, probably because she was still worried about her two dear friends, she told herself, night after night she had begun to dream the old nightmare again. The dark sea, the overwhelming sense of fear and panic and everyone drowning, the screams and cries as relentless waters closed over their heads . . . When she awoke, gasping and damp with perspiration, she couldn't sleep for hours. But it was just a dream, it wasn't real; not like Oliver's death and her losing Barney. And she had lost him, he was gone from her as surely as Oliver. If he'd been inclined to offer anything more than friends.h.i.+p years ago, her behaviour in the aftermath of Oliver's death had convinced him otherwise.

She'd finally come straight out with it and made it plain to Vera a couple of Christmases ago that she didn't wish to hear what Barney was doing - and with whom. Vera invariably mentioned Betty's stepson, and Josie knew she was curious as to why the two of them had 'fallen out' as Vera had put it more than once.

'There was no falling out,' Josie had insisted over Christmas dinner. 'How could there be? There was nothing to fall out over. But Barney has his own life which he obviously enjoys very much and I have mine. That is all, Vera. And I would much prefer that we didn't mention Barney and the whole scenario again. All right?'

Vera had pressed her lips together and thrust her chin into her neck but at least she hadn't related further stories from that point regarding Barney's meteoric rise in the world of business on Josie's subsequent visits. As far as Josie was concerned that was all that mattered. Not that she'd minded hearing about that side of Barney's life in actual fact - she'd been glad of every success which had come his way - but Vera never had stopped there. Invariably the current girl - all 'good Sunderland la.s.ses' according to Vera - was brought up. If her old friend was to be believed, they were all apparently besotted with Barney; in fact, she led one to a.s.sume there was scarcely one female heart in the north which didn't beat a little faster when Barney Robson put in an appearance.

Five years ago Barney had entered into a partners.h.i.+p with one of the most highly respected businessmen in the town, and this man had had the vision to build a fine new theatre purely for the purpose of moving pictures which were becoming more and more popular with every year which pa.s.sed.

According to Vera it had all been a great success, the building, which held a thousand patrons and had cost 4000 to build, being full to capacity every night. Consequently Barney and his partner had gone on to build two more theatres in Newcastle on the same lines, so sure were they that this 'pa.s.sing fancy', as moving pictures had been labelled, was the entertainment of the future. The last Josie had heard before she had had her little talk with Vera, Barney had more projects further afield and the money was rolling in.

So, Josie thought now as the horse clip-clopped its way home, Barney had everything he wanted out of life. A different la.s.s for every day of the week - and the prestige of being a wealthy and influential businessman. And that was fine. Just fine. If that's what he wanted, she really didn't care. Which was why her mind continued to probe at the matter right until she descended from the carriage and paid the driver what she owed him.

So intent was she on her thoughts that she didn't notice the tall, well-built man standing across the other side of the road until he called her name, and then she turned and Barney was there in front of her. But a different Barney from the last time she'd seen him five years ago. Now the powerful-looking and strikingly handsome man in front of her was familiar only by the vivid clear green eyes. He seemed taller, broader somehow, and gone was the northern cap and working-cla.s.s persona. His suit looked to be of the finest tweed; his shoes of highly polished brown leather, and he was wearing his bowler hat confidently, as though he was used to the feel and fit of it.

Josie stared at him, her heart pounding so hard it constricted her breathing. For the life of her she couldn't say a word. Gone was the experienced and cosmopolitan lady who was equally at home in the most stately mansion or mean wretched hovel, and who knew exactly what to say to put those about her at their ease in both situations. The years had melted away, and Josie was back in Betty's scullery staring into the face of a handsome young man with startlingly green eyes, and she was as tongue-tied and shy as she'd been then.

'h.e.l.lo, Josie.'

His voice was the same, just the same, and she had to swallow hard before she could say, 'Barney, what a surprise,' in as natural a voice as she could manage with the blood singing through her veins like a torrent. Then, as a sudden thought struck, she said quickly, 'Vera? Is everything all right at home?'

'Yes, yes. Vera's fine, as far as I know.' This was not said soothingly as one might have expected, but in a tone which carried more than a touch of impatience. Josie watched him take a deep breath and his voice was more moderate when he said, 'Of course I should have expected you might think the worst. I'm sorry, it didn't occur to me.'

Talk. Say something. Act normal, for goodness' sake. The commands were there in her brain but she was utterly unable to obey them. She stared at him, her eyes wide, and it was with some effort that she said, 'You're . . . you're visiting London?'

It was a stupid remark in the circ.u.mstances and he made her doubly aware of this when he replied, 'Yes, Josie. As you can see, I am indeed visiting London.'

The spring weather was mild but not over-warm, but Josie felt herself beginning to perspire when, in the next instant, he reached out and took her hand, saying, 'I'm sorry. It's just that I'm nervous.'

He was nervous? This big, vigorous, commanding individual that was Barney and yet not Barney was nervous? This man who had had women galore according to Vera, and who had not tried to hide the fact? This last thought put a welcome shot of adrenalin where there had only been weakness and turmoil, and now Josie's voice was studiously polite. 'I don't quite understand.'

'Can we go inside?'

She suddenly became aware that they were standing in the street and he was still holding her hand and, her cheeks flus.h.i.+ng still more at what she had allowed, she said quickly, 'Oh of course, I'm sorry. Yes, do come in. I'll get Mrs Wilde to serve us some tea.'

Mrs Wilde came into the hall from the kitchen as they entered by the front door, and although she might have been extremely interested in Josie's visitor she didn't betray the fact as Josie introduced her to Barney.

Barney remained silent for a moment after they had walked into the sitting room and the door was shut behind them, Mrs Wilde scurrying away to make a tray of tea. He glanced about him, his green eyes narrowed, and Josie couldn't read anything in his face, so it surprised her when he said suddenly, 'This isn't what I expected.'