CHAPTER 1
It wasn’t that she was a difficult child, but... there just has to be a but. There very often is. She wasn’t exactly easy, either. Her parents were, perhaps, the real problem, if problem there was. They were fairly conventional types themselves, holding conventional attitudes, reacting to any given circumstance with predictable behaviour. In the days when the Empire was still strong, when nice girls didn’t, before women’s lib was anything more than the germ of an idea, the Fosters were pillars of their local society, having no ideas of their own, and no attitudes beyond the, well, conventional. There simply is no other word that describes so well and so accurately.
Catriona, then, had been a disappointment. Not for anything she had done. Certainly not for anything she had not done. It was more for what she was. A girl. Not only a girl, but the elder child, as the boy, John, had come later. John. The son. The much wanted heir to the family fortunes. On his arrival, Catriona had taken second place, and had been brought up to consider that such was perfectly normal, and perfectly desirable.
It was only later that she began to realise, at first dimly then with growing awareness, that she may have been cheated. With good intentions, of course, always with good intentions, but cheated just the same. Not that the matter worried her greatly. On the death of his father, John became manager, and shortly afterwards, sole owner of the family business. Catriona wasn’t certain just what it was she wanted to do, but certainly it didn’t include serving behind a counter, smiling at strangers and rubbing the hands together in a way which she always felt looked a bit smarmy. She always felt it was a bit off putting to customers. Certainly it always put her off.
Not that she was forgotten totally. Girl she might have been, but she was loved as much as the boy. Well, almost as much. On the death of her parents, she was left a few thousand pounds which went quite a long way at the time. And in addition - ‘There’s always a job in the High Street shop for you,’ offered her brother.
‘Thanks, John, but I think not. The business is yours. You’ve made it what it is. I’d just be another shop assistant. I think I can do something a bit better than that.’
Poor John. Brought up with old fashioned attitudes, he never saw the need to modernise, preferring to believe that personal service was sufficient. It wasn’t. Oh, lip service was given to the idea, but in the end, it was self service that won the day. He retired twenty years too early, having lost the race between bankruptcy and death, bewildered at the failure of the business, incapable of understanding just why it had failed. Catriona helped out financially for a while from her own dwindling resources until those too ran dangerously low. Long before this state of affairs, however, Catriona did a short course in a college of further education as a comptometer operator, and even found work as such. The job lasted less than a year before she and her skills became redundant as a result of a booming computer industry in which the latest technology was permanently out of date by the time it reached the consumer. Directed to a shorthand and typewriting course, she found that nobody wanted her new skills either. In desperation, she took a couple of GCE ‘O’ level courses, but dropped out before the examinations as it became clear that she would never pass, let alone gain any respectable grade. The experiences embittered her and turned her sour.
She did as many women had done before her and sought refuge in marriage. But not just any marriage. It had to be something special, she decided. Not special in the romantic, moon, June, spoon way. Love? Well, yes, if it came along, but it had to be love with a practical aspect. Take Harry, for instance. Anybody, please take him. He’s a bit of a nuisance, she thought to herself in her private and darker moments, knowing she was being unfair to him. He was all right in an every day sort of way, a bit quieter than she would have preferred, but always there at any rate. He was someone to fall back on when anything more interesting failed to turn up. She knew he would marry her if she agreed. She knew because he had asked, one day in a not very romantic way, after one of their dancing sessions, while walking her home. Caught by surprise, still hot and tired from the evening’s exercise, she had been foolish enough to say yes, but immediately regretting it, had asked him to keep it secret for a while. Wait, she had said, until we can afford to get married.
She sighed with a pensive sound. She was, when all was said and done, rather fond of Harry, and he seemed to be very fond of her in his quiet, unassuming way. In fact, it wasn’t stretching the truth to say that he loved her. She thought that she probably loved him too, but nothing more than probably. Harry’s trouble was that he was too quiet, too unassuming, too ready to let people walk over him. That his employer took him for granted was well known. That his friends, such as they were, hardly noticed his presence until someone was needed to do a piece of tedious work, was equally well known. Except to Harry, who seemed not to notice when he was being taken advantage of.
Catriona, of course, never took advantage of him. Or at least, she thought uncomfortably, hardly ever. Sometimes, she had cancelled a date with him in order to go out with somebody else with a bit more life in them. She understood why, of course. Being brought up in an orphanage, or whatever the modern term for the place was, meant that he never learned to express his emotions as freely as most. Not only that, it was in his character to be led. Or so she thought.
Catriona sighed again, bending from the waist to inspect her face in the mirror, then smoothing down her skirt, conscious of the fact that she looked as good underneath as she did on top. Why she bothered to dress well she didn’t know. A matter of feminine pride, she supposed, since Harry never passed comment on how she looked at all. Certainly he appreciated neatness and tidiness, as his own appearance testified, but all her own efforts passed apparently unnoticed. She often wondered if she shouldn’t cut her losses and give him up. Simon would take her on, she knew. Simon would marry her like a shot. So would one or two others with a little bit of encouragement. She was quite a catch, she knew, her parents being amongst the wealthier inhabitants of the town. She had no false illusions about that. The trouble was, she wasn’t quite certain that she wanted to marry just to be a bed companion for someone. There had to be more to marriage than that. Love? Passion? Well, why not? Money and status wouldn’t go amiss, either. On three of the four counts at least, Harry failed to meet the standards she had set. The doorbell rang. The door opened and closed. There was a murmur of voices, than silence again. Catriona went downstairs.
’Hello Harry. Dead on time as usual.’ He stood on his own in the passage. Whoever had let him in hadn’t thought to take him into the living room where it was more comfortable. Typical. As typical as Harry’s being on time. Precise, that was Harry. He never did anything out of the ordinary. He was so predictable, so ordinary, so boring. If she ever married him, this is what life would be like.
’Where to tonight, Harry?’ asked Catriona.
’Well, where would you like to go?’ he countered.
That was typical too. Not that he was incapable of making decisions, but preferred to leave such onerous tasks to others whenever possible. Well, at least, he never complained about her choices of activity. Not that she minded taking the lead, but there were some things a man should do for himself.
’It’s a nice evening, Harry. How about a walk? I’ve been locked up in the office all day, and a bit of exercise wouldn’t come amiss.’
’All right. I don’t mind. I’ve been indoors myself.’
By unspoken but common consent, they wended their way out of town and along a lane that led round the back of the town, a favourite walk and resting place of many a young couple. Tonight, they had the countryside to themselves.
’I did hear,’ said Catriona, ’that the quarry is going to be filled in. It’s just about worked out. How about going up there and taking a last look before it disappears?’
’All right,’ said Harry. ’I don’t mind.’
He helped her across the stile like a gentleman, looking the other way when the breeze blew her skirts high. As a punishment, Catriona released his hand while walking across the field, not relenting until reaching the lip of the quarry itself. This time it was Harry who released hands. Catriona looked back in surprise.
’It’s a lovely view from here, Harry. Well, a rather ugly view really, considering it’s just an old gravel pit with some big machinery in it, but impressive anyway. Just look at the depth of it.’
’Er, no thanks,’ came the reply. ’I’d rather not go too near the edge.’
She looked a question at him.
’I’m not very good with heights,’ he explained. ’ I can see quite well from here, though.’
Catriona sighed for the third time, and not, she considered, for the last time tonight either.
’Be careful, Catriona.’
She grimaced. Be careful, she thought. Good old stick in the mud Harry. She felt suddenly irritated.
’What’s up? Afraid we might fall? If we go crashing down, people might think we’ve committed suicide. A lover’s pact, you know. Where’s your spirit of adventure, Harry?’
He smiled weakly, but said nothing. Oh well, what more did she expect? He’d never make anything of his life. Reluctantly, she came back from the edge.
’It’s a beautiful sunset, Harry. Let’s sit down here for a bit.’
He took his coat off and spread it for her to sit on. She accepted the offer gracefully, patting the ground beside her in a gesture of forgiveness as a signal for him to sit alongside, then smoothing out the coat in order to make it more comfortable. He was really rather sweet and very considerate in little ways like that, she thought. Something shiny caught her attention.
’What’s that, I wonder,’ she said, reaching out in the short grass. ’Why, it’s an old coin on a chain. I wonder where that came from.’
Harry went tense. ’Let me see. Yes, that’s mine. It must have fallen out of my pocket when I took my coat off. Give me it back, please.’
’Well, let me take a look at it first. It’s a tiny one. What is it?’
’It’s just an old sixpence, that’s all.’
’Yes, I can see that, but what is it? A lucky charm or something. No, I know, it’s a present from a girl friend. You’ve been playing me false, Harry, haven’t you?’
’No, it’s nothing of the sort,’ said Harry, sounding slightly frantic. ’Please, Catriona. You’ve seen it. Let me have it.’
’Not until you tell me more about it. You’re hiding something, Harry. No you don’t.’
As Harry made a grab for it, Catriona closed her hand around the coin, and stood up, holding it high in the air and out of reach.
’It’s mine now,’ she said. ’You can have it only if you tell me all about it. It’s a mystery, and I love mysteries. Come on, start talking.’
’Catriona.’ Harry shifted from one foot on to the other. ’There is no story. No mystery. It’s just a coin, that’s all. Stop fooling about and return it. It’s not yours.’
’Oh you are the limit, Harry,’ said Catriona, suddenly losing interest. ’You’re no fun at all. You can’t take a joke. Here, keep your silly sixpence. I’m going home. You know where to find me if you want me.’
With that, she threw the coin at him. He reached out his hand, but failed to catch the spinning disc, which disappeared over the edge of the quarry. They could hear it tinkling as it hit something on the way down, then there was silence. Harry turned a stricken face to the girl.
’Where did it go? Where did it go?’ he asked, rushing to the fence, vaulting it and peering over into the depths below. Small stones and tufts of grass crumbled under his feet, slipping and sliding down in a none too miniature avalanche as he scrabbled for a firm purchase.
’Harry!’ screamed Catriona in sudden fear. ’Harry, you’ll fall. The edge is giving way. Come back to this side of the fence.’
He took no notice, searching desperately this way and that.
’Harry. I can see it. It’s on the crane. Come back here and I’ll show you.’
He turned, almost agonisingly and joined her in safety.
’Where is it?’ he asked.
’There, just where I’m pointing. On the crane, along the horizontal bit, about half way along.’
Sure enough, a sparkle of brightness could be clearly distinguished against a background of rust and dirt. The jib of the crane was high, and tucked in close to the side of the quarry nearest to them. The coin could be seen, its chain wrapped round a protruding screw head, only some fifteen feet or so away, but with a head swirling drop between it and the watchers.
’I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to do that.’ She drew in her breath. ’It’s a good job it’s not valuable. I’ll give you another one.’
’It is valuable,’ said Harry, with a curiously tight tone of voice. ’To me. And I don’t want another, I want that one.’
’Well, you can’t get it, can you? I mean, an olympic athlete might manage to jump across from here, but how he would get back again I can’t imagine. It’s lost, Harry. Accept it. I said I’m sorry. What more can I do?’
’You can watch while I get it back if you like. Or you can go home, as you said. It doesn’t really matter. But I am going to get it back.’
Without a further word, Harry made his determined way along the fence to the steep path that led to the floor of the quarry. Catriona stood where she was and observed his progress, unsure of what he intended, feeling slighted at the brusque way he had spoken to her. That wasn’t like him at all. It showed a side of him she had never suspected, and wasn’t at all sure she liked, though if she was to be honest, something she had no intention of being, she felt that she may just have deserved it on this occasion. Harry reached the foot of the crane. Already he seemed pygmy size. Catriona looked in horror as he began to climb slowly and painfully up the vertical ladder fixed to the outside of the tower, step after step, resting at frequent intervals. After what seemed like a lifetime, he reached the top, and holding on wherever possible with both hands, he shuffled sideways along the jib, ducking underneath the cross girders as he came to them. He came to an unsteady halt, the jib rocking considerably from side to side in the strong wind that blew at that height, scores of feet above the ground, yet only a few paces away from Catriona’s ashen face. He stooped with difficulty and reached forward with his right hand.
’Have you got it?’ she asked with trembling voice.
’Yes.’ The reply was short and strained. He looked down and closed his eyes, swaying with dizziness, then started the long journey back to the ground, a journey that took considerably longer than going up. Once he slipped, not far from the top, and her hands went over her mouth as he hung by his hands, scrabbling furiously for a foothold. Catriona was waiting for him as he came along the path again. Her face was scarlet now, flushed with righteous anger, mixed with a release of the stark fear she had felt on his behalf.
’Are you satisfied now?’ she scolded. ’What do you think you are? A circus acrobat? Why on earth did you do such a stupid thing? You might have killed yourself. How would I have explained that to anyone? Of all the pointless, idiotic, stupid things to do. And what for? An old coin of no value at all. Were you trying to impress me or something, because if so, it didn’t work.’
She went on at great length for several minutes, hardly stopping for breath as she expelled her fright. Slowly she ran down and stopped, looking at Harry uncomprehendingly. Strangely, he made no effort to defend himself, but simply stood in front of her, silent and expressionless, shirt sleeve torn and smeared with black grease. His shoulders were drooped and his head hung slightly low. The coin dangled on its chain which he had placed around his neck as he returned to ground level. The metal glinted in the late evening sun. For a long time he stood like that, then opened his mouth and spoke quietly.
’I wanted my sixpence back. I’ve got it. Yes, I’m satisfied.’
Catriona spoke harshly. ’I’m going home, Harry. I can’t take any more. Don’t bother to come with me. I don’t think I want to see you again. You frighten me.’
She turned and walked rapidly along the footpath leading away from the quarry. On reaching the stile she looked back. Harry was still at the other end of the field, not having moved, staring at her lifelessly. In anger, she fluffed her skirts well up above her knees as she climbed over the fence. Let him look the other way if he wants to, she thought savagely. I don’t care. He’s the one that’s missing out, not me. I should put them up above the waist, then he’d have something to gape at. As if he would. As if he cared. He wouldn’t know what to do with a girl if she offered herself free.
A solitary figure slowly came out of his trance like state and equally slowly walked back home to clean up and ponder on what had transpired that evening. He picked up the telephone on the following evening and rang a well practised number, putting down the receiver before the dialling tone had sounded three times. The day after, his figure could have been seen by anyone who cared to look, standing outside Catriona’s house, finger poised over the bell. He left without pressing it. Twice he started writing, then tore up the offending page without finishing.
Two weeks passed. Fourteen dismal days. Three hundred and thirty six hours, or twenty thousand one hundred and sixty miserable minutes, give or take a quarter of an hour or so. For the third time, Harry took out a fresh sheet of writing paper, staring at it as though the words he wished to express would miraculously write themselves.
At the other end of the town, quite fifteen minutes drive away if not getting stopped too often by traffic lights, Catriona left the house with a young man who resembled Harry in the sense that they both had the conventional number of limbs, but who otherwise had very little in common. Some hours later, she returned home and put her key in the lock, turning to wave briefly at her escort sitting in the car. She stood on the front step for a long moment, pondering on the events of the evening, remembering with mixed feelings how she had been kissed and how a hand had smoothed itself over certain parts of her body which were not normally available for caresses. It felt good to be wanted, but she couldn’t help wishing that the hand had belonged to someone else. It was with a sense of unease that she realised she wasn’t sure just who that someone else might be.
The front door opened and closed. A peek at the clock. Five past eleven. Catriona entered the living room, draped her coat over the sofa and sank into an armchair facing her mother. For a while there was silence apart from the hissing of the gas fire. Her daughter, thought Mrs. Foster, looks a little flushed. She has something to tell me.
’Have a nice evening, love?’
’Yes thanks, mum. Er... Simon proposed to me tonight.’
’Congratulations.’ Mrs. Foster put her sewing down and glanced at Catriona sharply. ’Or is it too early for that?’
’Probably not. I told him I’d think about it.’
’Aren’t you sure?’
’I don’t know. Yes. Yes, I’m sure.’
’I see,’ said the older woman placidly. ’Want a cup of tea?’
’No thanks, mum. I’ll just go to bed. I’m rather tired.’
’Oh, I almost forgot. There’s a letter for you. Over there, on the table. It came some time during the evening, though I’m sure I don’t know exactly when.’
Wondering, Catriona picked up the envelope. There was no stamp, so it had obviously been delivered personally. Naturally, since there was no postal delivery in the evening. She recognised the writing. It was from Harry. Not being well paid, he didn’t have a car, so he must have walked with it. Even if he took a bus to the town centre, it didn’t save much in distance. A good three hour walk as a round trip. With a pang of guilt, she realised that he had often made the same walk in order to take her out, something she had all too frequently taken for granted, instead of picking him up in her own car, which she could easily have done. Oh well, it was too late now.
She fingered the envelope as she went upstairs, but didn’t open it. It remained on her bedside table all night, accusingly. She woke up in low spirits, picked up the envelope again and began to tear the seal, desisting as soon as she had started. It was no good. She wasn’t going to marry Harry. After the way he had treated her, she found it hard to forgive him. Excitement in life was all very well, but being terrified like that! No thank you. She wasn’t certain that she was going to marry Simon, either, even though she had accepted both proposals. At least, she thought she had accepted Simon’s. Oh Lord, what a mess. Help me to get out of it, please, she prayed.
Well, a start could be made, she thought with determination. She picked up Harry’s letter and carried it downstairs, placing it on the living room fire, watching as it shrivelled and blackened to a fine ash. With frustration in her heart, she dressed swiftly and came back downstairs to search the newspapers. Her fingers flickered rapidly through the pages until she found what she wanted. Situations vacant. Shop assistant. Not on your life, she murmured to herself. I could have that without effort right here in the family business. Well, John’s business, really. Another shop assistant. Still no good. Secretary. Not bad, but needs typing and shorthand. What’s this? Train as a comptometer operator. Join the booming computer industry. Learn new skills which are in high demand. Help given in finding suitable, well paid jobs at the end of your course. Hm, sounds interesting, or would be if I knew what a comptometer was, she thought. Not that it matters. The course is in another town, well away from here. Scissors. Snip, snip. A glance at the clock. After nine. Telephone. Short conversation. Satisfaction. If nothing else, it would help to keep her out of the way of too many entanglements, entanglements she couldn’t cope with. Better to make a fresh start.