‘What’s up, love?’ asked her friend.
Lily looked at Sandy. ‘I’d like to leave now, but I don’t want to spoil Amy’s evening. Would you take her home?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Looking at Amy she asked, ‘Do you mind?’
‘No, of course not. You go on.’
Lily made her way quickly towards the door and with a final glare at Tom, she left.
He was shattered by her reaction.
‘Blimey! What did you say to Lily to send her away like that?’ asked Declan.
Tom, filled with guilt, snapped, ‘Just give me a pint and mind your own business.’ He drank his beer quickly and left, any wish to celebrate his good fortune far from his mind.
He let himself into the house, only to find Mary doubled up with pain.
‘Get the midwife, Tom,’ she gasped. ‘My contractions have started!’
Three hours later, Tom was still pacing up and down the living room, flinching every time he heard Mary cry out with pain. It seemed an eternity since he’d gone for the midwife and sent for Mary’s parents. After examining her patient, the midwife insisted on having the doctor in attendance. They were both with Mary now.
Jessy was making yet another pot of tea, her face pale and drawn. Bill, her husband, sat before the range puffing on his pipe. The atmosphere was tense.
There was another cry of pain from the bedroom and Tom gripped hold of a chair. His knuckles were white. ‘God! When’s this going to end?’
Jessy put a mug of tea on the table. ‘Drink this, son. The first baby sometimes takes a while. They won’t come into the world until they’re ready. The next one will be easier.’
‘The next one!’ Tom looked at her with horror. ‘I couldn’t put any woman through that again.’
She placed a comforting arm on his hand. ‘You’ll both forget all this when you hold your child in your arms.’
He grinned wryly. ‘I might, but will Mary?’
‘She will,’ she insisted. ‘You’ll see.’
The midwife came downstairs. ‘It’s a difficult birth,’ she explained. ‘The baby is a breech, you see. Your wife is so tense, it’s making things difficult.’ She looked appealingly at Tom. ‘Perhaps if you could come upstairs, comfort her, try to make her relax.’
‘Of course I will, if you think it will help.’
When Tom walked softly into the bedroom and crossed over to the bed, he was shocked to see how pale Mary was. Beads of perspiration shone on her forehead. He was filled with guilt, remembering his cruel words to her earlier that evening. Kneeling beside her, he took her hand in his. ‘Hello, darlin’.’
She turned on him. ‘Get out of here! It’s because of you I’m in so much pain. How could you do this to me and then ask for a divorce?’
‘I’m sorry, darlin’. I was angry. Now, don’t you fret none.’ He spoke calmly. ‘Listen, Mary, try and relax. The doctor said it will make things easier for you.’
She became even more petulant. ‘When did he last have a baby?’
The doctor hid a smile. ‘Take deep breaths, Mrs McCann,’ he urged. ‘Please try and do as I ask.’
Another contraction gripped her and she screamed out, ‘I hate this bloody baby!’
Tom squeezed her hand as the pain subsided. He smoothed her forehead. ‘Come on now, breathe deeply.’ His soft lilting voice calmed her, at last.
The doctor listened for the baby’s heartbeat through his stethoscope and frowned. ‘So far the baby isn’t in any trouble,’ he said quietly to Tom. ‘But it could be if this goes on much longer. Try and get her to breathe in and out slowly and evenly.’
Tom coaxed Mary to do the doctor’s bidding and she started to make an effort.
‘That’s better,’ encouraged the doctor. ‘Carry on like this and it will all be over soon.’
But Tom observed the worried look that passed between doctor and midwife, and he was filled with apprehension. He stayed beside the bed, calming his wife between contractions, bathing her forehead, talking to her. Deep inside he was filled with shame that he could have been so insensitive to her needs at this time.
The doctor and midwife worked hard trying to deliver the child. The sweat poured off the doctor’s brow and the midwife looked even more worried with every contraction.
Mary’s cries of pain went through Tom like a knife. He became more worried with every passing minute; seeing his wife’s exhaustion, he wondered if she would survive the trauma.
Eventually, ten hours after she went into labour, Mary gave birth to a son. They showed her the baby but she was too weary to hold the child. She looked at Tom and whispered, ‘You promised to take care of us both.’
He kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ll keep my word, darlin’. Have no fear. You just rest and get better. Don’t you worry about anything now. We’ll talk about it much later, when you’ve recovered.’
The nurse wrapped the baby in a towel and handed him to Tom. He looked at the puckered little face and his eyes filled with tears. Taking the child back from him, the nurse said, ‘Go down and tell the grandparents the good news. We have to take care of the mother now.’
Looking at the doctor Tom asked, ‘She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?’
The doctor took him aside. ‘She’s had a bad time, Mr McCann. She’s suffered greatly. Now leave us to do our job, and try not to worry.’
Tom made his way unsteadily down the stairs. ‘Mary’s had a son,’ he said in a flat voice.
‘And?’ asked Jessy.
‘The doctor said she’s had a bad time and sent me down here.’
Jessy covered her mouth with her hands. ‘Oh my God! I hope she’s going to be all right.’
Putting an arm around her shoulders, Tom said, ‘Of course she will be. We just have to wait.’
As he sat at the table, his head resting on his arms, Tom thought the silence was worse than the cries of pain. What was going on? He’d seen for himself that it had been a difficult birth. The look of fear and pain on Mary’s face would live with him for the rest of his life, as would the greyness of her complexion.
He felt so guilty about telling her he wanted a divorce. Even Lily had thought that was cruel, and now so did he. If only he’d not lost his temper, rushed into things. But it was too late for recriminations. The damage had been done. Had it added to the stress of the birth? If anything happened to Mary, how could he live with himself?
It was an hour later before the doctor summoned them all upstairs. Outside the bedroom he told them, ‘Mary is very tired and weak but, thank God, I think she’ll be all right. Stay for just a moment.’
Mary lay back against the pillows, her eyes closed. Her skin was almost translucent. Tom walked over to the bed and took her hand. Jessy and Bill stood on the other side. Bill struggled to hold back the tears.
His face white, Tom said, ‘Oh, my dear Mary, you didn’t deserve this. I’m so sorry.’ The baby stirred in its crib. ‘I promise you I’ll give our son everything you ever wanted him to have.’
She opened her eyes and looked at Tom as if she’d heard his words. Then she gave a weak smile, looked at her mother and father and closed her eyes.
The midwife ushered them all from the room.
Downstairs, the doctor had a word with Tom. ‘A breech is always a dangerous birth, Mr McCann. And your wife was so tense it made it worse. She’s badly torn. We had to stitch her.’
‘Nothing else?’ There was a tentative note in Tom’s voice.
‘What is it, my boy? You’ve something on your mind.’
With a sigh, Tom explained. ‘We were not happy, doctor, and earlier today we had a row and I told her I wanted a divorce. I feel dreadful now.’
The doctor took his arm. ‘Best not to dwell on it, my son. Just help her get over it all. Kindness goes a long way, you know. It’s none of my business, but you have a new life to care for. A child needs both its parents. Try to work things out.’
Tom nodded. ‘I will. Thank you, doctor.’
‘I’ll look in on her tomorrow, and I’ll leave the nurse here for tonight just to be sure. The mother is far too weak to breastfeed the baby, so it’ll have to go on the bottle.’
Jessy looked up as Tom entered the kitchen. Her heart went out to him and she felt pity for him. She’d been aware of the tension in the marriage, and she also knew that Mary was not the easiest person to live with, but it was the future of her grandchild that was her prime concern now.
‘Sit down, Tom. Let me get you a hot drink and a sandwich.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not hungry.’ He looked at Jessy. ‘How am I going to be able to look after him until Mary’s better?’
‘Bill and I have been discussing that very thing. I’ll take care of the baby for the time being, until Mary’s back on her feet and able to cope.’
‘I can’t expect you to do that.’
‘Why not? Look, you have to work to provide for your son. How else can you manage? I’ll take care of them both. After all, Mary’s my daughter, and women are better at these things. You go about your work.’
Tom slipped upstairs and looked for the second time at his child. His little fist was closed tightly. His face was red and on top of his head grew a wisp of hair. Tom smiled as he studied him. ‘Look,’ he said to the nurse, pointing at the small fist. ‘He looks as if he’s ready for a fight.’
She tucked the blanket tighter around the small figure. ‘Well, if you think about it, he had a fight to come into the world, didn’t he?’
Tom nodded and, remembering the difficult birth, said, ‘That he did.’ He smoothed the little hand gently. ‘If I can make life easier for him, I will,’ he promised. He gazed at his wife, now asleep. She looked so frail, so unlike the strident harridan he’d known. He knew now he couldn’t leave her. They would have to work out their future together. Somehow.
For once the club was really busy. Vittorio had put on a special gourmet meal at a reduced price which had tempted several clients to return. And as one of the liners was in dock, it was full of catering officers and other of the ship’s higher echelons. They were not concerned with the scandal and the bad name of the club. Why should they be? They were constantly in and out of the port, so it didn’t affect them at all. They just wanted an evening’s entertainment within easy reach of their ship. Tonight was ideal.
Vittorio was making his round of the tables, joshing with his clients, making sure they were happy, when he saw Ned Saunders, Chief Steward of the
Olympic
, arrive.
Slapping Vittorio on the back, Ned said, ‘Got a table for me?’
Vittorio said, ‘I’m sure we can fit you in somewhere. I heard you were away on a cruise.’
‘Yes. We docked this afternoon.’ Once he was settled, Ned ordered his meal and waited for Lily to perform.
The girl was even lovelier than he remembered. Her black sequined gown clung to her curvaceous figure, and her magnetic personality dominated the room. He looked over to the bar and saw Vittorio watching her too. Ned’s eyes became thoughtful as he saw the expression on the other man’s face. Over the years he’d seen him with many women, some who for a time had become his mistress, and he’d admired the casual, even contemptuous way in which The Maltese treated them. But this was different.
Up on the stage Lily was singing, thrilled to see the club so busy. It would be wonderful if they could work up this amount of trade when they refurbished the rooms. When she noticed Ned among the patrons, watching her, she felt her skin crawl. After their first encounter, she’d always managed to make an excuse if she saw him in the club, and avoid any further contact. She knew that Vittorio and Ned had a business arrangement, and was aware that much of the meat and spirits for the club came from the
Olympic
. She was determined that if she had the opportunity, that arrangement would cease.
When she finished her act, she pretended not to see Ned’s wave and walked towards the bar. Soon he was standing beside her. He placed a hand around her waist and she angrily pushed it away. ‘I told you once before I don’t like being mauled!’
Ignoring her comment he said, ‘How would you like to work for me?’
Lily wasn’t expecting this. ‘What?’
The Chief Steward looked around the club. ‘I wouldn’t mind a little place like this. Set me up nicely for my retirement. Perhaps Vittorio would sell it to me.’
She burst out laughing. ‘This place isn’t for sale, Mr Saunders, and I would rather starve on the street than work for you.’
He watched her walk away, his body rigid with anger. ‘Little jumped-up bitch!’ he muttered under his breath.
Upstairs, Lily walked into the bedroom, tired out and longing just to creep into bed and sleep. She prayed that Vittorio would be as tired. Laid out on the bed was an exquisite ivory-coloured nightdress and matching negligée. She stood, staring with disbelief and delight, and inspected the gowns, which were obviously expensive.
She ran a bath and soaked in the hot water, scented with crystals. What a very strange man Vittorio was, she mused. But lately he seemed to have changed towards her. After that night when he’d taken her so roughly, he’d become more gentle. She knew she wasn’t in love with him, but there was something indefinable between them. She respected him and they shared a deep affection. In business he might be a hard man, but not with her. In their own way, they were happy together.
She dried herself, then slipped into the nightdress and looked at her reflection in the mirror. The satin clung to her body, emphasizing her curves. The thin straps topped a lace bodice which showed the soft contours of her breasts. She slipped on the negligée as the bedroom door opened.
Turning, she looked shyly at Vittorio as he walked towards her. He undid his tie, took off his jacket and, to her surprise, threw it casually over the back of the chair. He removed his shirt, then putting out his hand, slowly drew her into his arms.
‘You look adorable, my dear,’ he said in a deep husky voice.
‘I don’t know what to say, Vittorio. I know you usually like me to wear black when I’m in bed.’
He drew her closer. ‘You look tantalising in black, but tonight I wanted you to look more virginal. Don’t say anything. Just kiss me.’
Coiling her arms around his neck, she put her lips softly on his. He responded gently, moving his mouth over hers, exploring the contours of her lips. His hands caressed her back, pressing her body into his.