The Fisher Lass Read online

  Since the alliance of the two companies through marriage, the ties had become even stronger and following the death of Henry Hathersage the two companies had merged and become the Gorton-Hathersage Trawler Company Limited. Samuel Hayes-Gorton took the Chairman’s position and Francis, Managing Director. With Edwin as Company Secretary, Robert had only a seat on the Board as a Director. There was no useful position and little for him to do in the day-to-day running of the business. His role, he thought bitterly, was, and always had been, merely a means to an end.

  Well, they all had the ‘end’ they had wanted now. Even Louise was quite happy with the money she received as a major shareholder, though she had never bothered to attend so much as one meeting of the Board.

  ‘Of course, Mummy’s got an annuity for life but everything else comes to me,’ Louise had informed Samuel Hayes-Gorton and his three sons after the reading of her father’s will. ‘But I don’t want anything to do with the business.’ She had fluttered her eyelashes and looked at each of the men in turn. ‘What does silly little me know about boats and the price of fish. So, Robert is to have – what did the solicitor man call it, darling?’

  ‘Power of attorney.’

  ‘Oh yes. It means Robert can sign anything on my behalf. All I want,’ she giggled prettily, ‘is the money.’

  ‘My dear Louise,’ Francis had risen from his chair behind his desk and come round it to take her slim hand in his and raise her fingers to his lips, ‘your business could not be in safer hands than your husband’s and his fellow board members.’ He waved his hand to encompass himself, Edwin and their father. ‘You leave everything to us, my dear, and you just enjoy yourself spending the money we make for you.’

  ‘Oh Francis, you say the sweetest things. You must come to dinner on Friday. Mustn’t he, Robert?’

  ‘Of course,’ Robert murmured dutifully.

  ‘That’s settled then,’ Francis said as he opened the door for her. Louise, clad in a suit with a fur stole around her shoulders and a hat with a pheasant’s feather, kissed the air beside her brother-in-law’s cheek.

  ‘See you Friday,’ she trilled as she left the office, but Robert had the distinct feeling that Francis had not been referring to her invitation to dine, but to the official amalgamation of the two companies which had long been his ambition.

  Since then, Francis had set about systematically acquiring not only all the other small shipping companies in Havelock, but he had begun also to buy out the service industries including engineering and ship repairing, coaling and even cod liver oil production and net making.

  Net making, Robert thought, immediately reminded him of Jeannie. If his brother had his way, all the nets would be made in one of his factory units and the women who worked in their own homes would lose a valuable source of a little extra income for their families.

  ‘By God, the ingratitude.’ Samuel was still shouting, bringing Robert’s wandering thoughts back to the present and the bombshell he had just dropped. ‘After all I’ve done for you, this is the thanks I get. Your duty is here with the family business and even more so if there is going to be a damned war.’ He paused, waiting for some response from his son. When none came, he threatened, ‘Well, if you go, boy, you go without my blessing. You’ll have no part in this company ever again. I’ll have you voted off the Board and I’ll cut you out of my will.’

  ‘Father, I’m superfluous in this company and you know it.’ Robert’s mouth tightened. ‘The only useful purpose I have ever served was to be the means of an alliance between the Gorton and the Hathersage companies.’

  Samuel’s face turned purple. ‘You make it sound like a business transaction, boy, instead of a marriage between two people, who—’

  ‘It was,’ Robert said curtly. ‘You and old man Hathersage concocted the idea between you. She was his only daughter, his only child, and more than anything he wanted a grandson. You saw your chance to build your empire. But why me? Why the second son? Why not Francis?’

  His father glanced away now, suddenly embarrassed under the scrutiny of his two sons. He cleared his throat and said gruffly, ‘Francis would have broken the poor girl’s heart in a fortnight. The – er – kind of life he leads. You knew that at the time.’

  Robert nodded slowly. ‘The only trouble is, we weren’t in love with each other. Not then, not now. You know she spends nearly all her time in London. Has done for years. She’s there now, has been for the past week. That so-called home I bought was a last-ditch effort to try to make the marriage work. Well, I failed.’

  Samuel, still belligerent, wagged his finger towards his son. ‘You should have given her a child, boy. That’d’ve made her stay at home instead of gallivanting to the city every five minutes. You should have—’

  ‘I tried, oh I tried, believe you me. But she wouldn’t let me near her. Never has. Why do you think we came back from honeymoon early? Why do you think I spent the whole of my inheritance from my grandmother on a house for her? Why do you think I indulge her every whim?’ Robert leant towards his father and slowly and deliberately, said, ‘The marriage has never been consummated.’

  Now Samuel’s mouth dropped open. ‘What?’

  ‘You heard,’ Robert said bluntly. ‘And now it never will be, because I’ve no taste for it either.’

  ‘Really?’ Now there was sarcasm in his father’s tone. ‘Maybe not with your wife, but from what I’ve heard you’re not above trips to a terraced house in Baldock Street.’

  It felt as if a knife had been driven in just below his ribcage and Robert almost gasped aloud at the force of it. He stood rigidly still for a moment and then let out a long breath. So, he thought, Jeannie had had good reason to stop him going to her home. If the rumours had even reached his father, then they must certainly be rife around the docks. He pulled in a breath now and then sighed heavily. ‘Like I said, I’m not much use around here anyway. You’re still head of the company. Francis, for all his dissolute ways, has a superb business sense. He’s proved that over the last few years. He just about controls the whole of the fish docks. And Edwin here, well, he runs the office side of things like clockwork. So what exactly is my role? Tell me, because I’d really like to know.’

  For a moment Samuel blustered, refuting Robert’s words, but then his voice trailed away leaving unfinished sentences.

  ‘Precisely,’ Robert said quietly and calmly now. ‘Even you can’t define my usefulness, can you? Look, Father, I don’t want to quarrel with you. That’s the last thing I want, but I want to do something useful with my life. And if,’ he added sadly, ‘you don’t want me to be a part of the family business in the future, well,’ he paused before saying, ‘then so be it.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ Edwin’s quiet voice put in now, with such a firmness in his tone that both Samuel and Robert looked at him in surprise.

  ‘Now, don’t you start—’ Samuel began, but Edwin said, ‘Father, the company, one day, will come to the three of us. The three Hayes-Gorton brothers. Nothing is going to change that. Francis and I wouldn’t want it any different.’

  ‘Don’t you try to tell me how to arrange my own affairs.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Edwin said. He remained unruffled and there was even a small smile on his lips. ‘I’m just saying that whatever happens, whatever Robert decides to do . . .’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘Whatever you leave in your will, Robert will always be a part of this company. Francis and I will see to it.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ Samuel sat down suddenly and heavily in his chair and rocked backwards. ‘The young cubs ousting the old fox, eh?’

  Edwin laughed. ‘Oh, I think there’s plenty of bark still left in the wily old fox yet, don’t you?’

  Robert looked on in amazement. His younger brother was really showing his mettle these days. Edwin turned and laid a hand on Robert’s shoulder. ‘I don’t want you to leave the company, old chap, but you must do what you want to do. And – and I’m sorry if I’ve taken the role that should
rightly be yours.’

  Robert shook his head. ‘You haven’t. You’re brilliant at the administration side. You’ve a head for figures and accountancy that I’ve never had. I couldn’t do it anyway. Any more than I could wheel and deal like Francis does. I haven’t got his – er – business acumen.’ The two brothers exchanged a glance and smiled slightly at one another.

  ‘Have you told Francis?’ their father put in, glaring at Edwin. ‘Are you sure he feels the same way?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Edwin said and added confidently, ‘but he will.’

  Samuel grunted. ‘Where is he, anyway?’

  Again the two brothers exchanged a glance.

  ‘In London,’ Robert said and he could not keep the edge of bitterness from his tone as he added pointedly, ‘he’s been there the past week.’ Then, with the deliberate intention of giving his father food for thought, food that might well give him indigestion, he said slowly, ‘Perhaps Francis should have been your chosen bridegroom for Louise, after all.’

  ‘So, your fancy man’s running away to sea, is he?’

  Jeannie glanced quickly at her husband and then away again. ‘What are you talking about?’ Then deliberately she added, ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘As if you didn’t know,’ Tom sneered.

  She turned to face him now. ‘Aye, I ken. And I’m tired of it. You shouldna listen to the neighbours’ blether. Mr Robert used to come here to see his nephew or to bring money for his keep. But he hasna been for years. You know that, yet still you accuse me of all sorts of dreadful things that are . . .’ she stepped towards him and thrust her face close to his, ‘that are not going on. D’you hear me?’ She tossed her head and added, ‘And whilst we’re on the subject, why is your first port of call when you come ashore always to see her? Not quite the actions of a devoted husband, is it?’

  Tom was visibly flustered. ‘I don’t. I mean, it isn’t.’

  ‘Really?’ Now it was Jeannie’s turn for sarcasm.

  ‘I do see her. Now and again . . .’ he blustered and as Jeannie’s eyes flashed resentment he put out his hand as if to fend off an expected attack. ‘Not for that, Jeannie. I promise you. Never for that. I never have. But – but . . .’

  ‘But what then?’

  ‘There’s things about Aggie Turnbull and this family – our family – that you don’t understand.’

  ‘Eh?’ Now Jeannie was surprised. ‘What things?’

  ‘I can’t tell you. Maybe some day, but not now.’

  ‘Huh,’ Jeannie snorted. ‘Well, I’ve heard some excuses in my time, but that’s a new one. I’ll ask your mother.’

  ‘No,’ Tom was shouting now. ‘No, you won’t. I forbid you to.’

  ‘Forbid me?’ Jeannie retorted. ‘How dare you say such a thing to me?’

  ‘Jeannie, please, don’t say anything to me mam. It’ll hurt her too much.’

  Slowly, Jeannie nodded. ‘Very well then, but only for that. And one day you’ll tell me what you’re on about.’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Och there’s no “maybe” about it, Tom Lawrence. You will.’ She paused and then asked, feeling in control now, ‘So, what was it you were saying about Mr Robert?’

  ‘He’s joined the Royal Navy, they reckon. Gone away to sea. Though why he didn’t just ship aboard one of his own trawlers, beats me. He could have pulled rank, as they say, and skippered a Gorton boat if he’d been so desperate to go to sea. More fool him, I say.’

  Jeannie turned away hardly listening to Tom now. He didn’t even come to say goodbye, was all she could think.

  Twenty-Nine

  A few months later, at the beginning of 1939, Tom startled Jeannie by announcing that he, too, was going to join the RNVR.

  ‘You?’ she said unable to keep the surprise from her tone. ‘But if war is declared, you’d be one of the first to have to go.’

  ‘I know.’ Tom, now approaching his mid-thirties, ran his hand through his hair. He had never achieved promotion, not even to third-hand status never mind mate or skipper, but had remained a deckie all his working life. It was, Jeannie knew, because he was unreliable.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘All the lads are joining. You know, a sort of “Pals Battalion”. A bit like they did in the last lot. And it’s the obvious choice for fishermen. They reckon if the balloon does go up, the Navy will be commandeering our ships anyway. I s’pose it makes sense,’ Tom shrugged. ‘There won’t be much point in us trying to fish in the North Sea when it’s alive with enemy submarines. And there’s no point in the trawlers lying idle if there’s a useful job for them to do.’

  ‘Tom,’ she said, placing her hand on his arm and looking up into his face, ‘don’t – don’t let yourself be pushed into doing something you don’t really want do. I mean, just for the sake of – of how it looks.’

  He stared down at her, his blue eyes troubled, his mouth tight. And then he put his arms about her and drew her to him, resting his chin on the top of her head. ‘Oh Jeannie. You know, don’t you? Have you always known, how I fear the sea?’

  She moved her head against his chest in a tiny movement of denial. ‘No,’ she said, her voice muffled against him. ‘Not at first, but I began to realize.’

  ‘When I missed a trip at the slightest opportunity, you mean?’

  ‘Aye, something like that.’

  Close to him she heard the sigh deep within his chest. Then he pulled away from her and held her at arm’s length looking down into her face. ‘I just wanted to be like me dad,’ he said simply.

  ‘And you went to sea because of him?’

  Tom nodded. ‘And now,’ he said slowly, ‘I’m going to get involved in this blasted war just because I still want him to be proud of me.’

  ‘Your father would be proud of you whatever you did, Tom.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I know so. You dinna have to keep proving yourself over and over again.’

  Quietly he said, ‘Maybe I do, Jeannie. Maybe I do, even if only for myself.’

  ‘Oh Tom.’ She shook her head and there were sudden tears in her eyes. ‘I dinna want anything to happen to you.’

  He touched her cheek with calloused fingers. ‘You mean that? You really mean that?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she said, now with a trace of impatience. Then, more gently, she added, ‘But you do what you want to do for yourself. I’m not going to stand in your way, but please, Tom Lawrence, just come home safely.’

  As he drew her against him and wrapped his arms about her again, now with a fierce intensity, Jeannie buried her head against his chest and closed her eyes, knowing a sudden fear for her husband.

  Robert’d be safe, she told herself. With his connections, Robert would get a desk job. With his father’s influence, he’d be bound to be in a safe, shore job. He wouldn’t be sent to sea. At least Robert would be safe, Jeannie told herself.

  But what about Tom?

  On 26 August 1939, Robert, in London on business, received a telephone call. The voice on the other end of the telephone said, ‘You’re to report to Lieutenant-Commander Walsh at Lowestoft, Gorton, at 0.700 hours tomorrow. That’s where the Royal Naval Patrol Service has been set up. Bit of a hotch-potch at the moment, but the chaps down there will soon sort it all out. Walsh asked for you personally. He’ll be mustering his crew and wants you as his first lieutenant aboard a minesweeper . . .’ The man went on with travel details and finished by saying, ‘Walsh says you have particular knowledge of trawlers. A fisherman, are you? I know a lot have volunteered.’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Robert replied, not wanting to explain fully. ‘But I do have a knowledge of trawlers, sir, yes.’ He wanted, in this war in which he was obviously going to be involved now, to be treated on his own merits. Without deliberately lying, he intended to conceal the fact that he was a trawler owner with the distinction of the name Hayes-Gorton. He had considered using the name Hayes only, and dropping the Gorton, but instead had decided to drop the
double-barrelled bit and become plain Robert Gorton. It was doubtful now that the Gorton-Hathersage Trawler Company would have many ships left by the end of the conflict. He wondered what would happen to his family’s business and if there would be any company left for his father to cut him out of.

  He listened as the voice crackled down the wire giving him further instructions ending with the words, ‘You’ll be going to a place called Havelock. Ever heard of it?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir.’

  ‘Oh good. Can’t say I have, but there you are. A chap can’t know of all these little fishing villages round the coast.’

  As Robert replaced the receiver, he was smiling to himself, and murmured, ‘What a pity my father couldn’t have heard that last remark.’

  ‘Jeannie, I’m to report to Lowestoft along with a lot of the other lads.’

  ‘Oh Tom. So this is it, then?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  She watched him. There was apprehension in his eyes but something else too. Was it, could it possibly be, excitement? At his next words, Jeannie began to understand a little of what Tom was feeling.

  ‘Me dad never went to war. He didn’t serve in the last lot. I’m doing something me dad never did.’

  Was that it? Was that what Tom had needed all along? The chance to emerge from the shadow of the big man and be himself? Smiling, Jeannie went to him and put her arms about his waist, saying again what she knew he needed to hear. ‘We’re all proud of you, Tom, and your dad would be too. Just take care of yoursel’ and get home whenever you can.’

  He was back in a few days and the exhilaration was gone already from his eyes. ‘You’ll never believe it. I’ve not only got drafted back to me own home town but on bloody trawlers turned into minesweepers. I’ll be serving on the same bloody boats I’ve been on all me life. I thought at least I’d get chance to go on a proper warship or summat. But a bloody trawler . . .’

  ‘Will you be minding your language, Tom Lawrence,’ Jeannie snapped, disappointed that the first tentative signs of a change in Tom had already been swept away.