The Fisher Lass Read online

  ‘He might not want to come even then.’

  ‘That’s a risk I’ll have to take. My father has set his heart on seeing the boy. In fact, he seems to be hanging on to life just for that. I must do what I can.’

  ‘Be sure to tell Sammy that,’ Jeannie said quietly. ‘He’s a good boy at heart.’

  ‘I’m sure he is, if you’ve had the raising of him, Jeannie. But I have to remember that he has Francis’s blood in his veins too. And my dear brother can be quite ruthless when he’s a mind. As we all know to our cost.’

  To this remark, Jeannie had no answer.

  Thirty-One

  Robert had waited a long time whilst the ship went through its docking procedure and the crew were allowed to step ashore. But at last he was standing on the quayside as the young sailors ran down the gangway, hit the solid ground, staggered for a moment, and then rushed forward to greet their loved ones waiting to meet them.

  Then he saw them, almost the last to leave the ship, coming down the gangway, Joe in the front, leading the way.

  Robert stepped forward. ‘Excuse me. Might I have a word?’

  The two young men stopped and, recognizing him at once, Joe said, ‘What’s wrong? Is it me dad?’

  ‘No, no,’ Robert said swiftly. ‘All your family are well.’

  Mystified now, Joe and Sammy glanced at each other and then both turned their gaze back upon Robert, who took a deep breath and said, ‘I have a favour to ask of Sammy.’

  ‘A favour? Of me?’ His surprise was evident and again he glanced at Joe.

  ‘Look, would you allow me to take you to lunch? Both of you.’

  ‘If it’s Sammy you want to talk to, you don’t want me along.’ There was a hint of belligerence in Joe’s tone.

  ‘Perhaps you should be involved, Joe. I can see how close you are to each other.’

  ‘Close!’ The two laughed aloud and Joe punched Sammy playfully on the shoulder, and added, ‘We fight like cat and dog. We were both in trouble last week for fighting.’

  Sammy, too, grinned and pointed to his chin. ‘See. I’ve still got the bruise to prove it.’

  But Robert was smiling too. ‘Maybe so. But just tell me one thing. Just suppose your ship was torpedoed and sinking and you could save only one other person from the whole ship. Tell me,’ he asked quietly, ‘who would it be?’

  The boys’ faces sobered now and with one accord they both jerked their thumbs towards the other and said in unison, ‘Him.’

  ‘I thought as much,’ Robert murmured and then, more briskly, he said, ‘Now will you both have lunch with me? Please?’

  Seated in the restaurant, Robert could see that both boys were ill at ease. Not only were they sitting with a superior officer, but also with the man who had been and still was, in a way, their employer. Only because of the war did they all three find themselves in the same service.

  Robert did his best to put them at their ease, but until the food was served the conversation was stilted, the older man trying to open lines of communication only to be met by monosyllabic answers.

  It was when they picked up their soup spoons and took the first mouthful that, suddenly, the atmosphere changed.

  ‘By heck, this is like me mam’s Tattie Soup,’ Joe said. ‘I ain’t tasted anything as good as this since I was last home.’

  Robert chuckled. ‘The chef here is a Scotsman, a kinsman of your mother’s.’ He saw the young men glance at each other again and thought, for two who are supposed not to get along together they have a remarkable affinity between them.

  Robert cleared his throat. ‘Talking of your mother . . .’

  An identical closed look was immediately on both their faces. ‘My mother, ya mean,’ Joe said and jerked his head sideways towards Sammy. ‘She in’t his.’

  ‘I know,’ Robert said at once and now he looked straight at Sammy. ‘I know all about your parentage, Sammy. That’s the reason I’m here. You’re my nephew. The son of my elder brother, Francis.’ When the boy made no answer, though his face was stiff with resentment, Robert went on. ‘I believe you did know that, didn’t you?’

  Sammy gave a quick nod as if he were loath even to acknowledge the fact. Joe was smirking. ‘I telled him years ago.’

  Robert pushed away his empty soup bowl and leant his elbows on the table. ‘I’ll come straight to the point. My father is dying.’

  The boys looked uncomfortable, not knowing quite what they should say, but Robert continued, not expecting any reply from them, ‘He has no other grandchildren except you, Sammy. And he wishes to see you before he dies.’ He paused a moment to allow this to sink in and then added softly, ‘That is the favour I have come to ask of you.’

  ‘You want me to come to see him?’ Sammy blurted out. ‘To meet him? Me?’

  Robert nodded.

  ‘Don’t go, Sam,’ Joe put in at once. ‘They’re up to summat.’

  Robert spread his hands, palms upwards. ‘No catch, I promise you. No strings – nothing. I’ll even arrange it so that you don’t run into Francis, if that’s what you’re afraid of.’

  ‘He ain’t afraid of nothing, mister,’ Joe shot back. ‘You tell ’im, Sam.’

  ‘Shut up, Joe. I’m thinkin’.’

  Piercing blue eyes that were so like Francis’s were regarding Robert, who felt a shiver like a cold dousing of water run down his spine. There it was, the likeness he had been looking for. There was that same calculating reasoning going on in the boy’s mind as he had witnessed so often in his brother. Yet, he was thankful to see, it stopped short of ruthless cruelty.

  ‘He’s not wanting to have me become part of the family, is he?’ Sammy asked, putting his head on one side. ‘Not wanting me to come into the company?’

  Robert gave a wry laugh. ‘There’s little of the company left at the moment for you to come into. We won’t know until after the war whether we’ll still have a fleet of trawlers. We’re only fishing the North Sea now with the few ancient ships we have left and the crews are made up of old men and young boys. No, I promise you I’m just asking you to come and see him before – before it’s too late. Obviously, it’s more for his sake than for yours. Nevertheless . . .’ He paused and then added, ‘You never know, there might come a time when you’ll be glad you at least met your grandfather.’

  There was silence now around the table as Sammy considered. ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll come.’

  ‘Fine.’ Robert stood up. ‘I think I’ve got enough petrol to get us back via Goole. I’ll drop you off at home if you like, Joe?’

  ‘Thanks, but I can walk from your place.’

  ‘My parents are at my house. Their own was bombed two months back.’ He sighed. ‘I think that’s what brought on my father’s heart attack.’

  ‘Well, just drop me in the town then, please,’ Joe said, and Robert had the feeling that the young man was doing everything he could to prevent Robert having any reason to visit Baldock Street.

  Driving to the outskirts of the town, having left Joe in Main Street, Robert asked carefully, ‘Are you concerned about running into Francis?’

  Sammy pulled his mouth down at the corners and shook his head. ‘Not really. In a way, I suppose, I’d quite like to see him. It might be quite funny to come face to face with him.’

  The boy even had the same sarcastic sense of humour, almost the same turn of phrase. Whilst he didn’t speak in the same way, didn’t use such lofty wordage – Francis would have said something like, ‘it would be most amusing to encounter him’ – nevertheless the sentiment expressed was exactly the same.

  There was certainly no doubt in Robert’s mind now – if there ever had been – that Samuel Lawrence was indeed his brother’s son.

  As he swung into the driveway, he said, ‘Here we are, then,’ and drew the vehicle to a halt.

  As he opened the front door and ushered Sammy inside, Louise’s high heels came tapping across the hall floor. Even in wartime, Louise managed to dress in the latest fashion:
a knee-length tan wool dress with padded shoulders. However did she do it, Robert thought, and couldn’t help feeling a pang of guilt for all those women who were having to ‘make do and mend’, including, he suspected, Jeannie.

  Her high-pitched, affected voice echoed shrilly through the hall. ‘There you are, Robert. I’ve sent for Francis and Edwin. Your father’s worse. Your mother’s with him now. Who’s this?’ she said, without seeming to pause for breath.

  ‘This, my dear, is Samuel Lawrence. My father’s only grandson.’

  Louise’s face was scandalized. ‘You’ve brought him here? Now? You’re not thinking of taking him upstairs to see your father, are you? Oh surely not.’

  ‘I am about to do exactly that, my dear. At my father’s express wish.’

  ‘But you can’t. What about Francis? He’ll be here at any moment.’

  ‘Francis can go to hell for all I care,’ Robert muttered and then, looking her straight in the eyes, added, ‘and probably will.’

  He saw the colour suffuse her face as her glance darted from him to the young man at his side and back again.

  ‘If you’ll excuse us, Louise . . .’ and Robert gestured towards the staircase.

  He led the way into the bedroom realizing that the moment for the boy must be very difficult. Even he was unsure of what his mother’s reaction towards Sammy would be. But the woman who was sitting on the far side of the bed as they entered rose with difficulty from her chair and came round the end of the bed to meet them. ‘Robert, oh my dear. You’ve brought him. Thank goodness. He’s been making himself worse with fretting.’

  She turned then to Sammy and studied him intently for a moment before stepping in front of him and putting her hands on his shoulders. She did not, Robert was relieved to see, make any attempt to kiss the young man, but contented herself with smiling at him and saying softly, ‘I am your grandmother, my dear. I am very pleased to meet you.’

  For a moment Sammy’s cool composure seemed to crumble and Robert caught sight of a side of his nature that came from the Lawrence genes. After all, poor Grace had been a gentle creature and his other grandparents were George Lawrence and Nell. Robert almost smiled at the thought of his maternal grandmother. Why, there was even a drop or two of Scottish blood in young Sammy’s veins. How could he have believed that Sammy would be just like Francis, as ruthless and selfish and . . .

  But there was a likeness for his mother was commenting upon it now.

  ‘You’re just like Francis was at the same age. Come.’ She laid her hand on Sammy’s arm and urged him to step closer to the bed. ‘Come and meet your grandfather. He has been waiting for this moment.’

  Thirty-Two

  ‘Did you know about it, Mam?’ Joe demanded as soon as he set foot across the threshold. ‘About Sammy going to see old man Gorton?’

  Jeannie answered him with another question. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I’ve just said, gone to see the old man. He’s dying. Did you know?’

  ‘Aye. Robert – Mr Robert came here to ask me if Sammy knew about . . .’ She gestured with her hand. ‘Well, everything.’

  ‘He met us in Hull.’ Joe put on an affected tone. ‘Took us to a fancy posh restaurant for lunch.’ Then he relaxed into his normal way of speaking, adding, as if reluctant to give praise even when it was deserved, ‘Mind you, it were good.’ Jeannie felt his glance upon her. ‘He’s been here again then?’

  ‘Och now, dinna you start. I’ve had enough all these years with your father seeing things that aren’t there.’

  ‘Oh well, you know what they say? There’s no smoke without fire.’

  ‘The only fire that’s here is the one in the grate there and it’s nearly out, so you’d best be fetching the coal in,’ she snapped and turned away, afraid lest he should see the flames that smouldered within her, so deeply banked down that they were not even allowed to smoke. She picked up the tray to take it upstairs to Nell, who, more often than not these days, stayed in bed. But her thoughts were a couple of miles away inside another bedroom, unknown to her, but where she imagined old Samuel Hayes-Gorton lay dying.

  Robert watched as Sammy approached the bedside to stand looking down at the old man. His namesake was a shadow of the rotund, bewhiskered gentleman he had once been; the proud owner of the Gorton Trawler Company of Havelock. Since his illness, he had shrunk to a skeleton. Coming home each time on leave, Robert noticed the difference more markedly than those who were with him every day.

  He knew, before anyone else, that his father would not live much longer and the thought had prompted him to broach the subject of young Sammy’s existence. The day they had first spoken of it, the old man was still able to sit out of bed for part of the day near the window with a rug over his knees. Robert had broached the matter carefully, sensitive to his father’s feelings.

  ‘You know, I’m sorry, Father, that I have not given you the grandson you wanted.’

  Samuel Hayes-Gorton had grunted, his eyes watery, still bright and certainly sharp and knowing. He’d smoothed his white moustache and then squinted up at Robert.

  The words had come haltingly. ‘Not altogether your fault, m’boy.’ There had been a long pause whilst Samuel had gone back to gazing out of the window. Then, very quietly, he had said, ‘I do have a grandson though, don’t I?’

  ‘Yes, Father. You do.’

  Another long silence before the old man had said, ‘I have a mind, Robert, to see the boy before . . .’ He’d looked up then, straight into his son’s eyes, and Robert had seen the knowledge there. Much was said in that exchange of a long look even though no words were spoken. Samuel had let out a long sigh and said, ‘Well, soon.’

  Robert had touched his shoulder. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  And now they were here, standing in the room, almost too late for the sick old man to know. Already his breathing was laboured and every few moments it seemed to stop and everyone held their own breath, fearing they had heard the last of his. But then the stubbornness to hang on would return and he would pull in a breath once more.

  As he stood watching, Robert saw his father, propped up against several pillows, open his eyes. The voice issuing from the shrunken form was still remarkably strong. ‘Has he come? Is he here? My grandson?’

  Mrs Hayes-Gorton bent closer. ‘Yes, yes, my dear. Robert has brought him. Young Samuel is here.’

  The tired eyes focused and the mouth sagged and then old Samuel gasped, ‘My – God!’

  ‘Yes, my dear.’ His wife took the words from him, saving him the labour. ‘I thought just the same. He’s so like Francis was at the same age, but not quite so tall, don’t you think?’

  She turned then and whispered to Sammy, who was standing rigidly beside the bed, not knowing quite what was expected of him. ‘Say something to him. Speak to him.’

  Sammy half turned towards Robert as if seeking reassurance of some kind. Robert nodded and the boy turned back towards the old man again. ‘Good afternoon, sir. I’m – I’m sorry to see you ill. Mr Robert, he came to meet the ship. He said – he said you’d like to see me.’

  A great sigh escaped the old man’s lips and his whole body seemed to relax and sink into the pillows. ‘I am glad to see you – Samuel.’ The struggle to speak was supreme but no one present thought to tell him to rest. They knew that although this effort may well be his final one, it was important to him. For what else was there for him to reserve his energies now? ‘You’ve – been to – sea?’

  ‘I’m in the Navy, sir.’

  The watery eyes squinted up at him. ‘Ah, I see now – your uniform.’

  His breathing rasped again for a minute as he gathered strength to ask, ‘You love the sea?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Samuel said and added with unmistakable pride, ‘When we’ve won the war, I’ll still go back to sea. On a trawler, more n’ like.’

  ‘Gorton trawlers, my boy. Make sure – it’s on a Gorton trawler. One day – one day they’ll be yours . . .’

  The e
yes closed and the hands on the coverlet were motionless now. Mrs Gorton knelt by the bedside and bowed her head. Clutching at her husband’s hand, she wept quietly whilst Robert touched Sammy’s shoulder and led him from the room.

  ‘Is he – did he . . .?’ the boy began.

  ‘No, no, he isn’t dead, but I fear it cannot be much longer. He’s been drifting in and out of consciousness for a couple of days now.’

  They had reached the hallway, when the front door flew open and Francis marched into the house, for all the world as if he owned the place. Robert saw him stop in surprise as he saw the young boy standing there.

  ‘What the hell . . .?’ he began and then his cold eyes narrowed. ‘So, dear brother, you thought to bring your bastard into the family fold, did you?’

  Beside him, Robert felt Sammy stiffen, yet he held his head proudly and returned Francis’s disdain with a steady, composed look.

  Robert cleared his throat. ‘Father wished to see his grandson.’

  ‘Only because you . . .’ Francis jabbed his cane at Robert, ‘put him up to it.’ The smirk on his face was malicious now. ‘Still afraid he’s cut you out of his will as he threatened? Thought you’d get back in favour by the back door, eh? Well, no bastard’s going to inherit the Gorton company, let me tell you . . .’

  ‘I want nowt to do with your company.’ Sammy’s voice rang out, cool and calm. ‘Except perhaps to work aboard one of your ships after the war.’

  Robert watched in a kind of horrified fascination as father and son stared at each other, the nearest they had ever been. He could see now that each was assessing the other, each searching for – and finding at once – the likeness to one another.

  Quietly Robert said, ‘He’s your son, Francis. You know full well he is.’

  Francis let out a bark of laughter. ‘Ha! Never. His mother was nothing but a slut, a whore. One of Aggie Turnbull’s trollops. I doubt she even knew who this brat’s father was. But she saw a chance to lay the blame at my door and you . . .’ again he jabbed his ebony cane towards Robert, ‘were fool enough, besotted by that red-haired bitch, to believe their tales. Been paying for it all these years. Well, I hope you got your money’s worth when Lawrence was away at sea.’