That Sunday night Henzey walked down the entry with Billy Witts to bid him goodnight. It was half past ten. He had stayed for Sunday tea, for supper and had enjoyed the company and the hospitality of the Kites.
‘Nice of your mom to invite me to your house next Saturday night,’ he said.
‘Yes, but I won’t expect you if you’re still seeing Nellie.’
She was standing facing him, her arms folded. In the dimness of the entry he saw the catchlights in her eyes. Never before had he seen eyes so beautiful, with such a look of gentleness and honesty, as at that moment in the half-light. He took both her hands and held them down by her side. Their bodies touched and, as he leaned his head forward to kiss her, to taste again her lips, her heart beat faster. Whilst he had been sitting in the house, talking, laughing with the family, confident and at ease, he was still contemplating their afternoon out. He liked this girl; she was so refreshingly honest, and he realised that Henzey would never commit herself until she was certain that Nellie played no further part in his life. He also perceived that when – if – she did commit herself it would be whole-heartedly. That commitment would be his for the taking.
It presented him with a great dilemma. He had in mind his intense sexual encounters with Nellie, and how much they meant to him.
‘I’ll be finished with Nellie by Saturday,’ he whispered, unsure of the truth of it; but he kissed her convincingly enough. ‘So shall I see you Tuesday night?’
She shook her head, slowly, deliberately, meeting his eyes directly. But if he’d been able to read her expression accurately in the darkness he would have read her look of uncertainty. She wanted him for herself so much, that to refuse him was breaking her heart. Heeding Clara’s advice was decidedly painful.
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Are you doing something else?’
She shook her head again. ‘No, but I’m not going to see you till you’ve finished with Nellie,’ she whispered coolly. ‘If that’s what you decide you want to do. When you have, you can tell me what happened, and how she took it. If you don’t…well…you won’t turn up here, will you? And I shall understand, Billy. At least we’ll know exactly where we stand.’
She was aching to hug him tight, to give him her love, but how much better to lose him now than to hurl herself headlong into an affair that might end in heartbreak because she was too soft in the beginning. Billy had to know she was not going to be a pushover. She had her standards, and she intended to implement them. A week gave him plenty of time. If he failed to do it there would be little point in carrying on, for this new affair would deteriorate into a charade. She was certain she had given him enough of a glimpse of how things could be. She could do no more. The rest was up to him.
On Tuesday dinnertime Alice found time to present herself in front of Wally Bibb at George Mason’s. He offered her a job at a shilling a week less than she was getting at Bean Cars, but she accepted it gladly, since it was almost certain that she would not have a job in the office there much longer. Shop work was not exactly what Alice wanted. Her heart was set on the glamour of being a private secretary to some suave company director, but it would do till such an opening came along. When Henzey asked Alice later what she thought of Wally, she replied that she’d probably have to watch out, because he kept looking at her bust.
‘Oh, I daresay he was trying to see where it had got to,’ Henzey quipped, and dodged as Alice went to swipe her playfully.
Henzey had kept out of the way while Alice was interviewed. Afterwards Wally asked her if she was any relation, since he reckoned Kite was not that common a name. She admitted Alice was her sister, and Wally made some sarcastic comment about there being safety in numbers, which seemed to amuse him.
But her mind was not on Alice, nor Wally, nor George Mason’s. As the week wore on, Henzey was becoming disconsolate, certain that Billy was out enjoying himself with Nellie Dewsbury. Each night as she lay in bed thinking, she would imagine them together. She pictured them laughing, holding hands, kissing. As sleep escaped her, and the night induced more disturbing images, she saw them making love with all the passion and commitment of a latter day Romeo and Juliet. The more she thought about these things the more she convinced herself that it was so, and the less chance she believed she had. She yearned to be with him again, to hear him laugh, to feel his lips on hers, to hold his hand, to feel his manly arms around her. If only she had agreed to see him on Tuesday night she might not be tossing and turning now, unable to sleep. If only he would call at the shop tomorrow. He would only have to smile at her and she would know. She would know immediately that all was well. But she did not know, and it was torture. This uncertainty was torture, and she still had this night to get through, and then two more to follow.
She was certain she had driven Billy away with her feigned indifference. How could she have been so sure of herself? How could she have been so arrogant? She could no more dictate to Billy Witts what he should do than he could dictate to her. Now she was angry with herself for ruining the best opportunity ever to find happiness, with a man who really suited her, a man she admired in every way. She liked him so much. No. It was more than that; it was much more than that. She loved him. Even more than that; she loved him desperately.
As they left the shop on Saturday evening after work, Clara Maitland and Henzey stepped out into the bustle of market traders packing away their wares, and across the street to Clara’s tram stop. The days were getting longer, and it was still light, but the overhead wires, from which the trams drew their power, were swinging in the wind that was yet vigorous.
‘I haven’t seen that Billy all week, Henzey,’ Clara said, avoiding a handcart. ‘Hasn’t he been to see you? It’s unusual. Have you upset him?’
‘If I have I never intended to,’ Henzey answered, her eyes misting.
‘Oh?’
‘I haven’t told you, but I went out with him last Sunday afternoon. He stopped for tea and for supper and my mother invited him to our house tonight for my birthday…But I don’t expect he’ll come.’
They paused while a man loading sacks of potatoes onto a lorry blocked their way. He apologised for holding them up, and they walked on.
Clara said, ‘I suspect he hasn’t been to see you just to make you think about him all the more. Absence making the heart grow fonder, and all that. I wouldn’t think much of him if he accepted your mother’s invitation, then didn’t have the grace to show up.’
‘Oh, I don’t think it’s just that, Clara…’
‘What then? There’s something else?’
‘Well, I thought he’d given that Nellie Dewsbury up. At least that’s what he led me to think.’
‘And he hadn’t?’
‘No. So I told him I wouldn’t see him again until he had. I told him only to come tonight if he’d finished with her.’
‘Well, good for you, Henzey. He sounds a bit of a cad after all.’
‘I suppose I’ve put him off. I suppose he thought I was a bossy little madam. Did I do the right thing, d’you think, Clara?’
‘You did exactly right. You’ve let him know you weren’t going to be manipulated, or swept off your feet.’
‘Oh, but I’m swept off my feet, all right, Clara. I’m swept off my feet good and proper.’
‘And that’s what makes it hard for you, eh? Did your mother like him?’
‘She must’ve. She invited him tonight…’
‘Well, if he doesn’t come you’ll have lost nothing, Henzey,’ Clara said resignedly. ‘You’ll have escaped a lot of heartbreak. That’s the best way to look at it.’
But that was