With a crafty glance at Barney, Vicky gave Lucy a wink. ‘I’ll need a new frock for the party,’ she announced, running her hands down her thighs. ‘I might go into that new shop on the corner of Victoria Street. I’m told they have some lovely stuff there.’ Patting her hair, she glanced in the mantelpiece mirror. ‘Oh, and I’ll need a new hat for the christening – an extra stylish one, with a little brim and a big flower on the side.’
‘You’d best get me one an’ all,’ Barney groaned. ‘One with the biggest brim you can find, so I can pull it over my ears when you tell me the price of all this paraphernalia.’ With that he stretched out his legs, settled himself deep in the chair and fell asleep.
With the preparations and the shopping, and all the work in between, the next few weeks flew by; autumn soon arrived, and with it came a revelation concerning Leonard Maitland that surprised even Lucy.
On the Sunday afternoon, Lucy was pushing Jamie in the box-swing which Barney had slung from the big oak tree in the cottage garden.
‘We’ll have to find a suitable christening gown for you,’ she was telling the child as he laughed and clapped and kicked his fat little legs as he sailed through the air. ‘I don’t suppose I’ll find a baby gown to fit you now,’ she gave him another gentle push. ‘You’re a big boy into the bargain, so we might have to think of something else, though I want you dressed in white all the same, because when the man takes the pictures I want you to look beautiful.’
Pausing, she thought of Edward Trent and how he had abandoned his own son. ‘When you’re older I’ll be able to tell you why I waited so long before I got you baptised.’ She would tell him everything, but not with malice. After all, Edward was Jamie’s father and much as she would like to, she could not change that.
Her thoughts deepened. Things could have been so different. They could have been a real family. Somehow she had known that would never be, but she had hoped, for their son’s sake, that it might come about.
‘Now that I know what he’s really like, I never again want any part of him,’ she murmured to herself. But Jamie must make up his own mind. If it’s what he wanted when he was older, she would never stop him from seeing his daddy. Though she did not believe for one minute that Edward Trent would ever have the gall to show his face round these parts again.
When the swing slowed, the child began kicking his legs and shouting, ‘More!’ Lucy started pushing him again. ‘All right. Just a few more minutes, then we’d best get you ready for bed,’ she told him. ‘You’ve had a busy day and by rights you should be worn out.’ She wagged a finger. ‘Barney was right. I do need eyes in the back of my head!’
‘Talking to yourself, is it?’ The husky voice was pleasantly familiar. ‘Sure they lock ye away for less than that.’
‘BRIDGET!’ Turning to see her old friend coming across the garden, Lucy ran to meet her. Flinging her arms round the woman’s waist, she gave her a bear hug. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
‘Ye little lunatic, get offa me!’ Laughingly shoving Lucy away, Bridget straightened her hat – a big black flowery thing with a long white feather. ‘Haven’t I told ye before, you’re not to hug me so hard; I’m delicate as well ye know.’
She pointed to the child who was patiently sitting in his little box-swing. ‘Enough o’ this nonsense. I’ll get meladdo out and we’ll go inside for a drop o’ the good stuff.’ She gave a naughty wink. ‘I expect you’ll be wanting all the latest news.’
Without more ado, she went to the swing, drew the wooden bar back and lifted the child out. ‘And as for you, young Jamie, I’ll thank ye not to pee on me!’ she warned. ‘You ruined my skirt the last time, ye dirty little article!’
As she carried him away, he became fascinated with the feather in her hat, and when he began tugging at it, she promptly gave him to Lucy. ‘Will ye look at that? Not content with having ruined one o’ me best skirts, the little divil’s after ruining me hat.’
Chuckling to herself, and delighted to suffer Bridget’s complaining, Lucy took the child and followed her into the cottage. The Irishwoman was striding ahead, in charge as usual, looking grand and important in the dark straight skirt, cut to just below the knee, and the smart peplum jacket that accentuated her curves. The big flowery hat was perched at an angle on top of her fiery red hair, all twirled and tamed and secured beneath it – apart from the few wispy curls that had danced their way out.
‘You look really nice,’ Lucy complimented her sincerely. ‘Is that a new two-piece?’
Bridget sailed on. ‘New and expensive,’ she replied over the shoulder. ‘So you’ll understand why I don’t want it peed on?’
Lucy did understand. ‘Is it bought for a special occasion then?’
‘It certainly is! I have a gentleman collecting me any time now, so if you’ve anything you need to tell me, you’ll have to be quick about it.’
With an important backward glance, she went on, ‘I might tell ye, I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get here. I caught a bus for the first time in ages and walked half a mile down the lane … dog’s muck and horse-dung everywhere!’ She glanced at her small-heeled shoes. ‘I’ll have you know, these were new only a few days since. This is the first time I’ve worn them. Now look at ’em! Whooh!’ She had a whole gamut of wonderful expressions and the one she made now was priceless. ‘I’ll need to give ’em a shine before I leave.’
‘Ah!’ So this was the reason for the smart outfit and the new hat. ‘You’ve got a new fella then?’ Lucy teased. ‘What’s he like?’
Bridget touched the tip of her nose. ‘You’ll know soon enough,’ she replied cagily. ‘I’ll tell you when I’m good and ready and not before.’
Bursting into the cottage with her usual flair, Bridget filled the room with her presence as always. She waited for Lucy to settle the child down for a nap before tea; he wriggled about for a while before falling fast and hard asleep. ‘Good Lord above, will ye look at that? You’ve worn the child out, so ye have.’ Now that he couldn’t snatch at her feather, she leaned over and kissed him. ‘He’s such a wee, bonny thing.’
Though she loved children from a safe distance, Bridget was not cut out to be a mother and she made no secret of that. ‘Making the child gives you pleasure,’ she had been known to say with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Raising them breaks your heart.’
Lucy went to the cupboard. ‘Large or small?’ she asked, the glass poised in the air.
‘I’ll have a large,’ Bridget started, then, ‘No! I’d best have a small.’ A devious little grin shaped her handsome face. ‘Sure, I’ve got to keep me wits about me today.’
As instructed, Lucy poured out a small measure of gin and brought it to her. ‘Why? What’s happening today then?’ She handed her the glass and watched with amazement as Bridget took a delicate sip. It wasn’t like her dear friend and benefactor to drink her gin sparingly. Normally, she would down one glass and be after another, before the first was hardly swallowed.
Bridget smacked her lips and looked up, and after taking another delicate sip, she smiled at Lucy with her magic green eyes and raising her eyebrows suggestively, said in a whisper, ‘I’ve found the fella of my dreams, so I have.’ The slightly smug expression on her face told it all.
‘Have you now?’ Lucy sat herself down. ‘So, you really think he’s the one?’
‘Oh, he is. I just know he is!’
‘Well, come on then. Who is he?’
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