25
Maisie took her seat next to Peggy, looking around the ballroom. As ever, the Orpheus was filled with lights, noise, and energy. It was a far cry from the quietness of the A Ward side room where Maggie-Ann was settling in.
Thankfully, Mr Russell had explained the situation with great compassion, and Maggie-Ann and her mother had cried with that understandable mix of grief and relief.
Knowing the baby was fated to die as soon as it was born, they no longer needed to worry about the effect on Maggie-Ann of having to raise her assailant’s child.
Instead, they would now hopefully allow themselves to mourn the child for its own sake, even before its passing.
The band were tuning their instruments, random notes and sounds emerging in a discordant cacophony from the stage.
Peggy was chatting to Dan who was sitting on her other side, and Maisie briefly felt as though she was playing gooseberry.
Everything was slightly wrong, off-kilter.
Alex should be here. Especially after the day we’ve had.
How quickly she had come to rely on him!
They saw one another almost every day, and had never yet run out of conversation, for she found him endlessly fascinating.
Even now she could see him in her mind’s eye – his handsome face, his smile, his serious expression.
Both could make her heart turn over and her pulse skip.
No words of love had passed between them, yet they loved one another deeply. She knew it. Sensed that he knew it too. And yet because of religion, and class, and politics, they could never properly be together. Keep it light.
The bandmaster performed his introduction, sending couples – including Peggy and Dan – skittering to the dance floor, and a wave of young men moving swiftly towards the unaccompanied young women left behind.
‘Would you like to dance?’ The man in front of her was in battledress, as all of the young officers were.
‘No, thank you.’ There was no question of dancing with anyone else. Until Alex arrived, she wouldn’t dance at all.
‘Ah, why not? I don’t bite, I promise.’ His face twisted in a half-leer, half-smile, and she saw anger in his eyes.
Her heart sank. Why did some young men not understand that No meant No?
‘I’m waiting for someone.’
‘Huh. Boyfriend?’
‘Yes.’ She looked away, praying that the first dance would end soon and Peggy and Dan could return to rescue her.
He looked around theatrically. ‘I don’t see no boyfriend.’
She shrugged. The less she said, the better. Reaching for her handbag, she withdrew a tiny mirror and used it to check her hair, patting it with a hand that was only trembling a little.
He slid onto Peggy’s chair, causing anxiety to make her mouth suddenly dry and her heart to race. ‘Captain Hugo Marston, Royal Army Service Corps.’ He seemed proud of it. ‘We look after transport and supplies for the forces.’
Her stomach lurched. Surely that was the part of the army that Gerald had belonged to?
Transport, and supplies, that sort of thing.
It occurred to her as she sat there that she hadn’t thought of Gerald for months, now.
Sweet, kind, caring Alex had re-set her brain, had made loving and being loved feel doable again.
She hadn’t been particularly interested in the details of Gerald’s battalion or whatever it was called, back in London, and she had long ago stopped checking the faces of the officers at the Orpheus.
But maybe . . .? Glancing across the room, she saw a small gathering of men in battledress near the entrance door, but they were too far away for her to recognise anyone.
Captain Marston had stuck out a hand, and she lightly touched her fingers to his before rising.
‘I must go. It was nice to meet you,’ she lied – a lie that every woman she knew had had to tell at some point in order to defuse a situation with a persistent man.
At least this particular persistent man wasn’t alone with her in a dark alley.
She shuddered, thinking briefly about how frightened Maggie-Ann must have felt during her ordeal.
Leaving her new acquaintance behind she made her way around the edges of the room towards the entrance, which also led to the conveniences.
Somewhere safe for her to hide while she waited for Alex.
As she did so, she made sure to glance at the army officers as she passed them – not because she had any actual expectation of Gerald being among them, but because she had to check he wasn’t.
And so when her searching gaze landed on a familiar figure, her insides seemed to freeze in shock.
‘Well, well, well.’ The sneer in his voice and the disdain on his face as he stepped towards her was entirely familiar.
‘Gerald Somerville,’ she managed, stopping as he approached. She felt sick inside. Actually sick. Some of his comrades seemed to be watching, which added to the anxiety now racing through her mind and body.
‘My fair Rosalind.’ He bowed theatrically, his expression twisted. ‘I wondered if you’d be here tonight. You always loved a social.’ There was a familiar edge to his words, leaving her uncertain as to whether they were a statement of fact or a criticism. God, how that had used to wreck her head!
‘Whereas I had no idea you’d be here,’ she retorted, relieved that, so far, she sounded reasonably normal. ‘What brings you to Belfast?’
‘Ah, you know – we have to sort out the paddies.’ She winced at the insult. The paddies – the stupid Irish. In his upper-class accent it sounded like peddies. ‘For some strange reason,’ he added, ‘I had put Belfast on my request list a long time ago.’
‘Must have been a very long time ago,’ she returned.
‘A different era entirely,’ he concurred, his gaze pinning her like a trapped butterfly.
The old feelings began resurfacing within her.
Anxiety, fear, helplessness . . . She could feel the confidence draining from her, feel herself lessening, becoming as mouse-like as she had been with him in London.
She was becoming invisible simply because he was in the room.
He looked her up and down. ‘Still wearing the same sad old dress that you wore in London, I see.’
She managed a shrug. ‘I like this dress.’ And she no longer associated it with London, with him. Blinking, she broke his gaze, looked about her, seeing colleagues from the hospital among the crowd. This is Belfast.
This was her home, her territory. Here, she was Maisie Canavan, qualified midwife. Maisie Canavan of Dunlewey Street. Maisie Canavan, who was no longer Gerald Somerville’s plaything. Lifting her chin, she added, ‘Anyway. Enjoy Belfast.’ She turned away.
‘Wait!’
She turned back, then cursed herself inwardly for obeying. Some responses within her still ran deep. He trained me well. ‘What.’ Her tone was clipped.
‘Just so you know,’ he sneered, ‘you meant nothing to me. I never loved you, Maisie, and I was certainly never going to marry you.’ Strangely, his words were not hurting her at all.
He’s lost his power over me. ‘I only picked you up because you were Irish, and poor,’ he continued, ‘and I reckoned I might persuade you to keep my bed warm.’
All those times he’d pressured her, all the times when his hands had wandered and she’d had to stop him. He had only ever been after one thing, and she had been too much of a fool to see it.
‘Interesting.’
A new voice. Maisie whirled around, relief flooding through her as she saw Alex – tall, and handsome, and full of barely contained anger towards Gerald.
Maisie knew him so well now, she could tell at a glance – the hardness in Alex’s eyes, tension in his shoulders. Yet his tone was deceptively calm.
‘And you are?’ That was Gerald at his upper-class haughtiest.
Alex raised an eyebrow, and said nothing. After a brief silence, Gerald said, ‘I’m Somerville,’ he said. ‘Captain Gerald Somerville.’
Alex inclined his head slightly, stepping forward to stand beside Maisie. ‘Lowe. Doctor Alexander Lowe.’
Gerald looked from one to the other. ‘Oh, I think I see.’ He gave a short laugh, then punched Alex lightly on the shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t build up too many hopes that she’ll put out, Lowe. I was with her in London and got very little satisfaction.’
‘Excuse me?’ Alex’s tone was deceptively soft.
‘She was handy to have around,’ Gerald continued, seemingly unaware of the danger he was in. He looked at Maisie, and his expression hardened.
He’s really angry! A shiver went through Maisie, but she lifted her chin defiantly. ‘You are not a good person, Gerald,’ she said. ‘You lie, and you manipulate, and you play games with people’s feelings.’
‘Play games with people’s feelings,’ he echoed, in sing-song mockery.
‘Well, poor little Maisie!’ He leaned closer, so lost in rage that he seemed to have forgotten Alex’s glowering presence.
‘Since you’re so far below me I thought you’d put out and be my whore.
I was making progress too until your backwards, superstitious notions turned you frigid. You—’
What he was about to say next, Maisie had no idea, for now he was crashing to the floor, Alex having delivered a powerful punch to Gerald’s smug face.
Before Maisie could even properly react, Gerald was scrambling to his feet again. He lunged for Alex, swinging wildly. Alex, unruffled, evaded him with ease.
‘I think you broke my nose!’ Gerald declared then, in high-pitched outrage, wiping his bloody muzzle with the back of his hand.
‘It’s the least you deserve,’ Alex returned calmly. ‘You’re a disgrace.’
‘You f—’ Gerald lifted his fist again, but this time his arm was held. Two of his comrades, also in battledress, had come up silently behind him, followed by an older soldier with a determined expression on his face.
‘Somerville!’ The older man spat out his name, and Gerald straightened.
‘Yes, Major!’
‘You will return to barracks immediately!’
‘But he hit me first!’