A Different Kind of Love Read online

  A Different Kind of Love

  Jean Saunders

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  A Note on the Author

  Chapter One

  The night before the wedding, Kate’s mother drew her aside. The younger girls had already been put to bed, vainly trying to subdue their excitement at being bridesmaids tomorrow and the Sullivan men had gone to the pub to celebrate. The two women were temporarily alone in the cramped waterside cottage in the small village of Edgemoor that had seen six Sullivan children born, and four survive. Kate, the eldest girl, the beauty of the family, was the first to be married.

  She eyed her mother uneasily now. Alice Sullivan bore the marks of a life with too many children and too little money, and a raucous Irish husband who could get roaringly drunk on occasions. In Alice’s saner moments, despite her love for her man, she knew they were hopelessly mismatched. She was the product of a late Victorian background and had never been comfortable in the twentieth century. Despite the leaps and bounds of its first quarter, and the vicissitudes of the hideous war that was now thankfully well behind them, Alice still lived by the old standards. But she doggedly accepted that one of a mother’s prime duties was to prepare a daughter for the intimacies of marriage, however embarrassing.

  “Mother, we don’t need to talk any more tonight,” Kate said swiftly, sensing what was to come. “You’re tired, and we both need a good night’s sleep before tomorrow.”

  “Sleep can wait, Katherine. We have things to discuss,” Alice said, her normally pale face already beetroot red.

  Kate sighed, knowing there was no escape when her mother reverted to using her full name. They sat by the fire that was always kept burning in the parlour, no matter what time of year. The gleaming hotplate alongside it was inevitably laden with pans of steaming water. It helped to save using the gas for heating all the water in the scullery for the never-ending washing Alice did for the better off. There was always plenty of driftwood to be collected by her father and brother Donal from the waters’ edge, and bits of coal from the moors, so the fire never went out.

  To Kate, the constantly burning cottage fire was a symbol of the survival of the Sullivans. Against all the odds of poverty, of war, of bereavements within their ranks, they survived. At that moment, knowing her mother’s embarrassment at speaking of things normally far too personal to even hint at, Kate felt a fierce surge of love.

  She loved the raggle-taggle lot of them, from her big, blustering father, and her tall handsome brother, to her two small sisters, so different in looks. One was thin and pasty from consumption, the other as round and plump as a rosy apple. The small twin boys were rarely mentioned now, with only a visit to the cemetery on the hill once a year to mark their birthday with a bunch of wild flowers.

  Kate was brought out of her dreaming by her mother’s uneasy throat-clearing. She glanced at Alice, and felt the colour steal into her own cheeks. For how could she know, this stoical woman, that Kate was already well aware of the intimacies she was about to try to convey? That Kate had already lain with a man, spread beneath him in wild abandon, crying out in ecstacy as Walter Radcliffe forged into her beneath the stars on the darkened hillside overlooking the village, or on the back seat of his splendid Rover motor car? What would she say, this Victorian-bred lady with the work-roughened hands, if she knew that Kate had already been “spoiled”, as Alice always referred to it when mentioning some unfortunate girl who’d been caught by a man and was now in trouble…?

  “Are you listening to me, Kate?”

  She jumped, realising her mother had already started speaking, and she hadn’t heard a word so far.

  “Of course. I didn’t know I was meant to comment,” she said, hoping this was a suitable reply.

  Alice nodded grimly. “It will be a shock to you, girl, you not having seen a man’s body before,” she agreed. “If God had been willing to spare them, you’d have helped bath our wee small boys and known what to expect. But it’s always been a rule in this house that a person’s body is their private property, and not to be displayed lewdly or accidentally.”

  “I know that, Mother!” The females of the family were always kept strictly away from the parlour when her father or Donal took their weekly baths in the old cast-iron tub in front of the roaring fire. And Kate willed away the image of Walter’s body, that she knew so well.

  Alice didn’t look at her now, keeping her eyes on a point above the chenille-fringed mantelpiece with its collection of shells and pebbles and sepia-tinted photographs.

  “Remember it in your married life then. Your duty will be to please your husband, but you should always keep yourself decent and covered, and you’ll not lose your dignity.”

  A vision of Walter opening her with his fingers, and hoarsely asking to look, to touch, to taste, surged into Kate’s mind. What dignity had she had then – and what had it mattered, when she had been so abandoned in the fever of Walter’s desire? Was she, after all, more worldly-wise than her own mother, or was it all so very wicked?

  Kate didn’t know, but there was always the saving grace that she had allowed herself to be so deliciously seduced by the promise of becoming Walter’s wife. Besides, the brown paper-covered manual she had read beneath her bedclothes, loaned to her by Walter, had stated plainly that in marriage nothing was wrong between a man and woman who truly loved one another. And she had loved him so much.

  She moved slightly away from the fire. Her skin was starting to tingle, and she didn’t want to look blotchy in her wedding dress tomorrow. Her creamy-white dress that should in reality be pale brown, since she had already anticipated the vows she would make.

  And, oh yes, the Catholic shame of it still persisted, despite all Walter’s protestations that he loved her for eternity, and that it was a well-known fact that a woman could do her man considerable harm if she didn’t ease the affliction of his erection. He always used such words at those times, as if they lessened his urgent male needs of the flesh.

  “Do you realise what I’m trying to say, Katherine? When you and Walter go to that hotel in Bournemouth for a week, he’ll expect more from you than a goodnight kiss.”

  “I know that, Mother! Please don’t embarrass yourself any more. You forget I was doing odd jobs on Huggins’ farm during the war, and I know very well how animals mate…”

  She knew at once that she’d said the wrong thing. On a farm such things were taken for granted, even by the slick city girls who’d joined the Women’s Land Army, and teased the young country girl about her childish questions. But in brusquely glossing over the obvious, Kate knew by her mother’s scarlet face that she had only made things worse.

  “If that’s the way you view the act of creation, Katherine, it seems to me that working on a farm brought out the worst in you.”

  “I didn’t mean that. I just meant – well, I know how it’s done, that’s all,” she finished lamely.

  Alice studied her silently, this slender, golden-haired girl who was nothing like the rest of her family, and whom her garrulous son Donal once said laughingly must have been painted from a heavenly artist’s palette, with her delicate features and startlingly blue eyes.

  “Knowing how a thing is done is not the same thing as doi
ng it,” Alice said, forced into voicing an opinion that she found highly objectionable.

  Kate moved to her side, putting her arms around the stiff-backed little figure in the flowered overall which Alice usually wore to keep her tidy clothes clean. Poor they might be, but Alice Sullivan always changed out of her workday clothes, at the end of each wearisome day, into a serviceable dress covered by a neatly-tied overall.

  “Can’t we leave this discussion now, Mother?” Kate pleaded. “You’ve always done your best for me, and you don’t need to tell me anything about family duty, for I’ve got your example to follow. And I know Walter will always respect me.”

  She gave her mother a swift hug, not wanting to meet her eyes. For Walter had shown little respect for her feelings two months ago, when she’d faced him, white-faced and trembling at their special meeting place between the village and the nearby small town where she bicycled to work each mist-filled morning.

  “Are you sure?” Walter said harshly in his nasal northern voice. “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “Of course not,” Kate mumbled, dry-mouthed. “What’s the point in paying a doctor to tell me what I already know? He’d be down to the cottage in a minute, and my Dad would kill me – and you too!”

  Walter flinched, his knuckles stretched tight, his hands clenched, his good-looking face strained.

  “There’s only one way out of this, lass, and you’ve got to face it. I know somebody in Bristol who’ll do the job and keep his mouth shut. I’ll take you there as soon as I can fix it, and he’ll get rid of it.”

  Kate shook uncontrollably at his callous words, hardly recognising the ruthlessness in his face now.

  “You can’t mean it,” she said, ashen. “You’d be prepared to kill our child? You know it would be a mortal sin, against the teachings of the Church. Walter, you’ve got to marry me. My family’s expecting it anyway, and we must do it as soon as possible.”

  She clung to him, her fingers digging deep into his flesh. She knew he hated her to mention the Church with all its doctrines and demands. But she had already been guilty of one terrible sin, and she could never commit this atrocity. Her father’s was a lapsing Catholic faith that the young Sullivans had only ever followed in a token fashion. But for Kate, it was now the only stable thing in a world that had suddenly fallen apart.

  Walter looked hunted, and Kate was terribly afraid.

  “You do want to marry me, don’t you, Walter?” she said, her voice cracking. “You promised me marriage, and you know I’d never have let you – you know I wouldn’t…”

  “All right, but for God’s sake let me think,” he said angrily. “First of all – have you told anyone else?”

  She shook her head dumbly. She could hardly believe what was happening. A moment that should be so wonderful between two people, had become so ugly and sordid. Walter waited too long before he took her in his arms, where she stood rigidly, misery enveloping her.

  “We’ll be wed then, if that’s what you want. Will that suit? Just a quiet affair, mind.”

  “Oh yes,” Kate almost sobbed. “Just a quiet affair.”

  He hadn’t said it was what he wanted, but her relief was too great to question it, with all her pride scattered in the wind like a dandelion clock. She’d be saved from disgrace. It was the only thing that had mattered – then.

  And once the family had been told about the wedding, but not the baby, Kate was touched to discover how her mother had over the years scraped together her meagre savings for this very occasion. Enough to see her eldest daughter properly married by the priest, in church, wearing Alice’s wedding dress and veil, and with a modest bite at the cottage afterwards.

  Money wouldn’t stretch to a grand affair, for the men had always done casual labouring jobs, save for when Donal had been in the army. There’d be no formal guests, for the Sullivans were company enough, and all Kate knew of Walter’s family was that they lived somewhere in Yorkshire and wouldn’t be able to make the long journey to Somerset.

  Soon after the arrangements had been made, miraculously avoiding any suspicion in her parents’ eyes in all the excitement, Kate had felt a searing pain in her lower belly. She’d leant low over the industrial sewing maching where she stitched together sleeves and bodices for factory-made garments. Vi, the woman who worked beside her, sent for the supervisor at once.

  “You know what’s wrong with you, don’t you, my girl?” Vi said shortly. “I’ll lay odds on it that your fancy travelling man has been getting into your knickers.”

  Kate felt her face burn with shame at the older woman’s knowing look.

  “It’s not like you think, Vi…”

  “It never is. But I’ll bet he didn’t promise you marriage until you put a shotgun to his head, did he? No wonder you ain’t been looking so bright-eyed lately, if he was pushed into it—”

  “He wasn’t. We love each other!”

  But then the supervisor came storming up to see why two of his machines were idle, and Vi explained that Kate had a bad gastric attack and would probably throw up in her machine if she didn’t rest for a bit.

  Jenkins grudgingly allowed her to lie down in the back room for a while, docking her an hour’s pay for the privilege, by which time Kate knew there wasn’t going to be any baby. Her feelings were a bewildering mixture of bereavement and wild relief. She felt almost compelled to confide in Vi.

  “And I always thought you were such an innocent little cuss, with them big baby-blue eyes of yours. But I daresay it was always a fair bet that some smooth-talking chap was going to put you in the club,” she said with rough sympathy.

  “Thanks,” Kate muttered. “That makes me feel a deal better, I must say. Now I’m simple as well.”

  “No you ain’t, just too affectionate and trusting. It don’t do to trust any man, and if you’ve learned that much, then it ain’t all been a waste of time.”

  Kate couldn’t cope with such philosophy right then. The pains in her belly were still griping, and she felt as if her head was floating somewhere above her body as Vi argued with the supervisor on her behalf, until he grudgingly agreed that Kate could just sit at her machine for the rest of the day.

  But by then, Kate was already wondering if she loved Walter Radcliffe half as much as she thought she had. His passion had waned with the threat of a marriage she suspected he didn’t want, and hers had all but disappeared in the shame of what had happened, and Walter’s reaction to it. Because of him, she had deceived her parents, and she had deceived herself in thinking Walter wanted anything more from her than a few quick thrusts on a hillside whenever he was in the neighbourhood. But in a kind of desperation Kate convinced herself that this lack of passion between them was only temporary, and that once they were married, all the old fire would return, for there was no getting out of it now.

  All the arrangements had been made. The priest had spoken to them, and had seen the futility of trying to convert Walter to the faith. As for Kate, he’d mentally washed his hands of another of the irritating Sullivan family whose elder members had formed a frowned-upon mixed marriage in the first place. In Father Mulheeny’s eyes it was never a good thing. Kate knew that if she changed her mind about the marriage now, too many seaching questions would be asked, and she was too vulnerable and bruised not to give everything away. Besides, she would be shamed if folk thought Walter had jilted her, or saw her as a flighty baggage who couldn’t make up her own mind.

  At least marriage meant security for the future. Walter had a good travelling salesman’s job that took him all over the country, so Kate could still live at home for the time being, until they could decide on a proper base as he called it. She didn’t mind that idea. She would be halfway between her old life and the new, and for all her bravado, at not yet twenty-one she knew in her heart she wasn’t really ready for the commitment of marriage.

  Her real self-guilt in the whole affair, though, was that she hadn’t told Walter about the miscarriage. As far as he knew, she was still pre
gnant and it was still a shotgun wedding. Kate had no wish to face her father’s roaring blasphemies, nor the sorrow and disbelief in her mother’s eyes. Things were better left as they were, and she would have to pretend to Walter that the miscarriage happened soon after the honeymoon.

  So many deceptions, Kate thought with a shiver, when she had been brought up to be so honest. She consoled herself that they’d have got married eventually anyway. And she refused to let herself question whether any good could come out of a marriage based on so many lies.

  All the doubts had been smothered, and all the plans put into operation, and now the wedding was tomorrow. And the wedding-eve talk between Kate and her mother had finally dwindled to nothing.

  “Goodnight, Mother,” Kate said quickly. “Get a good night’s sleep and be happy for me. When I get back in a week’s time, everything will be as it is now, except that Walter will stay here when he’s not travelling.”

  “Nothing will ever be the same once you’re married, Katherine, and don’t be so daft as to think it. And I’m still not sure I’ll like having a stranger living in the house.”

  “Walter’s not a stranger! And he was Donal’s friend long before he was mine.”

  It was odd how that friendship had resulted in her and Walter meeting. Donal and Walter had been together at the Front in France for a brief time, and when they’d accidentally met several years after the war ended, Donal had invited him home to meet his family.

  That was Kate’s first encounter with the tall, arrogant, fast-talking travelling salesman with a suitcase full of brushes and an assortment of household goods, and a big car that the small Sullivan girls had squealed over with excitement. And Brogan Sullivan had seen a fine young fellow who’d be quite a catch for his daughter, and encouraged the romance to blossom.

  Kate snuggled beneath the cold sheets in her own small room that night, listening to the comfortably settling creaks of the old cottage. And later, to the raucous singing that meant Brogan and Donal Sullivan were finally weaving their way homewards. She lay wide awake, trying to see into the future, and trying even more desperately to conjure up the magic she had first known with the man who was soon to be her husband.