September Morning, page 14
That fine September afternoon, she walked the short distance across the firm moorland turf to the clayworks from the pottery, after a pleasurable time approving the German catalogues Seb had shown her so gleefully. She had no doubt both firms would be after similar stock once it was known that rivals were in full production of Seb’s design.
Tom Vickery touched his hard hat as he saw her approach.
‘Me and Mr Lovett were waiting for ’ee, ma’am. There’s summat of importance we need to talk over.’
‘Oh dear, I hope that doesn’t mean bad news,’ she said with a smile.
It was too fine a day to be hearing bad news. The girls were home from Switzerland, their school years over, and they were relaxing by taking a rowing boat on the river at Truro, having persuaded Justin and Olly to go with them.
‘Depends,’ Vickery said in response to her comment.
Skye gave a sigh. Being closeted in the site manager’s hut for even ten minutes was less than comfortable, with its rank smells of tobacco and sometimes steaming boots, as he dried the caking wet clay by his little fire. If this meeting went on for any length of time, she would as soon conduct it in the open air.
Once inside the hut, she tried to close her nose to the various unsavoury whiffs and shook Will Lovett’s hand.
‘I understand there’s some problem that needs sorting out this afternoon,’ she said at once.
‘It may take more’n an afternoon, ma’am,’ he warned. ’Tis this rumour that’s going around, see?’
‘What rumour? You should know as well I do, Will, that there’s rarely any substance in rumours.’
Although she knew only too well that there was frequently more than a touch of truth in them.
‘’Tis about we mergin’ wi’ Bourne’s, missus,’ Tom Vickery broke in aggressively. ‘The clayers be up in arms about it, same as they’ve allus been when there’s any such talk.’
‘And just where did you hear this?’ Skye asked, amazed as ever at how quickly the moorland grapevine could transmit rumour and gossip. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised. Families were so intertwined among the clayfolk that pillow talk could easily bring home the gossip from one pit to another, and it spread like wildfire.
‘Don’t matter where, Mrs Pengelly, ma’am,’ Lovett said. ‘The only thing that matters to we is whether or not ’tis true, and what ’twill mean to the clayers. One thing I can tell ’ee for certain sure, is that they don’t like it.’
‘Theo Tremayne should be here explainin’ things,’ Vickery growled. ‘The men ’ould listen to him—’
‘And not to me?’ Skye snapped.
He glared back at her, his eyes full of disrespect.
‘I’ll allow that they listened to your grandmother once, when times were threatening, but that was when another woman clay boss were in the runnin’ for Killigrew Clay. This is different. Bourne’s is a powerful name in Roche, and Zacharius Bourne’s a hard man wi’ money to burn. If ’tis likely you and Mr Theo are thinkin’ of sellin’ out or mergin’, we’ve got a right to know of it – and what benefits we’d get out of it.’
‘You’ve got no such rights,’ Skye said, incensed. ‘Any business dealings that my cousin and I choose to do are our business. We hold the purse strings here.’
But his words made her go cold, intimating as they did that if Bourne offered substantially higher wages to the clayworkers, then a merger might be all too tempting if it came to a showdown between men and management.
‘We do need to know where we stand, Mrs Pengelly, if only to prevent any talk of walkouts,’ Will Lovett said more quietly. ‘The autumn despatches are about due, and ’twould be a disaster if any were held up because of disputes that could be easily solved.’
‘Is that a threat, Will?’
‘No. ’Tis common sense, ma’am,’ he said.
Skye took a deep breath. Despite the way her nostrils were closing up while being confined in this little hut, and her wish to get out of there before she threw up, she vastly preferred Will Lovett to the volatile Tom Vickery. He had the temperament to stir up trouble and strike action, while Will was more inclined to use diplomacy.
‘You’re absolutely right, Will,’ she said, appearing to back down. ‘Well, I can tell you that we have had offers to sell out or to merge with Bourne’s—’ she ignored Vickery’s derisive snort at that point – ‘but my cousin and I have categorically refused both. There is no question of it, now or in the future, and you have my word on it.’
‘For what ’tis worth,’ Vickery muttered, and she rounded on him at once.
‘Yes, Tom, and if my long and loyal family history in these clayworks mean anything, you will know that my word is worth everything to you – including your position here. I won’t have men working for me who cannot trust me, or whom I can no longer trust. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Aye, I reckon you do,’ he said sullenly.
‘Then I suggest you and Mr Lovett relay all that I have said to the men, and get on with your work.’
She left the hut, drawing in deep breaths of clean air, and began to stride back across the moors to reclaim her car at the pottery, more agitated than when she left.
Will Lovett called to her before she had gone more than a few yards.
‘Thank you for that, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I’ll smooth Tom over, never fear, and the clayers will be reassured.’
‘Good. It’s all a storm in a teacup, Will, I promise you. It’s a mystery how these rumours start, though.’
‘’Tis no mystery. Young Jessie Vickery’s courtin’ one of Bourne’s clayers, and she brought the news home to her pa.’
So that was it. How much vindictiveness was in pretty little Jessie Vickery’s mind at what she might see as scoring over the Killigrew dynasty – especially since Ethan Pengelly, very much a part of it, was no longer interested in her?
It hardly mattered, providing Skye had managed to squash any thought of uprising among their own clayworkers. It seemed likely, as the weeks passed without incident, and the autumn clay despatches got away on time to their various destinations, that she had done just that.
The weeks were passing all too quickly, she thought, as the time came for Celia to begin her new job in Berlin. They celebrated her birthday as a close-knit family event this time, just the five of them at home together as if this was an occasion that might never come again, not quite in the same way, anyway… the unwanted thought clouded Skye’s mind. She was determinedly cheerful as she hugged her elder daughter as she prepared to leave.
‘You be sure to write and tell us everything about your new life, honey. And you will take care, won’t you?’ Skye begged, hoping she didn’t sound too much like clinging Betsy – but knowing exactly how Betsy felt now!
‘Mom, I’ll be just fine,’ Celia said, more than a little choked, but determined not to let it show. ‘And I’ll be home for Christmas. You’ll hardly have time to miss me.’
She had to swallow hard as she said it. It was still a wrench to leave Cornwall and home, the way it had always been each time she left for Gstaad. But this time there was a new and exciting life awaiting her, and Stefan von Gruber was going to be a part of it.
As yet, she didn’t know how great a part that was going to be. She knew she had to keep her feet on the ground, and remember that theirs was to be a working relationship. She also knew that in the past she had sometimes been too flirtatious for her own good, and she couldn’t even be sure that the handsome German’s attentions hadn’t simply turned her head. After all, she had only met him once. The fact that he had filled her thoughts ever since, was no yardstick on which to base an everlasting love, Celia told herself severely, knowing herself too well.
As her immediate boss, von Gruber had arranged to meet her in Berlin and to drive her to the hostel where she was to live. It was far beyond his duties, and hardly usual for a managing director to take on the task for his new personal assistant.
He could have sent someone on his staff… or requested the Hostel Frau to meet her. Celia had been told she was a chaperone to the company employees, together with her husband, the hostel superintendent cum handyman.
But Celia didn’t question the fact that Stefan had arranged to meet her himself. She only knew that her heart leapt the moment she saw him, and the pleasure in his eyes was far beyond that of a considerate employer.
‘I’m so glad to see you again,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘The time has been long.’
The simplicity and quaintness of the phrase charmed her. It wasn’t over-gushing, but it said everything she would have said, had she dared.
As it was, for once, the sometimes arrogant, over-confident Celia Pengelly was briefly tongue-tied.
* * *
There was always a sense of strangeness when two people met again after being parted. A time of getting to know one another all over again, before they could fully relax and be themselves. But since they had had so little time to get to know one another before, there were no memories to share, save for that one afternoon in a hotel restaurant, with its view of the green slopes, the fragrant flower-filled valleys and the distant snow-capped mountains.
One memory of a stunning, evocative view, and a deep and certain knowledge that this was the man with whom she wanted to share the rest of her life. Celia’s nerves prickled at the thought that hadn’t even been fully formed in her mind, but which now seemed as inevitable as if it had been preordained.
She shivered slightly as she looked around the apartment in the hostel that was to be her home for the foreseeable future. The furniture was heavy and ornate in the German style, and more than comfortable.
‘Is it to your liking?’ he asked anxiously. ‘I saw you shiver. Are you too cold? Perhaps the heating is not turned up high enough—’
She shook her head. ‘I’m perfectly fine, and the apartment is lovely,’ she said. ‘It was a goose stepping over my grave, that’s all.’
She gave a forced laugh at his puzzled look. ‘I’m sorry. It’s an English expression. It means – well, I don’t really know what it means, except that sometimes you get a feeling of fate taking a hand in your life, or of some memory of the past that intrudes into the future. It’s a Cornish legacy, if you like. We all have this odd sense of déjà vu at times. It’s silly, I suppose, to think Cornish people should be any more perceptive than anyone else, and now you’ll be thinking I’m quite mad. I assure you I’m not normally scatterbrained, Herr von Gruber, and I hope you will be quite satisfied with my work.’
He took her hands in his, laughing as she gabbled on, and stopping her by raising one of her hands to his lips and kissing it in the continental style.
‘I’m quite sure I shall, Celia, providing you stop being so nervous and talking so much, and you will please use my given name except in the office building. I insist that you call me Stefan this evening when I take you to dinner.’
Her eyes widened as he dropped her hands. ‘Oh, but is this usual? I mean, you’re my employer—’
‘It’s my way of welcoming you to Berlin. I have every confidence that our association will be fruitful. So I shall leave you now to settle in, and I’ll see you at seven thirty.’
When he had gone, she watched him from her window as he got into his powerful car and drove away. Her heart was thudding as she saw him go and she felt momentarily alone.
A fruitful association seemed an odd way of putting it, but it was one more example of his beautifully correct continental phrasing.
She turned away from the window, took a deep breath and looked around her slowly. On her arrival she had met the motherly Hostel Frau, who had told her to let her know at once if she needed anything. She knew that the hostel was full of other employees of the Vogl empire, so she need never feel isolated in a new country.
The company offices where she was to work with Stefan were literally around the corner on the next block, within easy walking distance.
She was here, in her new life. In his life.
* * *
The restaurant where he took her for dinner that evening was small and intimate and seductive with soft rosy-hued lighting. Not knowing the kind of place it would be, she had worn a softly draping afternoon gown of pale green, without heeding any significance. It was simply a favourite of Celia’s that did double duty as a semi-cocktail dress, and she knew it flattered her colouring.
Stefan had called for her at the hostel and handed her a small corsage to pin to her shoulder. It was so very elegant and grown-up, she found herself thinking. It was hardly any time at all since she had been involved in school activities, albeit as part-time teacher. But now it seemed like aeons ago, and she was a different person now, with different ideals and prospects.
‘Why do you smile?’ Stefan asked, when they had been shown to an intimate little alcove and he was smiling into her eyes through the soft candlelight.
‘I was just thinking how quickly life can change. Here I am, away from home and family – with you.’
‘Do you question the decision? I have been told that your Cornish intuition tells you when something is right.’ He spoke teasingly. ‘What is it telling you now, I wonder?’
‘To enjoy the moment,’ Celia said, smiling back.
‘Then you should always trust your intuition, for such moments never come again,’ Stefan told her.
It was said light-heartedly, but it was a remark that Celia knew she would remember. To enjoy the moment for it would never come again… it was at once poignant and prosaically true. He was a wonderful and sensitive man with the ability to put such things into words so uninhibitedly and without embarrassment.
He behaved, as she had expected, like a perfect gentleman, but they were so comfortable with one another, Celia felt as if she had always known him. By the end of that evening, she knew she was already half in love with him.
She ignored the fact that there was a considerable age difference between them. As he had pointed out with admirable dignity on their first meeting, she was nineteen – barely – and he was thirty-six. To Celia Pengelly such statistics were unimportant in the great scheme of things.
Love was the only thing that mattered. Love, and the special rapport between two people who refused to let any outside interference come between them. Even though it went unsaid in the weeks that followed, Celia knew in her heart that their feelings were the same.
In business and in pleasure, they were soulmates, she thought, with a dreamy smile that would have done justice to her sister’s romantic heart.
* * *
Christmas, when she had left Berlin to spend the promised two weeks at home for the holidays, cemented it all. Her family was ecstatic to see her back, wanting to know everything about the new job, the new boss, and how she was enjoying everything. In those first few hours, the excitement of being at home eclipsed the tug of longing to be with Stefan.
‘Let me get my breath back!’ She laughed. ‘Berlin is a wonderful city and the job is marvellous. Stefan has taken me round the warehouses and showrooms, Mom, and our goods are very prominent everywhere, including Sebby’s new design. Vogl’s are making a big splash with it for the new year trade, and Stefan says it will do very well indeed.’
‘Stefan seems to be saying quite a lot,’ her father said with a smile. ‘What about the other girls in the hostel? I hope you’ve made some new friends among them.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said quickly. ‘There are two girls in particular – Gerda and Maria. We go walking in the nearby park when the weather’s not too cold, and I’ve been to several concerts with them too.’
She caught Wenna’s glance, and gave a faint smile, guessing that once they were alone she would want to know far more about Stefan von Gruber than about Gerda and Maria!
‘I’ve brought presents for everyone,’ she went on quickly. ‘I’ll fetch them from my room as soon as I’ve unpacked properly and put them under the tree, Mom. The house looks wonderful, by the way. I guess you all went out on the moors gathering berries and stuff. I missed that!’
When she had gone upstairs, still chattering, with Wenna at her heels, Skye looked thoughtfully at Nick.
‘She’s different. In these few weeks, she’s changed.’
‘It’s only to be expected, darling. She’s earning her own money now, and feeling her independence. None of them will stay your chicks for ever, you have to accept that.’
Skye shook her head. ‘I know, but it’s more than that. It’s something in the way she spoke.’
About Stefan von Gruber… it came to her instantly. It was the way she said his name, the way she lingered slightly over it, the way it seemed she had to say it more than once when it wasn’t strictly necessary. Skye knew the signs. She knew her girl was in love, and she prayed that this Stefan person wasn’t going to break her heart.
He came highly praised from Herr Vogl as a man of integrity and breeding, and with an impeccable background – which the Germans set such store by – but he was still a stranger, a foreigner. Skye found herself smiling ruefully at the thought, because wasn’t she herself just that, in many a Cornishman’s eyes? Even now.
‘What’s so funny?’ Nick asked.
‘Nothing, honey. Nothing at all,’ she assured him. ‘I’m just so happy to have all the family at home once more. It’s a good feeling.’
* * *
Wenna was always direct.
‘So tell me, what’s he really like? Is he as spiffing as you thought he’d be?’
Celia laughed. There were some things you didn’t tell, even to a best friend or a loving sister. You didn’t tell about feelings and longings, and the new range of emotions that you didn’t know were in you until you experienced them.
‘He’s very nice and I like him a lot, which is just as well, as we have to work together every day.’
Every single, beautiful day.
‘So are you going to marry him?’
