‘I don’t want to keep you.’
Merrin noted the creep of age over the woman’s once well-oiled vowels.
‘Not at all. The light’s fading and I was just about to make a cuppa.’
‘Well, if you’re making.’ Loretta sat in one of the chairs and was quiet, taking in the view. Merrin gripped the mugs of tea in her palms, made on the floor with the kettle plugged into an extension lead. ‘I can’t wait to have a proper kitchen.’
‘I think if you have to wait for something you tend to appreciate it all the more, don’t you?’
Merrin nodded and wondered if she, too, were thinking of love . . . She handed Loretta a hot mug of tea and took the seat next to her.
‘This really is some spot.’ Loretta seemed a little transfixed by the view. ‘I brought you something else too, something I’ve wanted to give to you for a while, but I wasn’t sure.’ She hesitated, displaying uncharacteristic nerves as she pulled an envelope from her pocket. Merrin was curious and wary in equal measure.
‘What is it?’ She took the envelope from her.
‘Open it,’ Loretta urged, keeping her eyes on her face.
Peeling open the gummy flap, Merrin pulled out a black-and-white photograph.
‘Oh, my goodness! Will you look at that!’ She felt tears gather as, holding it close, she examined the beaming faces of Bella, Ruby and her mum, her beloved gran, Jarvis with a face like thunder and her dad, laughing so hard with his head tipped back and looking like a proper gent in his morning suit. The cart on which they all sat was abundant with flowers. Her gran had her stick in the air and Bella was brandishing a big, fat bacon sandwich. The sun shone overhead and Merrin herself looked full of joy. In the background, boats were dotted on the blue sea and it was in truth the most beautiful picture she had ever seen. ‘Look at my dad! And my gran!’ She sniffed, making no attempt to hide the tears that fell. ‘This is . . .’ Emotion robbed her of eloquence. ‘This is fantastic, thank you!’
‘The photographer sent me all the pictures. I got rid of them. It didn’t feel right somehow to keep them, but that one, I couldn’t throw away.’
‘Do you know, I never gave them any thought, but I’m glad you kept this. I shall treasure it.’ It was a snapshot of love and happiness and a reminder that life turns on a penny.
‘And you can look at this day without pain?’
‘I can.’ She swallowed. ‘Not that it makes the pain I’ve been through any easier to reconcile.’ To say so felt bold, but this was the person she was now, emerged from a chrysalis of timidity.
‘I understand.’ Loretta looked into her lap. ‘I’m getting old, Merrin. There’s not much to recommend it, but it gives you clarity, I’ll say that.’
Merrin stared at her over the rim of her mug, suspecting that Ma Mortimer wanted her to listen rather than comment.
‘I wasn’t born rich. I’m sure you have heard that – I know my story goes before me,’ she huffed with a wry smile. ‘I never had pretensions, and despite what folk say, I was never ashamed of my background or my family; quite the opposite. I think my parents were remarkable to raise six healthy kids in such adversity. That takes some doing, doesn’t it?’
‘It really does.’ Merrin spoke sincerely and was fascinated by the woman’s words, her candid admission.
‘But Port Charles was determined to paint me in a certain way and, after some years of hiding away up at the Old Rectory, running off to Bristol whenever possible and crying myself to sleep, I embraced it. Sod the lot of them! I thought. I even bought a hat with two curled pheasant tails and my pearls’ – she ran her fingers over the double string that sat over the silk collar of her shirt – ‘and I cocked a snook at them all. Still do.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘Guthrie,’ she began, pausing to lick her dry lips and take a breath. ‘Guthrie was a couple of decades older than me, and rich. I found both of these aspects fascinating and I remember the first time I walked into that big old house.’ She looked again at the view as if lost in a memory. ‘It was like a dream, to think I could live in a place like that!’
Merrin was rapt, the atmosphere silent, allowing every nuance to be heard and savoured from this woman who wanted to tell her story, revealing her inner self.
‘I loved him. Contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t only the trappings that appealed. I loved him. He read Shakespeare, he knew about wine and art and he had travelled. Can you imagine what it felt like to have someone like him interested in a girl from Mellor Waters? It was intoxicating.’
‘I can imagine.’ She spoke softly.
‘Our wedding was modest; I was giddy with happiness and for the first month or so things were wonderful. Until I realised that they were only wonderful for me and that Guthrie, despite my every effort, was not happy, not at all. He was either sad or drunk.’ She nodded and sipped her tea. ‘And that was pretty much how he stayed until the day he died.’
‘Why was he so sad?’ Merrin asked without hesitation, swept up in the tale and unaware now of any reason to feel nervous when addressing Loretta.
‘Because he loved someone else.’ Her lip quivered and the hurt at this admission, even after all this time, was clear. ‘He loved someone else very much and they had planned to marry, but his parents intervened and made a deal. They sent Guthrie around the world on his yacht for a few years and the girl – a local girl – they paid off her parents and the parents of a local boy whom she was encouraged to marry. And marry they did. Beneficial to all except dear Guthrie, who, broken-hearted, went off the rails.’
‘God, that’s—’ She fumbled mentally for the word – what was it? Sad? Horrific? Cruel?
‘It is.’ Loretta finished her tea and placed the mug on the floor. ‘He told me that on the day he was supposed to marry the girl he loved, his mother, Eunice, came into the room and presented him with a note saying the girl had changed her mind. His mother was furious, of course, shouting around the corridors “How dare she? A local girl! The daughter of a fisherman? A bloody fisherman!”’
‘A fisherman?’
‘Yes. A fisherman.’ Loretta held her gaze. ‘But it was all a ruse. It was the very next day that he set sail on his big life adventure, away for seven years. He was never able to forget her, but found escape in the bottom of a bottle. He saw her from time to time over the years, his would-be bride, but never spoke to her again. On the odd occasion when interaction was unavoidable, whether I was there or not, she looked through him like he was a ghost, and many was the time I wondered if he might be. So thin was his heart, so transparent his body that ached his whole life for the girl he lost.’
‘So, you . . . you saw her? She was a Port Charles girl?’
‘Oh yes. Guthrie died without ever knowing the cost of the transaction on what should have been his wedding day. But I’ve unearthed the documents since.’
‘What was the transaction?’ Merrin asked quietly with her pulse racing and her mouth dry. Outside, dusk drew its blind on the day as the sun sank beyond the window and the two women sat in the cocoon of her new home, transfixed by their conversation.