The Dressmaker’s Daughter. Nancy Carson

I’ve always liked you. If only you knew! But Sylvia makes it impossible.’

      ‘So if I’d asked you to start courting afore I asked Sylvia, would you have said yes?’

      ‘Yes.’ She shivered again. ‘Of course I would … Gladly.’

      He smiled ruefully at the wicked irony of it. ‘And I wouldn’t ask you ’cause I thought you were too young and your mother might not like it.’

      ‘I suppose she’d have got used to it. But I don’t think yours would have liked it. I don’t think your mother’s particularly fond of me, or my mother … I hear she thinks a lot of Sylvia, though.’

      ‘What my old lady thinks is neither here nor there. I’ve got my own life to lead.’

      ‘I’m sorry, Jesse. I am really. But in any case I’ve started seeing Ben now. It wouldn’t be fair on him, would it?’ It was an exaggeration of the truth, but in her desire now to extricate herself honourably, and without hurting his fragile feelings too much, she felt justified in saying it. And Jesse could not prove otherwise.

      He shrugged, having to accept what she said. Yet somehow he felt better. The knowledge that he could have had her if he’d asked, and the relief of finally confessing the feelings he’d been bottling up for months, somehow lifted him. There might still be a chance.

      Suddenly he reached for her, and his arms embraced her, clutching her to him. At once the heat from his body started to penetrate her own clothes, bringing warm relief from the biting cold, enough to keep her there for a second or two longer. She looked up at him with clear, shining eyes, half admonishing for his audacity, half grateful for those few moments of protective warmth when she needed it. But as soon as he saw her face upturned, his lips were on hers, urgently tasting her, savouring their accommodating softness, fulfilling a longing he’d harboured for so long. She allowed him to linger, not knowing whether to resist or to wring as much enjoyment from it as she could. But the immediate pleasure of his kiss outweighed her inclination to resist. She felt him growing in confidence at her unwitting responsiveness, tensing his grip around her waist with a passionate squeeze. She had often wondered how his lips, his big moustache, would feel if ever he kissed her. Now she knew. It was a rewarding experience. Her own arms went inside his jacket, to his waistcoat and around his waist, as if they had been long time lovers. It felt so warm in there and she was so cold. And his kisses were so gentle, so comfortable, so delectable.

      ‘Say you’ll be mine, Lizzie. I need you. Say you’ll be mine.’

      She sighed. ‘Oh, I would’ve done, Jesse. I would’ve done. But how can I now? It’s just impossible. You know it’s impossible.’

      ‘Nothing’s impossible if you want it bad enough.’

      She paused, looking into his disappointed eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Jesse … I shouldn’t have let you kiss me like that. It was naughty of me.’

      ‘You seemed to like it.’

      ‘I didn’t say I didn’t like it,’ she said quietly.

      Neither spoke for long seconds. He knew without any doubt in those moments that he had failed to win her. Deep down he had always known he could never win her. She was beyond his reach.

      ‘If you ever change your mind …’

      ‘If I ever change my mind you’ll be the first to know.’

      ‘Promise?’

      ‘I promise.’

      He hugged her again and they remained holding each other; the warmth of his body detaining Lizzie longer still – much longer than it ought.

      ‘Do me a favour, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘Don’t breathe a word of this to a soul, for fear of it getting back. I intend to finish with Sylvia, but I want her to hear it from me, no one else.’

      ‘I won’t breathe a word, Jesse, I promise. I’d better go back in now. I’m froze to death.’

      ‘Go on, else you’ll catch your death. I’ll be back in a minute. Sylvia thinks I’ve gone up the yard.’

      ‘Sylvia thought you’d gone up the yard,’ a woman’s voice said.

      They both turned. There was no mistaking that tall, willowy frame even in the darkness. Sylvia’s face was in shadow, the street lamp behind her, and they could not see the stony contempt in her eyes. Her tone of voice, however, was cold as frozen marble, and her diction, so prim and correct these days, lent it a colder edge, even frostier than the weather. Lizzie and Jesse instantly, guiltily, let go of each other. They looked at her, then at each other. It was exactly the sort of confrontation neither wanted. They wondered how much she’d heard; but however much, she had seen them embrace, perhaps even witnessed their lingering kiss.

      ‘So this is what’s been going on behind my back, is it? This is why you only want to see me three nights a week, is it, Jesse Clancey?’

      ‘Nothing’s been going on behind your back, Sylvia.’

      ‘It doesn’t seem like it. Well, our Lizzie, you can have him and welcome, and I hope to God as I never see either of you again as long as I live.’ She burst into tears and fished in the pocket of her coat for a handkerchief. ‘I’m disgusted at you, Lizzie, I really am. But I shouldn’t be surprised, should I? Not the way I’ve seen you looking at him.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘And to think you’re leading that other poor lad on in there as well. You really ought to be ashamed of yourself. Why, you’re no better than a common harlot … and everybody thinks butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.’

      Lizzie was annoyed at this slur on her innocence. Until now she’d hung her head in sheer embarrassment at being caught in this compromising situation. But why should she feel guilty? She had nothing to hide. It was all innocent enough from her own point of view. She understood how it must have looked to Sylvia, though, so she tempered her pique.

      Sylvia turned to go.

      ‘Sylvia, no matter what it looked like, we were just standing here talking …’

      ‘Yes, in each other’s arms. And I heard what you were saying.’ Sylvia turned to face her again with increasing scorn. ‘I heard him tell you to keep it quiet in case I found out.’ Although she tensed with vehement anger and frustration, her emotions were surprisingly well under control.

      ‘For Christ’s sake, Sylvia,’ Jesse said. ‘You’ve got this all wrong. You’ve got nothing at all to blame Lizzie for. She was trying to protect you.’

      ‘Protect me? Holding you like that? Protect me from what? Do you think I’m completely stupid?’

      ‘Lizzie, you’d best get back inside as you were about to. Leave me and Sylvia to sort this out between us. She might as well know the rest of it.’

      ‘I don’t want to hear anything from either of you,’ Sylvia said, contemptuous of being scolded like a disobedient child. ‘My eyes have never deceived me yet.’

      ‘Well, whether you want to hear or no, you’re going to listen. You can either listen here, or you can listen while I walk you back home, ’cause there’s no way you’re going back into Joe’s house till I’ve told you the truth.’

      Lizzie was about to wish them a happy new year as she walked away, but stopped herself; neither the moment, nor the sentiment were appropriate.

      ‘Lizzie!’ Sylvia called icily. ‘Be sure that after this I shall get my own back. If it takes the rest of my life I’ll get my revenge. No woman steals my man and gets away with it.’

      ‘Sylvia, I haven’t stolen your man. I haven’t even tried.’

      She turned and hurried away, never more glad to be out of an awkward situation. The noise as she passed by the window drowned out any conversation Jesse and Sylvia were now having. Joe was playing ‘Roll out the Barrel’, and most of the guests were singing along to it. Lizzie realised that Sylvia couldn’t have