Nancy Carson - The Factory Girl

At ten minutes past one, the appointed time, Henzey and Billy met by his rakish 1926 Vauxhall sports tourer parked in the Market Place outside Boots the Chemist. He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek – the first time ever – which made her tingle inside, and he told her how lovely she looked. As the swish motor-car pulled away, envious passers-by witnessed her happy, smiling face that was hiding a deal of nervousness.

‘So how’s it feel to be on your last day of being sixteen, Henzey?’ Billy asked as they drove past the open market.

She turned to look at his handsome face, scarcely able to believe that she had him all to herself, in the privacy of his car, without the staff of George Mason’s winking and nudging each other as they looked on. ‘Well, it’s year closer to being twenty-one.’

They pulled up on the front apron of the mock Tudor building known as The Station Hotel, an imposing structure, overlooking the railway station in the cutting below. Evidently Billy believed she looked old enough to take into a public bar.

He took her hand and led her into a comfortable and well-furnished saloon. There were men in there, businessmen, she presumed, by the look of their fine suits and starched white collars and cuffs. Some spoke to Billy, and some merely nodded, but she noticed how they all watched her. She sat on a settle that was finely upholstered in dark green moquette and Billy went to the bar, returning with a bottle of champagne and two lead crystal flutes.

Henzey flinched as the cork popped and hit the ornately plastered ceiling, and she laughed at her own nervousness. With a practised skill he filled the two glasses slowly, allowing the bubbles to subside.

‘I expect you’ve done that lots of times,’ she suggested.

‘But never before with you, Henzey. This is just our own private little celebration, and a chance to talk to you properly. I’ve been meaning to for ages. Bottoms up! Happy birthday for tomorrow.’ He raised his glass.

She did the same, sipped the liquid and the bubbles tickled the end of her nose. ‘You’re not trying to get me drunk, like your daft brother-in-law, are you, Billy?’

‘Hey, hang on a bit. Let’s get this straight. First, I ain’t trying to get you drunk – that’s not my style – and second, Andrew ain’t me brother-in-law. Nor ever likely to be.’

Her curiosity at his latter comment set her pulse racing.

Billy casually took a Black Cat from his silver cigarette case, tapped the end down, put it between his lips and lit it. When he had exhaled his first cloud of smoke he began twirling the champagne flute on the table, gazing into it, pondering Nellie a moment. Nellie was becoming insufferable when she had her clothes on; hard work these days. It was even worth considering forfeiting her share of the Dewsbury fortune; worth considering forfeiting the possibility of a seat on the board of the Castle Iron Foundry. Henzey was far more agreeable. Her lack of sophistication and unassuming manner were refreshing, and far more suited to his own temperament.

‘Me an’ Nellie have been going through a bit of a rough patch,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve decided to finish with her – give her up. We couldn’t go on like we have been. It was a waste of time.’

Henzey looked into her glass, too, watching the bubbles, like tiny stars, rise to the surface. She said, ‘I bet she’s heartbroken.’ She wanted to say more – a lot more – and a thousand questions begged to be asked.

‘Heartbroken? Maybe she is, maybe she ain’t. She’ll get over it, whether or no.’

‘How do you get on with her mom and dad, Billy?’

‘All right, I suppose. Her mother gets a bit above herself sometimes, but old Walter Dewsbury’s a down to earth Black Countryman.’

‘It’s funny, I imagined him to be ever so posh being a councillor. Like Nellie and Andrew.’

‘Blimey, no,’ he scoffed. ‘Walter’s a foundryman. Have you ever heard of a foundryman with airs and graces? Calls a spade a spade, does Walter, and swears like a trooper. He talks broader than me.’

‘Oh, you talk nice, Billy,’ she assured him. ‘But how come the son and daughter are so lah-di-dah?’

‘It’s how they’ve been educated. They’ve been to private schools. Cost a fortune an’ all, I imagine. But still, Walter’s made a lot of money over the years. He could afford it.’

Henzey sipped her champagne and shuffled prettily on the settle, her back gracefully erect. Billy watched her, admiring the way she held her head. He noticed her neck, so elegant, her throat so pale, her skin so clear, the soft fullness high in her cheeks provided by a delicate bone structure; that ultimate beauty that would never fade. Her thick hair yielded a fine lustre, and its colour was a rich dark brown, with an occasional strand of red, like a random thread of burnished copper, glistening as it caught the light. Long, dark lashes enhanced her soft, blue eyes and, when she smiled, intensifying the delicious contours of her lips, he yearned to kiss her. This girl was irresistible, he told himself, and he was a fool for trying to resist. Never in his whole life had he known a girl so lovely, and yet so natural.

‘I’d like to take you out Sunday, Henzey.’

Her heart missed a beat, but she smiled brightly. ‘Oh, that’d be nice. Thank you, Billy. Where would we go?’

‘I thought a ride out into the country. I could call for you after dinner. The nights are drawing out a bit now, and we could stop on the way back for a drink in a nice country pub.’

‘I’d really like that. What about Nellie, though?’

‘Well, I hadn’t intended inviting her, to be truthful.’

She laughed self-consciously. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

She blushed a virtuous shade of crimson and lowered her eyelids as she regarded her drink. Inside, her heart was dancing and, for a few seconds, she did not know what to say, though a hundred things flashed through her mind. The trouble was, nothing seemed really appropriate to how she felt.

Billy took Henzey home in the middle of the afternoon. As they said their goodbyes he handed her a small package, beautifully gift-wrapped, which he’d taken out of his pocket. Not to be opened till tomorrow, he said. But even more than receiving this gift she was elated that she was going to see him again on Sunday. She could barely think straight. It was a dream come true. Oh, she loved him all right. And this time she knew there was no chance of getting bored like she had with Jack Harper. How could she possibly get bored with Billy knowing that her arch-rival, Nellie Dewsbury, might still be vying for Billy’s affection? The fact that Nellie would do all she could to hold on to him was a challenge she would meet head on and parry, no matter what it took. Henzey vowed that as long as she drew breath she would do everything in her power to possess Billy. She had had two boyfriends before, so she had learned a thing or two about men.

Over and over in her mind she relived the two hours they’d spent together in The Station Hotel’s lounge bar. She felt much closer to him now. The thought that she would have him all to herself on Sunday left her trembling with anticipation. Soon she would be able to express this frustrated love that had been smouldering within her heart for so long. She imagined romantic evenings over candlelit dinners, visits to nightclubs in Birmingham, to theatres and art galleries. She imagined picnics on hot summer days, in green meadows dotted with daisies and buttercups in the Worcestershire countryside. There would be walks in parks among beautiful flowers and shrubs, and garden parties at the smart homes of his well-to-do friends. It would be a whole new world. And she must get out her sketchbook and pencils at the earliest opportunity and draw him, since that too was a sublime expression of love.