accept there was anything wrong.
Betty, on the other hand, ventured to suggest that Leo and his wife had moved into the family house with his parents in order to keep a better eye on them. ‘I expect your wife will be glad of the larger place, once the babbies start coming, and your mam will enjoy doing a bit of baby-sitting and dangling her grandchild on her knee.’
‘You don’t know everything, Betty Hemley, for all you may think you do,’ he’d snapped. ‘Some things are not always what they seem.’
Now what had he meant by that?
But then the old couple had upped and retired to the coast, leaving the family home to his son, something Jonty Catlow had sworn he’d never do.
Ever since that day Betty had adopted a little more caution with her questions, but she was feeling particularly perverse this morning. ‘So what about the missus then? What sort of flowers does she get on this fine autumn day?’
Betty couldn’t recall him ever buying his wife a similar bouquet. Word had it that the couple were at odds because Leo was desperate to start a family, and his wife had not yet managed to fulfil her duty of providing him with the much-needed son and heir to carry on the family business. How true this was Betty had no idea but she couldn’t resist provoking him at every opportunity, good customer or no.
Truth to tell she didn’t much care for Helen Catlow. Elegant and sophisticated she may be, exactly like jasmine, and every bit as fragrant and delicate, but the woman was a snob, far too full of herself. She always spoke in a low-pitched gentle voice as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to address a lowly flower-seller.
‘How about one of these pots of African Violets, or a single long-stemmed rose for the good lady?’
He didn’t rise to the bait, but then he never did. Leo Catlow was what you might call “close”. He was a private person who liked to keep his opinions to himself. Quite good looking in a conventional sort of way with that strong square chin of his, ears flat to the side of his head, a long straight nose and wide mouth with even white teeth. And oh, those smouldering, deep-set brown eyes. Had she been twenty years younger Betty might have fancied him herself. As it was, he was simply a well-heeled customer, a man who, like others of his sex, neglected his wife and treated his parents with appalling callousness.
Betty counted out his change, giving him a sideways glance of condemnation as she did so. ‘Happen the younger Mrs Catlow will be lucky next time, or when her birthday next comes round, eh?’
Leo moved his mouth into what might have passed for a smile but the gesture didn’t reach those wonderfully enigmatic eyes, and with a brief nod of his fine regal head he was gone.
Betty chewed on her lip and tried to work it all out. Something wasn’t quite right, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
In her somewhat prejudiced mind she couldn’t find it in her heart to lay the blame for Leo Catlow’s all too evident unhappiness on his wife. Maybe the woman spoke in a half-whisper because she was scared witless. Who knew what went on behind closed doors?
Nevertheless, as she watched him walk away, shoulders hunched, head down, she felt a stirring of unexpected pity for him. That wasn’t normal behaviour for such a proud, upstanding bloke, a man who owned one of the largest warehouses on Salford Docks and was used to dishing out the orders and expecting to be obeyed. There were moments when he looked so sad Betty had the urge to put her arms around the man and give him a cuddle.
‘Get away with you, Betty Hemley,’ she sharply scolded herself. ‘You must be going soft in your old age feeling sorry for one of the enemy! You’ll be inviting that ex-husband of yours to come home for good next.’
Chapter Eight
Helen Catlow didn’t normally frequent the Dog and Duck. With an air of disdain she ignored its brave show of window boxes stuffed with
Betty, on the other hand, ventured to suggest that Leo and his wife had moved into the family house with his parents in order to keep a better eye on them. ‘I expect your wife will be glad of the larger place, once the babbies start coming, and your mam will enjoy doing a bit of baby-sitting and dangling her grandchild on her knee.’
‘You don’t know everything, Betty Hemley, for all you may think you do,’ he’d snapped. ‘Some things are not always what they seem.’
Now what had he meant by that?
But then the old couple had upped and retired to the coast, leaving the family home to his son, something Jonty Catlow had sworn he’d never do.
Ever since that day Betty had adopted a little more caution with her questions, but she was feeling particularly perverse this morning. ‘So what about the missus then? What sort of flowers does she get on this fine autumn day?’
Betty couldn’t recall him ever buying his wife a similar bouquet. Word had it that the couple were at odds because Leo was desperate to start a family, and his wife had not yet managed to fulfil her duty of providing him with the much-needed son and heir to carry on the family business. How true this was Betty had no idea but she couldn’t resist provoking him at every opportunity, good customer or no.
Truth to tell she didn’t much care for Helen Catlow. Elegant and sophisticated she may be, exactly like jasmine, and every bit as fragrant and delicate, but the woman was a snob, far too full of herself. She always spoke in a low-pitched gentle voice as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to address a lowly flower-seller.
‘How about one of these pots of African Violets, or a single long-stemmed rose for the good lady?’
He didn’t rise to the bait, but then he never did. Leo Catlow was what you might call “close”. He was a private person who liked to keep his opinions to himself. Quite good looking in a conventional sort of way with that strong square chin of his, ears flat to the side of his head, a long straight nose and wide mouth with even white teeth. And oh, those smouldering, deep-set brown eyes. Had she been twenty years younger Betty might have fancied him herself. As it was, he was simply a well-heeled customer, a man who, like others of his sex, neglected his wife and treated his parents with appalling callousness.
Betty counted out his change, giving him a sideways glance of condemnation as she did so. ‘Happen the younger Mrs Catlow will be lucky next time, or when her birthday next comes round, eh?’
Leo moved his mouth into what might have passed for a smile but the gesture didn’t reach those wonderfully enigmatic eyes, and with a brief nod of his fine regal head he was gone.
Betty chewed on her lip and tried to work it all out. Something wasn’t quite right, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
In her somewhat prejudiced mind she couldn’t find it in her heart to lay the blame for Leo Catlow’s all too evident unhappiness on his wife. Maybe the woman spoke in a half-whisper because she was scared witless. Who knew what went on behind closed doors?
Nevertheless, as she watched him walk away, shoulders hunched, head down, she felt a stirring of unexpected pity for him. That wasn’t normal behaviour for such a proud, upstanding bloke, a man who owned one of the largest warehouses on Salford Docks and was used to dishing out the orders and expecting to be obeyed. There were moments when he looked so sad Betty had the urge to put her arms around the man and give him a cuddle.
‘Get away with you, Betty Hemley,’ she sharply scolded herself. ‘You must be going soft in your old age feeling sorry for one of the enemy! You’ll be inviting that ex-husband of yours to come home for good next.’
Chapter Eight
Helen Catlow didn’t normally frequent the Dog and Duck. With an air of disdain she ignored its brave show of window boxes stuffed with
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