Matty - Part 4

Matty Part 4 – Retail Therapy

Philippa Lord walked through the pedestrian precincts of Leeds Town Centre amongst the busy hustle and bustle of a typical Monday lunchtime. She wore blue denim jeans, a pink wool sweater and a pale brown collarless leather jacket and brown leather boots. As she walked she gave herself sidelong glances in the department store windows.

Unable to sleep after David’s early departure for Manchester Airport, she had risen, showered and eaten a breakfast of fresh fruit, tea and toast. Then after checking on Sapphire and letting her loose in the paddock behind the barn, and giving brief instructions to her cleaners - two ladies from the village who had been working for the Lords’ for several years - she had driven her Porche into Ilkley and spent two hours at her hairdressers. She had then caught the train into Leeds, preferring the quick hassle-free train journey to that of battling her way along the busy A65.

Philippa side-stepped a young man sitting on a coat on the pavement with his arm around a dog. A small rectangular tin box containing a few coins lay on the pavement in front of him. As Philippa passed by, the man gave her a hopeful look but said nothing. Further along the street another man, dressed in a thick grey overcoat and bright red woolly hat, held out a folded magazine. ‘Big Issue, love?’

Philippa slipped the brown leather handbag from her shoulder, took out her purse and found a one-pound coin and exchanged it for the magazine.

‘God bless yer, love!’ said the man, as Philippa walked on.

‘Philippa! What have you done?’

Philippa turned to see her old friend and flatmate, Marie, walking towards her and wearing a shocked expression. She was a small, fair-hared, stocky woman; well dressed in a navy blue, short-skirted suit, and carrying a grey fabric hold-all. The meeting was pre-arranged, but Marie had spotted Philippa from across the street, at first not believing her own eyes.

‘Your hair! You’ve cut your lovely long hair. Turn around.’

Philippa pirouetted on the spot, smiling broadly. She had given Darren, her hair dresser, cart blanch, with the only proviso that her hair be much shorter and that he make the grey ones disappear.

‘It suits you though,’ said Marie beaming at her friend. ‘You look even younger. There should be a law against it. I’m a whole year younger than you, but you look ten years younger than me!’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Philippa, ‘You look the same as the day we first met.’

‘And you need some of these, I think,’ Marie replied, pointing at her glasses. ‘Where are we going for lunch? I’m starved.’

***

Philippa and Marie ate in a popular Italian restaurant, a little away from the Shopping Centre. Philippa ate seafood pasta and drank most of the bottle of Chardonnay that they had ordered, while Marie, who was working later, restricted herself to just one glass of wine, but polished off a large pizza and still found room for a sweet.

Over the meal they discussed Marie’s job as a nurse at Leeds General Infirmary, her holiday plans, her husband Ian, her children and her new house, occasionally reminiscing about old times.

‘That’s enough about me,’ said Marie, as the coffee arrived. ‘What have you been up to? And David! Ian saw David’s picture in the paper last week.’

‘Oh, the usual, I ride a lot, and I enjoy my garden,’ Philippa replied. ‘David’s flown off to Poland today. Should be back by Friday.’

‘How’s your mother?’ Marie asked.

‘Oh, she’s fine. I spoke to her on the phone the other day. I’ve promised to go and stay again later this year, and to take David this time. She’s very happy. I never expected her to marry again, let alone move to Cyprus. I miss her though.' Philippa looked thoughtful for a moment. 'Marie?'

‘Yes.’

‘Have you ever fainted?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Except when Ian asked me to marry him,’ Marie replied, laughing. ‘Why?’

‘Well, I had a bit of a dizzy spell the other day. I think I must have fainted, but… I had a dream. Can you have a dream when you faint?’

‘I’ve never heard anyone mention having a dream whist unconscious, except for on the operating table… Hey, you’re not?’

‘No, I’m not,’ replied Philippa, holding up the palm of her left hand.

‘Are you… still trying?’ asked Marie, her expression serious.

Philippa sipped her coffee, her eyes downcast, remembering once again the sight of her stillborn son, all those years ago. ‘I suppose we are, but I’ve given up hope.’

‘And David still won’t consider adoption?’ Marie asked.

‘No, I don’t know why. There’s just no shifting him on that.’

Marie took Philippa’s hand. ‘I’m sorry, have I upset you?’

‘No, of course not,’ replied Philippa ‘it’s good to have a friend to talk to.’

***

Matthew drove around the block again, looking for a parking space. His uncle had told him that this part of Leeds was a good place to park for free. Which seemed to be true enough, but unfortunately every other motorist in Leeds seemed to know about it. Perhaps the middle of the day was not a good time to arrive.

Matthew stopped his car and watched as a man crossed over the road ahead, taking keys from his pocket and pointing them at a Volvo estate car. He waited for the man to get into his car and drive away, then pulled forward and reversed his eight year old Vauxhall into the space. He got out of the car, taking his denim jacket from the passenger seat and checking that the package in the inside pocket was still there, then locked the car and set off along the street, referring to the hand drawn map that his uncle had given him.

The map took him across a bridge over a river, and under wide tunnel that was filled with noisy traffic and a strange damp smell. He followed the directions on the map for another five minutes and then saw the sign for Leeds Market. Five minutes later he was standing outside a small shabby looking shop with a large multicoloured sign above the window, which read ‘Carnaby Street’. The window was crammed with colourful skirts and dresses, and knitted shawls, and tie-dyed T-shirts, and flared denim jeans and Jimmy Hendrix-stile hats. As Matthew entered the shop an old fashioned bell above the door chimed loudly.

***

Philippa walked through the pedestrian precincts heading back towards the railway station. She had said goodbye to Marie outside Leeds General Infirmary, giving her a sisterly hug and promising to see her again soon. Then she had headed back into the Shopping Centre for what Marie had referred to as ‘retail therapy’.

She was now carrying several bulky carrier bags advertising the high street stores she had visited. As she passed a graffiti covered wooden hoarding around a building undergoing refurbishment she noticed a line of three posters, two of which were more than half torn away. But on all of them she saw the words ‘Fairport Convention’.

She walked slowly past the posters, taking a closer look. Fairport Convention had been one of her father’s favourite folk bands. She had grown up to the sound of folk music, as her father had been a semi-professional folk singer. On the middle poster she could just make out the words ‘Anniversary Tour’ and ‘February at 7.30pm’.

‘Good band!’ said a voice to her left.

Philippa turned to see a blond-haired man, dressed in denim jeans and jacket, and then smiled as she recognised him as the young man from the Vicarage.

‘Hello, it’s… Matthew, right?’

‘Yes.’ Matthew smiled back. ‘Nice hair style’.

‘Oh, thank you,’ said Philippa, suddenly feeling self-conscious. ‘What brings you into Leeds?’

‘Oh, just been visiting some old friends,’ Matthew replied. He took a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket pocket and studied it. ‘I seem to have got myself a bit lost. Am I going the right way? I need to be here, near the railway station.’

‘Oh, yes, I’m going that way myself. We can walk together if you like.’

‘Yeah.’

They walked on side by side, Philippa slightly ahead, leading the way, Matthew feeling in his pockets. ‘I'm glad I bumped into you anyway,’ he said; then realising that Philippa's hands were full, he asked, ‘Would you like some help with your bags?’

‘No, I’m fine,’ she replied, ‘They’re not heavy. So… do your friends live in Leeds?’

‘Yes, they moved here a year ago and have a shop near the market. They live above it. They sell sixties stuff, clothes, memorabilia, jewellery. I’ve been trying to interest them in some of mine. They bought four pieces.’

‘Really, do you have any more?’ Philippa asked. ‘I’d love to see them.’

‘Yeah, I have a few, but I’m not sure it’s the type of thing you’d like,’ said Matthew, glancing at the gleaming diamond on Philippa's ring finger.

‘I’d still like to see them,’ she said.

Matthew looked around at the nearby shops, and then glanced at his wristwatch. It was four, twenty-five. ‘If you’ve time for a coffee, I could show you them now.’

Now Philippa looked at her wristwatch. ‘Yes, why not? My train’s not due for thirty minutes yet, and there’s a café on the next corner.’

***

The café was not busy, and they chose a table near the window. It was self-service, so Matthew walked over to the counter and came back with two cappuccinos. He sat opposite Philippa and they chatted for a few minutes, watching the shoppers, and people on their way home from work, rushing past the window. Then Matthew pulled a small package from the inside pocket of his jacket, opening it and laying the contents on the table, while Philippa opened her handbag and took out a pair of glasses and put them on.

There were three silver bracelets engraved with a snakelike pattern; six silver pendants of different design and attached to fine silver chains; and four broaches. The broaches attracted Philippa’s attention and she picked one of them up. It was octagonal in shape: like a miniature picture frame, with a broach pin attached to the back. The frame was made of silver and inside the frame was what looked like a piece of red and brown tartan fabric, but on closer inspection she saw that the lines across the fabric were made of fine silver wire.

‘How much are these?’ Philippa asked.

‘They retail for about thirty Pounds,’ Matthew answered, sipping his coffee. ‘The rectangular ones for twenty or twenty-five, depending on size. They’re not high fashion but they look cool with the right clothes. You know, pinned to a denim jacket maybe.’

‘They’re beautiful,’ said Philippa, putting the octagonal one down and picking up one of the others. Then she looked at each of the bracelets and pendants in turn. ‘Are the designs yours?’

‘Yes.'

Philippa asked Matthew several questions about each piece, showing great interest in the different designs and how each had been made. While Matthew, who was always pleased to explain the processes involved, replied to each question enthusiastically.

‘You’re very talented,’ said Philippa.

‘Thank you.’

‘And you make these in, was it Birmingham?

‘Yeah, I got my degree at Brum Uni. Plus, I was given a grant to start my own business. It’s all used up now though. And with so much competition in the Jewellery Quarter it’s tough just surviving.’

‘The Jewellery Quarter?’

‘Yeah, have you not been? It’s an area of Birmingham that’s been dedicated to Jewellery making for a long time. It used to be virtually closed off to outsiders, but in recent years it’s become a bit of a tourist trap. There’s a museum and practically every other shop is a jewellers’. That’s why I’m thinking of coming back up north. Maybe here or Newcastle, where my Mum and Dad live.’

‘You’re from Newcastle then?’ Philippa asked.

‘I’m from everywhere. My Dad’s a sales rep: moves around a lot. We lived in Scarford for a while though, when I was small. I like it there.’

‘Where in Scarford did you live?’

‘Church Lane, not far from the Vicarage,’ Matthew replied. ‘Hey that reminds me.’

He felt inside his outer jacket pocket with his left hand and pulled out a small clear plastic envelope. Inside the envelope was the gold ring that Philippa had found in the graveyard. He tipped it out onto his right hand and then held it carefully with the thumb and forefinger of his left. The ring caught the light as he rotated it.

‘I found some cleaning fluid in the car and gave it a soak. I’ll have to take it to my friend in Birmingham to date it, but if you look carefully, there’s a very faint inscription on the inside. It reads: Lady Caroline.’

Matthew put the ring on the table and patted his jacket pockets with the palms of his hands. Then he felt in one of the pockets and pulled out a jeweller’s eyeglass. He placed it on the table beside the ring and Philippa picked up first the ring and then the eyeglass.

‘It’s best to take off your own glasses first,’ said Matthew.

Philippa did so and then held the eyeglass to her right eye and examined the gold ring. ‘Yes! Your right, Lady Caroline! I wonder who she was.’

‘I asked my uncle. He said that the name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t remember where he’d heard it before.'

Philippa put down the eyeglass and handed the ring back to Matthew, but as he took it their hands touched, and a shiver ran down Philippa’s spine, and with a sharp but barely audible intake of breath she looked straight into Matthew's eyes and found that he was gazing straight back into hers. Something more than the ring had passed between them, though neither of them knew what.

‘Will that be all, love?’ The spell was broken by a middle-aged woman wearing a stained blue overall. ‘We close in ten minutes. Hey, they're nice,’ she said, nodding towards the bracelets and broaches, as she cleared away their coffee cups.

Philippa looked at her wristwatch. It was ten minutes to six. ‘Gosh… I’ve missed my train,’ she said ‘and the next one’s at five-to. I’ll never make it.’

‘I can give you a lift. I’m going back to Scarford. We don’t go home until tomorrow,’ said Matthew.

‘We?’ queried Philippa.

‘Me and Dylan… He’s my son,’ said Matthew, taking out his wallet and opening it. He took out a small photograph of Dylan, aged two, sat hugging a teddy bear that was almost as big as himself, and proudly offered it to Philippa.

‘Oh… what a darling!’ said Philippa, smiling and putting her reading glasses back on for a better look.

Matthew started to put away the jewellery but Philippa stopped him.

‘I’d like to buy the octagonal broach, but I don’t have enough cash with me… unless you take credit cards,’ she said with a smile, handing back the photograph.

The waitress was hovering again but Matthew placed the broach on the table in front of Philippa. ‘Lets call it a gift… for a beautiful lady,’ he said.

TO BE CONTINUED