Amos said ruefully: ‘I’m so grateful to you both. He’s a bad enemy to have.’
‘I know,’ said Spade. ‘But sometimes a man just has to do what’s right.’
*
Spade went to the shop the next morning, hoping to see Mrs Latimer when she came in for her new coat. He was lucky. She came in like a warm breeze, and he thought again how attractive she was.
When she tried on the coat he gazed at her body, pretending tobe checking the fit. She was delightfully rounded, and he could not help imagining the breasts under her clothes.
He thought he was being discreet, but she caught his eye, to his profound embarrassment. She raised her eyebrows a fraction and gave him a look of candid interest, as if his gaze had surprised her without really displeasing her.
He felt mortified at having been caught staring and quickly looked away, feeling his cheeks redden. ‘A good fit,’ he muttered.
‘Yes,’ said Kate. ‘I think Becca has got it exactly right.’
Spade said: ‘Excuse me, ladies, I must get back to work.’ He left by the back door.
He was cross with himself for having been rude. But he was also intrigued by Mrs Latimer’s reaction. She had not been offended. It was almost as if she was glad he had noticed her breasts.
He thought: What am I doing?
He had been celibate for a decade, ever since his wife, Betsy, had died. He did not lack desire; rather the opposite. He had thought about several other women. Widowers often married again, usually to younger women; but girls could not hold his attention. You had to be young to marry a young person, he thought. Then there had been Cissy Bagshaw, a clothier’s widow, a briskly practical woman of his age. She had made it clear that she would be glad to go to bed with him for what she described as a ‘fitting’, as if they might try one another on like new clothes. He liked her, but liking was not enough. His love for Betsy had been a passion, and nothing less was worth thinking about.
But now, rather suddenly, he felt that he might perhaps come to feel passion for Arabella Latimer. Something stirred in his soul when he was with her. It was not just the way she looked, though that moved him too. It was to do with the way she seemed to see the world, as if it was amusing but ought to be better. He saw it the same way.
When he imagined being married to her he felt that they would never tire of making love, and they would always have something to talk about.
And she had not minded when he noticed her breasts.
But she was already married.
To the bishop.
So, he thought, I’d better forget her.
9
WHEN THE JUBILATION OFdefeating Hornbeam began to fade, Amos’s mind turned to the years ahead. He faced an uphill climb. He was ready to work hard – that was nothing new – but would it be enough? If he could expand the business, he could repay faster and even start to accumulate some cash. But the shortage of yarn stood in his way. How could he get more yarn?
It crossed his mind that he could pay the spinners better. Because they were almost all women, they were paid badly. If the rates were increased, might more women become spinners? He was not sure. Women had other responsibilities and many simply did not have the time. And the industry was conservative: if Amos put up his rates, other clothiers in Kingsbridge would accuse him of ruining the business.
But the thought that he might face years of struggling to make ends meet was depressing.
Late one evening he ran into Roger Riddick on Fish Street. ‘I say, Amos, old chum,’ Roger said, dropping into university slang. ‘Might I stay at your house tonight?’
‘Of course, with pleasure,’ said Amos. ‘I’ve enjoyed so much hospitality at Badford Manor. Stay for a month, if you like.’
‘No, no, I’ll go home tomorrow. But I lost all my money at Culliver’s place, and I can’t get any more until the squire gives me my next instalment.’
Hugh Culliver, known as Sport, had a house in Fish Street. The groundfloor was a tavern and coffee house, upstairs was a gambling den, and above that was a brothel. Roger was a habitué of the middle floor.
Amos said: ‘There’s supper waiting at my house.’
‘Marvellous.’ They began to walk. ‘Anyway,’ Roger said, ‘how are things with you?’
‘Well, the girl I love prefers a yellow-haired ribbon maker.’
‘There’s an answer to that problem, I believe, on the top floor of Culliver’s place.’
