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Billy wondered why Da did not throw his personal authority into the balance. If he argued for Monday he might change their minds. But then, if he failed, he would be in an awkward position, leading a strike that he had argued against. Da was not completely free to say what he felt, Billy realized.
The discussion ranged widely. Coal stocks were high, so the management could hold out; but demand was high too, and they would want to sell while they could. Spring was coming, so miners' families would soon be able to manage without their ration of free coal. The miners' case was well grounded in long-established practise, but the letter of the law was on the management's side.
Da let the discussion run on, and some of the speeches became tedious. Billy wondered what his father's motivation was, and guessed he was hoping that heads would cool. But in the end he had to put it to the vote.
"First, all those in favor of no strike at all. "
A few men raised their hands.
"Next, those in favor of a strike starting Monday. "
There was a strong vote for this, but Billy was not sure if it was enough to win. It would depend upon how many men abstained.
"Finally, those in favor of a strike starting tomorrow. "
There was a cheer, and a forest of arms waved in the air. There could be no doubt about the result.
"The motion to strike tomorrow is passed," Da said. No one proposed a count.
The meeting broke up. As they went out, Tommy said brightly: "Day off, tomorrow, then. "
"Aye," said Billy. "And no money to spend. "
{IV}
The first time Fitz went with a prostitute, he had tried to kiss her-not because he wanted to, but he assumed it was the done thing. "I don't kiss," she had said abruptly in her cockney accent, and after that he had never tried it again. Bing Westhampton said a lot of prostitutes refused to kiss, which was odd, considering what other intimacies they permitted. Perhaps that trivial prohibition preserved a remnant of their dignity.
Girls of Fitz's social class were not supposed to kiss anyone before marriage. They did, of course, but only in rare moments of brief privacy, in a suddenly deserted side room at a ball, or behind a rhododendron bush in a country garden. There was never time for passion to develop.
The only woman Fitz had kissed properly was his wife, Bea. She gave him her body as a cook might present a special cake, fragrant and sugared and beautifully decorated for his enjoyment. She let him do anything, but made no demands. She offered her lips for him to kiss, and opened her mouth to his tongue, but he never felt she was hungry for his touch.
Ethel kissed as if she had one minute left to live.
They stood in the Gardenia Suite, beside the bed covered with its dust sheet, wrapped in each other's arms. She sucked his tongue and bit his lips and licked his throat, and at the same time she stroked his hair, clutched the back of his neck, and thrust her hands under his waistcoat so that she could rub her palms against his chest. When at last they broke apart, out of breath, she put her hands either side of his face, holding his head still, staring at him, and said: "You are so beautiful. "
He sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hands, and she stood in front of him. He knew that some men regularly seduced their servants, but he did not. When he was fifteen he had fallen in love with a parlor maid at the London house: his mother had guessed it within a few days and sacked the girl immediately. His father had smiled and said: "Good choice, though. " Since then he had not touched an employee. But he could not resist Ethel.
She said: "Why have you come back? You were expected to stay in London all of May. "
"I wanted to see you. " He could tell that she found it hard to believe him. "I kept thinking about you, all day, every day, and I just had to come back. "
She bent down and kissed him again. Holding the kiss, he slowly fell back on the bed, pulling her with him until she was lying on top of him. She was so slim that she weighed no more than a child. Her hair escaped from its pins and he buried his fingers in her glossy curls.
After a while she rolled off and lay beside him, panting. He leaned on his elbow and looked at her. She had said he was beautiful, but right now she was the prettiest thing he had ever seen. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was mussed, and her red lips were moist and parted. Her dark eyes gazed at him with adoration.
He put his hand on her hip, then stroked her thigh. She covered his hand with her own, holding it still, as if afraid he was going too far. She said: "Why do they call you Fitz? Your name is Edward, isn't it?"
She was talking in an attempt to let their passion cool, he felt sure. "It started at school," he said. "All the boys had nicknames. Then Walter von Ulrich came home with me one vacation, and Maud picked it up from him. "
"Before that, what did your parents call you?"
"Teddy. "
"Teddy," she said, trying it on her tongue. "I like it better than Fitz. "
He started to stroke her thigh again, and this time she let him. Kissing her, he slowly pulled up the long skirt of her black housekeeper's dress. She wore calf-length stockings, and he stroked her bare knees. Above the knee she had long cotton underdrawers. He touched her legs through the cotton, then moved his hand to the fork of her thighs. When he touched her there, she groaned and thrust upward against his hand.
"Take them off," he whispered.
