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Back A Man of Honor
Chapters (71)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. Part One
  4. One
  5. Two
  6. Three
  7. Four
  8. Five
  9. Six
  10. Seven
  11. Eight
  12. Nine
  13. Ten
  14. Eleven
  15. Part Two
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Part Three
  38. Thirty-Three
  39. Thirty-Four
  40. Thirty-Five
  41. Thirty-Six
  42. Thirty-Seven
  43. Thirty-Eight
  44. Thirty-Nine
  45. Forty
  46. Forty-One
  47. Forty-Two
  48. Forty-Three
  49. Forty-Four
  50. Part Four
  51. Forty-Five
  52. Forty-Six
  53. Forty-Seven
  54. Forty-Eight
  55. Forty-Nine
  56. Fifty
  57. Fifty-One
  58. Fifty-Two
  59. Fifty-Three
  60. Part Five
  61. Fifty-Four
  62. Fifty-Five
  63. Fifty-Six
  64. Fifty-Seven
  65. Fifty-Eight
  66. Fifty-Nine
  67. Sixty
  68. Sixty-One
  69. Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford
  70. About the Author
  71. Newsletter Sign-up

For her part, Eileen was watching the two men, filled with satisfaction that they were obviously enjoying the meal. Her joy in cooking good meals sprang from the pleasure they gave to her “two lads,” as she called them.

Blackie sat on his bed, looking at his two new shirts. How smart they were; he couldn’t wait to put one on. Perhaps he would wear one tonight. After all, he was going to the Dance Hall on Branch Road. He had never worn anything that was brand-new before. Well, he’d had the new pullovers Mrs. O’Rourke had knitted for him, but never any single thing from a shop. Over the past few years, he’d had a few more parcels from Ireland of hand-me-downs and castoffs from the Lassiter house, through his cousin Siobhan, which had kept him going, and also a few things his aunt had adapted for him. She was a good seamstress.

Picking up the two shirts, he opened the wardrobe and laid them carefully away in a drawer. Then he opened another and took out his exercise books from night school. Three years well spent, he thought, as he flicked through the top one, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It was actually a page he had torn out of a magazine. He stared down at the photograph, nodding his head. It was of a conservatory, and he had spoken about the idea to Mrs. Wilson.

Blackie was full of hope she would take his advice and decide to add one to her little mansion. And that he would be allowed to build it.

Jack Blane was a Yorkshire man from head to toe. Born and bred in Upper Armley, he was the salt of the earth.

Now, as Patrick went into the taproom of the Barleycorn pub on Town Street, he felt a spurt of pleasure when he spotted Jack leaning on the bar with a pint. The two of them had grown up together, best friends since the age of ten, and still going strong. They spent most of their spare time together, had shared interests and beliefs. And they were both loaded with charm.

He raised his hand to acknowledge Patrick, who grinned as he hurried forward, thinking how smart his friend looked tonight.

Jack was a handsome man with black hair, was thirty-four years old like Patrick, and they made a striking pair. Most people looked at them twice when they were out together, struck by their fine looks and good grooming. Jack was tall and well built like Patrick, with a chiseled face and dark eyes. Despite Patrick’s fair coloring and blue eyes, they seemed like brothers to those who didn’t know otherwise. It was true they had a look of each other.

After they had exchanged greetings affectionately, Patrick called the barman over.