‘I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.’
She stopped dead in her tracks, looking all about her for the source of the deep, disembodied voice.
‘Jack?’ she said, half hoping, half fearing. He stepped out from behind a rowan on the fringes of the copse above her and, leaning against it, grinned down at her, turning her stomach to water.
‘Come on, slow coach. About time. I’m bored sick with trekking up this path to wait for you.’
Her heart leaped into her throat, soaring as surely as the skylark’s song.
It no longer mattered that she’d near worn herself out with the washing all morning or that at the end of this wonderful afternoon she must return to a dour, taciturn father and two selfish brothers. He had come at last. And here, on this fellside, she felt suddenly wanted and alive.
They sat together under an old ash tree, leaning against its silver-grey bark. Meg was so overwhelmed at finding him waiting for her she could think of nothing to say. But she relished the warmth of him beside her. He smelled of tangy soap and fresh damp earth, and something she could only describe to herself as masculine.
‘Have you really? Been wanting to see me, I mean,’ she asked, unable to resist knowing the answer.
‘What do you think?’
She turned to him, half accusing. ‘You never said. How was I to know?’
‘I would have thought it was obvious. Most girls would have guessed.’
‘I’m not most girls.’ Meg had no intention of having him think her easy. She knew all about such girls and she wasn’t one of them. All the same she trembled inside when he shifted his position, moving his body closer.
‘What do you expect me to do? Call on your dad?’
‘No. I don’t blame you for being wary of Joe. And Dan!’ The words started to tumble out, covering the sudden shyness which was so ridiculous with a boy she had known all her life. ‘Maybe Dan and I might have got on better if it hadn’t been pumped into me from the moment we were old enough to toddle about that the farm was for the boys.’
‘What would you want with a farm?’
‘I’d like the chance to decide for myself,’ she said. ‘Can’t you see what will happen? Dan will marry and I’ll be the spare part around the place, the unmarried sister.’ She shivered. ‘It doesn’t appeal, thank you very much.’
Jack shrugged. ‘So leave. Do something different.’
‘How? My father won’t even let me go to town on me bike,’ she complained. ‘It’s archaic.’
Jack made sympathetic noises but he wasn’t really listening. He was watching the rise and fall of her breast beneath the pale blue blouse she wore. It strained enticingly against the buttons. A girl turning into a woman and she didn’t even seem to notice. Jack wasn’t sure whether it was Meg’s innocence or her unconscious sensuality that so appealed to him. Either way it had come as a surprise to him since he usually preferred more sophisticated meat.
But however Joe Turner might try to keep his daughter a child she was very much a woman, and the ache in Jack’s loins told him that he wanted her. And what Jack wanted, he usually got.
Chapter Three
‘Keep you short of money, does he?’ Jack considered putting his arm about Meg’s shoulders but she looked so fierce suddenly, he decided against it. He would content himself this afternoon with letting her chatter. There was plenty of time, after all.
‘Money? I’ve none at all. How can he be so against women working when he has me labouring like a slave from dawn to dusk? How can he pretend to be so pious when everyone knows he’s the biggest shark of a moneylender around these parts?’
‘He’s a fearsome character right enough, your dad. I know Sally Ann Gilpin is scared sick of him.’
‘Is she?’
‘They’ve been having their troubles lately. Her dad has been ill. Left them a bit short, I reckon.’ Jack’s eyes fastened on Meg’s mouth, small and moist, a pink tongue darting excitedly over her lower lip as she talked.
‘I see.’ Meg was sad about that since she liked the Gilpin family, and strongly disliked an old friend being scared of her father. ‘How did you hear?’ What she really meant was, when did you see Sally Ann? She felt a spurt of jealousy that Jack had talked to a pretty girl, and hated herself for it.
Jack was too busy gazing at the white column of her throat to notice the sharpness of her tone. ‘I don’t remember exactly. Her mam is having a real hard time of it, though.’
‘I can imagine.’ The women who lived in the row of cottages up by the quarry and were forced to avail themselves of Joe’s money lending service in order to survive the week, had every cause to fear him. Nobody got behind with their payments with Joe Turner, not if they wanted to avoid trouble.
‘Why do women always get the rough end of the stick? I’ve been trained to keep house since I was three years old. Not so the boys, who were somehow excused anything that smacked of woman’s work. But it’s going to change, I tell you. I can only take so much and one of these days . . .’
Meg felt the anger drain out of her, becoming intensely aware of the warm weight of Jack’s body beside hers. What was she doing wasting this precious time together talking about her father? Jack moved a little, his thigh brushing hers and it was as if she could scarcely breathe, as if her lungs were bursting, squeezing inwards, pushing a pain deep down into her groin.
She was aware too of Jack’s breathing, of its strangely uneven quality, that it became less and less pronounced. She felt him turn towards her and knew instinctively that if she looked at him he would kiss her, but she could not move. Much as she longed to feel the warmth of his lips move over hers, her body was stuck fast to the tree, her hands curled tight into the clumps of grass at her side.
‘Meg?’
That was all he said. Her name. So softly questioning it was like a caress. Then his hand came up to her neck and she turned her cheek into it, lifting her face to his as if to the warmth of the sun. She had waited for this moment for what seemed like a lifetime and Meg closed her eyes and gave herself up to the joy of it without hesitation.
The kiss roughened and deepened, and then moved on to explore the warm curve of her throat and the sensitive hollows below her earlobe. She rubbed her cheek against the roughness of his coat collar, loving the feel of it against her silky skin. Happiness burst inside her like the opening petals of a new flower.
Meg gasped when she felt his hand move to her breast. She wasn’t ignorant. Brought up on a farm, she was well versed in the mechanics of life and had filled in the gaps with Kath long since, giggling behind the barn with one of those books in plain brown wrappers Kath had sent for. But theory was one thing, practice quite another.
His fingers were growing more adventurous since she’d done nothing to stop him and were now busily engaged in unbuttoning her blouse. Did she want him to carry on further? She felt flustered, not wanting to appear silly and naive.
He had found her nipple, pert and hard beneath her hand stitched camisole, and she gasped with pain and pleasure as he took it between his lips. ‘Jack,’ she whimpered, half in protest, half drowning in sensation. Even as she spoke, her body arched, instinctively craving for more. Wanting him more than she could say.
He pulled her down so that she was lying on the grass and she could sense the excitement rising in him. Something hard and pulsing was pressing against her leg. It seemed to make the pain worse.
‘Come on, Meg, come on,’ he murmured, then eased open her mouth with his tongue so she couldn’t have answered him anyway, even if she’d known what to say. His tongue flickered between her teeth and curled about her own, thrusting, dancing, teasing, demanding. Despite herself she was catching his excitement, felt it run through her like liquid fire. She thrilled to his kisses, revelled in new sensations she’d never known before, responding to his passion without restraint.
‘You want me, don’t you?’ he asked, letting her breathe for a minute as he nuzzled into her neck.
&nb
sp; ‘Oh, Jack’, was all she could say, a tremble in her voice. She was confused, filled with a racing desire to find out what it was her young body craved, even as some small part of her preached caution and held her back. Yet how could it be wrong if she wanted him to do these things to her? She felt dazed and weak, the longing to surrender almost beyond endurance.
His hand was on her leg now, sliding softly beneath her skirt, over her bare thigh. Then with a shock of breath in her throat she felt his hand creep beneath the leg of her cami-knickers. Very quickly she caught his hand with her own.
‘Please, Jack, no.’ But he wasn’t listening, she felt him shudder against her, press the hardness of his body ever closer, and she remembered reading in the brown paper book how you shouldn’t lead a man on. Was that what she was doing? Being a tease. He was saying something, whispering in her ear.
‘It’s all right, Meg. I can use something. You’ll be quite safe.’ A warm, melting sensation flowed through her veins, making her want to let him slide right inside her. The sigh of the wind through the old ash trees above seemed to shelter them, whispering secrets still to be understood; the slip-slap of water from the tarn beyond lulled her so that she could barely drag open eyelids heavy with love. Safe? Use something? What was he talking about? And then it came to her, why her inner voice cautioned, what it was she must be kept safe from, and she began to wriggle. ‘Give over this instant,’ she cried, pulling herself free. ‘Me dad’ll kill me if I get into trouble.’
‘I wouldn’t hurt you, Meg, you can trust me,’ he crooned, still busy at her breasts. Dammit, he thought, I went too fast.
‘How do I know that?’ They broke apart to stare at each other, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed, breathing ragged, and for a moment she thought he was going to be angry with her for stopping him but then the mischievous smile came back to his face.
‘What do you look like,’ he said. And then Meg started to giggle because it was true, they must look a proper mess.
She pushed him gently away to sit up, smoothing down her skirt, fluffing out her hair, unaware just how enticing she looked with pink cheeks and lips bruised and softened by love making. ‘We should have taken a bit more care.’ Oh, but she didn’t want to take care, she didn’t!
‘I will in future, Meg. I’m sorry if I scared you.’ He kissed her nose, thinking if he could get this far the first time, a second chance should be even more interesting.
To Meg, the implication that there could be a future for herself and Jack Lawson made her gasp. She’d never known such joy in all her life: to feel so loved, so wanted. He must love her, mustn’t he? Not only because he obviously wanted her so badly, but because he hadn’t minded at all when she’d stopped him.
‘You do respect me, don’t you, Jack?’ she asked, a touch of uncertainty in her voice, in case she had lost him by such wanton behaviour, but he only chuckled.
‘Course I do, Meg. I’ve told you. I wouldn’t be here else.’
Her mother had told her long ago that a boy never respected you if you let him go “all the way”. Yet if she stayed here much longer, gazing into his violet blue eyes with their long curling lashes, she’d throw respect to the four winds and let him do what he would with her.
‘I must go.’ She got quickly to her feet, and was delighted when he did the same, putting his arms about her once more as if he couldn’t bear to let her go.
‘You’re not angry with me, are you?’ There’ll be another time, he thought, plucking a piece of grass from her hair.
‘`No, course not. Why should I be?’ They kissed again, softly now, with no urgency in it, and she knew it was all right. Life was suddenly wonderful and her heart was racing with happiness. Meg’s only experience of love and romance came from her rare visits to the cinema, or flea pit as Kath called it. A diet of glossy sentimentality and cultivated passion filled with vows of undying love lightened by jokey wisecracks, always with a happy ending in the final reel.
‘Will I see you tomorrow?’ he asked, and when she hesitated he persisted. ‘I must see you, Meg. I’m not made of stone, love.’ He’d called her his love. The delight of being wanted as those screen goddesses were wanted, was so delicious that Meg, as many a woman before her, felt suddenly heady with a sense of her own power. Reaching up, she wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him good and hard.
‘Will that keep you happy till I can get away again?’ she asked, and turning from him, started to run down the hill.
Her feet flew over the coarse grass, slipping and sliding down the hillside with the wind in her hair and exhilaration in her heart. Her father was waiting for her when she got home, complaining that his supper wasn’t ready. He said nothing more but his silence was heavy and accusing as he riddled the coals in the grate and then banked it up for the night. He sent her up early to bed just as if she were a child and not a grown woman. But Joe Turner’s disapproval couldn’t touch her now, and she was glad to escape.
Meg undressed slowly and running her hands over her breasts before pulling on the flannel nightgown, she wondered if she was beautiful.
That night, in the secret darkness of her bed, she relived those moments over and over in her mind and knew with a shaming weakness that she hadn’t wanted Jack to stop, not at all. Would she have let him go further if there’d been anywhere more suitable than a copse of ash trees by a small mountain tarn? She didn’t know, but curiosity was strong in her and the thought did not go away that life with Jack Lawson would be a good deal more exciting than waiting on her crabby old father and brothers.
They met regularly after that. In the mornings Meg would race through her work, humming happily to herself. Most afternoons found her slipping out the back door and striding off up to Brockbarrow Wood, heart pumping as she waited for Jack.
She knew Joe watched her, often with dark brows drawn into a dour frown, but he never spoke about her change of humour and she never enlightened him. In her view, it was none of his business who she went out with. Besides, it was too soon to have their growing friendship examined by her grasping father. Joe would be sure to put the very worst connotation on it and start asking what Jack could offer as a prospective son-in-law.
Meg knew he wouldn’t want to lose her from the farm, not yet. He maintained that her job was to look after him until he retired, or Dan married and brought a replacement housekeeper to the farm. By which time Meg reckoned she would be well past thirty and quite grey with age.
But she couldn’t help telling Kath about meeting Jack at the copse, though she said nothing of the hot kisses or the furtive fumblings. These were secrets best kept to herself.
‘You want to be careful,’ Kath warned. ‘Jack has had loads of girl friends.’
‘Oh, I know he’s experienced,’ Meg said. ‘But he wouldn’t take advantage. I trust him.’
Kath looked disbelieving. ‘So long as you don’t get any silly ideas about him, Meg. Like falling in love and marriage.’
Meg took Kath’s warnings with a very large pinch of salt. What young man didn’t sow a few wild oats when he was young? And Jack was older than herself at twenty-three, nearly twenty-four, so of course he’d had a few girl friends. But she meant to be his last. The thought of marriage with Jack filled her with delight. Even so, instinct warned her that there had to be a greater purpose to her life. She understood this somehow, deep in her heart.
So although the two girls shared their thoughts and dreams, Meg had no intention of letting even Kath into this one. Not until she’d sorted out her own thoughts on the subject.
‘Heaven forbid,’ she scoffed. ‘And spend my life in a kitchen?’ Both girls giggled, content with each other, as they had always been. Meg resolved then that until she had discovered what that something was, and had achieved it, she would not allow Jack Lawson to get so far with her again. It was too risky. But she would go on seeing him, as often as she could manage.
There was a late snow the next day, blocking the lanes and filling the shady sides of the ston
e walls, burying the sheep who had sought shelter. Her father and two brothers were kept fully occupied bringing them in, often discovering the bedraggled, crow-picked bodies of newborn lambs, destroyed before they’d had time to taste life.
Meg too worked flat out as the snow created its usual chaos and extra work. Clothes to be dried, hot meals provided at all hours of day and night without a word of thanks. And on top everything else, the orphan lambs to be fed at frequent intervals throughout the day and night and kept warm by the kitchen range until they were strong enough to survive outside without a mother.
Worse, the snow meant that she couldn’t get out to see Jack. Through the long claustrophobic days that followed, confined to the farm, Meg dreamed of the warmth of his lips against hers, the feel of Jack’s fingers threading through her hair and the sigh of the wind in the ash trees as it washed over them, wrapping them in an almost mystical enchantment.
A week passed, and another. Was Broombank cut off too? she wondered, and began to worry about Lanky. She had known him all her life and loved him almost as a father. There had been times when she’d wished he was. Meg knew that the old man hadn’t been well recently and would appreciate one of her home-made pies. And so, as soon as the lanes were passable, she decided not to wait for the thaw. She would go anyway.
There were fox prints deep in the snow as Meg trod steadily upwards, leaving a trail of her own beside them. The thorn bushes were shrouded with white, showering the lane with yet more pristine crystal flakes as she brushed by. In her hand she carried a basket in which reposed the pie, deep and rich with gravy. There was also a small cheese, and a pot of her best raspberry jam. Lanky Lawson, being a widower with only Jack at home, had few comforts these days. So even if the food was not up to her mother’s standards, it would be welcomed.
The mountains glittered brilliantly in the morning sun, fallen rocks like glass marbles at their feet. Great banks of snow were still piled high at each side of the lane, alternately melting and freezing as the weather changed. Progress was proving difficult with her booted feet skidding and skating on the frozen puddles one moment, and the next knee deep in a drift. But she meant to get through, no matter what.
Luckpenny Land Page 4
