Honey's Farm

by Iris Gower

  ‘I’ve missed you, Eline.’ The quietly spoken words brought hope flaring within her, and Eline smiled up at him tentatively.

  ‘I’ve missed you too, Will.’ She held out her hand, and he enveloped it in his; and suddenly the whole world seemed to be full of sunshine and happiness.

  ‘I’ve been so stupid,’ Will said, looking away from her and across the lake.

  She trembled, forcing herself to speak evenly. ‘Haven’t we both been acting like children?’ She rushed on before he could speak again. ‘I’m to blame, I said cruel words to you, words I didn’t mean. I’m sorry, Will.’

  ‘You are sorry!’ He sounded angry, but not with her. ‘Then you don’t really know the meaning of the word.’

  He seemed to make a great effort to smile then. ‘I’ve something I must tell you; you might hate me for it, but I must speak the truth. Will you listen to what I have to say, Eline?’

  She put her finger on his lips. ‘Don’t, Will. Let’s just forget we ever quarrelled.’ She felt frightened, knowing, intuitively, he was about to say something she wouldn’t wish to hear.

  ‘Please, Will, let’s put the past behind us and look to the future. Tell me about the business proposition you wrote about in your letter.’

  He sighed heavily. He was silent for a long moment, as though trying to make up his mind about what to say to her, then he smiled.

  ‘It’s Hari Grenfell’s business, really,’ he said. ‘She’s taken a place in Mrs Bell’s Emporium in Cardiff. She’s put me in to manage it.’ He shrugged and leant a little closer to her. Eline felt her heart begin to beat more swiftly as she breathed in the fresh, clean scent of him.

  ‘But it’s not doing well, not at all. What we need is a good showcase, a well-dressed window, and that’s where you come in, Eline.’

  Eline was surprised and not a little disappointed at Will’s words. She’d imagined that Will was going to suggest they went into partnership, or at least ask her advice about a business of his own.

  ‘You want me to come to Cardiff?’ she asked, wanting to go into his arms and kiss away the line between his brows, not talk about business. But he was frowning, as though this issue was the most important thing in the world to him.

  ‘Yes, I want you to come up to Cardiff,’ he said, and his tone held much more meaning than the mere words expressed. Or was that just wishful thinking on her part?

  ‘No-one else could do the window justice as you could,’ he continued enthusiastically. ‘It will save the enterprise, that’s how I feel about it. Something must be done, or otherwise Hari might just as well pack it all up and leave the premises. She’ll never sell anything from the black hole where Mrs Bell has put her stock.’

  ‘I see,’ Eline said thoughtfully. She had no objection to working for Hari Grenfell, none at all, and if she could promote her own ideas for remedial footwear along the way, then it might be worth going to work in Cardiff.

  In any case, the urge to be with Will, to work with him, have a chance of repairing their relationship, meant that she couldn’t think of turning the opportunity down. She and Will seemed to be edging tentatively towards a renewed understanding, and she didn’t want to do anything to spoil it.

  ‘Your gallery,’ Will said. ‘I don’t want you to neglect your painting, but on the other hand . . .’

  Eline waved her hand. ‘That’s no problem,’ she said. ‘I’ve brought in a manager; he’ll take care of everything. I wanted to get out of that and do something different anyway.’

  A strange look crossed Will’s face. ‘A manager?’ he asked, and for some reason Eline felt she was on the defensive. It was clear from Will’s tone that he had already heard about her move.

  ‘Calvin Temple,’ she said quietly, ‘a very capable, personable man. I’d trust him implicitly; he is more than capable of running the business alone, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  Will seemed to relax. ‘You’ll come then, to Cardiff?’ he said, a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. The frown had gone from his forehead, and it was as though an important point had been cleared up to his satisfaction. It couldn’t be that he had been just a little jealous of Calvin Temple, could it?

  ‘Will.’ She put her hand on his arm; she felt brave suddenly, able to conquer the world. ‘This man, Calvin, he means nothing to me. I don’t know if you’ve been told anything to the contrary, but if we are to begin again, there must be complete trust between us.’

  Will looked away from her. His eyes seemed to be anguished, and a cold finger of fear touched her as she stared at him, waiting for him to speak.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘And now I know there is a matter I must talk to you about, Eline.’

  She felt her stomach lurch. She had prevented him from speaking about what was troubling him once, and now by her own words, she had forced him into what she knew was a confession she would not want to hear. She longed to put her hand over his mouth, to stop him from uttering the words that she knew were going to spoil things for them. But instead she clasped her hands in her lap and forced herself to remain still and silent.

  ‘It’s Gwyneth Parks,’ he said, and the words seemed forced from him.

  ‘I somehow thought this would have something to do with her,’ Eline said bitterly.

  William looked at her appealingly. He tried to speak, but it was as if he couldn’t utter the words.

  ‘You’ve slept with her,’ Eline said flatly, making it easy for him.

  ‘I can’t explain what I did, Eline’ – he sounded defensive now – ‘except that I’m a man, with a man’s needs.’

  ‘And that excuses everything,’ Eline said harshly, unable to bear the pain of his betrayal. The picture of him in bed, holding Gwyneth close, kissing her, making love to her, sprang into Eline’s mind, and the thought was like a knife tearing into her heart.

  ‘I know it excuses nothing,’ William said, his voice hardening, ‘but I’m only human and Gwyneth was there, warm and wanting me. Do you know what a balm that was, to actually be wanted instead of being turned away all the time?’

  His words turned the knife deeper, more painfully. Jealousy seared through Eline, hot, blind jealousy.

  ‘Oh, I can count on the Parks women to be always there to take my man from me. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, after all.’

  Eline’s voice rose in anger. ‘Gwyneth’s mother, Nina, was the first – she took my husband from me, remember?’

  Eline wanted to hurt Will, to pay him back for the deep pain she was feeling. ‘I suppose I should be used to it by now. I should know the shallowness of men well enough. A pretty face, a willing whore, and they fall, just like a child.’

  ‘Eline,’ William said forcefully, ‘you are reacting like a child yourself. I was carried away by the moment; it meant nothing to me, believe me.’

  ‘Tell that to Gwyneth Parks,’ Eline said, anger burning at her. ‘I’m sure she’ll be delighted and flattered to hear it.’

  Will turned away in exasperation. ‘I can’t say anything right now, can I?’ he said, his voice low.

  ‘No.’ Eline rose to her feet feeling as though her world had crumbled around her. ‘You’ve destroyed everything between us, Will, you know you have.’

  He stood up, towering over her, his face dark. ‘So that’s how little I mean to you! That one act could ruin everything between us.’

  He stared down at her, as angry as she was now. ‘You are a cold woman, Eline, and do you know what I think?’ He rushed on without waiting for a reply. ‘I think you are glad this has happened, glad of an excuse not to commit yourself to a relationship with me. Are you afraid of giving, Eline, is that what it is?’

  ‘Just like a man,’ Eline said, wanting to strike him. ‘Turn the tables, make everything my fault, then you can feel better.’

  She lifted her hands in the air and resisted the urge to beat at him with her fists. ‘Oh, just leave me alone, can’t you? Leave me alone!’

  She str
ode away down the path, not seeing where she was going for the blind rage that consumed her. She hated William Davies, she wished she’d never set eyes on him.

  Gwyneth Parks stared around at the unfamiliar streets of Cardiff, feeling a sense of unreasoning panic. She was used to the quiet village streets of Oystermouth. She visited Swansea, of course, and there the busy streets were cluttered with carriages and thronged with people; but somehow none of it seemed as foreign as the pavements she walked now, seeking the emporium where Will worked.

  It was only her driving need to see him again that had forced her to make the journey at all. She had lain in his arms, they had become lovers, and yet since then she had seen nothing of him.

  She had waited for him to come to her, but she had waited in vain. Common sense told her she meant nothing to him, but her heart and her body longed for him. She knew that, whatever the cost to her in pain, she must see him again and talk to him.

  It had taken her a long time and a lot of questions to find out where Will had gone, but at last she had found him and now her hands trembled in anticipation as she thought about being close to him once more.

  She stood outside Bell’s Emporium, looking up at the shabby but elegant façade, and her heart was beating so swiftly that she thought she would be ill. What would he say when he saw her? Would he be angry, reject her, or would he smile and welcome her?

  Well, she would never know if she just stood here in the street like one of the stuffed dummies in the shop window, she told herself fiercely.

  Inside the emporium, it was like nothing Gwyneth had ever seen before. It was not an orderly place like the emporia of Mrs Miller or Hari Grenfell, but a hotchpotch of clothing and bales of material and dusty shelves that stared emptily across the shop.

  An elderly woman came towards her, her long black gown and jet beads reminiscent of the queen in mourning for Prince Albert. She looked frostily ahead of her, and it took all Gwyneth’s courage to ask about William.

  ‘Mr Davies has his boots and shoes downstairs,’ she said coolly, as though begrudging him the room he occupied. ‘I do hope you are a customer and not some – some follower?’

  She said the word as though it implied that Gwyneth was a harlot, and, resisting the urge to retort rudely, Gwyneth put on her ‘posh’ voice, one she’d used when serving customers in Will’s own shop at Oystermouth. Those had been happy days; she’d had Will all to herself then.

  ‘Of course I’m a customer,’ she said, glad that she had worn her best frock and her good boots.

  The woman walked away, head high, as though anyone low enough to visit the boot-and-shoe counter was beneath her notice.

  Gwyneth made her way down the curving stairs to what seemed a long, dark cellar. How Will expected to sell shoes in this place, she couldn’t imagine.

  He was placing boots on a shelf, his long frame reaching upward, his face turned slightly away from her. She ached for him. She longed to go to him and put her arms around him and beg him to love her.

  ‘Hello, Will,’ she said softly, feeling suddenly shy of him. The thought of being in his arms, of becoming his lover, burned in her mind, and she felt the heat come to her cheeks.

  ‘Gwyneth.’ He came towards her and took her hands, and relief and joy flooded over her. ‘What brings you up to Cardiff, then?’

  ‘I wanted to see you, of course,’ Gwyneth said quickly, nerves making her trip over her own words. ‘I missed you so much, I didn’t know what to do, so in the end I decided to come and see you.’

  ‘Well’ – he looked at the clock on the wall – ‘it’s time I stopped for a break. How about coming to the tearooms with me?’

  She swallowed hard; it was as if he was offering her a pearl beyond price. ‘That would be lovely,’ she said, the words coming out in a rush.

  The Cambridge Hotel was only a few doors away from Bell’s Emporium, and Gwyneth felt that she floated rather than walked into the sunlit room decorated with potted palms and scattered tables covered with gleaming white cloths. At the back of the room, a trio of musicians were playing softly. It was so romantic, so unlike anything Gwyneth had ever seen, that she stared around her, wanting to savour every detail of the wonderful moments she was sharing with Will.

  Gwyneth was nonplussed when an elegant waiter held her chair for her. She looked uncertainly at William.

  ‘Please’ – he gestured with his hand – ‘take a seat, Gwyneth, and then we’ll see what we can order for luncheon, shall we?’

  She was grateful to him for putting her at ease, and when the waiter glided away she relaxed a little, glancing around at the other people in the tearooms. There were elegant ladies wearing sweeping skirts with enormous bustles, and suddenly she felt shabby and ill at ease.

  William seemed to understand her feelings, because he smiled at her encouragingly. ‘You are the envy of the other ladies,’ he said. ‘You look so fresh and charming and so much younger than most of them.’

  She warmed to his words; she’d not known what to expect from him. He might well have been angry with her for chasing after him in what was a most unseemly, unladylike manner. But they were lovers, after all, she reminded herself with a feeling of warmth; she had the right to some consideration, didn’t she?

  ‘Now, how about some fresh salmon to start and then some lamb with a side dish of creamed potatoes?’ Will said, reading the page before him with what appeared to be intense interest.

  ‘They cream new-picked potatoes here?’ Gwyneth asked in disbelief. ‘What a waste of a good spud!’

  She saw that William was trying not to smile. ‘Aye, it is rather wasteful, isn’t it?’ he agreed, ‘but very, very tasty, spiced with pepper.’

  ‘All right, then,’ Gwyneth said, and added, as an afterthought, ‘That would be lovely, thanks.’

  The meal was, as Will had promised, a delicious treat, and the salmon was followed by lean lamb chops in mint jelly and baby carrots and a small portion of creamed potatoes.

  Even though Gwyneth protested that she needed nothing else to eat, Will insisted on ordering a dish of fresh fruit soaked in brandy.

  ‘I’ve never tasted such food,’ Gwyneth said in wonder.

  Will smiled rather wryly. ‘I must admit that it’s not my usual fare, but today is rather special, isn’t it, Gwyneth?’ he said.

  She looked at him, trying to read his expression, wondering what exactly he meant. Was he, could he be, proposing marriage?

  When they had finished eating, Will led her through to a huge room that was furnished with soft leather sofas and enormous leather chairs. Above her head were chandeliers with what looked like diamonds suspended from them, droplets of light and colour.

  ‘Duw, will you look at this, then?’ she said in awe. ‘I’ve never seen anything so wonderful in all my life.’

  She looked at William and made up her mind to ask him a direct question. She took a deep breath, but before she could speak, he’d leant forward, his expression earnest.

  ‘Gwyneth,’ he said softly, ‘the other day, I shouldn’t have – have taken advantage of you. I’m very, very sorry.’

  Gwyneth felt her elation fading, along with the belief that he was going to ask her to marry him.

  ‘Well, I’m not sorry,’ she said quickly, ‘not a bit sorry. I wanted you then and I want you now.’

  She had nothing to lose, she might as well put her cards on the table, she decided. ‘I’m not going to go away and forget you, if that’s what you’re going to ask me to do.’ She stared at him defiantly. ‘I love you, Will, I can’t help it, I . . . just love you.’

  He frowned, and she saw that he didn’t know what to say, so she rushed into speech again. ‘I know I’m far beneath you, I’m not a lady as some of your fine friends are.’ She lifted her head high. ‘But I’m as good as Eline Harries, mind, and you are the first, the only man in my life.’

  Will looked away, and Gwyneth felt tears burn her eyes. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘just let me be with you sometimes, please
, Will. I can’t live without you, you must know that. Why else did I follow you all the way to Cardiff?’

  She saw a mixture of feelings cross his face; he didn’t know what to say. ‘Let me stay with you tonight,’ she said softly, ‘and I promise I won’t ask you for things, I won’t ask to sleep with you or anything like that.’

  ‘Gwyneth!’ he said beseechingly. ‘I can’t offer you anything. I’m just a working man with no private means. This’ – he waved his hand to encompass the grandeur of the room – ‘this is as much a treat for me as it is for you. I don’t live like this all the time. I have a room, a small suite of rooms, in a cheap boarding house. I’m poor, Gwyneth, just like you.’

  ‘Let me come home with you for tonight,’ Gwyneth begged again, only hearing what she wanted to hear, that he had a suite of rooms. ‘I will go home tomorrow. Just let me have this one night with you; can’t you even give me that much?’

  William sighed. ‘All right.’ He took a key from his pocket. ‘Here, I have to get back to work. The boarding house is a few streets away, in Compton Court. The landlady is not the type to ask questions; she minds her own business.’

  Gwyneth took the key and held it as though it was a good-luck charm. She clutched it between her fingers, feeling as though Will had given her the whole world.

  When he’d returned to work, she wandered around for a while looking at the fine array of shops. The streets did not seem so alien now. For tonight she would be in Will’s arms; for tonight he would be hers, she was determined on it.

  Later, when he came in from the emporium, Gwyneth greeted Will with a pot of tea and some fine lardy cake that she had bought in the shop on the way to his lodgings.

  ‘This is nice,’ he said as he shrugged off his coat. ‘I am grateful, Gwyneth, but you shouldn’t have gone to any trouble.’

  ‘It was no trouble,’ she said, and she meant it, shopping for Will’s tea had given her the illusion that she was married to him, a respectable housewife going home to her man.

  ‘I’m not very hungry after that huge luncheon,’ Will said, sitting at the table. ‘A bit of cake and a cup of tea is just right.’