Honey's Farm

by Iris Gower

  ‘I’m sorry Craig is away on business, love,’ she said softly. ‘He wanted to be with you now, I know he did.’

  Will squeezed her arm. ‘You are here,’ he whispered, ‘as you always are when I need you.’

  Will stared straight ahead as the vicar spoke honestly and sincerely about Gwyneth and her family; but all the time he was talking it seemed to Will as though he was an onlooker, not a participant in the sad drama that was unfolding around him.

  He caught his breath as the two coffins were carried outside in preparation for the journey to Oystermouth Cemetery. The impossibly tiny cask of his baby son followed that of Gwyneth, who had been wife and mother for so short a time. As Nina had wished, Will had seen his family depart with as much dignity as he could afford.

  ‘It will be over soon, love,’ Hari whispered, ‘and then you can mourn in private; chin up.’

  Will smiled at her, grateful for her no-nonsense sympathy. As always, Hari knew instinctively that he wished to be alone, to lick his wounds in solitude, and perhaps then, after a time, he could begin to come to terms with his loss.

  The funeral seemed to drag on and on; the damp, cold cemetery was swept by winds from the sea and the earth seemed heavy and forbidding as his wife and child were laid to rest.

  Nina had insisted, with tears in her eyes, that there must be a funeral luncheon; it was tradition, she said. There would be hams and oysters and crusty bread and frothing ale to serve to the mourners; it was just one more ordeal to endure, and Will squared his shoulders.

  It was when he was leaving the cemetery that he saw Eline. She had remained in the background, but now she stepped forward and put winter roses on the fresh-dug earth. Will felt tears constrict his throat as, for an instant, their eyes met over the crowd. He was grateful to Eline for coming to pay her respects and more grateful to her for keeping her distance from him. Now, they had no common meeting ground, their lives had moved them both in different directions; he was a widower, and she the wife of one of the richest men in the country.

  He remained in the cottage at Oystermouth for an hour, enduring the sympathy and the platitudes, well meant but meaningless; but at last he felt able to accept Hari’s offer of a lift into Swansea.

  There was silence in the carriage except for the clop of the horse’s hooves against the wet roads. Hari rested her hand lightly over Will’s, and he smiled at her.

  ‘I’m all right,’ he said softly.

  Hari lifted her hand to brush a strand of rain-dewed hair away from his forehead. ‘Well, you don’t look all right. Why don’t you come home with me, if only for a few days?’ She paused for a moment, watching as Will shook his head.

  ‘I know you need time to be alone, and you will have it, I promise you; but at least let me be sure you are well fed and warm.’

  ‘I’m not a child any longer, Hari,’ he said softly. ‘I know that from your seven or eight years’ seniority I must seem it, but I’m a man well able to stand on my own two feet now.’

  ‘You’re right, Will,’ Hari agreed, ‘but I can’t help wanting to look after you; it comes naturally to me.’

  He hugged her for a moment and as the carriage came to a halt outside his workshop she held on to his arms.

  ‘It looks so dismal and depressing!’ She gestured towards the building, and Will smiled down at her.

  ‘No more dismal and depressing than your place in World’s End was, Hari, my love.’

  She sighed heavily. ‘I suppose you are right.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘You’ll make a great success of your business, I just know you will; it’s in you, that need to get on in life.’ She kissed his cheek again. ‘You have the dream and the drive, and I love you for it.’

  Inside the building, it did indeed appear dreary; rain ran along the windows and the fire was grey and dead in the grate. Will took off his coat and set to work; he’d build up the fire and then cook himself a light meal, for he had eaten nothing of the feast Nina had prepared.

  Then perhaps it would be a good time to begin work on the big boots for the coalman, who wanted them tapped urgently, seeing as he only had the one pair.

  He sighed, and it sounded loud in the silence. He was alone, as he’d wanted to be, but now his stomach turned over as he realized he was destined to be alone all his life.

  The second time Eddie made love to Arian, he was more controlled. To his chagrin, he had been too quick the first time, overawed by Arian’s pale, naked beauty and by the sweetness of possessing her.

  ‘That’s it, my darling.’ Arian moved with him, rocking her hips towards him, clinging to his neck, her head flung back, her eyes closed. ‘I want you, Eddie, I want you so much.’

  He felt the fire move in his gut and his loins; he held her close, her breasts full and yet yielding under his hands. He breathed raggedly and then the world exploded around him, within him, and he cried out her name.

  They lay side by side in silence for a long while, and then, anxiously, Eddie raised himself on his elbow and looked down at her fine-boned face. The alabaster skin beneath the cascade of silver hair seemed to glow with inner light, and her sweet mouth curved into a smile.

  ‘Come away with me, Arian,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll be good to you, I’ll care for you always.’

  As if given a signal she did not wish to receive, Arian rose to her feet and began to dress, her hands steady, her hair flowing down her back.

  ‘Don’t go, please,’ Eddie said. ‘I want you again and again – I can’t get enough of you.’

  She did up her bodice, covering her lovely breasts, and her teeth were white as she laughed at him.

  ‘You must contain yourself in patience, my lad,’ she admonished him. ‘You are not the only man in my life, you know.’

  He was on his feet in an instant, holding her close, his hand tangled in her hair as he forced her head back.

  ‘If any other man came near you, I’d kill him,’ he said. His voice was quiet but he meant every word he said.

  She touched his cheek. ‘You will be the only one, I promise,’ she said, and then added teasingly, ‘I shall only have one at a time.’

  ‘I’ll give you one at a time! I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life.’ Eddie pulled her down into the hay once more. ‘And I’ll show you who is master.’

  He tumbled her on to her back and pushed up her skirts. ‘When I say I want you now, I mean I want you now.’

  Playfully, she fought him off, her hands tugging at his hair, her lithe body twisting and turning as he straddled her.

  ‘Leave me be, you wretch,’ she said and slipped away from him, panting a little, her eyes bright with laughter.

  Eddie lunged for her, and she dodged him easily. He fell to the floor, and immediately she was upon him, holding a small gleaming knife to his throat.

  ‘Now who is in control?’ she asked triumphantly. Eddie saw the whiteness of her thigh with a surge of his blood; she was so beautiful, so desirable – would he ever be satiated with her?

  He groaned. ‘Don’t torture me, Arian,’ he said, his body seeming to vibrate with longing for her.

  She rolled away from him and was on her feet, laughing, with her head thrown back and her hair swinging over her shoulders.

  He closed his eyes, pretending to rest, and then, so suddenly that she was taken off guard, he caught Arian’s ankles and she fell back in the straw, her hair spread around her like a cloak, the knife falling from her hand.

  He could wait no longer; he took her as she was, fully dressed, and she remained soft and still beneath him, content to allow him his pleasure.

  ‘I love you so much, Arian,’ he whispered. ‘I want you and need you, always.’

  She wound her arms around him then and held him close to her while the sweet fires raged through him, so that he shuddered in her arms and for a moment it seemed he almost lost touch with conscious thought.

  Neither of them saw the big figure of her uncle, Mike the Spud, in the doorway, his hair wet with rain, his
eyes alight with mischief, his big hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles gleamed white.

  In a few seconds, he had disappeared, and the barn was empty except for the two lovers, who were unaware of the intruder, wrapped as they were in each other’s arms.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The white snows of winter were thawing now, the pale sun coaxing forth the first few crocuses to give brightness to the dull days. The sky was warming earlier from cold dawn to sunrise, and, though the weather was still chill, the promise of spring was everywhere.

  Eline sat in the huge drawing-room of the new house Calvin had bought her after their wedding and stared around at the unfamiliar drapes and hangings with a feeling of unreality. There had been nothing wrong with the first house he’d given her, but that lay empty now, its rooms silent, the small staff of servants the only inhabitants. It was not grand enough, so Calvin claimed, for the wife of a lord.

  Stormhill Manor, on the other hand, was perhaps the grandest, most elegant house in Swansea; its walled gardens encompassed an apple orchard and a sweetly running stream, as well as being home to a herd of timid deer.

  The large, ornate doors of the drawing-room stood open, leading on to the hallway with the enormous sweeping staircase rising from the centre of the marbled floor. How had she come, Eline thought, from a humble fisherman’s cottage to all this grandeur? And was it what she really wanted? She seriously doubted it.

  The house seemed full of servants: footmen, cooks and a plethora of maids moved about silently, and the unwritten pecking order below stairs was a constant source of confusion to Eline.

  Calvin, of course, handled the staff with complete aplomb; he was used to having his every wish met, his every whim catered to. His easy but authoritative manner made him a popular, respected master, and Eline admired him, his sophisticated attitude to life, as she enjoyed his physical nearness, his thoughtful ardour. But love was absent from their marriage, and that made her sad.

  She knew that all he wanted now was for her to give him a son, an heir to all he owned; and yet motherhood, it seemed, was not for her. She had been Joe’s wife for long enough and had not conceived, even though her first husband’s fruitfulness was without question. And lately, to her shame, she had begun to make excuses when Calvin came to her bed. She often found herself imagining being in Will’s arms, but that was an impossible dream.

  As for children, she mused, perhaps there was something deep within some women that rebelled against motherhood unless it was entered into with the right man. Or perhaps, more simply, she was barren. In any event, she felt she was failing Calvin in the very thing he most desired.

  She rose to her feet and sighed heavily. She must get out of her silken cage, walk around the busy streets of the town. Perhaps with the sights and sounds of Swansea all around her, she would be stimulated into taking an interest in the business of designing and making shoes once more.

  It was not that Calvin deliberately prevented her from working, but his unspoken disapproval was difficult to ignore.

  As Eline stepped outside, the pale sun dappled through the trees lining the drive, and she waved away the servant anxiously enquiring if she needed the coach brought round.

  ‘I’ll walk,’ she said, knowing that Calvin would have dismissed the man with charm, while not bothering to explain his reasons to the servants. ‘The exercise and fresh air will do me good,’ she added, recognizing the note of rebellion in her voice with a sense of dismay. What was she turning into? A spoilt, inconsiderate woman who sulked at the luxuries provided by her husband instead of enjoying them.

  The walk into Swansea was invigorating. Eline felt the pale sun on her cheeks and breathed in the scents of early spring with a feeling of growing excitement. She felt suddenly alive, freed from the velvet confines of the huge house – a woman again, not a cosseted doll to be brought out when her husband needed her.

  Immediately she felt guilty. Calvin was so kind and thoughtful; he did not patronize her or treat her as anything less than an equal, but his ardour and his protectiveness were sometimes stifling.

  The town of Swansea was busy with afternoon traffic; vans carrying all kinds of goods were pulled along by weary horses, while the high-stepping, glossy-coated animals drawing rich carriages trotted along the cobbles, heads raised proudly, their burdens light.

  The gulf between rich and poor was great indeed, Eline thought, and was highlighted in the appearance of the animals they drove.

  She realized then the main reason for her discontent. Her own small enterprises, though successful, every one of them, seemed insignificant and almost unnecessary beside Calvin’s great wealth. Calvin, in loving her, giving her everything, had taken away her ambition; she had no goal, no star to aim for.

  Almost unconsciously, she squared her shoulders, deciding that she would not live the rest of her life as a plaything, an ornament gracing Calvin’s home. If he loved her, he must accept that she had to lead her own life, and that meant working at what she loved best.

  She looked around her; perhaps she should think of renting new premises somewhere in Swansea? The ones Calvin had provided for her were all wrong, too luxurious, too clinical. In any case, she would need to make her own plans, because if she confided her ideas to her husband, he would take over again. With the best of motives, he would erode her plans, making them his own. That was the last thing she wanted.

  Eline sighed. She had been remiss in not putting her plans into action long since. Her wish to make shoes for children with foot defects seemed to have been shelved along with the plans to begin a savings club.

  Eline thought of the original premises she’d planned to use; they were let now to Will Davies, and at the thought of him Eline’s heart moved within her. She felt suddenly faint and ill.

  She pushed the thoughts away; her life and Will’s had taken different roads, they might as well be living on separate planets. She would do no good at all to think about him.

  She moved around the streets with purpose now, her mind sizing up and discarding various sites. She must place her shop somewhere accessible to the poor people of the town; the premises must be humble enough not to frighten off prospective customers. It might well be that she herself would have to take a back seat, for most people knew Eline, now Lady Temple, by sight.

  Perhaps, she thought, she should employ a young woman to work in the shop for her – several young women if necessary. She smiled. She was rushing ahead; as yet she had no premises, nothing to offer anyone but the ideas in her mind. She looked at the buildings around her, and suddenly she realized why they appeared familiar; they were the ones she had once planned to use, and there was the worn, crumbling façade of the building where Will worked.

  ‘Eline!’ The voice was low, and she turned sharply and came face to face with Will Davies. Her heart contracted. He looked awful; he was pale and there were lines running from his nose to his mouth. His hair was a touch long to be fashionable, and over his thin frame hung the leather apron of the cobbler.

  Pity swept through Eline; she reached out and touched his hand. ‘Will, I’m sorry, your wife and baby – I don’t know what to say.’

  And suddenly she ached to take him in her arms, to wipe away the air of sadness that hung almost tangibly around him. ‘You been working today?’ She gestured to the doorway behind him, knowing that the question was banal, the words she longed to say dying on her lips.

  He nodded. ‘I work and live here now. It’s my shop, my home; it’s all I have.’ He smiled down at her, and she saw the old Will still lived; life had taken a hand against him, but he still had his spirit.

  ‘May I see it? I’m suddenly hungry for the touch and the smell of leather,’ she said; but she was hungry for much more.

  ‘Come inside.’ He led the way indoors.

  At the bench Eline stopped and picked up an awl, staring at it as though it was a precious gem. ‘How I miss it all,’ she said. ‘But I intend to do something positive about it.

/>   She felt suddenly that she wanted to confide her plans in Will; he if anyone would understand. ‘I’m tired of doing nothing,’ she said. ‘I must work at my designs, otherwise there’s no reason for living, no reason at all.’

  Will was leading the way into the back room. ‘I’m just closing up the shop,’ he said. ‘I’m going to make some tea; like some?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Eline felt as though she was a little girl out on a treat. She sat near the bright fire and watched as Will removed his apron and hung it behind the door.

  ‘You are too thin,’ she said, and then she felt the colour rise in her cheeks; what he looked like was no concern of hers.

  He didn’t appear to notice her confusion. He placed the cup before her and stood at the end of the table, looking down at her. ‘So you are weary of being lady of the manor, are you?’

  There was a note of derision in his voice, and Eline looked up at him defensively. ‘Not exactly,’ she said, ‘but I do want to continue with my own work.’

  ‘Why?’ Will said challengingly. ‘You’ll only be taking bread out of the mouths of cobblers who really need it.’

  Eline rose and pushed away her cup. ‘I see I was wrong,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘I thought you of all people would understand my need to . . .’

  Will moved closer to her. ‘Your need to what? To play the grand lady stooping to help the poor? How laudable!’

  ‘I didn’t mean that at all!’ Eline said hotly, suddenly realizing that Will was deliberately baiting her.

  ‘But that’s what all the rich do, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Play at helping those less fortunate, it’s expected.’

  ‘I’m not like that,’ Eline said.

  Will smiled, but without humour. ‘You don’t think so? You married for money a man you didn’t even love – do you deny it?’

  ‘And you married because you were unwise enough to get the girl pregnant!’

  He caught hold of her wrists as she lifted her hand to push him away, and then he was shaking her, his face bitter and angry.