by Iris Gower
Glen’s house was typical of the area, tall and gloomy, with dull windows staring sightlessly into the mean court outside. Little sun penetrated between the buildings, and even on this bright spring day the houses appeared to be in darkness.
Inside the kitchen was another picture, one of brightness and warmth, with a good fire in the grate and a clean, fresh tablecloth set for dinner. The appetizing smell of roasting rabbit permeated the room, and suddenly Will realized how long it was since he’d had a decent, cooked meal.
Kerry was a tall, red-haired Irish woman, and she greeted Will with a warm smile, just as though she’d been expecting him. With little fuss, she set the table with another place and then took the boots from Will, studying them with bright, laughter-filled eyes.
‘Watch out,’ Glen said, humorously. ‘Gimlet eyes, has my good wife; spot a bad job a mile off.’
‘Aye, but this isn’t one of them,’ Kerry said cheerfully. ‘This is as fine a bit of cobbling as I’ve seen; nearly in bits were these boots, and now shining like the day they were bought, so they are.’
She disappeared into the parlour, and Glen winked. ‘Going to raid her hidden hoard of money now, mind,’ he said. ‘Don’t let on to me where she keeps it, in case I take it into my head to have a jar or two down the public.’
The sound of voices filled the passageway outside and Will froze. He glanced at Glen, who shrugged.
‘Sounds as if we got another visitor,’ he said. ‘Eline Harries, as she was, come to see our Mickey and his bad feet, I spects.’
Will felt the blood pound in his head. Eline here, in the same house as he was? It was more than he could have dreamed of. He moved out into the passage, without noticing Glen’s expression of surprise, and was drawn towards the front parlour, where he guessed the voices must be coming from.
At the doorway of the parlour, he paused, taking in at a glance the old polished piano, the worn rag mats and the table, covered in a lace cloth. Lastly he looked towards the sofa, where Eline sat alongside a small boy, who was staring in wonder at the pair of boots Eline held in her hand.
Eline looked up and her eyes met Will’s; he almost flinched at the naked joy he saw in her face, mirroring his own.
‘Will!’ Her voice shook a little. ‘How are you?’
He became aware, with a sudden sense of shame, that he was looking far from his best. ‘Well enough, and you?’ he asked, though the question was superfluous. She was as beautiful as ever, her hair shining, her eyes clear, her clothes immaculate. But then, he thought ruefully, she had servants to do her every bidding; she did not bend over a tub scrubbing at her clothes the way he did.
‘Will, I’d like your opinion on these boots I’ve made for Mickey,’ she said quickly, as though reading something of his thoughts. ‘Mickey’s foot was just a little bit twisted, and I hope these special boots will help correct it.’
Drawn almost against his will, he bent down on one knee near the boy and the scent of Eline drifted over him, plaguing him with desires that were as futile as they were painful.
‘They’ll do the job, right enough. Here, let me help you put them on, Mickey.’
The small boy sat quietly until Will had tied up the boots securely, and then, urged by Will’s hands, he stood up and took a tentative step forward.
‘Excellent,’ Will said softly. ‘You’re doing well, Mickey, atta a boy!’
With growing confidence, Mickey walked about the small room, his face alight, and after a moment, he stood before Eline, holding out his small hand to her.
‘Thank you, miss,’ he said gravely. ‘My foot don’t hurt no more, I can walk like the other boys.’
Eline sighed. ‘I’m glad,’ she said softly. ‘I was afraid I might have made a mistake with your boots, Mickey.’
Her humility touched Will, and he resisted the urge to take Eline in his arms. He rose to his feet abruptly, his hand inadvertently brushing Eline’s hair. He sprung back as if stung, and Eline stared up at him, her eyes full of misery.
‘Sure, mother of God bless you, miss,’ Kerry said quickly, sensing some of the tension that had sprung up between her visitors. ‘Now, how much is it that I owe you?’
Eline delved into her bag and brought out a list. ‘Let me see now,’ she said softly, ‘you’ve been paying into the club for some weeks, haven’t you? Ah, yes, I can see you don’t owe very much at all.’
She tucked the paper away and smiled. ‘In any case, Arian Smale will be coming around, as usual, collecting your club money every week, if that’s more convenient for you.’
‘To be sure, I’d be glad of that,’ Kerry said, the relief in her voice evident. ‘I’ve our Glen’s boots to pay for this week, worn to the bone they were.’ She smiled at Will. ‘You and Miss Eline should go into business together, you’re both such clever people.’
Will felt at a disadvantage; he too would have liked to waive payment, but unlike Eline he simply couldn’t afford the gesture. He glanced away from Eline’s steady gaze; her eyes, somehow imploring, seemed to be looking into his very soul.
‘I’m sure Eline does very nicely on her own.’ Will tried to speak lightly, but his words came out all wrong; it sounded like pique on his part.
‘You’ll stay and have a bit of dinner with us, Miss Eline.’ Kerry filled the awkward silence. ‘It’s lovely rabbit, done in the oven with herbs and spices, a good hearty meal for anyone.’
To Will’s surprise, Eline accepted. ‘That would be lovely,’ she said warmly. ‘The smell of it is making me hungry.’
It was strange to sit at the same table as Eline, and Will could not help glancing at her covertly when he thought she wasn’t looking. But somehow he knew that she was as aware of him as he was of her.
On his right sat Glen’s young daughter. As the baker had said, Rita was shyness itself, her eyes downcast, her whole attitude self-effacing. And yet she was a beautiful girl, with her mother’s flame hair and her father’s dark eyes, an enticing combination.
‘Did you help your mother cook this lovely meal?’ Will said, determined to draw her out. ‘I can’t tell you when I tasted rabbit like it.’
Rita blushed a fiery scarlet, and her eyes met his for a brief instant. ‘Yes, I skinned the rabbit and rubbed in the herbs,’ she said, her voice barely audible, ‘but Mammy showed me how.’
As the meal progressed, Will found Rita warming to him and, as her confidence grew, she began to talk to him quietly. He found she had a quick mind and a fine sense of humour.
Will, looking across yet again at Eline, met her eyes, and the sadness he read there cut him to the quick. An air of unreality gripped him; here he was breaking bread with Eline, sitting so close to her that he could have reached across the table and touched her hand, and yet they were poles apart.
After the meal had finished, Glen rose and rubbed his hands down his trousers, a smile on his thin face. ‘I don’t know about you people,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got work to do. Did you take the bread out of the oven for me, Rita?’
‘Yes, Dad.’ The girl seemed to retreat into her shell once more, as though aware of the other people in the room. ‘Shall I come and wash the tins for you?’
‘Aye, good girl, that would be a great help,’ Glen said, and, crossing the room, he held out his hand to Will. ‘And thanks, lad, for a fine job. I can’t tell you what a relief it is to get a good pair of boots on my feet again.’
Eline rose too and smiled at Kerry. ‘Can I help you clear away or something?’ she volunteered.
Kerry shook her head quickly. ‘No, you and Will are visitors; I don’t expect you to help me. But thank you anyway.’
‘In that case, I’d better be going,’ Eline said, smiling warmly, ‘and thank you for the best dinner I’ve eaten in ages.’
‘Can I see you home?’ Will found himself making the offer with a sense of surprise.
He stared down at Eline and his heart lifted with joy when she nodded. ‘That would be very kind of you.’
The
n, with Will scarcely remembering how, they were out in the street together, walking side by side as if it was the most natural thing in all the world.
‘I love you, Eline.’ Will said the words softly. ‘I’ve never stopped loving you.’ He held up his hand. ‘Please don’t say anything; I know I can never have you. You are far out of my reach, but I can’t help what I feel.’
Eline stopped walking and turned to him. ‘Invite me in, please, Will,’ she said softly, and he realized they were outside his shop. Eagerly, he opened the door and led the way through the workshop to his living-room at the back of the building.
In the living-room the fire was still burning in the grate; the kettle hissed on the hob and Will was somehow acutely aware of his surroundings, as though he wanted to imprint the scene on his consciousness.
‘I want you, Will,’ Eline said, standing before him, her eyes looking up into his.
‘This is playing with fire,’ Will said hoarsely. ‘Your husband will be expecting you home . . .’
He stopped as Eline put her hand softly over his mouth. ‘No,’ she said. ‘He’s away on business; no-one is expecting me anywhere.’
Will was swamped by the scent of her, the closeness of her, and desire flared through him, so that he felt drunk with it. ‘Eline,’ he said thickly, ‘Eline, my love.’
‘Will’ – she moved closer – ‘do I have to ask you to make love to me? I’ll beg, if that’s what you want.’
‘Eline, if you don’t mean it, please . . .’ Will stopped speaking as she reached up and, standing on tiptoe, pressed her mouth against his.
‘We can have this one afternoon, Will,’ she whispered. ‘Is that too much to ask of life?’
‘Eline.’ His arms were around her, holding her close, his mouth warming to her kiss, his arms tender as they held her, knowing that this was a dream he thought would never come true. He would not think beyond the moment; he would take what Eline was offering him, her love for a few short hours.
They kissed softly, experimentally, as though tasting each other. Will felt a bursting of passion that threatened to overwhelm him as he allowed his hands to stray to her breasts, touching softly, as if even now fearing rejection.
‘I won’t break,’ Eline said, opening the bodice of her gown. ‘I’m a flesh-and-blood woman, Will; treat me like one, I beg of you.’
He picked her up in his arms then and carried her through to his bedroom. The curtains were closed against the outside, spreading a dim, romantic glow over the shabby furnishings.
Gently, he set her down and lay beside her, catching her waist, drawing her close to him. His body longed to take her, to own and possess her, but he knew he must savour the experience; it would never happen again.
Her lips were like butterflies, kissing his eyes, his mouth, his throat. ‘I’ve wanted this for so long, my darling,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve dreamed of you, of being in your arms, of being yours so many, many times. I can’t believe this is really happening.’
Her body, when he undressed her, was milky white in the dimness; she was perfect, the way he’d expected her to be, and for a moment he stared at her, drinking her in, imprinting the sight of her on his memory.
‘Eline, you are so beautiful,’ he said raggedly, and she touched his cheek.
‘Hush, don’t talk, not now.’ Her eyes were half-closed; desire gave her a dreamy, ethereal look, and suddenly Will wanted her so fiercely that he thought he would die.
He touched her reverently, and in response her hands were running over his naked body as if to own every part of him. Little did she know that she owned his very soul.
He could bear his restraint no longer and, moving delicately, he became one with her, so easily that they might have been fashioned for each other. He could scarcely believe the wonder of it all, the sweet hot sensations of possession, the feeling of power and yet overwhelming tenderness that filled him as she moaned softly beneath him.
She was his, his very own woman, at least for a few hours. Will closed his eyes and gave himself up to the passion that held the both of them as though in a brilliant rainbow of light.
They slept in each other’s arms, and Will woke first, feeling her softness against him with a sense of wonder. It was dark now, with only a sliver of moonlight shining through the opening in the curtains.
Then she too was awake; her arms reached up for him, and she pressed herself close to him with an urgency that sent the blood coursing through his veins.
‘Please, Will . . .’ she breathed, and he took her then with all the vigour of his pent-up longings. It was as though he must find the deepest recesses of her, to own her, to put his mark indelibly upon her. They cried out together, and it was a cry of happiness and triumph.
Eline sat in the elegant drawing-room of the house Calvin had bought for her, staring into the fire without seeing anything of the flames. Some weeks had passed since she’d lain with Will, and yet the residue of the passion she had shared with him remained with her, along with her awful sense of guilt.
She sighed wistfully. She had never felt like this before; loving Will was an intoxication, and Eline wondered if she could live without it now she had tasted it.
She closed her eyes, seeing again, in her mind’s eye, Will, naked in her arms. He was too thin, of course, and the urge to hold and protect him was as strong in her as desire.
She opened her eyes and rose restlessly from her chair. She felt trapped, as though she had been here before, in exactly the same situation; and of course she had. Except that she had honoured her marriage vows to Joe, but not to Calvin. She had cuckolded the man who had given her everything, and she was ashamed.
Calvin entered the room and he was smiling, his handsome face full of happiness. He came towards her holding out a great bouquet of flowers, and Eline felt her throat contract with unshed tears.
‘What are these for?’ she asked softly. ‘What have I done to deserve such a wonderful gesture?’ She buried her face in the soft blooms to hide the blush of shame that tinged her cheeks. She only prayed that Calvin could not read her guilt in her eyes.
‘This is the happiest day of my life,’ Calvin said gently. ‘I’ve just seen Dr Ferguson, and what he had to say was just what I was longing to hear. You are a clever girl, do you know that, Eline?’
A cold hand of fear gripped her as Calvin led her to a chair and gently pushed her into it.
‘You know I insisted on calling in the old quack when you had that funny turn? Now we know what caused it.’
Eline took a ragged breath, her hands flying to her cheeks. ‘No, it can’t be . . .’ she said, her voice scarcely audible.
‘It can!’ Calvin said in delight. ‘Eline, we are going to have a child! I shall have an heir, and I can’t tell you what it means to me.’
‘But I’m barren!’ Eline said flatly. ‘If I’m not, why have I never conceived before? There couldn’t be some mistake, could there?’
‘There is no mistake,’ Calvin said softly. ‘Eline, you are pleased, aren’t you? You did want a baby?’
‘I don’t know,’ Eline said, her heart beating fast. Not now, her mind cried in protest, now when I have lain with Will. ‘I can’t believe it’s really true,’ she said lamely.
He took her gently in his arms, holding her close. ‘It is true, my love. The doctor is quite sure, and I’m so pleased I would give you the moon if you wanted it.’
Eline closed her eyes as Calvin held her close; her head rested against his shoulder as she sought to clear her mind. She was going to have a baby, after years of barrenness – but, a small voice of doubt said in her head, which man was the father?
Suddenly she longed to rush out of the house, to escape from the cloying love Calvin was showering upon her; and, most of all, she wanted Will to be holding her, Will, not Calvin.
Oh, God, she’d got herself into a terrible position; and right now there seemed no possible way of escape.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Fon looked out
at the fields, rich and green now with the promise of a good crop of corn later on in the year. On the top field the men were transplanting the cabbages, putting them down into land that had been cleared of early potatoes.
Eddie was out with the men. He was almost recovered from the shot that had grazed his shoulder at dangerously close quarters. He’d been lucky that he’d known how to handle the wound, which surprisingly had bled very little, and that there had been no resulting complications. Eddie, though his arm was a little stiff, had insisted on going back to work as soon as possible; he knew full well that there was a lot to be done.
The farm, Fon felt, was flourishing; and yet a sense of unease hung persistently over her as she stood now in the kitchen window, her hands covered in flour, the smell of baking permeating the room.
From the garden she could hear the sounds of happy laughter and her tense expression relaxed. Tommy’s little sister might be a handful, but April was certainly good for Patrick. She loved him dearly, adopting him as her baby brother, and her attitude was proprietary to say the least.
Fon’s attention was caught by the sight of a horse and cart just rising over the crest of the hill. The cart, bumping and clattering its way along the rutted track towards the farmhouse, held just one figure, hunched rather awkwardly in the driving seat. For a moment, she grew tense, and then, as the cart drew closer, she saw that the driver was a woman and she relaxed, smiling at her own foolishness.
She opened the door wide. ‘April, your mother’s coming,’ she said cheerfully, and April looked up, her face suddenly alight. The small girl rushed forward, her arms outstretched.
‘Mam!’ April’s voice was full of happiness as she helped her mother down from the cart.
Fon was shocked to see how thin Mrs Jones had become; her shoulders beneath the cotton bodice were bony and angular, her face elongated, with lines running from nose to mouth.
Fon remembered Mrs Jones as she used to be when she lived on the land adjoining Honey’s Farm, a plump, healthy woman, lively and intelligent, her eyes clear and full of humour. Now she was shadowy, insubstantial, and Fon had the feeling she had come back to the land once more by way of a goodbye.
