‘Rose, you know that is never going to happen.’
‘Then what? What will you do?’
It was a good question and Esther hoped Rose didn’t press for the finer details when she said, ‘I shall get a job and rent a couple of rooms for myself and Joy. The one good thing about the war is that, of necessity, more nurseries and crèches have sprung up for working mothers.’
Rose had stared at her askance. ‘I’ll come with you and look after her, and you know I’ve got a bit put by. We could rent a nice little house and—’
‘And you would be stuck there all day, with just a toddler for company, knowing no one and just waiting for me to come home.’ Esther had pressed one of Rose’s lined hands to her cheek. Rose was over sixty now and had devoted her life to serving others. Esther had never seen her so happy as in the last years at the farm; it was as though she had been born for farm life. Nancy Holden had already hinted to Esther that, if she decided to leave and Rose chose to stay, she would see to it that Rose joined herself and Farmer Holden in the farmhouse, as one of the family. ‘Joy and I will come and see you and Mrs Holden when we can, I promise, and you can come and see me. Sunderland isn’t a million miles away, now is it?’
Rose had said nothing for a moment. Then she murmured, ‘Are . . . are you going to him?’
Esther didn’t prevaricate. She had no secrets from her old nanny, and Rose knew about Caleb’s suggestion that she might like to live near him and his family. ‘A friend on hand’ was the way he had put it. It had unnerved her when she had first read it, but since VE Day a change had taken place in her thinking. She didn’t for a moment imagine that Caleb would take on her and someone else’s child, especially a child who would invariably be a talking point among his neighbours and friends. He had never, by word or deed, suggested he was feeling that way. But now she knew that she didn’t want to lose his friendship and support, at a time when she would need it most.
Quietly she said, ‘I’ve told you before: Caleb is my friend. That’s all. But his mother seemed to take to Joy, and it would be good to know folk are at hand if a crisis should happen. So, yes, I’m thinking of looking for somewhere in Monkwearmouth.’
‘I see.’ Rose’s disapproval had been unmistakable.
‘Please don’t look at me like that, Rose.’ Esther took Rose’s hand again, squeezing it. ‘Please, I need you to understand. You, of all people.’
‘Well, I don’t.’ But Rose had left her hand in Esther’s. ‘Not when you have a husband who is falling over himself to make things right.’
‘Some things can’t be made right.’
‘Aye, they can, with a bit of give and take on both sides.’
‘It’s not like that, Rose, and you know it at heart.’
‘Mr Monty is Joy’s natural father, Miss Esther, that’s the thing. And he wants you both back with him. A child should grow up with her parents – both parents, if it is at all possible – and the way I see it, for Joy it is possible. It’s only you that is preventing it. I’m sorry, but that’s what I think.’
Monty said the same thing every time he called at the farm. Esther knew it was emotional blackmail, but it still hit a raw nerve and caused her to question herself now and again. But she always came back to the way Monty had reacted when Joy was born and, even more than that, the way he had spoken the next day, when he had had time to think and consider his words. He’d asked her to send their baby away somewhere, to hide her, in essence; and then he’d stipulated that they would have no more natural children of their own. As Priscilla had put it, a leopard doesn’t change its spots. Not over something so fundamental. Rose might indulge in the luxury of burying her head in the sand with regard to Monty, but she could not. Not as Joy’s mother.
‘Rose, I believe with all my heart that Joy is better off without Monty.’
‘Then you are wrong, Miss Esther, and you’ll regret it.’
Letting go of Rose’s hand, her voice was firm as she said, ‘I’ve made my decision about Monty, Rose, and I shan’t change my mind. Monty doesn’t love her unconditionally, like a father should.’
‘Now you don’t know that.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Well, it still isn’t right you going to live in them back streets, Miss Esther. You a lady. Your poor mother would turn in her grave.’
‘Harriet was a wonderful woman, but she wasn’t my mother, Rose. I’ll always be grateful to her for the love she poured out on me, but the truth is that I am not related to her by blood at all. You know that as well as I do.’
They had stared at each other, and then Rose had said words that cut her to the quick. ‘You’ve grown hard, Miss Esther.’
And now it was Christmas Eve and in the last twenty-four hours the temperature had dropped sharply again, freezing the ground so that the ridges of mud were as hard as iron and a layer of ice made walking treacherous. Not that that stopped work on a farm. It was almost midday and although the sun was shining the air was bitterly cold, and every now and again, as though warning of what was in store, a snowflake drifted down.
Esther was walking across the farmyard after collecting some eggs from the poultry house. This was situated in the middle of what Mrs Holden quaintly referred to as the ‘hens’ meadow’ – a small grass field that allowed the birds to range freely. The hens seemed very happy feeding on oats and chat potatoes, with just a small proportion of rationed imported foods, which were allowed at only a quarter of an ounce per bird. Of course the egg yield was low in winter, as egg production depends on the length of daylight, but nevertheless Esther had a nice basketful for the farmer’s wife.
She heard the car before she saw it and groaned. Not Monty – not on Christmas Eve. Mr Holden had cut down a small fir tree that morning and they were planning to decorate it after lunch with the ancient collection of baubles, tinsel and bits and pieces that the farmer’s wife had had for years. Esther had been looking forward to spending time with Joy and the others. It was the first year her daughter had really understood about Christmas. For weeks now Esther had spent her evenings, once Joy was tucked up in bed, making a beautiful rag doll with an embroidered face and masses of thin strands of yellow rope hair, along with a wardrobe of different outfits that the child could dress the doll in. Priscilla had sorted through her clothes and given her one or two lovely things to cut down for the purpose. As Lydia had remarked, it came to something when a doll was better dressed than the rest of them! And the afternoon had been going to be a precious lead-up to Christmas morning, but if Monty was here, everything was spoilt.
Esther turned, steeling her face to show no emotion, and then almost dropped the precious eggs, as she took in the ancient Morris Minor with a stranger at the wheel and a grinning Caleb sitting in the passenger seat. The car drew up, but only Caleb got out, calling over to her, ‘All right if I invite myself to stay for a couple of hours?’
Somehow she managed to retain her composure, although her voice was a little shaky when she said, ‘Of course it is, but what on earth are you doing here?’
‘This is Bill, a pal from the home who happens to live near me, and when I bumped into him and he said he was going to drive down to see some of the lads who are still stuck there, I asked him if he’d mind if I rode along.’ Caleb put a thumb up to his friend, who waved and then disappeared back down the farm track, as Caleb walked to Esther’s side with the one-sided hip-swinging gait that gave away his injury. His arms were full of wrapped parcels and, as he reached her, he said, ‘Bits for Joy, from me and Mam.’
‘From your mother?’ Esther tried, and failed, to keep the amazement out of her voice.
‘And me,’ he qualified.
‘Thank you. I . . . I don’t know what to say. It’s . . . it’s very kind of you both.’
‘Is she excited?’
‘Who?’
‘Joy. Is she excited about Father Christmas and all?’
Trying to pull herself together, Esther managed a smile. ‘Yes, yes, she is.�
� Hoping Caleb wouldn’t see how flustered she was feeling, she said, ‘Come on into the farmhouse and have a hot drink. You must be frozen.’
‘A bit.’ Truth to tell, he felt he was in the middle of what his mam would term a ‘hot flush’. He’d felt his temperature rise the moment he had seen her, and he felt weak with relief now that Esther hadn’t given any sign that she wasn’t pleased to see him, or considered him turning up like this an intrusion.
When they entered the farmhouse Nancy Holden made Caleb very welcome, after her initial surprise. She knew all about him from Rose, but in this one thing she didn’t agree with her friend. If the man had designs on Esther, then she saw nothing wrong with it; and she had no time for the other one, whatever Rose said. Why should Esther take the swine back, after what he’d done? No, in Nancy’s book, if a nice man like Caleb was prepared to take on the lass and her bairn, then he was all right. Not that anything like that had been said of course, according to Esther. Apparently they were just friends. But to her mind, a bloke didn’t travel all this way with a pile of presents for the bairn if he wasn’t soft on the mother.
Priscilla and the others had been working in various places about the farm when Caleb had arrived, but as they all congregated in the farmhouse kitchen for the midday meal, each of the four girls gave him an equally warm welcome. Farmer Holden was surprised when he walked in, but a certain warning look from his wife caused him to be more tactful than usual and, being a man’s man, he and Caleb were soon discussing the state of the country, which in the farmer’s opinion, was in a worse mess now than during the war. Consequently it was an amiable little group who sat around the scrubbed table eating Mrs Holden’s steamed meat roll and roast potatoes in dripping.
Caleb’s eyes had widened when he had seen the huge meat roll appear on the table, and he had sniffed the air for all the world like the children in the Bisto advert. Mrs Holden had laughed. ‘Hungry, lad?’
‘Ravenous, but I didn’t expect a meal, Mrs Holden. I’ve brought some sandwiches with me.’
‘Sandwiches!’ The farmer’s wife snorted her disapproval. ‘They’re not a meal for a grown man on a day like this. Get some meat roll and tatties down you, and let’s hear no more about it. Any friend of Esther’s is welcome here, lad.’ Nancy purposely didn’t glance Rose’s way at this juncture, because she knew full well what her friend was thinking.
They all tucked in. Joy had insisted on sitting on Caleb’s lap, seemingly having lost any shyness with this nice man, who had given her a big bag of brightly wrapped sweets when he’d arrived. Although Esther had protested on both counts – with the sweets, because they would spoil Joy’s meal; and with Joy sitting on Caleb’s lap, because it would spoil his – she had been shouted down by everyone. ‘It’s Christmas Eve, lass,’ Mrs Holden had said, regarding the sweets. ‘Let the bairn have her treat.’ And Caleb had lifted Joy onto his lap, saying, ‘If she wants to sit with me, that’s grand, isn’t it, hinny?’ and Joy had dimpled up at him. Esther conceded defeat.
They were in the middle of the meal and were all laughing at some story Priscilla was telling about her altercation with one of the more stubborn cows, when the kitchen door that led out onto the yard opened, letting in a gust of icy air. They turned as one, to see Monty standing in the doorway. ‘I knocked, but you were clearly having too much fun to hear me,’ he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. And his eyes were looking straight at Joy on Caleb’s lap.
Chapter Nineteen
It was an hour later – possibly the most uncomfortable hour of Esther’s life. She had been so taken aback to see Monty standing there that for a moment her brain had frozen, but Priscilla had risen to the occasion. Her manner light and easy, Priscilla had trilled, ‘Let me do the honours. Caleb, this is Monty Grant, and Monty’ – she had looked Esther’s husband straight in the eye – ‘this is Caleb McGuigan, a great friend of ours. We all met when Caleb was billeted a short distance from here, recovering from injuries sustained in action.’
The unspoken warning was clear: you be nice to Caleb, because he’s got a darned sight more right than you to be here; and if one of you is leaving, it won’t be him.
Esther had watched as Monty had taken visible control of his expression, pulling it into something approaching pleasantness as he had said, ‘How do you do? I’m Esther’s husband.’
He hadn’t thought Monty was her brother. Caleb rose, with Joy positioned in one arm as he held out a hand to the man who had broken Esther’s heart. He didn’t smile. ‘How do you do.’ Part of him was looking on and thinking wryly, ‘How civilized.’ The other part wanted to kill Monty.
Monty was holding a box in one hand that was wrapped in festive paper, and now he turned his gaze on the child in Caleb’s arms as he said, ‘Do you want to see what Daddy has got you for Christmas?’
His answer was Joy turning her face away from him and burrowing it into Caleb.
For a moment silence reigned. Esther was furious at Monty’s proprietorial attitude, but aware that causing a scene would help no one, she bit her tongue, saying coolly, ‘We’re just finishing our meal. Would you like a hot drink?’ and somehow the acute embarrassment blew over. No one could fail to feel the charged atmosphere, however, and whether it was that which caused Joy to cling to Caleb like a limpet, or simply that she associated him with the happy day in the summer when his mother and Caleb had made such a fuss of her, Esther didn’t know. But the child would not be parted from him, even when they all went through to the sitting area to dress the tree.
Caleb was delighted. Not only by Joy’s total acceptance of him, but by the way it had got under Monty’s skin. That was petty and beneath him, but he didn’t care, he thought, as he helped the child to wind strands of tinsel around the sweet-smelling little tree. He had known immediately who it was standing in the doorway, even before anyone had spoken, and perhaps not surprisingly he had disliked Monty on sight. The handsome face under a shock of blond hair, the impeccable and expensive clothes, and the air of ownership regarding Esther and Joy had made him want to punch the man on the nose. And – and here he admitted to a feeling of shame – having seen Monty, he was frightened of Esther’s husband. Not of the man himself, never that, but of Esther’s feelings towards him. She had loved him once, heart, soul and body; and, looking at the man, Caleb could see that Esther and Monty had fitted together very well. They were of the same class, they had had privileged upbringings with everything that entailed, they spoke in the same way – oh, a hundred things, he thought wretchedly, as he handed Joy a pretty bauble for the tree. And what was he, in comparison? Nothing. He must have been mad to come here today, hoping for . . .
What? he asked himself. What had he been hoping for? He didn’t really know. What he did know was that he couldn’t have let another month, another week, another day go by without seeing Esther, and Christmas had provided the perfect excuse for his visit. Hell, he didn’t know which way was up, and that was the truth of it. As his mam had said only the other day, when he’d sat morosely staring into the fire after his evening meal, he’d end up in the loony bin over Esther.
It didn’t take long to decorate the tree, with everyone helping – everyone, that is, but Monty, who sat on the perimeter of the group. Once it had been completed, the farmer made it clear there was work to be done, Christmas Eve or no Christmas Eve, and the rest of the girls, along with the farmer and his wife and Rose, went in various directions. Priscilla made a point of wishing Caleb a merry Christmas and giving him an affectionate peck on the cheek, her leave-taking of Monty being altogether less warm.
Rose, on the other hand, completely ignored Caleb before she left to help Nancy in the dairy, to the point where she was positively rude, causing the farmer’s wife – who thoroughly disapproved of Rose’s conduct – to make more of a fuss of Caleb that she would normally have done. It was all awkward and uncomfortable, and even Priscilla was glad to get out of the farmhouse and leave Esther alone with the two men and the child.
Monty’s gaze was ice-cold, but he allowed none of the anger seething under his cool exterior to come through in his voice as he said, ‘Not at all. I work with Esther’s father in the family business.’
‘He is not my father.’ Esther’s body was taut, her face set. ‘And I’ve asked you not to refer to him as such.’
‘Really, darling, this is not the time or place to discuss such things.’
‘I disagree.’ Esther had reached boiling point. She knew exactly what Monty was doing, and had done from the moment he had stepped into the house. His attitude, and every word he’d spoken, laid claim to her and Joy and, in so doing, stated that Caleb had no right to be here. ‘It just so happens that Caleb’s a good friend of mine and we have no secrets. And I am not your darling.’
‘I see.’
‘I doubt it.’ There was the slightest pause before Esther bent down and lifted Joy, who was playing with an empty cardboard box and a strand of tinsel near the tree, into her arms. ‘Please leave, Monty. I’ve asked you time and time again not to come here, and you know I mean it, so this is purely your fault.’
The Colours of Love Page 24
