by Linda Sole
‘We had a war to fight. I loved Dan so much but he had to leave me as soon as we were married and for a long time I believed he might have been killed. You grow up quickly when you’re faced with things like that – and you understand what is important.’
‘Yes, I know. Dan was lucky to find you. I know you’ve had hard times, Alice – but you’re still in love, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am,’ Alice said and smiled. ‘Things weren’t right between us for a while but we’re over that, Connor. I’ll let Dan tell you about it himself, but let’s say I understand how your Sarah feels – and I know that she will see sense in time if she loves you.’
‘I wish I were as certain. I have to see her tomorrow, Alice. Is it all right if I stay here for a few days? I need to think about what I’m going to do . . .’
‘This is your home, Con. Dan has gone out for a while, but I dare say he will be back soon.’
‘I doubt he will be as forgiving as you. He thinks I ran out on him and he warned me it would end in tears.’
‘Well, he should be understanding. Things are all right for us now,’ Alice said. ‘He’s working on a car in the yard and he has sold the milking herd, but we’ve kept the chickens and pigs for the moment.’
‘And the geese,’ Connor said with a grin. ‘One of them ran at me when I came in.’
‘They should be in a pen. I bet the boys let them out,’ Alice said. ‘I’ll have to catch them or they will make a mess everywhere.’ She looked at Connor. ‘Your clothes are too good or I would ask you to give me a hand.’
‘I’ll go up and put some old cords on. Then I’ll come and give you a hand.’
Nine
Alan was sitting in the walled garden. It was early spring but in places where the wind could not reach the sun was warm enough if you wrapped up well, and the flowerbeds were already ablaze with colour. He had fingerless mittens on his hands, a battered old hat pulled low over his forehead and a scarf around his throat. The half-finished painting in front of him was coming along well, and he had a feeling of well-being, of contentment.
Living here with Emily was as close to Paradise as he was likely to get this side of the great divide. He would have liked her to marry him so that they could travel together a little, but he knew that if he pushed too hard, it might spoil what they had together.
Alan had dreamed of being Emily’s lover and he was very grateful that she had given him this time. He knew that it would not last for long. Sometimes his heart behaved oddly and he was breathless for short periods. Once or twice in the night he had felt really ill, and he was thankful that although they were lovers they did not sleep together. His pride would not let him tell Emily that his doctor had warned him he was on the slippery slope. She would wrap him in cotton wool and she might not let him make love to her. He didn’t want to be treated as an invalid. He wanted to make the most of this gift he had been given. One day he would have to leave her, because he was determined not to become a burden to her, but he believed he had a short time left to him. Perhaps a few weeks or months . . .
‘Alan, time for tea!’
He heard Emily’s voice calling him and got to his feet. He could see her standing on the terrace and he thought, as he often did, how lovely she was. It was hardly fair to her that she was stuck here, bound by that stupid promise to Vane. She was young and there was so much love in her. He wished that he was young and dashing and could carry her off with him to a land of sunshine where she could live the way she was intended. She was such a passionate woman; he knew she needed what they had together as much as he did, and in Alan’s experience that was a rare and precious thing in a woman of her class.
He knew that she struggled to keep this place afloat and it made him angry. He wished that he could take the burden from her, but she would not have let him even if he’d been rich enough. When he was gone she would have something, but not to throw away on this place – no, it was for her, to set her free . . .
He got up and began to walk towards her. Sometimes he felt so weary, but not today, when the sun was shining and Emily was waiting for him.
Connor had just finished penning the last of the geese when he saw his brother drive into the yard in the van. Daniel got out and stood staring at him for a moment and then turned, walking into the house without a word or even a nod of his head. Connor frowned, because he guessed that Daniel had seen the papers – and his reaction was obvious. He believed that Connor was guilty.
Anger roiled inside him. He strode towards the kitchen just as the children came running across the yard. Danny flung himself at him, and Connor swept him off his feet. He greeted all his brother’s children with smiles and promised them sweets when they got in the house. Then he saw the other boy, standing back a little from the others. His hair was darker than Danny’s but in all other respects they could have been twins.
‘You don’t know our cousin David,’ Danny said. ‘Mum said he’s a distant cousin but he looks like me, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes, he does,’ Connor agreed. ‘Hi, David. Nice to see you. Are you all coming in now? I think Alice has been baking again.’
‘Mrs Searles bakes nice cakes,’ David said. ‘Are you my . . . Mr Searles’ brother Connor? I heard you singing on the wireless. I think you’re good. I should like to buy your records, but I don’t get much pocket money.’
‘Thank you,’ Connor said. His anger had cooled now. He couldn’t say anything in front of the children and perhaps that was as well. ‘I’ve got some copies of my new records for you, kids – you too if you like, David?’
He shut from his mind the worrying thought that perhaps the singles would not be released now. Daniel glanced at him as they walked into the kitchen as a group. His expression was a mixture of doubt, annoyance and uncertainty. Alice had told him Connor’s side of things and he was mulling it over.
Connor decided to let it go. He didn’t want to argue with his brother, especially in front of the kids. He left them sitting down to Alice’s lemon barley and cake and went upstairs, changing into his usual gear. He took his gifts of records and sweets down to the kitchen, making sure that ‘cousin’ David got his share.
‘I’m going for a walk,’ he announced. ‘I’ll speak to you later, Dan. I have some thinking to do.’
He wandered along the drives for a while, enjoying the peace and the sound of a meadow lark that hovered overhead and sang his song. Connor’s thoughts were chasing themselves in circles because he didn’t know what he wanted to do for the future. He had been caught up in a whirlwind, and the brief time he’d spent rushing from one venue to the next had been lucrative. Despite the high fees for agents and the record company’s share of the proceeds, Connor had over forty thousand pounds in the bank. It was nowhere near as much as he might have made if the records had gone to number one and got into America, but it was far more than he’d ever expected. Enough to buy a house and go into business.
He recalled seeing a sign in the village about a property for sale. It was a large piece of land with commercial buildings on it and might make a garage. Maybe he would buy it and let Daniel set up the garage he’d always wanted; it would still leave him plenty to buy a house and start up in business for himself – if only he knew what he wanted to do with his life.
Connor had come to one conclusion and that was his time on the road had finished. He didn’t want to go back to that kind of life. Recording contracts and theatre work were another matter, but he probably wouldn’t get a chance to work as a singer again. He had no idea what else he could do, but he knew he didn’t want to go back to the life he’d had before he became a singer.
He had to think of something different. In the meantime he was going to find a phone and ring Terry. Terry would know if the record company had been in touch . . .
‘You don’t have to see him tomorrow,’ Mrs Jenkins told her daughter. ‘Just because your father seems to think he is telling the truth, it doesn’t mean you have to put up with this, Sarah. Even
if there is no truth in this story, it isn’t what you want – is it?’
‘I don’t like Connor being away all the time,’ Sarah admitted. She had stopped crying after her father told her that he was convinced the story in the papers was a lie, but her nose was still red and her expression was miserable. ‘People will think it is true even if it isn’t – and the girls will look at me and laugh behind my back. They were jealous when they saw the presents he gave me, and his picture in the papers, but now they will think he doesn’t really care about me.’
‘Is that why you are upset?’
‘Yes . . .’ Sarah blushed. ‘It isn’t just that, Mum. But I don’t like people staring at me and whispering behind my back. I do love Connor and I like going out with him, but he’s always away. I feel stupid if I go out with my friends, because I know they are saying things . . .’
‘That is what you get when you marry someone famous,’ her mother said. ‘If it upsets you, Sarah, perhaps you should break off your engagement. He will never want to stay at home and do a proper job like your father could give him.’
‘Mum!’ Sarah stared at her. She felt sick and tears were pricking her eyes again. She loved Connor and she wanted to believe him, of course she did, but perhaps her mother was right. She didn’t think she could bear to face her friends knowing what they would say about Connor. ‘I do care about him, but . . .’ She shook her head and sighed. ‘I’m not sure if I want to marry him now.’
‘Supposing I take you away for a few weeks,’ her mother suggested. ‘Would you like to go and stay with me at a hotel in Bournemouth? You could write to Connor and tell him you need to think things over.’
‘Yes.’ Sarah caught at the lifeline her mother offered. ‘I’ll ask work if I can go on holiday – and I will see Connor, but I’ll tell him I need some time to think things through.’
‘Yes, I think that is fair,’ Mrs Jenkins said and smiled at her. ‘Remember, I shall still think the best of you whatever you decide. You do not have to marry him, Sarah. You can give him his ring back and that will be the end of it.’
‘You think there is some truth in it, don’t you?’ Connor asked. They had gone out to the yard together to look at some of Daniel’s cars and talk. ‘I saw the way you looked at me when you first came back from Ely.’
‘I wasn’t sure,’ Daniel replied. ‘Once upon a time I would have been certain it was a lie – but you’ve been mixing with people that get caught up in all kinds of things. You might have been drunk or—’
‘On drugs?’ Connor arched his brows. ‘Come on, Dan. You should know I wouldn’t touch that stuff. As for rape – I’ve never forgotten what Clay did to Margaret. If you think I would do something like that to a kid – that is what she is, Dan, a fifteen-year-old kid!’
‘Sorry. I should have known you wouldn’t. To tell you the truth, my head was mixed up. I had just been to see Maura Jacobs – David’s mother – and I was angry. Seeing those headlines made me as mad as fire. I had been lecturing Maura about her behaviour and then I saw that you had been accused of rape . . .’
‘You should be angry. I’m angry that they’ve printed those lies and that the other papers have followed suit without asking for my side of the story.’
‘You’ve probably made it worse by running away. They will think it proof of guilt.’
‘They can damned well think what they like! I phoned Terry. He says the company is pulling our contract – it may be too late to stop a couple of singles going out, but the album won’t see the light of day.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Daniel said. ‘That is rotten luck. You were doing so well.’
‘I’ve got some money put by. Enough to see me set up in a business of some kind – when I decide what I want to do . . .’ He hesitated. ‘I’ve spoken to John Tench about that land in the village street, Daniel. He wants a thousand pounds for it. I reckon it would cost another thousand to set it up as a garage with a decent showroom. There are buildings already – of course, you would need to apply for planning permission for change of use, but Tench is on the local council and he says a garage is needed. He thinks you would get the permission for change of use easily.’
‘Sounds a good opportunity, but I don’t have two thousand pounds to spare,’ Daniel said, smothering a sigh. ‘I’m doing better since I got rid of the milking herd but the garage is still a long way off.’
‘It doesn’t have to be. I can afford to buy it and pay for whatever you need, Dan. I don’t want anything from it, but if you want to pay me back one day, you can. As far as I am concerned, it is something back for all you’ve done for me. You and Alice gave me a home after Frances went off her head that time – and I’ve never paid a penny in rent.’
‘You worked for your keep,’ Daniel said. ‘You don’t owe me anything, Con.’
‘Well, the option to pay me back is there,’ Connor said. ‘Alice deserves it, Dan. Even if you don’t want it for yourself, think of her. You could sell the land, move into a house in the village and have a better life for yourselves. Alice would make more friends, mix with other women more than she can stuck here in the fen. You could have a television too.’ He grinned because he knew his brother had secretly hankered for one for a long time.
‘Won’t it leave you short?’ Daniel was hesitating. Connor felt pleased, because he knew his brother was weakening.
‘To be honest, I’m rolling in it, Dan. I haven’t splashed my earnings on new cars, because the one you gave me suits me fine. I was saving for a house at first but the money kept coming in and I’ve been putting it by. It will set me up in a business when I’m ready. I don’t know yet what I want to do – but I’ve finished with gigs and being on the road all the time.’
‘You won’t go back to recording?’
‘I doubt I shall get the chance. The police can’t prove anything, because I didn’t touch her – except pull her out of the car – but mud sticks. I doubt if a record company would touch me now.’
‘Sue her and the papers for defamation of character.’
‘Don’t think I haven’t thought of it,’ Connor said, eyes glittering. ‘I’m going to speak to Sarah tomorrow, but after that I’m going back to London. I’ll talk to someone I know about a lawyer. I want a retraction in the paper, but if Lisa refuses to admit she lied . . .’
‘It isn’t fair that you should lose so much. I’ll take your money, Connor, because it is just what I need. I know I can make a success of the garage and one day I’ll pay you back with interest, though it won’t be for a while yet. I owe Frances some money and I want to pay her as soon as I can.’
‘I’m in no hurry.’ Connor gave his brother a sharp look. ‘So just who is Cousin David?’
‘Alice didn’t tell you?’
‘She said she would leave it to you.’
‘He is my son. I met his mother, Maura, during an air raid in Liverpool during the war. She was drunk and I took her home. We had to take shelter in a hotel and she was crying . . . She begged me to hold her and . . .’ Daniel shook his head. ‘I’ve never known why I did it. She was pretty enough, but I had Alice and I never intended it to happen. I’ve wished a thousand times it hadn’t. I suppose that’s why I wasn’t sure what you’d done, Con. Things can just happen without your meaning it . . .’
‘With a girl who is willing and old enough, perhaps. Rape is another thing, Dan. I’m not like Clay.’
‘Clay.’ Daniel looked angry. ‘Did you know he’s had the cheek to go creeping round Frances? Alice said Frances had told her she’d had another letter from him asking if he could visit – and she has told him he can.’
‘Does she know that he raped Margaret? His own father’s widow . . .’ Con’s mouth thinned in disgust. ‘I should have thought she would tell him to take a running jump.’
‘I think Emily may have told her. I know Frances wouldn’t have anything to do with him for years, but perhaps she thinks it is time to forgive.’
‘I’ll never forget or forgive,’ Connor
said. ‘Do you see anything of him?’
‘We nod if we pass in the street. Maybe Frances is lonely. We’ve asked her to stay and I know Emily has too, but she won’t come. She wants us to go there again, but I never seem to have time.’
‘Frances and I . . . well, she wasn’t exactly a loving sister when I had to live with her during the war. I know she went through a lot at that time, but I’ve never felt the same about her. I suppose I should visit, but I’m more comfortable with Emily.’
‘I know she was a bit hard on you, but you should consider visiting her, Connor.’
‘I’ve thought about going to see Emily,’ Connor said. ‘Frances . . . well, we don’t get on as we ought. She probably believes every word the papers say about me.’
Frances put a hand to her temple. Her head was throbbing and she felt ill. The headlines in the paper about Connor had brought the past back to her. Clay had raped Margaret. Sam had tried to rape her and then he had her shut away in a mental institution, because she wasn’t fit to be the mother of his grandson. Frances thought she would have died there if Emily hadn’t somehow found her and got her out.
Frances felt the despair of that time sweep over her. She glanced over her shoulder nervously. She never felt safe these days, even in her own suite at the hotel. Sometimes the dark depression that descended on her was so terrible that she was tempted to take her own life.
She was so lonely. So afraid! She wished that her family would visit her, but they all made excuses about being too busy. Emily was wrapped up in her new lover, and Daniel was always working. Alice wrote to her regularly, but letters were becoming harder to read and almost impossible to write. Her hand shook and the words got jumbled on the page so that she wasn’t sure what she was saying. She didn’t want to tell anyone that she was ill – she couldn’t bear fuss over nothing – but she was lonely.
Clay had visited, though. Something had happened while Clay was here – something Frances regretted. She couldn’t remember but she thought she might have signed something. She wasn’t sure what, because her head was all over the place.
