‘How very different from you, Ruth,’ he said. But he was angry with himself for speaking this way to his wife with what he saw as cheap and unworthy distrust of her, even though he felt the familiar thrill of arousal at her behaviour. It was as if he hated her, instead of himself, for his having been so easy to seduce in the first place. Why would a man feel that he had been used when the woman had offered the very sexual comfort he’d wanted? Why would he despise himself and think himself weak because, for all their differences, she need only crook her little finger for his body’s response to override his common sense? And why did he always agree – why did he say, ‘If you must, Ruth,’ to her every suggestion of lovemaking in the bizarre places and positions that she seemed to need?
Ruth straightened up, looked herself over for a final time and said, ‘I’m ready. Let’s go.’
She waited for Gordon to go striding ahead before she closed the bedroom door and followed in his wake along the landing, under the iron and glass cupola that gave light to the central, sweeping staircase. Tension mounted in her at every step that drew her nearer to witnessing Mike Hamilton’s spiteful marriage. She was certain that Mike was marrying to spite her. After all, she was in charge of every inch of the land he farmed, as well as the Ingersley estate. It was all under her control and, should anything happen to Gordon, the very title deeds to the estate would be hers. In fact she had everything she’d ever wanted. She had land, her own money and a handsome husband who adored her. She had everything except Mike Hamilton’s devotion to her wilder needs.
In the entrance hall the servants were lined up beside the front door to see them in their finery. Gordon and Ruth made a handsome couple; he resplendent in uniform and she in the blue silk grosgrain costume that showed off her tiny waist, slender hips and long shapely legs. They would far outshine the bride and groom – as Ruth intended they should. There were gasps of pleasure at the sight of them, and though Ruth might only have nodded in recognition, Gordon shook hands with all the servants before giving last-minute instructions to Mrs Stewart.
Then they were in the Armstrong Siddeley and heading for the church in North Berwick, Gordon silent and evidently preoccupied with thoughts of war. He did not even remember that the last time they had made a wedding journey together, six months ago, she had returned to Ingersley as Lady Campbell.
Six months ago, with her marriage four days old and Gordon returned to his ship; and though she was dreading the confrontation, Ruth went to the stables to find Mike Hamilton. She walked towards him across the cobbled yard and saw that his dark eyes were cold with contempt. He sneered, ‘Lady Campbell?’
Ruth made for Heather’s loose box and stroked her horse’s neck. She spoke calmly but avoided Mike’s eyes. ‘I did it for you as well as myself. Gordon wanted to sell the farm and send me back to Cheshire.’
‘Gordon would not sell the land without telling me.’ He came to stand behind her and spat out, ‘No, madam. Ye didnae do it for me. Ye did it for yerself.’
She turned around and, knowing that it excited him, moved closer and bent her knee so that their legs touched. She kept her eyes down, adopting a contrite, subservient pose, then looked up at him and said, ‘Mike. We can still be lovers. You are the only man who can satisfy …’
She got no further. Mike’s jaw clenched and his hot eyes flashed with rage as his hand smacked across her face with a sound like the crack of a whip. ‘Ye’re a cold, calculating bitch. And I’ll have nae mair of ye.’
She’d thought he would be back, that he could not keep away from her, but eight weeks later she’d had neither sight nor sound of him. There were ten Land Army girls living on the estate, working in the fields and the dairy. She had put in the application herself as soon as she’d heard of the scheme; she’d picked them for their plain sturdiness and lack of feminine wiles, housing them in the Dower House and in the grooms’ cottages across the cobbled yard from Mike’s farmhouse. This labour force should have given Mike more time for leisure, for Ruth, but always there was someone with him when he came to the house on farm business. The nearest entrance to the farmhouse was the North Gate and he used that in preference to the South Gate, which was closer to Ingersley House, so she could not waylay him. And she never saw him around the stables so was obliged to groom and exercise her horse alone.
One hot July evening, when the hay was in, Ruth, who was always at her wildest on the long midsummer nights, went down to the stables to let Heather into the adjacent paddock to graze. Mike was alone in the barn, the Land Army girls having returned to their billets. He was stripped to the waist, moving the sweet-smelling hay bales so as to leave a space between them to lessen the risk of spontaneous combustion sending the wooden barn up in flames. Ruth had on a slip of a dress – a printed crepe de Chine in apricot and blue. She wore nothing underneath, knowing that, standing in the doorway in the dim light of the barn, her body would be outlined against the pearly-pink sky.
‘Can’t we be friends?’ she said.
‘No.’ Refusing to glance her way, he carried on working. His bare back, hairy on the shoulders, was turned away from her. ‘Ye’re no’ looking for company, Ruth. It’s your pleasure you want.’
‘And you don’t?’
He did not reply immediately but after a few moments came to stand before her. She could smell his sweat. Beads of it glistened on his brow. ‘Och aye. I want it too. But not half as much as you.’
‘Then what’s stopping us?’ she asked, glancing upwards.
‘Ye really don’t know?’ He was standing so close now she could feel the heat off his body. ‘Ye dinnae give a tinker’s cuss for your marriage vows?’
‘Gordon doesn’t want for anything,’ she said in a small, cajoling voice, as if surprised he thought badly of her.
‘Except children and a faithful wife,’ he said bitterly.
‘Don’t be angry with me.’ She went closer, ran her fingers down his bare chest and put on the pleading voice that used to excite him. ‘Unless Gordon does better, I’ll never have children. Does that tell you what’s wrong?’
He grabbed her hands and thrust her away, a look of mocking speculation in his eyes. ‘Go down to my house. Wait in the kitchen.
She went, shivering in excitement like a filly at stud, towards the farmhouse that was not his house. She was the mistress of Ingersley. The farm belonged to her. She controlled everything and could have Mike replaced as factor if she so chose. He didn’t know how precarious his position was. But tonight was not the time to remind him of it.
She went in the farmhouse by the front door and down the dark passage to the kitchen, where she waited, not daring to light a lamp that might be seen from the cottages across the yard. There was an airy, fresh smell and his house was neat and clean, as if a woman’s hand had been at work. A jar of wild flowers stood on the slate window ledge under a starched muslin half-curtain that was as white as snow. A sour taste came to her mouth at the thought of another woman in his life but she dismissed the thought. Rumour quickly spread and there had been no talk on the estate.
He came in, ducked his head under the low door frame, shot the iron bolt on the door and stood before her. Then, without a single gesture of affection, he held her at arm’s length, looked into her face and in a hard and bitter voice said, ‘I once thought you loved me.’
‘I do,’ she said in a small whisper, to soften him. ‘There’s no one else who …’
He was not listening. He did not wash himself at the sink first, but with callused and dirty hands tore the dress from her shoulders and began ripping away his own clothes. But he did not bend to suck on her breasts or tease the reddish hair on her pubic mound as before. Instead, with his eyes averted, he tightened his grip on her shoulders and pressed his thumbs under her collar bone until she cried out.
She pulled back and said, ‘Not here! We can be seen.’
‘I don’t give a fart in the wind who sees you.’ He was sweating lightly and the acrid odour of unwashed maleness was
overpowering.
She had never seen him like this – teeth gritted, lips drawn back, eyes flicking over her with an expression of pure hatred. She tried to push him off, but she was imprisoned between the table at her back and the heavy, hard body that was pressing the very air out of her so that she could not cry out but could only gasp, ‘Stop. You are too rough. You’re hurting me. I don’t want you to …’
‘Yes, you damned well do.’ He lifted her and threw her on to the clean, scrubbed deal table and pulled her arms high, holding her wrists together in a fierce grip while with the other hand he opened the table drawer and took out a towel. He bound the cloth about her wrists and tied it tightly, then threw her, face down over the table, with her tied wrists in front of her throat.
‘You are hurting me!’ Panic made her voice high and pleading. Her cheek was close up against the smooth coldness of the table and the force of his arm was hard across her back. She cried, ‘Stop. I’ll have you thrown off my land …’
‘Your land? I dinnae think so …’ A harsh, ironic laugh came blasting. ‘This is Scotland. There’s nothin’ ye can do, woman, without your husband’s approval. It’s your husband’s land. He’ll throw you off before me, I’ll see to that.’ His weight came down on top of her and his voice was thick and hoarse. ‘You like it rough, don’t you, lady?’ he said as he pulled her legs apart and forced her knees onto the table.
Her back was breaking. She wanted to scream but dared not attract outside attention. ‘What are you doing …?’ But her cries were muffled by the weight on her shoulders. She could not move her arms. The pain in her knees was excruciating.
His fingers were working inside her, groping for the Dutch cap. ‘Ha! You made ready for this, didn’t you? Bear down!’ he ordered, and hooked his finger over the rim and drew it out of her. ‘Gordon probably thinks ye want a son as much as he does. Ye’ll no’ be needing this, now ye’re a married woman,’ he said, and he threw it on to the stone slab floor and ground it under his heel.
‘Please … Mike … please …’ But she could not stop him from taking his own pleasure with violence and animal sounds and her legs forced wide and the cold stone under the soles of her bare feet.
‘Ye’ll conceive tonight, woman. Then what will ye do?’ he said in time with his grunting and thrusting hard into her, again and again, slamming her hips into the edge of the wooden table. Going on until at last, in spite of herself, she was tightening and flowing and crying out in a sustained wail of hurting, release and delight at the feel of his coming high and hard into her.
‘Enjoyed that, did you?’ he said when finally she went limp and he helped her up. He said, ‘Lie on your back. On the table.’
She held up her bound hands. ‘Untie me,’ she begged.
‘No. You used to order me to tie you up. You like your men violent.’ He pulled her right up to the edge of the table so he could take her hard and roughly again. He said, ‘I’ll make sure ye’re well and truly in foal. And ye’ll be slung out. With your husband at sea there’s no possibility he’s fathered your bairn.’
This time she did not respond but fought against him. But, bound tight, aching across her drawn-back shoulders, she was helpless as he took his pleasure of her, ignoring her cries for him to stop. When he had done, he released her bonds and, still naked himself, watched her try to dress herself with shaking hands. She said in a frightened voice, ‘You won’t get away with this. Never – never again will I allow you …’
He laughed. ‘Oh, but you will, Ruth. Your husband will cast you out and ye’ll come crawling back to me. Until that happens, it’s me that wilnae. I’m still looking for a wife, remember?’
She ran, crying, from his house, dodging into shadows in case she were seen. She saw nobody. Later still she sat in a hot bath for two hours, trying to soak away all visible traces of her ordeal and praying that she had not been impregnated. Her prayers were answered. A week later she knew that she was not with child. She had a spare Dutch cap. Before long Mike Hamilton would come crawling back to her.
Now, sitting beside Gordon in the car, Ruth watched the hired car ahead and saw Mike Hamilton turn his head sideways so that when he spoke to his bride his glance would slide across the twenty or so yards of road that separated them to try to engage her eyes, to gloat. She said to Gordon, ‘The service was over quickly. Mercifully short, wasn’t it?’
‘Mercifully?’ Gordon said in a cold voice. ‘They made their vows before God. In church. A registry office ceremony is a poor substitute.’
‘You think we ought to have married in church?’
‘I think our marriage got off to a poor start.’
Surprised, she turned her head away from the window and the view of the coast to look at him and say, ‘Why do you say that?’ Then, before he could answer, ‘I want you to make love to me tonight. Do you have to go back to the blasted ship? The announcement is not due until 11 a.m. tomorrow.’
‘It is my ship, my duty. And I am serving my country.’ His hands tightened on the wheel and Ruth saw his knuckles whiten, belying the calm expression on his handsome face. He said, ‘you cannot be so crass, Ruth.’
‘So crass as to what?’
‘So crass as to expect me to abandon my responsibilities, for the sake of ten minutes in bed with you.’
‘I was not thinking of bed, dear.’ She saw the pink flush of excitement under his eyes and knew that he would struggle against arousal as she said, ‘I thought on top of your desk – or in the bath …’
He took a deep breath. ‘In the bath,’ he said. They were driving in at the South Lodge gates, passing guests, mostly farmers and townspeople, dressed in their Sunday best, who were walking up to the house. A few moments later they pulled up behind the bridal car that had halted before the entrance, where six happy Land Army girls formed a guard of honour. Mike and Lucy were being greeted at the top of the stone steps by the hired butler and watched by cheering waiting-on staff, all locals who knew the bridal pair. Lucy, carrying a bouquet of white roses, wore a suit of cream linen, with an emerald-green picture hat that gave definition to her round face.
Gordon relaxed, smiled and said to Ruth, ‘Look at that welcome. They are going to be a popular couple. An asset to Ingersley.’
Ruth made no reply, and no more reference to her invitation to Gordon to share her bath before he returned to the ship. Her eyes were cold but that was due perhaps to tiredness and worry about tomorrow’s declaration. They ought to be loving and good to one another. This bickering was unworthy of them both. He said, ‘I know it’s been a lot of work for you, dear. Mrs Stewart will come up trumps. She always does.’ He took Ruth’s arm. ‘Come! We have our duty to do.’
The programme was that they would first be served with champagne and wedding cake while the speeches were made, then would go down to the garden for photographs while the cold buffet food was brought up to the dining room. After the meal, the bridal pair would be waved off for their honeymoon, which, Gordon knew, was to be spent at the farmhouse.
Twenty minutes later, in the dining room with the windows open and welcome breaths of cool air wafting in, Gordon indicated to the house servants that the guests’ champagne glasses be topped up in preparation for the speeches. When this was done, the servants went back to stand in the doorway in order to watch the proceedings rather than to attend the guests.
Gordon called for quiet. ‘Mr and Mrs Hamilton,’ he began, to smiles and giggles. ‘Before I propose a toast to the bride and groom I would like to say a few words about my own personal pleasure in witnessing the marriage of, if not one of my oldest friends …’ – there was a burst of laughter here – ‘… then certainly a man whose friendship I have treasured for much of my life.’
He looked at the bridegroom as he spoke and saw that he had embarrassed Mike, whose eyes were misting even as his jaw clenched. He continued, ‘But I am not here today to make sentimental declarations. The hours between peace and war are fast slipping away and this is no time to face th
e struggle ahead single-handed. Mr and Mrs Hamilton will need each other’s support in the trials to come. I am delighted that they have found one another. Lucy is a farmer’s daughter. She will be a loving wife to a man I am proud to call my friend.’
There was a little burst of applause. The expression on Mike’s face was almost shamefaced, as if, Gordon thought, his farm factor was surprised to hear how highly esteemed he was. Gordon would bring the speech to an end now with the news he had saved until last. He held up his hand for quiet again and continued, ‘But before I sit down and let others do the talking, I wish to announce to you all that as from yesterday Mr Hamilton is no longer in my employ as factor. Instead, he and Lucy are the new leaseholders of the farmland of Ingersley.’ The room had fallen silent. ‘I have seen my lawyer and have signed over my interest in the land for the next five years. After that time, and depending upon both the Hamilton and the Campbell family circumstances, the lease will either be renewed or the Ingersley estate and land will be offered for sale to its new tenants … Mr and Mrs Michael Hamilton.’
He saw Ruth’s face go white, then red. His decision had angered her instead of relieving her of the responsibility for all this land. But he had made the best decision, in the best interests of all of them. Mike Hamilton was now free to run the farm as he wanted and Ruth could go back to Cheshire, where she’d be safe. If he were killed then the proceeds of the sale would be Ruth’s security. If he survived, when the war was over – and if their marriage was still viable – they might start again, somewhere peaceful, somewhere else.
He waited until the applause died down before saying, ‘Please raise your glasses to the future joy and prosperity of the happy couple.’
The toast was replied to, ‘The happy couple!’, then in an explosion of excitement everyone was talking, congratulating the couple and discussing the new circumstances and rank of the delighted bride and groom. Gordon glanced across at Ruth and to his alarm saw that she was as white as death, holding on to the back of a chair as if she were about to faint.
Flora's War Page 12
