Proud Harvest

by Anne Mather

  Mrs Matthews came back into the room again. ‘Your suitcase is packed, isn’t it, Lesley?’

  ‘Well, yes, but—–’ Lesley looked at Jeremy, and then, realising that what Carne had said was true, she nodded defeatedly. ‘Very well. If that’s what you want.’

  Jeremy, who had squatted down at the table again, looked up from his third butterfly cake with a film of cream across his upper lip. ‘Are we really going to spend the night at a hotel?’ he exclaimed excitedly. ‘Hey, I’ve never stayed at a hotel before.’

  ‘You sound as though you’re looking forward to leaving me, Jeremy,’ his grandmother remarked with an injured air, and watching her Lesley was appalled at the way she could act as if this whole idea had been nothing to do with her.

  Jeremy swallowed the remainder of the cream cake and looked up guiltily. ‘I’m not—honestly, Nanna—–’

  ‘Maybe you’ll forget all about us when your mother returns to London,’ added Mrs Matthews with a sniff, and both Carne and Lesley stared at her in horror as Jeremy’s face crumpled once more.

  ‘When—when Mummy gets—gets back to—to London,’ he faltered, but now Carne stepped in.

  ‘Finish your tea, Jeremy,’ he said sharply, giving his mother-in-law the kind of look he usually reserved for his wife. ‘Nanna’s upset that you’re leaving, that’s all. She’s not been well, and she can’t cope with a lively little boy like you all the time. You need fields to run in, and maybe a horse to ride. Something to burn up all that pent-up energy you’re using on those cakes.’

  Only one thing had registered with Jeremy. ‘A—horse?’ he echoed excitedly. ‘I might ride a horse?’

  ‘If you’re good,’ promised his father, with a dry smile. ‘Now, have you finished?’

  Jeremy fell asleep on the back seat of the station wagon before they even reached the motorway. He was exhausted, and the enormous tea he had consumed in between his bouts of tears and anxiety had added to his natural weariness. Lesley envied him the ability to escape in oblivion. For her part she was nervous and on edge, not at all easy at the way they had left her mother, and even less easy at the prospect of meeting her mother-in-law again. It had all been precipitated by Carne’s decision to leave more than twelve hours sooner than she had anticipated, and she felt ridiculously unprepared.

  As if sensing her restlessness, Carne took a moment to glance her way. ‘What is it?’ he asked softly, so as not to disturb the boy. ‘Are you worried about your mother?’

  Lesley shrugged offhandedly. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘You have no need to upset yourself on her behalf. She’s a tough old bird, believe me.’

  ‘You would know, of course.’

  He sounded amused. ‘Let’s say she won’t be worrying about you.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  He shrugged now. ‘Nothing.’ He expelled his breath on a sigh. ‘Isn’t it warm?’

  Lesley sighed, too, not at all satisfied with his answer but unable to probe further. Instead, she said: ‘Jeremy’s case will be full of dirty washing. I intended to take his things to the launderette tonight, so they’d be clean for him going back to school.’

  ‘My mother does have a washing machine,’ Carne remarked laconically. ‘You can use that.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll let me?’ demanded Lesley bitterly, and then lapsed into silence again as he chose not to reply.

  As the miles were eaten up, a little of the tenseness left her. For good or ill, she was committed to spending the next week at Raventhorpe, so there was little point in upsetting herself about it. She must just hope and pray that Jeremy would not adapt too completely to his new environment, or that if he did she would be unselfish enough to accept it. But a tight lump developed in her throat at this prospect and she had to swallow hard to send it away.

  She deliberately thought of Lance, and her work at the studios. He had made no bones about her taking her holiday sooner than anticipated, but he had expressed surprise that she was accompanying Jeremy to Ravensdale.

  ‘I have no choice,’ she had tried to explain, briefly outlining Carne’s ultimatum to her, but Lance had not seen it that way.

  ‘Look,’ he had said, ‘I don’t altogether agree with Radley, but I do see that he should be entitled to get to know his son. Your going with Jeremy on the other hand is madness! He’s not a baby. He doesn’t need you to feed him or dress him or change his clothes. He’s been at school a year with strangers. What’s so different about him spending his holidays in like manner? They wouldn’t be strangers long. Not his father and his grandmother!’

  ‘It’s different at school,’ Lesley had protested. ‘He’s with lots of other boys, all in the same boat.’

  ‘You’re mollycoddling him, Lesley,’ her employer had pronounced flatly. ‘And what’s more, you’ll regret it!’

  The hotel where Carne had booked their rooms for the night was situated in the village of Amblefold, just a few miles off the motorway. The Falcon Arms was an old world type of inn, with low knotted beams and a wealth of copper and horse brasses. It wasn’t until Carne was actually parking the station wagon on the forecourt that Lesley wondered exactly what accommodation he had booked, and indeed, what names he had given.

  Jeremy, awakened out of a deep sleep, was tearful again, inclined to cling to his mother’s skirt and act much younger than his almost seven years. Carne strode ahead into the reception area, and by the time Lesley and Jeremy appeared, he had signed the register and been handed the keys.

  ‘First floor, numbers 14 and 15,’ said the plump-faced woman who had been attending him. ‘Do you need any help with your cases?’

  ‘No, I can manage,’ replied Carne politely, and gesturing to Lesley to go ahead, he swung the resisting Jeremy up into his arms.

  The first room Lesley entered contained twin beds. It was clean and functional, twin green candlewicks matching the long curtains at the windows.

  ‘This will do for Jeremy and me,’ she declared, and Carne made no objection as he set the boy down.

  ‘I’ll take next door, then,’ he said, as Jeremy recovered sufficiently to go and bounce on one of the beds. ‘I’ll get the cases first.’

  By the time he returned, Lesley had discovered that the bathroom was next door to Carne’s room, and Jeremy had already succeeded in getting himself locked inside. Fortunately, careful instructions had got him out again, but not before both of them were feeling rather strained. Lesley was sitting on her bed recovering when Carne knocked at the door, and Jeremy opened it to admit his father with the cases.

  ‘Thank you.’ Lesley got up rather shakily, but fortunately Carne didn’t seem to notice. ‘Is—is your room all right?’

  ‘A double,’ he responded briefly. ‘Is Jeremy going to bed now?’

  ‘Oh, no …’

  The boy began to protest, but Lesley was adamant. ‘Yes,’ she said firmly. ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought we might have a drink downstairs,’ replied Carne smoothly. ‘That is, if you feel like one.’

  Lesley did. A whisky or a brandy might be just what she needed. Although on an empty stomach, perhaps it wasn’t so advisable.

  ‘All right,’ she agreed at last, ignoring her son’s sulky scowl. ‘Just give me fifteen minutes to settle Jeremy down.’

  ‘Fine.’ Carne turned to his son. ‘Goodnight, Jeremy.’

  ‘G’night.’ Jeremy’s response was sullen, but for once Lesley didn’t worry. He was tired, and so was she. Things would look brighter in the morning.

  After Carne had left them, she opened the case that contained the boy’s everyday clothes. His school case she had brought because it contained his slippers and dressing gown, and the assortment of games and keepsakes he took with him everywhere. As he had already used the lavatory, she helped him to undress, and then ran some water into the handbasin in the bedroom.

  While he washed and cleaned his teeth, she extracted his slippers and dressing gown from the case, in case he needed them in the
night, and turned down the bed ready for his use. Curled between the sheets, his face newly clean and his hair darkly tousled, he looked up at her, a thoughtful frown displacing his earlier sulkiness.

  ‘Mum …’ he said, apparently searching for words to express what he wanted to say. ‘Why are you going downstairs with that man?’

  Lesley sighed. ‘You know. To have a drink.’

  Jeremy looked doubtful. ‘You wouldn’t—I mean—you wouldn’t go away, would you?’

  ‘Go away?’ Lesley played for time.

  ‘Yes.’ He bit his lower lip. ‘What did Nanna mean about—about you going back to London?’

  ‘Oh, that!’ Lesley tried to sound casual. ‘She was just upset, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re not upset, are you?’

  ‘Me?’ She shook her head. ‘I was upset when you locked yourself in the bathroom—–’

  ‘No, I don’t mean that. I mean you’re not upset about us going to stay with—with him, are you?’

  ‘Are you?’ It was a calculated risk.

  He considered it. Then he said: ‘I don’t know. It’s all happened so quickly.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ nodded Lesley fervently.

  ‘We haven’t talked about it.’

  ‘We will, darling.’

  ‘When?’ Jeremy was troubled. ‘Now?’

  ‘No, not now.’ Lesley urged him down on to the pillows. ‘Probably tomorrow.’

  Jeremy blinked. ‘Is—is that man really my daddy?’

  ‘Really,’ agreed Lesley heavily. ‘I wouldn’t lie to you, Jeremy.’

  ‘He’s not at all like I imagined,’ he muttered, shifting restlessly, and Lesley wondered if he was thinking of the airline captain, but she said nothing.

  ‘There,’ she said, getting up from the bed. ‘Are you comfortable?’

  ‘I’m hot,’ replied Jeremy at once, and his mother sighed.

  ‘I’ll fold back the blanket like this,’ she said. ‘Is that better?’

  ‘Can I take my pyjamas off?’

  ‘No.’ Lesley tried not to feel impatient. ‘Look, take off your jacket. That’s right. Now, I’ll put it over here so if you feel cold in the night …’ She broke off. ‘Jeremy, you won’t get out of bed while—while I’m downstairs, will you? I mean …’ She hesitated about putting her fears into words. ‘Well, you will stay in bed, won’t you?’

  ‘Why are you going downstairs?’ demanded Jeremy petulantly. ‘I want you to stay here.’

  ‘I shan’t be long,’ Lesley reassured him. ‘And you are tired, darling. Your eyes are drooping.’

  Jeremy sniffed. ‘Are you going to talk about me?’

  Lesley sighed again. ‘Probably.’

  ‘What about me? Why has he asked us to stay with him all of a sudden? Are you going to marry him again?’

  Lesley shook her head. ‘In the morning,’ she said firmly. ‘We’ll talk in the morning. And your father and I are married. We were never unmarried.’ But as she said the words she wondered how much longer that state of affairs would last. She had the feeling that Carne’s motivations were not wholly to do with her mother’s heart condition, and it could well be that given the prospect of a possible remarriage he was making the first overtures to gain custody of his son.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DOWNSTAIRS, Carne was waiting for her in the bar, seated on one of the high stools, talking to the barman. Lesley slipped on to the stool beside him and acknowledging her presence, he asked what she would like to drink. He himself was drinking Scotch, so Lesley said she would have the same, and looked nervously round the lamplit room while the barman served her drink.

  It was an attractive bar, small and intimate, with a few tables set about the flagged floor. A huge open fireplace would make it very cosy when the weather was cold, but presently a fan moved overhead, stirring the languid air.

  The barman set her drink in front of her and moved away to serve a couple who had just come in, and Lesley flicked a glance towards her husband. He had not changed his clothes, but he looked quite cool and unperturbed while she felt hot and travel-stained. She promised herself a bath later, when that room was free, and sipped her drink silently, waiting for Carne to say something. But apart from giving her a swift appraisal, he seemed loath to speak, and it was she who finally said:

  ‘I hope Jeremy goes to sleep. He was rather restless.’

  Carne looked at her then, the dark eyes as aloof as ever. ‘You worry too much about him. Children are remarkably resilient.’

  ‘It was you who insisted I accompany him to Raventhorpe,’ she reminded him shortly, colouring as Carne’s eyebrows ascended.

  ‘You mean you’d have let him come alone?’ he challenged. ‘After the way you behaved when I suggested it?’

  Lesley looked down into her glass. ‘You have an answer for everything, don’t you?’

  He shrugged, his shirt sleeve brushing her bare arm, causing a ripple of awareness to race along her veins. ‘I suggest we try and behave as normally as possible for Jeremy’s sake. It’s not going to be easy for him, accepting me. But I hope he will—in time.’

  Lesley swallowed another mouthful of whisky, feeling her head swim a little as the alcohol surged undiluted into her system. How much time? she wondered anxiously. Was this to be the pattern from now on, or only the bare outline? Would Carne let her retain her guardianship of the boy, or had he in mind the idea to remove him from his boarding school altogether?

  Panic made her drink again, more recklessly this time, and when her glass was replaced on the bar it was empty. Carne noticed it, and summoned the bartender again, ordering a refill. Lesley didn’t object, although strong spirits had always upset her, but perhaps this evening she could be forgiven, she thought, for trying to dull the sharp edges of her senses.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  Carne’s voice seemed to come from a great distance, and she forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying.

  ‘You didn’t eat anything of your mother’s high tea,’ he remarked dryly. ‘They do bar snacks here. I suggest you have a sandwich. Unless you’d prefer to go into the dining room. I expect we could have dinner.’

  ‘No, thank you.’ Lesley shook her head, although it wasn’t a practice she would care to repeat as the room shifted rather unsteadily beneath her wavering gaze. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘But you will be drunk, if you go on at this rate,’ Carne told her in a low voice. ‘I know this has been quite a day for you, but I’m not entirely without feelings myself. Have a sandwich, then we’ll both have an early night.’

  ‘I do not want a sandwich,’ insisted Lesley, speaking with the careful precision of someone who is afraid the words won’t come out right, and Carne finished his own drink and slid off his stool.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, and she was disturbed by the angry light in his eyes. ‘Goodnight, then.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Suddenly she didn’t want to be left alone. The bar was filling up with the evening’s trade, and a woman on her own was prey to every would-be Casanova in the district. Lesley didn’t think she was up to handling that tonight.

  ‘To my room,’ Carne replied now, pushing his hands into the back pockets of his Levis. ‘You don’t need me, that’s obvious. You enjoy your independence, you’ve told me so. And as Jeremy’s in bed and therefore beyond any further overtures on my part, I may as well go and read a good book.’

  He inclined his head politely and strode towards the door. The bartender, who had observed their low altercation, came to see if she wanted another drink, but Lesley said no. She wasn’t at all sure she should finish the one she had, but she wanted to sleep, so she emptied her glass.

  The reception area was deserted when she emerged from the bar, and she lingered for a moment to read the titles of a rack of paperbacks standing near the desk. They were mostly thrillers or the gaudy kind of sexual epics currently heading the bestseller lists, and nothing she saw there appealed to her.

  She was turn
ing away towards the stairs when Carne came in from outside. He was swinging his car keys, and she guessed he had been to check that the station wagon was locked for the night. His eyebrows lifted when he saw her, but he didn’t smile, and with an awkward gesture she moved on up the first flight. He had overtaken her by the time she reached the first landing, and dropping the car keys into his pocket, held his hand out for her room key.

  She was handing it over when she heard Jeremy crying loud, convulsive sobs that were interspersed with bouts of coughing. She gave Carne an agonised look and then hurried along the corridor, her own unsteadiness vanishing in the anxiety of the moment.

  Carne opened the door and they both burst into the room. The sight that met their eyes caused Lesley to halt in dismay, but Carne went past her to lift his son’s naked little body clear of the vomit that seemed to be spread all over the bed.

  Jeremy was sobbing even more wildly as his father carried him out of the room, and Carne paused to briefly ask Lesley to bring his pyjamas and his dressing gown to the bathroom. When Lesley tentatively opened the bathroom door, Carne had his son in the bath and was quickly washing him down with soap and water. He used the hotel’s own towels to dry him, and although Jeremy began to object again when he saw his mother, Carne paid no attention to his tearful pleas.

  Lesley hesitated a moment longer, and then, realising the hotel housekeeper would have to be informed, left them to go downstairs again. This time the hotel manager was at the reception desk, and he was most understanding when she tried to apologise.

  ‘These things happen all the time in the hotel business, Mrs Radley,’ he assured her with a smile. ‘I just hope the young man will be all right.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Lesley gave a shudder. ‘Too much jelly and too many butterfly cakes,’ she averred with a grimace. ‘I should never have allowed it to happen.’

  ‘It’s easy to be wise after the event,’ replied the manager. He picked up the phone. ‘I’ll have Mrs Scott come and clear the bed.’

  Upstairs again, Jeremy’s sobs had subsided to a low snuffling, and Carne had already stripped the bed of its sheets. ‘Why didn’t you go to the bathroom?’ exclaimed Lesley, finding relief in anger, but it was Carne who answered for him.