by Anne Mather
‘I’ve got some milk of magnesia tablets in my case,’ she said. ‘I’ll get them.’
He chewed the tablets while she waited and gradually his discomfort began to subside. When his lids began to droop she tucked him in, said goodnight again and left him. But in her own room, the feelings his helplessness had evoked would not be so easily dispersed. Who, at Raventhorpe, was fit to take care of him? Mrs Radley was so eaten up with jealousy, she would do anything to win his favour; Mary’s affection was genuine but because of her position limited. Only his father offered any chance of a normal relationship, but would he use the time to poison his mind against her?
It was an impossible situation, but not one which would be resolved by staying in her room as if she was afraid to share their company. However, when she came downstairs again, only Mrs Radley occupied the drawing room, and Lesley remembered that Carne had often spent his evenings in his study. The sight of the older woman seated on the velvet sofa made her want to turn back again, and in those moments she realised that that was where she had gone wrong in the past. By letting Carne’s mother see that she could intimidate her, she had lost the battle before it was waged. But she was older now, and harder, she decided, and as ready as Mrs Pepperpot to defend her rights.
She had changed her clothes for the evening, and the hem of her apricot skirt swished silkily across the carpet. Worn with a cream silk tunic and several gold chains, the outfit was more formal than a shorter skirt without being too dressy, but Mrs Radley, looking up from a tablecloth she was embroidering, dismissed her appearance with a contemptuous stare. Her only concession to the evening had been to change her navy blouse to one of black, and to fasten the triple strand of pearls Carne’s father had given her about her stringy neck.
Determining to behave as if the afternoon’s contretemps had not occurred, Lesley seated herself on the couch opposite, and crossing her legs, asked: ‘Where’s Carne?’
Mrs Radley looked up. ‘Working,’ she replied shortly. ‘Making up for all the time he’s wasted trailing down to London.’
Lesley forced a smile. ‘You really haven’t changed at all, have you, Mrs Radley?’ she observed dryly. ‘Absence hasn’t made the heart fonder so far as you’re concerned, I see.’
Her mildly sarcastic words caused her mother-in-law to bestow another look upon her, and there was an edge of irritation to her voice as she exclaimed: ‘Don’t you talk down to me, madam!’ which proved she was not entirely unfeeling.
‘I was merely confirming what’s been blatantly obvious from the minute I stepped from the car!’ Lesley protested. ‘But I hoped we might be able to come to an understanding.’
Mrs Radley snorted. ‘An understanding! Is that the kind of talk you’ve learned from that television producer you work for? Let me tell you I understand you only too well, and whatever you’ve come back here for, you’re wasting your time.’
It was incredibly difficult to remain unmoved in the face of such opposition, but Lesley ignored the provocative challenge, and went on: ‘Whether you like it or not, Carne asked me to come here. He knew Jeremy would find it strange, settling down here with—with virtual strangers.’
‘And you didn’t object, of course,’ sneered Mrs Radley, causing Lesley’s hackles to rise in spite of herself.
‘Of course I objected,’ she argued. ‘I didn’t want to come here. I knew—or rather, I remembered—how you would react to that.’
Mrs Radley sniffed. ‘When are you leaving?’
Lesley examined her toenails emerging from the straps of her sandals. ‘Next weekend,’ she replied evenly. ‘As arranged.’
‘Next weekend!’ Mrs Radley sounded furious. ‘But that’s over a week.’
Lesley looked up into her outraged face. ‘That’s right. So don’t you think it’s rather silly for us to remain enemies like this? I mean, that was all right when I was young and foolish enough to be intimidated by you, but we’re all older, Mrs Radley, and life’s too short to waste our energies in futile confrontations.’ She paused, allowing this to sink in. ‘I shall be leaving next weekend, you need have no qualms on that score. I like my work, and I don’t want to lose my job. But in the meantime, couldn’t we suspend hostilities? For Jeremy’s sake, if not for mine.’
Mrs Radley regarded her suspiciously. ‘If you’re so all-fire keen to get away, why don’t you? Jeremy knows us now. There’s nothing more for you here.’
‘There’s still the matter of arranging when Jeremy is to return to London,’ Lesley retorted, despising the tremor in her voice as she put her thoughts into words. ‘I am his mother, and I am entitled to spend some time with him during his holidays.’
‘And that’s the only reason why you’re here?’
‘What other reason could I have?’
Mrs Radley snorted. ‘Maybe you’ve changed your mind about being independent. Maybe you’ve decided any meal ticket is better than none.’
Lesley shook her head defeatedly. ‘You won’t listen, will you, Mrs Radley? You have your own opinion, and no one can alter it.’
‘I know that Carne would have been far happier marrying a girl of his own sort,’ the old woman retorted, and Lesley rose abruptly to her feet.
‘Like Marion Harvey, I suppose,’ she suggested bitterly, and Carne’s mother nodded.
‘Marion would have done him proud,’ she declared. ‘He’d have had a capful of children by now, and not been bothering his head over a boy you’ve tried to turn against him.’
‘That’s not true!’ Lesley gasped. ‘I haven’t tried to turn him against anyone.’
‘But you will. Sending him to that boarding school! He should be brought up here, on the farm, where he belongs. And if you think a week is long enough to put him off, you’re very much mistaken, by the look of it.’
Lesley turned towards the door. What use was it fighting against the future? Mrs Radley would never accept her way of thinking, any more than she could accept the older woman’s. It was up to Jeremy to choose. Why hadn’t she realised that before? He must decide what he wanted to do, where he wanted to live. It wasn’t fair to try and manipulate him. Ultimately, it was his life and his future. Wherever he lived she knew Carne would see he got a decent education. He would want nothing less for his son and heir. And the very fact that she was talking about Carne choosing his school proved that in her mind the decision was made already.
CHAPTER EIGHT
IT was hot, really hot. Lesley could feel the sweat running in rivulets down the hollow of her spine, and even the halter-necked midi blouse she was wearing, tied in a knot beneath her breasts, and the old denims, sawn off at knee length and fraying now with long use, seemed to be clinging to her. She had tied her hair back with a black velvet ribbon, but through the course of the afternoon strands had come free, and now they chased her cheekbones as she moved, curling moistly beside her ears.
Yet for all that, she was enjoying herself, really enjoying herself for the first time in years. Haymaking was in progress, and she, along with Burt Worsley and Jeremy and two of the other men who worked for Carne, had been stacking the bundles of dried grass, forking them on to the conveyor that had been set up by the gantry in the barn. They had almost finished, and a few moments before Mary had come out of the house carrying a tray of scones and pasties, with beer for the men and iced lemonade for Lesley and Jeremy. Now they all flopped down exhaustedly, enjoying Mary’s delicious baking and drinking thirstily.
Lesley, looking at Jeremy, thought how well he was looking. Gone was the faint pallor he had had from too many hours spent indoors. In its place was lightly tanned skin and healthy colour, his eyes bright and sparkling with mischief. A pang smote her as she realised she only had another day here herself. It was Saturday tomorrow, and on Sunday Carne was driving her to York to catch the train for London.
The week had gone incredibly quickly. She could hardly believe it was a week since her arrival. She had thought the time would drag, that she would constantly be in opposition w
ith either Carne or his mother, but it hadn’t been like that.
To begin with, she had seen next to nothing of Carne. It was a hectic time of year for a farmer, and he was out and about early in the morning, rarely coming home for lunch, and disappearing into his study after dinner at night.
Jeremy was not subjected to this ostracism. He had been out with his father several times, in the Landrover or on the tractor, and once on the back of a pony Carne had apparently bought for his use. He had even been to the market at Thirsk, an outing which Lesley herself would have liked to join. Just to renew old memories, she had told herself impatiently, but it was not to be.
Mrs Radley had not drastically altered her attitude towards her daughter-in-law, but she had refrained from making too many pointed comments, and as Lesley hadn’t seen a lot of her either, the days had passed without event.
For her part, Lesley had taken the opportunity to spend time outdoors. She had done quite a lot of walking, sometimes with Jeremy, sometimes not, but always accompanied by Solomon and Sheba, the two sheepdogs. They had not been at Raventhorpe when she was here before, but they soon recognised her affection for them and followed her everywhere. Even Mrs Pepperpot revised her bid for independence, and occasionally honoured Lesley by deigning to sit on her lap.
The worst day had been Wednesday when Marion Bowland had come to dinner. Mary had privately confided that she was a frequent visitor at the house, adding that in her opinion Marion was using her friendship with Mrs Radley to cement another kind of relationship with Carne. Listening to these confidences, Lesley had wondered how Mary thought she saw her husband. Did the other girl think that she no longer cared who her husband was friendly with, or was she trying to reassure her about an association which might easily be considered suspect? When she asked herself these questions, she had no satisfactory answers to give. Since that night at the hotel in Amblefold, she had avoided questions of that kind, and these last days had assumed the framework of a dream beyond which she did not want to think.
But Marion’s presence had at least put Lesley’s sojourn at the house into perspective. Her knowledge of farming matters, the way she could discuss fatstock prices with Carne, her contention that the present dry spell was becoming a liability, all demonstrated her suitability as a farmer’s wife, and if she couldn’t compete with Lesley’s looks, she was cunning enough to use the things she did possess to full advantage.
Determining not to be left completely out of the discussion, Lesley had asked how she was managing alone at High Etherley.
‘Oh,’ Marion cast an amused glance at Mrs Radley, ‘I’m managing very well. With Carne’s help, of course.’ She smiled across at him. ‘Aaron left much of the actual running of the farm in my hands long before he died, and I have a very good manager.’
Lesley nodded. ‘I see. But isn’t it lonely up there in winter?’
‘Lonely?’ Marion uttered a short laugh. ‘I don’t have time to be lonely, Lesley. I suppose it does seem an—isolated life for someone like you,’ this was said with just the right amount of sympathy, ‘but I’ve lived here all my life, and I love it.’
Lesley glanced at her husband, seated at the end of the table. For once she caught his eyes upon her, and the brooding penetration of that scrutiny almost disarmed her. In honour of their guest, he had changed for the evening, and his dark suede pants and maroon silk shirt accentuated his swarthy tan. As he had conceded to her request that Jeremy should take his meals earlier in the evening, she had often been aware of his presence at the end of the table, but never had she encountered such dark malevolence in his gaze.
Taking her courage into both hands, she turned back to Marion and said: ‘Believe it or not, but I love this area, too.’
Her statement startled words of disbelief from Mrs Radley. ‘You preferred the city five years ago,’ she declared. ‘I don’t remember you ever expressing any love for Ravensdale.’
‘Perhaps I didn’t love it then,’ remarked Lesley carefully, not quite knowing why she was persisting with this. ‘I was younger, and inexperienced. Some things mature with age—–’
‘You mean if I had married you now, you would have been content with our life here at Raventhorpe?’ rasped Carne, breaking in on her contemptuously, and her nerve faltered.
‘I—don’t know, do I?’ she had retorted, swallowing, and she had seen the triumphant look Marion and Mrs Radley had exchanged.
But that was two days ago now, and fortunately Marion had not offered to help them with the haymaking. In consequence, Lesley had had plenty of time to think about the things she had said, and to ponder her reasons for wanting to beat Marion at her own game. She had cleaned out the stables and groomed Carne’s black hunter, Medallion; she had herded cows and chatted with the men from the Milk Marketing Board; and all the while, in the back of her mind, had been the increasingly disturbing revelation that she was enjoying renewing her interest in the farm, and that the prospect of returning to her job at West London Television had lost its charm.
She finished her lemonade now and was picking straws from the seat of her jeans when a car turned into the yard and came to a halt only a few feet from where she was standing. It was a Rolls-Royce, she saw in admiration, of vintage years, with a uniformed chauffeur behind the wheel. Only one person in the district employed a chauffeur to her knowledge, and that was Lady Alicia Skinner, the elderly daughter of the late Lord Kelbrook, who lived at Warrengill Manor. Lesley had never met her, but she had heard Mrs Radley talking about her in connection with the Women’s Guild, and she knew Carne’s mother was proud of the fact that she and Lady Alicia were members of the same committee. But she had not visited Raventhorpe while Lesley was living there, and her eyes were as wide and interested as Jeremy’s when the old lady climbed out of the car.
Lady Alicia must have been about ten years older than Mrs Radley, but she was tall and slender and she held herself impeccably, which took years off her age. Her afternoon dress of dusty pink ***crěpe exactly matched the elbow-length gloves she was wearing, and her hair was long and coiled into a chignon at the nape of her neck. Her heels were as high as any Lesley had worn, and altogether she was quite an imposing figure.
Expecting her to go straight to the house, Lesley turned Jeremy firmly back to the job in hand, and was startled when an aristocratic voice enquired: ‘Surely you can’t be Carne’s wife?’
Lesley swung about, brushing back her hair from her eyes with a grubby hand. ‘I’m afraid so,’ she assented apologetically. ‘Would you like to see Mrs Radley?’
Lady Alicia smiled, and when she did so Lesley could see what a beautiful woman she must have been in her youth. She was still beautiful, of course, but it was the beauty of age and maturity, the blending together of colours to a gentler, more muted pattern.
‘I do want to see Winifred,’ she said, her eyes moving kindly to Jeremy, and Lesley thought how strange it was to hear someone call her mother-in-law by her given name. ‘But when I heard you were here—with the boy—I hoped I would meet you, too.’
Lesley coloured. ‘You’re Lady Alicia Skinner, aren’t you?’ she offered awkwardly. ‘I’ve heard about you, too, of course.’
‘I thought you might.’ Lady Alicia’s eyes twinkled. ‘And this is Jeremy.’ She studied him thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Yes, he’s like his grandfather. He’s like his father as well, naturally, but John Radley and I were friends long before young Carne came on the scene.’
Young Carne! Lesley couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. Lady Alicia saw them all in a different perspective.
‘I was sorry we didn’t get to meet many years ago,’ she continued, ‘but Winifred told me you preferred not to get involved in local organisations.’
‘Oh!’ Lesley was taken aback for a moment. ‘Did she?’
‘Yes.’ Lady Alicia was looking at her shrewdly. ‘Such a pity. You’d have been quite an asset. It’s amazing how persuasive a beautiful woman can be, even in these days. Parish councillors are me
n, just like any other. And we’re always needing something, you know—most usually more money.’
Lesley didn’t know what to say. She could hardly tell this aristocratic old lady that her mother-in-law had not even mentioned the possibility of her joining any local organisations, and indeed had ridiculed any attempts she had made to take an interest in parish affairs.
‘I think Mrs Radley is in the drawing room,’ she murmured now, unable to speak what was in her mind, but Lady Alicia was not finished yet.
‘Look here,’ she said, ‘I’m giving a little dinner party one evening next week. Tuesday. How about you and your husband coming along? I never see enough of Carne, and I know Canon Parsons and his wife would love to see you again.’
Lesley wiped her hands down the seams of her pants and gave a regretful shake of her head. ‘I’m afraid we couldn’t do that,’ she said, glancing awkwardly at Jeremy. So far she had avoided telling him how soon she was returning to London, and she didn’t want to blurt it out now, in front of a stranger. ‘I—er—I’m sorry, but I have a previous engagement.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Lady Alicia looked at her thoughtfully, and what she was thinking was not hard to read. Obviously she was deciding that Mrs Radley had been right in saying that her daughter-in-law did not want to get involved in local affairs, and probably she was regretting the impulse to offer her a second chance.
‘Jeremy, run and tell Grandma that Lady Alicia is here,’ said Lesley suddenly, unable to allow this charade to go on any longer. And then, as he skipped towards the house, she added hastily: ‘I couldn’t tell you this with Jeremy present because he doesn’t know yet, but I have to go back to London on Sunday, so I won’t be here for your dinner party.’
‘I see.’ Lady Alicia nodded slowly. ‘So this was just a—visit?’
‘Sort of,’ agreed Lesley uncomfortably. Then: ‘I’m sure you’ve heard that Carne and I are—well, separated.’
