Larkrigg Fell

by Freda Lightfoot

  Instead he was a store-man, cooped up all day in a factory, and though Beth was glad of the work and the money he brought home, she feared for the way it was tearing him apart.

  She went to stand beside him and slipped her hand in his. ‘I’m sorry for my outburst just now. It’s just been one of those days.’

  He must have been pleased by the intimacy, because he didn’t move away.

  ‘I was wondering if an early night might do me good,’ she said, casting him a sideways glance. ‘How about you?’ A long pause, during which she found herself growing tense with anticipation. If he said no, and went off to the pub tonight as usual, she’d feel utterly rejected and unwanted. The need for him to make love to her had grown surprisingly during these last weeks, yet still he hadn’t touched her.

  The hand holding hers suddenly clenched very hard, and she laughed out loud.

  They made love that night as if they were new lovers again, each greedy for the other. Everything was going to be all right, she told herself on a tide of exultation. Andrew would get used to his new job soon, they had their lovely children and they did get on well, they really did. Everything was going to be fine.

  Beth’s last waking thought was that at least he still loved her, a fact which warmed her heart, and made her feel deliciously secure.

  A weak shaft of early summer sun glinted in the stag’s one remaining eye as the heavy door swung open and the young couple walked into the hall.

  ‘Poor chap, you’d have thought someone could have mended him by now. Bring the cases in later, I want to explore right the way through first. Coming?’ The woman skipped up the stairs with conscious elegance, hoping he watched and admired. He ignored her, concentrating instead on bringing the suitcases from the car and carrying them upstairs to the master bedroom. He began to unpack and unfold every garment. Seconds later she was back at the door, half teasing, half anxious as she watched him.

  ‘Why are you doing that? Do stop, there’s plenty of time. Come and see, the house is as beautiful as ever and the garden a blaze of colour. Full of weeds, of course.’ Sarah laughed, feeling the usual wash of uncertainty flood her as he did not even glance in her direction, mingled with a spurt of impatience. ‘Why have we come if you aren’t even interested in the place?’

  ‘I am interested,’ he said, lifting a suit and hanging it in the great mahogany wardrobe.

  As he reached for the next one, she went to him and slid her arms about his shoulders, reaching up to stroke his face, wanting him more in that moment than she ever had. ‘Let’s make love. Now. This very minute as we used to.’ There was excitement in her voice but he only walked away to continue with the unpacking, not troubling to reply.

  Annoyance, kindled by fear brought a flush to her lovely face. ‘I won’t let you down, Pietro. I’ve promised to ask her. I’d do anything to please you. Haven’t I told you so a thousand times?’

  He looked at her then. A cool, dispassionate gaze across the wide expanse of bed where once she had instructed him in ways to please her. He had learned a good deal more since then, about Sarah, and about himself. ‘I look forward to you putting those promises into effect.’

  A small, tight silence, then Sarah giggled, desperate to ease the tension between them. ‘Won’t Beth be surprised when she learns we’re back, that we’re the ones who bought Larkrigg.’

  ‘I bought Larkrigg.’

  She sobered instantly. ‘Of course. But it’s the same thing really, isn’t it?’ A delightful pout and a bewitching smile from violet eyes which would have entranced any other man. Pietro folded a cashmere sweater.

  For one reckless moment fear raged in her breast, then seeped away, leaving her empty and shaking with insecurity, as it always did.

  ‘Pietro? Darling?’ She crept to his side, tentatively touched his arm. ‘You do still love me, don’t you? Still want me? It will be all right now, won’t it?’

  He hung his Italian silk ties on the rack, smoothing them carefully one by one. ‘That is up to you, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘And Beth.’

  ‘But it is you who must make it come right.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll agree. I told you, she always does everything I ask. Simply everything.’ Sarah gave a bright laugh that sounded hollow even to her own ears. ‘Then we’ll be OK, won’t we? As we used to be. As you promised?’ She came to him again and slid her arms about his shoulders, pulling him to her, lifting her lips to be kissed as she pressed her body against his. ‘Show me how you love me, Pietro. I need you to show me.’

  His mouth, inches from her own finally smiled and the tip of his tongue slowly licked his lips. ‘It is for you to show me.’

  ‘I will. I do love you. And I want you. Now.’

  ‘Do you beg me?’

  ‘I do. Oh, I do.’ Her eyes were glazed, eyelids drooping, all concern for her stylish suit and elegant coiffure quite forgotten in her hunger and need for him. ‘I’ll prove it.’ She frantically stripped off the expensive garments and tossed them like rags on to the dusty carpet. Then she knelt before him and put her hands together in supplication. ‘Ask of me anything. Anything at all. You know that I will do it. I need you, Pietro. I love you. I’m so desperately sorry that I left you that time. It was only because I was mad with jealousy.’

  ‘Jealousy is petty.’

  ‘Yes, Pietro.’

  ‘Many women would be glad to have me as their lover.’

  ‘I agree, and I swear that no matter what you do, I will never complain again. All I ask is for you to let me be a good wife to you. For always. Please, I beg of you, say that you love me a little.’

  ‘You are not crying. Where are your tears? How can I be sure you are sincere, if you do not cry?’

  The sulkiness was back in his voice and her body began to tremble and shake, not simply from the cold in the long neglected room but from the terrible yawning desperation that he might turn and walk away from her. She’d almost lost him once, she mustn’t risk it again.

  ‘Forgive me, I’m excited,’ she explained. ‘Coming back to our old home, looking forward to seeing Beth again. And about us, so soon to be settled, at last.’ She laughed up at him and spread wide her arms, arching her back so that her breasts jiggled delightfully in all their splendour, moving apart her knees in open invitation. ‘No one can make you as happy as I can. Admit it. If I spend my entire life on the mission of your happiness, I ask for no more. I will be content.’

  This pleased him. He was the teacher now and had taught her well. Reaching down, he flicked at one nipple with a fingernail and smiled as it sprang to attention at his touch.

  His one hope had been to cause as much disruption to this family as they had done to his. He’d been willing to do anything to that end. His first idea had been to court and win either one of the twins to agree to marriage and then let them down at the last minute. Sarah had seemed the free spirit so he’d gone for Beth, but for all she’d been besotted by him, she had baulked at rushing into marriage, because of her past disappointment. Unfortunate.

  Then Sarah, rampant for a man, had taken him to her bed and he’d been surprised by the pleasure of the experience. She wasn’t the sort of mistress who required soft talk and pampering. She was inventive and demanding, with few scruples. They’d enjoyed a good time together while the money lasted.

  He’d eloped with her on impulse, not quite knowing whether he would ever marry her, but certainly intending to bring her nothing but unhappiness. Thus he had succeeded in hurting Beth and Meg O’Cleary, and Sarah too in one simple act. He could still recall the pleasure of that triumph.

  But it hadn’t lasted. He wanted more. He might manage to inherit Broombank through her, thus damaging the whole damned family, as his grandfather and later his own mother had been hurt by them. He was not averse to any form of disruption to their well ordered, self-satisfied lives.

  The months with Sarah had, however, proved surprisingly enjoyable, at least in the beginning. But still she had irritat
ingly refused to consider marriage and he’d been forced to let the matter drop and bide his time. Then to his fury, she had turned all moral on him, and left. All because through sheer boredom he had taken another lover, several in fact. But whose fault was that? How could one woman hope to keep a virile Italian satisfied?

  She’d screamed at him, had hysterics, taken a lover herself, but in the end crawled back, begging him to forgive her, promising she would never fail him again.

  But his weakness for indiscretions had entirely changed the nature of their relationship. It was really most amusing. Now, at last, he was entirely in control and she was willing to do anything to please him. He could enjoy watching her suffer each and every day. Had indeed brought her back for that very purpose, and so that her family could appreciate at last the extent of his power.

  With a sigh of delight Sarah saw the excitement kindle in his eyes. He wanted her. At least she still had that hold over him.

  She took his hand and smoothed it over her bare flesh, over each ripe breast, the flatness of her stomach and on down to her soft moistness. Then the compulsion which had held them together through all the furious rows and disagreements drove them to a coupling, swift and vigorous, right there on the floor, the roughness of the carpet burning her naked flesh. It was quickly over and she went into the small bathroom to shower while Pietro strolled downstairs.

  ‘Ciao,’ he said to the empty rooms, smiling at a memory. ‘Now it is time for the bellavendetta to make real progress.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It was one of those mornings at Quarry Row when being a young mother of two babies seemed to be the least enchanting job in the world. Will was grizzling with a cold and Emily had just deposited her entire breakfast all down the front of Beth’s dressing gown. A fitful fire struggled in the grate around two or three pieces of coal. She still had to wash and dress herself, and the children too for that matter, fetch in some logs so Will could get warm, tidy breakfast away, and face the usual mound of washing. Beth could hear the first drops of rain on the window, which meant that she couldn’t put anything on the line to dry. Drat.

  An hour later she had the fire blazing to a furnace, causing steam to rise from the loaded clothes horse of dripping bibs and nappies. Will was still grizzling, clinging to the belt of her dressing gown as Beth moved about the small living room, picking up toys, rubbing a duster half heartedly about. She felt absolutely exhausted and really should go and dress, then she’d make herself a cup of coffee by way of reward for getting the washing done so early.

  When she heard the light tap at her door she assumed it to be Tessa on her way to Broombank and didn’t look up. ‘Coffee?’ she asked, picking Will up and smoothing his hot head with one hand while jiggling the baby buggy in an attempt to soothe the crying baby with the other. ‘I was just about to make one.’

  ‘My God. Is this where you live now?’

  Time seemed to stretch out endlessly as Beth turned disbelieving eyes upon her sister. Sarah stood framed in the doorway of the tiny cottage, and she seemed to Beth in that moment like a vision from another planet. Wild ebony hair tamed to a fetching shaggy bob and a tan to dream of, she was elegantly attired in a snappy little suit in lemon yellow with the sexiest short skirt Beth had ever seen. Will’s dumper truck nestled against endless legs clad in what must be the finest of silk stockings.

  Beth carefully set her son in the comer of the old sofa and tucked a rug about him before she found the strength to cross the room to Sarah. Hands instinctively tightening the belt of her dressing gown, she placed a kiss on each cheek then stood before her, heart pumping.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?’ It was all she could think of to say.

  Sarah’s eyes scanned the crowded, over-heated room and laughed. ‘Would it have made any difference?’

  Will started to cry and Emily chose this moment to wake and add to the din. Sarah’s eyes fastened upon the buggy. She swooped past Beth and gathered the baby in her arms. ‘Oh, what a darling. How can you let her cry? She must be hungry.’

  Beth watched, half amused, but surreptitiously pushing back her untidy hair, not knowing whether to hate herself, or Sarah, for choosing this morning to do her chores before getting dressed. What a slut she must look. ‘She’s just been sick as a matter of fact. I should take care with that suit.’

  Sarah didn’t look in the least perturbed. Nestling the baby close against her cheek she turned pitying eyes upon her sister. ‘I’ll hold her while you get dressed, if you like. Poor lamb.’ Then settled herself down on the sofa, amongst the crumpled piles of ironing and baby powder, captivating Will with one of her bewitching smiles. ‘And yes please, coffee sounds wonderful.’

  Upstairs in her room, Beth stared at her own tired face in the dressing table mirror. Too many sleepless nights with little Miss Emily. She touched imagined lines of fatigue, fingered her drooping breasts, still oozing milk. Trust Sarah to return looking like something out of a glossy fashion magazine and find me looking like the before picture.

  Sighing, she rummaged through her drawer for a make-up bag, started to apply mascara then angrily tossed it back and slammed the drawer shut. She didn’t wear make-up, not during the day when she was with the children. She was an ordinary mother, housewife, whatever, and proud of it. She might just put on a gingham dress and apron.

  In the event she chose a favourite cotton skirt and long baggy sweater, brushed her hair till it shone and fastened it back, defiantly, with her old slide.

  ‘I’ve got her off to sleep,’ Sarah whispered proudly as Beth handed her a mug of coffee.

  Emily’s small face, usually puckered with fury was for once smooth and angelic. Beth felt a wave of resentment. ‘You don’t have to whisper. She’ll sleep through anything now. Will too was asleep, his head resting on his aunt’s lap. ‘I’ll take him upstairs.’

  ‘Oh no, I really don’t mind.’

  ‘He has a cold. He’ll pass it on to you. And he needs to keep warm.’

  ‘It’s like the Sahara in here.’

  Ignoring this mild criticism, Beth swooped up her son and carried him off to his bed. Then she wheeled the baby buggy outside into a fitful sunshine, followed by the clothes horse since the rain had thankfully stopped and, closing the door, turned at last to face her sister.

  ‘Why have you come?’

  Sarah laughed. ‘Heavens, what a welcome. What happened to - how are you? Pleased to see you again sister dear.’

  ‘I haven’t quite got over the shock of seeing you here.’

  ‘What about you?’ Sarah glanced about the room, struggling to keep the sound of incredulity out of her voice. ‘Are you content with all of this?’

  Beth considered for a moment. ‘Yes,’ she said, with determined resolution. ‘I am. It’s a quiet life, and if not entirely perfect in that we always seem to be hard up and Andrew can’t find permanent work in farming at the moment, it’s a reasonably happy one. I’m lucky.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit - well - cramped? How do you manage in that awful kitchen?’ Sarah had clearly spent the time Beth was upstairs exploring the tiny cottage. It wouldn’t have taken long.

  ‘It’s a bit of a tight fit with two children but we get by. Where are you staying?’

  ‘What about Broombank?’ Sarah said brightly, not answering the question. ‘Meg says you’ve turned it into workshops. I called there first, on my way over.’

  Beth nodded, and readily talked about the workshops, trying to shake off a feeling of unreality that Sarah was here, back on Larkrigg Fell sitting on her own rumpled sofa.

  ‘So you make moccasins? What fun. Bet you make a packet.’

  Beth gave a wry smile. ‘Same old Sarah. Always thinking about money. No, I’m not making a packet, as you call it. It’s a very new, very small cottage industry. I only work part-time, because of the children, and I do have expenses. Tess does her painting and we let out units at low cost to help others to do the same.’

  ‘Same old
Beth.’ There was an astringent quality in the voice which she refused to rise to.

  ‘I mean to take things slowly. No loans or mortgages.’

  ‘Not like before, you mean.’

  Their eyes met over the coffee mugs, and as the two sisters studied each other a smile started. ‘If you want to put it that way. We survived,’ Beth said. ‘Though I can’t say I enjoyed the experience.’

  ‘Am I forgiven?’

  ‘I see no point in holding grudges.’

  Sarah laughed. ‘You’d forgive anything. Even of me.’

  There was a small silence. ‘So, tell me all your news. What have you been up to all these years?’

  ‘You first.’

  Beth settled back in her chair, glad suddenly that she had Sarah to chat to again. She hadn’t realised how much she had missed her sister. She chattered on, not noticing her twin’s silence, telling how they came to lose Cathra Crag, of Seth and Billy, and all the happy parts of her marriage. She talked with pride about her children.

  ‘Then there’s Tessa and her paintings, and Jonty and his picture framing business. He copes brilliantly, working hard to build a new life for himself. And they’re happy. It’s so good to see them together.’

  A brittle little laugh. ‘You sound almost jealous. Don’t tell me you still nurse a pash for Jonty Reynolds.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ It always made her wistful to see Tessa and Jonty together. Not because she had any feelings for him herself, but because Jonty and Tessa had attained a depth of happiness which she didn’t seem able to reach. She and Andrew were content, they got along fine most of the time, but there was still something missing in their relationship. There remained an awkwardness between them, a constraint fuelled by the memory that she’d agreed to marry him only because she couldn’t have Pietro. ‘Few people find such perfect happiness,’ she admitted. ‘You only have to watch them together to understand what I mean. But that’s enough about me. It’s your turn now. What brought you back to Lakeland?’