Storm Clouds Over Broombank

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘You sound as if you aren’t going to see me ever again?’ There was a sudden tightening in her breast as she looked into his face, regarding him more keenly.

  Beneath the brazen banter, despite the swagger of his walk, there was a sudden panic in the violet eyes.

  ‘Got to go and put Mussolini’s lot in their place first,’ he said, his tone cocky as if he meant to do it all by himself. ‘Time enough to get serious about women and take on responsibility when the show’s over, eh?’

  She nodded, unable to speak, quite unable to tell him that it was already too late, his responsibilities had begun. Perhaps she’d be best to put it in a letter. Some time. Later. When he got safely back perhaps.

  Nothing could bring her to swallow her pride now and tell him, face to face, that she had borne him a child.

  Train doors banged, a whistle blew, and Kath sighed with relief. It was over, she had seen him, and with that visit a ghost had been laid. He meant nothing to her. Not a thing. It’d all been just sex, as she’d thought at the time. No more, no less.

  When the train drew out of the station she did not look back. Whatever memories she had of that sun-kissed time before the war, Kath knew for certain now that it was over. She had a daughter to think about one day, once she had her life in order again, but for now at least life was shaping up pretty well at Bledlow.

  She would enjoy her leave, take a few days’ rest in the country somewhere, but not too long. Waiting for her back in camp was someone she was very much looking forward to seeing again.

  ‘Hi, I’ve missed you,’ were his first words to her. They were sitting in a cinema in Cambridge, in the dark, far from the station, having come in separately hoping like mad that no one had seen them.

  He took her hand in his. Kath’s heart was thumping crazily. All thoughts of celibacy were quite gone from her head. She wanted this man, and, if he still wanted her, as far as she was concerned, he could have her.

  Ewan Maximillian Wadeson III, however, was a gentleman, and liked to do things properly.

  He kissed her, deep and lingering. ‘You realise it is prejudicial to good order for me to be seen with you, as another rank?’ Kath ran her lips lightly over his jawline, such a lovely strong jaw. ‘No one can see us in the dark, so that’s all right.’

  ‘Why don’t you marry me?’

  ‘What?’ She couldn’t see his face in the smoke-wreathed darkness but she could feel his smile. ‘Very funny.’

  He put his arm around her, pressed his lips close to her ear. ‘I mean it, honey. You know how I feel about you. A quiet little ceremony, just you, me and a witness. Our little secret.’

  Kath couldn’t believe what he was saying. Yet a part of her was not against the idea, she realised. ‘Are you quite serious?’

  ‘Never more so. I want you. I’ve never felt this way about a woman before. We’d be good for each other, Katherine.’

  Her heart was racing. A million thoughts teemed through her head. On screen, Deanna Durbin was singing her heart out, and nothing seemed quite real. It would be too, too easy to get carried away on a tide of romance, and look where that got you.

  Outside, after the show, reality struck with the cool night breeze and rain-polished pavements.

  ‘Hurry now, before anyone sees you,’ she told him as he lingered, holding her hand. ‘My bus is over here.’

  ‘Let me give you a lift.’

  ‘Who is your driver?’

  ‘I drove myself here this evening. So you can take me back. Pretend you’re on duty.’

  ‘How very clever of you.’ Laughing, and against her better judgement, Kath agreed.

  All the way back to camp he tried to persuade her. ‘Don’t rush me, Wade. It’s too easy to make a mistake.’

  They stopped on a quiet road so he could stroke her face, her throat, her thigh. ‘Don’t you want me?’

  ‘That’s not a good reason for getting married,’ Kath protested, returning his kisses with an eagerness she could scarce control.

  ‘It is in wartime. You know damn well we could both be dead next week.’

  It was a sobering thought. Still she hesitated. ‘You know nothing about me.’ Like for instance that I have a daughter, she wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come.

  ‘I know enough.’

  ‘Best to leave things as they are for a while. See how it goes.’

  ‘You’re not offended, are you?’ Anxiety in his voice, in his face. ‘I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, Katherine. I hope you realise that.’

  Her heart was filled with a rush of compassion for him and she put her lips to his softly. Desire flared like a torch between them and his mouth caught hers, deepening the kiss to something far more dangerous. Did she love him? She didn’t know. How could she tell? But he was all male, and she was a healthy, normal woman. He had her jacket unfastened and was reaching for her tie when he broke away with an abruptness that hurt.

  ‘Hellfire, I can’t keep this up for much longer! I’m too old to play footsie in a car. Promise me you’ll think about it? I’ll buy us a lovely home in Canada after the war, anything you like. Just say yes, honey, and I’ll buy you the world in gold paper.’

  Somewhere inside, her heart melted. Kath could hardly drag open her eyes, so drugged was she with wanting, with loving. But was what she felt enough? Would it last? She had felt this terrible longing for Jack once, and look where that had got her.

  But Wade wasn’t like Jack. Surely he would keep his promises. What they felt for each other was different. Or was it?

  How would Wade react if she told him about Melissa? Would he still want her, with an illegitimate daughter? She certainly couldn’t marry him without telling him. ‘I’ll think about it, I promise,’ was all she said.

  When she garaged the staff car and walked across to her hut she saw Mule, checking quarters at the end of her shift.

  ‘Late in again, Airwoman?’

  Kath glanced at her wristwatch. It said ten-fifteen. ‘No, ma’am. Still fifteen minutes to go.’

  ‘Driving Wing Commander Wadeson to yet another meeting?’ Kath half turned, glancing back over her shoulder as if expecting to see him standing there. Then she realised that since she’d dropped Wade by the gate, the woman couldn’t possibly have known for certain she’d been out with him. It had been a guess, but by Kath’s own guilty reaction, one that had been proved accurate.

  ‘Just doing my duty, ma’am.’

  ‘I’ve been told you were at the Ship the other night.’

  Kath schooled herself not to overreact. ‘That was on our night off and we were back by ten, ma’am.’ Worn out by Laddo Octopus, she thought.

  ‘I believe Wing Commander was there too. What a coincidence.’

  ‘Yes. Wasn’t it? If you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I’ll check in.’ Kath saluted smartly and started to walk away. Mule kept pace.

  ‘A little bird also tells me you were seen wearing civvies.’ Kath’s heart jumped with shock. Surely not Wade? Would he tell on her? No, it could have been anyone.

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ Kath said, with blithe innocence.

  ‘You understand me perfectly, ACW Ellis.’

  ‘Couldn’t say, ma’am, whether there were any Waafs in civvies or not. We would certainly never step off the station without uniform, as you well know.’ It was not quite a lie for they had left in uniform, and changed in the Ladies at the pub, so Kath was able to meet Mule’s gaze unflinchingly.

  A long, silent appraisal. ‘There’s something not quite right about you, Ellis. You are not entirely what you seem.’

  Kath raised enquiring brows. ‘I’m a simple Waaf, doing my job. What more could I be?’

  ‘Not quite so simple. Where did someone of your evident class acquire such skills with a scrubbing brush? And such rough hands to go with them. Why had you only one set of civvies? And why do we know no more about you than we did the day you arrived? You say nothing about your family, your background, your upbringing. Why
is that, I wonder?’

  ‘Didn’t realise you were so interested. Ma’am.’

  ‘Your remarks are close to insolence, Airwoman.’

  Kath ground her teeth together and apologised. ‘Is this a serious interrogation, ma’am?’

  ‘Quite the mystery woman, aren’t you?’

  Kath had reached the door of her Nissen hut and turned to face her interrogator. ‘I do my job as good as I can. Mind my own business. I expect everyone else to do the same. May I go now, ma’am?’ She’d pushed it too far. Kath could tell by the furious expression on Mule’s face.

  ‘Let me see you at Parade once in a while, Ellis.’

  ‘Ma’am.’

  Smiling to herself, Kath went in to Bella and the waiting cocoa. Nosy old troublemaker, she thought.

  Three weeks later the smile was wiped from her face when Kath discovered that a new posting had come through for her. She’d been given her movement orders to go to another section of Group Command, far away from Wing Commander Ewan Wadeson. Mule, it seemed, had won.

  Chapter Four

  Joe Turner enjoyed his ill temper as some people relish poor health. But then, as he so often told himself, he had a right to be upset. Nothing was going right at the moment.

  By heck though, if he were in the government he’d stand no nonsense from this Hitler chap. And he was right glad they’d got that Hesse fellow locked up in the tower. Proper place for him an’ all. Keep him out of mischief for the rest of the war, that would. Oh, aye, he made a point of keeping abreast of the news, and offering the wisdom of his opinion upon it. He’d followed with increasing dismay the German advancement on Malta, on Yugoslavia even, for all it’d proved a tricky country to take, and then Greece and Crete. Whatever way you looked at it, things were not good. Now they were after the Ruskies. By, but the Huns would find them a tougher meat to tackle, for all they’d taken Kiev, cheeky as you please.

  ‘What we need is Lloyd George to take this lot on,’ he announced, not for the first time to Sally Ann who patiently read him snippets from the newspaper each morning and tuned in the crackling nine o’clock news for him at night on the battery wireless.

  ‘Don’t talk soft, Dad. Lloyd George isn’t running the country now, Churchill is.’

  ‘Aye, well, Lloyd George’d do better.’

  Sally Ann sighed and spooned cereal into little Daniel’s mouth. ‘You live in the past, that’s your trouble, Dad. You’ll have to come into the twentieth century one of these days so best start getting used to the idea.’

  ‘You sound like our Meg.’

  Sally Ann laughed. ‘Sometimes I understand exactly how she feels about you, you old misery boots! Pour me out another cup of tea, my hands are full.’

  Joe did as she asked. He was not displeased with this new daughter-in-law of his. She could cook, was easy to live with, and kept a smiling face about the place. And she had given him two grandsons. ‘Meg’s allus wanting summat she can’t have.’

  Sally Ann wiped the baby’s mouth and lifted him against her shoulder, rubbing his back gently. ‘I know you miss Annie. It was sad she was taken so soon, but you can’t expect Meg to step into her shoes.’

  Joe glared into the fire. ‘You can’t turn back the clock, that’s for sure, though there’s things I’d put right if I could.’

  ‘We all feel that way when we’ve lost someone,’ Sally Ann said softly. ‘Don’t blame Meg for not being more like her mother. She’s like you. She wants what it is perfectly reasonable for her to have, a farm. She’s your daughter, all right.’

  ‘She’s nowt like me.’

  Sally Ann actually laughed out loud at that. ‘Isn’t she just? More than either you or she realises, I reckon. She’s tough as old boots, and soft as good leather. Just like you. Only difference is you won’t show it. You’d go to any lengths to keep your feelings hidden, and Meg has been behaving exactly the same way with little Lissa.’ Sally Ann frowned. ‘It worries me, it does really.’

  ‘That one maintains that child isn’t hers.’

  ‘No more it is, in my opinion,’ said Sally Ann quietly. ‘Though I don’t lay claim to having the answer, I have my own idea on the subject.’ She caught the gleam in Joe’s eye and laughed again. ‘No, I’m not going to tell you what it is, you old goat.’

  ‘She should get herself wed and stop messing about with things she knows nowt about. Sheep farming is man’s work. Bairns are for women. I’ve said so afore...’

  ‘…And you’ll go on saying it, I know. Now, if you’ve nothing better to do than gossip, you can fold those nappies for me.’

  Without demur, Joe pulled the nappies one by one from the rack and folded them into a soft white pile, not realising the incongruity of the task after his last words. He found he didn’t mind having childer, as he called them, about the place. They kept a man feeling alive. Pity Meg didn’t bring her youngster to visit him more often, though a girl was not to his taste. A man needed sons to follow him on. One day Joe would like Dan to have the farm, as was only right and proper, for himself and his sons. Though what he’d make of it, God only knew.

  Mebbe, if Joe played his cards right, Broombank an’ all.

  But money was tight just now. Things weren’t going well at all. Childer took a lot of feeding, wanting clothes and such like. How Ashlea would manage to keep them all he didn’t know. Now if Meg would only stop being so stubborn he and Dan would be right set up. There was plenty of time, though, to get his hands on the land he wanted. He hadn’t given up hope yet, not by a long chalk.

  But first he had to secure Ashlea.

  ‘Haven’t you done enough for today?’ Tam said to Meg a few days later when she was poring over the accounts one evening by the light of the lamp. ‘Don’t you know paraffin is in short supply?’

  ‘I know, but I must finish these figures.’

  ‘It’s rest you’re needing.’

  Tam knew everything there was to know about both her and the business. He was always there for her when she needed a friend. Meg knew she was lucky to have him stay on since he was a man who claimed to have no roots, and might decide to leave at any moment. A good reason to keep him at a distance. He was simply an employee after all, and a man. Therefore not to be trusted absolutely.

  ‘I must get these accounts done. I’ve an appointment to see the bank manager on Friday.’

  Tam tightened his lips in that familiar way he had which spoke volumes without his saying a word. He set the kettle on the new range they’d had fitted in the great kitchen inglenook. ‘I’ll make cocoa and you fetch some of those rice biscuits Effie made today.’

  Meg tossed down her pen with a laugh. ‘You aren’t going to give up, are you?’

  ‘I usually get my own way, in the end.’ He looked at her gravely. ‘You can have ten more minutes then bed, no matter what you say.’

  The shutters were drawn, Effie and Lissa were in bed and there was a reassuring cosiness about being here, with Tam. A feeling that she was very safe, protected from the world outside. Yet there was more to it than that, more than cosiness and homeliness, cocoa and biscuits. She’d had it before, this feeling that couldn’t quite be defined and Meg chose to ignore.

  The gaze held a moment longer and she smiled in order to break the tension growing between them. It disturbed her yet she couldn’t quite say why, not seeing him as he saw her, her mind already turning to the figures and why they wouldn’t add up. Tam sighed and the sound said that it was just as well he was a patient man.

  As they sat companionably enjoying Effie’s biscuits, Tam nodded in the direction of the account books. ‘Go on then, I’ll listen. Why is it you must see the bank manager? Is it trouble we’re in then?’

  She liked it when he said ‘we’. As if he was a part of the project, and meant to stay.

  Meg flushed with excitement and pleasure. ‘No, quite the opposite. We were lucky in having a good lambing season this year when for many people it was a disaster. Thanks, in no small part, to you and Effie.�
��

  ‘Thanks duly accepted.’ Tam regally bowed his head.

  ‘Which means that our stock has increased, even accounting for some losses. Which is good, don’t you think?’

  ‘Splendid.’ Tam reached for another biscuit. ‘Perhaps then Effie could afford a bit more sugar in these?’ He held one up, puckering his lips.

  ‘Sugar? You’ll be lucky. Be grateful you have biscuits at all, you oaf.’

  Tam chuckled. ‘Go on. What’s your plan? I can see that you have one by the twinkle in your eye.’

  Meg wrinkled her nose at him. ‘You are far too knowing, Thomas O’Cleary.’

  ‘Where you are concerned, maybe I am. Don’t you know how transparent you are?’ The biscuit airily instructed her to continue and Meg, feeling suddenly shy, did so. Her plans felt oddly precious, hard to share. She took a deep breath.

  ‘I mean to buy a tractor.’

  ‘Ah. A tractor now, is it? Hence your decision to see the bank manager.’

  Meg’s eyes glowed. ‘Yes. Look.’ She laid out the pages showing her reckoning on the table before them. ‘I’ve paid what I owe to Will Davies for the cows and tups, and Lanky’s debts are all settled. We’ve bought in two Tamworth pigs which are fattening up nicely. The ducks and turkeys are doing well. But these are largely ways of feeding ourselves, and of surviving from day to day. We should start looking to the future. We need to expand but more sheep means more land, more work, and more time needed to attend to them. The War Committee are asking for still more land to be ploughed up. Mechanisation is the way forward. Don’t you agree?’

  Listening, chin in hand, to the excitement in her voice, watching the lamplight dance over the high cheek bones, Tam O’Cleary would have agreed if she’d said the moon was made of green cheese. Not that she recognised this in him for he had the sense to keep his feelings well hidden. A man had his pride, after all.

  He’d loved Meg turner from the moment he’d first set eyes on her, the night he’d arrived and she’d stumbled into this kitchen all wet and muddy shouting for rope and a sack. They’d spent hours together out on the fells rescuing Rust. The dog had been taken to the Veterinary and, against all odds, had healed well in the end. But his mistress was still smarting from Jack’s betrayal, and still loyally standing by him.