She did not pause for a fraction of a second. ‘Why?’
‘Dan is coming for us in the Ford at seven and Effie is asking if you’ll be wanting a bath before we go.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m not going.’
The silence grew ominous, then he kicked out at a bale of hay. He was cross, even angry, she could tell. Tam wasn’t normally aggressive. ‘Are you going to tell me why?’
‘Someone has to stay with Lissa, and Effie deserves a night out for once.’
‘Effie is too young to go to dances. They’ll be fine here. It won’t hurt them to be alone for once.’
‘What if something should happen? I’d never forgive myself.’
‘Well, that’s easily solved. We’ll get Mrs Davies to come and sit with them. Or better still, they can go and sleep at her house. I’m sure she’d be delighted to have them.’
The cow lifted one foot and stamped it in protest as Meg’s fingers dug in too hard. She eased off a little. The poor animal was almost dry now but Meg continued to pull on the teats, not wanting to get up and face Tam. Unfortunately, he guessed.
‘You’ll make her sore if you carry on at that rate. Meg, leave it.’ He hunkered down beside her. ‘What’s the real reason?’
‘I don’t want to go, that’s all. I don’t like dancing.’
‘Yes you do.’
She shook her head, turning away, picking up the milk pail as if to use it as a shield between them. At dances people put their arms around you. They took you outside and kissed you. As Jack had once done. She couldn’t face that, not again. It would remind her of how stupid and naïve she’d been, taking the attentions he’d paid her far too seriously. No wonder he’d cheated on her and escaped into the arms of her best friend. It had all been her own fault, and she wasn’t for making a fool of herself like that with a man ever again. Oh dear me, no.
She heard Tam sigh. It sounded rather like a growl. ‘All right then. We won’t go. I’ll walk down and tell Dan not to bother coming for us.’
Meg was astounded. ‘You must go. I don’t mean to stop your pleasure.’
The leanness of his face looked almost boyish, and strangely vulnerable in the dim light of the cow shed. But he wasn’t a boy, he was a man. He moved closer and Meg just managed to stop herself flinching away, but all he did was reach down and take the bucket from her. He set it safely on the slate floor. ‘It’s that damn Jack, isn’t it? You’re still pining for him.’ The words were grated out, mercilessly cruel, and now Meg did flinch, inwardly at least.
‘Y-you don’t understand.’
‘I do. Don’t I understand very well? More than you might think.’ He took hold of her shoulders and pulled her round to face him when she might have escaped and run from the shed, from his accusations. ‘Are you never going to let him go? He’s gone from your life, Meg, forget him. He rarely replies to those damn letters you insist on sending him. He has no intention of committing himself to you, ever. He’s a lout.’
The words were cruel, intentionally so. Meg opened her mouth to protest but on seeing the implacable expression on the face so close to hers, she thought better of it and merely gave her a head a sad little shake.
‘It’s time you stopped mourning for him and started living again.’
‘I’m not mourning. I’m too busy with the farm to mourn.’
‘Ah, yes, the farm. Broombank, which you guiltily feel should still be his by right. Why? Jack wasn’t interested in farming so his father chose to leave it to you. Stop looking backwards all the time, comparing, analysing, feeling guilty. And you hardly acknowledge Lissa’s presence.’ He half shook her in his irritation. ‘You are only half a woman, do you know that? Your mind is so fully occupied with making plans for the future of your precious farm, that nowhere in those plans is there time for any personal happiness.’
Meg wriggled furiously but his grip was unrelenting. ‘I’ll please myself what I do.’
‘Maybe you will. But don’t tell me that you don’t want to spoil my pleasure. Because I’ll have you know that you spoil it all the time! You don’t give a thought to what I want, whether I might like to take you to this dratted jive. Just by living and breathing you ruin my life. Did you know that, Miss Turner?’
He kissed her then. Long and hard. Holding her fast in his arms so there was no hope of her escaping, or even breathing. But judging by the cataclysmic sensations surging through her body, she was still very much alive.
When he had done he gathered her up in his arms and sat her, very firmly, in the cold water trough in the yard. ‘Take your bath here then, in your precious farmyard. And when you’ve done, get dressed in your prettiest frock. You are going to a dance, Meg Turner. With me.’
Effie was giggling as she helped Meg button up her best dress. It was a blue print crepe with a slightly bloused bodice, padded shoulders and soft pleats falling to just below her knee.
‘For a soft-hearted Irishman, he can make his wishes felt when he has a mind to.’
‘It’s simply the wickedness of an eccentric sense of humour,’ said Meg, somewhat huffily.’ I could have caught double pneumonia.’
‘Instead of which you just lost a bit of your pride.’
‘I’m still going to this dratted dance under protest.’
‘You’ll have a lovely time.’ Effie hugged her. ‘And no trouble at all keeping him away from the VAD nurses.’
Meg opened her eyes wide in surprise.’ As if I shall try! He can dance with them all night, for all I care.’
Effie giggled again.’ If I had the chance to dance with an attractive Irishman, I’d not complain.’
‘Oh, Effie.’ Meg clung to her young friend in a sudden gesture of affection and fear, as she might have done to her mother, or Kath, had they been here. ‘I daren’t go. I simply daren’t.’ The tremor in her voice was lifting it to something very close to panic. ‘I do like Tam, I do. He’s good and friendly and he makes me laugh. But you know he doesn’t intend to stay for ever, don’t you? One morning I’ll wake up and find him gone, I know it.’
Effie smiled and tucked back a stray curl of Meg’s hair. ‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Go on now, off you go and have a good time. We can’t disappoint Hetty, now can we? You know how she enjoys having Lissa. She’s even getting me into the bargain tonight. So be off with you and not another word.’
‘Oh, Effie, I do love you.’ Meg hugged the girl close, no longer a child but still much too thin, as she always would be, no doubt. ‘I’m so glad you came to us.’
‘Me too.’ They held each other for a moment, as they had so often done, sharing their strength. Then Rust came and pushed his nose between them, giving a whimper of jealousy at this show of affection which did not include him. They both laughed, hugging him close and tickling his ears till he rolled over and waved his legs in the air with pleasure.
There was the sound of the van in the yard and Tam’s voice, calling to her. ‘Will you be coming, girl, if we’re ever to get to this dratted dance!’
Meg dabbed at her eyes, quickly powdered her nose and grinned at Effie. ‘I’m coming,’ she called. ‘I’m ready now.’
Meg had a wonderful time at the dance. They all did. It had been crowded, packed with uniforms as well as hard-working civilians wanting to forget the war and their worries over loved ones for a few hours. On the way back they sang ‘Green Eyes’ and ‘Chattanooga Choo-Choo’, sitting on blankets in the back of the old van. Dan proved to have quite a good baritone and their praise brought a flush to the tips of his ears, making them all laugh.
Broombank was in darkness when Meg and Tam stumbled out, slightly the worse for the several glasses of beer they had drunk. They waved, giggling, as the old Ford bumped off back down the lane.
‘It seems odd with the children not here,’ said Meg into the sudden silence. ‘As if the world were empty of everything but us. It always surprises me how big the sky is here, how wide and lonely the fells.’
With the same thought they turned to gaze at the fiery glow that flickered in the sky over the distant coast where the Royal Navy base was situated at Barrow-in-Furness. It brought a sick feeling to the pit of Meg’s stomach to see this fire of death from their green and quiet world.
‘It’s hard to imagine that elsewhere homes are being destroyed, lives torn apart. Puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?’ Tam said. ‘At least our plane was only a message from Charlie, not a package from Germany. What do bank managers matter?’
Meg nodded. ‘I’m lucky, I know that. I have Effie, and Lissa, and Sally Ann. Even Dan speaks to me in a half-civilised way these days.’
‘And there’s always yours truly, don’t forget,’ said Tam softly. She turned her face up to his. ‘How could I? Where would I be without you, Tam?’
‘Without my Irish brawn, you mean?’
‘No, I don’t. I could never have managed Broombank this well without you.’
‘Ah, yes, the land. But what of me? Have I been of any use, for myself perhaps?’
‘I hope that we are friends.’
Tam was silent, wanting to say that no, they were not friends. He could never think of her as simply a friend, but Meg was again talking of Barrow and how she could feel, rather than hear, a humming vibration through her feet.
‘How do the German bombers know where they are? They might miss and drop their bombs in the wrong place.’
‘I suspect even the Germans can find the sea,’ said Tam, in his usual jokey fashion.
‘Yes, but how can they see where to drop them? I mean, I’ve heard that our pilots eat carrots, to improve their sight in the dark. Do you think the Germans do too?’
Tam, obviously straining against laughter, considered her suggestion gravely. ‘If carrots are so useful, perhaps you should become a vegetable farmer.’
She slapped at him, catching his mood. ‘I’m serious. If it’s cloudy and dark, how can they know where the target is? How do we know they won’t make a mistake?’
‘We don’t. That’s the problem with war. It’s often the innocent who suffer.’
Meg stared at him with such earnestness in her expression he was hard put not to kiss her there and then and hang the consequences. ‘I pray every day that Charlie will be safe.’
‘You know that he is. He’s proved it. Spectacularly so.’
‘Yes. It’s a good feeling.’
‘You must tell him to eat more carrots.’
Meg started in astonishment and then burst out laughing. ‘You’re wicked.’ Tam grinned.
‘You’ve got the black dog on your shoulders, that’s all. Just because of that stupid bank manager. Stop worrying. Charlie is fine and you’re doing your bit here, quietly, without heroics. Just plain hard work, but growing food is important. Never forget that.’
He wiped a tear from her cheek, his fingers lingering over the silk of her cheek bones, wondering how she would react if he kissed it away instead.
Meg looked up into his eyes for a long moment then brushed past him to walk into the kitchen and light the lamp. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Tea or cocoa?’ She was trembling, he could hear it in her voice.
Tam sat in the rocking chair by the fire, saying nothing, watching with a smile in his eyes as Meg busied herself with the kettle. She said not a word while she waited for it to boil.
The tantalising aroma of tea filled her nostrils and she risked a half glance at him. The light from the Tilly lamp highlighted the planes of his face and set a gloss on the mahogany curls but Meg could not see his eyes which were in deep shadow. She would have given a good deal, right then, to read their expression. She set a mug by his hand upon the table. He did not move to pick it up.
When his voice came to break the silence, Meg started as if she’d been stung.
‘You don’t seriously expect for one minute that I am going to sit here meekly and drink tea with you in an empty house?’
Her own mug half raised to her lips, she found her fingers setting it down again, quite of their own volition. ‘Wh-what do you mean?’
‘Do you know how lovely you look in that pretty frock? Like a bluebell in spring, you are.’
Meg got to her feet. ‘I think you’re drunk.’
Tam caught at her hand as she would have passed him and held her still. He leaned forward slightly and she could see his eyes now. The expression in them set a pulse beating deep in her stomach. ‘I think I might be, Meg Turner, but not with beer. Do you know what I want to do?’
When she didn’t answer, not because she didn’t want to, but because she couldn’t, he pulled her down on to his lap. His arms came about her so firm and warm and hard with his desire that a spiral of shock, mingled with delicious pleasure, surged through her. She could have touched his face now had she wanted to, it was so close. Quite unable to prevent herself, she did so, with the softest brush of her lips.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she softly asked. She felt as if her insides were burning and her head was somewhere close to the ceiling. ‘Tell you what?’ The voice was oddly gruff.
‘How you felt.’
‘Would you have believed me? Would you have listened, or even cared?’
‘I’m listening now.’ He considered her for such a long time that the ache inside threatened to devour her. Then slowly, desperately slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers and she drank in the sweetness of his lips as a thirsty woman might take her first drink after a lifetime in a desert.
Why hadn’t she realised how much she wanted him?
Why could she never see what was right in front of her?
His hold upon her tightened and she felt him shudder against her.
‘It’s not a child I am, Meg Turner, to be content with kisses. Don’t kiss me back like that if you don’t want more.’
‘Oh, I want more. Much more.’
His face was quiet and intensely serious as his eyes moved lovingly over her face, as if memorising it for all time. ‘Let us be absolutely clear about this. I want to take you to bed and take off all your clothes and make love to you as you have never been loved in your life before.’ The lips curved upwards into a crooked smile and the lamplight glinted upon the whiteness of his teeth. ‘Would you have any objection to that, I wonder, Miss Meg Turner?’
‘Oh, no. No objection at all, Thomas O’Cleary. Except...’ She dipped her head in a moment’s embarrassment. ‘I’d want you to keep me safe.’
‘You will be.’
‘Isn’t it wicked?’
His lips touched her brow, her nose. ‘No, not wicked. Doesn’t everyone think we’ve been doing this for months already? So why not? If you want me, that is.’
A gurgle of happiness bubbled up inside, setting light to the excitement. Oh, she wanted him all right. How she wanted him.
The loving was every bit as wonderful as he had promised. He took off her garments with exquisite care as if he was afraid to startle her, afraid she was a fragile bird who might fly away if he moved too quickly. He laid her on the bed and traced the line of her breasts with the tips of his fingers, exploring, learning her till she was pulsating with need of him, crying out for him to take her.
But just to make sure he had the picture right in his head, he followed along with his lips. Meg clutched at him, pulling him closer, offering herself to him, a willing, joyous partner in this loving. ‘Tam?’
‘I won’t hurt you, my lovely.’
Nor did he, making sure she was moist and ready before taking her with a love and passion that made her cry out with joy in her climax. Their lovemaking was fierce, and all too short. Later, when he took her again, it was slower, more sensual, their first flush of passion sated so that he was able to pleasure her till every nerve throbbed.
Afterwards Meg lay with her face a rosy glow from their loving, an after-love lethargy making her limbs heavy as they lay still entwined with his. They talked softly, punctuating the words with frequent kisses, as lovers do.
‘To thin
k you were here, all the time, and I never noticed.’
‘A year or more wasted. We’ve some time to make up.’
Meg burst out laughing. ‘You are a wicked Irishman, Tam O’Cleary, and...’
His eyes teased her in the shaft of moonlight that traced its ghostly light over their naked bodies. ‘And?’
Meg was glad he could not see her blushes. She had very nearly said it. Nearly said that she loved him. Yet that would never do. She’d made that mistake before. It was too soon. Even if she could ever allow herself to risk such a thing again, love was dangerous, painful. No, she would take a leaf out of Kath’s book, and stick with sex. That was fun, and far less complicated. Safe from pain.
‘Stop your teasing, you dreadful man. Do you know that in all this time you’ve been at Broombank, you’ve told me nothing about yourself.’
‘There’s nothing at all to tell.’
Meg snuggled down into the curve of his side. ‘Nevertheless, I want to know everything about you.’
Tam drew in a long breath and told his life story swiftly, being far more interested in studying the line of her shoulder blades and the small hollows in between.
‘How many brothers and sisters have you?’
‘Seven. At the last count.’
‘No wonder you are so good with Lissa.’
‘Families are important.’
‘Then why are you here, in England, if they are in America? Sorry, I shouldn’t ask.’ What she really wanted to ask was, how long are you staying? But she didn’t.
‘Didn’t I want to see the world? I’ve worked and lived in as many places as I could find. I’ll go home and see them all one day. For now I am here.’
For now, she thought, repeating his comment in her head.
His hand was looped about her thigh, stroking the soft inner flesh with the heel of his thumb, and Meg began to lose track of her thoughts. ‘What was that you said about making up for lost time?’
‘You are insatiable, Miss Turner.’
‘Yes, Thomas O’Cleary, I am.’ She moved to kiss him, rubbing herself enticingly against him while holding his hands away so that he was frustrated in his efforts to touch her. His breathing quickened and Meg felt her own resolution to hold him back rapidly slip away. ‘Perhaps you don’t want me, is that it?’ she asked, her voice thick with need.
Storm Clouds Over Broombank Page 7
