‘You’ve got my favourite nightdress on,’ he said.
Meg looked surprised, then laughed. ‘The one you like to take off, you mean?’
His body sank on to the mattress beside her. ‘I enjoy unfastening all the buttons down the front. Naughtily Victorian.’
‘It was my mother’s, and the warmest I could find. This house is freezing.’
‘I expect she was as lovely as you.’ He ran his eyes over her face, then followed his gaze with his hands and while he cupped her cheeks he kissed her with a delicate tenderness. Meg nestled her face into the warmth of his palms, the familiar excitement mounting within. It seemed wicked to be here with him, like this, but she couldn’t have stopped it, not for the world.
‘I want you, Thomas O’Cleary.’
He chuckled. ‘And shall I let you have me, I ask myself?’
She loved the touch of his hands upon her naked flesh, the loving warmth of him beside her, the thrust of him inside her. He was her man, and protest how she might, she loved him. What did it matter about the local gossips?
Life, Meg thought as he started the ritual of undoing buttons and kissing each freshly exposed inch of flesh as he did so, was deliciously sweet. She was so lucky, with no room for complaint at all. Despite the rationing and the endless queuing, despite her worries over Charlie which knotted her stomach at night when she heard the drone of faraway aeroplanes, despite even her fears for the future, she was coping. She was happy.
Tam laid her back upon the pillows as he drew the garment from her. ‘There, didn’t I do that nicely?’
Oh, yes, everything was fine, and there was no reason that she could think of why they shouldn’t continue to be so.
They had an unexpected visitor in time for Christmas. Everyone was enjoying breakfast when they heard the sound of a vehicle turning in the yard and Meg opened the door to find Connie standing on the doorstep, several ominous looking suitcases about her feet.
‘I’ve left Grange-Over-Sands,’ she announced peremptorily. ‘Peter’s gone and volunteered before he’s even been called up and I won’t stop there on my own. Anyway, they’re using the lovely estuary to fire anti-aircraft guns and I’ve had enough. Even when there are no enemy aircraft overhead they practise all the time, using old biplanes to tow targets about. It’s too much, it really is. I can’t stand any more, I simply can’t.’
Meg bowed to the inevitable. ‘You’d best come in then, Connie. Have you had breakfast?’
‘Oh, I couldn’t eat a thing.’ She surveyed the breakfast table. ‘Well, perhaps just a slice of toast, plenty of butter. I dare say you’ve no shortages here. My word, that porridge smells good, Effie. Perhaps I might manage a spoonful. I’ve eaten hardly a scrap for days. My nerves, you know. They can take no more.’
Can we take you? came the uncharitable thought which Meg quickly banished. She felt a wave of sympathy for the absent Peter who would rather face the Germans than stay with his own wife.
Yet how could she turn Connie away? Not only was there a war on, but she was Lanky’s daughter and Jack’s sister. She was also Lissa’s aunt. Oh, it was all so complicated.
‘I’m very worried about Jack.’
Meg lowered herself into her chair, at once sensing bad news. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’
‘I don’t know. That’s the annoying part. He’s never been the greatest letter writer in the world, as you know, but he generally sends me one a month. I send him little treats: knitted socks and such like. But I’ve heard nothing from him for weeks. I’m very concerned.’
Tam pushed back his chair. ‘I’ll be up mending walls on the Knott if you need me.’ Meg could tell by the way he strode from the room that he was not pleased by this new development, or by her reaction to it.
‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,’ Meg consoled the older woman. ‘Letters often get delayed. You’ll probably get half a dozen all at once.’
Connie dabbed at her nose with a monogrammed handkerchief, but her other hand was already reaching for a fresh slice of bread. ‘You’re probably right, dear. We’ll not start to worry till we hear something definite, shall we?’
Meg excused herself, assured Connie she could stay for a few days, for Christmas. at least, and went in search of Tam.
Chapter Eight
Meg had to run to catch up with him, slipping on the rain-slicked stones in her haste as his long legs made short work of the distance, striding over the coarse grass at such a cracking pace he was halfway up the fell and she was out of breath by the time she reached him.
‘You ought to go in for fell running with those legs,’ she gasped. ‘What is it? Why are you angry?’
Tam had reached a tumbled down dry-stone wall and began to sort stones on the ground, rather as Lanky had once done, only in short, jerky movements. ‘Who said I was angry?’
‘I know you well enough by now. It’s in the way you walk, the tilt of your head. What was I supposed to do, tell her no, she couldn’t stay here? When she knows we have bedrooms to spare?’
‘Finding bedrooms is not the problem.’
‘She’ll have brought her ration book.’
Tam threw down the stone he had just carefully selected and met Meg’s pleading gaze with the closest to fury she had ever seen in him, barring the time he had dropped her in the water trough when she wouldn’t go to the dance with him. ‘I’m not talking about rations, and you know it. The woman is a bore, but worse than that, she’s a trouble-maker.’
‘She’s Jack’s sister. He might be the one in trouble, Tam.’ Meg spoke quietly, her skin parchment cold. ‘Why does Jack always have to come between us? I feel nothing for him. You surely know that by this time?’
‘And there’s me thinking that you’re still riddled with guilt and some foolish kind of loyalty. Why has she come? If she never came before, not even to visit her own father, this lovely Lanky of yours, why is this the perfect place to come to now?’
‘Because it’s safe. She’s frightened, can’t you see? She needs sanctuary for a while, as we all do. She’s worried.’
Tam sighed. ‘I see that you are a difficult woman to teach a lesson. You see no bad in anyone, do you? Hell’s teeth, what am I to do with you?’
Meg, sensing a softening in him, a light sparking in the green eyes, moved closer. ‘I can think of something.’
‘What, here? On a fellside, in December? Do you think I’m made of stone?’
A stiff breeze wrapped itself about them, reminding Meg of reality. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ She leaned against him, loving the warm closeness, the sense of being cherished. ‘Later then?’
He pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her savagely. When it was over, leaving her gasping, he thrust her from him. ‘Didn’t I say I wasn’t made of stone, you witch?’ He gave a playful slap to her bottom. ‘Go and see to those fine sheep of yours and give a man some peace.’
Listening to Connie’s endless complaints later that day, Meg couldn’t help but admit that Tam might have a point.
‘I’ve always liked this house. Were anything to happen to Peter, I might well come back to live here.’
‘Come back? How can you come back? I have a lease on the place,’ Meg gently reminded her.
‘Ah, yes, but only for five years and three of those are very nearly up. Let’s face it, Meg, you have little hope of finding the purchase price. Your stay here is only temporary.’ Connie folded her hands and her lips, well satisfied with the start of fear she had produced in Meg’s grey eyes.
‘I’m doing rather well, actually.’
‘I’m sure you are, dear,’ Connie simpered. ‘But it’s a fair sum of money to find, and who would give you a mortgage? A woman alone. It isn’t likely, is it?’
‘Perhaps you should leave me to worry about that.’
No indeed. Life was not going to be easy with Jack’s sister around.
That night as Meg and Tam lay, untouching, in the great bed, she fiercely regretted their qu
arrel and ventured to resolve it.
‘I think you might be right, about Connie wanting to cause trouble,’ Meg admitted at last. ‘She’s got it into her head that one day she might come back here.’
‘Not she,’ said the soft voice in the darkness.
‘She might, just so’s she can sell it for a higher price than I would pay her for it. Is that why you were angry, because you guessed that’s what she’d say?’
When he didn’t answer, Meg rolled over and nuzzled into his neck. ‘Or is this all about Jack?’ she whispered. ‘That’s the real reason why you didn’t want Connie here, isn’t it? Because she reminds you of Jack.’
‘Because she reminds you of Jack.’
She smiled. ‘You’re jealous.’
‘Rubbish.’
‘You are.’ Very gently Meg nibbled his ear lobe with her teeth. ‘You think that since I’ve let Lanky’s daughter live here, I might do the same for his son.’
She felt Tam twist round in the bed, then he was on top of her, wrapping her body in his own. She wasn’t complaining, but from what she could see of his face he still didn’t look too happy. ‘Would you?’ he asked, very quietly.
‘Would I what?’
‘Don’t play games with me, Meg Turner. Would you let Jack come and live here?’
‘Not live exactly.’
‘But you’d let him stay?’
‘Only for a little while. If necessary. I could hardly throw him out now, could I?’ she pleaded, seeing that this was not at all the reply he wanted to hear.
‘Why not? I would have thought that was exactly what you should do, after the way he treated you.’
She supposed that he was probably right. ‘I find it hard to hate people.’
Tam made a sound of exasperation deep in his throat and flounced away from her to sit on the side of the bed. Meg felt the loss so acutely she was stunned for a moment. Then she crept up behind him and slid her arms about his waist. When he didn’t protest, she leaned her cheek against his back. ‘I find loving harder though.’
He made as if he wanted to turn round but she held firm, not letting him. ‘No, listen to me for a minute. Hating is easy, wanting revenge may seem a good idea at first, but bitterness only makes the hurt worse. I’ve learned that much.
‘Healing the wounds, rubbing away the scars, that’s the hard part. Learning to love again. It’s not that I don’t want to trust you, Tam, or that you’ve given me any cause not to, it’s just that I can’t believe you’ll ever love me as I love you. I expect any day for you to pack your bag and go off on your travels again, or find someone you like just as much, or better. You’ll leave me. As Jack did. As Kath did.’
Tam did move then, to gather her in his arms and hold her close against him. ‘How can you think that? I love you, Meg. I’ll never leave you, not of my own free will. For as long as you want me, I’m yours. For a day, a year or a lifetime. You must be the one to decide.’
He cupped her face in his hands and his lips were seeking hers while Meg clung to him, loving, wanting. ‘Then I shan’t ever let you go. Not ever.’
Their lovemaking was the fiercest and most passionate yet. Held fast in the security of Tam’s arms Meg felt completely fulfilled. For the first time in her life she really believed herself cherished and loved. What did it matter if he’d made no mention of marriage?
On Christmas Eve, Meg and Effie worked a twelve-hour day but sold all their poultry, and such butter and cheese as they were allowed. The streets of Kendal were packed with people seeking bargains at the street stalls run by farmers’ wives. But everyone was in good spirits even if some greedy stallholders were forced to lower their prices as the day wore on.
Meg and Effie went home content, if exhausted. They arrived home to find that Connie had done very little towards preparing for the Christmas Day festivities. Restrained they may be, due to the shortages and the war, yet the Turner family meant to celebrate, as was only right and proper.
They exchanged long-suffering glances and set to work stuffing the bird and making mince pies with more than a fair helping of apple, carrot and bread crumbs amongst the dried figs and fruit they’d managed to scrape together. But they’d saved enough dripping to make a delicious pastry. It was Christmas, so what did it matter if they used all their ration?
Connie sat with her feet up on a stool, a damp cloth across her forehead and declared herself, ‘Quite worn out from looking after that child all day. What a handful she is. Kept wanting me to play with her.’
Effie giggled and cast a sideways glance at Meg who attempted to remain impassive.
‘Endless imaginary tea parties can get a touch trying, I suppose, if you’re not used to children. But you should be pleased by her attention, Connie. She doesn’t take to everyone.’
Connie looked unimpressed by this piece of flattery. ‘The Victorians, in my opinion had the right idea about children.’
It remained a mystery to Meg how it was that Connie could find nothing appealing about Lissa. Nor had she ever remarked upon the child’s resemblance to her own brother. Either she was short-sighted, or else blind to Jack’s faults. Possibly both. In her eyes, Lissa was Meg’s problem and nothing at all to do with Jack or herself. Meg chose not to enlighten her.
‘I expect it seems rather dull for you in this remote spot after Grange-over-Sands?’ Effie suggested, thrusting her short arm up to the elbow in the huge turkey. Connie took one glance at what she was doing, and shuddered.
‘Not at all. Grange will never be quite the same again in my estimation. The young women seem to spend half their time searching for parachute silk to make into undergarments.’
‘And the other half showing ’em off?’ whispered Effie, earning herself a dig with Meg’s elbow for her cheek.
‘Perfectly immoral,’ finished Connie. ‘And most unsafe with all that shooting going on. Who’d have thought it? In Grange-Over-Sands. I am glad to be out of it.’
Meg and Effie exchanged glances again. ‘You’ll be wanting to return soon though, to see Peter?’ Meg suggested.
Connie pinched her lips. ‘He seems to be enjoying the army, would you believe? I’m sure he can find me, when he can spare the time to come and look.’
‘Probably thinks he’s done well to escape the old nag at last,’ Effie hissed, and this time Meg smacked her on the wrist, terrified they might both burst into fits of giggles, though it wasn’t really a laughing matter. The last thing she wanted was to be stuck with Connie for the duration.
‘I’m sure he will,’ she said, trying to sound sympathetic. But if the woman intended a long stay, then she’d best learn to make herself useful. ‘I wonder, Connie, since we’re so busy and you are thinking of returning to country life, if you wouldn’t mind going to shut the hens up for me?’
‘Oh.’
Meg smiled brightly. ‘I’d hate to dirty my hands when I’m making pastry and Effie is still stuffing the bird. We don’t want to lose them. The hens, I mean.’
‘But it’s dark outside.’
‘There’s a torch in the lean-to, with a hood to shield it. You can use that.’
‘You’ll know the way anyway, in the dark, won’t you?’ Effie cheerfully suggested. ‘None better. You having been born here.’
‘I’ll have the kettle on by the time you come back,’ Meg promised. ‘Now where’s my rolling pin?’
With obvious reluctance Connie put on her galoshes and raincoat as if she were travelling a mile instead of half a field. But then it might start raining or she could step into something unspeakable. She added her thick scarf and bonnet for it was sure to be bitterly cold out, and collected the torch.
It was black as coal outside, a blanket of thick cloud obscuring the moon and stars and a brisk wind whining hollowly about the farm buildings.
She had never enjoyed this task, even as a child. Connie had always been quite certain that ghosts and ghoulies lurked behind creaking barn doors, and the black mountains seemed to move in on her. No, in
deed, she would talk Meg Turner into giving up her preposterous idea of buying the freehold of Broombank, then it could be sold for a proper price and Connie could enjoy some comfort for a change, once the war was over.
With these pleasant thoughts in mind she stepped out across the yard. Pulling on the string, she released the door and let it drop down over the pop hole. She turned to hurry back indoors, anxious to get out of the cloying darkness that blurred the edges of her narrow torch beam, and have a soothing cup of tea. She had hardly taken two steps when the faint light from her torch caught the reflection of a pair of glinting amber eyes.
‘Oh, dear God.’ In her terror she dropped the torch and heard it smash as it rolled away. Then the sound of stealthy footsteps and something not quite human brushed against her legs.
Connie screamed, and fell to the ground in hysterics.
Meg and Effie came hurrying to her aid. ‘What is it, Connie? What’s happened?’
‘It’s the devil, or a German. They’ve invaded. Or dear Lord, they’ve invaded.’
It took several cups of tea, a tot of medicinal brandy, a sound sniff of sal volatile and a soothing hot water bottle in her bed to calm her. But investigation proved it was neither Hitler nor the supernatural which had come to claim her.
By the state of the hen ark next morning it was all too evident that it had been a fox that Connie had disturbed. Not one live hen remained. ‘It’s my fault,’ Meg mourned, desolate at her loss. ‘I was so busy with Christmas, I forgot them.’
‘No point in worrying,’ Tam soothed her. ‘We can get some more.’
But it seemed a bad omen somehow, to lose her hens just at Christmas, and Meg spent a great deal of time that evening before going to bed, polishing her Luckpenny and setting it in pride of place on her bedside table.
The day after Boxing Day, Connie took the first train home. Grange-over-Sands was less terrifying than vermin running wild in your back yard.
When bedtime came the next night Meg refused Tam’s appeal to retire early, despite the silent accusation in his eyes, and sat up for hours with her account books, adding up, making notes, drawing plans and thinking, thinking, thinking.
Storm Clouds Over Broombank Page 11
