by Gloria Cook
She heard a deep step out in the hall. She sucked in her breath. A plethora of emotions surged through her. Curiosity. Indignation. Anger. Hurt and rejection were the strongest. Although none of these were her real reason for being here, she had a desperate need for an explanation as to why she and her brother had been totally forgotten by the owner of this grand house. She wanted to smack this man’s face, but also to hear him say he was sorry and to beg her for forgiveness. She ached to have him hold out his arms to her and offer all the paternal love she had missed out on.
On the other side of the door, Ben was hardly breathing. It was wrong of him, but although his daughter was the one person in the world he should be closest to, she was the last one he wanted to see. He had loved her once, but not greatly. He had wanted a son, to inherit his achievements and fortune. If he’d got that, then perhaps he’d have felt more for the fluffy, tidy little thing who’d lacked charm and spirit. Why had she come? What did she want from him? It could only be to bring bad news – which he wouldn’t be interested in – or to take issue with him. Damn the girl! Damn himself. Why couldn’t he have loved her? Why had he been fated to love only one person? Emilia. Damn her most of all! He touched his injured eye. He had blamed her all those years ago in their youth for blinding him. His bitterness had destroyed the love she’d had for him. He’d been unable to stand the fact that shortly afterwards she had fallen in love and married Alec. And after his death, Perry Bosweld. He had taken refuge in hating her. He couldn’t stop and it was gradually destroying him. Dear God, don’t let Faye see that in him!
Swallowing the painful lump in his throat, he went into the drawing room. And stood stock still. This young woman with the figure of a fashion model, wearing a tailored jersey dress and open-toe slingbacks, her ebony hair finished in kiss-curls in front of her ears, was Faye? His daughter? Agnes might have recognized her but he as sure as hell didn’t. Brooke, his ex-wife, was attractive but neat and homely. This stranger was the picture of sophistication.
Narrowing his good eye, he said guardedly, ‘I’m Ben Harvey.’
Faye felt she had been sliced through, as if her heart had been grated. Her father hadn’t changed a bit. He was a fine sight. Many men of his age thickened round the middle and their hair thinned, but he was still in his prime, handsome and magnificent. She could have borne this meeting better if he had deteriorated in stature. Worst of all, he was as cool towards her as on the last occasion he’d seen her. ‘Hello, sir.’ Her accent was educated with a soft hint of American.
‘Are you really…?’
She tilted her chin, a confident pose yet more than that, and Ben saw a touch of his own arrogance in her. He shrugged, unusually lost. He had been prepared to ward off any sentimental feelings but it wasn’t necessary. Faye was a stranger to him. It made him realize that all he had in the world was his elder brother, Tristan. Never before had he felt so lonely. And afraid. Fear was new to him. Insecurity had suddenly been bred in him. ‘Well. Faye. This is…’
‘An unwelcome surprise?’
‘I… don’t know what to say.’ It was rare for Ben to have to clutch at composure. ‘Um, sit down. I’ll ring for Agnes to bring some tea.’
Keeping her eyes on him, Faye lowered herself into a leather armchair near the tall windows. ‘It was good to see Agnes again. She remembered my favourite childhood drink, raspberry and elderberry cordial.’
Ben did not miss the accusation in her words. He made to sit but was too restless, and he paced the length of the room, staying at a distance. Then he frowned. ‘How did you get here? What in God’s name made you undertake the treacherous journey across the Atlantic? What was your mother thinking of, allowing you to compromise your safety? She’s well, is she? Brooke?’
‘Mom’s fine. She married again, ten years ago. I’ve got two half-siblings.’
‘Mom?’ Ben pulled a face.
‘A long time ago I slipped out of calling her Mummy.’ Faye glanced down, then fastened her eyes back on him with a sort of pleading. ‘I’m sorry to have just arrived unannounced. I should have written first. Neither Mom or I have done anything foolhardy. I was actually here in the country before the war broke out, at boarding school in south London, training for the ballet. The school was evacuated to Scotland. It wasn’t considered safe for me to get a passage home.’
His stare was full of incredulity. She had been close in location to him for years. If she had written to him he wouldn’t have replied. She must have known that. Yet here she was. In person. It showed she had courage.
Faye was having trouble keeping control. He was furious with her. Hating her being here. Oh, what had compelled her to behave so irrationally? Yet she’d had to come. And why shouldn’t she? This man owed her a hell of a lot. Deep down, she would like to build up a relationship with him, but if that wasn’t possible, then she’d use the heartless brute.
Ben couldn’t put his thoughts together, so again he shrugged. He scratched his tumbling black hair. Then reached for his cigarettes. ‘I haven’t a clue what to say. I take it you’ve left the boarding school, that you’re now a professional dancer?’
‘I’m afraid not. I grew too tall, and to be honest I wasn’t destined to scale the heights for a company like the Royal Ballet. I’ve been employed as a secretary for a Highland estate for the last couple of years, but… a short while ago the laird considered there wasn’t enough work there to justify my wages.’ She fumbled with her skirt, waited for him to respond.
‘So what do you intend to do now? Enlist in one of the services?’ It was unthinkable to Ben that an able-bodied nineteen-year-old would not be willing to serve the country.
Faye blushed. ‘I’d like to do something eventually but first I need a place to settle.’
‘So you thought you’d look me up? Why now? Do you need money?’
Faye flew to her feet. ‘I didn’t come here for a handout! I came here because you’re my father. It took a lot of nerve to come here after so many years. I was hoping you’d at least be curious to see me again.’
Ben looked down at the smoking effects in his hands. Then at her. How could he meet her eyes and feel nothing? ‘Yes, I should be, shouldn’t I? Look, you’ve caught me totally unawares. You’re welcome to stay.’ He nearly added, ‘I suppose,’ but managed to grind out, ‘Of course. Use your old room, if you like. I’m afraid there’s nothing of yours left there. Look, Faye, I know I’m being rotten, but I can’t come to terms with you being here. I was about to leave to work on my farm. We’ll talk later, if that’s what you want. If you’re still here.’ He hoped with all his strength she wouldn’t be.
She stared at him. How could he be so cold? Over the years her mother had warned her that she would never be accepted by him. ‘Aren’t you going to ask about Alec?’
The arctic storm that invaded Ben’s guts nearly made him sick. He must have looked ferocious because Faye gasped as if she had received a physical blow. While cursing her for mentioning the boy’s name, he checked himself. Pride, and pride alone, prevented him for blurting out what was on his lips. ‘Well, how is he?’
‘Mom sent me some photos last month.’ She twisted her mouth to the side. ‘I’ll show them to you later.’
At the door, because he needed to know, Ben asked, ‘How long are you thinking of staying?’ He softened it. ‘I mean, how long before you seek a recruitment office?’
She couldn’t join up. She had a responsibility. She replied with equally cold meaning, ‘I might not be bothering you for long, sir.’
With a brisk nod, he was gone.
Faye had told herself if she got an icy reception she wouldn’t weep. But she did. Pools of hot, stinging tears. Ben Harvey was her father. And Alec’s. Yet he acted as if he loathed them both. Why was her father so disconnected from her? The reasons her mother had given for leaving and divorcing him were that he was a contentious snob, that he had always been jealous of his eldest brother, coveting the position of squire for himself. And that he had overloo
ked her as his wife and had yearned for another woman. Whoever that woman had been, her father had not used his freedom to marry her. But those reasons all together were not good enough excuses for him being such an unloving father. And right now she could do with a caring and concerned parent.
‘You’re a complicated person, Ben Harvey,’ she said, drying her eyes. ‘That’s something we have in common. It’s why, like you, I’ve made a mess of my life. I don’t care what’s behind all your bitterness. I won’t let you force me to leave here.’
Chapter Four
Was there any skin left on her hands without a blister? Jill felt along each finger and thumb, then scrutinized both sore, stinging palms. Her knuckles were raw and bruised. The scratch on her wrist seemed insignificant now. It seemed hours, a lifetime ago, since the cat had attacked her. Thistles had become her new enemy as she’d slogged away in the cornfield, endlessly turning stooks – made up of eight heavy sheaves – inside out to dry in preparation for rick-making. She’d kept her sleeves buttoned down but stalks had scratched paths up to her elbows and chaff had rubbed inside her collar and even her underwear. Her ankles too were tender and her nose and throat felt choked with dust. The work had been hard during her few weeks of training, but not undertaken at anything like Lottie’s furious pace.
She and Lottie and the rest of the workforce, including Mrs Em and Edwin Rowse – Lottie’s grandfather – and a few villagers, were now moving on to the next field, where Tom was busy with the horses and cutter and binder. Fresh sheaves were thrown out of the machine and new stooks had to be formed. Although her back and limbs were aching, Jill managed to keep up with Lottie, labouring on without pause or complaint. While the others chatted and sometimes laughed and joked, she concentrated, storing up each experience inside her head to word in the letter she would write to Ronnie tonight, particularly the wildlife she saw. Harvest mice scuttling away from the machinery, a kestrel hovering overhead for the easy, exposed prey, and as they were near the stream that emerged from the woods, there had been a grass snake skulking through the long grass.
‘I’ve never met anyone as quiet as you.’ Lottie passed her a mug of tea during the afternoon break. ‘Rub some soil well into your hands, it will harden them up. Getting worn out?’
‘Just a little,’ she replied, ignoring her woes. The first sip of tea was hard to swallow but tasted like something sent from heaven.
Lottie expertly squashed a stinging winged insect on the back of her hand with a slap from the other. ‘When we finish up here we’ll bring in the herd for milking. Then your first day will be over. What do you think of it then? Of us?’
Jill resisted the desire to close her eyes and doze. ‘It hasn’t been too bad. And you’ve all been very patient with me. Your granddad’s a sweetie. I’m really looking forward to the bath Mrs Em’s promised I can take, and then my bed.’
‘Granddad would be amused at that description of him.’ Lottie looked fondly at Edwin Rowse. Short and work- weathered, with full side whiskers, he had been content to hand over his managerial responsibilities to Tom a couple of years ago. Firstly Ford Farm’s cowman, he’d lived in a tied cottage in the village and had moved into the farmhouse, with his late wife, when Emilia, formerly the dairymaid, had married the squire. Lottie was proud of the two differing branches of her ancestry. With so many forebears in the churchyard, a short distance along the lanes, and the fact that she, like her two brothers, would inherit a third of the farm, she had a strong sense of belonging, of continuity. Something, she sensed, that Jill did not.
In the early evening, in the milking shed, copying the encouraging noises Lottie had made to the herd along the lane from pasture, Jill sought to head the cows into the stalls.
Midge Roach, the wrinkled, brown-skinned cowman, was nearby, chaining up a cow. ‘You don’t need to do that, maid. They’ll go straight in on their own.’
Jill didn’t hear him above the mooing and lowing. She turned and was frightened to be suddenly faced with a big, heavy, brown creature that looked as if it was about to trample her underfoot. She just managed to escape her feet being trodden on, then lost her balance and collided with someone. ‘Oh! Sorry.’
‘Don’t worry, you’re doing fine,’ Tom said. ‘Come with me and help me measure out the feed.’
‘All right, but first I’ll just get this beast in.’ She edged round the cow and pushed on its rump in the hope of guiding it into the next empty stall. But it stubbornly refused, heading for the stall beside it. ‘No, no! In there, silly!’
A hand dragged her away. It was Lottie. ‘That’s Briar. She won’t go into any stall but her own. None of them will. See above? Their names are painted in. Didn’t they teach you that at training? Now move back so Buttercup can go through. Well, don’t just stand about gawping, little mouse.’ It was just one of the nicknames Lottie had taken to calling her. ‘Buttercup’s not the most patient creature. You’ll come a cropper in a minute and you’re slowing us up. Pappa’s insisting Mum takes a rest, so you’re taking her place.’
‘Sorry.’ Jill was so weary she could hardly catch her breath.
‘You’ve been saying sorry all day and there’s no need. Come on. We’ll wash the udders. Tom and Midge will put on the machines. Granddad will write in the yields and hump the churns.’
Jill had been surprised that morning to see the herd wasn’t hand-milked, but Mrs Em had explained that all the larger farms had machinery. She had watched while the many shiny metal parts had been put together and attached to the teats. It had seemed a complicated procedure and she was nervous she’d make a hash of it when she was called on to do it. Long before the process of dismantling and sterilizing the machinery was over, of hand-stripping each cow’s udder to ensure the last drop of milk was gained, and the herd was unchained and led out again by Midge and Edwin, Jill was almost sleeping on her feet.
‘Right. Now to wash down.’ She heard Tom’s voice as if from a distance. She felt his hand on the small of her back. ‘You all right, Jill?’
‘What? Oh, just a bit tired, that’s all.’
‘This won’t take long. I’ll fetch you a brush. Just follow what I do. Lottie will use the hose.’
Follow him? With every muscle in her body screaming at breaking point, it was impossible to keep up with his expert pace, of reaching up and reaching down, of scouring every corner, of brushing the waste into the channel at the back of the stalls, where it would be loaded into a wheelbarrow to be taken away to the dung heap. And all the while hopping out of the way as Lottie sprayed. Jill was overcome by a wave of dizziness. Next instant she screamed as she was hit by a jet of cold water.
Shortly afterwards, sodden and weak, she was being supported on either side through the yards by the laughing brother and sister. ‘I’m so sorry, Jill,’ Lottie said, chuckling. ‘But you looked so funny. It was hysterical.’
‘You’re game, I’ll give you that, Jill,’ Tom said, sliding his arm firmly round her waist. ‘You put in every effort today.’
‘Do you think Mrs Em is pleased with me?’ Jill was willing her eyes to stay open, holding back a groan as her body, relaxing at last, throbbed all over in complaint.
‘We all are,’ Lottie said. ‘I must admit I had my doubts. You seemed so delicate. But you were soon pulling the stooks together as if you’d been doing it all your life.’
Jill wished Ronnie was here to listen to this. She’d love to see him right now. He’d be so proud. They’d enjoy discussing every detail of her first day here. Ronnie was a mathematics scholar. He had a fine methodical mind. He’d make mental lists of every good point and every point that could be improved on, and with a little prayer, soothe her over anything that couldn’t be changed but simply endured. That way he’d give her strength. And in his own doting way he’d smile at her, occasionally reaching for her hand. He’d say she looked pretty in her work clothes, even though she didn’t. At the end, as with all of their meetings – secret meetings, for Ronnie insisted their love stay a se
cret until he’d graduated from university – he would kiss her. Kiss her softly. Ronnie was gentle and not at all forward. She wished now she’d worn her engagement ring on arrival here, but she was too used to keeping everything about Ronnie to herself.
She copied Lottie and Tom and pulled off her boots outside the back kitchen door. Her limbs trembling uncomfortably, she leaned against the wall and joined them for a cigarette. ‘My grandmother was so old-fashioned she’d have had a fit if she could have seen me now.’ She’d nearly had a fit herself when Lottie had offered her a smoke during the morning crib break.
‘Take it, Miss Prim.’ Lottie had pushed a Woodbine between her fingers. ‘Everybody smokes these days. My mum can’t see us. Anyway, why worry about anything when the future’s so uncertain?’
‘We are winning the war.’ Jill thought it unpatriotic to believe otherwise. After four years of hostilities, many countries under German and Italian control had been retaken and Allied troops now occupied the Axis stronghold in the Mediterranean. She had stared at the cigarette with equal amounts of excitement and distaste. And on each of the first three puffs she’d dared take she’d coughed like a bronchitic.
