by Gloria Cook
‘I swear the maid never breathed one single breath throughout all that,’ Tilda said, dabbing her damp eyes. ‘Dear Corporal Harmon. He’s got through some of the worst. We must pray that he’ll be spared right up till he can get back home for good. And by home I mean here. This is where his home is now.’
‘How long will that be for?’ Tom downed the last dregs from his tea mug, getting up tersely to start out for the fields.
‘Pardon?’ Lottie replied, kissing her letter again. Nothing would lessen her joy but she had now cottoned on to Tom’s grumpy mood, the accusation in his question. Oh, good, it seemed the simple idea of hers was starting to work.
‘How long will you and Nate be living here when he gets back?’
‘What?’ She made a puzzled, mocking face. ‘You’re thinking ahead, aren’t you?’
‘No. But you have, apparently.’ He pointed an accusing finger.
Perry was bewildered by this turn of conversation. He had been Tom and Lottie’s stepfather for thirteen years but he’d never really got used to their swiftly changing moods, although it had been with Will whom Lottie had usually sparred, not the normally peaceable Tom. He glanced, with a question in his handsome, dark eyes, at Emilia. She was playing with Paul, ignoring her older children, letting it all sweep over her. Tilda was spooning the last bit of porridge out of the cauldron for Edwin, both of them unperturbed, more used to the younger ones’ stroppy ways, so Perry supposed. Jill knew something though: she was looking everywhere but at Lottie and Tom.
‘Don’t you two start squabbling in here,’ he said sternly. ‘I don’t want Paul scared out of his wits again. I think I’ll take him outside with me, darling. He can watch me work from his pram.’
Everyone knew Lottie wouldn’t let the matter rest. One by one they drifted away until there was only she and Tom left in the kitchen. ‘Right,’ she went straight in on the attack, but not with antagonism. ‘What’s making you so crabby?’
He wanted to take her to task over insisting Jill leave the farm but saw how childish and silly he was being. It was really none of his business what Jill decided to do with her life. His explanation came out lame and to his embarrassment sounded pathetic and wet. ‘I just think it’s wrong to try to entice her away, that’s all. She might not really want to go. She should be able to make up her own mind.’
‘I’m sure she will, given the right incentive.’ Lottie threw Tom into perplexity by softening and smiling mysteriously. It wasn’t her plan to entice Jill away from here at all, just to make Tom realize how much he’d hate the idea if she did go. So far, so good. ‘Let’s get on, shall we?’
* * *
Shortly after Lottie had received her letter, the postman had cycled down Back Lane and popped an incongruous-looking, fat buff envelope through Tremore’s letterbox. It was addressed to Tristan and he slipped off to the library to read it. There was another letter inside the envelope, addressed to Faye in Ben’s handwriting. Tristan felt his insides freeze. Before he scanned the words that were exclusive to him he knew what they would say. With still no word from Ben, Tristan had been in touch with a former army colleague whom he knew to hold high office in Whitehall. He told him of his belief that Ben had accepted undercover work overseas. He knew that even if the colleague troubled to discover anything, the news couldn’t be passed on to him direct, but he might be able to say that Ben definitely had not been involved in such an undertaking.
Now Tristan was faced with the truth of Ben’s fate. Dear Tristan… made enquiries on your behalf… your brother’s whereabouts were hard to track down… chose not to be flown home… joined a shadow group… your brother was last seen alive towards the middle of May… sorry to have to inform you his body, with all the rest of his group’s, was discovered some days later… easily recognized because of his scar… be assured he was given a decent funeral… whereabouts of grave on file… you’ll be informed of exact location at more appropriate time. Ben operated and died courageously… strong possibility of posthumous medal… At the end of his training he requested this letter be passed on to his next of kin in the event of his death. My condolences… Yours sincerely…
Ben. Young Ben. Dead. Poor misguided, unhappy Ben. Well, he’d always wanted to serve his country. Pray God, he had found some contentment in laying down his life as he’d carried out his wish. Tristan stayed in solitary grief for five long minutes. Then, shrugging himself into control, he went to the door. ‘Faye! Have you got a minute?’
‘I was just going down to the shop to see if there’s anything worth queuing for, Uncle Tris.’ She appeared in a simple cotton frock, sandals and sun hat. I’ve got Simon and Pearl ready to come with me.’
‘I’m sure Agnes won’t mind watching them for a while. Come along in here, dear. I need to speak to you.’
‘Sit down,’ he said, trying to sound normal when she joined him.
She wasn’t fooled and advanced on him instead. ‘What is it? Have you heard from Father? About him?’
Tristan was fighting not to give way to emotion. The news seemed all the sadder as his brother and niece had been estranged at the time of Ben’s sudden departure. He was worried about Ben’s letter to her. What if he had felt he must make one last stab at sending her away? Dear God, that would be too awful. ‘You were right the second time, darling. You’re going to have to be very brave. I’m afraid I’ve received word today that Ben is dead. It happened some weeks ago. The news can’t be more precise because he was away – in France, I should think – doing vital war work. I’m sure you get the picture. You can read the letter, it will explain more.’ He wouldn’t keep her own letter from her. Whatever it said, he had no right to do that.
On slow, slow steps she walked to the desk. Pictured her father sitting behind it, ducking his head to avoid looking at her, cutting her off, clearly wishing her far away. She cleared her throat. ‘I had an idea he’d never come back. Despite everything, he was a very brave man, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes, he was.’
‘Yet in some ways he wasn’t. He couldn’t come to terms with losing Aunt Em. It was she he’d always loved. He had no room in his heart for anyone but her. It’s what made him so cold and pitiful.’
‘I’m so sorry, Faye.’
She faced Tristan with a faint, watery smile. ‘He would have liked Simon though, don’t you think?’
‘I’m sure he would have been very proud of Simon, and you too, darling, for being courageous enough not to lie about his parentage. Um, I hope this won’t be upsetting for you. There is another letter. For you. From Ben.’
‘Dad wrote to me? Let me have it?’ Her hands were reaching out. She was avid to know what might have been her father’s last thoughts about her.
Tristan took the letter from his jacket pocket. Faye seized it, tore it open, her hands trembling. Moments later she was flooded with tears. ‘Oh, my God…’
‘What?’ Tristan said anxiously, not knowing how to comfort her.
‘Let–let me read it to you. M–my dear Faye, I can’t go away without telling you plainly and simply that I love you. You are my dear girl, and I hope that one day I will get the chance to tell you so in person. Please forgive a lonely, bitter man for his foolish, stupid pride. I tried not to care about you, but I couldn’t win against the care and concern you showered on me. If I don’t make it back, darling Faye, I want you to know that I’ve arranged for you to be sole heir of Tremore and all my other concerns. Surely you must guess why I don’t include your brother in this. Emilia can give you more of an explanation, if she cares to. Ask her, will you, to forgive me too? Please think of me kindly sometimes. I hope I haven’t left it too late to make my peace with you. You are my beloved only child and my prayer for you is that you will find the sort of happiness that through my own fault, I’ve long denied myself. Take care of yourself, darling Faye. It ends, From the father who should have been devoted to you. Ben. He’s put kisses too, Uncle Tris. He loved me. At the end he really loved me. And that’s all tha
t matters, isn’t it?’
She was so like a pleading child that his heart went out to her. She cried in his arms and shamelessly he wept too. ‘I’m so glad Ben came round in the end. What will you say to Emilia?’
‘I’ll only ask about what my father’s letter suggests, that Alec wasn’t his son. From my brother’s resemblance to the Harveys and the name he was given, there can only be one explanation, that Uncle Alec fathered him.’
‘Good heavens,’ Tristan whispered. ‘I’d never guessed, perhaps I should have.’
‘I shall ask my mother to tell Alec the truth. From my experience, and Louisa’s, the cost of secrets are too high a price to pay. I think it’s what the last quarrel between Father and Aunt Em was about. The past should remain in the past, and then it will mean a new beginning for all of us, Uncle Tris. I’ll have what I want for Simon, he’ll know where he truly belongs. As soon as he’s old enough to understand, I’ll tell him what a brave man his grandfather was.’
Chapter Thirty
Jill stretched her arms, rubbed her neck and circled her shoulders, all aching after the morning spent humping heavy sacks of potatoes into the storage loft with Edwin and Mrs Em. Now she was about to start sawing logs for the woodshed.
After she’d been working up a sweat for an hour, Jonny, who was on leave in between skin grafts on his hand, came to her, wearing work clothes, his bandaged hand in a sling. ‘I’m here offering the service of my good hand to steady the logs for you, my sweet.’ The notes of his voice were jokey but also mournful. He looked lost.
‘You just take care not to get dirt in your dressings,’ she cautioned kindly.
‘You take care not to wear yourself out.’ He swept his eyes over her, drew in on her a few more decisive steps. ‘You look good, Jill, really good. Quite gorgeous. An outdoor life suits you.’
‘Thank you.’ She studied him. News of his injuries had made the local women fear for his looks. There had been no need. He was beautifully handsome in a different way, the slightly taut effect of his skin, the scarring on his cheeks, made him seem a battle-marred warrior. He had given up smoking, unable to bear a flame or heat near his face. Jill ignored her own need for a cigarette.
Jonny came nearer still, until she could feel his breath on her face. He was looking at her lips, then lingered over her eyes. ‘Why on earth hasn’t anyone snapped you up yet?’
‘Not everyone needs a man in their life, you know. Shall we get on?’
They worked steadily, chatting about general things, neither mentioning their painful experiences, their need to consider a new career. ‘I can see why the family value you so much. You never poke your nose in anywhere,’ he said, as they perched on the woodshed steps to eat the rock buns and drink the tea Tilda brought them mid-afternoon. ‘If you’re wondering what I’ll do next, I’m going to be a flying instructor in the Force. The surgeon is confident I’ll be able to manage that. I was depressed for a while, but I’m lucky to be alive. I’m going to make my life count. I owe that to all those who died. And I’ve got Louisa now.’
‘I’m pleased you’re looking up, Jonny.’
‘Can I ask you something? Is everything the same between you and Tom? Or am I imagining you don’t get along as well as you used to?’
‘It’s something and nothing, as my grandmother used to say.’ She didn’t want to talk about Tom. The same day they’d exchanged cross words he’d quickly returned to his usual considerate self, but he hadn’t apologized or explained his moments of pique and she was sad and bewildered that there was a barrier, something she couldn’t define, between them. Gradually, they were seeking less and less of each other’s company. Lottie had said sorry, that it was her fault. Jill couldn’t see how. Tom alone was at fault. He had displayed superiority – she would remember her place where he was concerned.
Jonny put his face confidentially close to hers. ‘I thought you and Tom…’
‘What?’
He gave her one of his stunning smiles. ‘You know… Louisa wasn’t right for him, but you… it’s a pity. Still, it gives us other chaps a chance.’
A romance with Tom? She certainly didn’t want to think about that. Jonny was getting closer to her again. She didn’t draw back from him. She knew he wanted to kiss her. She didn’t mind if he did. ‘Have you got anyone?’
‘Not someone permanent.’ His eyes fell on her lips.
‘The way you like things.’ He was the first man she had ever flirted with. It was a great experience.
He brought his face, his lips, that tiny last bit closer. His eyes were closed as he slid his good arm around her waist and sealed her against him. Jill met his kiss with gentleness, afraid she might hurt him. He was gentle too. Then he took his lips away from hers and smiled into her eyes. ‘Mmm. You really are something, Jill.’
His next kiss was immediate. It was wonderful. She kissed him with eagerness, enjoying every superb sensation. He got carried away. ‘Let’s slip inside the woodshed.’
For a moment she considered it. It wasn’t what she wanted. ‘I don’t think so, Jonny.’
‘No? That’s a pity.’ He placed cajoling pecks along her lips. ‘Can’t I change your mind?’
‘It’s not the right thing. I mean you’re not the right man…’
Jonny released her. ‘Oh, got someone else in mind. I understand. I can’t compete with that. Good luck. He’s a lucky bloke. Going to tell me who he is?’
She shook her head. It rocked her to suddenly be aware who it was. She’d never tell anyone who he was. He wouldn’t be interested in her anyway. She really would have to leave here when Lottie got her own place. ‘We mustn’t stay sitting here. Ah, here’s Tilda come for the mugs.’
Tilda came hurrying, a little red-faced. ‘Jill! A gentleman’s turned up asking for you, my handsome. Says he come up from Falmouth.’
‘A gentleman?’ Aiming an uncertain glance at Jonny, Jill got to her feet. It could be Ronnie. She didn’t know how she’d feel if she was faced with him now. ‘Is he in uniform?’
‘No,’ Tilda tutted herself. ‘’Tisn’t like me to forget to ask a caller’s name. He’s middle-aged. An office worker by the look of him. A quiet looking man. Come to think of it he’s got the same fair looks as you about him.’
‘Crumbs. Sounds like Uncle Stanley. It can’t be anyone else. I wonder what he’s doing here.’ Jill rubbed her hands down over her dungarees. She was aware of her unkempt state in the heat.
‘You’ll find out if you run along inside and see him.’ Tilda flapped her apron at her. She was strict on politeness and Jill was keeping her uncle, an elder, waiting. ‘I’ve shown him into the sitting room. I’ll tell him you’re cleaning up. I can stretch the tea ration to a tray for you.’
Jill’s only guess for her uncle’s presence was that her aunt or one of her cousins, who were too young for call-up, were ill. As quickly as she could, she made herself presentable, changing her dungarees for clean breeches. She found her uncle standing about awkwardly, turning his trilby hat in his hands. ‘Hello, Uncle Stanley. It’s nice to see you.’ She stood back from him. They had never been on cheek-kissing terms, which was more down to natural reticence on both their parts than aloofness.
‘Hello, Jill. It’s a very nice place here.’ Stanley Laity was average of height, stocky and smart in a sports jacket and gleaming white shirt and dark tie. ‘You must be wondering why I’ve come to see you, and not before time, I might add.’ He blushed, as with shame. ‘I should have made sure you’d settled in all right. I’m glad to see the housekeeper seems friendly. I must say I’ve never seen you looking so well. Everything is all right with you, I take it?’
‘I couldn’t wish to be with better people,’ Jill said. It would have been an absolutely true statement until a few minutes ago. ‘It’s all right for us to sit down. If Mrs Bosweld, the owner, was here she’d insist on it. Is anything wrong, Uncle?’
‘Not at home, m’dear. I’ve come about the young man next door. Ronald Trenear.’
Jill sat down woodenly in an armchair. This could only be bad news about Ronnie. ‘Go on,’ she whispered.
Stanley Laity stayed on his feet, treading about gawkily in his well-polished shoes. ‘I can see you can guess what’s coming. Mrs Trenear had already told us the tragic news about Ronald, he was killed on the eleventh of July. She came round to us last night to tell us she’d received some details from the top dogs.’ Jill wrung her hands together, growing ever more misty-eyed. ‘Seems he was among over three hundred and thirty men and officers, including the CO, of his battalion killed or wounded while taking a strategic place, a hill near a place called Caen, in Normandy. It’s now known as Cornwall Hill, so you can tell how bravely they all fought. Ronald particularly acquitted himself, the DCLI are very proud of him. Your aunty and I always knew you and the young man had been close, Jill, and by right we should have passed on the news of his death to you before. It was very thoughtless of us and I apologize. But when Mrs Trenear went on to admit last night that you and her boy had actually been engaged, that he’d selfishly broken it off, well, I said to your aunty there and then that I must go to you in person and tell you all of it.’
