She squinted up at him as he deftly unhooked a bine and laid it across Lillian’s bin. Ignoring Flo’s dig in the ribs, she moved slightly closer and met his eyes. The green tunnel receded and there were only the two of them in the world as she received the promise in the shared look of complicity. She nodded, imperceptibly, she hoped, and stepped back to let him move on.
The sun grew hot on her head as the morning progressed and her hands became inured once more to the stinging of the bines as they dried out.
‘Cor, it’s hot this year.’ Aunt Connie struggled out of the old army greatcoat that she habitually wore down hopping. ‘We ain’t had no rain, yet, neither.’
‘Good.’ Lillian rubbed a hand across a sweating brow. ‘Better tally.’
‘Just as well.’ Connie nodded at Hetty. ‘Now Warburton’s got his claws into our Het.’
‘Auntie, he hasn’t. Why should you think that?’
‘He fancies you, duck.’ Connie was matter of fact. ‘And we’ve told you what happens then. If you give in to him, fine – but if you won’t have none of him – well, pity for you.’
‘Is he measuring us heavy, then?’ Hetty stopped picking, an unpleasant sensation starting somewhere under her waistband and spreading down her legs. It was how she used to feel if she got called out in front of the class at school, desperately trying to think of what she’d done wrong.
Lillian shot her a quick look. ‘Don’t you worry about it, Het. He’ll soon see he can’t blackmail us. I’m goin’ to report him to Mr Carpenter.’
‘Shall I do that for you, Mrs F?’ said Flo.
‘No, dear. It’s our concern. You got plenty of excuses to get up there and see Mr Carpenter, anyhow.’
Flo giggled and then caught sight of Hetty’s stricken face.
‘Cheer up, Het. Don’t you worry about it.’
Hetty felt the sweat prickle under her arms and took a deep breath to subdue the panicky beating of her heart. She tried to smile. ‘All right.’
The day wore on. The whistle blew at half past twelve and they sank gratefully to the floor round the bin. Hetty drank some of the cold tea which always made her wince and tried to eat a slice of bread, but her churning stomach threatened to give it straight back to her.
Flo edged over and sat beside her.
‘What is it, Het? You worried about Warburton?’
Hetty gave her a quick sideways smile. ‘A bit.’
‘Has he found out?’ Flo’s voice was hardly above a breath.
‘I don’t know.’ Hetty pushed down a renewed surge of panic. ‘How could he?’
Flo shook her head.
‘I know Mum said it wasn’t your business – but could you ask Carpenter? … I mean –’
‘Ask him what? I can’t ask him if Warburton knows about you and Mr Gregory – that’d be daft. Besides, I’m not quite on those terms with him.’
‘Come on. Flo. He really likes you.’
Hetty was surprised to see her friend blush. ‘Does he?’ She pleated the front of her apron.
‘You really like him, don’t you?’
Flo looked into the distance. ‘He’s different, Het. Not like the boys at home. He makes me feel – I dunno – special.’
Hetty sighed. ‘I know.’
Flo brought her gaze back to Hetty. ‘Yeah. You would.’
During the afternoon Cousin Bet and Millie went off to buy sweets from the lolly man and the sun moved round so that Lillian’s bin was in the shade. At half past four, the whistle blew again and the shout ‘Pull no more bines,’ echoed up and down the green tunnels. Hetty pushed the box back to the huts on the return journey and went to fetch water while Lillian and Connie lit fires. Flo met her at the water pipe.
‘Going for a walk, then, Het?’
‘Yeah. You coming?’
‘Yeah. See you in a minute.’
Hetty helped wash Millie down in the enamel bath and get the beds ready, then wandered off to the end of the row of huts to meet Flo. Without speaking, they set off across the common away from the Manor. The path forked and Flo turned right.
‘See you later, then,’ she said. ‘No more’n an hour, mind.’
Hetty shook her head and started up the left-hand fork, which led down the stream to the lake and the ruined chapel. Anticipation bubbled under her ribcage as she picked her way along the dry, rutted track towards the rusted iron gates that hung drunkenly in their tall, crumbling gateposts. Past the dark, forbidding yew trees, over the moss-covered gravestones that stood at improbable angles, as though the dead were trying to raise them.
He turned from contemplation of the lake, ruffled now by an errant breeze, reflecting broken images of approaching grey clouds. They stood for a moment, staring at one another across the encroaching undergrowth, then Hetty stumbled forward, caught her foot in a trailing bramble and pitched into his waiting arms. She felt his warm breath on her forehead and the immediate hardening of his body that she had come to expect, before she raised her mouth to his.
Their kisses were becoming more explicit, mirroring the desires of their bodies, and he rolled her over until she lay underneath him, the breath squeezing out of her body.
‘Gregory,’ she gasped, as his hand searched vainly for the buttons on her dress. ‘Stop. We can’t.’
Hetty didn’t know what it was that they couldn’t do, just that since the morning’s revelations about Warburton, she shouldn’t be here, and the feelings that had sprung into life during the past week’s meetings with Gregory were quite definitely not appropriate.
He hesitated, raising the thin, intense face above her and fixing her with ice blue eyes. ‘Why?’
Hetty struggled from underneath him and raised herself on one elbow. ‘Warburton has got it in for me. He might know about us.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Of course it matters. You know what your folks’d say if they knew you was meeting me.’
‘Oh, Hetty. Do you think I’d care?’
‘Of course you would. And my folks’d say the same. We don’t mix – your folks and mine. Think what the home-dwellers say about us – even if you know it isn’t true.’
Gregory sat up and clasped his hands loosely round his knees. But for the well-bred, intelligent face, he could have been any other farm worker, in his corduroys tied round with string, the worn jacket and the cap that lay on the ground beside him. Hetty experienced a sudden rush of emotion and knew without a doubt that she loved him.
‘Hetty,’ he began, ‘I’ve loved you since I saw you last year. I didn’t know I loved you – just that you did something to me that I had never felt before. Now I know I love you, and I don’t care about Warburton, my family or yours. I just know we’ve got to be together.’
‘They won’t let us, Greg,’ Hetty whispered. ‘And Warburton’ll do anything to get back at me.’
‘Why?’ Gregory turned and looked at her. ‘Why should he?’
‘They say he fancies me.’ Hetty was bright pink with embarrassment, but Gregory shouted with laughter.
‘Well, I don’t blame him,’ he said, ‘so do I.’
‘But I don’t like him, see. And he knows it, so he’s got a down on us – me and my folks. He’s measuring our bins heavy. And he’ll look for any excuse to report us.’
Gregory frowned. ‘Measuring heavy? What do you mean?’
‘He pushes the hops down in the bin – hard. Then when he puts his stick in it don’t measure as much, so we have to pick more to get our money.’
‘That isn’t right.’ Two pink spots appeared on Gregory’s thin cheeks.
‘No. He says he’ll measure light for some women – if they’ll – well –’ Hetty took a deep breath, ‘If they’ll – you know.’
Gregory’s eyes narrowed. ‘I can guess. Does Frank Carpenter know this?’
Hetty shrugged. ‘He’s a good bloke. I don’t suppose so.’
‘We’ve never had trouble with our pickers. Father knows all of them, as well as Frank Carpente
r.’
Hetty nodded. ‘We hear all sorts of stories from other families at home, who go to the bigger farms.’
‘So why is Warburton behaving like this? I’ll get him turned off.’
‘Oh, Greg, don’t.’ Hetty knelt up in a panic. ‘How would you say you found out? It’d all come out – and I couldn’t bear it.’
His face softened. ‘All right, my beauty, I won’t.’ He lifted a long finger and traced the curve of her cheek. Hetty gasped and felt her breasts tighten underneath the cotton dress. She saw his eyes drop to them and watched as he turned towards her and took her hand, guiding it down his body. Excitement built quickly inside her and she collapsed beside him, her breath coming fast.
‘Hetty –’ he groaned as he freed himself from the constraints of corduroy and leather, his hands returning to explore Hetty’s newly exposed flesh, ‘we can’t give this up.’
Then he was inside her and Hetty was beyond reply, the sensations in her body demanding all her attention as something pulled tighter and tighter inside her, aching to be set free. And then it was. Her eyes widened in shock and surprise before the sensations exploded again and a sense of unimaginable urgency took over, until they both came to a shuddering, juddering stop.
Hetty became aware of other things slowly, one by one. First, Greg’s weight on her, second, the clouds scudding fast across a dull sky, then the top branches of the yew trees waving frantically in the wind and, last, something uncomfortable digging into her back. She tried to move away from it.
‘Hetty.’ Greg lifted a desolate face. ‘I’m sorry, Hetty. I didn’t mean that to happen.’
Hetty was surprised. How could he have not meant it to happen? He did it – he started it – she was only a willing accomplice.
‘Didn’t you like it?’ she asked ingenuously.
Gregory collapsed on her, laughing ruefully. ‘Of course I liked it. Did you?’
‘It was wonderful,’ Hetty breathed. ‘That must be what all the other girls talk about. No wonder they get so excited.’
‘Do they talk about it?’ Greg lifted his face again.
‘At work, sometimes. I didn’t know what they were talking about. I suppose this is it.’
‘Don’t talk about this, will you, Hetty?’ Greg’s voice was urgent. ‘This is ours. It’s special and it belongs only to us.’
Hetty shook her head. ‘I couldn’t,’ she said.
A drop of rain fell on her nose. ‘Oh, Greg. I must get back. I told Flo I’d only be an hour.’
He rolled off, leaving her uncomfortably sticky. ‘Will she be waiting for you?’ He turned away while she pulled on knickers and he tidied himself up.
‘Yes – by the fork in the road. She’s been up to Carpenter’s.’
‘She won’t say anything?’
Hetty shook her head again and stood up, brushing herself down. A movement beyond the yew trees caught her eye and she grabbed Gregory’s arm.
‘Someone’s there, Greg!’
He turned round, but nothing could be seen but thick dark trunks and sombre green leaves rustling above ancient gravestones.
‘There was – I swear. Oh, God – someone’s seen us.’
Gregory took her into his arms. ‘No, they haven’t. Look, I’ll wait here until you’ve gone past the gates. I’ll see if there’s anyone there.’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Tomorrow?’
‘If I can.’ Hetty hid her face in his shoulder, then turned and ran, scrambling through the brambles and over the gravestones, the wind whipping at her thin cotton dress.
Chapter Nineteen
THE SILENCE AT THE end of the scene said it all, thought Libby. Then Emma, as always slightly embarrassed, brushed down her jeans and came to the front of the stage without looking at her Gregory.
‘All right, Libby?’ she called into the dark.
‘Very good, Em. Both of you. Well done.’ She clapped her hands for attention. ‘We’ll call a halt tonight and carry on where we left off tomorrow. How many of you said you could be here? I’m sorry to upset your Saturday.’
After some initial resistance born of an atavistic reluctance to have fun in the presence of death, the traditional visit to the pub was approved. Fran trailed along behind Libby, who managed to get out of the building ahead of Ben and Peter.
‘Are they cross?’
‘Ben and Pete? I don’t think so. I still can’t make them out. I know Pete’s worried about his brother and the murder, but I don’t know …’
‘Peter’s brother’s James, right?’
Libby nodded and led the way into the pub.
‘And Paula trapped him?’
‘You wouldn’t think it was possible in this day and age, would you?’
Fran shrugged. ‘People don’t change.’
They were settled in a corner with their drinks when Ben, Peter and Harry joined them.
‘So, Fran, did you get anything from that?’ asked Peter, sitting down on the arm of Libby’s chair.
Fran glanced at Libby. ‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ she said, ‘or what you what you want me to reply.’
‘Well,’ said Peter, waving an airy hand, ‘feelings. Whatever.’
Fran’s lips tightened and Libby hurried into the breach. ‘There’s no need to be rude, Pete.’
Peter looked quickly at Harry and away again. ‘Sorry.’
‘What did you think of the play, Fran?’ asked Ben.
Fran repeated what she’d said to Libby. ‘And I thought the girl who played Flo’s character –’
‘Lizzie,’ put in Libby.
‘Lizzie, then, will be really good.’
Peter smirked. ‘I said she should have had it in the first place. Paula was far too old.’
A nasty little silence fell. ‘Well, you know what I mean.’ He sighed. ‘Sorry.’
‘We can’t keep not saying things just because they’re about Paula,’ said Ben, ‘life hasn’t changed completely.’
‘Not for you, maybe,’ muttered Harry, which earned him a look from Peter. Libby gave them an anxious glance.
‘Ben’s right,’ she said, ‘your opinion of Paula won’t change just because she’s dead. It won’t matter to her now.’
‘Anyway, I thought it was good,’ said Fran. ‘As I’ve said, better than I expected.’
Seeing Peter’s expression, Libby leapt hastily into the breach. ‘And that’s good from a professional,’ she said.
Fran glared at her and Libby blushed. The whole conversation was littered with trip-wires.
‘I didn’t know that,’ said Ben, looking interested.
‘I don’t talk about it. I was young.’
‘Right.’ Harry was looking at her speculatively.
With rare intuition, Libby knew what he was thinking. ‘And the psychic ability is so not a theatrical trick, Harry.’
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘Shut up,’ said Peter suddenly, ‘look who’s come in.’
They all turned.
‘Is that David?’ whispered Libby.
‘Sure is. He looks bloody awful.’ Ben pushed back his chair.
‘So would you if you’d had to attend a murder victim,’ said Harry.
‘That was yesterday,’ said Peter, and turned to Fran. ‘David is our local GP and Ben’s brother-in-law.’
Fran didn’t answer, but stared at the back of David’s head.
Ben had reached the bar and put an arm round David’s shoulders. Libby watched as he gave a tired smile and ran a big hand through his greying bush of hair. His jacket, as usual, looked rumpled and his tie was askew under the open collar of his shirt.
‘Every inch the country doctor, isn’t he?’ said Libby, watching Fran’s face.
‘Is he genuine?’ said Fran under her breath.
‘Genuine? What on earth do you mean? He’s a bloody doctor, you don’t get much more genuine than that.’
Fran looked back at her, her cheeks slightly pink. ‘Sorry. I don’t really know what I mea
nt. He just looks almost too good to be true – as you said, every inch a country doctor.’
‘Central casting?’ Libby was amused. ‘Yes, he is. All bluff good nature, slightly shy, absent-minded and very kind.’
‘Quite a paragon, then,’ said Fran.
‘You’re not convinced,’ Libby stated.
‘Of course I am – you know him, I don’t.’
‘But you can feel something?’ Libby persisted.
Fran’s face took on its regular expression of discomfort. ‘Oh, hell, I hate this. Everything I say is open to misinterpretation.’
Ben and David appeared at the table, David with a pint of bitter in one hand and a pipe in the other. Fran and Libby exchanged glances.
‘He needs cheering up, folks,’ said Ben. ‘Have my chair, David.’
‘Hello, David,’ said Libby. ‘How’s Susan?’
‘Oh, you know,’ grunted David, squashing into Ben’s chair. ‘Doesn’t much like this business.’
‘Which business?’ asked Harry.
David looked startled. ‘The murder. Of that girl. You all knew her.’
‘It’s OK, David,’ said Peter, leaning forward, ‘we know what you mean. We’ve just had a bit of trouble at the theatre as well.’
‘Oh? The theatre?’
Ben looked exasperated. ‘Yes, Dave, the theatre. I converted it, remember?’
‘Oh, ah. Of course I remember. Millie didn’t like it.’ He looked at Fran as if suddenly registering her presence.
‘This is my friend Fran Castle, David,’ said Libby. ‘Fran, this is David Dedham.’
Fran leant forward and held out her hand. ‘How do you do?’ she said politely.
David shook her hand and nodded. ‘Fine. Nice to meet you. Staying with Libby, are you? Good. Not a nice time to be on your own.’ He thought for a moment. ‘For a woman.’
Libby cleared her throat. ‘No, David. I agree.’ She didn’t look at Ben or Fran. ‘I think Peter feels the same about his mum.’
Murder in Steeple Martin - Libby Sarjeant Murder Mystery series Page 16
