From A Distance

by Gloria Cook

  Brooke saw the yearning interchange, the signs of mutual love and burning affection. She played the perfect hostess but never had she been more anxious to get an evening over with. She had made love with Alec, in truth she’d very much like to do so again, so she couldn’t stand in moral judgement over Emilia’s feelings for Perry. She felt sorry for them. She knew how easy it was to give in to an attraction, and the feelings between these two lovers ran far deeper than that. Should she warn Emilia, or Perry? Their love shone out of every last bit of them. What if someone else noticed it? If Ben did, he would surely cause trouble – the Harvey good name meant everything to him, and he would be jealous and furious of another man loving and wanting, and having intimacy with Emilia. Brooke sighed out her tension inwardly. If only she didn’t know. And now she studied her husband. He was dancing attention on Emilia. Oh God! Oh no! He still wanted her. He probably hadn’t fallen back in love with her, but it was as plain as the sun sinking gently in the sky that he desired to re-ignite the passion he and Emilia had once shared.

  I could hate you for this, Ben. Why must you always live in the past? I’m not enough for you. Well, I don’t want you any more. When this night was over Brooke resolved she would have to consider if she and Faye had a future here. Whatever her decision, she’d do nothing until Alec was well again.

  Libby was glaring at the paving slabs. When it was her turn to be introduced she kept her head down, until she heard a young, strong male voice. Something made her look up. ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Bosweld,’ that male voice said, inevitably socially polite. Its owner turned his head away almost at once to speak to someone else, but not before Libby saw who owned it.

  Her knees swished into jelly, her cheeks burned. It was him! The youth she’d seen at the village show. He was a Harvey. Any revenge against the family was forgotten. He was here, the man she loved. He was just the sort she had dreamed of meeting, had prayed earnestly for. In her imaginings she would meet ‘the one’ when she wasn’t looking for him. He would just be there. And Jonny Harvey was. If she could only get him to notice her, if she could scheme to get a photograph taken with him, hopefully with his arm round her, then she could show it off to the horrid, tormenting girls at school and boast that she had spent the holiday in love and being loved. She’d go up in their estimation then. They might even make her one of them. Someone important. Someone with a life. But how did a plain girl like herself get a handsome buck like Jonny Harvey to give her some of his precious attention? She had no idea. She sent up an arrow prayer that he would be asked to take her into the dining room.

  Ben presided at the top of the table, filling glasses with an aromatic Château Latour and promising his guests a splendid pudding wine and finally liqueurs to make their palates sing! He served Libby wine diluted with water. As often as he could, he drew Emilia into talk that echoed the fun they had enjoyed as children, making a point of expounding how close they had been. The odd glance at his wife down the other end of the snow-white cloth revealed her fussing over Alec and encouraging him to eat as if he were a child. It suited Ben that she did not look up at him once.

  Emilia was placed at Ben’s right, and to her joy next to Perry. They touched hands briefly and made this their only deliberate warm loving contact for now. However, in the course of the meal they relished the accidental rubbing of shoulders and knees.

  Libby was placed opposite Emilia, and in her desperation to impress Jonny, when she wasn’t gazing at him and hanging on to his every word, she smiled at Emilia and her father, even though they were inappropriately in love – Mrs Harvey was wearing a gold brooch designed as a rosebud. Libby thought she understood matters of the heart now and was prepared to overlook the indiscretion. Dredging through her memories, she recalled that Mrs Harvey had been very kind to her. And she was lovely, it was no wonder her father loved her, and there was that old phrase, something Libby had now taken on board – you can’t help who you fall in love with. Libby put doe eyes back on Jonny and prayed he didn’t see her as an uninviting adolescent.

  Extracting herself from Ben’s persistent reminiscences, Emilia noticed where the girl’s hopes were pinned, and feeling sorry over her gawkish attempts to butt into Jonny’s conversation with Alec about his studies she tried to draw Jonny’s attention to Libby. Even a small smile from Jonny, steeped with his natural crushing charm, would delight a gangling young creature like Libby for weeks.

  ‘Libby wants to study history at university one day, Jonny,’ Emilia said. Perry had written this in a letter.

  ‘Oh, really?’ Jonny smiled a dazzling smile at the girl from his end of the table. What a boring little thing Perry’s daughter was; a throwback to a Bosweld who had married for money. Oh well, it wouldn’t hurt to talk to her, but only for a few moments. Uncle Alec was quite animated when conversing but he was already wandering back to his own small world. ‘What’s your favourite era?’

  ‘Um.’ Libby went scarlet to the roots of her tawny, curly hair but she could just about think clearly under his fabulous gaze. ‘The eighteenth century. The age of enlightenment. It was a very romantic time.’

  ‘It was in Cornwall. The heyday of the smugglers. There’s a smuggler’s cove near Rosekerne.’ Jonny made to look away.

  ‘I’d very much like to see it!’ Libby squeaked to regain his consideration. Then she wanted to die on the chair. She had made an idiot of herself.

  Then, joy of joy, his stepmother was saying, ‘You must pay us a visit, Libby. You and your father. What do you say, Perry? You’ve never been to Roskerne or seen Tris’s shop. You’d be welcome to stay overnight. That way Libby could take advantage of the beach and explore the coast.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve arranged for the delivery of some plants for Reggie’s neglected garden tomorrow morning and a round of golf with Ernest, his father, in the afternoon,’ Perry said, watching his daughter’s face fall as if in anguish. ‘Sorry, darling. We could go the day after.’

  Kind-hearted Winifred saw Libby’s distress. She thought that perhaps the girl was rather missing out tied to her father all the time and might welcome some freedom. ‘Well, if your father agrees, Libby, you’re welcome to come and stay with us for a while. In fact, you could travel back with us tonight. We’re not staying late. I can find you everything you’ll need until your father brings your things along.’

  Vera Rose suddenly piped up, ‘That’s a very good idea, Mummy. Do come, Libby. Do say she can, Mr Bosweld.’ Vera Rose saw this as the very thing that might hinder Jonny’s growing association with the enigmatic nanny – a woman who Vera Rose felt had something to hide. There was something elusive and secretive about Angeline Johnson. Libby was clearly infatuated with Jonny. She’d probably follow him about like a faithful puppy, hang on to his every word, and that would help cut Angeline Johnson out, hopefully. And if Jonny became upset over it he might turn to his oldest confidante, Vera Rose herself, and she’d take the opportunity to turn the comforting hug she’d give into something else. Who’s the saddest? she asked herself. Me or poor Libby Bosweld? ‘It will be an exciting experience for Libby. After all, one can hardly come to Cornwall and not go beaching,’ Vera Rose said, her smile offering the girl friendship.

  Perry glanced at Emilia. She glanced at him. Here was the perfect opportunity for him to be in the house at Highertown alone. He said, ‘It’s a very kind invitation, Winnie. Thank you.’

  ‘Thanks, Daddy.’ Libby felt she could die with happiness. ‘Thank you, Mrs Harvey. I’d simply love to come.’

  ‘I wonder if you all wouldn’t mind excusing me,’ Alec suddenly interrupted. ‘I’m getting such a headache.’

  ‘Oh, darling!’ Emilia was disappointed the evening was to be brought to an abrupt end, but she shot to her feet and went round the table to him. His face was twisted with pain and drained of colour. ‘I’ll drive you home. Just look at you. You’re seeing the doctor, I won’t let you argue your way out of it any more.’

  ‘No, no, darling.’ Alec’s protest
included him gently pushing her away. ‘I can manage to drive. Then I’ll take a walk to clear my head. Perhaps Perry can drive you back. He can go on to Truro via the back lanes.’

  ‘I’ll run Em safely home,’ Ben interjected forcefully.

  ‘I’d be glad to give Emilia a lift,’ Perry said, his tone commanding. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right, Alec?’

  ‘Yes. My apologies,’ Alec said, as he went with Brooke to the door. ‘Please, all of you, don’t let the evening be ruined on my account.’

  * * *

  Two and a half hours later, Emilia and Perry were following the route Alec had taken. ‘Alone at last,’ he said, taking one hand off the steering wheel to hold her hand then returning it quickly. It was necessary to make a careful passage through the narrow, bendy lanes. ‘I wish there was somewhere where I could pull in for a while.’

  ‘It’s just after eleven o’clock. Alec could be anywhere but everyone else should be in bed. No one will think it odd if I invite you inside for a cup of cocoa.’

  He drove over the ford. ‘I know it’s wrong of me to take advantage of Alec being unwell but I can’t help myself. I love you, Em. Darling Em. I love you so very much.’

  She pressed her face against his arm. ‘I love you, Perry. I’ll never stop loving you. Why did you come? Why now?’

  ‘It’s quite simple really. It was the way you worded your last two letters. It told me things had changed for you. I’d decided I’d always stay away unless there was a chance, one small chance for us. There’s a rift between you and Alec, isn’t there? I’m not wrong, am I? Not living in foolish hope? Something’s come between you. But witnessing Alec tonight, the way he was, it’s obvious he’s ill. If it’s the cause of your troubles, then perhaps I should do the decent thing and go home.’

  ‘No! I mean perhaps you should, but I don’t want you to go. It’s not what I should be doing but I won’t let you go. I can’t, Perry. Not now I’ve seen you again.’ Perry brought the motor car smoothly to a halt in the farm’s front drive. ‘Come inside. You mustn’t go yet.’

  ‘I didn’t intend to, darling Em.’

  When they got to the front door they were alarmed to hear Lottie screaming in terror. Emilia raced up the stairs to her room. ‘It’s all right, sweetheart, Mummy’s coming!’ She met Tom running along the landing to Lottie, and Will standing groggily in his bedroom doorway. She pulled Tom aside so she could plunge first through Lottie’s doorway. The room was in darkness. Emilia switched on the bedroom light and ran to her bawling daughter.

  Lottie was sitting up, choking on her sobs. Emilia wrapped her up tight in her arms. ‘Mummy’s here, my love. It’s all over. Don’t worry.’ Emilia stared round the room. ‘Where’s your nightlight?’

  ‘D-Daddy came in. He took it away,’ Lottie wailed.

  Dolly and Edwin Rowse came in from their quarters in the older part of the house. ‘What on earth’s the matter with the dear maid?’ they said together.

  ‘Alec took away her nightlight,’ Emilia said grimly, in fury. ‘He’s got some explaining to do.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Elena was hurrying home from the village with a basket overflowing with groceries. She was going to bake a cake. She was an able cake maker. For years she had baked sponges and fancies for village socials, sometimes entering something in the shows and fêtes but never winning a prize. This cake she wanted to be special. It was for Jim’s birthday. He had been going to spend the day working on Gilbert Eathorne’s back porch and then take a quiet drink tonight in the Ploughshare. Then Alan and Martha had invited him to tea, saying he should have a cake.

  Jim, who had been finishing off the last of the wallpapering in the hall, had laughed and said, ‘Don’t be daft. Only kids do that sort of thing.’ Kids from rich families. The only fuss he had ever received on his birthday was when living with the Harveys and Mrs Em had laid on a special meal for him, and his twin. Sara was now nearing the end of her pregnancy, and although she had visited him in his new home and wished him well in his business, their old closeness was gone for ever. The last time he had seen her was weeks ago and she had not mentioned their birthday. It was unimportant to her, like he was.

  ‘Aunty ’Lena, is that true?’ Alan had asked her.

  ‘Sometimes children and adults celebrate their birthdays, Alan,’ she had replied, already planning to make Jim a cake and deliver it, with the children, to his cottage, as an extra thank you for all the hard work he had done for her. ‘Come along, children. We mustn’t stay here watching and getting in Jim’s way.’

  ‘I heard about a girl having a party once,’ Alan prattled on. ‘It’s ages till mine or Martha’s birthday. Can’t we do Jim a party? Here? Just a little one? Please, Aunty ’Lena?’

  Elena had got flustered and Jim had come to her rescue. ‘Your Aunty Elena doesn’t need any more work. No more fussing now. I don’t bother with birthdays. Can’t think why I mentioned it.’

  ‘That’s sad,’ Alan had sighed as if in sorrow, copying Elena’s reaction on hearing that Mr Harvey, up at the big farm, was unwell, and how he was seeing a doctor at the hospital and might have a serious illness.

  ‘Yes, it is.’ Elena’s charitable side had been fully touched. She owed Jim so much. Making him a birthday cake was no work at all. She’d be glad to. And where else could he eat it except here? There would be no joy for him in having no one to share it with in Wynne Cottage. So it had been arranged.

  Ambling along the lane in the shelter of the high hedgerows, a shabby straw sun hat protecting her from the burning rays of the sun, she planned salmon and cucumber sandwiches, sausage rolls and fruit trifle. She’d make lemonade punch and they’d drink a toast to dear Jim. Dear Jim? What had made her think of him like that? Her heart fluttered and a tiny blush crested her pale brow. Well, he was dear. A dear friend.

  ‘Morning, Miss Rawley.’

  Elena’s eyes had been aimed at the dusty ground and she looked up at Myrna Eathorne, from the shop. ‘Good morning, Mrs Eathorne. It’s a lovely day.’

  ‘Certainly is.’ Mrs Eathorne was a comfy-plump, jolly sort. She eyed Elena’s basket. ‘Just missed ’ee in the shop, I see. I’ve just been along to Druzel Farm. Wally came to me in the early hours with word that young Sara had suddenly gone into labour. Well, I always help out at a time like this, there being no other woman on the farm. Midwife practically didn’t get her coat off when the maid delivered another boy. A little over two weeks early he was, but as healthy as they come. That’s two boys and two maids for Wally now. He’ll be proud as punch when he comes in from the fields. And born on Sara’s twenty-eighth birthday in the middle of a good haymaking. Some rejoicing there this day.’

  ‘That’s wonderful news. I’m sure Jim will be pleased and relieved over the safe delivery. It’s another nephew for him.’

  ‘True enough, but ’tis some other children he’s quite taken with now.’ Mrs Eathorne pushed out her chubby lips and gave a meaningful expression. ‘All finished now, is it? The work he’s been doing for you in the house? Or have you got something else planned for him? I’m sure he won’t mind. I’m sure he likes the company.’

  Elena retreated into vagueness. ‘He has become fond of Alan and Martha.’

  There was a devilish light, of the kindly sort, twinkling out of Myrna Eathorne’s gaily wrinkled eyes. ‘Now I weren’t talking about they.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Elena was squirming. She knew exactly what the woman meant. Untoward remarks were circulating about the amount of time Jim was spending at Ford House. There had been whispers loud enough for her to hear in chapel. Maisie had reported that she was being pumped for information.

  The mixed reviews were, ‘No wonder she’s got no time for the social committee now.’

  ‘Hope she knows what she’s doing. He could drag her down.’

  ‘Can’t blame her really, I suppose. He’s a manly bloke. I wouldn’t mind having him all to myself.’

  ‘She’d better
watch out. Jim Killigrew’s a man, and well, men can’t help themselves, can they?’

  There was nothing Myrna Eathorne could say that Elena hadn’t heard before. She had been torn over whether to ignore the gossips or to ask Jim to work in the house only when she was out. But that would have been impolite. Insulting. And unnecessary. Jim larked about with Alan and Martha but he was always respectful where she herself was concerned. Elena was getting cross. Mrs Eathorne had better be careful. She might receive an unprecedented vitriolic mouthful in return, and that would give the gossips something else to talk about!

  ‘Look, m’dear.’ Mrs Eathorne became soft and motherly. ‘All I’m saying is that if there’s an attraction growing between you and Jim, well, where’s the harm in that? He’s proved he’s hard-working and trustworthy. He’s as good to those kiddies as if he were their father. You never mind what the narrow-minded are saying. If you’ve got the chance of a little happiness then you grab it with both hands. Goodness knows there’s enough misery in this world of ours. I reckon Ford Farm’s in for a large dose of it. A gloom’s settled over the place. There’s great sorrow ahead and no mistake. ’Tis going to affect each and every one of us. Gipsy Idella told me so herself only last week when her clan passed through the village.’

  Elena was stunned into silence by all this information. Mrs Eathorne patted her hand and walked on to the village, saying, ‘You know where I am if you need a bit of discreet advice, m’dear.’

  * * *

  The recipe book was sitting in her hands and had been for some time. Elena had planned to look for a more exciting recipe than the usual Victoria sponge, but the words before her might as well have been written in a foreign language. Having received a sort of bald permission to think of Jim not only in romantic terms but to actually pursue him, she didn’t know what to do. Yes, she did. She must tell Jim there would be no tea party, that people were gossiping, that her reputation, and his, were being compromised, and it must stop. From now on he must only see the children… where? There was no other place but here or his home where he could see them. And she couldn’t deny Alan and Martha and Jim their special relationship. She didn’t want to. Why should she? Jim had made the children happy. Having him here had made her… happy.