Moments of Time

by Moments of Time (Moments In Time) (retail) (epub)

  ‘Have you developed cloth ears?’ Ben grinned at her. ‘I’ve been shouting to you for ages. I thought I’d bring Brooke over to meet you rather than leave it until the dinner. Brooke, this is Emilia.’

  ‘Hello, Emilia. I’ve been eager to get to know you,’ Brooke said, leaning forward in her sociable, unaffected way.

  Emilia felt so strangely happy that she hugged Ben and then Brooke, whom she at once took a liking to. ‘It’s good to see you again, Ben, and to meet you, Brooke. This calls for a little celebration.’

  ‘I won’t argue with that,’ Ben laughed, and Emilia was glad to see him happy. ‘I must say you’re looking good. I was half-dreading to find you pale and downcast.’

  ‘I’ve got a lot of good people around me.’ Emilia walked on between him and Brooke. ‘Come on, let’s sit on the goat house steps and catch up on all our news like we did in the old days. I’m eager to see the photos you’ve brought back of Billy’s grave. So are my parents. We’re all grateful to you for that, Ben.’

  ‘Jonny must be thrilled to be back at the farm,’ Ben said.

  ‘He is. It really is something like the old days. I think I’m at my best when Ford Farm’s bursting with people.’

  * * *

  ‘I liked Emilia a lot,’ Brooke said, when she and Ben were making their way, arm in arm, back to Tremore, this time taking the route across the field behind the farm so he could show her the woods where he had once played.

  Ben kissed the side of her head. ‘Well, she’s down to earth, like you. Now Em seems to be getting over the baby’s loss I think we’ll be able to break our good news soon. So will Tris and Winnie.’

  ‘I think I might have some interesting things for Tris’s shop when my things arrive from Wyoming. Some originated from England, you know, from the early settlers.’

  ‘Oh, but you must keep them, darling. They’ll be part of your family history. You are good to think of others. It’s one of the things I love about you, you’re so completely unselfish.’

  ‘Thank you, kind sir.’

  They entered the woods, wandered under the awning of trees. Ben showed her his old camp – now Jonny’s – then he took her to a secluded copse, where the foliage was dense and created good cover. ‘Are we going to watch some animal in its natural habitat?’ Brooke parted the leaves and peered through the space she had made. ‘Tell me about all your fascinating British creatures, Ben.’

  Using his strong hands gently, Ben dragged her down on to the springy undergrowth of the forest floor. ‘Badger watching or anything like it isn’t the reason why I’ve brought you here.’

  Brooke succumbed eagerly to his kisses. She found Ben a captivating mixture of reserve and passion. They had been inseparable since the day they had met, yet despite her willingness to share a bed with him he had insisted they wait until their wedding night before making love. It had been important to him that he did everything right, that their union from the platonic into intimacy was perfect.

  ‘I adore you, Ben Harvey,’ she whispered.

  ‘You’re everything I’ve ever wanted,’ he said with emotion, making her totally his again.

  * * *

  Much later in the day, after Alec had finally called a halt to the haymaking because of failing light, Jim was in the woods, near the outskirts, where he could just make out the figure of Selina approaching him. He had met her here so many times he was able to walk back home in the dark without stumbling.

  He grabbed her roughly, the way she liked him to. Selina shoved him away. ‘Not now, Jim. In fact never again. I’ve come to end it between us. It’s time for us to stop.’

  He came after her as before, his big hands calloused from his graft. He had not washed and smelled of sweat, but not offensively; a tantalizing draw, he knew, to Selina. ‘You’ve said that before, yet you keep coming back for more. You need me, Selina. Don’t play games.’

  She stroked his brawny shoulder, then yanked on his fair hair until he was forced to lean his head over to the side. ‘It has to end this time. We’ve been seen. I can’t risk there being a scandal.’

  ‘Who’s seen us?’ he swore.

  ‘That boy, Jonny. We’ve been lucky to have got away with it this long. I’m sure Emilia guessed about us a while ago, but as I was certain she wouldn’t say anything I let it continue with us for a while longer, but enough is enough. We’ve had a good time, now we must move on to other things.’

  ‘But I don’t want to.’ Jim snatched her hand from his hair and gripped her wrist. ‘We could make it official. Tell everybody we’re courting. In love.’

  Selina laughed and laughed. ‘Don’t be foolish. I’ll never fall in love. I enjoy my freedom too much for that outdated notion. Now let go of me, Jim.’

  Jim was shaking his head. ‘Don’t do this to me, Selina. I couldn’t bear it.’

  ‘Well, it couldn’t last for ever, foolish boy. I’ve kept on with you longer than anyone else before. It’s time for you to go after Elena Rawley again or someone else. You’ve got all the experience you’ll need. You should have the confidence to get whatever you want off any woman you like.’

  ‘But I want you. I love you.’

  ‘No, you don’t. Now let go of me before I make you. You’re very strong but I’m perfectly capable of getting you off me. I hate scenes, Jim. Be a good fellow and say goodbye.’

  ‘You heartless bitch!’

  Selina smiled sardonically. ‘See, I told you that you didn’t love me. No man could say something like that to a woman if he loved her. Look, I’m not rejecting you because of you, yourself, Jim. You’re a nice boy. You’re a good lover, you can be proud of your prowess when it comes to that. Not every man can say he satisfies a woman every time. If it makes you feel any better I won’t do it with anyone else in the woods, it will remain our special place. We’ll always have special memories, won’t we?’

  Jim was almost in tears. ‘I s’pose.’ He let go of her wrist and crumpled forward, placing his head on her breast.

  Selina kept it there and stroked his hair, then she lifted his face, kissed his mouth and pushed him away. ‘I’ll see you around the village or at the farm, Jim. Now be a good chap and run along home.’

  Weeping quietly, he followed her at a distance where she couldn’t see him. She did not go inside Ford House but sat on the front garden wall, smoking. He knew it would be impossible to get her to change her mind.

  ‘Whore,’ he muttered under his breath. A woman had to be a whore to have seduced him the way she did and do the things she had taught him to do. Was she going after Ben Harvey now he was back, even though he had brought a wife home with him?

  When Selina had finished the cigarette she remained where she was. Jim was keyed up, preparing a speech for when she went inside. He would go in after her, force his way in if he had to and give her a piece of his mind and call her the names she deserved in front of her brother, and tell her he was glad it was over between them and he wouldn’t ever miss her. Keeping watch, he moved up to a better vantage point.

  Selina moved off down the lane. He heard a motor car. It halted, the engine rumbling slowly. He had a good view of it. Selina got into the motor car, beside an older man in a dark suit and trilby hat. It was no surprise to Jim when she reached across and kissed the man in an open-mouthed way. Selina was hungry for sex. She always was. He should have known she would have someone else already lined up to take his place. Then with a plummeting heart and a dreadful fury it occurred to him that she probably had been seeing this other man all along. He had only been her ‘bit of rough’.

  He was determined now to spread it all round the village what sort of woman Selina Bosweld was, to let everyone know there was another side to the caring nurse they thought she was. But it would involve himself and not help his case if he did decide to make a fresh play for Elena Rawley, and it would embarrass Sara. He must think of something else, a better revenge, and thanks to his calculating mind, developed as both a defence and an assault tactic in hi
s vulnerable early years, he knew exactly what he would do.

  Before the motor car pulled away, he noted its number. ‘Right, matey, I’ll find out who you are. Something dodgy’s going on here if you couldn’t go up to the front door and call for her. As for you, Selina Bosweld, I’ll bide my time, then I’ll get even with you for what you’ve done to me.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Arriving at the doorstep of the schoolmaster’s house, Perry removed his hat, straightened his lightweight jacket, and ironed out the discomfort in his face from wearing his artificial leg. He had learned from Libby, who was absorbing the affairs of the village, that a meeting had been called here this morning of the social committee to plan for the coming sports day. He was about to ask if he could join in.

  He had a whole tropical forest of huge restless butterflies in his stomach. Not because he was unsure of receiving a welcome but because Emilia was attending today – her first outing of this kind since her bereavement. He couldn’t wait until the dinner at Ford Farm to see her again.

  Mrs Frayne, the schoolmaster’s wife, motherly and bountiful, comfortingly plump and smiley, opened the door to him. ‘Of course you’re welcome to join us, Mr Bosweld. Oh, I forgot, you like to be called Perry, don’t you? Come along in, Perry. How splendid to see you up and about, I’ve only seen you in your wheeled chair before. Do you, um, need any help getting over the doorstep? Oh, you don’t, how resourceful of you. How did you get here, if I may ask?’

  ‘On pony. I tethered it to the field gate, took a look at where the sports day will be held. It’s perfect for the occasion, such a long, flat, straight field is a rarity in this area.’ Perry had also noticed the school was the usual small, two- or three-classroom affair, with separate concrete playgrounds for the boys and the girls, divided by a four-foot, forbidding wall, topped with something that looked like thick dried tar. The little wrought-iron gate was rusty and he thought to offer to commission the blacksmith to produce a new one, something more solid and picturesque. Offer anonymously, he didn’t want to be seen as a pushy intruder.

  ‘Yes, Mr Harvey always does his haymaking there first. He allows the school free rein once his crop is in, we hold rounders there as well, and nature studies on other parts of his land.’

  He was soon inside the pleasantly furnished, dark but not gloomy front room, facing all those who had been expected to come, and the one other newcomer, Brooke Wilder Harvey, who had arrived with Tremore farm worker Eliza Shore. He had met Ruby Brokenshaw on the two occasions he had taken an evening drink in the Ploughshare. Next to her was her longest and most regular customer, a small, wizened, toothless individual in a grubby cap, known as old Mr Quick. Perry was to learn that old Mr Quick had come only for the company and a cup of tea and a slice of cake.

  Elena Rawley was there, mousy and friendly, seeming in support of his involvement on this occasion, and Mrs Eathorne, the chatty shopkeeper, and Mrs Chellow. Brain-damaged Wilfie, so Perry was told, was amusing himself in the Frayne children’s playroom – the source of harmless intermittent chinking noises and the occasional watery inane chuckle. The most dignified of those in the gathering, whom Perry had not met before, was Mrs Oscar Dowling, the rector’s wife, slender and wearing pre-war fashions with pride, as if she wanted to convey that thriftiness was a virtue. Perry had heard somewhere that she was called Daphne, but she was nothing like the slightly dizzy, amiable Daphnes he had been acquainted with before. She offered him a formal ‘How do you do’, then turned her stiffly hatted head away quickly, and Perry thought perhaps she did not approve of him because of his non-attendance at church, or perhaps it was the terracotta hue of his jacket. He had taken up his unconventional style of dress while reading for his science degree at Oxford, where, thankfully, individuality was not frowned upon.

  He baulked at being shunned for any reason, but he had no care about it today when his eyes fell on Emilia, seated in a dark corner, lovely in neat black and a small hat. She gave him a beatific, friendly smile. No, it was more than friendly. The light and energy shining back from her showed she was just as delighted to see him. He wasn’t sure if he believed in the Divine – Elena Rawley’s father would never succeed in securing his presence in the Wesleyan chapel either, but he thanked the gods, anything and everything that she obviously did not regret their intimate moments of two days ago.

  Miserably, there wasn’t a free spot close to her where he could fully enjoy the sight and sound of her, where he could smell her sweetness and perhaps even touch her, and he accepted a high, hard-backed seat near the door, which Mrs Frayne, in her worries for his comfort, hoped was suitable for him. She had sent her daily help for another cup and saucer and plate, and he was left juggling the ridiculous dainty crockery and the last slice of a cmmbly ginger cake as best he could.

  The desk top of a walnut bureau had been pulled down and from there, with writing paper and fountain pen poised, Mrs Dowling popped on a pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez and called the meeting to order. While allowing his eyes to wander often to Emilia, Perry learned, with satisfaction, that regular village events were swiftly and efficiently organized.

  Mrs Dowling had written out a quantity of lists beforehand. ‘Before I start I’d like to say how pleased I am, as I’m sure all of us here are, to have Mrs Harvey back with us after her sad loss.’ Allowing a few seconds of murmured agreement, she droned on in well-bred tones, ‘And I extend a welcome to Mrs Wilder Harvey and’ – slight pause – ‘Mr Bosweld. I’m sure both of you will pick up what happens as we go along. Thank you all for attending. Are we happy to go ahead with roughly the same plans as last year?’

  Perry thought Daphne Dowling the sort to ruthlessly conspire to have things her own way, but she took a moment to pass round an enquiring look to each individual. Except for him. He was content to gaze at Emilia under the cover of sipping the stewed tea.

  No one had any comment and Daphne Dowling went on. ‘Well then, thanks again to Mr Alec Harvey’s generosity we shall use Higher Cross field. He will also supply the sheaves for pitching, the greasy pole for the pillow fighting, et cetera. The preparations of erecting the marquee, et cetera, will begin as usual in the early morning. Mr and Mrs Frayne will be in charge of the races, children’s and adults’. Mrs Harvey and I will award the monetary prizes, the trophies, et cetera. Mrs Eathorne will run a stall of sweets and lemonade, et cetera. Mrs Brokenshaw, the beer tent and pasties. Miss Rawley and Mrs Chellow will be in charge of raising the funds for the children’s saffron bun treat and distributing them, with lemonade, on the day. Mr Benjamin Harvey will supply the piglet to be bowled for. Miss Shore, I can take it you will be in charge of the creature again?’ Mrs Dowling looked down over her pince-nez at Eliza. Perry could almost feel her disapproval of the farm worker’s presence. Eliza Shore was turned out in trousers, gaiters, a man’s shirt and hobnail boots, her habitual garb, her chin-length cropped hair was greasy and the whiff of the farmyard was coming off her.

  ‘Wouldn’t have come else, would I?’ Eliza Shore grinned, exposing her big teeth. Squashed on the clumpy two-seater settee between Ruby Brokenshaw and her new mistress, she elbowed Brooke in the ribs. ‘The bugger got away last year. Chased it halfway round the village, I did, ’fore I got it back. Hector Crewes, the postman, won it. Only just beat you, didn’t he, Mr Quick?’ Her voice boomed across the room for old Mr Quick’s sake; he was nearly totally deaf. ‘You got a steady hand for a bowling ball, haven’t you?’

  Old Mr Quick did not comprehend what she was saying. He nodded cheerfully and went on sucking up his tea.

  ‘We didn’t need to hear about last year’s misfortune in those terms, Miss Shore,’ Mrs Dowling remonstrated. ‘There will be tug of war between the usual teams captained by Mr Alec and Mr Benjamin Harvey.’ Perry had heard that some of the villagers thought this would not be so interesting now there was no contention between the two brothers. He pictured Alec and Ben urging on their teams with gritted teeth, just the same. ‘I’m sure the usual villagers wit
h a musical talent can be called on to provide a band again. Miss Rawley has already volunteered to do the rounds and confirm this while she’s collecting for the tea treat. Now, does anyone have any new ideas to propose?’

  All eyes travelled to Brooke and Perry. Brooke was about to speak, glanced at Perry and hesitated. ‘You go ahead, Mrs Wilder Harvey,’ he said gallantly.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Bosweld. Ben and I would like to suggest a large wooden platform be laid down for dancing later in the evening.’

  Her accent sounded new and adventurous in the old-fashioned atmosphere. Prior to Perry’s arrival, Emilia had been chatting to her, drawing closer to her in friendship, and Emilia thought now how fresh and pretty she was in a shimmering asymmetrical cardigan. Fresh and pretty, because she was in love. Perry being here made Emilia feel fresh and alive after so many weeks of grieving.

  ‘Splendid idea. Everyone agree?’ Mrs Dowling looked for a show of hands. Received them in an unanimous vote except for old Mr Quick’s, but his views didn’t count anyway. Wrote at the bottom of one of her lists. ‘And I can leave it with you and your husband to provide the timber and build this platform, Mrs Wilder Harvey?’

  ‘We’d be delighted to,’ Brooke said, glancing at Emilia, who smiled back in encouragement.

  The smiling interchange made Brooke think she wouldn’t have to leave it much longer before she could tell her sister-in-law she was pregnant. Emilia seemed so calm and rested, and a little sparkly.

  There was a vacuum of silence and Perry plunged in with the idea he had come up with. ‘How about archery?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Mrs Dowling glared at him as if he had suggested something outrageous.

  ‘It’s an ancient noble sport, Mrs Dowling,’ Perry replied, wanting to call her Daphne in true Selina-style mischief, refusing to allow her disapproval of his presence to unsettle him. If she was a religious bigot, or if she considered him an outsider because he wasn’t married to a local, as was Brooke, or if she felt he had not finished his apprenticeship as a newcomer and had not proved his worthiness yet as a villager, it was too bad.