Wait For the Dawn

by Jess Foley

Briefly she hesitated. ‘No . . .’

  ‘Have you got to get back in a hurry?’

  She thought of Mrs Obdermann, leaving the cold plate in the larder. ‘No,’ she said again. She could tell that something was amiss. ‘No, it’s all right. I don’t need to rush back.’

  Guy drove looking straight ahead of him. ‘I waited for you,’ he said. ‘I’ve been at the station since five. I had to see you.’

  ‘All that time. But why? What’s happened?’

  ‘I’ll tell you. Give me a minute.’ Still he did not glance at her, but kept his eyes on the road before them. He wore a brown, soft felt hat, and the brim cast his eyes in shadow so that their expression could not be seen.

  After a time they were leaving the town houses behind them, and the dwellings were getting fewer, the gardens and the spaces between them larger. Then they were moving out into the open country, along a road where there was little other traffic. Still she said nothing, respecting his unspoken wish for silence. She sat close beside him on the seat, so close that often his arm brushed hers as he held the reins.

  There were wheatfields on either side of them as they drove, the wheat high and golden, waiting for the harvest to come, very soon now by the appearance of the crops. The sun on the corn was bright and oblique, the sky above hazy and settling into the mellow light of the evening. The hooves of the mare rang clear on the hard road.

  They were coming up to a short lay-by now, Lydia saw, and suddenly Guy adjusted the reins and called on the horse to move to the left. ‘Over now, Tessie,’ he called, and the horse and carriage moved off the main road, drove on for a few yards into the lay-by, and came to a halt.

  Guy gave a deep sigh, as if relaxing after sudden exertion, and Lydia turned to him on the seat, looking at his strained expression. ‘Guy, what is it?’

  ‘I had to see you,’ he said. He turned to face her now. ‘I had to explain that I can’t meet you tomorrow. I’ve got to go away.’

  ‘You’ve got to –’ She frowned, shaking her head. ‘But – but what’s happened? Something’s happened? What is it?’

  Some moments of silence went by, then he said, ‘I had a wire from my mother yesterday, in Italy. She wrote to say that my father’s suffered a dreadful accident and is very ill in hospital.’

  ‘Oh, Guy,’ Lydia breathed. ‘I’m so sorry to hear that. So your mother’s with him, is she?’

  ‘Yes. She went out there with him. They’ve been gone about three weeks.’ He sighed, and sat with eyes downcast. ‘I’ve got to go. I’d never forgive myself if something worse should happen.’

  ‘Of course you must go.’

  ‘My mother wrote that he’s too sick to travel. She’s obviously very concerned – and she’s not one to over-dramatise a situation.’ In a brief gesture he put up his hands, covering his face. ‘Oh, Lydia, I’m so worried.’

  ‘I’m sure you are.’

  ‘My mother will need me to help take care of things as well. She’s in no condition to do it.’

  ‘When will you go?’

  ‘Tomorrow. I must get there as soon as I can.’

  ‘Of course you must.’ She wasn’t taking it all in as she should. He was leaving, going away. ‘When’ll you be back?’ she said.

  ‘Well, I hope it won’t be long. I just hope we can get him well enough to travel so that I can bring him back to England again with the minimum delay.’

  ‘Did your mother say exactly what was wrong?’

  ‘She didn’t go into detail, but she said he’d had a bad fall.’

  They sat there in silence for some moments, then Guy said, ‘I’ll write to you, of course. I hope I shan’t be away for long. My father – he’s a tough old fellow. He doesn’t let much get him down for long, but as I say, he’s not young.’ He gave a nod in affirmation of his words. ‘I’ll see you as soon as I get back,’ he added.

  ‘Yes . . .’ Lydia said, then went on, ‘It was such a surprise – to find you standing there, meeting the train.’

  ‘A nice surprise, I hope.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Of course.’

  ‘I couldn’t wait for your train to get in. I was so anxious to see you.’ He glanced about him. ‘It’s the most beautiful evening. Look up, there’s barely a cloud.’ He turned on her a grave smile. ‘And you’re here now. We’re here now. Don’t you think we should make the best of it? While we can, before I have to go away.’

  She did not know what to say, and merely gave a little half nod.

  ‘Shall we drive out a little further?’ he said.

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘When did you last eat?’

  ‘I had a little tea and cake with my father before I started out.’

  ‘Well, I’m quite hungry. I’ve hardly had anything all day. If I might suggest . . . we could pick up something on our way and have a picnic of sorts.’

  ‘On our way? On our way where?’

  ‘Well, we’ll decide that, shall we?’ He paused, as if waiting for a reaction. When none came he smiled again, more cheerily this time. ‘Shall we drive on, then?’

  ‘Very well.’

  Guy flapped the reins and clicked his tongue to the mare, and they set off again, moving back out on to the road.

  They drove steadily for half a mile, when they entered the little village of Kippis Norton. There was an inn situated on a corner, the Five Elms, and Guy suggested that they stop there to buy some provisions. He drove into the stable yard and pulled up the mare.

  ‘Shall you wait here or come in with me?’ he asked Lydia, and she said she would wait.

  He put the reins into her hands and jumped down on to the cobbles, and she turned on the seat and watched as he strode away, and his tall, straight figure turned the corner towards the inn’s entrance.

  He was gone for almost ten minutes, and when he returned he carried an old basket with fraying handles. The basket was clearly full.

  ‘Look,’ he said, holding up the loaded basket. ‘Look what I got.’

  He handed it up to Lydia and then swung on to the seat. Taking the basket from her he placed it on his knees. ‘Look.’ He lifted up a package wrapped in a teacloth. ‘Sandwiches,’ he said. ‘Beef sandwiches, and cheese sandwiches, some slices of ham, and two pieces of game pie.’ He laughed. ‘We must eat with our fingers, but that’s all right, yes?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ he repeated. ‘It’s the best way.’ He put the sandwiches back. ‘And something to drink.’ He lifted up a bottle of wine, its ruby colour intense in the sun. ‘And glasses, look. They’re not the best quality, and one’s a bit chipped, but I said that that wasn’t of any importance to us. I paid the landlord for them, so we don’t need to take them back.’

  ‘There’s so much,’ Lydia said. ‘There’s enough for an army.’

  ‘A small regiment, maybe.’ He grinned at her. ‘Anyway, we shan’t go hungry.’

  After he had set the basket in the well of the carriage he turned the mare and they moved back out to the road.

  ‘There is a place,’ Guy said as they drove along, ‘where I used to go as a boy. An old clay pit. Long since discarded for the production of clay, but a lovely spot. Shall we go there? It’s very secluded and peaceful.’

  ‘It sounds very nice.’

  At her words he smiled and nodded, then called out to the horse, ‘You hear that, Tess? Off to Willen Water.’ Turning to Lydia, he added with a wider smile, ‘She’s pleased as well, you can tell. Well, why not? She’s a creature of taste.’

  Willen Water turned out to be some two miles beyond Kippis Norton, and they reached it by a winding drive leading off from the road with a cornfield on one side and a spindly copse on the other. Passing through a wide gateway at the end, the path led both left and right around a lake fringed with trees, mostly willow and silver birch. Guy took the left path, and drove the carriage around beside the water. Eventually they came to a secluded area not too far from the water’s edge, and there he pulled the mare to a halt an
d jumped down. After he had helped Lydia on to the grass he took out the basket of provisions, and then led the mare into a shady patch nearby where he hitched her up to the branch of a hawthorn. That done, he took from the box an old travelling rug which he laid out on the grass in the shade of a birch. ‘This should suit us all right, don’t you think?’

  Lydia nodded. ‘It’s a lovely spot.’

  Part of their view of the lake was obscured by a rambling wild rose, and also by a lushly flowering elder. It screened them, enclosing them.

  From over on the far bank they could hear the distant sounds of children playing, yelling out in glee and high spirits as they ran and leapt into the sun-warmed water. Their cries rang out over the surface of the lake.

  Guy made a few adjustments to the setting of the rug, then patted it and said to Lydia, ‘There – now we can sit down and relax for a while.’

  She sat down on the rug, her feet out in front of her, her eyes towards the body of water. Guy stood for a few moments and then took off his hat and jacket and laid them on the grass. He was wearing a shirt with a soft collar and a blue cravat. Lydia could see the movement of the muscles of his arms and shoulders beneath the white linen. He lowered himself onto the rug. ‘Wouldn’t you like to take off your hat?’ he said. ‘It must be very warm for you.’

  ‘Well – yes, it is a little.’ She unpinned her hat, took it off and put it down on the rug. She ran fingers through her hair, relieved to feel the fresh air upon it.

  ‘You’ve got beautiful hair,’ Guy said. ‘It’s a crime to keep it hidden.’

  Lydia said nothing, but the warmth rose in her cheeks. Moving the conversation on to secure ground, she said, ‘So you used to come here as a boy, did you?’

  ‘Yes, I came here a few times. My father brought me. I always loved it so. He could hardly keep me out of the water.’

  ‘I can picture it,’ she said. ‘I see you as an adventurous boy.’

  He gave a little laugh. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps.’ He turned then to the old basket containing the provisions. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Shall we?’

  Lydia nodded, and watched as he began to unpack the basket. He laid one of the teacloths out on the rug and set the sandwiches and cold venison pie upon it.

  As they began to eat he took the cork from the bottle of wine and poured some into the coarse glasses. Lydia took a sip from her glass and looked at him over the rim. He was watching her.

  ‘Is it all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, it’s very nice.’

  He drank from his own glass, then took a bite of a cheese sandwich. On the other side of the water the children laughed and splashed about. ‘Tell me about your visit to your home,’ he said.

  She spoke then of her trip to Capinfell, though keeping well away from the negative side of the time spent with her father. She tried to speak only of things that were positive, and to be lighthearted. She told of going to see Evie and of taking for her child the little storybook of Hansel and Gretel.

  ‘Ah, I’m sure she’ll love it,’ Guy said. ‘It was one of my favourite tales when I was a child. I think I admired Hansel – such a plucky and enterprising young lad.’ He smiled at Lydia over his sandwich, then added, ‘I wish I didn’t have to go away.’

  Lydia wanted to say, Oh, I wish too that you didn’t have to go, but she kept silent. He would be back again before too long, she told herself, and until that time she must be patient.

  The food was simple but very good, and they ate with keen appetites. Lydia drank the whole of her glass of wine, and Guy refilled her glass. She protested a little as he did so, but he gave a laugh, saying, ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ and kept on pouring.

  They realised after a while that the shouts and laughter of the children on the far bank could no longer be heard, and Guy peered around the screen of the foliage and looked across the water. ‘It looks as though the children are gone now,’ he said. He glanced out across the water in other directions. ‘I can’t see a sign of anyone else.’

  They sat there in their own silence while the birds sang and the water was occasionally disturbed by the rising of a fish to the surface. Lydia felt very conscious of the fact that they were alone, and very conscious of Guy’s nearness.

  ‘Was it nice, seeing your father again?’ he asked, and she did not know how to answer. It had not been a success, but there – had she truly expected it to be? ‘It was not – not easy,’ she said after a moment.

  ‘Not easy? What do you mean? There were difficulties?’

  She nodded. ‘You could say so. My father – he didn’t want me to leave home in the first place, and I’m afraid he’s still resentful.’

  Guy frowned. ‘Oh, that’s a shame, but – give it a little time, and no doubt he’ll get over it.’

  ‘I hope so. It’s what I keep telling myself.’

  ‘He must love you very much. Otherwise he wouldn’t resent your leaving.’

  ‘Well, yes. I – I think he does – in his own way.’ She paused. ‘What about you and your father? Are you close?’

  He hesitated briefly, then said thoughtfully, ‘Yes, I suppose we are. Though I’m afraid I haven’t always been the best of sons, and that’s something you become very conscious of when something like this happens – his accident.’

  Much of the food had gone now, and Guy lifted his glass and drank the rest of his wine. He gestured to a pair of sandwiches that lay on the teacloth. ‘Can you eat more?’ he said.

  Lydia pressed a hand to her breast and gave a little laugh. ‘Oh, no! No, I’ve eaten so much already.’

  ‘I too. So the birds will be glad of them. If not the birds, then some other creatures.’ Sitting up straighter, he said, glancing over in the direction of the mare, ‘We mustn’t forget Tess. I brought a couple of titbits for her. I’ll go and get them.’

  So saying, he got up and moved to the carriage. From the box under the seat he brought out a twist of paper holding a few carrots. He went to the mare, and held a couple of them under her mouth and she took them gently and ate them. ‘She’s probably a little thirsty too,’ Guy said. From inside the box he now took a small, rather battered pail. ‘You’d like some water too, wouldn’t you, old girl?’ He stroked the mare’s brow, then, turning, started towards the trees that grew up to the edge of the perimeter pathway.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Lydia asked from her seat on the rug, and he turned back to her and said, ‘There’s a stream there in the woods. I’m going to get some fresh water for Tess.’

  ‘Oh, wait – I’ll come with you,’ Lydia said. ‘I’d like some water too.’

  She picked up her glass and moved to join him, then he led the way through the copse, finding a rough and narrow little path that wound through the trees and the shrubbery.

  With the summer foliage at its height the leaves of the trees formed a canopy overhead, and cut out much of the light, but after a while they came out into a clearing where the late sun penetrated onto the soft grass. In the centre ran a fast-moving little stream, and Guy went to it and crouched down on its bank. Lydia came and stood at his side, looking down as he dipped the bucket into the clear water.

  The pail full, he set it down upon the grassy bank. Then he held up his hand for Lydia’s glass, dipped it into the pail and held it out to her. She took it from him and had a sip.

  ‘Is it good?’ he said.

  ‘It’s good, yes, and it’s so cold.’

  He straightened, the pail in his hand. ‘Let’s go and water Tess, shall we?’ and started away across the grass.

  Lydia, carrying the glass, moved after him. Emerging from the trees near the lakeside he took the pail to where the mare stood patiently between the carriage shafts and set it down for her. She drank thirstily while Guy stroked her neck. He turned from her then and moved back across the grass to the rug, beside which Lydia, having scattered the remains of the sandwiches for the birds, was packing the teacloths and the glasses into the basket.

  Lowering himself onto
the rug he smoothed it out beside him under a sweeping movement of his palm. He was not ready to leave yet. ‘Here, come and sit down again for a minute,’ he said, and she put down the basket and settled herself on the rug at his side.

  He sat with his knees drawn up, leaning forward, gazing out at the part of the lake that was just visible past the screen of elderflowers. With one hand up to his mouth he sucked at his forefinger.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Lydia asked.

  ‘Just a little thorn or something, from when I brushed my hand over the rug just now.’

  ‘Let me see.’

  She drew close to him and he offered her his hand. She took it and turned it over, peering. The light was mellow, fading into the long-drawn-out dusk.

  ‘Yes, I can see it,’ she said.

  Holding his hand in hers, she carefully grasped the head of the thorn between her fingernails and pulled it out. ‘There,’ she smiled. She flicked the thorn away into the grass. ‘All done.’

  ‘And well done,’ he said. He sucked on the relieved finger for a second or two, then added, ‘I could probably have done it myself, of course, but I’d much rather you did it for me.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ she said, smiling.

  Suddenly he put out his hand and gently touched it to her cheek. ‘Oh, Lydia, you look so pretty.’ He gave a little shake of his head, and then leaned forward and gently kissed her on the mouth.

  The touch of his lips upon hers was so brief, but nevertheless it left her almost breathless. She gave a faint little gasp and lifted fingertips to her mouth.

  ‘Is that a shield?’ he said. ‘Your hand – to stop me doing it again?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s good.’ He put his head on one side and studied her, a little half smile on his face. ‘I so like seeing you without your hat. It’s lovely.’ Her hair, that waved naturally, was coiled and pinned about the crown of her head. Now Guy put out a hand to a renegade lock that had fallen in a languid curl over her brow. He twined his index finger in it and then brushed it back with his fingertips. Lydia, almost transfixed by his touch, made no move to draw away from it.

  The next moment he had shifted over on the rug and, drawing even closer to her, was lifting his arms to hold her. A second after that he lowered his face to hers and pressed his mouth against her own. It all happened so fast that she had no time to protest, even if she had been moved to. Not that she was. Her heart was bumping in her breast, thudding against her ribs so powerfully that a fleeting thought went through her mind that he must surely be aware of it. And this was no brief kiss, like the first one. This one went on, and after moments of holding still and rigid, she let herself go, relaxing her stiffness within the circle of his arms, and giving herself up to the revelation of the moment. For it was a revelation, the kiss, the embrace. As a child there had been the occasional stolen games played with other village children when chaste, damp kisses had been exchanged with the boys, but that had been long ago, and the kisses had been nothing more than fun in the daring knowledge that her father would have disapproved. This was something new, beyond even the scope of her imagination.