by Lizzie Lane
Frances looked up the length of the lane to the farm gate and the field beyond. A stiff breeze was blowing. The branches of the oak tree standing alone and proudly in the middle of the field barely moved.
Frances bit her lip. Would Declan think her foolish for what she was about to do? Perhaps if she didn’t tell him the truth …
‘Charlie’s still in hospital.’ Her voice was small.
She felt his eyes upon her, but didn’t meet his look.
‘Sorry to hear that, babe.’
‘I wouldn’t mind a lift.’
‘I think I can manage that.’
‘Will you wait for me here?’
‘If that’s what you want.’
Of course it was what she wanted!
She could tell he wanted to know what she was up to, but appreciated him not pressing her further.
‘I won’t be long.’
The Jeep was soon behind her, the gate to the field straight ahead.
A length of barbed wire had been wound around the gate catch because its fastening part was missing. The farmer had improvised, the barbed wire keeping it shut and thereby preventing anyone from opening it in the first place.
Used to clambering up apple trees, Frances put her foot on the bottom rung and climbed over in no time.
Once in the field, she ran through the long grass where cattle grazed. Over to her right, a herd of black and white Friesian cows clustered beneath the branches of trees overhanging the hedgerow.
Cows could be unpredictable and she’d always been wary of them. On this occasion, she regarded them with caution, but these were far enough off not to worry her.
The oak tree grew alone, dominating the flat field around it. Moss covered its exposed roots and yellow wild flowers bloomed in bunches where the grass ended and the moss began.
Frances hunkered down, her sharp eyes seeking a small crevice big enough to take her prayer. One place that looked promising proved to be too shallow; if a wind did get up, the piece of paper would be blown away. A hole behind a crooked root turned out to be just right, though not before she’d scraped at the earth with her bare fingers, reusing the loose earth to rebury it.
A shadow fell over her. ‘Might I ask what you’re doing?’
Startled, Frances sat back on her haunches and took a deep breath. This was the last thing she wanted. ‘What are you doing here?’
Declan shrugged as he pushed his hands into his pocket.
‘I figured that if you could climb that gate, then so could I, and that there had to be a reason for you climbing it. So I figured I had a reason too.’
‘What reason?’
Yet again he was wearing that amused look that annoyed her, purely because it made her feel as though he knew her too well.
‘I am of a curious disposition. That’s why I became a policeman. I like to keep on top of what’s going on.’
‘There’s nothing going on!’
He shook his head, the languid smile remaining. ‘Oh, I think there is. So how about you tell me about it?’
His manner was exasperating. It was as though he was playing with her, seeing beneath her excuses and enjoying her discomfort. She didn’t want him to know what she was doing in case he thought her a fool.
He came down to her level, elbows between bent knees, hands clasped in front of him. His shoulder was close to hers and she could feel his breath on her cheek.
‘Is it a secret?’ The way he said it made her feel her age and annoyed her even more.
‘Yes! So don’t ask me again. Okay?’
He looked suitably affronted though with the usual amusement. ‘I respect secrets. Anyone who knows me will tell you that. As long as the secret is for a good cause. I’ve no respect for bad secrets.’
She got to her feet. ‘It’s a good secret, but that still doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you what it is.’
He got to his feet. ‘Your choice, honey.’ He turned his attention towards the corner of the field. ‘I don’t suppose cows are anything to do with your secret?’
‘I don’t like them, but that’s hardly a secret.’
His attention remained fixed on the corner of the field. ‘Those cows look as though they’re coming this way.’
Frances shook her head. ‘You’re pulling my leg.’
Declan grinned at her and held up his hands. ‘I’m not pulling your leg at all. But, honey, those cows are definitely coming this way. Still, they’re only cows and I guess if you don’t hurt them, they won’t hurt you – will they?’
Frances eyed the cows with alarm and then eyed him. ‘I don’t like cows. I got chased by one once.’
‘Did it hurt you?’
‘No. I climbed over a gate.’
He nodded and said that he understood. ‘So you got out of the situation with no harm done.’
‘Not exactly. I fell into … you know … a cow’s pancake.’
Declan threw back his head and laughed. ‘A rose by any other name should smell so sweet …’
‘It’s not funny!’
‘Yes, it is. We could run?’
Wide-eyed, Frances assessed just how soon the cows would be with them while bearing in mind that she was wearing shoes with heels.
‘No, we couldn’t. I couldn’t!’
Declan adopted a serious look, tilted his head back and looked up the expanse of the trunk to where fresh green leaves rustled around gnarled and twisted branches.
‘Frances, my dear, you are less of a lady than other women that I know …’
‘I beg your pardon!’
‘No offence. Just what I’m about to suggest would not appeal to a shrinking violet.’
Frances folded her arms and glared at him. Never had she met someone who infuriated her and intrigued her in equal doses. She wanted to shout at him to go, but at the same time wanted him to stay.
‘The cows are getting nearer. They’re running!’
She gave a little squeal of alarm.
‘Okay,’ he said, his amusement undiminished, his stance as casual as you like. ‘No running. No falling into cow dung. A girl should always smell of roses.’
‘Stop that! Get me out of here!’
‘Okay. How about we climb up this tree?’
Frances glanced from the cows to the branches and made an instant decision. Despite the heels on her shoes, she was up the trunk and sitting on the first branch in double quick time. On spotting what seemed an even wider perch on a higher branch, she moved across the trunk and upwards.
Declan’s strong muscles made the job of climbing seem easy, his arms heaving him upwards, his strong legs propelling him from below. In no time he was sitting beside her.
‘Whew,’ he said, looking back down at the ground. ‘That was quite a climb and that’s quite a bunch of mean-looking cows.’
Frances burst out laughing.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘You, sitting beside me in an oak tree; the big bad military policeman chased up here by a herd of cows.’
He jerked his head, an action of half-hearted agreement. ‘As I said to you, that’s a pretty mean-looking herd of cows. Just look at the way they’re eyeing us. We’re ripe material for tossing on their horns or chasing into the nearest pile of something smelling a lot less pleasant than roses.’
They both looked down at the black and white backs of the cows who had found their way across the field and were gathered at the base of the tree. One or two looked up, their jaws chewing impassively as though they were contemplating what to do next.
Declan pointed at one of them. ‘I bet that one’s named Gertrude.’
‘Gertrude?’
‘Yep. It’s a fine name.’
Frances burst into laughter. ‘I know someone named Gertrude.’
‘Is she a cow?’
‘I think some people call her that,’ she spluttered as she attempted to control her laughter.
Even when the cows wandered off, they remained up the tree, neither speaking, both en
joying the view.
Frances sighed. ‘I like it up here.’
‘Is it your first time?’
‘For climbing a tree? No.’
‘That’s not what I meant. I can see you can climb trees. I meant is it your first time up this particular tree?’
‘Yes,’ she said laughingly. ‘Unless there was some time when I was small that I climbed up here, but I don’t think so. I don’t remember, anyway.’
Frances fell to silence and although Declan had a way with words, he too was keeping quiet, his eyes fixed on the roofs of village cottages.
She pointed towards the village. ‘Those cottage roofs look like slabs of cake. What do you think?’
‘Cake? I’m no expert on cake. Honey, you may not have noticed, but I’m a military policeman, not a chef.’
‘I noticed.’
She was perched on the tree with her arms around her drawn-up knees. Declan had his arms outstretched, his strong hands holding on to the branches on either side of him.
‘We could get down from this tree if we wanted to.’
Frances shook her head. ‘I’m quite happy here.’
‘The cows have gone home for milking.’
‘It’s not time to go home yet.’
‘I’ve left my Jeep at the end of the lane.’
‘Nobody’s going to steal it. Everyone will know where it came from.’
‘The colonel might want an omelette for his supper tonight.’
‘Let him eat cake.’
‘Cake? What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘A French queen once said that when she was told the peasants had no bread.’
‘She obviously lacked tact.’
‘I think so. She was guillotined.’
‘A bit harsh just because she advised a change of diet.’
Frances smiled. The branch jiggled as the wind got up a bit.
Declan noticed. ‘Are you okay there? It doesn’t look too safe if you ask me.’
His arm snaked around her shoulders. She could have protested, but she liked the warmth of it, and the feeling of security it gave her.
‘So did this queen bake cake?’
‘No,’ Frances replied laughingly. ‘She had cooks galore to bake for her.’
Declan seemed to think about it for a minute before saying, ‘I’d never hire a cook, mainly because in actual fact I consider myself a pretty good cook.’
She eyed him quizzically. ‘So if your colonel asked you to bake him a cake, you would do it.’
‘No problem!’
‘I don’t believe you.’
Declan nudged her forehead with his own, his eyes inches from hers, his nose and his lips so very close.
‘Believe me, baby. Believe me!’
‘I can bake a better cake than you – given the right ingredients.’
Declan burst out laughing.
‘Are you challenging me?’
Her gaze travelled skywards as she thought about it.
‘Yes,’ she said, nodding. ‘I think I am.’
Frances cocked her head to one side and stretched her legs. Declan attempted to do the same. Unfortunately, his legs were longer than hers.
‘Whoa!’ He grabbed the branches he’d been holding on to, his legs dangling either side of the branch. Pretending he’d lost his balance, he swung underneath it, holding on with his arms and legs.
‘Hey! Get me up from here. I’m hanging upside down. Like a fruit bat, for God’s sake!’
Frances burst out laughing. ‘I can do that too!’
She did exactly that, swinging herself round and upside down so that she too was hanging from the tree, arms and legs wrapped around the branch. All the time she laughed and made fun of him.
‘I’ll get you,’ he shouted to her.
She giggled and sidled out to the further reaches of the branch. In response, the branch, less thick now than the place where she’d been sitting, creaked and bent closer to the ground. The branch groaned again, bowing lower until its leafy ends were only six feet from the clumps of grass and yellow spring flowers spread like a carpet beneath her.
There was a cracking sound. Frances gasped. ‘Whoops!’
The branch split but did not break. Taken by surprise, Frances lost her grip, yelled and fell.
She came to earth with a bump. The grass was damp, the earth soft. A few of the cows halted, turned their heads, their large brown eyes eyeing her curiously.
To her dismay, one cow, more inquisitive than the others, came all the way back. Its huge head hung over her, its warm breath falling on to her face.
‘Help,’ she said in a small voice. She kept her eyes on the cow, willing it to go away. The forest kids had told her it was possible to will animals to do what you wanted. It seemed cows were not one of those animals. This particular one didn’t budge.
‘Git! Git! Hey! Hey! Get out of here!’
Declan was down on the ground, waving his arms in an effort to shoo the cow away. As the cow turned, he slapped it on the rump then with both brawny hands gave it an almighty shove.
Message received and understood, the cow re-joined its companions. So much for willing it to leave, thought Frances.
Declan got down on to one knee and looked down to where she was sprawled. ‘Are you okay?’ There was no amusement in his eyes this time. No mocking overtone to his voice.
Breathless and bruised, Frances raised herself up on her elbows. Before she even looked at him let alone thanked him, she glanced towards the cows’ retreating rumps.
‘What did you do to them?’
His smile was all knowing and smug. ‘Issued orders.’
‘They’re cows not GIs.’
‘I can still issue them orders.’
Frances cooled her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘I hate cows.’
‘So you’ve told me.’ He grinned. ‘Are you going to get up or shall I come down there?’
‘This is silly.’
‘Okay. I’ll come down there.’
He lay in the grass beside her.
She turned her head to face him and smiled. ‘You have to fetch eggs.’
‘Ah huh.’
‘You’ll get in trouble if you don’t get back in time.’
‘I’ll risk it.’
She didn’t believe that he would get in trouble. Declan was not just a man with authority over his subordinates; he was respected by his superiors.
She squinted against the brightness of the sky as she watched the clouds tumbling by like a flock of snowy white sheep.
Declan lay with his arms folded behind his head. ‘Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?’
‘Walking in the fresh air.’
‘I mean the truth.’
Averting her eyes, she thought about whether she should tell him about the prayer. Would he think it childish or stupidly superstitious?
‘Some of the guys at the base gave your uncle a lift home after he dropped your nephew at the hospital.’
She didn’t correct him that Charlie wasn’t her nephew. It really didn’t matter. What did hit her was being reminded that Charlie was in hospital. Suddenly she didn’t care what Declan thought of her.
‘All right, I’ll tell you. I wrote a prayer on a scrap of paper and posted it into a hole in the tree. I suppose you think it’s stupid.’
He shook his head. ‘Not at all. We all do whatever we think will help, no matter what other people think. Where did you get the idea?’
She told him she’d learned it from her friends in the Forest of Dean, and told him about Ada, Deacon, Ralphie, Merlyn and all her other friends.
‘I don’t want Charlie to die.’
She said it so suddenly that Declan jerked himself out of the grass and turned on to his side, his head resting on his hand. ‘Is he likely to?’
‘That’s not the point. It’s diphtheria. I should have noticed his swollen throat. Why didn’t I notice?’
She felt Declan’s eyes studying her
face. ‘You’re fond of that little guy.’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was small. She blinked the moisture from her eyes.
He reached across and stroked her face. ‘Are you certain you can bake a better cake than me?’
The swift switch from serious to trivial was typical of Declan. He tended to do that, one minute lively and funny, the next serious and focused on the job in hand.
‘Yes.’
‘Okay. So how about we have a little competition?’
She frowned when she turned her head to look at him. ‘A baking competition?’
He nodded. ‘Sure. There’s a competition coming up at the village hall. A fund-raiser, I believe you call it. Part of it is a cake-making competition. It’s not much in the way of prize money. Five shillings, I think, but that’s not the point. It’s a morale booster – that’s what I’ve been told, anyway. So, how about it? Care to enter?’
‘For five shillings?’
He grinned again. ‘There’s an extra prize. If I win, I get to kiss you, and if you win, you get to kiss me. Is it a deal?’
Her spirits were at rock bottom because of Charlie, but Declan dragged her back up again. She laughed at the prize he was offering.
‘So whichever way, you’ll be kissing me.’
‘Isn’t that good enough?’
She laughed. Of course it was.
‘And then we get married.’
It took her completely by surprise when he bent over and kissed her on the mouth. She sprang up into a sitting position, her fingers covering her lips. They were tingling.
‘You’ve never done that before,’ she said through her fingers, her eyes round with surprise.
‘It was bound to happen.’
He was right. It was bound to happen and had left her breathless.
Her head was spinning.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Just a bit dizzy. I got up too quickly. It makes you very dizzy if you do that, and—’
‘Rest your head on my shoulder.’
She didn’t resist when he placed his arm around her shoulders, his free hand cupping the side of her head, gently easing it on to his shoulder.
She closed her eyes. Enveloped by his arms and his body, she felt incredibly safe, incredibly calm.
‘I guess I startled you. A guy of my age asking a girl like you to marry me is gonna startle a lot of folk, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Behind her closed eyelids, Frances imagined her uncle’s response. She was only sixteen years old. He would advise her to wait or find somebody of her own age. Ed would be his particular choice, and up until a couple of days ago she might have thought so too. But Declan was no longer just a friend. In her heart of hearts she’d always known that. The age difference had made her think it was impossible, but it wasn’t impossible, not at all.
