by Gloria Cook
‘We’re back!’ Selina’s cheery voice reached him and he heard Libby running round the side of the house. ‘The shop’s a delight, Perry, and one can just about order anything there. It has steep steps, so you’ll have to be careful whenever you venture up them.’
‘Glad you’ve had a good first excursion,’ he called back. Never one to make others suffer his regrets and discontents he dampened down his frustration and manoeuvred the wheeled chair on to the lawn, all smiles. ‘Oh, good, you’ve brought a visitor with you.’
‘This is Miss Elena Rawley. We met outside the shop,’ Selina said, while Libby skipped up to him. ‘Her father’s the Methodist minister. Miss Rawley kindly invited us to tea one day, Perry, but I said, why wait? So I brought her along to meet you.’
‘I’m pleased you came, Miss Rawley.’ He lightly shook her small, gloved hand. ‘We’ve had villagers call on us every day. It’s what we were hoping for – friendly natives. They came bearing gifts too. We’ve been inundated with jars of jam, apple pies and butter and eggs. It’ll be putting Mrs Harvey, our landlady, out, but I suppose most of the produce comes from her dairy and hens anyway.’
‘Yes, I suppose it does. I’m pleased to hear you’re settling into village life, Mr Bosweld.’ Elena Rawley had taken charge of Libby a short while ago; she was sociable in a modest way and although in her early twenties, appeared intent on good, old-fashioned spinsterhood. Small-boned, the sort who could easily be overlooked, her figure was hidden by shapeless clothes of stout tweed and hand-knitted wool; her hair, glossy and mid-brown, was rolled up in an unflattering bun. There was something sweet and appealing about her politesse, and Selina could see how the awkward youthful side of Jim Killigrew – the way he had been – could be attracted to her. ‘You practise archery, how fascinating. I must say, I’ve just witnessed Miss Bosweld practically performing a miracle.’
‘Oh? I’d be intrigued to hear about that.’
‘It was nothing,’ Selina said, but she was pleased with the outcome of Miss Rawley’s tale regarding Wilfie Chellow. She knew the details would be greatly exaggerated when word was passed on about what she had done for another tenant of the fascinating Alec Harvey. ‘I can’t bear to see former servicemen treated like that. People don’t understand what it was like for them.’
‘Well, it’s a jolly good thing you happened to be there,’ Miss Rawley said, with an element of hero worship. ‘It was brave of you to nurse at the front, Miss Bosweld, in fact, brave of you to nurse at all. I don’t think I could do it.’
Perry smiled at his sister. ‘Good for you, Selina. I’ll take the liberty of calling on this Wilfie Chellow. If he isn’t already benefiting from an agency like the Royal British Legion, perhaps his mother will allow me to get in touch on his behalf. Ah, Mirelle’s spied you, Miss Rawley,’ he went on even more jovially. Open and gregarious, hating loneliness, he was pleased with the number of people he had already met, pleased that Libby had made new playmates. The two young daughters of one of Alec Harvey’s labourers had been invited back to play with Libby this afternoon. ‘The kettle will soon be singing. Mirelle doesn’t like to mix but she’s quite a one for hospitality. We’ve lots of goodies to offer you to go with a cup of coffee – we nearly always have coffee because Mirelle prefers it. She thinks the way the English make tea is pretty awful. The schoolmaster’s wife brought us some delicious saffron cake, my favourite. Mrs Frayne, wasn’t it, Selina?’
‘Yes, my dear. You will learn, Miss Rawley, that my brother does like to prattle on, bless him.’ Selina was gazing down at her flat brown shoes. They were tied with coloured laces. Perhaps she wasn’t quite the mouse she seemed, but she was definitely dead in the romantic and sensual department. She was completely unmoved by Perry’s good looks. This and his having a disability usually bred a desire in a woman to protect and serve him, to want to nurture his motherless child. A powerful draw. She didn’t even seem curious about him, and she must have heard his circumstances from the steady stream of visitors.
‘My father likes a good chat too, and they say it’s us women who talk the most.’ Elena Rawley gave a small unsure laugh. Unsettled by Selina’s attention to her shoes she studied them to see if they were animal-fouled.
Libby, who had been sitting on her father’s lap, patiently waiting for a break in the grown-ups’ conversation, posed her simple little face up at him. ‘When can I have a puppy, Daddy? The blacksmith’s dog’s just had some, the lady in the shop said so. I could have one of those. Please say I can, please, please, please. It’ll be fun.’
On her way to fetch two garden chairs, Selina lingered to listen. Perry glanced up at her. ‘What do you think, dear? Know anything about these puppies?’
‘Mrs Eathorne mentioned they were Labrador-cross, and should be quiet and obedient.’ Selina wagged a finger at her excited niece. ‘You mustn’t forget, Libby, that a dog must be trained properly and kept in order at all times in case it pitches Daddy over when he’s using his crutches. Daddy will take you to look at the litter and if he thinks they’re suitable you may choose one.’
Libby squeaked with joy. She kissed her father twice, then she ran to her aunt. ‘Thanks for ever. I love you, Aunt Selina.’
‘I love you too, ragamuffin.’ Selina lifted her up and whirled her round in a circle. ‘Off you go now and play and make yourself all grubby.’ Seeing Elena Rawley’s astonished expression and gauging correctly that if the boring young miss ever did have children they would not be encouraged to do likewise, she added in a wicked tone, ‘Those farm boys aren’t the only ones who know how to play at rough and tumble. The three Harvey boys were showing off, walking on our wall yesterday and making idiotic noises,’ she explained.
Libby went to perch cross-legged on the rug her toys were spread out on. She chattered to her dolls, all of which had been given French names, telling them in accomplished French – the language was included in the lessons her father was teaching her – about the puppy, asking them to help her choose its name.
‘She’s adorable,’ Elena Rawley said. ‘She’s very welcome to join the Sunday school.’
‘Does Emilia Harvey send her children there?’ Selina asked, carrying a pair of heavy wooden folding chairs from the shed as if they were weightless. She placed them down either side of Perry. Cushions were tucked in under her armpits and she flung them down on the seats with gusto, making Elena blink.
‘They go to the church Sunday school.’
Selina hastened up the path to meet Mirelle, who was hobbling along with a large lap tray of refreshments, obviously too heavy for her bony black-clad arms. ‘Cafe au lait, mademoiselle.’
Selina took the tray from her and set it down on its short legs. She thanked the maid with copious nodding. Mirelle bobbed to the guest and left.
Selina poured the coffee and cream. ‘Libby, come and get your milk and biscuits. Sugar, Miss Rawley? Do you see much of the family? The Harveys?’
‘Two lumps please. Oh, yes, I call at the farm quite often. The Harveys are involved with every aspect of village life. The Boxing Day Hunt always starts off on their land and one of the village’s favourite events, the summer sports day, is held in Higher Cross field, behind the school, immediately after the haymaking.’
‘Indeed. What does Ben Harvey do?’ Selina stretched out in her chair, kicked off her shoes and wriggled her toes about in the grass. Amused that this seemed to shock Miss Rawley, she pushed the plate of cake in front of her. Mirelle had cut the cake into chunks; no respectable, dainty manse-sized slices here.
‘Thank you.’ Elena Rawley accepted a chunk. ‘He doesn’t organize anything, well, not as yet. He recently mentioned to my father that he’s thinking of starting annual fêtes in the grounds of his house, with all benefits to go to the village. My father’s going to suggest the school would appreciate some new equipment.’
‘We’d be pleased to support anything like that, wouldn’t we, Selina?’ Perry said.
‘We’d love to.’ Selina fixed a
penetrating gaze on her guest. ‘Ben and Alec don’t get on, do they?’ She knew the story behind the brothers’ uneasy relationship. Ben had told her and Perry about it over lunch the day after they had moved in, but she wanted to learn more.
‘I don’t really know a lot,’ Elena ducked her head.
‘Of course you have to be diplomatic. I understand.’
A bird’s call echoed in from the field adjacent to the low natural, primrose-scattered hedge at the bottom of the garden. A much-admired cluster of white violets grew amid them. ‘How marvellous,’ Selina said. ‘Are we the first to hear a cuckoo hereabouts, Elena?’
Elena Rawley was too stunned at being hailed by her first name without invitation or a long-standing acquaintance with the other woman to respond immediately. ‘Um, no, one of Mr Ben Harvey’s employees, a woman called Eliza Shore actually had that distinction two days ago.’
‘Much rejoicing on the Tremore property then.’ Selina lifted one leg, rested the ankle on the opposite knee and proceeded to massage her foot. She heard Elena Rawley’s heavy snatch of breath at her lack of decorum. ‘Ah, there it is again, but no, it’s an answering call from the woods. I do admire the cuckoo. It’s such a clever creature to use others to do the hard work of hatching and feeding its young. I love the woods, don’t you, Elena? I can still hardly believe our luck at living with one just a stone’s throw away. All the gorgeous bluebells, and the kingcups down by the stream, the wonderful smell of bark and moss, the fascinating species of fungi. The stream is so pretty here and so restful. I love the feel of cold water running over my bare feet. Have you the time to take a little stroll with me now, Elena?’
‘No, I don’t think I have. I mean I…’ Her cup rattling on its saucer, Miss Rawley put the crockery down on the tray. ‘Actually, I have to be going. There’s a social coming up, just a small one, but I have a lot of organizing to do. If you’ll excuse me…Thank you so much for the coffee. Don’t get up, I’ll see myself out.’
‘You’re incorrigible, Selina,’ Perry said, the second the minister’s daughter was heard closing the front gate. He helped himself to another chunk of cake. ‘She’s not likely to come here again after all that. I rather liked her.’
‘That’s the idea. She’d bore us silly if she called here often. She asked me if I’d like to join the Sewing Guild or attend a revival meeting! Definitely not my type, although she is rather… no, forget it. Anyway, I was just having a little fun before I return to the daily grind.’ Selina threw her head back so the sun could caress her face. She loved warmth and fresh air on her bare skin. It spoke of freedom, and freedom of all kinds is what she craved.
‘You really shouldn’t mock people in front of Libby. I don’t want her thinking it’s all right to do the same.’
‘Oh, she wouldn’t have understood any of that even though she is growing up so quickly, bless her.’
‘Selina, you know you don’t have to go on working. Living simply as we do means I’ve got enough to support both of us for the rest of our lives and to see to Libby’s education.’
‘I won’t be kept by anyone and you know I couldn’t bear to stay at home all the time. I know nursing still isn’t seen as a suitable occupation for a lady, but I enjoy its application and challenge.’ She bent over to retrieve her shoes. ‘I’m going to put you through a tough exercise regime this afternoon. It’s time you persevered with the prosthesis again.’
‘Must I? I’m quite happy with an empty space below my knee.’
‘Well I’m not, and yes, you must. Think of Libby; it’ll be better for her seeing her father wearing a pair of shoes.’
‘Libby’s used to the way I am. It’s years before I’ll need to walk her down the aisle.’
‘I hope you want more out of life for her than that! What I want is for her to see what can be achieved with hard work and determination. She could follow my career or aim for something higher. No more arguments, no more laziness from you. Right, I’m off for a little walk.’
‘Anywhere particular?’
‘The woods. I’m meeting Jim.’
‘Can’t think what you see in that boy.’
‘Oh, he makes a welcome change from older experienced men and handsome young bucks like Ben. Ben’s champing at the bit; it’s such fun keeping him at arm’s length.’
‘Be careful with your games, Selina. Where you seek gratification. I believe Ben was hoping to see you again before the arrangement for dinner at his house next week. There’s a sadness about him, don’t you think?’
‘Is there? He’s going to fetch us in his motor car, by the way.’ Selina was disappearing down the garden. ‘I’m off to pick bluebells,’ she laughed uproariously. ‘If I’m not back in time for lunch, keep it warm for me.’
Chapter Five
Tristan was in the grounds of his new home, Winifred’s house, Roskerne, which overlooked the coast at Watergate Bay, near the fishing town of Newquay. It was a fine square house, evocative of Victorian confidence, an uncompromising tribute to the classical, with a verandah, stained glass in some windows, and lancet-shaped doorways. A lot of the brickwork had deteriorated with age and weather, the gutters and downpipes were leaky. He would put his attention to the repairs in the coming weeks.
With the formalities of the wedding over, which by mutual choice had been a small affair, there was now only the immediate family left and while the children were tearing about somewhere he and the other adults were lolling in deckchairs on the terrace.
He was not as settled as he looked. It had taken a lot of persuasion to prevent Winifred from calling off the wedding, for Jonny had taken the news of the marriage badly, going off in an uncharacteristic huff and sulking for hours. He had been surly and unco-operative since, refusing to be best man, which Tristan thought he would have been both amused and honoured by.
‘Why must you change everything?’ Jonny had shouted at him. ‘I don’t want to leave the farm. I don’t want to switch schools. I’ll miss Will and Tom and Aunty Em and Uncle Alec and everyone here.’ Tristan knew that most of all he would miss Alec, and it had saddened him to realize just how much his brother had taken his place during his absence.
In an exchange of roles for the brothers, Alec had counselled him. ‘You need to give Jonny time to get used to his new life, to make new friends. He’ll settle down.’ But Alec had been unable to hide his own hurt at Jonny moving out, and although at only a distance of fourteen miles it did not make for frequent visiting.
The children suddenly went quiet, pointing to Jonny’s heart not being in high spirits today. They had probably gone up to the attic, where, Jonny had written to him once during a stay here, he liked to ‘poke about’ in the things once belonging to departed Stockleys. Tristan looked up at the high roof of rounded tiles, picturing Jonny inside, quiet, morose, wishing the other children would go away. Alec had often been like that as a boy, when their father had thrashed him over a poor school report, or when he’d been unable to read out an address on a letter or a label on some goods. It grieved Tristan to think of his son feeling so despondent.
He swept his eyes to Winifred, who was facing him, her back to the sun, holding up a parasol, her feet up on a stool because her new shoes were pinching. She had been watching him, seeking reassurance yet again that they had done the right thing. In his smile he tried to convey a contented anticipation for the future.
Winifred, who had a swan-like grace, was transformed into the typical glowing loveliness of a bride and looked younger than her thirty-four years. She smiled back then glanced down shyly. She had been thinking about the difference in their ages. What had her guests, specially the women she played bridge with weekly, thought of her marrying someone younger? It was only a couple of years but, bearing in mind one usually married a man a few years older, it didn’t seem right. And she was trying to get used to the strangeness of one of her cousins now being her husband. She was worried about Jonny. He had hardly eaten a morsel at the reception.
To forget
her worries Winifred watched while Alec cradled Jenna to his shoulder and Emilia leaned across and wiped dribble from around her tiny mouth. ‘The pair of you do fuss over her. You never gave the boys so much attention.’
‘She’s our precious little princess,’ Alec replied, unashamed of the pride and the emotion he displayed. He kissed Jenna’s fairy-like face. ‘Aren’t you, darling angel?’
‘I thought Emilia was your angel,’ Ben pouted, starting on his umpteenth glass of champagne. Despite his misgivings about the marriage, believing his brother and cousin had acted hastily out of fear of loneliness, he had behaved impeccably as best man in the church, but now the guests had gone he had dropped his scintillating charm and was planning to get drunk. Pixillated. Red-nosed, leg-reelingly drunk. He was bored and wished he had not agreed, like his overconfident brother and insufferable sister-in-law, to stay overnight.
‘I’m fortunate enough to have two angels in my life.’ Alec’s tone carried a hint of superiority.
Ben gazed at Emilia. Why did she have to be so damned lovely in her outfit? It was a dress of ice-blue silk crêpe, with appliqued circles at the dropped waist and wrists, and a softly brimmed floaty hat and double T-bar, fashionably low-heeled blue shoes. Three rows of pearls hung from her graceful neck, the longest reaching down to where he thought her navel to be. Recalling how he had seen that delicious little part of her, he stirred awkwardly. Not surprisingly, she had received far more compliments than Winifred in her mushroom-coloured effort. Alec, damn him, had received compliments all day about her from women who had admired her and men who had desired her. She was that sort of woman.
