by Gloria Cook
She dried her eyes. ‘I’ll never get used to it, but then I don’t want to.’ On the way out of the churchyard she adjusted her steps to the slight roll of his. She paused near the church entrance, before a towering Celtic cross raised as a monument to the village war dead. ‘There’s my brother Billy’s name. Jenna’s with him now. How did you get here, Perry?’
‘I rode. You don’t have to hurry home, do you, Em? The children are at Tremore on a picnic. Can we spend some time together?’
Emilia felt compelled to leave the hallowed ground before answering. Her agonizing of a few nights ago had been for nothing. She still wanted to be with Perry more than anyone else. He was with her in every way, through memories of his kindness and compassion and every word he had spoken to her, and the feel of his touch and the kiss of his mouth. She had missed him even before he had left the room on the night of the dinner, and she knew nothing she could do or say would fill the empty place left inside her. Over and over she had asked herself why she had these feelings, this need for him. She loved Alec. It was a love that had grown soon after her estrangement from Ben, and it was a strong love, an enduring love, yet different to the love she felt for Perry. She was in love with him. God forbid it, she was, but God couldn’t forbid now, it was too late, it had already happened. Her heart was with Perry, in him, his for ever. Not counting the deep, indestructible maternal love she felt for Tom and Will, and Jenna, somehow Perry was the largest part of her life.
This was dangerous. She moved out of his reach. Safely out of his reach. ‘Perry, I’m married…’
‘I know,’ he pleaded with eloquent turns of his gentle hands, ‘and I like and respect Alec. But, and I’m not the least bit sorry about this, Em, I’m in love with you. Em, darling, I love you. I love you with everything I have inside me and I can’t help it. It’s happened. I won’t, I can’t deny it another moment.’
She swung her head away. She mustn’t look at him. ‘Don’t say anything more, Perry. Please, don’t… I’m going home. Don’t follow me. My children need me, and there’s Alec…’
‘Stay, Em, don’t go. Talk to me. Darling, don’t leave me like this.’
She made the mistake of glancing at him. The pained expression etched in his dark, handsome face made her spring towards him, but she still kept out of his reach.
His pony was tethered next to the hipping stock, a few yards behind him. ‘I’ll fetch Sparkie for you. You should ride away from me.’
‘No!’ He reached out and gripped her hand. ‘Come with me somewhere quiet. Take me somewhere where we won’t be discovered. At least give me this afternoon. Don’t waste these precious moments, Em. They might be all we’ll ever have. Please don’t do that.’
She stared into his passionate blue eyes for some time. Finally, she bit her lip. ‘All right. There is a place, we’ll need to follow the old track that runs along the side of the churchyard. It leads to a patch of moorland, there’s a little secluded place there. Few people know of it and those who do won’t go near it because it’s rumoured to be haunted.’
Once off the lane, they rode double, she behind him, keeping her hands and as much of herself as possible away from his body. It was hard, it felt unnatural not to fling her arms around him and press her face against him. With the churchyard left behind, they were now hemmed in on either side by close hedges of dark, ominous-looking thorn bushes, having to duck their heads and keep their arms in to avoid being scratched. She explained more about their destination. ‘Jonny discovered the spot ages ago but it doesn’t appeal to him because there isn’t a stream or anything much to climb.’
‘Sounds the perfect place where we won’t be disturbed and Jonny certainly won’t be there with his gang today.’
With thoughts of Jonny and her sons enjoying games on Ben’s property, she tried to work up enough guilt to insist that when she and Perry had made the end of the narrow track, where there would be just enough room to turn the pony round, that they go back.
But when they had squeezed past the last barbarous bush, she said, ‘To the left now.’
Soon the pony’s hooves began to sink into less firm ground and banks of creeping willow, gorse, bramble and a few birch trees took over to hide them from view as they picked a way through spiky purple moor grass and reeds. Spotted orchids gave beautiful dashes of rose pink.
Shortly the way ahead was blocked by tall growth and she said, ‘We’ll have to get down and secure Sparkie here. I’ll have to make a path through. Give me your stick, Perry, then hold on to me.’
‘Well, I won’t argue with that,’ he smiled into her eyes.
It was a slow, difficult passage for Perry, for they had to avoid patches of deep black mud and small boulders of granite, while ducking under low straggling branches and climbing over those that were lower still.
‘Just a little further on,’ Emilia encouraged him. ‘Then there’ll be a pleasant place where we can sit.’
Clinging to her hand, keeping himself upright by the aid of a roughly barked lichen-covered limb, he breathed a long restorative sigh. She freed her hand from his and held up a leafy bough for him to pass under.
Then he was whistling in elation. ‘This is amazing.’ They were in a small circle of open air, on soft, spongy ground, surrounded by tall, dense foliage. The sky overhead seemed a magical blue and sweeps of marsh flowers of purple, pink, cream and yellow gave the impression of an enchanted paradise. It seemed a place of gentle warmth and purity, even the multitudes of insects, which had been nipping at his exposed skin, kept at bay.
He eased himself down on the green floor, which felt, to his mesmerized mind, as smooth as velvet. He pulled off his muddy riding boots and Emilia took off her spoiled shoes. She sat close, not too close, yet not too far away, facing him. Looking everywhere but at him.
‘We mustn’t stay long, Perry.’
‘You don’t mean that.’ He put a hand gently on her face, turned it until she was looking at him then leaned forward to kiss her lips.
She grasped his hand. ‘No, this is wrong.’
‘Yes, it is, but…’
‘What?’
‘We’re here, my darling Em. We met, we needed each other and now we’re here.’
He held her face in both hands and she closed her eyes and let him kiss her. And she kissed him in return, with eagerness, with passion, with soaring pleasure. With love. So much love. She did not know where all her love for him came from. It was filling her to the very edges of her being, and the more she was kissing him, she knew that he was feeding off her love, being filled with it to the brim of his soul.
They went on kissing, caressing each other’s faces, necks and shoulders, gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes, his so deeply blue and gentle, hers so softly brown and tender. Finally he let his hands fall away. ‘I need to stretch out. Lay down with me, darling, Em. Talk to me.’
They lay down but did not talk. Or think. Simply enjoying the ‘now’ of being with each other. They lay face to face, hers resting in the crook of his arm. He smiled. And she imprinted his smile on her heart. For ever. He reached down to rub out the soreness in the muscles above the missing part of his leg. ‘Let me ease that for you,’ she said. And she placed her hand where his had been and she worked lightly, with a feather-light touch, but with exactly the right pressure to rid him of the pain in the slightly ruined temple of his wonderful body.
‘How do you feel about me, Em?’
She clung to him. She trickled her fingers through his thick black hair. ‘I don’t ever want to let you go. Not ever, Perry.’
‘You love me then?’ He made it sound as if it was incredible to him that she could love him.
‘Yes, Perry, I’m in love with you. And since we’ve been here, more than ever.’
He held her tight, with his eyes shut. Smiling, so happy. Then he was quiet. His gorgeous face a little shadowed. ‘I must tell you something.’
‘Perry? You can’t tell me anything that would make any difference.’
‘Shush, darling.’ He kissed her fingers, gripped them firmly. He enfolded her in his arms, so closely, so intimately. ‘I want us to have no secrets. I’ve already told you that my late wife wasn’t Libby’s mother, the thing is, I’m not her father.’ He was staring at her intently.
Emilia thought and considered. ‘Is she Selina’s child? From the times I’ve seen them together, they obviously share a very close bond.’
‘Yes, she is.’
‘Well, it made sense for you to take on Libby as yours, it gives her stability and it protects Selina’s reputation, although the way she behaves she’s seriously risking it.’
‘Selina’s always been reckless. She’s nearly brought us down more than once. But we’ve always been close and I owe her a lot. It was Selina who nursed me back to health, and she’s determined to stay with me and Libby even though it rather stifles her. And, ironically, it was her promiscuity that brought us to Ford House, and you into my life, darling Em. I’ve never been in love before and once I’d settled into my new life with Libby, I didn’t ever expect to be. But now I am in love. It happened when I first saw you. That sweet, sweet moment of time. I love you so much, Em, so completely, so desperately.’
She ran a finger along the length of the full, wide mouth she had been kissing so ardently. ‘I should take you back right now. Demand you and Selina give notice on the house.’
‘Yes, you should.’ He brought his fingers up to her lips, traced their soft outline. ‘Will you?’
‘No. Nothing could happen to change how I feel about you, darling, Perry.’ She was in deep with him, too deep for anything to change that.
There were more kisses, lots of loving kisses. Smothering and giving, and hoping and longing. They fell into another world. Their world and theirs alone.
‘Love me, Em. Love with me.’ He had regained his strength, was using it tenderly, breeding sensations in her that were indescribably fine, devastating to the beginnings of her being. She was lost to everything except him.
With desire rising in her veins she responded with kisses of fiery devotion, crooning in bliss when his fine hands tenderly began to explore her. Gentle fingers, gentle thumbs. He was searching her, reaching her and carrying her with him.
She felt herself growing inside for him. Sighed against his mouth. And he knew it was time. He arranged her and entered her and held her against him. Taking possession of her depths while she moulded herself around him, to begin a perfect partnership in the exquisite motions of love. In total loving union, in a world filled with new and wonderful things, they were lost in moments unfathomable and intense and complete, lost in each other on a golden, mystical journey, so huge and deep was the pleasure. Until at last, she felt the wondrous sweet release, and then he was crying out too. Both shuddering, both sighing. Ever so gently, they sighed together.
And then they were still, in peace, looking into each other’s love-burned faces. Smiling, smiling, smiling. How could a man own such a tender, divine smile? She let her head fall dreamily against his neck, kissing him there, and he kissed her hair, softly. He placed little tender touches of love on her with his mouth. And they stayed and they held on. And lived and loved again through more precious stolen moments.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A loud humming and brumming, interspersed with whooshes and rat-a-tat-tats and finally a high-pitched wailing, reached Brooke and Vera Rose at the top of Tremore valley, where they were laying out the picnic.
From the shade of a solitary beech tree, Brooke looked all the way down to the ancient Tremore manor house ruins and saw Jonny running with his arms extended, dipping and rolling in the manner of an aeroplane. He climbed up on top a chunk of manor wall, then dived off, shouting, ‘Mayday, Mayday!’ A war hero going down in glory, but not until after he’d shot down the legendary Bosch ace-pilot Baron Richthofen.
‘Goodness, what imagination the boy’s got and so much energy. I hope my baby turns out the same.’ Brooke’s gaze shot round to Vera Rose, who was kneeling on the tartan rug, setting out the inedible things from a large wicker hamper. ‘Please don’t say anything to Emilia. We’re waiting for the right moment to tell her.’
‘Congratulations,’ Vera Rose said, her young eyes gleefully alight from learning a ‘grown-up’ secret. She liked Brooke a lot because she treated her as a grown-up: she didn’t have to use the honorary title of aunt when addressing her. ‘I promise I won’t tell. Actually, it’s good to see Jonny back to being noisy and daring again. He was so quiet for a while, Aunty Em was worried he was sickening for something. You can go ahead and tell her your good news, you know. She’ll be delighted for you, Brooke.’
‘Thanks for the advice. I’ll talk to Ben about it.’ Brooke could almost hear the excited new note that would be in Vera Rose’s vigorous voice when she learned her mother was pregnant too.
Vera Rose loved to impart the adult sayings she had heard. ‘It’s news that can’t be kept a secret for ever. Aunty Em will be fine about it, honestly. Mrs Rowse was only saying the other day to Tilda that she’s quite well and content now.’ She also had a morsel of her own insight to pass on. ‘Isn’t Eliza a dark one? She thinks Mr Bosweld’s got the looks of a film star and that she’d set her cap for him, only she isn’t the type, of course, he’d be likely to take a fancy to. Eliza says he doesn’t seem to be looking for anyone and that perhaps his wife was the great love of his life.’
‘Yes, perhaps she was.’ Deep in thought, Brooke took several steps away from the picnic rug. ‘I’ll call the others before the insects start to gather round the food.’
The response to Brooke’s shout was immediate. Jonny believed in feeding his troops and he had a whole garrison, it seemed, under his command today, made up of Will, Tom, Libby, and eight boys and girls from the village. Also tearing up the thistle-strewn hill were Casper, Bertie and Hope from Ford Farm and a border collie from Tremore.
‘Right, you lot,’ he yelled in military tones, foot up on the hamper. ‘Sit in an orderly circle. Let the little ones eat first. After this we’ll have a sing-song. And then us bigger ones are going to eat a prickly roll. You too, Vee.’
‘If I must,’ Vera Rose replied with resigned patience over his euphemism and his intention, reconciled to the fact she would have to roll down the valley over the thistles and afterwards display the scratches to prove she didn’t cheat. She distributed the plates and the ham and pickle sandwiches, the hunks of cheese, the apples and fruit cake to the ring of grasping raised hands with the care and devotion that spoke of her maternal side.
Brooke poured the lemonade – the children having to take turns with the cups – and water for the dogs, and all the while her mind was on Perry Bosweld. And Emilia.
Brooke had noticed how broodingly peaceful Emilia was after being in his company. For a while, she was like a stranger, oblivious, as if she had redefined her position. Could it be Emilia was falling in love with him? No, she didn’t want to dwell on that notion. Perry was simply a good friend to Emilia, someone who was part of her grief, who understood it. But Emilia was vulnerable because of her grief and perhaps all the more appealing to the man she had a soul-rending connection with.
Brooke recalled the meeting in Mrs Frayne’s front room. She saw a good-natured, stunning-looking man, radiating kindness, a willingness to serve the community, but more so, she saw his smiling eyes settle repeatedly on Emilia, the eagerness to hang on to her every word. She saw his vibrancy of being with Emilia afterwards at Tremore farmhouse, how light and vital she was at him being there.
Brooke had taken Libby and Casper for a walk round the farmyard, and on their return to the parlour, Perry and Emilia had been at the piano, he preparing to play, she standing at his side, very close, her hand near his shoulder, he bringing his hand down from his brow. Brooke saw now that Perry had been bringing his hand down off Emilia’s.
She had been blind to their attachment, their empathy and tender warmth. A ghastly chill clenched at her innards. If he
r belief was right Emilia’s closeness to Perry could rock the entire Harvey family. It could wreck the lives of everyone at Ford Farm. Send shock waves through the village. She hated this: Ben had asked her immediately before their wedding never to keep secrets from him. But what if she was wrong? As a newcomer, not knowing Emilia particularly well, hardly knowing Perry at all, she wasn’t absolutely sure of there being something inappropriate between them. If Ben felt he should talk to Emilia it might lead to unnecessary distress, and she, herself, might be seen as a troublemaker and it might lead to another estrangement between those at Tremore and Ford Farm. Brooke was in an impossible position. Risking recriminations if she spoke to Ben or not.
She massaged her ribs to help her to breathe, to regain some calm. She had never had a foolish tongue. It made best sense to keep her fears to herself. She would avoid being in the company of Emilia and Perry together, and then no one need ever know she had suspected anything. Then there would be no risk to her happy marriage.
‘Is something the matter, Brooke?’ Vera Rose was offering her a sandwich, her frank fairness darkened by a deep frown.
‘What? Oh, no, Vera, of course not.’ Brooke forced a bright smile. ‘I was just wondering if we’ve got enough supplies to satisfy this hungry lot.’
* * *
‘So, Ben, my son, you’re now a married man. How’re you finding it?’
‘Never been happier, Dougie.’ Ben produced a photograph, a particularly good study of Brooke smiling naturally, taken by Alec on the beach below Roskerne, and he passed it to the man across the casually untidy desk.
‘Mmmm. Mmmm. She’s a corker. You’ve done all right there.’
Dougie Blend handed the photograph back and Ben carefully returned it to his wallet. He leaned back in the chair opposite his business associate, business not involved in Tremore’s concerns, some of which was conducted unknown to Customs and Excise when ships unloaded certain cargo on Truro’s wharves. He always felt comfortable in this office, in St Mary’s Street, Truro, where the typist in the next room could be heard merrily tapping out correspondence and the clerk-cum-tea boy could be heard singing as he lit the gas under the kettle. In the legitimate field, Dougie Blend was a fine wines merchant and he sold the highest quality ladies’ hats, gloves and lingerie from a string of shops throughout West Cornwall. Ben had shares in the wine venture. ‘I’m going to be a father. Keep it to yourself, will you, please? Alec doesn’t know yet. We’d like to give him and Emilia more time to come to terms with their grief.’
