by Gloria Cook
Dougie Blend, greasy-lipped, a sagging paunch kept under control by his artful tailor, tossed a fat cigar across to Ben. ‘Never understood this need to be buried in the bosom of the family thing. Congrats on the kid, hope it’s a son and heir. You’d like that, eh? You’re a good boy, Ben. If I were family-minded, I’d have liked a son just like you. Good looking, intelligent, smart, not afraid to take a risk. Discreet. I take it the little woman doesn’t know about our other bit of business? Good, good. Time you brought her along to Eugenie’s. Eugenie was only saying the other night she hasn’t seen you in ages. Well, I said, neither have I. He’s too tied up in his little love nest,’ Dougie hee-hawed. ‘Yank, your little missus, isn’t she? Any interesting contacts to be made over and above her dear little head?’
‘Not at all.’ Ben trimmed and lit his cigar, then leaned across the desk with his lighter for Dougie to light up.
‘Shame, shame.’
‘I liked France when I was over there. I’m planning to take Brooke to Paris someday soon. I could take a look around then. Wines, in particular, should be interesting.’
‘Excellent. Good boy. Never rest on your backside when there’s money to be made, that’s what I say. When’s your garage and petrol station to be opened?’
‘Should be finished by the end of September. I’m looking to reap a good harvest this year and to put another one into operation.’
‘Well done! Hope you’re planning a tremendously huge party to celebrate. Just a thought, my son, your little Brooke’s not likely to go poking about in the hiding place we have on your property, is she?’ Dougie puffed on his cigar like one satiated with pleasure but one eye was sharp, snappy, no-nonsense.
‘I’ve told her it houses the chemicals for sheep dipping, that I keep the outhouse padlocked in case my nephews or my foreman’s imbecile brother wanders in there.’
‘Good for you. You must take home my latest range in luxury sheer stockings for her, my son. You’ll enjoy them as much as her, I guarantee.’ Dougie grinned. Ben knew what was on his mind. ‘How much does she have you under her thumb?’
‘I’m in love, Dougie.’ Ben smiled sweetly. Life with Brooke was sweet. There wasn’t a room in Tremore House, a barn or a shed, except for the padlocked one, or a field of his they hadn’t made love in. They had made love in the small woods on his land, the ruins of the old manor house had recently borne witness to a sudden, loving, thrusting, jubilant coupling of theirs. And how Brooke loved, how joyful and unrestrained she was. They must have tried everything there was to try by now. Ben smiled again, secretly. He didn’t want to stray, and he didn’t have the energy to anyway.
‘Good for you, my son. Envy you: never known that. On the other hand, what a shame. I had an afternoon of fun and games lined up for you and I and two others. Oh, never mind.’ Dougie laughed, coughed on cigar smoke, spluttered, laughed again and jangled with himself below desk level. ‘Poor old me, got no choice but to play jollities with the both of ’em, all on me own.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alec arrived home from the cattle market and came across Sara sitting on the back kitchen doorstep, shelling a large bowl of peas into a colander for the evening meal. He smiled down on her, ‘Don’t get up, there’s plenty of room to get past you. Everything seems quiet. Has Emilia not come back from the churchyard yet?’
‘No, she hasn’t.’ To protect her flawless complexion she was wearing a wide-brimmed sun hat. She stared up at the masterful figure before her – even though the sun was stabbing directly into her eyes; she tried not to squint. ‘The children won’t be back for ages either. Tilda and Mrs Rowse are down in the village, at the sewing guild.’
‘And you’re alone, Sara?’
‘Yes, Alec.’ She gazed up at him in the hope, the faint hope, burning hope, silly hope but she could not help herself, that he would suggest something wonderful, anything that would be a way for them to spend time alone together. Mucking out the cowhouse would do.
He frowned. ‘Have you been left to do all the work?’
‘Well, no. I’ve just got to finish off this and feed the hens. Mrs Em is going to do the dairy work for the evening milking.’
‘Yes, I know. You be sure to take off all the time you’re owed. I don’t want to see you turning into a drudge. Is Jim behaving himself today?’
‘He’s with Mr Rowse. He’s a bit moody but otherwise he’s staying in line.’
‘Good. I’m off out again in a minute. To take a few more photographs. Bye, Sara.’
‘Bye, Alec.’
She heard him going out the front door, so she did not have the pleasure of him squeezing back past her. He’ll never notice me, she thought, sighing, puffing despondence. It was hopeless, a waste of time, she thought, chin down to her chest, having my hair cut short and shingled like the movie stars. He might have agreed with all the others that it looked lovely, made me look more grown up, but… but nothing. She had no right to her hopes, her fantasies. Alec was married to Mrs Em, who was as kind as he was, kind enough to have given her a whole day off to make her transformation, to buy new clothes. And Alec and Mrs Em loved each other, were proud to show their love in open affection.
She swept up the colander of peas and dumped it down on the draining board, set aside the pods to be boiled later for the swill bucket, then marched off to feed the hens and the rest of the poultry, collected the second laying of eggs, washed the eggs quickly in the wash house, then – what she was longing to do – made to stamp up to her room, her divided-off little bit of space. Where she would throw herself on the bed and weep until suppertime. She wanted to scream in frustration.
It was all very well for others to say it was time she thought of getting herself a young man. There were few young men anywhere, thanks to the war, but it didn’t stop insensitive rotten people from pointing out all the male interest she regularly received, and no wonder, they said, because you’re so lovely. You’d make a good farmer’s wife, they said, and even Mrs Em had got excited the other day when Wally Eathorne, the heir of nearby Druzel Farm, had turned up unexpectedly to talk to Alec about black spot on cattle. ‘His ruse,’ Mrs Em had said, ‘to show an interest in you, Sara.’ Wally Eathorne wasn’t bad looking, he was the same age as herself, and polite and hard-working, and, everybody had stressed, owned a wonderful tenor voice, so he had something in common with her, and Farmer and Mrs Eathorne obviously approved of their son’s intention; Mrs Eathorne had hinted that Sara would be welcome if she ever felt like ‘popping over for tea’. Wally Eathorne would make a good catch for her, coming as she did from the humblest of backgrounds, but she didn’t want anything to do with him or any other of the hopeful suitors. Her hope lay in a different direction, one she shouldn’t be looking in. Only Jim seemed happy for her to stay resolutely single. ‘We only need each other,’ he said, and he said it nearly every day, not looking at another girl since he’d been thrown over – Sara knew who by now.
Instead of dashing up the back stairs, she went, as she knew she would, straight to the den, the place where Alec would have gone to fetch his photographic apparatus. She often did this. To be where he had been. To touch his things. Feel his presence. The job she enjoyed most was washing his clothes, when she could hold a shirt of his up to her nose and make the divine smell of him cause those secret wonderful, intense, shivery sensations to rise and spread throughout her body. And she enjoyed making his bed or changing the linen, when she imagined it was she who laid her head on the next pillow and was the one who gave all of herself to him. After this visit to the den she’d lie on her bed and close her eyes and imagine him making love to her. She could at least indulge herself to some moments of forbidden pleasure. Before the tears came again.
In the den her heart leapt. Alec’s silver cigarette case and lighter were sitting on the desk. He had forgotten them.
An old saying went through her head. Faint heart never won fair lady. She reversed it. Faint heart never won the fine-looking man you desire more tha
n anything in the world. She would put on the most stylish of her new dresses (bought from his generosity) and take his cigarettes and lighter to him. He would probably be in Long Meadow, but she would find him if it meant searching all afternoon and getting back late, and she would win him for herself. She would. She’d have a damned good try.
Carrying his possessions as if they were made of brittle, priceless china, yet with a vigilant grip, she kept to the lanes to keep her low-heeled shoes in best order. When she arrived at the granite stile that led into the field, which in turn led into the meadow, she climbed over it cautiously, fearful for her dropped-waisted dress. The haymaking had left the ground rough and earthy and golden-stalked, but she kept close to the hedge, and where there was a break in the wild growth of brambles and a handful of long grasses to be found, she ripped some off and wiped over the soft blue leather of her shoes. The field sloped gently upwards and at the top, in a long meandering hedge, there was another high stile to climb over. This one was of massive, oddly angled granite blocks and was almost swamped by blackthorn shrubs, and she was sweating a little when she finally landed safely on firm ground.
The meadow stretched on and on either side of her, and down at the bottom was the stream emerging from the woods. It was a long descent, a bit hazardous in her heels for it was made up of wide ridges at the top and littered with dried sheep droppings all the way down but it would be worth it. Alec was there by the stream, near the entrance to the woods. His back was towards her and he was repositioning the camera and tripod.
The collywobbles were playing havoc inside her tummy now, but no matter. She must concentrate on getting down there to him and arrive with decorum. Looking confident, nonchalant. It wasn’t as if he’d mind, she was certain of that. She was doing him a kindness and he was too kind to mind anyway.
She was over halfway down when he turned round and was looking up the meadow. Her heart thudded to a halt and she stopped her sideways downward steps, fearing for her balance.
‘Sara!’ he called and waved to her.
She waved back, sure her face was on fire, but continued on down. He began the journey up to her, and her heart and spirit and soul lifted and flew higher and higher for he was smiling, pleased to see her. On his long legs he reached her quickly.
‘Oh, you are a dear. How sweet of you.’ He motioned towards the silver things clutched in her hands. ‘I’d reached here before realizing I’d left them behind. I’ll be glad to have a cigarette before I leave.’
‘I didn’t want you having to come back early.’ Sara felt she was slowly sinking inside with nervousness but she kept her eyes fixed on him. He was standing just below her, his height putting their faces on the same level, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and the buttons unfastened at the top, exposing his magnificent muscles and slightly hairy chest.
‘You’re kind to give up part of your afternoon for my sake. You’re all dressed up, looking lovely. Are you on your way somewhere?’ A moment passed in which he was thinking. ‘Has Wally Eathorne asked you to meet him?’
‘No! I mean no, he hasn’t. I’m not… I just wanted to… to…’
‘To take the opportunity to look your best. And why not? You get little chance to. I’m sorry you had such a long tramp in your lovely things to reach me. Now you’re here, why not let me capture you for posterity? You’ll look perfect against this natural background.’
‘Yes, I’d love to!’
‘A stunning portrait of you will make a pleasant surprise for Jim.’
‘Yes, it would. Thank you.’ And perhaps Alec would enjoy looking at the picture he took of her.
‘Good. Now let me see.’ He stared all around. ‘Down there by the tree on the bank. Yes, we’ll make a start down there.’
It was easier to walk now the worry of keeping his cigarette case and lighter safe had been taken away from her, and now his hand was in under her elbow to steady her descent. Sara thought she knew what it felt like to be in paradise.
She let him take over completely. To position her, with her hat off, against the trunk of an oak tree, to suggest she let her arms drift backwards and tilt them downwards and to turn her face to the side. ‘That’s it, you look mystical, innocent but with just a hint of being a siren.’ She thrilled to that description. He photographed her from three different angles. Then he asked her to put her hat back on and lower herself down on the bank of the stream. He chose a demure pose, asking her to tuck her legs to the side and smile straight into the camera. ‘That’s it. That was beautiful. Jim will love that smile. I’ll give you a copy of all of them to put in your room.’
‘Thanks, Alec,’ she said shyly, although not as shyly as she might have done. What now? She prayed he wouldn’t send her home.
‘Would you like some ginger beer? I grabbed a bottle on my way through the kitchen just now.’
‘Yes, please.’
He fetched the bottle from out of the stream where it had been keeping cool, under the shade thrown out by the tree. He opened the balled mechanism on the top. Offered her the full bottle; it was of Tilda’s making, a favourite in the household. ‘Sorry I can’t conjure up a glass.’
She drank some of the sweet, strong-tasting liquid carefully so as not to spill a drop and look like a child. ‘Thank you. It’s so hot, my throat was getting dry.’ She thought that sounded fine and conversational as she handed the bottle over to him, where he had dropped down, not too far away from her. She watched as he gulped down a long pull, then wiped the heel of his hand across his mouth, in an unconscious masculine, but not disgusting, way. She gazed at his mouth.
‘I can’t get enough of this stuff,’ he said, closing the top of the bottle, then letting it fall gently to the sun-baked ground. He lit a cigarette. ‘Tilda’s been at the farm, what? About five years, I employed her just before I hired you and Jim. I couldn’t imagine life without her or you there.’
‘Well, I’m not planning on ever going anywhere else.’
‘Good, I’d hate that. I hate things changing. That makes me selfish, doesn’t it? I suppose I will have to let you go one day when you get married.’
‘I shan’t get married.’
‘Of course you will. Everyone gets married, almost everyone.’
‘Selina Bosweld doesn’t seem to want to get married. I loathe her for what she did to Jim.’
‘Ah, so you know it was her Jim was seeing.’
‘I overheard you and Jim talking about it in the den after the last occasion you told him off. Jim was cross when I mentioned her, he said it wasn’t a subject for my ears. I think I should have been told, I’m not a baby. I wish she’d stop coming to the farm.’
‘I don’t like her either, Sara. And Jonny’s set against her, he keeps wishing she would leave Ford House. I’m afraid it would be difficult to tell her to keep away, she and Perry are my tenants. Sometimes I hate that house, it’s brought a lot of unhappiness since my father built it.’
‘Why don’t you sell it?’
‘If the Boswelds suddenly decide to leave I might very well do that.’ He smiled, his eyes glinting mischievous fun. ‘We might get an axe murderer in there next.’
Sara laughed and laughed. ‘Can I have one of those?’ She nodded at his cigarette, which he had forgotten to smoke.
‘I’m going to say no to that. Some advise against it and you’re too perfect to be spoiled in any way.’
She smiled, rapt at how he considered her.
‘You chose well.’ He was gazing at her closely. ‘The clothes you bought, if I may say so.’
Delighted to the roots of her being that he should notice this and comment on something so personal, she lifted the scalloped hemline of her dress between finger and thumb. ‘I bought this in Webb’s, and this’ – her hand went up to her hat, and his eyes followed the movement – ‘in the West End Stores, after I’d had my hair done, so I must have looked older because the assistants in the shops called me madam. I’d never been called madam before. They even carried my p
arcels to the door. It made me feel very grand.’
He took a puff, then tossed the cigarette into the clear, chuckling water. Returned his intense grey gaze straight back to her. ‘You’re not at all grand, Sara.’
‘I’m not?’
‘Oh, don’t be dejected. What I’m trying to say is you’re simply natural and lovely. Grand describes someone with affected airs or someone older.’
Sara had dropped her eyes but now when she looked at him they were shining with delight. With adoration. ‘You say such nice things.’
He smiled at her, very softly, and whispered, ‘Precious girl.’
She held her breath. Alec gave those he was close to particular endearments. Had he just made up one for her?
‘I must get back. Will you walk with me or stay?’
‘I’ll come with you.’
He helped her up, gathered together his camera gear and the bottle of ginger beer. They didn’t speak on the way up to the top of the meadow, just climbed up in an easy quietness. At the stile, he said, ‘I’ll go over first then help you down.’
On the other side of the mismatched granite stones, he put the things he was carrying safely against the hedge then held up his hands to her. Sara paused at the top of the stile, to experience all the more the warm, rough feel of his strong fingers. She smiled straight into his eyes and he smiled back. When she took the last step down the hem of her dress caught on a branch of wicked blackthorn and the fine material tore.
