Beth wasn’t particularly worried about meeting her uncle. Mrs Reseigh had said that according to the local grapevine he would be very interested to see her. Beth would be interested to see the home where her father had grown up. It would be nice if Ken Tresaile could offer her a few good memories of his brother. Mrs Reseigh couldn’t say whether Evie Vage would welcome Beth on her doorstep. No one, apparently, had put the question to Evie. It would be a waste of time, she would not answer. Like Davey Vage, Evie was known for keeping her opinions to herself. Davey Vage was unlikely to welcome Beth into his home, so the best time to go there was when he was working out at sea. Beth thought she might not get in touch with Evie at all if her mother was still alive, felt it wouldn’t have been acceptable to all the Vage family. How would Evie receive her, Beth wondered, nervous about it. With lack of interest, unfriendliness, even resentment? Evie might be offended at suddenly having memories that might be sad or even horrid thrust upon her. On the other hand, Evie might be wondering whether Beth wished to see her. The last thing Beth wanted was for Evie to think she was too stuck-up to want to know her. Beth’s last destination would reveal what a visit to Evie would be like.
Beth went straight to Christina, knowing that at this time of the morning she would be in the study at her desk.
Christina was ending a telephone call and smiled warmly at Beth, an expression which Beth returned. It was a fantastic heartwarming pleasure to both of them. Each was awed and amazed at their new relationship, but each felt a measure of guilt about the past. For Christina, and it would be so for evermore, over the dreadful ways she had failed her daughter. For Beth, over her long-held beliefs that her mother had never really loved her.
‘Ah Beth, I’ve ordered plaice for dinner this evening. I’ll make a creamy herb sauce. Joe and Kitty are picking the vegetables from the garden. I’ll do my speciality lemon sorbet for dessert. How does that sound?’
‘Really delicious. I’m going to have to put my thinking cap on to cook something so tasty for us tomorrow. Ready for me to fetch us coffee?’
‘Oh, yes please,’ Christina smiled in supreme joy.
Mother and daughter always enjoyed this part of the day, a brief period they were able to spend exclusively in each other’s company.
At that moment Kitty popped her head round the door. ‘Sorry to interrupt. Could I borrow the motor please, Beth? I’ve just had a brilliant idea. Lily is a lot better now. I thought I’d offer to run her and Mrs Praed down to Newlyn to see Mr Praed and Lily’s brothers before they set out on their next fishing trip.’
‘Oh, I don’t think you should do that, Kitty.’ Christina’s frown cleared the brightness from Kitty’s eyes. ‘It isn’t really done, the wives and family going to the fishermen, unless one of the men is seriously injured. Mr Praed will have been assured by Mark that Lily is recovering well and he’ll be happy about that.’
Kitty’s disappointment was glaringly apparent from her deep scarlet blush. ‘Oh… I’ll, um, take Grace out to play in the garden then.’ She hurried away.
‘Poor Kitty,’ Beth said to Christina. ‘That was really about her hoping to see Rob Praed.’
‘It could be poor Kitty indeed if she’s fallen for that individual,’ Christina sighed, with feeling. ‘He’s not a settled type and I should think he’d look to a local woman if he wants a wife.’
* * *
Kitty had discovered the peace of one of Beth’s favourite old spots for herself. She was under the willow tree, lying on a rug with little Grace snoozing on her chest. Her eyes closed, she was reliving a secret, a wonderful memory, of Rob Praed kissing her. On taking her into the busy kitchen of Wildflower Cottage, crammed with women preparing heaps of food for the traditional gathering – cakes, splits, pasties, sweet and savoury flans and tarts and assorted sandwiches – Rob had introduced Kitty to his ever-smiling Aunt Posy, his dainty, wise-looking Grandma Praed, and his two sisters, Judy and Alison. The two younger women were wearing aprons over what appeared to be their best dresses and shoes. They had shingled their hair. Short and slender, not needing make-up to enhance their clear features, they were attractive, and to Kitty they were welcoming and curious.
Also in the room, which was soaked in mouth-watering baking smells, the heat from the black iron cooking range eased by the open door and windows, had been a medley of neighbouring housewives of various ages, and infants watched over by young girls. Rob introduced them all to Kitty, even telling her the babies’ names, proving to Kitty how much family meant to these people. One beautiful black-haired toddler proved to be Rowella, Mark Reseigh’s daughter and Posy Praed’s granddaughter. Kitty had never felt so immediately at home in a new place. It was cosy and comfortable here with a pervading sense of closeness and fun. Kitty declined a cup of tea offered by Posy from the huge, ever-ready brown and beige teapot but accepted a glass of blackcurrant cordial. Rob had said, ‘I’ll get a drop of ale later.’
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Copeland,’ Posy Praed had said. ‘How’re you finding it staying up in Owles House? I’ve met Miss Elizabeth, many years ago that was.’
‘Miss Tresaile has talked often about your kindness to her,’ Kitty had replied, a little uncomfortably aware of so many avid eyes suddenly on her. ‘She does intend to call on you and thank you personally.’
‘Aw, she needn’t do that. We’re always glad to help anyone out. We don’t turn no one away,’ Posy smiled. ‘Have you known Miss Elizabeth long?’
‘We’ve been friends since she moved up to Wiltshire with her grandmother.’
‘Is it right that her grandmother is now dead?’ Grandma Praed asked, her dark eyes beady and piercing.
‘Miss Kitty didn’t come in here to answer a barrage of questions,’ Rob laughed. ‘I’ll take her outside to meet Uncle Lofty and the other men.’
Kitty wouldn’t have minded chatting with the women and girls and cooing to the babies, but she was pleased to be swept out of the cottage. It allowed her to avoid any personal questions about Beth and Christina, which she would have had to sidestep.
She was amused to find the gathering of men lounging behind the sheds. They had been out of sight to her while she stood in the lane. They bantered and smoked while drinking mugs of tea or passing round a flagon of ale. Kitty found Lofty Praed, his sons Linford junior, Douglas, and the twins Barry and Andy, an amiable lot, as were their fishermen neighbours.
‘Your garden is amazing, Mr Praed,’ Kitty said to Lofty. ‘I’ve never seen so many rows of ripe produce. Your raspberries look luscious.’
‘Aw, thank you, Miss Copeland. Taken years of hard work and a bit of knowhow to get ’un this good. We’re lucky here to have our own bit of ground and not to have to go up the cliff to the allotments. You’re welcome to take a dish of raspberries away with ’ee. Give me a minute and I’ll go pick some for ’ee.’
‘I’d love to have some, but don’t put yourself to any trouble,’ Kitty said, totally unfazed by all the male faces gazing her way. Among the older men there seemed to be some real characters. One had an opulent full set of pointed whiskers, another was a cheeky gurner and a third a chuckling talker of entertaining gobbledegook. The young men were more ordinary, one or two of them bashful. Some were nice looking but none outrageously handsome like Rob.
‘I’ll pick some for Miss Kitty,’ Rob pitched in. ‘I’m sure she’d be pleased to help me.’
While Rob went back inside to fetch a dish, Kitty looked over the green plants with Lofty, enthusing over the large healthy specimens. ‘Bet my son-in-law Mark don’t produce beauties like these savoy cabbages up in yonder big garden, eh, Miss Copeland?’
‘I should say not, Mr Praed, but I wouldn’t say so to Mr Reseigh,’ Kitty grinned impishly. ‘I saw his little girl, your granddaughter, in the kitchen. She’s gorgeous.’
‘She is that, and bright as an admiral’s button,’ Lofty nodded, full of pride. ‘Mark will be along as soon as he’s finished his work up at the Dunn Head Hotel. Our late Juliet
can look down and rest assured he’s done well by Rowella, our little angel.’
Kitty had wondered if Evie and Davey Vage would make an appearance here among their neighbours, but in view of Beth’s connection to them she would not ask.
‘Ready?’ Rob interrupted his uncle, with his eyes rooted on Kitty in a manner that made her feel strangely squirmy inside her tummy. This man was becoming a powerful draw on her.
‘Of course,’ Kitty said jauntily. ‘Excuse me, Mr Praed.’
As she walked with Rob over the well-stamped path down to the bottom of the garden Kitty knew the men had formed a huddle and were guffawing about Rob’s blatant move to get her alone with him. She did not care. Being alone with Rob was all she had wanted at that moment, and was all she wanted now.
They had reached the end row of raspberries. The moment they started off down between the prickly-leaved, pale-red fruit and a high hedge of privet, Rob had smiled directly into her eyes. ‘You hold the bowl, Kitty. I’ll pick the berries. I don’t want you to get your fingers red and sticky. Watch out for the bees.’
His fingers working quickly, Rob soon had the large enamel bowl half filled.
‘Mrs Vyvyan and Miss Tresaile will be thrilled with these. I must ask your mother about a recipe. I’m sure she’ll have a delicious local one,’ Kitty had said, concentrating on his gorgeous face rather than on what he was doing.
Rob faced her and held a fat raspberry up in front of her. ‘I prefer them as they are,’ he murmured, his voice slow and husky. ‘With lashings of cream on them.’ Before Kitty’s mesmerized eyes he fed the raspberry into his mouth and leisurely ate and swallowed it. ‘Now you try one.’
Kitty had felt herself tremble as he picked a plump raspberry and made an unhurried journey with it towards her mouth.
‘Open up for me.’ His tone throbbed in her ears.
Kitty had no will except to obey him. She parted her lips. Her heart raced as his thumb and finger reached her mouth and then he put his thumb and finger right in and rubbed the raspberry on her tongue.
‘Taste it,’ he murmured. ‘Tell me if it’s a wonderful experience.’
Again she had obeyed him, and because he did not take his thumb and finger away she closed her quivering lips round their warm roughness as well as the raspberry. The fruit melted in the heat of her mouth. Finally he drew his hand away, leaving her to chew the fruit and feeling she would choke with the invasiveness of the whole act. She managed to swallow but red juice trickled out from the corner of her lips. Mortified, she raised her hand to wipe it away but Rob caught her wrist.
‘No, let me.’ He had placed the bowl on the privet hedge. Then, without seeking permission, he had pulled her into his arms and close against his body. Bending his head to her face, he put out the tip of his tongue and licked away the juice reddening her tender skin. He kissed her on that damp spot. Then he looked into Kitty’s eyes. ‘You really are a most beautiful woman, so very beautiful.’
Kitty felt light-headed and she stopped breathing for those few intense moments. She was in raptures to be imprisoned in his tight grip. Her arms were hanging limp but she brought them up and circled them round his strong neck. She opened her lips for his kiss, the kiss that was surely coming. His mouth came down claiming all of hers, a deep and intense experience nothing like the few kisses she had received before, which had been chaste and innocent in comparison. There was nothing innocent in the steady pressure, movement and demand of Rob’s mouth.
He ended the kiss. He had been the creator and master of it and the timing was his. He laughed and retrieved the enamel bowl. ‘We’d better get on before I ruin your reputation.’
There had been no other chance to be alone with Rob after that, but Kitty had found herself part of the whole crowd and had enjoyed every moment. She had hoped desperately that Rob would ask her to meet him somewhere quiet again but no such invitation had materialized, for Joe and Richard had crashed in with the badly hurt Lily Praed. Now Rob was away at sea and Kitty was left hoping that he would seek her out when he returned over the short weekend. At least for now she had her wonderful secret.
Sixteen
Evie Vage stepped out of the back door of her home, locked it then slipped the key into one of the two deep pockets stitched on to a cloth bag, one of the two she was carrying. It was almost unheard of to lock one’s door before bedtime, but Davey Vage insisted that the privacy of his small whitewashed cottage should be meticulously preserved. The embroidered bag, with its pair of strong curving cane handles, contained Evie’s purse and shopping list and was the only bright thing about her. The rain had petered out leaving the clouds washed pristine white and fewer in number. It was pleasantly warm, so she did not need a cardigan. As usual she wore an uninspiring low-waisted, loose frock, a watered-down version of a fashionable style and sewn herself from a Butterick pattern. She was in muted pink, the bodice loose and extending to her ankles.
Others might think her clothes joyless and austere but everything about Evie had an appealing innocence, and like that of her mother, her dark prettiness could not be dampened down. Some people, even those who had once reviled her, thought of her as a decent, honest, obedient little body and believed she would make some fortunate man a good wife. An undecorated straw cloche was pulled down and half obscured her face. Her one deliberate concession to attractive wear was a pair of shiny grey ankle-strap button shoes. Her father always said, ‘Never be afraid to fork out for good shoes, Evie. It shows you’re a well brought up young lady and that we’re not poor!’ Evie would never wear clothes that drew attention to her, but she was proud of her shoes and they gave her confidence.
She carried the cloth bag carefully. She treasured it. As a young child, Evie had watched her beloved mother, Iris, cut out its shape from pale blue linen and embroider on it raised sea scenes, with sky and clouds and waves and boats and seashells, mermaids, sea horses and much more. Intricate beading had also been added. The Vage home was plain and basic but similarly crafted cushions, table runners and pictures made by Iris, who had spent most of her married life shut away indoors, lifted the ordinariness of every room. All made from the generous allowance for materials and sewing silks Davey Vage had gladly given his wife. Evie and her father were proud of Iris’s accomplishments and cherished them, as they did her memory.
‘I couldn’t have had a better wife than your mother,’ Davey had oftimes said since Iris’s untimely death from pneumonia. ‘She gave me you, Evie, and a man couldn’t wish for a better and more loyal daughter.’
As the years passed Evie had realized that, unlike every other mother and father, her parents did not share a bedroom. Her mother had a twin bed in Evie’s room, the larger of the two bedrooms, the one that faced the sea. Her parents had never called each other by pet names but had always been Davey and Iris. Sometimes her mother had even referred to Davey as Mr Vage. Evie understood more before school age when the taunts from other children started.
‘Old man Vage isn’t your real father, my mother said so. Your real father’s no good. Ran out on his wife and little maid, he did. You’ve got rotten blood in your veins, Evie Vage.’
‘No, you can’t play with us, not your sort, born wrong side of the blanket.’
When she grew older she had even been jeered loudly to her face, accused of being ‘Phil Tresaile’s bastard’. Evie was grateful it was not thanks to the bullying that she found out who had sired her. Iris had told her the truth as soon as she was old enough to understand. ‘But always remember, Evie,’ Iris added earnestly, ‘Mr Vage is your proper father. He was good to me when I was in trouble and my parents threw me out. I was their only child and they had high expectations of me and I let them down. They moved out of the cove before you were born and I’ve never heard from them since. Mr Vage has given us a nice home to live in and we shall never be in want. I shall always be grateful to him and so should you, Evie. I’ll never let him down and neither must you, swear that to me, Evie.’
Evie, happy i
n her life apart from the bullying, had so sworn.
‘Evie, darling, you’ll always be safe and secure as long as you remember that. You have a home here for life. This cottage will be yours one day. Mr Vage has it written in his will. I can’t exactly hold my head up in Portcowl but you can, never forget that. Just don’t make the same mistakes I did.’
Evie had not forgotten a single word of her mother’s urgings, but from that time onwards she had, by her own choice, kept herself to herself. From then till now she had totally ignored those who reviled her and her mother. Contrary to common belief she wasn’t aloof or lonely or as timid as a mouse, and she certainly wasn’t ashamed of her origins. There was an element of self-preservation in her stance, but mainly she just could not be bothered to pander to the small-minded, the backbiters, or to listen to people who suggested she was ‘lucky in the circumstances’ to be allowed to mix with them. Evie was content. She had a caring father, and everything she needed for her material comfort, and she had a settled future. Her faith in God meant she was certain that one day she would be reunited with her beloved mother. She had all she could ever want, now and in the Hereafter.
Leaving Shades Page 15
