by Anita Waller
‘Brenda,’ and this time he reached across to take hold of her hand, ‘that’s very good of you but I’ve no intention of compromising you like that. There’s a world of difference between you and Mrs Troon. She’s about seventy years old for a start and you’re a very classy lady. People would talk.’
‘No they wouldn’t. And to be perfectly honest Ken, I really don’t care. There is a large spare bedroom, we’ll share costs and I’ll do the cooking. Take it or leave it, Mr. Buckingham, but you won’t get a better offer anywhere else in Cornwall.’
‘Too right I won’t,’ he said with a grin.
‘And there is something else – I’d feel a bit more secure with a man about the place. I won’t lie to you – I’m not making this offer just to help you out.’
‘But what will John and Amy say? And Freda?’
‘Aaagh!’ She pretended to scream and one or two people turned round to look at them. ‘I’ve told you, they can take it or leave it. I don’t care either way. It’s my life, my decision. Now do we have a deal, or have I got to buy a big dog?’
He gave a brief pause.
‘We have a deal,’ he said. ‘I’ll need to move before the end of the week.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow.’
Ken Buckingham had never been upstairs in Stonebrook Cottage until that night. He was pleased by the size of the room.
‘This is twice as big as my place at Mrs Troon’s.’ He looked around appreciatively.
‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s great. I still feel a bit worried about what the neighbours will say, though.’
‘Ken – what neighbours?’
‘Well, I know you’re a bit isolated, but you know what I mean.’
‘Stop worrying. If anybody becomes obnoxious I’ll tell them we’re married,’ she said with a grin and then burst into laughter as she saw his face suffuse with colour.
‘Ken Buckingham, you’re priceless.’
Sometime after midnight she walked down the garden path with him to the van.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Ken, and I’m so glad we’ve sorted things out. Forget the garden tomorrow; sort out the details about the field and move your things in. We’ll have a day off, I think.’
‘We’ll see,’ he said. Brenda knew there was no way he would take the entire day off.
He moved towards the driver door and then stopped, looking around him.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Did you hear that? Something…somebody moved.’
Brenda shivered. The feeling of being watched flooded back.
‘No, no. I didn’t hear anything. It’s probably a fox or a rabbit.’
He climbed into the van, wound down the window and closed the door.
‘I enjoyed tonight, Brenda. Perhaps we could do it again sometime.’
‘I’d like that,’ she said putting her head through the open window and placing a swift kiss on his cheek.
‘See you tomorrow, Ken.’ She laughed inwardly at his stunned expression then watched as he drove down the lane.
‘The devil’s in you tonight, Brenda Andrews,’ she murmured to herself. ‘Poor man, he won’t know what to make of you.’ She walked back up the path listening for sounds of movement. Hearing nothing, she locked the door behind her and breathed a sigh of relief.
* * *
Ronald Treverick watched all the lights go off in the cottage and smiled. So she’d got herself a new feller, maybe it was time to step things up a bit.
* * *
‘So what do you think?’ Brenda changed the telephone receiver to the other ear leaving her right hand free to scribble down something; another question to toss around with Ken.
There was a long pause.
‘Freda? I said what do you think.’
‘I know what you said. I’m just trying to work out what I think. And I think you’re doing the right thing. I think.’
There was hesitancy in Freda’s voice and it troubled Brenda.
‘But you’re not sure?’
‘Look, Bren, you know me and my attitude towards men. I feel we can manage perfectly well without them but that’s personal, isn’t it? You, you’re different. You need a man…’
‘Freda! He’s a lodger for heaven’s sake!’
‘For now.’
‘But…’
‘Bren, Ken Buckingham thinks the sun shines out of your backside and you know it. And,’ she said with a little chuckle, ‘I reckon you’ve got more than a soft spot for him. Don’t let your memories of Jack hold you back. I knew my brother very well and he was the most unselfish person I ever met. He’d have wanted you to move on as long as it made you happy.’
Brenda knew it was useless to protest further; Freda wouldn’t have it that there was no romantic connection; she’d just have to show her.
‘So you think it’s okay for Ken to move in?’
‘It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks, does it? You’ve already decided. Have you spoken to Amy?’
‘Yes, but she’s so wrapped up in the adoption proceedings that I don’t think she was really listening.’
‘Oh.’
‘Something wrong?’
‘No…no. They’re still going through with the adoption then?’
‘They’ve put the papers in applying for a child, yes.’
‘Think they’ll be successful?’
‘I’m sure they will. They’ve everything going for them, haven’t they? Financially they’re fine, they have a lovely home, John has a secure future…’
‘And the poor child will have to live without any sort of mother love,’ Freda said drily.
‘No!’ Brenda was stunned.
‘Bren, you know Amy is incapable of normal love. She needs psychiatric help, always has. Ever since…’
‘They’ll be all right.’ There was stubbornness in Brenda’s voice.
‘Yes, they’ll be all right,’ Freda said with a sigh. ‘Look love, I’ve got to go to work. Good luck with Ken and the new business. I’m pleased for you, really I am.’
Brenda replaced the receiver thoughtfully. Sometimes she dreaded talking to Freda – she made her think too much.
22
Dawn found John waiting near her bus stop in his unpretentious green car. The passenger door opened as she approached and she felt a brief hesitation before climbing in.
‘Want a lift?’ he smiled at her.
‘You don’t go my way.’
‘I go any way you want me to go.’
‘John…’
‘Please, Dawn, I’m only joking, honestly.’
‘So why are you here?’
He shrugged his shoulders.
‘To see you. I like you. Look, you can throw all the clichés you like at me – married man, you don’t want to get involved, once bitten twice shy – but the simple fact is I like you. I can see no reason why I can’t be in your company. Can you?’
‘No, not if you put it like that.’ Her voice wobbled.
‘You still sound troubled.’ He dropped the car into top gear as they hit the long stretch of road outside Padstow. It was a warm evening and he leaned forward and moved the heater control lever, pushing it to cold.
‘I am troubled. Don’t ask me to explain why. You know why.’
She stared out of the passenger window wondering what on earth had possessed her to get into the car. This man was dangerous. He came with complications she would rather manage without. She was starting to enjoy the advantages of being single and didn’t want involvement with anyone, even the charming John Thornton.
The scenery rolled by, the high Cornish roadside almost completely obliterating the view. Ragged Robin and wild cornflowers swept past in a blur of colour.
‘You did say you lived in Rock?’
She nodded.
‘Directly opposite the ferry berth; that’s why I don’t take my car to work. I virtually fall straight out of bed and onto the ferry. When I get to Padstow it’s
only a few minutes walk to the office. It was really silly of me to accept a lift home, it’s taken you miles out of your way and my journey home really couldn’t be easier.’
‘It’s worth it, and it’s what I want to do,’ he said simply. They remained silent as they began to drop down the steep lane into Rock. The little village was busy with tourists wanting to catch the ferry to Padstow and he slowed the car to a crawl.
‘Over there,’ she said. ‘That small apartment block with the car park.’
He pulled on the handbrake and she moved to open the passenger door.
‘I could use a coffee.’
She paused.
‘I need my head examining. One coffee, John, and then it’s goodnight.’
He followed her across the car park, drinking in the slim figure, the long dark hair that swung as she walked, the legs accentuated by her high heels – and he gave a small sigh of pleasure. It was just like watching Amy’s slow saunter… he shook his head and banished his wife from his mind.
Dawn unlocked the front door and he followed her down the entrance hall. She stood by a small doorway painted a soft grey and began to remove her coat.
As he placed his hands on her shoulders preventing her from moving, the air crackled with tension. She stood perfectly still. The silence between them was interrupted by the loud tick of a nearby clock; slowly his arms encircled her from behind and he began to carefully unbutton her coat. He slipped it from her and turned her round to face him.
Placing a finger under her chin, he lifted her head and bent to kiss her. As the kiss deepened she began to sway.
He released her and gave a shaky laugh.
‘Should I apologise?’ he whispered. ‘I don’t want to…’
She shook her head, not trusting herself to answer the way she felt she should.
‘Dawn…’
Pulling away from him, she moved into the kitchen.
‘Coffee, we said. Keep away from me, John.’
‘We have to talk.’
‘No we don’t have to talk,’ she retorted angrily. ‘Okay, so now you know how to manipulate me, you know how I feel, but by God, I can still say no, John Thornton.’
‘Do you want to say no?’
‘Yes…no… I don’t know! Just leave me alone and don’t kiss me again.’ She banged the kettle down on to the work surface and took two mugs from a cupboard, her fingers trembling. She stared at her white walls, the pretty yellow gingham curtains, the gleaming fitments – anything other than look at the man standing close to her.
He moved behind her and kissed the back of her neck. John sensed a momentary panic and was on the point of releasing her when he felt her acceptance; she capitulated and leaned back into the kiss, closing her eyes.
‘John, don’t…’ she moaned softly and he cupped her breasts with his hands. They were soft and full and womanly. Slowly teasing the nipples he continued to place tiny kisses around her neck, unsure whether he was going too far but unable to stop.
Her hands came up and covered his, encouraging him. Slowly he unbuttoned the thin silk blouse and touched her warm flesh. She gave a long low moan and turned round to face him.
‘Don’t do this unless you’re serious, John. Don’t play with me. I’ve fought this for many weeks now and you damn well know it.’ Her words were ragged, the high colour in her cheeks showed her emotion.
‘I’m not playing,’ he said and pulled her close to him.
He cupped her bottom in his hands and pressed the lower part of her body into his. She responded with a small cry of part panic, part pleasure, and pulled his head down to hers. Her lips parted allowing his tongue to enter her mouth.
The blouse fell to the floor without assistance and she felt him unhook her bra.
‘Take me,’ she whispered between kisses, accepting now that this was going to happen.
Nothing could have stopped it, not the unknown Mrs Thornton, not her own conscience and not the possibility of losing her job.
She was naked when he carried her through to the bedroom. Placing her on the bed he looked at her and marvelled – not so much at the beauty of her body but at the fact that it was there for him to see.
What was happening was a shock – he had genuinely wanted to talk to her and the situation had escalated beyond return. He rejoiced as the barriers between them tumbled to the ground.
John didn’t remember taking off his own clothes but he could recall with clarity every movement, every sigh, every kiss over the next hour.
As he entered Dawn for the first time, he felt his own climax begin immediately and groaned.
‘God, I’m sorry,’ he began. She silenced him placing her finger against his lips.
‘There’s no greater compliment,’ she said quietly and thrust her hips towards him. His response was immediate and she felt his tumescence increase before he called out her name.
‘Now, John, now,’ she cried as he ejaculated.
They lay quietly side by side, his hands running over her body. Their closeness after the sex came as a shock to him.
‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ he began, but she stopped him.
‘You don’t have to tell me anything.’
‘Oh, I do. I have to explain why I made such a complete hash of it…’
‘Look, I said it’s the greatest compliment you could have paid me, and I meant it.’ She lifted her hand and stroked his cheek.
‘Dawn, I’ve got to tell you. I’ve never made love to anyone other than my wife. We’ve been married just over four years and that’s the sixth time I’ve ever made love.’
‘The sixth time? I don’t think I understand…’
‘I can’t spell it out any clearer than that. Amy doesn’t like sex. She has a problem with it. That’s why I couldn’t control myself.’
‘Why don’t you walk away from it?’ She looked puzzled. ‘You don’t have to tolerate it. Believe me, I know.’
‘There’s more to it than that. There are things in Amy’s past… well, let’s just say there’s no way I can ever leave her. In a way I suppose I still love her. I’m not making excuses for being here with you. I’m not going to lie and say my wife doesn’t understand me or any other crap like that. I’m here with you because I think this is good for us. I like you – a lot. And if you don’t want this to happen again, I’ll understand. I won’t like it, but I’ll understand.’
She took his hand and placed it on her breast.
‘Shut up,’ she whispered, ‘and make love to me again. Stop when I start to scream, okay?’
‘It doesn’t stop here?’
‘It doesn’t stop here,’ she confirmed, ‘but I might have to think about going on the pill!’
23
At first, the garden centre occupied every minute of every day for both Brenda and Ken. Two huge glass houses mushroomed out of the ground and daily trucks rolled up with supplies to stock inside the building and out.
They created a herb garden. Ken said it was the stoniest ground he’d ever come across and he had lived near some of the biggest stones God ever made. She loved it when he spoke of Yorkshire. He had pride in his home county and the surrounding hills of Derbyshire and she told him he should go home to visit whenever he wanted – he hadn’t taken a holiday since starting at Stonebrook.
‘Nay, lass,’ he would say, ‘we’ve plenty of work here a-while.’
But eventually the heavy workload began to lessen, particularly after the employment of a young boy fresh from school.
Malcolm had been frank with them when he applied for the position.
‘Can’t do sums. Never wanted to do sums. But I can make plants grow. Ask my dad.’
They had been so impressed with his willingness and enthusiasm that they had asked his dad. One glance at the Winterton family allotment convinced them.
Brenda found she could delegate any job in the nursery to him and it would be done with flair and without argument.
One day he came to her clut
ching a shrub that on closer inspection proved to be a Hebe. The label said Midsummer Beauty but that was hardly a fitting description.
‘Can I take it home, Mrs Andrews?’
‘Take it home? But it’s almost dead!’
‘No it’s not. I’ve got some stuff…’
She laughed at his eager expression.
‘Do what you want with it, Malcolm. But for goodness sake get it out of here. It’ll put our customers off!’
He proudly returned with the shrub six weeks later in full flower and supremely healthy.
Brenda stared at it.
‘Are you sure this is the same one? You haven’t been out and bought another one, have you?’
The hurt expression on his face told her it was and she felt suitably chastised.
‘Well, it’s not for sale. I want you to plant it at the entrance – in fact there’s a small patch of land just outside the gate that I want you to have. Take what you need from the stock, let me know what you’re using and build us a welcome garden.’ She pushed her fingers into the compost, withdrew them and crumbled the earth.
‘What is this?’
‘I make it…’
‘Make it? With what?’
‘Oh, this and that. I sell it to the other men.’
She looked bewildered.
‘Other men? What other men?’
‘On the allotments. I don’t sell it to my dad though.’
‘You sell compost to experienced gardeners?’
‘Not to my dad,’ he repeated.
‘Well, I should think not!’ Her laughter was infectious and he grinned at her, not sure why she should think it so funny. The other allotment holders wanted it, he had it, and so he sold it.
‘It’s good stuff.’
‘I can see it is. And is this the magic ingredient that’s saved our Hebe?’
He shook his head.
‘Not on its own. I make my own fertilizer.’
‘And do you sell that?’ she asked.
‘Not to my dad.’
‘Look, we need to talk, with Ken. Go and find him, will you, Malcolm? I think he’s down in the cottage garden.’