‘You’re right there,’ laughed Brogan. ‘And you I take it, have all that she wants and you’re not very grateful for it either.’
‘What she wants is you, as well you know. You trade on it, you know you do. I think you should find Edna a husband, you owe it to her.’
‘It would get her off your back, you mean. No, she’s too good to lose. You’ll just have to learn to love her I’m afraid. Or is that too much for your superior soul?’
Mary sighed. ‘I’m going to bed,’ she said wearily, in no mood for verbal sparring this evening.
Brogan sat looking after her. God, that woman was prickly. Every now and then they would talk and it was real, and honest, and relaxing. Then down came the shutters, either she snapped and snarled like a cornered vixen or she froze; and walked out and left him feeling stupid, because he had no idea what he had said. ‘I should finish it now,’ he muttered to himself, knowing that he would not. In the night, when he reached for her, the fire and ice of her fused into thrilling, wanton need. It was as if everything she held from him in the day was his for the taking at night and he took it, rousing her to frenzy and then leaving her spent and weary. It gave him a power over her, and at the same time put him in thrall. The woman was a witch.
When morning came Jet had still not returned. The atmosphere at breakfast was dreadful, Edna and Mary not speaking to anyone, Mandy and Susan conversing in nervous undertones. Even the children for once noticed something and reacted predictably; Anna complained of tummy ache and Ben wailed. Only Brogan seemed unaffected, reading the paper much as usual, but as they all rose at the end of the meal he said, ‘Mandy I want you to help Mary look for her dog. Susan, you see to the children.’
For a moment Edna hesitated, and seemed about to say something, but she thought better of it and went out into the yard.
Mandy took one of the horses and rode down the bridlepath Mary had visited yesterday. Mary walked the lanes, calling. Suddenly she saw something large and black in the hedge. She walked slowly towards it, knowing what she would find. He was quite cold and must have been dead for a long time, lying where he had fallen. The dog had run and run, trying desperately to stay with her but too old and too fat to do so. His heart had just given up.
She walked back to the farm, cold and desolate as never before. Jet had been Stephen’s dog and his passing seemed to place the final seal on her dead marriage. She cried, she did not know if it was for Stephen, for Jet or for herself. Brogan caught her arm as she stumbled across the yard, and she turned on him in a fury.
‘You got rid of him in the end, didn’t you, you always hated him. You let her do it, you know you did. Oh God, I wish I could get away from here, I wish I had somewhere to go. I wish, I wish . . . oh, I wish I was dead!’ She collapsed against him, shaking with sobs. Faintly she heard a voice, Edna’s voice, rather high and tense, say, ‘What a fuss to make about a dog. Anyway it was vicious.’ The words seemed to echo in her head, going round and round and suddenly she was screaming and crying uncontrollably. She was dimly aware of hands holding her, soothing her, of the frightened faces of Ben and Anna, of being coaxed between cool sheets. She lay there exhausted, an endless river of tears still streaming from eyes closed against an uncaring world.
They called Doctor Bateson, who had delivered both Anna and Ben. He held her hand and talked softly to her, asking about her life since Stephen had died. She replied in strangled whispers, still unable to stop crying. She didn’t think she would ever stop crying. After half an hour he patted her hand and stood up.
‘You stay there for a day or two, my girl. You can’t expect to lose your husband and go on as if nothing had happened. The day of reckoning has to come and yours has arrived.’
The Yorkshire accent was very strong and Mary found it comforting. He was a nice man if you were really ill. Malingerers never called twice.
‘I seem to have got myself in rather a mess,’ she said apologetically.
‘You’ll get out of it,’ laughed the doctor, putting on his coat. ‘You’re a fighter if ever I saw one. Now, I’ll just have a word with these people downstairs and I’ll be on my way.’
‘What are you going to say?’
‘Only what I’ve told you. Now, you have a little sleep, you need it.’
He shut the door and marched downstairs, his feet very loud on the uncarpeted treads.
Brogan met him in the hall, closely followed by Edna.
‘Is she going to be all right?’ It was Edna, made miserable by guilt.
The doctor glared at her, but replied with distant civility. ‘I think she will. She never really let go when she lost her husband and now she’s making up for it. A day or two in bed should do the trick.’ He moved towards the door, but Brogan caught his arm.
‘She’ll be alone here for a bit, just her and the children. Do you think . . . ?’
He sounded strangely uncertain.
Doctor Bateson drew himself up stiffly. ‘I should think, sir,’ he rapped, ‘that she would have been very much better if you had left her alone in the first place. A little time to herself is just what she needs. Good day to you.’
Brogan was left looking at the peeling paint of the closed door. By Christ, anyone would think he had kidnapped her or something. He was supporting her, wasn’t he? And not only her but the children, although somehow he didn’t like to put them into the scale to be weighed against things. No, those two gave as much as they took, the noisy, sticky horrors. It was Mary that was the problem. He had known some women, but not one like her. Leave her alone the man said, as if she was ever anything else, away from them all, away from him. He knew her not at all.
There was nothing for it but the lumpy, too short spare bed, and Susan would have to do the housework which was a damned nuisance. He directed a venomous stare at Edna, who recoiled as if from a snake, and stumped off into the yard.
Susan fumbled messily around the house for the next two days. She was an indifferent cook but Mary did not notice, hardly touching the food set in front of her. Brogan did not come near her, she did not know where he was sleeping. Very early on the third morning she decided to go in search of him. She washed her face, looking ruefully at her white cheeks and red eyes, and walked along the corridor, peering into rooms, moving quietly to avoid waking the children. He was lying on his back staring at the ceiling when she softly opened the door. She was embarrassed, she had expected him to be asleep.
‘I couldn’t find you,’ she said feebly. He did not reply and she stood uncertain in the doorway, wondering if she should go away. She half turned, but changed her mind, shutting the door and walking over to the bed. Their eyes met and she rushed into what she had to say.
‘Look, I feel I’ve rather let you down. You wanted someone to look after the house and . . . everything, and here I am, just a neurotic nuisance. I just wanted to say that if you want us to go, we will. To my mother, probably. Or something. I just wanted to say that.’
He sat up slowly and Mary noticed how drawn he looked, the crumpled cheek very much in evidence.
‘Do you want to go?’
She looked out of the window at the misty spring morning. ‘No.’
‘But you’ve not been happy.’
‘I don’t think I would have been happy anywhere.’
‘Then stay.’ He was almost offhand.
‘Do you want me to?’
He busied himself hunting for a cigarette and would not meet her eyes.
‘Yes, I want you to,’ he muttered, and Mary almost laughed at his embarrassment.
She leaned over and gently kissed his cheek. He pulled her to him and they kissed again, softly, thoughtfully.
‘We’re leaving today.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘I didn’t realise. And I never did get to wear my blue dress.’
He smiled. ‘No. When we get back, perhaps. Anyway, I’ve asked Fred to pop in and see how you are.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Keep an eye on me, you mean. Still,
I’ve got Susan. And I’ll try and get everything sorted out by the time you get back.’
‘For God’s sake get the phone connected if nothing else. Spend what you have to, carpets, curtains, the lot, just get it finished. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘Can I get in touch with you?’
‘Not very easily, we’ll be on the move all the time. I’ll leave you an address to write to, I should get the letters eventually.’ He stroked her hair.
‘We’d better get a move on, there’s a lot to do today.’
‘Yes.’ She sighed and stood up. ‘I’ll go and get dressed. And Patrick—’ he was looking at her expectantly ‘-thank you.’
‘I’ve used you, Mary.’
‘Well, I’ve used you too. But that’s business for you. Let’s talk about it sometime.’
She walked slowly from the room, leaving a faint scent behind her, soon dissipated in the draught from the door.
The morning passed in a rush of packing, for people and animals, culminating in the deafening clatter of horses being loaded. Edna and Mandy were pink with excitement while poor Susan became more depressed with every passing moment. At last she and Mary were standing in the yard, saying goodbye. Brogan was full of last minute instructions.
‘Now remember, don’t hesitate to call the vet if there’s the least problem. And there’s always Fred Swallow to call on. And get that tap fixed before I come back. Any questions?’ They shook their heads obediently. ‘Right. We’ll be off.’
‘Good luck,’ they chorused, and he nodded, already thinking of other things.
‘Look, about the barn roof . . .’ he began, and caught Mary’s eye. He grinned ruefully. ‘All right, you can cope. We’ll go and leave you to it.’ He caught her to him in a quick hug and climbed into the horse box.
Mary and Susan waved as they drew out of the yard, both feeling rather dismal, left in a dull, everyday world whilst others embarked on adventure.
Chapter 6
Left alone at High Wold House Mary began to relish her independence. The builders had reached the plastering stage and it was not long before a beautiful pale yellow bathroom suite made its appearance. It was the first of the three Mary had promised herself, although now that it came to it she wondered if she had gone too far. A house this size needs three bathrooms, she reasoned, one for the master bedroom, one for the children and one for the guests. She had grave doubts about Brogan seeing it that way, so she assuaged her guilt by undercoating woodwork in readiness for the decorators. Unfortunately her amateur efforts were treated with great scorn by the professionals and she was relegated to painting the wooden flower tubs with which she intended to decorate the yard.
She was engaged in this one day, fighting the combined attentions of Anna and Ben who were helping, when a large limousine drew into the yard. She stood up, wiping her painty hands on the oversize boiler suit she used for such tasks and feeling less than presentable. It was the legendary Mr Swallow.
‘Mrs Squires?’ he boomed, hand outstretched, bouncing towards her with a short, energetic stride. ‘Swallow’s the name.’ The small, round figure radiated confidence. Mary waved her sticky fingers apologetically and he withdrew his arm with slight distaste.
‘How do you do?’ she said with an attempt at dignity spoiled by the need to grab Ben before he wiped his hands on Swallow’s pearl grey trousers.
‘We’d better get cleaned up,’ she murmured.
‘Yes indeed,’ said her visitor with emphasis.
She left him in the kitchen amongst the decorators’ paint pots while she found them all some respectable clothes. For herself she selected a new pair of jeans and a cream silk shirt, brushing her hair to a shine and putting on some make-up. She wanted Mr Swallow to think well of her and his first impression had not been favourable, she felt.
His beam when she reappeared told her that she had succeeded.
‘Tea, Mr Swallow?’ she asked, and then as he looked somewhat disappointed, ‘or something stronger?’
‘Scotch would do nicely, thank you, love,’ he smiled and Mary went in search of the bottle she felt sure must be here somewhere. She wasn’t used to drinking at three in the afternoon.
He insisted that she join him and as they sat there, chatting and drinking whisky, Mary began to enjoy herself. He was passionately interested in what she was doing to the house and was full of ideas. Remembering his own edifice she was a little doubtful when he offered to bring wallpaper samples for her to see but it seemed churlish to refuse. They were on safer ground when it came to show jumping.
‘I can truly say that it’s changed my life, Mary lass,’ he reflected, his words tinged with religious awe. They had been on first name terms since their second drink. ‘The excitement of seeing your own horses out there - there’s nothing like it. And now Paddy’s come in with me we can really go places.’
‘Is Patrick very good?’ she asked casually.
‘My good girl, he’s the best! It took some brass to tempt him here, I can tell you. But he’s worth it, I don’t need to tell you that.’
So, you are paying for this lot are you, thought Mary to herself, looking round the half-finished kitchen. She had wondered about the bottomless purse.
‘Of course he had a bit of a setback when his wife left him, but he’s got over that now. Going really well. He’s a man for the ladies though, I don’t need to tell you that. Had one really fast piece, Sylvia I think she was called, but I suppose that’s all over now.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Mary doubtfully, and rose to her feet.
‘Do you mind if I start getting the children’s tea?’ It was a tactful hint to go but he merely moved his legs out of the way and poured himself another drink.
‘No, no, you get on, love. And what about you, then? Paddy told me you’d been ill.’
‘Are you being discreet, Fred?’ His heavy-handed tact amused her.
‘Well, I suppose I am. We all know what you’ve been through lately. Set the place by the ears when you moved in here, I can tell you. But I don’t suppose you care about that.’
‘Why should you think that?’
‘Oh, so you do care? Well it’s not worth it, love, take my word for it. The old biddies’ll gossip about anyone.’
‘It’s the children I worry about. I wanted them to have a respectable mother.’
‘You look respectable enough to me. Which is more than can be said for Paddy. Gets about a bit, he does,’ he said again.
‘I don’t think I like the sound of this,’ said Mary, running a hand through her hair.
‘Well, that’s the way he is, love.’ He heaved himself up. ‘I’ll be off now. Look, I’ll pop in again towards the end of the week, bring those samples, see how you are.’ He belched loudly and lurched to the door.
‘Do you think you ought to drive, Fred?’ He looked very much the worse for wear.
He ignored her, muttering, ‘Sound like the bloody wife, you do,’ and made his way to his car, staggering slightly as the fresh air hit him. Mary watched him go, churning the gravel under his wheels. She hoped he made it home, in an odd way she was looking forward to seeing him again.
Susan came in for breakfast next morning looking rather glum.
‘The milkman says he won’t deliver any more. He’s sold the round and the new man won’t come this far out. It’s the end of the world, this place.’
Mary grinned. She liked Sue and they got on well together.
‘You should learn to drive. Get a licence and I’ll teach you on the van, if it’ll stand the strain, then you can go out a bit. It’s rather awkward about the milk though, we can’t trail into town every other day.’
‘We’ll have to get a cow,’ laughed Susan, delighted with the thought of driving lessons. ‘Yes,’ said Mary thoughtfully, ‘we will.’
They bought Violet from a farm about ten miles away. Mary assured herself that they were only going to look but she and Susan were no match for the charm of the Jersey’s little bl
ack feet and luminous eyes.
‘Calved last week, so you won’t have no bother. She bulls well, too,’ said the farmer.
Mary had bought many cows but never a dairy breed. ‘How much will she give?’ she asked.
‘Oh, about four gallons. She’s a good cow.’ He noticed the stunned expressions on their faces and misinterpreted them. ‘More if you feed her right,’ he urged. ‘Better than a Friesian any day. Think of the cream!’
‘We’ll be able to make butter!’ Susan was really entering into the spirit of the thing.
‘I like this “we”,’ said Mary caustically, bending to take a hopeful prod at the cow’s udder. She wondered how long it would take to extract four gallons from that odd-looking set of bagpipes.
‘We’ll rear calves,’ she said decisively. ‘That at least is something I know about.’
Susan looked dubious. ‘What about Mr Brogan?’ she asked anxiously. ‘All his boxes ‘We can use the end ones, they’re empty. And anyway, this is profitable, Susan. We’re not being frivolous, after all.’ She met Violet’s brown gaze and looked away. That cow knew the truth; Mary longed to have a cow and here was the cow and Brogan was nowhere to be seen. If there was to be a row it was some time in the future and she would worry about it when it happened.
She wrote the cheque quickly. It was Brogan’s money but it was an investment after all. The farmer promised to deliver Violet the following day.
‘There’s just one thing,’ Mary said casually, as they prepared to leave.
‘I don’t know . . . well I’ve never actually…milked a cow, if you know what I mean.’
The farmer leaned against the barn door, his eyes watering with mirth.
‘I hope the cow can’t hear you,’ he gasped, ‘she’ll refuse to leave home!’ He took pity on her worried face. ‘It’s only practice, lass. Just keep trying, it comes.’
Mary was not reassured, but what others managed so would she. It was a knack she would acquire.
A Summer Frost Page 6