The Yearning Heart

by Sylvia Broady

  ‘You hold her hand. I’ll be back in a minute,’ said Fran, hurrying off. Returning in seconds with a glass of cold water and a damp facecloth, she dropped to her knees, gazing down at Tina’s white face and closed eyes. Gently, she dabbed Tina’s temple and cheeks with the cloth until, after about thirty seconds, which seemed like hours, Tina opened her eyes. Joe looked to Fran for advice. ‘Support her into a sitting position.’

  More used to lifting machinery than fainting women, Joe gingerly put an arm around Tina and lifted her up, and Fran placed a cushion behind her back. Holding the glass of water to Tina’s lips, she whispered, reassuringly, ‘Come on, have a drink and you’ll soon be all right.’

  Slowly, Tina drank all the water and the colour began to return to her face.

  ‘Feeling better?’ Fran asked.

  Tina nodded, saying weakly, ‘Sorry if I gave you a scare. I think it must have been the heat.’ But, even as she spoke, the name ‘Isabel Renton’ reverberated in her head.

  ‘She’s pregnant!’ Joe exclaimed, laying a protective hand on Tina’s arm.

  ‘Yes, I do know, but it’s not an illness, just some things might make her queasy. Perhaps staying off alcohol might help?’ Fran offered, sympathetically.

  ‘Do all pregnant women have this sickness and fainting thing?’ asked a serious-faced Joe.

  Laughing, Fran replied, ‘Some do. I did.’ Instantly, she felt her body freeze.

  Tina, now feeling a little better, stared at Fran, ‘I didn’t know you had any children.’

  Fran, her legs feeling weak, groped for a chair and sank on it, unable to reply.

  Joe rushed from the room and brought Fran a glass of water. Two fainting women in one day – it must be the heat. Time for him to retreat.

  Fran sipped the water, feeling a little foolish. What must Joe and Tina think of her? She looked at Tina and said, ‘I’m feeling better now.’

  Though Tina had known Fran for only a short time and knew she was divorced, she had never mentioned children before. For a moment, her own problems forgotten, Tina felt curious and asked, ‘Are your children with your ex, is that why you are upset?’ Fran stared at her. Quickly, Tina said, ‘You don’t have to answer me.’

  Fran’s eyes stung with unshed tears as she grappled with what Tina was saying. ‘My ex! We didn’t have children. I wasn’t married when …’

  Now it was Tina’s turn to be the comforter. She rose, went to Fran and put a soothing arm about her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Fran, I can see it’s upsetting you so forget I asked the question.’

  Fran forced a smile, but her lips trembled as she said, ‘It was a long time ago and I was a foolish young girl. You are lucky, you have Joe. I had no one.’

  There was a knock on the door and Joe’s head peeped round. ‘Just to let yer know, grub’s up.’

  ‘Gosh!’ exclaimed Fran, rather too brightly, ‘I’d quite forgotten lunch. Give me five minutes.’

  Tina, seemingly recovered, went off with Joe and Fran went to the bathroom. She splashed her face with cold water and patting it dry with a soft towel. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, feeling annoyed with herself. One unguarded moment and she’d revealed her shadowed past.

  In the kitchen, an unbelievable, surprising scene greeted Fran. Will was carving the pheasants and Joe was handing round the plates, Nick was pouring the cordial and the piping hot tureens of vegetables were already set on the table. Fran felt a wonderful happiness flood her body.

  The day after its rocky start, proved a great success and much later, too tired to sleep, she lay in bed, her mind playing over the happenings of the day. One particular segment of a scene seemed to stick. It was when Tina had asked, ‘Did you say they called Mike’s mum, Isabel Renton?’ And she had answered, ‘Isabel is my sister. Do you know her?’ It was at this point that Tina fainted and she thought it was because Tina was pregnant. Perhaps that was the reason, but something puzzled Fran and she wasn’t sure what it was. The scene kept replaying until sleep finally caught hold of her.

  Back at Nancy’s, Tina snuggled next to Joe, but she couldn’t sleep. Her mind was too active. A picture of Isabel Renton flashed vividly before her, the ugly, angry face of the doctor’s receptionist. Was it possible, after all, that woman was her biological mother? She had seen Isabel Renton only the once and didn’t like what she saw, so she had dismissed her from her mind. A thought struck her and she sat bolt up, paying no heed to Joe’s mumbling as she jerked the bedclothes off his bare body. Could it be possible there was more than one Isabel Renton? Then she sank back onto the pillow. This Isabel Renton was living in Australia and she was Mike’s mother, but she couldn’t be her mother because Mike was the same age as she was. In the next instant she sat bolt up again. What if …

  ‘What’s up with you?’ Joe grunted. ‘You’ve woke me up again.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she pacified, slipping from the bed. She pulled on a nightie, not to cover her nakedness, but to soak up the cold sweat swamping her body. Downstairs in the kitchen, she leant against the table for support. Breathing in the solitude, she let out her burning thought.

  What if she and Mike Renton were twins?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Fran watched for the postman. They were due to have a letter from Michael. Although he wrote to Will, Michael knew she read the letters, so he included her in them. For her part, she wrote of day-to-day happenings and, despite the miles separating them, Fran felt close to him. There was no longed-for letter today.

  In bed that night, the weather was still humid, too hot for sleeping. The window was wide open, but the room was airless. Naked, Fran lay with just a thin sheet covering her, listening to the night sounds: the water gently lapping against the broken jetty, the hoot of an owl in a distant tree. She thought of Nick in the next room and her body generated new heat. The more she thought of him, the more she wanted to be desired. She wrapped her arms around her body; it had been a long time since a man held her in his arms and made love. Now, why was she thinking of that? She was no good at relationships with men. She didn’t need them, she reaffirmed to herself, though she wasn’t sure if she was cut out for a life of celibacy. In this confused state of mind, she drifted off, only to be woken up by moans coming from Will’s room.

  Hastily, she scrambled from the bed, pulled on a thin cotton robe and rushed to her father’s side. To her surprise, Nick was already there. He was massaging one of Will’s legs.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

  ‘He’s got cramp, but it’s getting easier,’ Nick answered.

  Fran glanced at her father’s face and saw it visibly relax as he closed his eyes. Then her gaze went back to Nick. He was wearing just a pair of pyjama bottoms and, though his body was long and lean, she could see the flexing strength of his shoulder muscles as he massaged Will’s leg. Her insides gave a strange flutter and she began fussing with Will’s pillows. Will went back to sleep and Nick stopped massaging. ‘I guess he’ll be all right now.’ He gently replaced the quilt over Will. Stepping back, he rested an arm about Fran’s shoulders and led her from the room.

  Fran asked, anxiously, ‘Is he going to be all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure he will be. He was probably just lying awkwardly and got the cramps.’

  His arm felt comforting, protective, and she felt his fingers playing with loose tendrils of her hair in the nape of her neck. He drew her closer and through the thin cotton of her robe she felt the tantalising heat of his body. Instinctively, she leant into him, her robe slipping off one shoulder to reveal a glow of pearly, satin skin. ‘Fran,’ he whispered, ‘you’re so beautiful.’ She wasn’t sure how it happened, she was in his arms, his lips caressing her smooth skin. Then, gently moving his lips up her slender neck he sought her lips with engaging tenderness. At the same time, his hand cupped her breast, circling the hardening nipple. Wild dancing flames sent sensation after sensation through her tormented, starved body. Reaching out, she clung to him,
her lips parting as his tongue found the intimacy of her mouth, arousing in her a long-forgotten passion. Startled by the deep intensity of his kiss, but more startled by her matching response, she moulded into his body, pressing against his arousal, wanting him, desiring him. Her robe slipped further down her body dropping at her feet. Swaying slightly, his hands kneaded the roundness of her buttocks. His breath, warm, feathery, fanned across her breasts and she gasped with pleasure. Intoxicated by the smell of his masculinity, her hands explored the taut muscles of his back.

  ‘Nick,’ she whispered, throatily, her passion ablaze.

  Then, as if her voice had pressed a button, he stilled, drawing away from her. His face full of anguish he stared down at her. Shrinking from her, he muttered, ‘Sorry! Forgive me.’ And without another word, he turned from her and went into his own room and closed the door.

  Stunned, bewildered, frozen in the heat of the night, all she could see in the dimness of her mind was the replay of Nick’s retreating figure. Her only awareness was the terrible ache. She had bared her body, and her soul, to this man and he had rejected her.

  Sleep eluded her until the early hours of the morning and then she only slept for a couple of hours. She heard Nick get up and go downstairs and let himself out of the house.

  She persuaded Will to spend the morning in bed, pampering him with bacon and egg, and the morning newspaper. She busied herself and, for the umpteenth time, she wondered where Nick was. Feeling restless, she went outside and round to the front of the house to look down the lane for any sign of him. The day was dull, the sky, grey – one of those useless summer days. In her confused mind, she tried to analyse why he should reject her so, but she couldn’t think of an answer – nothing which made sense. Or was it that he found her repulsive? To hell with him, she thought, angrily brushing away a hot tear. Back in doors, she settled down to write to Michael. It didn’t matter that he owed them a letter, she just felt better writing to him. Mostly, she told him about Will’s visit to the optician’s and what a difference wearing spectacles had made to his eyesight, but also about the visit of Tina and Joe, the weather and Nick staying with them because of the flood damage to his cottage. If she didn’t mention him, Will would think it odd. She went up to Will’s room so he could read the letter before posting it.

  ‘Where’s Nick?’ Will asked when she entered his room.

  ‘Out for a walk,’ she replied, which was partly true, though where, she had no idea.

  Later, after a snack dinner, Will was still in his room, settling down to have an afternoon snooze, and there was still no sign of Nick. Fran decided she needed some fresh air.

  ‘Dad, I’m going down to post Michael’s letter. Can I get you anything from the shop?’

  Drowsily, he replied, ‘Just some baccy.’

  She strolled down the narrow lane with its hawthorn hedge and grassy edging abandoned to the wildness of nature, among tall grasses, feathery with seed, the yarrow with its clusters of white and pink blooms. This beauty was lost on her because her mind was on Nick and what happened last night. Or, what didn’t happen. The rejection hurt more than she cared to admit. She had been overwhelmed by Nick’s unexpected attraction to her and surprised how eager her response was to his ardour. He’d aroused her sensuality and she’d loved it, and so had he, she felt it. So, why had he drawn away from her? She couldn’t fathom that out.

  After posting the letter and buying Will’s baccy, she hurried back home, expecting Nick to be there, but he wasn’t. This surprised her as she knew from talking to Rufus that his home was still uninhabitable.

  ‘Cooee!’ Fran turned to see Nancy entering the kitchen. ‘Thought I’d drop by to tell you that Tina’s, the silly girl, got herself pregnant. I told her she won’t be the first or the last. They’re saving like mad to get a place to rent, but housing so scarce. I’ll keep my eyes open and ask my ladies if they know of anywhere.’

  ‘Tina seems a survivor.’

  ‘She’s had to be since her mam died.’ Nancy’s usual pleasant voice was sharp.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive,’ said Fran. Then, a thought struck her. ‘Why did she come to live in Beverley? I’ve not heard her mention anything about family living here.’

  Nancy was about to say something, then changed her mind. ‘It’s not for me to say.’

  Fran glanced at the older woman, wondering what the mystery was. ‘Let me know if I can help.’ Her thoughts turned back to Nick and she voiced her concerns to Nancy.

  Nancy said, ‘I’ll stay with your father, you go down to Nick’s cottage and see if he’s there.’

  The quickest way to Nick’s was along the riverbank. The recent floods had receded, but the banks were rather muddy. Exchanging her shoes for wellington boots, Fran squelched along the bank. It had been years since she was this far up river. From here, she could see quite clearly across the river, the great expanse of farmland that stretched for miles towards the distant village and the airfield, which, during the war, had been a Bomber Command base. Passing the bird sanctuary, she saw Nick’s cottage round the next bend.

  Nestling by the riverside, its small plot of garden was a quagmire and the rickety wooden gate swayed on its broken hinge. She walked down the silt path to the front door and knocked. There was no reply, so she followed the path round to the back of the cottage. Her heart contracted as she saw Nick dragging a wet carpet across to the back fence. She stood for a moment, expecting him to look up and see her, but he was too intent on the task in hand. She caught a sideward’s glimpse of his face and saw deep lines etched that she’d never noticed before.

  She could see that the sodden carpet was heavy and would need two pairs of hands if it were to make it onto the fence to have a chance of drying out. ‘Let me help.’

  He half turned at the sound of her voice to look at her, raising an eyebrow of surprise. ‘Thanks,’ he said wearily.

  Together, they heaved and tugged until, finally, the carpet rested on the fence. Getting their breaths back they both stood, eyeing the carpet, and then Nick’s voiced what Fran was thinking, but didn’t like to say. ‘I think it’s had it.’

  She just nodded in agreement, then added. ‘Did you take the cottage furnished?’ He nodded. ‘Then the owner will be responsible for replacements.’

  ‘I’m afraid not. You see the cottage was up for sale and Rufus persuaded the owner to rent to me with the proviso that I will be responsible for any damage that occurred.’ Shrugging, he turned and walked towards the back door of the cottage and Fran followed him inside.

  In the tiny sitting room, Fran saw a reluctant wood fire splinter and hiss in the grate, its weak flames attempting to heat a saucepan of water.

  Nick followed Fran’s gaze. ‘I was going to make coffee, but I guess the water is never going to boil,’ he lamented, his shoulders sagging.

  She should forget last night, she chided herself, and think about now, so she took a deep breath and said, lightly, ‘I don’t think you can do any more here. Best put the fire out of its misery and we’ll go back to High Bank. Nancy might be making us something tasty for tea.’

  His gaze met hers full on and they locked for all of three seconds, then he broke into a grin. ‘You mean it?’ he asked as if he was a school boy who had been offered an unexpected treat.

  ‘Of course, and we don’t want to disappoint Nancy.’

  He made the fire safe and locked the cottage. Once on the bank path, he took hold of her arm and gently turned her to him. She looked into his sad, tired eyes, trying to find a glimmer of hope. ‘I just want to clear the air. I’m sorry for last night. I’m a guest in your house and I took advantage of you. It shouldn’t have happened.’

  While he was speaking, she just stared, mesmerised, as she watched his lips moving. Then he stopped speaking, leant towards her, and with his long fingers he lightly dusted away the specks of soot clinging to her cheeks. She wasn’t certain how it happened but there she was in his arms again, their lips seeking and fi
nding. The kiss was soft, sweet and full of glorious passion that made her breathless, desiring more.

  ‘Wow!’ She exclaimed her body still in tremor as she clung to Nick for support.

  ‘You okay?’ He looked at her, a little uncertain, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened between them.

  ‘Yes. It’s just that I’d never before experienced such intense feelings of …’ She wanted to say love, but she wasn’t a youngster in the throes of her first love, but she did know that her feelings were strong. ‘Such joy,’ she finished.

  He grinned at her. ‘Then last night wasn’t a mistake?’

  ‘No,’ she replied firmly, slipping her hand into his.

  When they reached home and deposited their muddy boots in the porch, they found Nancy in the kitchen popping a meat and potato pie in the oven. She looked up, her swift glance taking in their happy faces. ‘Everything all right?’ she queried.

  ‘Fine,’ Fran answered.

  ‘And, before you ask, Will’s up and getting a shave and he’ll be down for tea.’

  Fran went up to Nancy and hugged her. ‘You’re a treasure.’

  As Nancy slipped on her cardigan, she said casually, ‘Been having a mud bath?’

  For the first time, Fran noticed her dirty blouse and mud splattered skirt, and laughed.

  Later that evening, after supper, Fran and Nick left Will listening to the wireless and went into the sitting room. They sat side by side on the old sofa, laughing as the broken springs pinged and groaned under their weight. Sharing a bottle of cool beer, they talked, finding out about each other, how they both enjoyed the countryside and Fran confessed that in spite of living near the river she’d never taken to boats, not since she and a school friend were toppled from their rowing boat to end up in the murky water of the river.

  ‘I’ll take you out on the river,’ Nick offered. Fran’s face creased in horror.

  After moments silence, Nick said, ‘Rufus mentioned he’d told you a little of my background.’