by Iris Gower
In the farmhouse, Eddie was just ladling out a bowl of cawl for Patrick; thick slices of bread were piled up on a plate, and Eddie looked flushed from the heat of the fire.
‘Thank goodness you’re back.’ His tone was heartfelt. ‘Give me farm work to looking after children any day of the week; it’s easier. Where’s Jamie?’
‘Washing at the pump,’ Fon replied, turning her attention to Patrick. ‘Been naughty, have you?’ she asked lightly.
Patrick shook his head. ‘No, not naughty, I been a good boy. Eddie said I been good.’ Patrick beamed.
‘He’s been good all right,’ Eddie agreed. ‘No tantrums, nothing like that; it’s just that he’s so curious that he’s into everything.’
Fon smiled. ‘Don’t I know it!’
She sat next to Patrick and helped him to some of the soup. ‘Come on, love, it’s nice dinner,’ she encouraged, but Patrick turned his head away.
‘I think he’s eaten enough,’ Eddie said sheepishly. ‘I took him out for a picnic, and we had bread and cheese and some of the cakes that you left in the pantry.’
Fon looked at him with a smile curving her lips. ‘You didn’t happen to meet up with Arian Smale, did you?’
Eddie actually blushed. ‘Well, yes, I did,’ he said. ‘By accidental design, I suppose you could call it.’
‘More design than accident, if I know you, Eddie.’ She patted Patrick’s shoulder. ‘Right then!’ Fon put down the spoon she had been holding to Patrick’s lips. ‘Off you go then, boy; you can leave the table if you’ve finished your meal.’
Patrick climbed down from his chair with alacrity and went out of the open door into the garden.
‘Getting keen on Arian, are you?’ Fon asked quietly. ‘She’s a lovely-looking girl, but be careful, mind.’
‘No good telling me that, Fon,’ he said. ‘I’ve fallen for her, hook, line and sinker. I’d marry her tomorrow if I had prospects and if she’d have me.’
He grimaced at Fon. ‘Her father has other ideas, of course; my back is still smarting from the whipping he gave me.’
‘Awful man!’ Fon said feelingly. ‘He doesn’t deserve a daughter like Arian.’
Eddie leant forward, his elbows on the table. ‘If only I could make my fortune, I could persuade her to marry me, I’m sure.’
Jamie came into the kitchen. He was stripped to the waist, his hair glistening with water from the pump outside. ‘What’s this talk of marriage, my man?’ he asked, sitting at the table and taking the bowl of soup that Fon offered him.
‘Just dreaming,’ Eddie said ruefully. ‘I’m not in any position to take a wife, but I wish I was.’
‘It’ll come soon enough.’ Jamie assumed an air of sheepish submission. ‘Then you’ll be sorry! Bowed down with care you’ll be, with a woman’s sharp tongue giving you hell night and day.’
Fon made a face at him. ‘And all the wife gets is washing and cooking and hard work from morning till night,’ she retorted.
Jamie leant forward and pulled at her hair. ‘Ah, but when night comes, think of the rewards of being married to a lusty man, and you, my lady, have got yourself a real man of vigour.’
Fon blushed. ‘Hush, don’t talk like that in front of Eddie,’ she said, half-smiling.
‘Why not?’ Jamie said. ‘Wasn’t the man all set to be a doctor? Him knowing more than me, I dare say.’
Eddie laughed easily. ‘In theory, perhaps, but in practice you’d have me beaten hands down.’ He rose from his chair and glanced affectionately at Fon. ‘I know a fulfilled and loving wife when I see one. You are a lucky man, boss.’
‘If you say so.’ Jamie’s voice was casual, but his hand touched Fon’s cheek lightly in a gesture of great tenderness.
The small house nestling in the folds of Kilvey Hill was washed silver by the moonlight. From one window came the dull gleam of an oil lamp casting a soft glow on to the grass outside, outlining the tall figure of a man.
Will Davies, hands thrust into his pockets, was staring out across the valley below, at the silver water of the docklands and the haphazard building of the town beyond. He felt trapped, closed into a world of domesticity from which there was no escape.
Within the house, his new wife waited for him. He felt her uncertainty with a tightness of pity in his gut, and yet he needed these few moments alone to come to terms with himself.
He needed to reconcile himself now to a life with a wife and to the fact that he must forget the woman he loved.
He smiled sadly into the darkness; he had never possessed Eline Harries, though he had loved her for ever, or so it seemed. Now he would never possess her. His life and hers would take separate paths, never to join together in union.
Sighing, he turned and went indoors, closing the latch against the world. He squared his shoulders and made his way upstairs; and there, in the dimness of the lamplight, Gwyneth was waiting.
Her hair spilled around her shoulders; the white of her gown covered, with a touching display of modesty, the fullness of her breasts. Her eyes searched his face, and Will saw with a feeling of pain that her condition had given her an ethereal quality, a paleness of skin that was almost transparent, and a shadowing of her eyes that made them appear huge.
‘Will!’ She held out her arms in a gesture of supplication, and he went to her and held her close, his head resting on her hair. She should never know what it cost him to put Eline out of his life, he vowed. His wife would bear his child, and he would do his utmost to make them both secure and happy.
‘Come into bed with me, cariad,’ Gwyneth said softly. ‘Love me, just a little.’
He undressed swiftly, pulling his shirt over his head and unfastening his belt with an air of unreality. Where was the passion that had brought him to this? Why did he feel cold as ice as he entered his marriage bed?
Gwyneth’s arms closed around him; she buried her face in his neck. ‘I love you, Will,’, she said softly, ‘and I know I can make you want me, even perhaps love me, in time.’
Her hands stroked and caressed him intimately, and in spite of his pain, Will knew that he was becoming roused. He would be less than a man if he remained unmoved as Gwyneth slipped off her chaste nightgown and leant close to him, her full breasts, milky in the moonlight, tipped with pink.
They were close to his face, an invitation that he could not resist. He leant towards her and as her hands grasped him he moaned with pleasure. He knew that he needed some kind of peace, that his body, so long denied, cried out for release.
‘That’s it, my love,’ Gwyneth whispered, her mouth against his neck. ‘Make me spin with love and happiness, as only you ever could.’
Her words were a balm, as, in his heart, he knew they were meant to be. Gwyneth was not a stupid woman; she was sensual and quick-witted, and she knew how to please. She flattered him with soft words and all the time her body arched towards him, waiting for his passion.
Will held back until he could no longer contain himself, and then he took her, feeling with each movement of his body that he was betraying Eline.
‘My love, that’s so wonderful,’ Gwyneth gasped. ‘That’s right, come on, take your fill of me, for now you have the right; you are my lawful wedded husband.’
The words rang hollowly in Will’s mind, and for a moment he almost withdrew himself from her. But Gwyneth, sensitive as ever, closed her milky thighs, trapping him in a sensation so erotic that he felt the life force flow through him.
Even as he reached the heights of his passion, one part of his mind looked down objectively at the man labouring on the bed and thought him a fool.
It was some weeks later that Will was approached in the street by a man he scarcely knew.
‘Bob Smale.’ The man held out a hand and, with surprise, Will took it.
‘I am joint owner of the Cambrian.’ Bob Smale was smartly dressed, his linen clean, his coat well cut and expensive. He smelled a little of claret, but then most of the better-off families took an after-lunch drink.
‘And you are, I believe,’ he continued, in a pleasant voice, ‘Will Davies, businessman.’
‘That’s right,’ Will said, not bothering to explain his exact situation as employee to Hari Grenfell or to conceal his surprise. ‘What do you want with me?’
‘Well, I’m sorry to approach you in the street in this way’ – Bob Smale smiled with a deprecating manner – ‘perhaps you’d come into the Burrows Arms for a drink. I’d like to talk to you about a bit of business.’
‘I’m not really a businessman, you know,’ Will said, bluntly. ‘I simply work for Hari, Mrs Grenfell.’
‘I’ll explain over a glass of port.’ Bob Smale led the way into the warmth of the back room of the inn and lifted a finger to the barman. As if by magic, a bottle of port and some glasses appeared on the dull surface of the table, and Will realized that Smale was obviously a very good customer here.
‘What’s the business?’ Will said, not inclined to give up too much of his time. He was on his way to see Hari; he longed to talk to her, to hear her common-sense views on the way his life was moving. He found it more than a little wearing commuting between Cardiff and his home on Kilvey Hill, and it seemed Hari had come up with a solution. Recently, he had been given promotion; it seemed Hari and Mrs Bell from the Cardiff emporium had got together and talked about his future, coming up with startling results.
‘I want you to act for me in a business venture. I’m part of a consortium, you understand.’
‘I’m not quite sure what you mean?’ Will said, his eyebrows raised. ‘Why should you need me? This isn’t crooked, is it?’
‘Of course not,’ Bob said smoothly. ‘I’m a respected citizen of Swansea; I couldn’t afford to be mixed up in anything the slightest bit crooked. No, it’s just that there’s been a clash of personalities, you might say.’
‘I’m waiting.’ Will took the glass of port the man handed him and watched him over the rim of the glass as he drank.
‘I wish to buy a certain piece of land,’ Bob Smale continued. ‘Unfortunately, though all I would like is to be friends with the vendor, he simply does not like me. I believe he would refuse to sell me the land, just out of stubbornness on his part.’
He shrugged. ‘Still, the consortium in which I’m involved does not care about personalities; all they want is to pay a fair price for a fair deal.’
He eyed Will shrewdly. ‘You are at liberty to look over all the relevant documents, just to assure yourself it’s all above board. Jamie O’Conner would be getting a good deal, and you could be the one to help him.’
‘Jamie?’ Will said. ‘Surely you don’t find him unreasonable?’
Bob Smale smiled wryly. ‘He is where I’m concerned. His stubbornness is doing him out of a good price for the land; he wants to sell it, I know he does. And,’ Smale continued, ‘there would be a nice little sum of money by way of commission for you.’
Will rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t really interested in Bob Smale’s problems. ‘Look, if Jamie doesn’t want to sell, there’s nothing I can do,’ he said, wearily.
‘You are a trusted man in these parts,’ Bob Smale said persuasively. ‘And I’m sure you want what’s best for your kin, don’t you? Jamie could do with the money; we none of us can afford to turn down a good deal. Look, there’s five per cent of the sale price as remuneration, a respectable sum in anyone’s book.’
Will looked up at Smale, studying his face carefully, but there was no sign of avarice; the man seemed genuine enough. He paused; the money would certainly make a difference to him.
‘I’d like to know a lot more about the deal before I make a decision,’ he said at last.
‘Quite right too.’ Bob Smale smiled, leaning back in his chair. ‘I’m sure that, after due consideration, you’ll see that everything is fair and above board.’
Will tipped up his glass; he didn’t like the idea of pulling the wool over Jamie’s eyes, even for a short time, and for his own good. The matter would need careful thought, but if, as Smale claimed, this was just a case of personal dislikes and Jamie was cutting off his nose to spite his face, then perhaps he should step in.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I suppose it’s for the best.’ He wanted out of the pub, away from Smale’s persuasive voice; Will wanted to be alone with his own problems – he had enough of them, goodness knows.
‘Fine!’ Bob Smale seemed well pleased, and so, in theory, should he himself be, Will thought; and yet there was a feeling of uneasiness about the whole thing that rang warning bells in his mind.
Perhaps he was being over-cautious; his judgement at this time was not too finely honed. He sank back in his chair and took another drink; to hell with reservations. It was about time he made some money for himself, instead of relying on others to put him on course.
He thought of Mrs Bell, urged on, no doubt, by Hari. She’d already hinted that she wanted a branch of her emporium opened in Swansea, and Will would be the obvious one to run it.
Run it – the words echoed in his mind. He was a little tired of running other people’s business, and now, with only a little capital, perhaps he could have a stake in the business, buy in as a partner, if only in a small way.
He lifted his glass as if in a toast. ‘To the success of your consortium and to my five per cent,’ he said, almost in a mood of resignation. He tossed back his head and drank the sweet liquid from the glass in one swallow.
Fon sat at the table, a large platter of bacon and eggs steaming before her. ‘Will Davies must be all right to do business with, mustn’t he, Jamie?’
‘It’s not Will Davies I’m concerned about,’ Jamie said. ‘It’s the fact that he doesn’t seem to know who exactly is behind this consortium that bothers me. There’s a doubt niggling at the corners of my mind.’
Fon sighed. ‘Well, it’s either sell the land or the Black Devil.’
‘Perhaps I could sell my wife,’ he paused, head on one side.
He pulled her close and rested his head against her breast. ‘I suppose you still have your uses,’ he said, his mouth nuzzling the buttons of her bodice. ‘Perhaps I’ll keep you a little while longer.’
‘Let me go, and behave yourself! The boys will be in any minute for breakfast.’
‘Shrew,’ Jamie said, releasing her. ‘I’ll just have to contain myself in patience until later, then, will I?’
Fon ignored his smile and pushed the kettle on the hob, where it immediately began to issue steam from the blackened spout.
‘What are you going to do about the land, then?’ Fon asked, making the tea in the huge brown pot.
‘I suppose I’ll sign the documents when someone brings them over this evening,’ he said. ‘But I do wish I knew who the consortium consisted of.’
‘Well, at least it can’t be one owner,’ Fon reasoned, ‘so it will take a group decision to do anything with the land.’
‘Still, I’ll insist I know the names of the people involved in the deal as part of the agreement,’ Jamie said. ‘I don’t want just anyone owning the land; the Lord only knows what would be done with it in the wrong hands.’
‘It couldn’t harm us, could it?’ Fon asked, putting the cups together and pouring the tea. ‘I mean, could it be used against us in any way?’
‘Possibly,’ Jamie said, taking his cup from her hand. ‘I suppose, if it wasn’t a roadway that was planned but a coalmine, the damage to our land could be disastrous. Our ponds and streams could be choked up, for a start.’
‘Aye, but it was Eddie who found out that a road was planned. He’s a sensible man, he wouldn’t be easily fooled.’
‘I know,’ Jamie agreed, ‘but you mustn’t believe everything you read in a newspaper, especially one part-owned by Smale.’ He smiled. ‘That’s why I’ve done a bit of checking on my own account.’
The door opened and Eddie came into the room on a blast of cold, damp air. His face was reddened by the wind, and his hair, beneath his cap, was plastered on his forehead.
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p; ‘Ploughing’s bloody hard work.’ He glanced at Fon. ‘Excuse my language; I didn’t mean that to slip out.’
‘Sit down and have some bacon and eggs,’ Fon said, smiling to show he was forgiven. ‘You’ll feel better when you’ve got some good food inside you.’
Eddie sat in a chair and rubbed the splattering of earth from his face with the back of his hand. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I’ve found out something this morning, something I think we should all know.’
Fon saw the sparkle in his eye and felt instinctively he’d been talking with Arian Smale. She felt a sudden knotting of her insides; she knew that what Eddie was about to say was something she wouldn’t want to hear.
He leant forward, his face earnest. ‘If we sell the strip of land bordering the farm, you know who will own it?’ He paused a moment for effect. ‘It’s that bastard Smale. He’s the one behind the whole deal; he must really want that piece of land.’
Jamie smiled enigmatically. ‘Well, in that case,’ he said slowly, ‘we must make sure the man gets just what he wants.’
He looked at Fon and winked, and she realized that, whatever was happening, her husband had everything under control.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Eline looked down at the books resting on the desk before her and saw, with no sense of satisfaction, that the profits from the gallery were excellent and improving day by day.
She sighed and glanced through the gallery window at the snowy landscape spread before her. The trees glittered whitely against the pale sunshine, and across the road the seashore held drifts of untrodden snow right to the water’s edge.
She closed the books. It was time she was getting back to Swansea, to the big house she’d rented on Mount Pleasant Hill, where there would be cheerful fires in the grate and she would spend the evening working on yet another design for winter boots.
It was strange, Eline mused as she rose to her feet and moved closer to the window, the way that success bred success, for not only was the gallery flourishing, with Eline’s reputation for handling only the finest painting spreading across the country, but her footwear designs and her window-dressing talents were now almost as much sought after as were those of Hari Grenfell. Eline was, if not rich, at least comfortably placed. But she was not happy.