by Gloria Cook
‘I’ve got a week off. I thought I’d come down and keep an eye on you myself for a while. I’d love to meet the Smith kiddies, if that’s all right, and your little boy too, Faye. Mark’s told me about Simon, said he’s quite the sweetest little chap.’
‘Did he?’ Faye felt as though she could tear the woman’s head off, just to stop her annoying animated talk. She’d been like this with certain girls at boarding school and with her younger American half-siblings, impatient with anyone who was over-amusing. Faye knew it was because these people were popular and fitted in easily everywhere they went, while she tended to seek quieter, more serious company, the qualities that she liked in Susan. She realized it was because she had never been the most important one in someone’s life, except for Simon. Now she was enduring Justine Fuller’s buzzing personality in her own house. She was the sort of person everyone responded to. Her uncle was watching her avidly, carried along by her good nature and sparky energy. ‘Simon went down for a morning nap. He should be awake soon.’
As if on cue, Susan was there, carrying Simon, who looked red-eyed from crying and had his thumb in his mouth. Unsure if she’d done the right thing, she said quietly, ‘Um, he woke up and was fussing. I knew you were tied up, so I’ve brought him down.’
‘Thanks Susan, that was very kind of you,’ Faye gave her the warmest smile before holding her arms out to her son. ‘Come to Mummy, darling.’ She was furious when Justine stepped in the way and jiggled Simon’s chubby hand.
‘Hello, little man, aren’t you the cutest thing? And you must be Susan. Mark’s mentioned you. Thanks for coming to his rescue that day.’
‘Not at all.’ Like most people meeting Justine Fuller for the first time, Susan immediately warmed to her. ‘Did he also tell you that Faye and I were ready to whack him with umbrellas?’
Justine laughed a hearty sound. ‘I’m not surprised, the way he went about things.’ She put her arms round Mark’s shoulders and gave him a tight squeeze, making him drop the last mouthful of food off his fork. ‘But you couldn’t help it, could you, my old love? Bit fuzzy in the old brainbox.’
It made Faye want to scream at her to leave him alone. How could she refer to Mark’s trances in such a manner? It wasn’t at all funny. ‘I won’t hear of you going off to a hotel, Justine,’ she said in her most welcoming tone. ‘You must stay with us. Mark’s room has twin beds. He’s quite comfortable here and is looking forward to seeing the countryside. He still needs lots of rest and relaxation.’
‘That’s very generous of you, Faye,’ Mark said, sipping his coffee, happy to let the women make any arrangements they cared to.
‘Well, if you’re sure another addition won’t upset the apple cart, then thanks again,’ Justine said.
‘Take a seat. I’m sure you could do with a cup of coffee after your journey,’ Faye replied in hostess fashion.
‘Don’t mind if I do.’ Justine parked herself beside Mark.
Faye winced, for she was sure the woman was squeezing Mark’s thigh. She wasn’t sure how long she could endure her tactile and ebullient manner.
‘I’ll air the bed,’ Susan said.
‘I’ll take the luggage up,’ Tristan said, jumping at the chance to be alone with Susan. ‘What do you think of her? Justine?’ he asked when he’d offloaded the two suitcases and a rucksack in the guestroom.
‘It’s not my place to think anything,’ Susan said, folding back the bed linen.
‘Oh, please don’t go along with that old class barrier thing,’ Tristan urged, not hiding his disappointment.
‘It’ll always be there,’ she said. It was a matter of fact to her.
‘But my family’s never felt that it’s mattered. Emilia was Ford Farm’s dairymaid before she married Alec, my brother, and he was the village squire.’
‘But Faye’s father thought differently. Everyone called him Mr Harvey or Mr Ben. He could be a…’ Susan stopped. Lance had loathed Ben Harvey, calling him a stuck-up bastard. Ben Harvey had been good to her, but he’d always seemed miserable. Apparently there had been a lot of strife between him and the squire, and he’d gone through a bitter divorce.
‘Snob,’ Tristan finished for her. ‘Yes, I concede that. Ben could be arrogant. But I was hoping you’d feel comfortable here, Susan.’
Susan studied him for a moment. He was such a good person, completely harmless and unassuming, the proof of which was she was here alone chatting to him without reservation or worry. ‘I do, with you.’
Tristan couldn’t have heard better news, although he hoped she didn’t view him purely as her employer or in some fatherly way. ‘Can I ask if you’re finding Faye a bit difficult?’
Susan dropped her eyes. ‘Sometimes I’m not sure of her.’
‘She is a little mixed up.’ Tristan didn’t usually air the family bad points, but he wanted Susan to see Faye in a good light. ‘Ben treated her quite badly. He rejected her for years. He made things up to her in a letter written prior to his leaving for France. It said he’d realized he loved her. Sadly, his death meant it was too late for them to build up a proper relationship, so as you can imagine, it’s left her with some raw emotions. She doesn’t mean to be off-putting.’
‘No, I don’t suppose she does. I suppose I ought to be less guarded… I find it hard… Faye wants to be a friend to me, perhaps I should let that happen.’
Realizing she had just opened up to him, Tristan felt he’d progressed with her, but also, if he wanted to get any further he should leave it for now. He shot her another smile. ‘That would be nice. Well, I’d better not hang about and get in your way.’
As he headed down the stairs he heard Susan singing.
Chapter Six
At the weekend a delivery van rattled over the cobbled yard of Ford Farm. ‘That must be for you, Lottie. Nate promised he was sending over something exciting,’ Emilia said, craning her graceful neck at the dairy window to get a better view of the crate that was being unloaded.
‘Uh,’ Lottie muttered, not bothering to look. She and Emilia were carrying pans of cream from the slate-shelved inner dairy for butter making, and she went back to fetch another pan, to make up eight in all.
‘Don’t you want to rush off and open it?’ Emilia was curious about the crate’s contents and worried over Lottie’s lack of eagerness. Tilda came outside to sign for the crate. The van driver and his mate would be asked to set it down on the kitchen floor. ‘I’ll finish up here.’
‘I’m not interested in Nate’s grand gestures. Tins of spam and peaches, jars of coffee and a few luxuries that we can’t get over here count for nothing in my book. It’s Nate who should be here, not a stupid box of goodies.’
‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it? It shows Nate’s thinking of you. Go on, go in and open it. There’s sure to be lots of things in there for Carl,’ Emilia encouraged, wishing she could think of something that would lift her daughter’s flagging spirits.
‘It isn’t harsh at all,’ Lottie cried. ‘Carl wants his father, not candy, toys and fancy clothes. Nate should put Carl first, not a bunch of ranch hands. I’m getting fed up waiting for him and I’m fed up with having no one to understand how I feel.’
‘We do understand you, Lottie, all of us do.’ Lottie was so dejected nothing would convince her otherwise. ‘Of course you want to get on with your own life, have your own home, and to be thinking about having more children.’
‘Not that!’ Lottie’s cheeks went as red as her hair. ‘I don’t want any more kids.’
Emilia didn’t answer. Lottie had gone through a long difficult labour and birth, made all the more traumatic by Nate not being there. Then Carl had yelled with colic nearly every hour in his first three months, wearing her out, magnifying her misery. With her husband’s presence, care and support back then, she might be thinking differently now.
With her head hung, Lottie ignored Tilda as she came hurrying to the dairy. Tilda’s eyes above her plump apple cheeks were shining with exhilaration. ‘Lottie
, my handsome, come quick, there’s something for you!’
‘I’ll come later, Tilda,’ Lottie said in a forlorn voice. ‘I know the crate’s here. It’s not a big deal. It should be my neglectful husband instead, if he ever wants to come, that is.’
‘Lottie…’ Tilda looked worried, glancing behind her.
‘Don’t try to coax me,’ Lottie shrugged, on the verge of tears. She didn’t know how much more she could take of Nate’s absence. Yesterday when she’d gone down into the village with Carl she’d received remarks that had cut into her.
‘’Bout time the litt’l’un’s daddy put in an appearance, isn’t it?’ the shopkeeper had said. Nosey Gilbert Eathorne had eyed her like a bloodhound on the scent, searching her, as if she was hiding a shameful secret.
A housewife known for her bitter tongue was at her garden gate, arms folded primly. ‘Where’s your husband got himself to then? Coming over soon is he, or has he better interests? Americans tend to be flighty, in my book.’
‘You don’t know my husband at all, Mrs Moses, so keep your remarks to yourself.’ No doubt she and others must be wondering if Nate had deserted her for good and she found it humiliating. It was crushing her. She couldn’t think ahead and getting through each day was getting harder. She had made the huge decision to give up the home she loved and was now beginning to regret it. She was further bothered over Tom and Jill’s excited plans to update the older part of the farmhouse. Tilda was to move into the Victorian wing, and they would have a cosy home within their home all to themselves. Tom and Jill were careful not to show too much affection in front of her now, as were her mother and Perry, and having made the two couples feel awkward simply for being deeply in love made her feel a killjoy, an old crab.
She wasn’t sure any more how much she loved Nate. She had been drawn to him at a village dance, as he was to her, and they had declared their love during their second meeting. He had begged her mother to allow them to marry, a somewhat foolish desire on their part, for she, at her own admission, was a spoiled selfish seventeen year old, and he was soon to leave Cornwall’s shores for the D Day landings. He was an Army medic and the fear of losing him in battle had been an agony. Of course, she was grateful he’d survived and had come through with just a couple of scars; there had been no need for Tom to fling that at her. She knew love and she knew the emotional pain and turmoil of separation, but the hardest thing to bear was that it seemed Nate did not feel the same way. He couldn’t care as much for her and Carl as he professed in his letters and phone calls. It was killing her inside and she felt she would soon explode with misery.
‘But ‘tis worth it, Lottie, you’ll see,’ Tilda persisted, beckoning to her.
Lottie glared at her cajoling hand as if she wanted to swipe it off her wrist. Why couldn’t people leave her alone? ‘I said I’d come when I’m ready. Damn the stupid crate! I don’t care what’s inside it. Take it outside and burn it for all I care.’
‘Oh, Lottie…’ Tilda paled, then looked imploringly at Emilia.
Someone eased past Tilda, a tall young man in a rawhide jacket and jeans, with sandy hair, a long scar on his right cheek, and with soft eyes that were usually calm within well-balanced features, but were now troubled and perplexed. ‘Lottie, darling, what on earth’s the matter?’
Lottie nearly fell over a bussa of potted butter on the red brick floor. ‘Nate!’ She had dreamed of the moment when he’d come to her. How she would rush into his arms, bubbling over with excitement and deliriously happy. The sound of his soft Texan drawl would be music to her ears, and the sight of him as handsome and magnificent as a wonder of the world. But as the wait had grown and grown and she had felt more and more let down, she had stopped picturing any such magical scene. She burst into tears. She had been letting rip about him and he had heard every word. There would be no romantic, blissful reunion. Instead it was tainted and horrible. It was his fault, but she had the awful feeling she would be made to feel she should take the blame.
‘It’s good to see you, ma’am,’ Nate inclined his head to Emilia. ‘I think I should take Lottie outside.’
‘Yes, you do that, Nate.’ Lottie had frozen on the spot, blubbering like a child, her eyes on Nate with some sort of desperation, and Emilia’s heart bled for her. She too wanted an explanation from Nate for his tardiness, but she must take second place. She went to Lottie and led her to Nate. ‘It’s good to see you too. You and Lottie must spend all the time you need.’
Nate held out a hand to Lottie. ‘Come with me, honey. Don’t cry.’ She put her fingers inside his and his warm hand encompassed them. She felt a reassuring pressure, but she was devastated to have their reunion spoiled.
Once outside in the yard, the blustery wind snatching at their clothes, Nate pulled her gently into a hearty embrace and she latched on to him. Now he was here she didn’t want to let go. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘I wanted this moment to be perfect.’
‘And it is.’ He kissed her wet eyes, her lips and all over her face. ‘You’ve no need to be sorry, Lottie, but it seems I have. We’ll talk it through and I’ll put it right, I promise, but let’s go inside and see the little fellow.’
They walked hand in hand, Lottie discarding her white dairy hat on the way. ‘I love this,’ Nate said, running his free hand through her tumbling locks. ‘I love you. I hope you haven’t doubted that.’
‘No, of course not,’ she lied. She wanted to pull her head away from his caressing hand. She hated feeling this way, but even in her delight at his sudden appearance, the joy of being in his arms again, she couldn’t help resenting his long absence. ‘I’ve been missing you so much, that’s all. Did you get passage on an earlier ship?’
‘Travel is still a bit haywire, but I managed to get on a few connecting planes. I came as soon as I could, darling. I’ll explain later.’ Perry had seen them coming and he brought Carl to the door. Nate let go of Lottie’s hand and ran to his son. ‘Good heavens, you’ve grown the size of a mountain lion.’ Carl gazed at the stranger. ‘Hello son. I’m your daddy. Are you coming to me?’ Nate offered his hands gently and made cooing noises to the boy. Carl kept on staring at him, one chubby fist clenching Perry’s jersey.
Lottie watched. Carl wasn’t at all shy; her mother often declared he was just like she had been as a child, outgoing and playful; destined to be just as precocious. ‘Come on Carl, son,’ Nate stroked his little arm. ‘Come to Daddy.’ Then Carl delighted Nate by stretching out his arms and leaning towards him. Nate gathered him up and cuddled him in. He put his head on top of the little boy’s and wept unashamedly. ‘You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.’
Lottie knew she should throw her arms around them both, but she hesitated for a minute before doing so, wanting to question Nate’s emotional statement. Perry retreated inside and left them to it, hoping all the woes, real or imaginary, his stepdaughter had undergone in the last months were at an end. But Lottie and Nate had a lot of adjusting to do. They didn’t really know each other. They would have to reignite their first passion and find enough common ground and shared interests to make their marriage work.
* * *
Susan locked up Little Dell and put the key into her coat pocket. She used the front door during winter, for the back path, despite liberal scatterings of ashes, was always waterlogged, due to poor drainage from the wooded slope that reared up behind her little two-up, two-down home. Just in sight above through the bare trees was the long-empty bigger cottage that bore the deceptively sweet name of Rose Dew. Susan never allowed Maureen to play up there. It needed a complete renovation and she worried about the possibility of falling bricks and slates, and it was rumoured to be haunted. She didn’t really believe in ghosts, but she had doubts about the sanctity of Rose Dew and was nervous to go outside her cottage after dark. Once, when foraging near the place for firewood, she had sensed a cold bleakness and had got horrid shivers, which had sent her scurrying away. Lance had looked over Rose Dew out of curiosity. He said he
had pushed through the broken door and looked in every room, and had sworn he’d seen, in a bedroom, a window latch open as if by an unseen hand and the moth-eaten curtains go crashing to the floor. He had ordered her to keep away from the place but she hadn’t needed the warning. Sometimes she felt she was being watched, and like today, each time she left Little Dell she never looked back, in fear she just might see some ominous figure up on the slope and she’d be afraid to return home.
She set off quickly, carrying a large shopping bag with her and Maureen’s nightclothes inside for the overnight stay for Agnes’s dinner outing. The Smiths had called for Maureen earlier in the afternoon and they were off playing, hopefully inside Tremore House by now. The evenings were drawing out, but heavy black clouds were gaining pace and it would soon darken and there would be rain. The wind was picking up and Susan pulled her headscarf forward to give more protection to her face. Faye had given her an umbrella, but if she didn’t beat the rain the powerful gusts of wind would make it useless to put up. Her best bet was to keep her head down and hurry along. The sound of the wind beating through the trees and the dim light as she started down the short, ragged, muddy track to the lane brought the unwelcome thought of the possibility of a neighbouring ghost.
She spied a figure ahead and her every sense was filled with foreboding. Then she sighed in relief. It was a man in a double-breasted camel coat, sturdy shoes and a trilby hat, his clothes too modern and well-cut for him to be the spectre of some former farm labourer. A momentary thought was that it might be Mark Fuller, who now took short restorative walks, but he always ventured out with his wife. Was it Tristan Harvey come to escort her? It was the sort of kindly gesture he’d make. No, the man was shorter and stocky. He didn’t move, and after she’d cover a few more yards apprehension and dread burned a furrow up her back. The man’s trilby was pulled down across his face, but his manner was horribly familiar. ‘Lance…?’