‘Mothers’ Union meeting.’ Her mind was not on the lie that tripped so readily from her lips. She knew that Gordon would be fretting about the estate, worrying about every little difficulty, implying that it didn’t matter if cottage tenants fell into arrears since the cottages lacked modern conveniences. She must assure him that the estate was safe.
‘Christ! Ye go to church. Pray on your knees. Entertain the Mothers’ Union. And ye’re not even a mother.’ Mike handed the reins to her to loop through the wall ring while he unfastened the girth strap. His anger cooled as he looked at her and said through tight lips, ‘Ye could be a mother. As soon as ye say the word.’
‘I’ve never wanted children.’ Ruth turned away adroitly from the implied question. ‘Elizabeth let the Mothers’ Union use the house.’
Mike lifted the saddle and the horse’s sides slackened in relief. He said, ‘I don’t care if we have no children. I want ye for my wife.’ Then, ‘Here, take this.’ Ruth placed the saddle over the wooden saddle horse and obeyed when Mike ordered, ‘Take her bridle off, for heaven’s sake.’ He took the towel, threw it over the horse’s back and dried the animal down with smooth, practised strokes. ‘I asked, when will ye do it?’
‘We can’t marry yet,’ she said.
‘Why not?’
She thought quickly. ‘The Territorial Army has been doubled. You could be called up.’
‘Ye’ll have to think of a better excuse. There aren’t enough farmers. We’re a protected occupation. The government’s paying two pounds an acre to plough up pastures and grow crops. You know all about it. You do the books. I’ll have my work cut out here.’ His voice was harsh as he added darkly, ‘Don’t take me for a fool.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Well? When?’
‘Give me until June.’
‘What the hell for? You know I’m in love with you. And you wi’ me. There’s nobody else, is there?’
‘No.’
‘You wouldn’t lose any status, if that’s why you’re hesitating. You’d still be in charge …’
He didn’t finish, for Ruth sent the bridle clattering on to the saddle horse and then gave Heather’s neck a quick, sharp pat. ‘I have to go,’ she said lightly. She tightened the belt of her riding mac, turned up the collar and dragged on her gloves. Then, eyeing the filthy weather outside, ‘What a bloody climate!’
‘Back this afternoon?’ Mike asked.
‘No. Tonight if I can.’ She flung her last remark at him as she opened the stable door, put her head down and bolted first for the shelter of the farmhouse and then, running like the devil, for the trees of the park. She tripped over a tree root, almost fell, righted herself and ran faster.
She was there. She went in at the back door to leave her outdoor things in the boot room beyond the kitchen, where one of the maids would attend to them. She grabbed a towel, dried her hair quickly, shook her head to settle it and went to the kitchen, where Cook was preparing lunch. ‘Everything all right, Mrs Stewart?’ she asked.
‘Yes. The Commander’s home.’
‘Really? I didn’t know.’
‘He’s only got a few days.’ Mrs Stewart’s cheeks were glowing. ‘He said, “Can you make one of your delicious steak pies for supper, Mrs Stewart?”’
‘And your son?’ Ruth asked, out of politeness, not interest. She would not get too friendly, but on the other hand a loyal staff member worked harder.
‘The Commander got to know the truth about some bit of bother. He made Andrew up–’ Mrs Stewart’s face lit up ‘–to leading stoker. Next step, petty officer.’
Ruth put on the cold, impersonal expression that stopped servants from becoming too cosy. She left the kitchen and took the lift to her room so she could wash and change before Gordon saw her looking a mess. Reaching the top floor, she closed the gates carefully and quietly, then jumped, seeing Nanny, who had come silently from her room at even so small a sound.
‘I wondered who it could be,’ Nanny said. ‘Gordon’s home. You don’t normally use the lift, do you, dear?’
‘Thank you.’ Ruth brushed past her. ‘I’ll be down in twenty minutes.’
‘You don’t normally take lunch, do you dear?’ Nanny said.
From his bedroom, Gordon watched the storm wreak havoc in the park. The damage would be enormous by the time the gale was blown out. Howling westerlies had broken limbs off the creaking and groaning oaks. Branches and twigs, smashed to pieces, were being hurled over the grass. He turned away. He felt no affection for his home.
Since Elizabeth had died, he could hardly bear the place. She had been the rock, his anchor. He couldn’t go on like this – could not come home to this emptiness. Everything in this room – the rose silk of the spread on the bed they had shared; the scent bottles whose lingering perfume brought memories back faster than thoughts, the memory of her soft skin and her delight in his every touch – everything reminded him of Elizabeth. At sea he could put it out of his mind. Not here.
Something must be done. Ingersley was too much for him. Landowners were being urged to plough up grazing pastures since less than a third of the country’s food was home-grown. Soon farmers would be directed, not requested, to grow what was needed. In a matter of months Britain would be at war. He could not serve his country, grow crops and run the estate.
He had come to a decision and must break the news to Ruth and dear old Nanny. Fastening his uniform jacket, he brushed his hand over the three gold rings to give himself courage. He had no qualms or hesitation in ordering men, but women were another matter. He adjusted his tie, ran a comb through his thick, sandy hair and went down to the dining room, where he found the table laid for three and Nanny waiting.
Impulsively, he kissed Nanny on the cheek. She flushed with pleasure and said, ‘Ruth will be down in five minutes, dear. Normally she doesn’t take lunch.’
‘Then we’ll wait.’ He went to the sideboard. ‘Sherry, Nanny?’
‘Just a small one, dear.’
He tried to keep his face straight as he poured a generous sherry for the woman he loved as his mother. Nanny had remained in residence at Ingersley instead of at her own Ivy Lodge so that Ruth would not be living in an otherwise empty house. He had already told Nanny that it would be better for her to get away – back to safety with her sister in Ontario. He would be able to pull a few strings, get her a passage to Canada any time, but far better if she did it soon.
He poured a good tot of whisky for himself and drank it fast. The fiery heat of the rough brand he preferred hit the back of his tongue then slid down, warm and welcome. He said, ‘I want to talk to you and Ruth this afternoon. I hope you have made no arrangements?’
‘No. No, I have nothing,’ she replied as she sipped the sherry. ‘And Ruth has not much to occupy her time with Elizabeth gone.’
The door opened. Gordon turned quickly and started. It was Ruth – Ruth looking so like Elizabeth it was uncanny. She had grown her heavy blonde hair to shoulder length. She said, ‘What a marvellous surprise. How long will you be with us?’
‘Only a few days.’ He spoke fast, to regain his composure. Then a little sharply, ‘I want to talk to you both this afternoon. Not doing anything down at the stables, are you, Ruth?’ She looked up quickly. ‘Unless you would like to talk over lunch?’
‘You make it sound ominous,’ she answered. ‘We’ll hear it now.’
When they were at table, Ruth ladled lentil soup into their dishes, seated herself and said, ‘Now, Gordon? What is it we have to know?’
He had not wanted to say it so soon, but since Ruth had raised the subject he said, ‘You must be aware that soon we will be at war. There are five or six airfields, civil and military, within a seven-mile radius of Ingersley and fighter pilots and bomber crews in training in the area. There is not much time. I realise that I have been imposing on you both. You, Nanny, ought to have been enjoying retirement in Ivy Lodge.’
‘I love being around you young ones,’ Nanny said in a va
gue, faraway voice, which owed less to sentiment than to the sherry and the large glass of wine she had already finished. Gordon refilled her glass. Nanny took a quick little sip, then, ‘Anything you say, dear,’ she said, and returned her attention to the soup.
Gordon was a little more confident. He turned to Ruth, who had not touched her wine and was toying with her soup. ‘I have allowed you, Ruth, to carry the whole weight of administrative work. I apologise.’
She put down her spoon and spoke very fast. ‘Oh, please, Gordon. It’s a pleasure, not an imposition. Believe me, I wouldn’t have continued otherwise–’
‘Thank you,’ he said quickly. ‘I intend to close the house. There is still time for Nanny to get away to Canada and for you, Ruth, to return to your family in Cheshire. I want you to go home.’
The silence that followed his announcement seemed to go on for minutes, though it could only have taken seconds before Ruth said in a voice high with protest, ‘Close the house? Who will do the books and pay the farm wages?’ The familiar calculating expression flickered at the back of her pretty blue eyes whilst at the same time the knuckles on her left hand closed into a fist so tight that her bread roll was reduced to crumbs.
He was not answerable to her, but since she had taken it hard he tried to tell her patiently, ‘An agent will administer a much reduced estate. The park will be ploughed and Hamilton will have control of all the arable land. The staff – there are few enough – will be put at Hamilton’s disposal, or retired.’
‘But this is dreadful. The house could be commandeered if nobody lives here.’ Her voice was shrill with outrage.
If he were dealing with a junior officer Gordon would have charged him with insubordination. He was not handling this well. He said calmly, to defuse the argument, ‘It may be requisitioned by one of the ministries anyway, regardless of who is living here.’
Ruth’s cheeks were flushed. She got to her feet, scraping the chair across the parquet. ‘You’d let the estate go to ruin? There is no place for me? After all I’ve done for you!’ Furiously she threw her napkin on the table and faced Gordon. ‘I have never been treated like this! Never. I won’t be threatened.’ She rushed from the room.
Gordon made to go after her, but Nanny stopped him with a firmness he’d forgotten she had. ‘Sit down, dear,’ she ordered. ‘Ruth is a very passionate girl. Self-willed. When she thinks she is under threat she reacts badly. Let her cool down. She is bound to see the sense of it.’
‘It was not a threat, Nanny,’ he said in his own defence. ‘I have not done this well, have I? I find it simpler standing my ground against the Admiralty.’
Nanny said, ‘I have seen Ruth like this before. But she will recover, my dear. It will be a very different Ruth who comes down to dinner tonight.’
Gordon managed a smile. ‘I hope so, Nanny,’ he said, but he had lost his appetite for lunch. Unless Ruth recovered he would have no appetite for either dinner or her company.
But six hours later, when he went downstairs for dinner, Nanny was proved right. It was a very different Ruth who waited for him in the drawing room. Again, he was startled at the sight of her. She wore a short dress of ivory silk that clung to her slender, athletic body. And again she looked so like Elizabeth that he was taken aback. She came forward to kiss him on the cheek, saying, ‘Gordon. I’m sorry about my behaviour earlier, dear …’ and he could smell her perfume – not quite Elizabeth’s but so very near it. ‘… I know you are doing your best for us all,’ she continued, and she touched his arm gently and let her hand linger there for a little longer than was necessary.
Struggling to regain the high ground, he pulled his arm away quickly, as if her hand were red-hot. ‘Where’s Nanny?’
‘She has a headache,’ Ruth said. ‘Brought on by the prospect of having to live with her teetotal sister in Canada perhaps?’ She laughed but there was no malice in her open, starry-eyed face. She had acknowledged the cause of Nanny’s indisposition with poise and discretion, just as Elizabeth used to do. ‘I suggested she had her meal served in her room.’
Relief flooded through him. He must make her see that he was closing the house because he was concerned for her and Nanny.
‘Whisky?’ he asked, and went to the monstrous trolley to pour drinks for them both. Then he smiled, seeing the grimace she made as she took a delicate sip before placing the glass down and going to the window. She closed the long wooden shutters and pulled the tapestry curtains to shut out sight and sound of the storm that still blew.
It was then that he saw that her legs were bare, and he found himself shocked yet excited by the thoughts that the smooth sheen of her shapely calves brought. He’d been taught that only low women went without stockings. He pulled himself together and said, ‘What have you been doing with yourself while I’ve been away?’
Ruth looked over her shoulder at him. ‘I’m on a few church committees.’ Then, after a small hesitation, ‘Everyone at church thinks highly of you, Gordon.’
‘They approve?’ He relaxed and his eyes twinkled.
She came back to the fireside and lifted her glass. ‘If we have only a few days left, I’d like to spend them in your company.’
Again he was reminded of Elizabeth as a small, familiar thrill came tightening in him. Ashamed of this physical reaction and not wanting to seem churlish, he gave his attention to the drinks trolley, saying, ‘Of course,’ in a purposeful way. He refilled his whisky glass, drank it in a quick gulp and felt the neat, fiery spirit warming, lighting up inside him.
‘Then put a few logs on the fire. We’ll . . .’ Ruth laughed, ‘… we’ll repair to the drawing room after dinner, shall we? As we did when Elizabeth … Oh, sorry …’
It never upset him to talk about Elizabeth. He said, ‘You can mention her name, you know. When Elizabeth was alive?’
She nodded and came to stand close to him, so that he had to step back a little to give her elbow room to sip again at her whisky. She swirled the glass until shards of amber light came glinting through the crystal to dance on her small, pretty hands. She did not look at him as she said in a low, throaty voice, ‘You miss her dreadfully, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ He downed the last of his own drink and put the empty glass on the marble overmantel. ‘But I don’t want to talk about my loss tonight.’ He smiled at her. ‘You need not finish the whisky. Let’s go into the dining room.’
Long afterwards he would realise that he had never been a match for a determined woman. Possibly it was innate chivalry – but once his initial reserve was broken, he found himself responding to Ruth, enjoying her company, her talk, her pretty, animated face and the scent of her. He was excited by the closeness of those bare legs that were within inches of his own, for she had set her place next to his at one end of the long oak table. She had chosen two wines – normally one bottle was enough for three – and had chosen well.
Mrs Stewart sent up potted trout with thin-sliced brown bread and butter to start the meal. For this course Ruth had chosen a fine white Burgundy, and she filled his glass again and again, saying, ‘I do so want you to enjoy this evening, Gordon.’
‘Why this evening in particular?’ He found himself responding in the same slightly flirtatious manner.
‘I will tell you later.’ She laughed and touched his hand for a second; a feather-light brush of her fingers across his that made goose bumps rise on his forearms. To bring himself down to earth, he tried to think of his ship, the crew and the tour of duty in the North Sea that was their destination next week, and he concentrated on the food, the light-as-air golden pastry that flaked around rich brown gravy and tender, braised steak. But already he was weakening.
Ruth insisted on his testing the claret before she poured it. It was smooth and full and rich and it shone ruby red in the bowl of his wine glass. He turned to Ruth and said, ‘This is a fine vintage …’ and then he stopped, because she looked exactly like Elizabeth and the candlelight from the silver candelabra shimmered upon the ivory
silk dress that followed every curve of her body. Even her eyes had lost their hard expression and were soft and melting – and he was in danger of forgetting himself and his duty to his dead wife’s little sister.
Later, feeling mellow and completely at ease, they sat by the blazing hearth where a log fire burned. The only light came from the fire and the few table lamps at the far side of the drawing room. Gordon watched the reflection of the flames flickering across Ruth’s now serious face. He asked, ‘Would you like brandy, my dear?’ and she jumped to her feet to serve him. He smiled, for he was used to being served with alacrity and solemn discretion in the ward room and captain’s cabin and it amused him to have this attention from Ruth. He allowed her to pour a measure of cognac and bring it to him, and as he watched her coming slowly, swaying her hips as she moved towards him, not a wrinkle showed through the ivory silk; not a line of elastic; not a slip strap. She was wearing nothing under the dress. She stopped, the bare legs only half an inch now from his knees, holding the glass out like a child, making him reach for it.
His strong hands felt the touch of her small, light fingers and this time her hand stayed on his as, with a nervous little laugh, she dropped gracefully to sit at his feet. She had not noticed that the dress had ridden up to her thighs, revealing a shocking length of smooth, bare thigh. Gordon was disconcerted and embarrassed by his own body’s response to the sight. Ruth came closer. ‘You don’t mind if I sit close to you, do you?’ she asked.
And Gordon knew even as he hesitantly answered, ‘I don’t mind . . .’, that everything was changing. She smiled up at him before resting her head against his leg, and he could no longer hold his body back from arousal by the pressure of a soft cheek on his thigh.
He put down his brandy glass on the side table. Believing that his actions were prompted by affection and gratitude, he let his hand brush against her hair. And he was lost. Ruth immediately slid her arm up, reached for his hand and pressed it to her lips. With an almost electric shock and the excitement that had been simmering all night, he felt the tip of her tongue gently moving in the centre of his open palm.
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