Once they were seated in the car Davey felt acutely uncomfortable, partly because of the bittersweet sensation of sitting so closely at Rosie’s side and smelling the fragrant scent of her - a perfume which had nothing to do with a bottle but was all to do with a gracious way of living that started the day with a scented bath and finished with fresh linen and a clean bed - but also due to the fact that he had never been driven by a woman before, or a man either for that matter. He found it was not enjoyable, and on the second occasion that Rosie had to swerve slightly to avoid a car coming in the opposite direction which was taking most of the road, he said, in an effort at conversation, ‘They are talking about putting road markings in some of the larger towns now, have you heard? Apparently it’s proved successful in London in lowering accidents. There’s over fourteen people killed every day now.’
‘Really.’ The brief reply made it evident that if he continued with the small talk he would be talking to himself, and after one glance at Rosie’s face Davey allowed the previous uneasy silence to reign again, telling himself that the next word spoken would be uttered by Rosie or they wouldn’t speak at all.
He was annoyed. Rosie had noticed his glance and understood the meaning behind it. But it couldn’t be helped. She was normally a good driver, she knew she was, but today she felt so keyed up she was having to concentrate with all her might. He would understand when they got there. Pray God, oh, pray God he would understand. And if he didn’t? If all her frantic manoeuvrings, and the palaver that had gone with them that had nearly driven her mad at times, if it was all for nothing - what then? For a second her stomach hit rock bottom and she had to clutch the wheel so tightly her knuckles showed white. No, no, she wouldn’t think of that. This had to work, it had to. She would consider nothing less. She couldn’t lose him twice in one lifetime. God wouldn’t be so cruel.
The route Rosie had taken soon took them out of Roker and towards Southwick, the rows of streets and houses giving way to the tender green of the countryside, where the thickly fringed fields and hedged lanes caused Davey to wind down his window and breathe in the fresh air. When they passed Southwick he still made no comment and neither did Rosie, but as the car trundled along narrow mud roads, passing the odd gated field enclosing grazing cattle and sheep, he was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain his composure. What had she said exactly? he asked himself as the minutes ticked by and the strain of having her so close made him begin to sweat. It would help her if she went for a ride with him? That’d been it, hadn’t it? How the hell did coming out here help her? By, it was bonny though. The sky was bluer, the air sweeter . . . The drab stale existence in the towns might belong to another world when you were breathing in lungfuls of this stuff.
‘You must think it very strange that I’ve asked you to ride with me today.’ As Rosie spoke she turned the little car off the winding lane on which they were travelling and along a bumpy track that opened almost immediately into a wide farmyard.
It wasn’t a prosperous farm by the look of it, Davey thought, before he turned to her and said, ‘Not strange, surprising maybe.’ And then, ‘Look, should we be in here? I mean someone might object.’
‘I know the owners.’
Again her voice was very cool and even and he didn’t have the intuition to know it was strain, not composure, that made it so.
Rosie brought the car to a halt on the cobbles which, if the cow pats gently steaming in the May afternoon were anything to go by, had recently seen a herd of bovines pass through. ‘Come and have a look round.’
She smiled at him but that shadow was back in her eyes and it caused him to say, ‘What is it? What’s the matter?’ before he realized the stupidity of the question.
But Rosie didn’t treat it as stupid. She twisted in her seat to face him fully and then she became quite still, the stillness seeming to fill the car with a tenseness that became unbearable. He swallowed deeply, and then he swallowed again, but still he couldn’t bring himself to speak although he didn’t quite know why.
‘The farm is a nice size.’ Her voice was quiet, but with an underlying throb of emotion that made him stretch his neck and make to ease the collar of his shirt before he checked the action. In the far distance he could see a golden meadow, bright with a shimmering yellow haze of buttercups, and the delicate smell of May blossom vied with the more pungent aroma left by the cows.
‘But as you can see it has been terribly run down. To get it back on its feet it will need to employ at least a dozen men or so, and even then it will take time to turn things round, but it can be done. And there are some definite benefits, one of which is that there is a row of six farm cottages just behind the rear of the farmhouse garden, and although they need a good deal of renovation they are habitable now. Of course they aren’t furnished, but then most people would like to bring their own possessions anyway, don’t you think?’
Was she saying she had asked about a job for him? Was that it? He was going to be offered the job of cowhand or something similar? Well, he had had enough of well-meaning females poking their noses into his affairs, the last twelve months or so had taught him that if nothing else. He would sooner starve. Aye, or even go back into that hell underground than have her to thank for his employment.
‘Lambing time is finished,’ Rosie continued after a pause, ‘but with the livestock being shut inside for a good part of the winter they’re not as healthy as they could be. I know a little about the basics now from what I learnt from Mick and Sally when--’
‘Rosie!’ Her name was snapped into the space between them and he saw her jump, but he didn’t apologize, neither did he alter his tone when he said, ‘Turn the car round.’
‘What?’ Rosie’s hands were clutching at the front of her coat and she must have realized this, because in the next instant they were lowered sharply to her lap, and now there was a fierce ring to her voice as she said, ‘No, I won’t. I need to talk to you.’
‘You won’t?’
‘Not until I’ve talked to you.’
‘Then you’ll drive home alone.’
‘Davey.’
Oh, this was all going wrong, terribly wrong, and then, as though to emphasize the point, Rosie saw two border collies bound round the corner of the farmyard from the direction of the cottages and barns situated behind it. Within a second or two three burly farmworkers followed, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw who they were. These men were unknown to Davey.
‘All right, we’ll go, but just wait here a moment.’ She spoke urgently, her voice low and rapid, and then to Davey’s surprise she was out of the car and approaching the men, careless of the muck and filth. He couldn’t hear what was being said but when they nodded at him, doffing their caps before turning and retracing their footsteps, he sat stock still.
‘Will you come into the house for a moment? Please, Davey?’ When Rosie reached the car again all her previous defiance was gone, and to Davey’s eyes she suddenly seemed disturbingly vulnerable. It was the same demeanour he had seen at the hospital that day, and it cut through his aggressiveness like a knife through butter. ‘There’s no one there and I know it will be all right. Please?’
‘Aye, yes, if you want.’ His voice was still brusque, but now it was because of the weakness that was constraining him to agree to the request. But two minutes in the farmhouse and then they were on their way - he’d make sure of that. Whatever she had set up for him with the owners of the place - and if those men’s attitudes were anything to go by it wasn’t something at the bottom rung of the ladder, which made it worse somehow - he wasn’t having any of it.
He got out of the car slowly and followed her across the cobbles. There was a four-foot-high drystone wall enclosing what should have been some twenty feet of lawned garden directly in front of the large stone dwelling, but the waist-high nettles and thistles hid any grass. Rosie opened the old wooden gate that was propped on one hinge and passed through onto the narrow path, and now Davey walked to where she w
as waiting for him in front of the big oak door. He had noticed one of the three tall chimneystacks was leaning drunkenly to one side, and it looked as though a few slates were missing from the roof, but he made no comment on this.
The door was unlocked, and when Rosie lifted the latch and it swung open, a large stone-flagged hall was revealed with a massive square of coconut matting on which to wipe dirty feet.
‘It’s a big place.’ There was a tremor in her voice now and it checked his impatience when she continued, ‘There’s a kitchen and scullery at the back of the house, and two washhouses along with the dairy. On this side’ - she waved her hand to the left of them - ‘is a dining room and a study, and this’ - she moved forward and opened the first door to their right - ‘is the sitting room.’
She might call it a sitting room but it was unlike any sitting room he had ever seen. The room was a large one, long but also wide, and its overall volume would have swallowed the whole downstairs of any house he had been in. The ceiling was oak-beamed, the walls newly whitewashed, and the mullioned windows in the side wall made him realize the house must be built on an incline. He could see rolling fields pastured by grazing cattle and sheep dipping down to a glinting river, and beyond that a wooded hillside from these windows, and the scene was very pleasing to the eye. The other two big windows overlooked the front garden and the farmyard where the car was presently parked.
The fireplace was a massive one and deep-set, its ornate surround of wood beautifully decorated with small individual carvings depicting animals, birds and flowers. The furnishings in this room were of good quality and at odds with the overall air of neglect he had seen so far, and he could imagine that once the thick heavy velvet drapes at the windows were pulled and the fire lit, the room would take on a tranquillity that would be very comforting to live in.
‘Do you like it?’
He was still standing in the doorway, and now he became aware that Rosie had turned a few yards into the room and was quietly watching him, and something in her face made his uneasiness return tenfold. ‘This room? Aye. There’s nothing not to like, is there?’
‘No, no there isn’t. And the rest of the house could be made like this and the farm become productive again. It would be a wonderful place to bring up bairns, don’t you think?’
He didn’t answer this but said instead, ‘And you say you know the owners?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’ Rosie walked across to a small occasional table under one of the leaded windows at the side of the front door and picked up a bundle of papers which was lying on it, next to a crystal fruit bowl which was empty. ‘But one of them not as well as I would like to.’ She walked over to him, handing him the bundle as she said, ‘These are yours.’
He didn’t say ‘Mine?’, he didn’t say anything at all, he just looked at her without moving. Rosie took his arm and drew him over to one of the armchairs. ‘Please look at them.’
Davey sat down, still without speaking, and carefully undid the ribbon holding the papers together. They comprised documents relating to the purchase of the farm and the furniture in this room, with further receipts detailing the pending acquisition of new equipment and other such matters. All the documents were in his name and Rosie’s. Even the car he had travelled in that day was in joint ownership.
He was quite unable to move.
The feeling that was gathering in the core of him was indescribable. It embodied all the beauty and colour he had ever seen, every note of music he had enjoyed, every soft word, every good and perfect deed that had gladdened his heart, and it was all the more poignant because he knew he had to let it go. Let her go.
‘What have you done?’ His voice was so low she could scarcely hear it.
‘I’ve sold everything.’ The words hung in the air. ‘The house in Roker isn’t mine any more, I’ve got to move out in a week’s time. I’m leaving it fully furnished except . . . except for Erik’s things which will come here. That’s the only other room I’ve had time to see to, the nursery. And the bonds and shares have all gone, and a good deal of the money. As well as the three men you just saw, who were the original workers here, I’ve hired another couple and . . . and the McLinnie brothers and Arthur. Even Robert is coming - his wife’s gone back to her mother’s and taken the child, Robert knows she’s had someone else for some time--’ ‘Rosie--’ ‘We will need some more men of course, but that will have to wait until the farm starts to make a profit. The three originals have been struggling for years to keep the place going for the last owner, but they assure me if we all muck in it will only take a couple of years to get the farm viable again with the new equipment and such. Oh, and there’s Ellen and her child. She’s coming too, and she’ll help me in the dairy and the house and--’
‘I’m not going to let you do this, Rosie.’
‘I’ve done it. Whatever you say now, whatever you do, this is partly yours, Davey.’
He turned his head and looked up at her where she was standing by the side of his chair, and she saw his face was as white as lint. ‘No, it is yours. These mean nothing--’
‘You’re right, they don’t.’ She knelt down by the arm of the chair now, much as she had done with Zachariah years before. ‘Papers and documents don’t mean anything, all this doesn’t mean anything, not really. It was never my money, it was Zachariah’s, and even he held on to it lightly. It should be used, Davey, and to benefit everyone, and . . . and Erik and other bairns. Out here--’ She could not go on to say, ‘Out here we can be Rosie and Davey again and go back to how it used to be,’ because she knew there was too much water under the bridge for that, but said instead, ‘Out here we can have the life that you and Sam used to talk about. We can make a success of it for him too. If it makes you feel better, look on it as though you are in partnership with him through me, that we’re fulfilling what he wanted.’
‘Better?’ He made a swaying movement with his head and his voice was thick. ‘This is madness, lass. You’re committing yourself to years and years - a lifetime - of hard work when you could have taken it easy and never lifted a finger.’
‘It would drive me mad not to lift a finger.’ She sat back on her heels as she continued to crouch at the side of the chair. ‘I could never live like that, Davey. And Zachariah knew I wanted to move out of the town and find somewhere like this, and he was all for it. This way, with this farm, we can really make a difference, don’t you see? I first saw this place last year on one of my trips out and it put me off, it being so run down and all, but when I asked Mick’s advice and we started discussing facts and figures, I knew we could do it, Davey. You and me and the others together.’ She was gabbling in her need to make him see, and now she forced herself to stop, her heart pounding with the force of the emotion she was trying to contain. But he had to see, he did.
‘Don’t, Rosie.’ Her name was wrenched from him. ‘Don’t say any more. I can’t--’
‘You can!’ Her voice was fierce but she was fighting for everything she had ever wanted. ‘If I had been Sam you would have thought a partnership was all right, wouldn’t you? And surely you care about me as much as you did about him? It’s straight down the line, Davey - every stick of furniture, every beast on the farm, every blade of wheat in the fields, whether . . . whether you want me or not.’
‘Whether I want you . . .’ His voice was deep, guttural, and now the feeling was pouring out of him, melting the core of his being with its heat and strangling the words in his throat as he got to his feet.
She looked up at him, into his face, and something told her it was going to be all right. She had the strangest impression that Davey was surrounded by an aura of light in the moment before he touched her. Not a white light, but a warm pulsating radiance that made his face glow and his features blur. And then his arms were round her, crushing her into him as he smothered her face in wild burning kisses before taking her mouth with a hunger that was almost savage in its intensity.
Rosie could feel his heart racing, pres
sed as she was against the hard solid bulk of him, and she returned kiss for kiss, her breath sobbing in her throat. She had the sensation they were spinning in a place where time was not - it was another era, another dimension, and for a moment they were in the same skin.
‘You’re sure about this? You’re sure this is what you want? Absolutely sure, lass?’
And now she dared to say what she had always wanted to say. ‘All I have ever wanted is you. When I thought you were going to go away again--’
‘Oh, my Rosie, my love.’ He cut off her words with his mouth, pulling her into him as though he couldn’t get enough of her and muttering endearments against her lips, her cheeks, her hair, as they stood locked together in the centre of the room.
He was her world, her universe, he was every tomorrow she had ever wanted. ‘Davey, Davey, I love you. I love you so much.’
‘And I love you, Rosie. Do you hear me? I’ll love you to my dying day and beyond.’
Epilogue
On 31st January, 1933, on the day the papers were full of the news that Adolf Hitler, the flamboyant leader of Germany’s controversial Nazi Party, had been appointed Chancellor of the German Reich, a small notice appeared in the births column of Sunderland’s Daily Echo.
Connor David and Rosie Connor of Becks Farm, Castletown, are proud to announce the arrival of twin sons on Saturday, 28th January, 1933. The boys, christened David Zachariah and Samuel Philip, are baby brothers for Erik James.
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