‘Leaves are coming down already,’ Matthew said. ‘Soon be bonfire night.’
‘And don’t I know it,’ Tom said. ‘The leaves comin’ down, I mean. I had to put the sides on the barrow to get ’em all in when I raked ’em off the lawn yesterday. The chestnut leaves are as big as breakfast plates this year.’
‘Telegraph Hill was covered in them,’ Matthew said.
‘Where’s that to?’ Tom asked.
‘Halfway between here and Exeter. Haldon Forest way.’
Tom laughed. ‘I’ve never ’eard of that either!’
Matthew wondered how a man could go to war – travel across the country to get on a ship to go and fight, yet not know what was less than twenty miles from his own front door. But there were many like Tom.
And while Tom was standing here by the gate, a pair of clippers in his hand, talking to Matthew he couldn’t be gardening, and with luck Emma would come out of the house soon wondering why he wasn’t. And he would see her. With his own eyes and not inside his head. Feel her in his heart.
She was a stubborn little minx and was refusing to take his phone calls apart from the one when he’d told her that the man Caroline had been with – Archibald Seymour – was to be deported, and that Caroline was in custody still awaiting trial and sentence. All right, she’d made it clear after the shock of finding him at Stella’s bedside that the ball would be in her court and she’d contact him if she wanted to, but well … he wasn’t as patient as he’d thought he was. It was eating him up inside not seeing her. So he’d rung – every day – just to check she was well. Almost always now, when he rang, it was Fleur who answered and said she was sorry but her mother wasn’t available – she was with a client, or out, or ‘indisposed’ whatever that last implied. Certainly not like some Victorian woman having the vapours. Emma was made of stronger stuff than that.
As was Stella, he had been surprised to find. Although he didn’t know why he was surprised given the job she did. Stella had written to him, thanking him for the lovely times they’d had together and said that she’d do her best to forget the not so lovely times. Finding out that her fiancé had been cheating on her was what she meant.
‘Do you think, sometimes,’ Matthew asked Tom now, ‘how good it would be if we could unwind our lives a little, take out the niggly knots that get into them by our own volition or by others, and then wind them up again?’
‘The war for a start,’ Tom said. ‘I can’t think there was a man in it – exceptin’ maybe a few blood ’ungry generals and the like – who wouldn’t want to do that. Sometimes, I think them as died, ’ad the better deal.’
Tom jerked his head, breaking the eye contact he’d had with Matthew all the way through this conversation so far. It was as though Tom didn’t want Matthew to see the pain that was still there at times behind his eyes.
Ouch! I’ve hit a raw nerve here, Matthew thought. The last thing he’d meant to do was upset Tom in any way. He was grateful to the man, for goodness sake – glad that he was at Romer Lodge, day in and day out, keeping an eye on Emma. But how much longer could he be gardening every day with autumn already here, and winter just around the corner? Who knew what Caroline Prentiss – no Jago now – was capable of? When Emma had told him that Caroline said that Seth wasn’t Fleur’s father and that Miles was, and Fleur’s birth date wasn’t the 16th of July, but the 22nd of September, he’d made some enquiries. He’d discovered that while Miles had been in custody there had been those not averse to a few crisp five pound notes and a handful of sovereigns pressed into their hands to let Miles and Caroline alone in a room for as long as it took. But, of course, that wasn’t going to prove anything, certainly not that Miles was Fleur’s father and not Seth as it said on the birth certificate that Caroline now claimed was a forgery. There were ways he could find out if the birth certificate was bona fide or not, but he would have to get his hands on it first. He didn’t think for a second that Emma would part with it.
‘An’ I’ve fast discovered,’ Tom went on, his voice firmer now, ‘that it’s often the wives and the children of them as was injured, either in their bodies or their minds, who suffered the most. My Ruby …’
But Tom couldn’t go on. He made a strangled sobbing sound and seemed to shrink into himself, knees bent a little.
‘Your Ruby,’ Matthew said quickly, ‘is the best friend Emma could have, I know that. Back when they were both working at Nase Head House, Ruby was loyal to Emma against all comers. Now wasn’t she?’
Tom nodded. He still wasn’t making eye contact again with Matthew but he was standing straighter.
‘I expect, given the job you’ve done with the surveillance and that, that you know what my Ruby ’ad to do to earn a crust to feed our children when I couldn’t because I was more ’elpless than a newborn. Back with my mother, for God’s sake, doin’ every last thing for me.’
Yes, Matthew had more than an inkling as to what it was Ruby had done. Shingle Cottage, where he’d once lived himself, belonged to Emma, he knew that, so he’d made it his duty to go past now and again when he was in the area, checking that it hadn’t fallen into disrepair in her absence. And on the off chance she’d come back and would be there. A throwaway remark from a man coming out of the front gate had left Matthew in no doubt about what Ruby had been doing. Matthew laid a hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘None of us knows what we would do, and how, if our backs were truly against the wall. And we shouldn’t judge, as I’m not judging you, or Ruby. A man has to walk in another man’s shoes to truly know how it feels to wear the things.’
‘You’m right,’ Tom said. ‘An’ I’d better get back to work or Emma will be out ’ere, ’ands on ’ips, shakin’ that pretty little ’ead of ’ers, askin’ why I’m slackin’.’
Which is just what I hoped.
‘An’ thanks for listenin’,’ Tom said. ‘It ’elps sometimes to talk about things, man to man. Many of the lads I went to war with from around ’ere didn’t come back and that’s a fact.’
And you’re lonely. You miss going down the Blue Anchor, or whichever pub it is you used to frequent, now there’s no one to go there with.
‘Glad to have been of help,’ Matthew said, although he couldn’t for the life of him recall when he’d ever felt the need to talk things through, man to man. But he was glad that he had helped Tom – he could see that he had by the way the man’s eyes had more spark in them now. And the fact that there was a smile back on his face.
‘I’ll be off then,’ Matthew said. He was feeling better about himself for listening to Tom while he offloaded his worries – less selfish, thinking only about his own needs and wants in coming here. He could wait a bit longer to see Emma.
He held out his hand for Tom to shake and the two men gripped hands, before Tom turned and walked back down the drive and into the garden.
He felt lighter in heart to learn that Emma was well and busy, making a life for herself. And her daughter.
But I’ll be sticking around. For as long as it takes. Emma might not need me at this moment but as sure as eggs are eggs, I need her! And he’d be sticking around closer, geographically, than he could ever have imagined until an hour or so ago when he’d spotted a garage business for sale just a few streets away from Romer Lodge. No time like the present. He’d call in and see about buying it right now.
‘You’re joking, Mr Caunter,’ William said. ‘Or is it April Fool’s Day?’
‘Neither of those things, Will,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking of expanding the business for some time. And it just so happens a premises over in Paignton – in Roundham Road, just behind the harbour area – has come on the market and it’s just the right size and the right sort of venue for me to open another branch of my business. So …’
‘… you’re leaving me in charge here?’
‘Unless you want me to get a manager in, pay him twice what I pay you, and you take orders from him, unlike the way I ask you to do things.’
William laughed. ‘I
might be cabbage-looking but I ain’t green. Or I wasn’t when I looked in the shaving mirror this morning!’
‘Good. So we’ll start with the books, shall we? Ledgers. Accounts. How to deal with the licensing authorities. I …’
Matthew halted. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask if William was literate. There’d been no reason to before because he didn’t need to be able to read and write to change a tyre or put oil in a vehicle, or replace a carburettor. But he was good with customers, knowing the right thing to say, and with the right vocabulary.
‘You’re an open book at the moment, boss,’ William said. ‘You’re wondering if I can read and write and do all those things you’ve just mentioned, aren’t you? Well, I’ll put you out of your misery – I can. I had to leave school to earn money to keep ma and the family together after pa died, but I was good enough at my lessons before that.’
Open book? What did William mean by that? he wondered. Best not to ask.
‘Good,’ Matthew said. ‘I’m pleased to hear it. So I take it you’re willing to accept the level of responsibility I’ll be giving you?’
‘I am. And I’ll do my best by you. I’m hoping, though, that you employ someone to do what I’ve been doing seeing as I’ll be doing, more or less, what you’ve been doing up to now? Cecil won’t be able to do the work of two men.’
‘Of course,’ Matthew said, delighted to find that William was forward planning already. ‘We’ll get an advert in the Western Morning News tomorrow. The sooner I can start interviewing men, testing their skills, the better.’
‘Which will leave you free for your other agenda over to Paignton.’
And just what did William mean by that? He wasn’t going to ask. Perhaps he wasn’t the only one good at surveillance and William knew someone who’d seen him going to Romer Lodge looking for Emma, or at the hospital when Stella was there.
‘Ha!’ William said, when Matthew was slow to move the conversation on. ‘Am I right that there’s a little lady in the picture over to Paignton who you wants to be closer to? And am I—’
‘Overstepping the boundaries of our friendship, yes I think you are,’ Matthew said, but he couldn’t help the corners of his mouth twitching up in the beginnings of a smile. Yes, of course the man was right!
‘An’ it isn’t Miss Martin either, is it?’
‘No,’ Matthew said. ‘I know I’m a bit late in the day telling you this but Miss Martin and I won’t be getting married after all.’
‘She’s a nice woman,’ William said. ‘The few times I saw her, she was always smiling and chatted to me, like I was a friend because I work for you.’
‘Well, you’ll be working with me now, Will,’ Matthew said, steering the conversation back the way he wanted it to go. ‘I shall expect you to turn in a profit, keep the place running as I would if I was here every day. Which I won’t be because there’s a small cottage attached to the premises in Paignton. It will be perfectly suitable for bachelor living.’
‘So, you’m selling your house here, is that it?’
Was he? Wasn’t he? Matthew hadn’t thought that far yet but obviously William had. He had to have somewhere halfway decent for his son, Harry, should he choose to come to England to stay and the fisherman’s cottage in Paignton was hardly big enough for one, never mind two.
‘No,’ he said quickly. And he was thinking even more quickly. Once he’d won Emma over again – as he was sure he would eventually – then who knew what direction or where their life together would lead them? Emma might like city living. There might be better scope for her dressmaking business in Exeter. He would keep the house. ‘I won’t be selling the house just yet. But it will need to be lived in. So, how do you feel about renting it, keeping it aired?’
‘Ooooh, I don’t know, boss,’ William said. ‘If this new venture over to Paignton goes belly-up like a beached seal, how do I know you won’t want me out of it in a hurry?’
‘I like your thinking,’ Matthew said, full of admiration for the way William seemed to be already taking charge of things. He’ll run the business as well as I do, I’m sure of that now. ‘But to put your mind at rest I’ll get a tenant’s agreement drawn up, and we’ll sign it. Not that there will be a need because the house is big enough for both of us should I need to come back.’
Too big, with five bedrooms.
‘An’ are there to be any considerations as to who I can and who I can’t have come to stop?’ William asked.
‘The whole chorus of the Folies Bergère if you want them to,’ Matthew said with a laugh. ‘As long as you keep the place clean and don’t wreck the furniture! There’s something on your agenda as well, am I right?’
William jiggled his shoulders and looked down towards the floor. ‘Eve Benjafield. We want to get married but we can’t just yet because she’s nursing her sick pa. But she gets the odd night’s rest when her sister, Doris, takes a turn, so—’
‘Well, she’s welcome to spend that night with you in my property,’ interrupted Matthew, saving William’s blushes.
So that was that all sorted. A good day’s work although he was yet to sell a vehicle. But a middle-aged couple, looking very well-heeled, had just walked onto the forecourt. The man was peering into the window of a Model T that was for sale.
‘Possible sale has just walked in, Will,’ Matthew said. ‘Off you go and do your stuff. Oh, and …’ Matthew reached in the breast pocket of his jacket and took out his wallet, fingered out four £5 notes. He held the money out towards William. ‘Buy yourself a suit. With a waistcoat. I’ve got a fob watch you can have.’
‘Really, boss?’ William said with a wide grin, taking the money and stuffing it in the pocket of his trousers. ‘Thanks. You must be in love that’s all I can say.’
‘Customer!’ Matthew said, and there was a lump in his throat as he said it. How good it felt to be helping someone else make something of their lives. ‘Go.’
‘I’m already gone, boss,’ William said, hurrying towards the door.
Matthew took the calendar off the wall. He wrote ‘Made William a partner’ against the day’s date. He’d already ringed Emma’s birthday – 29th September. It was just a few days away now. A bunch of roses to remind her he was still around, and still thinking of her, wouldn’t go amiss, would it?
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘Ma,’ Fleur said. ‘I’m covered in boils and there’s a rash on my backside.’
‘That’s nice.’
‘There! I knew you weren’t listening!’
‘What?’ Emma said. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You’d know if you listened properly. But you’ve not been listening to me for weeks now, have you? I’ve said all sorts of rubbish and all you say is, “That’s nice”. A moment ago I told you I’m covered in boils and I’ve got a rash on my backside.’
Boils? A rash?
‘You haven’t?’
‘Of course I haven’t. Ma, what’s wrong? There’s something troubling you, I know it.’
Emma’s hand began to shake. She could barely concentrate on the sewing job she was doing – hand-stitching the hem of a silk nightdress for a client. Of course something was troubling her. She was pregnant. Only seven weeks but she’d never been more sure of anything in her life. Pregnant with Matthew’s child. With all her heart she didn’t want it to be true but perhaps Caroline had been telling the truth, and that Seth wasn’t Fleur’s father. If he had been, then he and Emma would have had a child together, wouldn’t they? Given the thousands of times they’d tried to make that happen they would have done. But they hadn’t. It had to have been Seth who was infertile, not her, didn’t it?
Although she didn’t show at all at the moment she knew the time would come when she couldn’t hide the fact that she was carrying a child. For a month now she’d been alternating between total joy and total dread. Joy that her long-held dream to hold her own flesh and blood in her arms now had a chance of becoming a reality, and dread that she had somehow t
o tell Fleur. It was a mercy she hadn’t been afflicted with morning sickness as she knew so many women were. At least she hadn’t been bringing her guts up morning, noon, and night – if she had then Fleur might have asked what was wrong before now.
‘There’s nothing troubling me, Fleur,’ Emma lied. ‘I’m burning the midnight oil with my sewing, that’s all. It’s taking off at last, as you know. Every day the telephone rings with someone else wanting to come and talk about their requirements. And Mrs Passmore over in Croy Lodge could keep me busy all on her own!’
‘With an invalid husband what else is there to do but look nice?’ Fleur said.
What indeed. But Mrs Passmore was a good client as well as being a decent, if very chatty, woman. Would Mrs Passmore still be a client once she knew Emma was with child? Would she?
‘She’s forever on the telephone asking if I’ve finished this or that.’
‘Yes,’ Fleur said. ‘And Mr Caunter rings most days and you won’t talk to him. Why not? I thought you liked him. He kissed you goodbye that night when you brought me back from the police station and you didn’t look as though you hated it!’
‘I didn’t hate it,’ Emma said.
‘What’s happened between you?’
I can’t say. Not yet.
‘Sometimes people turn out to be not what you thought they were. The way Paolo turned out to be quite different from how you thought he was.’
‘Paolo!’ Fleur said. ‘I wish you hadn’t brought his name up! I was beginning to forget him.’
But I’ll never forget Matthew. Now more than ever.
‘Sorry,’ Emma said. ‘I didn’t mean to open old wounds. But you understand my meaning?’
‘I suppose,’ Fleur said. ‘But all I can say is that although I didn’t like Mr Caunter coming in and taking over in the police station, I’m glad he did now. He was very kind back when—’
‘I know when he was very kind,’ Emma said
But Matthew Caunter wasn’t kind when he made love to me when he was engaged to the lovely Stella Martin.
Emma and Her Daughter Page 29