by Iris Gower
Boyo could hear Bethan’s bitter words beat in his brain. She had accused him of being impotent and had told him to return to the gutter from whence he had come. Her words were spoken in anger but they made him doubt she had ever loved him.
Women, did any of them mean what they said? Catherine, so soft in love, had become hard and unyielding, refusing even to see him. And what of her cousin, was he still hanging about the place, mooning about Catherine’s skirts, probably promising to make an honest woman of her?
He had arrived at Caswell wet through; his mount had needed prompt attention, for the creature was shivering with cold and the effort of being ridden mercilessly across the fields. There was no sign of the man who was supposed to be taking care of the house and the place had a chill air about it.
The fire in the drawing-room had been stubborn, refusing to light, but now at last, bathed and dressed in a warm smoking jacket and casual trousers, Boyo sat before the roaring flames, a glass of fine brandy in his hand. He put it down abruptly, spilling a little of the liquid onto the polished surface of the small table.
The house was well-appointed and there was still a plentiful supply of drinks but Boyo was tired of drinking, tired of using liquor as a means of dulling his senses. He was a young man but he would soon become haggard and dissolute if he didn’t curb his excesses.
He smiled wryly, perhaps he should have availed himself of the comforts of his wife’s inn for a night or two, found himself a happy whore who would share his bed and make no demands on him. But then would he be any more successful with a loose woman than he had been with his wife? It was Catherine his body cried out for, Catherine with her pure skin and glossy hair. No other woman would ever be enough for him, not now.
He must have dozed in front of the fire because he woke to the sound of the wind rattling the windows. He rose and moved aside one of the heavy curtains and looked out on a blustery autumn morning. Leaves were driven across the drive, the trees, quickly losing the colourful foliage that marked the season, were bending with the force of the wind. The sea below the house was phosphorescent in the dimness, white-capped waves rushing shorewards.
He must alter his life, leave the area, begin afresh somewhere else, America perhaps. One thing was clear, if he didn’t drag himself out of the mood he was in, he would be sucked into a vortex of helplessness from which he might never escape.
He thought briefly of Bethan but dismissed her at once from his mind, she would be all right, she had more than enough money, she had her hard-nosed father on her side and he would doubtless tell her she had had a lucky escape.
Later, he would go to Honey’s Farm, make one more attempt to see Catherine, talk to her, beg her to reconsider her attitude towards him. Perhaps by now she was seeing things more clearly. If not, he would clear out, leave the area, put as much distance between himself and his past as he possibly could.
There was no food, so he made himself hot, strong tea and carried it to the fire in the drawing-room. The house which he had bought in happiness now seemed empty and cold. A house, any house, needed people in it, people who loved and laughed. How long was it since he had laughed?
Perhaps he would sell the house, get rid of it, but first he would have to freshen it up a little. He spent an hour lighting fires in all the rooms and opening windows to the fresh air. He felt no better, the house held memories of Catherine everywhere he went.
In the morning, dressed in fresh clothes from the wardrobe, he made his way to Swansea and to Honey’s Farm.
As soon as he approached the borders of the land he knew things had not gone well for Catherine. The corn lay flat against the land, rotting now in the slant of sun. It appeared that the entire crop was ruined, it would never now be harvested.
The farmhouse was empty, there was no-one about. A cheerful fire burnt in the grate and the sight of the bright, leaping flames gave him heart, Catherine must be somewhere around. He sat down at the scrubbed table prepared to wait for her, however long it took.
He listened to the ticking of the clock, built up the fire when it sank low in the grate and then pushed the kettle onto the rekindled flames. He moved to the doorway and stood staring down the path to the roadway as if he could draw her to him with the force of his will.
Then he saw her, hair bright and uncovered, as red as the leaves of autumn drifting from the trees. His heart seemed to leap within him, he longed to run to her, to clasp her in his arms and yet caution restrained him. Catherine was a strong-minded woman, she would not welcome him with open arms; she would need persuading and persuade her he would, even if it took all day.
Her greeting was not encouraging. ‘What are you doing here?’ She brushed past him and he breathed in the scent of her, the freshness, the beauty and pain swamped him.
‘How did I lose you, Catherine, what did I do wrong?’ His voice shook and he imagined her stony look softened a little.
She took off her coat and laid it over the back of a chair. She seemed to need time to compose herself and he hoped that she was feeling as moved as he was by their meeting.
‘It wasn’t meant to be.’ Her tone was flat, final and she turned to face him, her hands crossed around her body as though she was cold.
‘How can you say that! We love each other.’ He made a move towards her but she held up her hand.
‘No, don’t come near me. I don’t want you, Boyo, you must see that.’
‘I’ve left my wife,’ he said quickly. ‘We parted in bitterness. I’ve taken up residence in our house, yours and mine, the house in Caswell.’
‘I can’t help any of that,’ she said. She avoided his eyes and sank into a chair. ‘Please go, this can do no good. I don’t want to see you again, I can’t make myself any clearer than that, can I?’
‘I want you to come to live with me, Catherine. I need you so badly, I can’t sleep for thinking about you.’
He was suddenly facing the full glare of the anger in her eyes. ‘Where were you when I needed you? My father was sick, dying and you were too busy with your own affairs to care.’
‘But Catherine, I had to be with Bethan. The baby, she lost it, you must know that.’
‘I didn’t know anything except what titbits of information came to me through casual gossip in the market-place.’ She shook her head and the red hair flew across her pale face. ‘Please, this is pointless, can’t you just go, leave me alone, I’ve been hurt enough.’
He was suddenly angry, angry with the pain of rejection. He stared down at her. ‘And I suppose Liam was here, holding your hand, comforting you; got his feet well and truly under the table, hasn’t he?’
Catherine was raking him with her eyes again. ‘Yes, he was wonderful, he helped me in every way he could, he even shaved and washed my father when he was too weak to do anything for himself. Liam is a good man, a caring man, the sort a woman needs in a crisis.’
‘And I am not?’ Pain made Boyo’s voice harsh. She met his gaze and held it.
‘Tomorrow I sail for Ireland, the arrangements have been made. I shall be seeing Liam again and I shall be visiting my mother but then you wouldn’t know that my mother has left here, would you? You come along now and expect me to be sweet and kind to you and yet you have shown me nothing but indifference these past months.’
‘I called and was turned away,’ Boyo protested. ‘You are not being fair, Catherine.’
‘You were not very persistent in your efforts to see me, were you?’ Her voice was small, distant. She rose to her feet. ‘Perhaps you will oblige me by leaving my house, I have work to do.’
He moved towards her with a sudden surge of anger and clasped her in his arms, kissing her mouth, her throat, touching the swell of her sweet breasts, straining the soft cotton of her blouse. Desire flared in him, replacing his anger, his fingers sought her buttons and, though he half-recognized her puny efforts at resistance, he could not stop himself. He had her against the rag mat on the floor, blood pounded inside his head, he tasted her nipples
and failed to feel the blows she aimed at his face with her small fists. He was caught up in his passion, taking her roughly, pounding at her, grasping her slim hips in his hands, holding her closer. How he loved her, how he wanted her to be his for ever. Why did she fail to understand that?
She would respond to him, once she felt the need that both shared, her passion would grow and she would want him as he wanted her. She was quiescent and he was jubilant, she no longer resisted him. He kissed her throat, her breasts, tasting her sweetness with such hunger that he felt he would never find release. And then, at last, the hot surging flames of his release swept sweetly through his blood. He felt as though he had touched the golden gates of heaven and then he was lying beside her still body, gasping for breath.
He became aware then that she was crying, soft, bitter tears that racked her. He sat up and looked at her, she had covered her face with her hands, her skirts were above her waist, the pale skin of her thighs and belly were exposed and the dark colour of bruising was becoming evident. Shame engulfed him, he had raped her, raped the only woman he could ever love. Had he gone mad?
He covered her with her skirts and made a move to cradle her in his arms. She looked up at him, her eyes dark, unfathomable.
‘Get out of my house, Boyo Hopkins.’ She spoke quietly, so quietly he hardly heard her. ‘Get out now.’ She pushed him away and rose to her feet; she was tiny and defenceless and he was appalled by his own behaviour.
‘Catherine, my love …’
‘Stop!’ Her face was a mask of anger. ‘Love? You don’t know the meaning of the word. If ever you wanted to prove that you felt only lust for me then you have done just that today. I hate you, Boyo Hopkins, I hate you and worse, I despise you. A man who needs to force a woman is no sort of man at all, you are pathetic.’
Ashamed, he straightened his clothing. ‘Catherine, I don’t know what happened to me, I never meant to hurt you, God knows I…’
‘You dare mention God after what you have done? May God forgive you because I never will.’ She turned her back on him and her shoulders shook. He felt sick as he realized how deeply she was distressed.
‘I thought you would want me as I wanted you.’ It sounded lame and he knew it. He had taken her, uncaring of her feelings, at least he could be honest with himself if not with her.
‘Get out!’
He shook his head and moved towards her. As he touched her shoulders she shrugged him away. ‘What? Do you want to rape me again, Boyo? Have your pound of flesh? Is this the repayment you require for the gifts you have given me?’
She turned to face him. ‘I will be away from here tomorrow and when I do return there will be a gun kept loaded by my side and I will use it, believe me.’
‘I’m sorry, Catherine, more sorry than I can ever tell you, I behaved like an animal, I don’t blame you for hating me.’
‘I don’t care about your feelings, can’t you get that through your thick skull? Go to hell!’ She pushed at him suddenly and unresisting, he left the cottage. The door closed heavily and there was the sound of locks being put in place.
He walked towards the fields and sat for a long time on the stile staring out across the land and down to the sea. What had he come to? Were there any further depths to which he might sink? He was a young, strong man and he had taken, no, he had raped, a helpless girl who had no strength to fight him.
He covered his face with his hands, seeing again in his mind’s eye her slim nakedness and the blue of the bruises he had inflicted with his rough passion. He had wanted her so much, wanted all of her, not just her body and now he had alienated her for ever.
He glanced back at the farmhouse, it stood silent, the windows blank like accusing eyes. He shook his head, there was no point in going back, she had finished with him for good and he really couldn’t expect anything else; he had hurt her too badly for forgiveness.
Wearily, he made his way back to the house in Caswell; tormented by shame and guilt, he rode hard as if he could outrun his feelings.
Once back at Caswell, he sat staring out at the sea rushing into the shore below. The waves were white-capped, soon autumn would fade and the cold of winter would take hold of the land.
He suddenly remembered, the rotting harvest at Honey’s Farm and sat up straight. Catherine must be in trouble, with no money coming in for the corn, she would need help and all that had concerned him was his own needs. What a selfish bastard he was.
There was no way she would accept help from him, not now. He crashed his fist against the window-sill, what a fool he had been, what a crazy maddened fool.
It was a few days later when he was summoned by messenger to Bethan’s presence. He was angered by her arrogant attitude but he went to see her nevertheless.
She faced him coolly across the expanse of carpet in the blue drawing-room and when her glasses slipped along her nose he felt a sudden dart of nostalgia for what had been. He who had everything had lost it all. In the space of a few weeks he had alienated his wife and damaged his lover, what was happening to him?
‘It appears that there is something you must sign before I can close the deal on the inn.’ She spoke as though he was an employee not a husband. ‘Because I had included you in the profits from the business, you have, apparently, a legal right to read and agree the sale documents.’
‘I don’t wish to read anything and of course I’ll sign, the business is yours, I’ve never claimed anything else.’
‘No,’ she conceded. She handed him the document and he signed it. She placed it on the table beside her and turned to look at him. ‘One more thing, I feel as this is your house I should return it to you.’ She handed him an envelope. ‘Here are the deeds. I shall be moving back with my father at Ty Craig and you can live here or dispose of the house as you see fit.’
‘There is really no need for this.’ He felt almost intimidated by his wife’s cool attitude, but then Bethan had always been an imposing woman, strong and self-sufficient, that was what had attracted him to her. ‘Keep the house if you wish.’
‘No,’ she shook her head, ‘it was useful when I needed to keep an eye on the inn but now that I am disposing of that, I don’t need to live this far out of town.’ She eyed him almost smiling. ‘How is your little mistress?’
He looked at her sharply. ‘She is not my mistress, not any longer.’
‘Tut, tut, losing your charms so soon? Has she made so much money herself that she doesn’t need yours?’
‘She did not take the money I settled on her when her father was sick. She will not take it now when she must be facing ruin with the failure of the harvest.’
‘So, the harvest of corn is lost, is that critical then?’ She half smiled.
‘Of course, a farmer needs new seed for the crops that must be planted soon; without income there is not much hope of that.’
‘Assets? Surely the girl has something she can sell, cattle or land or something?’
He wondered why Bethan was concerned, women were strange creatures, he would never understand them. He shrugged. ‘The only thing she could dispose of that has any real value would be the bull. She needs the other beasts to make any sort of living, the milk yield is a good source of revenue.’
‘But not good enough without the harvest of corn, is that it?’
Boyo rose to his feet. ‘I don’t know why you are asking me all these questions about Catherine,’ he said uneasily. ‘I don’t really see what it has to do with you one way or another.’
Bethan rose and faced him. ‘Well, you never did see further than the end of your nose, did you? You need to grow up a great deal yet before you can call yourself a man of the. world.’
‘I was a man of the world before most men are aware that women exist,’ he retorted angrily.
‘Oh, yes, in matters physical I don’t doubt it. What you have not yet realized is that a woman has a brain too, it would pay you to remember that.’
He stared at her, wondering for a moment if she knew a
bout the way he had violated Catherine, grasping at her like a greedy child. But no, that was ridiculous, that was something she could not possibly know.
‘That’s all, I think.’ Bethan moved towards the door. ‘I shall be moving out some time next week, I hope that suits you.’ She might have been a stranger conducting a business arrangement for all the warmth she showed.
‘It does not affect me one way or another,’ he said. ‘I don’t really know why you wanted me here, unless it was to torment me.’
‘Don’t be melodramatic, I got you here to conclude a business deal, that is all. You may go now.’
He left the house feeling somehow that he had been manipulated into answering questions that were important to Bethan. But why would she care about Catherine? He was becoming over-sensitive, a feeling brought about by shame and guilt, perhaps. He turned away from the house and made for home.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ireland was as beautiful as her father had told her it would be. Catherine clung onto the sides of the cart that bumped and lurched over the uneven ground and looked around her at the fields, lush and green in the autumn rain.
Liam had been delighted that she was coming to Ireland and had arranged to meet her at the port of Cork. He sat beside her now, his red hair blowing in the breeze as he drove her towards Kinsale, the small seaside village where he lived.
‘You are looking a little pale, Catherine.’ Liam broke the silence, the lilting of his voice was somehow comforting, reminding her of her father.
‘I am worried about the farm, Liam, that’s the reason I’ve come to you. And I want to see my mother, of course.’ She looked up at him, his eyes met hers and she read love in them and was briefly cheered.
‘I wasn’t going to throw my woes at you suddenly like this but I might as well get it over with and tell you the worst. The harvest has failed, I’ve laid off the labourers, I’m losing money at an alarming rate and I don’t know what to do.’