by Iris Gower
It had been troubling at first, the way he had spent money on newfangled ideas – the steam-ploughing machine had been a great bone of contention but it had paid off very quickly. The crops in the outer fields grew without the problems of root rot or worm; it seemed he had the touch, the golden touch which made everything turn into profit.
He had been a happy and contented man, enjoying the occasional favours of the country girls, making no commitments, wanting nothing more from life, until Catherine. Now he wanted her with a fire that burnt in his heart and in his guts. He would have her, however long he had to wait and instinct told him that he would need to be patient.
In the first flush of having consummated their union, he had believed she would marry him; later, he had not been so sure. Catherine, he learnt, was not the usual sort of woman, she did not take one night of lovemaking for a declaration of undying love. Once, Liam had welcomed such liberal thinking, enjoying the freedom of indulging in passion without the necessity of offering more. With Catherine it was different, so different.
She was there up on the hill, standing with the wind moulding her clothes to the lithe lines of her beautiful body. Her hair, free of ribbons, streamed like red-gold silk behind her, she was a goddess and he worshipped at her feet.
As he drew near, she turned to him with a smile and he took her in his arms, burying his face against the warmth of her neck. He breathed her sweetness and the urge to possess her rose irresistibly within him.
He drew her down into a hollow and touched the swell of her breasts. She clung to him, her eyes closed, not resisting him but not welcoming him either. He drew away from her. ‘Catherine, I would not take you against your will,’ he said softly, looking down into her face.
‘I’m glad,’ she said simply, ‘not all men are as considerate.’
Anger flared in him, so Hopkins had taken her by force, that was why Catherine had become his mistress. He felt the urge to kill and sat up, running his hand through the dark redness of his hair.
‘Liam, I’ve come to a decision: it’s time I went home,’ Catherine said and he turned to her, striving to keep control of his feelings.
‘When shall we leave?’ He was surprised to hear that his voice was calm.
‘Not us, me, I must do this alone. I will sell the bull and with the money buy seed, employ labourers again, try to pull the farm back to its feet. Then and only then can I think about marriage.’
‘I do have a chance then, do I?’ His attempt at lightness failed.
She reached towards him and touched his hand. ‘Of course you have a chance, Liam. You are a wonderful man, you do not sit in judgement on me, you do not try to force your will on me and I love you for it.’
So that was the secret of her, she needed to be gentled, like a nervous beast; led, not pushed. He rose to his feet. ‘Come on, then, let’s get back in time for supper or Gran will take her stick to my back.’
Catherine laughed, ‘Not much danger of that, my boy!’
‘You don’t know Grandma, a real dragon she is when she is angry.’
Together, they ran, hand in hand, like children, down the slope of the hillside and towards the welcoming smoke rising from the chimney of the farmhouse.
Resting in the large room that looked on to the grey rock-face, Bethan stared unseeingly into the darkness. She had successfully completed her sale of the inn and all its contents and her bank balance was even healthier than it had been before. But that brought her small consolation.
She had left the home she had shared with Boyo since her marriage and moved to Ty Craig to be with her father. He had told her not to harbour any regrets, that Boyo was not worthy of her, but none of it made her feel any better.
As for regrets, she had a great many of them but she also had an iron core of determination. She could not and would not endure being scorned by her husband, have him sleeping under the same roof but knowing it was another woman he wanted.
She had believed, at first, that she could deal with it, weather the storm, so to speak; after all, many husbands strayed. But in the end, his love for Catherine had become like a wound festering inside her.
A knock on the door startled her, she knew who it would be. She had arranged for him to call during the time her father took his afternoon rest. She moved slowly from her chair and crossed the room, opening the door just enough to admit the man standing outside in the corridor. Behind him, a maid fluttered anxiously and Bethan waved her away impatiently.
‘It’s done.’ The man was well-dressed as he should be; he was one of her father’s oldest acquaintances.
‘Well done, Uncle Tom.’ She led the way towards the ornate fireplace and gestured towards one of the upholstered chairs. ‘Tell me all about it.’
Tom took a seat and stared at her, a small smile curving his mouth beneath the greying moustache. ‘The beast has been gelded, there will be no more prize heifers from that source.’
‘The creature has not been harmed?’
Tom smiled more broadly. ‘Well, the taking away of a creature’s fertility is no laughing matter, especially when it is such a fine specimen as the bull on Honey’s Farm turned out to be, but no, the animal will live a healthy life, but its only use will be as beef to put on the table.’
For a moment, Bethan felt a pang of horror at what she had done. It had been quite calculating, she had wiped out the one disposable asset that might save Honey’s Farm. Well, it was no more than that bitch deserved! If you took another woman’s husband, you asked for all you got.
‘You will be able to buy the land at a rock-bottom price in a matter of only a few weeks, though why you should want it beats me.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Uncle Tom,’ Bethan said quietly. ‘I have been feeling restless lately, not knowing what it is I want out of life, perhaps the farm will prove a new challenge for me.’
‘Look, cariad,’ Tom said quietly, ‘the girl is ruined, the farm is in a terrible state, forget it, the land will be a liability to you.’ He paused, waiting for Bethan to speak but she remained silent.
‘In any case,’ he said hastily, ‘you and that fine husband of yours can patch things up, can’t you? After all, a great many men have a little fancy piece on the side, it means nothing and I should know, I wasn’t always faithful and yet I loved my wife dearly.’
Bethan sighed. ‘This girl, the one who owns the farm, I just can’t forgive her, she’s beautiful, she could have any man but she took mine.’ She felt the heat of anger rise to her cheeks as she waited for Tom to tell her she was a wicked woman. Instead, she heard him chuckle.
‘Well, well, it’s true then, hell hath no fury!’
She sat up straighter. ‘That’s right, Uncle Tom, I’m a scorned woman, my husband would prefer a little tramp to me. Well, he can have her and she can have him but she must feel hurt as I feel hurt, she must learn that one cannot have everything in life.’
Tom sighed, his laughter vanished. ‘Just so long as you don’t hurt yourself, my lovely girl; revenge is not very sweet, take it from me.’
When he had gone, Bethan sat in the chair near the window and stared out into the darkness for a long time, lost in unhappy thoughts. At last she closed the curtains and lit the lamp, her eyes blinded for a moment by the sudden light.
Over the fireplace, the portrait of Elizabeth Llewellyn looked down at her and it seemed there was a hint of sympathy in those dark eyes, but that was just a trick of the lamplight.
Bethan prepared herself to join her father for dinner but her thoughts kept returning to Boyo and to that woman who had ruined everything for them.
What would Catherine O’Conner feel when she came home and learned that her prize bull had been castrated? Would she know, with some deep, womanly instinct, who was behind the evil deed? Bethan clasped her hands together, a thin smile on her lips, she hoped so, she sincerely hoped so. It was time Catherine learned that she had made a very powerful enemy.
It was strange to be back in Swansea. Liam had
wanted to come with her but Catherine had persuaded him she would be better off going alone. She needed to be her own woman, to give herself time to think clearly about her life.
She walked from town up the hill towards the farm, pausing once or twice to regain her breath. Turning, she looked back to where, in the valley, the untidy buildings of Swansea huddled together, lit here and there with lamps as the darkness moved in. It was a long walk and a tiring one but soon she would be in her own house, asleep in her own bed, the thought warmed her.
As she neared the house, she saw that lights gleamed from the farmhouse window. Her neighbours had been told of her return and it seemed that Cliff Jones had been kind enough to make her homecoming a pleasant one.
The door stood open and Catherine stepped inside the kitchen, seeing the soaring flames of the fire and hearing the singing of the kettle with a feeling of joy. Here she would be able to think, here she must learn to deal with the loneliness of her life on the farm.
A figure stepped out of the shadows and Catherine put her hand to her mouth, to prevent herself from crying out in fear.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I had to see you, Catherine, I’ve missed you so much.’
Boyo stood before her, tall and handsome, his young face held a pleading expression and his eyes were shadowed. ‘I want to apologize for the way I behaved last time we met, I was like an animal and I couldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see me again.’
She pushed away the memory of him above her, forcing himself on her, it was too painful to bear. It was a betrayal of all she had believed him to be.
‘Why are you here? I told you never to come near me again.’ She walked towards the fire, the silence seemed loud, she was mesmerized by it. A coal shifting in the grate made her look up. ‘Did you do all this?’ She waved her hand around the kitchen, encompassing the cheerful fire, a fresh cloth on the table, cups and saucers neatly set out. She did not wait for a reply. ‘How did you know I was coming home today?’
‘I have been up here several times this week,’ he said. ‘Your neighbour was glad of my help. Cliff has been having a few difficulties on his own farm lately so for a few days, I have taken over the running of Honey’s Farm completely.’
Catherine dumped her bag on the stone flags. ‘Well, thank you.’ Her voice was cold, flat.
‘Cat,’ his voice was soft, he came closer and tried to catch her hands but she stared up at him angrily.
‘I’m very tired, Boyo. Please, just go, leave me alone will you?’
‘Let me at least make you a cup of tea.’ He moved to the fire and she sank into a chair, watching dully as Boyo moved to the fire and made the tea. ‘Here, drink this,’ he said, ‘it’s hot and sweet, it will make you feel better. I’ve put a hot-water bottle in your bed, I don’t want you catching cold.’
Suddenly Catherine was furious, how dare he come into her house as though he owned it? How dare he assume that his interference would be welcome?
‘You take too much on yourself, Boyo.’ She looked up at him, the steam from the tea in the cup gripped tightly between her fingers making her blink. ‘You are not welcome here, don’t you understand that? You treat me like a whore and then you think a few little niceties will make me forget the humiliation. Well I won’t forget, not ever. You and I are finished, I’m going to be married to Liam Cullen.’
Suddenly she felt tears restrict her throat but she forced herself to go on speaking. ‘I will be respectable, a word you have never associated with me. Please, just go, leave me alone, you have brought me nothing but pain and I just want an end to it.’
Boyo stood looking down at her for a long time, he seemed carved out of stone. ‘Very well, Catherine, if that’s what you really want then I have no right to stand in your way.’
He moved to the door and paused for a moment. ‘I want you to know that I love you, I will always love you and I will come if you call, wherever you are.’
He went out and closed the door behind him and in the silence Catherine heard her own heart beating so hard she felt it would choke her.
She drank her tea and then crouched on the mat before the fire trying to sort out the chaos of her thoughts. It was in anger she had spoken of marrying Liam but perhaps that was the path she would eventually tread. First she had to put the farm back on its feet, make it viable again, the thriving, rich farmlands it had once been. Surely that would not prove too difficult for the daughter of Fon and Jamie O’Conner?
In the cosy room, she felt warmed by the house, by the familiarity. Here alone, she could almost believe her mother was still in the kitchen preparing for the morning. Her father would be taking a last look at the hens before turning in for the night.
She climbed into bed and found she was grateful for the stone bottle which had warmed the sheets, they closed comfortingly around her, she felt almost as though she was being held in an embrace. Outside, the night was cold, winter would soon hold the land in an icy grip. She had borrowed heavily from the bank already, how could she survive till spring? Wearily, she closed her eyes, nothing could be solved tonight; she would rest and in the morning, she would be able to think more clearly.
She was woken by the sun streaming through the window, it seemed the cold weather had relented and the blessing of an Indian summer was upon Honey’s Farm. She stood in the coldness of her bedroom looking out at the sloping fields. Here she had spent her childhood, here she had been happy, cared for by her parents, they had seemed so strong, so indestructible to her then.
Even after April had died so unexpectedly, Catherine had been secure in the belief that her mother and father would live for ever. How foolish she had been. She had believed then in dreams, she had watched Boyo Hopkins grow tall and handsome and even as a child she must have loved him.
A sad smile twisted her mouth, she had been a little brat, taunting and teasing April, intruding on the couple whenever she found the opportunity, chasing them across the lands of Honey’s Farm, spying on them as they kissed under the cover of the barn. Perhaps she had not even recognized that her feelings of anger against April had stemmed from jealousy; it was clear that Boyo loved her to distraction.
Then April had died one awful day, swept away by the sickness that had gripped the town, taking old and young like a scythe cutting through the grass, how Boyo had mourned.
Catherine moved impatiently from the window. Well, he was gone now, gone from her life for ever. Boyo was not for her, he was a married man, a wealthy man, he had lived a different life these past years and he had left her behind. How could she go with him into the houses of the rich? Even if he had not been married, Boyo was now accepted by the higher echelons of Swansea society. A girl from the farmlands would be unwelcome in such company.
When she was dressed for outdoors with her boots firmly laced and a scarf around her head, she went into the yard and felt the sunshine on her face. She could hear the sounds of activity from the cowshed across the stretch of brown earth and knew with a feeling of relief that her neighbour had come in to help.
It was dim in the sheds, with the familiar mingling of smells of animal and milk that she would always associate with her childhood.
She stopped short as she saw the strong shoulders beneath the flannel shirt, the strong forearms and hands which were bringing the milk into the pail with deft, expert movements.
‘What are you doing here?’ She stood, arms across her body, and looked down at Boyo’s bent head.
‘I wanted to help, just for today, until you settle in.’ He glanced over his shoulder at her. ‘There is surely no need for us to squabble like children, can’t we at least act like civilized adults?’
She longed to go to him, to kiss his mouth, to feel his arms around her, holding her close. She closed her eyes suddenly seeing an image of herself and Liam lying in each other’s arms and a wash of pain and guilt ran through her.
‘Catherine …’ his voice was soft, tender and her eyes opened quickly. She kicked ou
t at the bucket, startling the cow and sending a stream of milk mingling with the dirt on the floor.
‘Get out!’ she said between gritted teeth. ‘Get out of my life and leave me alone, I won’t tell you again but if I see you on my land I’ll take a shotgun to you.’ She turned and fled back to the house, tears burning her eyes. What a mess she had made of her life, what an inept, pathetic creature she had become.
She did not see him leave, she did not want to watch as he strode away out of her life for ever. When he was gone, she felt lonelier than ever, how was she going to survive the winter with not a soul to talk to in the dark winter evenings? She sighed and made her way back to the shed, there was work to be done and no-one was going to do it for her.
It was almost a week later when she advertised the bull for sale. The creature was running wild in the fields, she simply could not manage him. From the numerous enquiries that came in, Catherine chose the one which seemed the most sincere.
Farmer Whitestone was a small, leathery man with warm blue eyes and a thatch of white hair jutting from under a much-worn cap. With him was the local vet.
‘Good day to you, Miss O’Conner, come to see the beast, hope you don’t mind old Willie Fern taking a look at him.’
Catherine smiled, it was the usual practice and she nodded in the direction of the field where the cows were grazing. ‘Go ahead, take your time, the bull is in a good mood today, though I must warn you that he’s been off his food.’
Farmer Whitestone smiled showing uneven teeth. ‘Had himself a good time, I expect? Found himself more than one willing lass among your herd no doubt.’ He touched his cap and ambled away across the yard, the vet with his black bag following him more slowly. Bulls could be of uncertain temper and Willie Fern had experienced more than one brush with danger on his farm visits.
Catherine was carrying milk across the yard when she saw the two men walking across the fields, heads close together. She knew at once there was something wrong by the worried look on Farmer Whitestone’s face.