She swung round in a sharp movement which said more than words could have done and strode out of the kitchen. She did not stop until she was some distance from the farmhouse. Taking a deep breath, she said out loud, ‘When is it going to end, God?’ It wasn’t only the war she was referring to. She was tired of being the strong one, tired of managing the farm and all the paperwork and everybody telling her their troubles and the rest of it. She wanted—
She bowed her head to the thought which had just come.
She wanted Ike. She wanted them to be in a world where there was no war and no separations, where they could be together properly, marry, have bairns. She loved him. Her eyes opened wide. Why hadn’t she realised it before? But she did, she loved Ike Wilmot. She hadn’t wanted to love him, not with the war still on and everything so uncertain, but she did, she couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t the feeling she’d had for James, not even the wild roller-coaster ride Ike had talked about the first night they had started seeing each other, but it was good. He was a special man, a precious man, and if God spared them both to the end of the war and he asked her to marry him, she would follow him to the United States like a shot. He would take Clara too, wouldn’t he? And then she shook her head at herself, faintly embarrassed. She was running away with herself here. What would Ike say if he knew she’d got them married and settled in America with a ready-made family in the shape of her sister? Daft she was.
Nevertheless, she felt herself again, the momentary resentment against the others gone.
She’d try and get Winnie and Rowena on a level footing again, she promised herself, walking towards the tractor some distance away. Get them to talk to each other without shouting and flinging insults right, left and centre. They had to stick together; if they didn’t do that, what was life all about? Winnie had to understand that Rowena falling for Mario wasn’t the end of the world and that no one in the immediate vicinity had to know about it anyway, and Rowena had to accept something like this was hard for people to take, certainly initially. Rowena had written to her parents about Mario the same day she’d taken the bull by the horns and told them all in the farmhouse, and she was bound to get plenty of stick from that direction. That should appeal to Winnie’s natural inclination to defend the underdog. Not that Rowena would appreciate being referred to as a dog! She smiled wryly.
When she climbed into the tractor she didn’t immediately start the engine, her growling stomach reminding her she’d walked out on breakfast. It was going to seem a long time till lunch. Thank goodness she was seeing Ike tonight; they were going dancing in Scarborough. But before she left she’d make sure she put it to her two friends that nothing and no one was worth coming between the three of them. And if they couldn’t see that, she would bang their heads together!
In the event, she didn’t have to.
Abby was tightening nuts under her tractor, having just drained the sump, when Gladys called the three women in for lunch from various parts of the farm. She had already taken the three Italians their food and drink - they were drilling mangold seed with the two shire horses, Bessie and Bunty, in the far field, a pleasant job on such a beautiful day. Winnie had been planting potatoes all morning and Rowena had been occupied carting dung and sawing logs. Both women were closer to the farmhouse than Abby and were already indoors when she made her way across the farmyard, rubbing her oily hands on a piece of rough sacking.
So she was the first to see the slate-blue, state-of-the-art Bentley making its way with imperious smoothness along the rough track which led to the house. As it got nearer she saw a small Union Jack waving merrily on the front of the car, a uniformed chauffeur in the driving seat and what looked like a man and another person - she couldn’t quite make out if it was a man or a woman - in the back seat. It wasn’t until the car had come to a standstill that Abby thought she should have run to tell the others, but in truth she had been so amazed it hadn’t occurred to her.
The chauffeur exited the car, ignoring her, and opened the rear door. For a moment nothing happened, and she was just wondering if she was expected to go to the vehicle when a tall, well-dressed man levered himself out of the car, leaving the chauffeur to help the equally well-dressed woman who followed. Rowena’s parents. As the penny dropped, Abby said, ‘Can I help you?’
The man was standing very straight and he surveyed her through his narrowed eyes in much the same way she imagined a scientist would examine an unpleasant bug under a microscope. He smoothed his neat moustache with the thumb and index finger of one hand, before saying, ‘And you are?’ His tone was insulting.
Abby waited a second or two, looking hard at him. Then she said, ‘My name is Abigail Vickers, Mr . . . ?’
‘Hetherton-Smith. Colonel Hetherton-Smith.’ The tall fair woman who looked remarkably like Rowena was now standing at his side, but the colonel made no effort to introduce his wife. ‘I have come to see my daughter, Miss Vickers, and I haven’t much time. Please get her for me.’
Abby’s mind was racing. These two certainly hadn’t come to give Rowena a pat on the back. All things considered, it was probably better for her friend if others were present when she had to confront her father. ‘She has just been called in to lunch,’ she said as if Rowena was dining at the Ritz. ‘Won’t you join us?’
‘I would like to talk privately to my daughter. Tell her I’m here.’
This time there was no pretence at courtesy. Abby stared at him. What a horrible man. And to think he was Rowena’s father. ‘Just a minute, please,’ she said stiffly, glancing at the woman at his side and receiving a cool, steady look in return.
When she entered the kitchen the others were already seated and Gladys was placing bowls of steaming beef and vegetable soup in front of them, a large freshly baked wholemeal loaf cut into inch-thick shives on a plate in the centre of the table. With no preamble, Abby said, ‘Rowena, your parents are outside.’
Rowena’s head, which hadn’t lifted at her entrance, now shot up, her eyes wide. ‘They’re here?’
Abby nodded. ‘Your father says he wants to speak to you. I asked them to come in but he wouldn’t.’
Rowena’s eyes stretched a little wider and her face was pale. She glanced at Gladys who had paused at Abby’s words and was now standing with a bowl of soup in her hand, midway between the hearth and the table. ‘I don’t want to see them alone,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Do you mind if they come in, Gladys? My father . . . Well, he can be difficult. I don’t know what he’s likely to do.’
‘The Lord preserve us.’ Gladys, who wasn’t a great churchgoer but regularly called on the Almighty in any crisis, big or small, placed the bowl on the table and flapped at her red face with her pinny. ‘And with me halfway through the ironing and bits everywhere.’ She glanced at the flat iron resting on an ancient ironing board and the pile of clothes beside it, some of which had spilled out of their basket and had been placed on one of the kitchen chairs. ‘Well, they’ll have to take us how they find us. They should have let us know they were coming if they wanted a tidy kitchen.’
‘I’ll go and tell them to come in.’
As Abby made to turn, Rowena said urgently, ‘Tell them if they want to see me it’s in here or nothing, Abby. He won’t like it but tell him.’
She was scared stiff of him. Confident, strong Rowena, who could shrivel any man with one of her disdainful, contemptuous glances, was petrified. Abby happened to catch Winnie’s eye as she turned and she read the same thought in her friend’s lifted eyebrows.
The two visitors were standing exactly where Abby had left them but the chauffeur was back in the car with the doors and windows shut. It didn’t look as though they had spoken to each other either. There was an almost tangible air of aloofness between the two.
This time it was the woman who said lazily, ‘Where is she?’ with a note of what could almost have been amusement in her languid voice.
Abby didn’t reply to this directly; looking at Rowena’s father as she said, ‘She
wants you to go inside. She’s not coming out but you’re welcome to see her inside.’
‘I told you, Algernon. She’s never responded well to autocratic decrees but you would—’
‘Shut up.’ The colonel didn’t look at his wife, he kept his eyes fixed on Abby. ‘Tell her if she’s not out here in sixty seconds there will be hell to pay.’
There was no way she was trotting backwards and forwards at the demand of this little tyrant. Abby said steadily, ‘I thought I’d made myself plain, Colonel. If you want to see Rowena you are welcome to see her inside. Otherwise . . .’ She shrugged. ‘It would appear your journey has been wasted.’
She had never seen anyone swell before but she was seeing it now.
There was a moment or two of screaming silence and then the colonel bit out, ‘Lead the way.’
She turned quickly away from him, aware of the sharp clip of Rowena’s mother’s high heels as they followed her into the scullery and then through to the kitchen. Rowena was still sitting at the table and she didn’t rise as they entered.
‘Hello, Father. Mother.’
‘Go and get your things together. You’re leaving.’ The colonel had his eyes fixed on his daughter but his wife was glancing around her, her expression neutral.
‘What? Don’t be ridiculous.’ The colour had surged back into Rowena’s face. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘You are returning home with your mother and me today and she will then be responsible for seeing you are kept confined to the house until you learn how to conduct yourself. Have I made myself clear?’
Rowena had stiffened but her voice was still defiant. ‘This is because I told you about Mario, right? Well, I’m sorry, Father, but we love each other and—’
He moved a step or two towards her. ‘I said get your things together.’
Rowena made them all jump by springing to her feet, her voice loud. ‘I’m not going anywhere and the days are gone when you can control my life,’ she cried. ‘You can’t bully me any more, Father, don’t you see? I’ve escaped you, and so has Richard. He never wanted to join the army and you knew that, you knew he hadn’t got the stomach for it but as soon as he was eighteen he was in. Well, he’s gone and I hope you’re satisfied he made the ultimate sacrifice in the name of King and country in this terrible, horrible, crazy war!’
‘Control yourself.’ It was razor sharp.
Joy, upset by the angry atmosphere, began to bawl.
‘Like Mother always does?’ Rowena glanced at the beautifully coiffured woman who was surveying her daughter with more interest than she had displayed thus far. ‘You’ve always held her up as the pinnacle to which I should strive, but I don’t want to be like her. I’m sorry, Mother, but I want more than a beautiful home and social acclaim and the rest of it. I want what I’ve found with Mario and I’m not letting him go.’
‘No daughter of mine is marrying a damn Eyetie.’ The colonel was apoplectic. ‘I’ll cut you off without a penny, do you hear me? Without a penny.’
‘I don’t care.’ Rowena was visibly shaking. ‘I’ve discovered I can manage quite well on my own.’
‘You would turn your back on your inheritance? And don’t forget it’s all yours now, the lot. Town house, country estate, the shares, the—’
‘I don’t want it,’ Rowena almost barked at him. ‘I don’t want anything from you! When I have children they won’t be sent to prep school and boarding school and have nannies and maids. My children will know what it is to have a real mother and father.’
‘And what do you mean by that?’
‘I mean they’ll have a mother who is interested in them, not the next social engagement and what hat to wear for Ascot. And their father will actually communicate with them, even,’ Rowena waved her hand wildly, ‘listen to them.’
‘You’ve lost your reason.’
‘No, no, I haven’t lost my reason, in fact I’ve come to realise it’s only in the last four years I’ve had my reason. I am nearly thirty years old and yet I’ve only been grown up, really grown up since I left you and Mother.’
‘You are not marrying him.’ The colonel’s voice was not loud now; it was soft, almost gentle, but it carried a quality which was more menacing than all his blustering. ‘I’ll see you dead first.’
‘I wouldn’t talk like that if I were you, Colonel, not in front of so many witnesses.’ Winnie had been cradling Joy, trying to comfort her, but now she handed the baby to Gladys and rose to her feet. ‘My father is a bully. Oh, not like you, he hasn’t got as much clout where it matters as you, but he’s a man who feels he can rule everyone and everything just because he thinks a certain way. Mario is a good man and he will make your daughter very happy but that doesn’t matter, does it, not to you. So why don’t you just clear off back to where you came from and leave Rowena alone from now on? It’s not likely your paths will ever cross again because she sure as gummings won’t be calling on you for help. She doesn’t need to. She’s got friends who will stand by her and a man who will love her for exactly what she is. Warts and pimples and all.’
There was dead silence in the room after this until Rowena’s mother broke it, her voice a cool trickle in the red-hot atmosphere. ‘I think you’ve had your answer, Algernon, don’t you? Shall we beat an ignominious retreat and go and lick our wounds in that perfectly heavenly little inn we noticed on the way up here? I’m starving.’
Abby wasn’t sure whether this little speech was meant to inflame the situation or calm it. She stared at the woman and Rowena’s mother’s gaze caught hers, the pale blue eyes faintly condescending and a small smile playing at the edge of the perfectly made-up mouth.
‘From this day on I have no daughter. Do you understand me?’ The colonel’s voice was low, the words drawn out.
For a second Rowena didn’t reply. Then she said, ‘Only too well, considering I have never had a father.’
‘You ungrateful little chit! I ought to horsewhip you—’
The colonel came to an abrupt halt as Abby stepped in front of him, cutting off his advance on Rowena. ‘You’d have to take us all on, I’m afraid, Colonel,’ she said very clearly.
He glowered down at her, his hands clenched fists by his sides. Then he turned abruptly, jerked his head at his wife and said, ‘Back to the car,’ before stalking out of the room.
‘Goodbye, Rowena.’ Mrs Hetherton-Smith’s face had lost all semblance of amusement as she moved to stand directly in front of her daughter. ‘May I wish you happiness for the future?’
Rowena swallowed. ‘If you mean it.’
‘I mean it.’ The older woman bent and kissed the stiff face. ‘We’ve never understood each other, have we, and I’d be the first to say I’ve never got the hang of this mother thing, but . . . you are my child. I would like you to be happy.’
‘Thank you.’ They all saw Rowena relax slightly but she said nothing more as her mother left the room.
There was a stillness in the kitchen which no one broke until the sound of the car drawing away came to their ears. Tears were running from Rowena’s eyes and she sank back down into her seat, but then a wan smile surfaced when Winnie said, ‘By, lass, and I thought my da was a rum ’un.’
‘His life’s the army, it always has been. He eats, drinks and sleeps it. And Mother, well, you saw how she is. As a little girl I used to wonder why she wasn’t like some of the other mothers I knew. Why she never cuddled Richard or me, and why we were only allowed out of the nursery to kiss her goodnight at a specific time. I thought it was us, that there was something wrong with my brother and me, until I learned she just has very little feeling.’
‘That’s putting it kindly,’ Winnie said bluntly. ‘So, poor little rich girl, eh, lass?’
‘Don’t say that. It’s what I’ve dreaded you all saying since we met, that’s why I never explained what it was like at home. I know I had it easy and compared to you it was all a doddle, but—’
‘We’re not saying you had it easy.’ Abby took o
ne of Rowena’s hands and Winnie clasped the other. ‘There are lots of different ways of being miserable.’
‘Aye, that’s the truth,’ Winnie agreed softly. ‘Me, I’ve always eaten for comfort. Fat old Winnie, always good for a laugh.’
‘You’re not fat,’ Rowena lied stoutly. ‘Plump, maybe, but fetchingly so.’
‘Oh, lass.’ Winnie was laughing now. ‘Only you could say I’m fetching.’
Thank goodness they were all right again. Abby smiled at Gladys who was still holding the baby and received a smile back.
‘We’d better finish our lunch,’ Abby said practically, ‘and when we’ve finished perhaps you’d like to go and get the men’s water bottles, Rowena, so Gladys can take them a drink a bit later. And tell them we expect them in for dinner. All right?’
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