by Penny Jordan
With Cherry in bed, Kate felt oddly vulnerable and uncomfortable. She had left this house in fear and misery eleven years ago, and now she was back, but how could those years be bridged?
It proved to be astonishingly easy. It became apparent to Kate that there was scarcely a single feature of her and Cherry’s lives that Lydia had left untold, and that her mother was almost as familiar with the regular pattern of their lives as she was herself.
Lydia had been a good friend to both of them, Kate recognised.
Quite what she had hoped to achieve by her precipitous flight to London she didn’t really know, but after two terrifying days and nights of living rough she had suppressed her pride and gone to see her godmother.
Lydia had not, as she had dreaded, insisted on Kate going home, or even agreed with her parents that her pregnancy must be hushed up and her child adopted. Instead she had offered Kate and her baby a home with her for just as long as they needed it.
A career woman with no ties, she had adapted remarkably well to the responsibility of a pregnant teenage girl, Kate thought. It had been Lydia who had encouraged her to go back to her studies and complete her degree, who had insisted on sharing the care of Cherry with her so that she was free to do so, and who had also encouraged her to buy her own small flat once she had finally got a job, thus giving both her and Cherry their independence.
Not once had she ever asked about Silas, and not once had Kate mentioned him. So why start thinking about him now? What was the point?
* * *
Her mother hadn’t been wrong to remind her of her father’s habit of early rising, Kate reflected ruefully the next morning when the sound of her father whistling to his dog woke her from her slumbers.
Without even going to the window, she could picture the scene in the yard below: her father in his ancient tweed jacket, crook in one hand, as he summoned his dog for the start of their day’s work.
On a summer morning like this he would be working the fells, checking on his sheep and preparing his dogs for the Dales Show.
As she lay there, other sounds penetrated her consciousness; the muted baaing of the wool-sheep in the paddock on the far side of the house; the cackling of her mother’s hens and then the impatient roar of her father’s voice as he called his dog to order.
They hadn’t had a sheepdog yet unable to resist the temptation of trying to round up the hens, and Kate grinned to herself as she burrowed deeper under the blankets. As a teenager she had cherished every extra stolen moment in bed in the mornings, but this morning she couldn’t recapture that teenage pleasure. Instead she found she was thinking about her mother, who would be busy downstairs.
Groaning at the extra burdens of conscience that adulthood brought, she started to get up, pausing by her window and frowning as she heard Cherry’s excited voice floating up to her from the yard.
‘I’m up, Grandpa. Can I come with you?’
‘You’ll have to ask your mother about that,’ she heard her father growl. ‘And you’ll need something inside you first.’
‘But you will wait for me, won’t you?’ Cherry persisted, and Kate found that she was holding her breath, praying that her father wouldn’t hurt Cherry’s feelings by refusing her request.
Half of her was already prepared for it when he said brusquely, ‘The fells are no place for someone who doesn’t know them,’ but then, to her surprise and relief, he softened his refusal by adding more gently, ‘You go in and speak to your mother and have your breakfast, and then later on you can come and watch while I put Laddie through his paces in the paddock. Not that it will do the stupid creature the least bit of good. Never make a champion…Too soft, that’s what he is.’
Kate was downstairs by the time Cherry came in, her small face alight with excitement.
‘Mum, I’m going to help Gramps train Laddie,’ she told Kate importantly.
And because she loved and understood her, Kate overlooked the small exaggeration and said instead, ‘Are you, indeed? Well then, you’re going to need something to eat first, aren’t you?’
Cherry had always had a healthy appetite, but already the upland air seemed to have sharpened it, and Kate saw the pleasure touch her own mother’s face as Cherry devoured the meal Jean had made for her.
‘You should have let me do that, Mum,’ Kate protested quietly, when Cherry had gone upstairs to clean her teeth. ‘You’ve got enough to do already.’
‘It’s no trouble. It’s a long time since I’ve had a young one to cook for,’ she added quietly, and somehow her words underlined the loneliness of their lives, making Kate guiltily conscious that she could and should have done more earlier to heal the rift between them.
For too long she had retained her childhood perceptions of her parents and her father’s anger, and now it hurt her to acknowledge that she might have been guilty of deliberately holding on to her own anger and resentment. They were both so patently thrilled with Cherry, and she made up her mind there and then that she would see to it that she made it up to both Cherry and her parents for all the times together they had missed.
When her father came back later in the morning, Cherry rushed out to join him.
Watching her daughter skipping happily at her grandfather’s side with the black and white collie, plumy tail waving happily from side to side as it followed them, Kate felt an unexpected prickle of tears sting her eyes.
She was standing in the kitchen at the window, and behind her her mother said quietly, ‘I’m glad you came, love. Your dad’s missed you…’
‘And David,’ Kate acknowledged, blinking away her tears. ‘He was always his favourite.’
‘No, you’re wrong,’ her mother insisted. ‘If he had a favourite, it was you. Some men are like that. Real softies when it comes to their daughters. Thinking the world of them, and nothing too good for them. It was like that with your dad. That’s why…’ She sighed and broke off, but immediately Kate knew what she was thinking. That was why her father had been so shocked and so bitterly angry when she’d announced her pregnancy.
How easy it was to understand his feelings now, and how very, very difficult it had been at the time.
‘There’s some letters to post. Why don’t you take the Land Rover and drive down to the village?’ her mother suggested, and Kate wondered if she had sensed her sudden, aching need to be on her own to sort out the confusion of her own thoughts.
It had been a long time since she had driven a four-wheel-drive vehicle, but it was a skill that, once learned, was soon remembered, and by the time she had reached the village she was feeling confident enough to reverse the vehicle into a spot almost right opposite the small post office and general store.
Susan Edmonson, the postmistress, recognised her immediately, beaming a warm smile at her. Susan’s dark hair was generously flecked with grey now and she was plumper than she had been, but she still possessed the same intense curiosity about her fellow human beings that Kate had so resented as a child, but which now she found oddly warming.
After the impersonal, couldn’t-care-less attitude of the busy shops in London, it was almost pleasant to be in a place where one was known and welcomed.
‘Hear you’ve brought your daughter back with you. A right bonny girl by all accounts. And her dad…’
‘Cherry’s father isn’t and never has been a part of our lives,’ Kate told her firmly. She had never lied about the circumstances of Cherry’s birth, and she wasn’t going to start now.
She almost felt the rustle of speculation run round the small, enclosed space, but she refused to give in to the urge to turn her head and see how the other people in the queue behind her had received her information.
‘Aye, well, there’s many a woman who would like to be able to say the same thing,’ Susan Edmonson replied placidly, adding with a wryness that brought several chuckles from the other women waiting to be served, ‘And some days it’s easy to see why.’
Since her own husband was one of the most henpecked m
ales in existence, Kate herself only just managed to stop herself from smiling.
She left the post office, head held high, feeling as though she had just emerged triumphant from an ordeal.
Times had changed, of course. Even up here there were now girls rearing their children alone, but even so, for her parents’ sake if nothing else, she wanted to re-establish herself creditably in the village.
As she turned to close the door behind her, she heard Susan Edmonson murmuring confidingly to her next customer, ‘Clever girl she was, too. A schoolteacher now. Still, these things happen. And what I always say is that it’s the innocent ones that get caught out.’
This latter comment was added in a virtuous tone that made Kate grin a little.
The sun had come out, and she had to shade her eyes from its glare as she made to cross the road and return to the Land Rover. She was thirsty; the heat of the sun was penetrating the sweatshirt she was wearing and making her wish she had put on something cooler. The pub beckoned, but she suspected that up here in the Dales it was still not totally accepted for a young woman to walk into a pub on her own, and so she contented herself by promising herself a glass of her mother’s home-made lemonade once she reached the farm. She herself had remembered the recipe and made the drink for Cherry, but somehow it never tasted quite the same.
Sighing faintly, she stepped out into the road, only to come to an abrupt halt as a Range Rover swept round the corner, surely travelling at a faster speed than was safe. She had a momentary glimpse of the driver: a hawkish male profile, set mouth that looked rather grim, thick, very dark hair, a brown forearm emerging from the stark whiteness of a short-sleeved shirt, and then the world spun dizzyingly out of focus, and she barely registered the dark blue paintwork or the initials of the government body stamped boldly on the Range Rover bodywork in white, because time had spun backwards and she was left feeling as though she had suddenly walked into the past.
That man driving the Range Rover had been so like Silas. An older Silas, of course. A harder Silas. She shivered, reproaching herself for her carelessness in stepping off the pavement and her idiocy in allowing her memories to have such a powerful effect upon her that she was actually seeing Silas in the features of a stranger.
CHAPTER THREE
’ARE you all right?’
The arm that went round to support her made Kate stiffen, the unfamiliar but friendly male voice in her ear making her swivel in shock.
She found herself looking into a pair of friendly blue eyes in a face that was ruggedly attractive rather than handsome.
An untidy mop of brown hair, bleached blond by the sun, added an almost boyish appeal to a man whom she suspected was somewhere around her own age.
He was wearing the Daleman’s uniform of worn tweed jacket, checked shirt, and brogues, although in his case worn jeans had replaced her father’s generation of Dalesmen’s twill trousers.
‘I promise you, I’m quite safe,’ he told her, feeling her tense withdrawal and moving his arm until he was only steadying her.
His fingers felt slightly rough where they touched her wrist. He had reached out instinctively to grab her as she had stepped off the pavement, Kate recognised, and she gave him a faint smile.
‘I don’t bite, kick or stamp!’ he added with a grin. ‘I leave that kind of thing to my patients. I’m with the local veterinary practice,’ he added when she didn’t respond to his joke. ‘Tim Stepping.’
He released her to hold out his hand and shake her own. He had a handshake that was pleasant without being aggressive, and now that her shock was fading, Kate remembered her manners and smiled warmly at him.
It was like watching the sun chase the clouds across the Dales, he thought in bemused appreciation. She was one of the most lovely women he had ever seen: as delicate and fragile-looking as an orchid with her pale skin and lovely colouring, and yet at the same time he sensed a strength about her that intrigued him.
She had the stamp of the Dales on her and yet she was different: more sophisticated, more glossy, with that immaculate haircut, and hands that felt soft and smooth. And yet, for all her sophistication, there was an air of vulnerability about her.
‘Kate Seton,’ Kate responded.
‘Seton?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘Not John Seton’s daughter?’
‘The very same,’ Kate responded lightly, wondering how much gossip he had heard about her.
John Seton’s daughter…Well, that would explain both the sophistication and the vulnerability. He glanced betrayingly over his shoulder, and Kate said drily, ‘My daughter is at the farm.’
His tanned skin flushed slightly, and he apologised. ‘I’m sorry, that was crass of me.’
‘Not at all,’ Kate said brittly.
Suddenly her self-confidence had deserted her, and she knew that it was not because of this pleasant, fair-haired man who was looking at her now like one of her father’s pups when it had been smacked, but because of the dark-haired man driving the Range Rover. How idiotic could she be, reacting like this to the sight of an unknown man? Heavens, she must have seen hundreds of dark-haired men during her years in London, and yet not one of them had affected her like that.
‘I’m coming up to your father’s place later on today. He’s got a ewe he wants me to look at.’
‘My daughter will be pleased,’ Kate told him, trying to make amends. ‘It’s the ambition of her life to become a vet, so I warn you now, she’ll probably pester you to death.’
She made to cross the road, amused and touched by the way that he walked with her, almost as though guarding her.
‘Are you sure you’re OK to drive this thing?’ he asked her, eyeing her tiny frame and the heavy bulk of the Land Rover. ‘That was quite a daydream you must have been in, to step off the pavement like that.’
‘Whoever was driving that Range Rover was driving far too fast,’ Kate defended. Inside, she was holding her breath and deriding herself at the same time. Why not simply ask him if he knew who had been driving it, instead of fishing so stupidly?
‘I didn’t see the driver,’ Tim admitted, ‘but it was one of the vehicles from the government experimental station.’
‘Do you go there much?’ Kate asked him.
He shook his head.
‘No, they have their own resident vets. They’re doing research into animal diseases that sometimes requires them all to go into quarantine—no one allowed in or out—and outsiders aren’t encouraged at any time. Very wise, probably, in view of the potential danger. I suspect they’re trying to find an antidote for rabies, but that’s only my own private feeling. And then, of course, there’s the continued problem of assessing the radiation fall-out from Chernobyl…’
‘All that on one fifteen-hundred-acre estate,’ Kate marvelled sardonically, but Tim shook his head again.
‘Don’t knock it. They’re doing one hell of a valuable job, and unlike some of the big pharmaceutical companies, their research isn’t at the mercy of shareholders and profit margins. Some of the villagers seem to think they’re testing bombs in there, but they couldn’t be more wrong. If only the people in there were allowed to announce it…’
His words gave Kate food for thought. Her father had told her that the establishment of the research station had caused resentment in the village, and despite the value of the work it was engaged on Kate suspected that that resentment would probably only increase if the local farming community suspected the station was engaged in experiments with rabies and other dangerous, contagious diseases.
She arrived back in time to help her mother after lunch, wondering how she could best broach the subject of the man in the Range Rover. To describe him physically to her mother was bound to elicit too much curiosity, and yet when she sketchily drew a verbally toned-down image of him when describing the incident, her mother shook her head and told her, ‘I haven’t met anyone from the station—they don’t mix locally. They even shop outside the area. It must be an odd sort of life, living in a community
and yet separate from it,’ she added musingly.
Of course, there was no earthly chance that the man could have been Silas, but even so it disturbed Kate to know that there was any man in the neighbourhood so powerfully like her memories of him that even thinking about the incident now made her stomach churn. Odd that she could so easily forgive her father, and yet still feel so bitterly resentful of the way Silas had treated her. Perhaps because her father’s betrayal had been born of love and Silas’s of callous indifference.
* * *
After lunch, Cherry insisted on returning to the paddocks with her grandfather, and having assured herself that she was not going to overtire herself Kate allowed her to go, noticing as she did so the healthy glow that being outside had already given Cherry’s skin.
She had brought some work with her—assignments she wanted to prepare for the new school term—and she took her work upstairs to her room so that she could concentrate on it.
Kate loved teaching, which was odd, really, for she had never intended to go into it. Research had been her chosen field—library work; and yet she now acknowledged that, despite its constant heartaches and strains, teaching gave her considerable pleasure. She was lucky in being at a school where the parents were caring and concerned, the children mostly from immigrant families, who were keen to see their offspring succeed in the world, and who saw education as a passport to that success.
Children up here in the Dales came from families with a similar respect for education, although the children often had to travel many miles to get to school. The local village school no longer existed, and if she and Cherry moved…
Her heart thudded uncomfortably. Slow down, Kate cautioned herself…They were here on holiday, that was all. And yet, as she stood up and looked out of her window, she acknowledged that her soul had been starved for the sight of her home. She missed its grandeur and its freedom; London caged and imprisoned her, although she hadn’t realised how much until now. But coming home would mean such an upheaval. She would have to find somewhere to live…