by Anne Weale
They spent most of the journey listening to the first part of an audio travel book read by a well-known actor. It was restful to sit in silence, watching the passing scenery with the actor’s mellifluous voice telling the story of a journey through Asia. It took Fran back to her childhood. Some of her happiest times had been listening to Gran telling true stories about her own childhood.
As they approached the village where Shelley and her family lived, Fran wondered what Reid would make of a lifestyle so remote from his own.
As people, he could hardly fail to like John and her sister, although he might not think much of their domestic arrangements, especially having two small children underfoot all the time. But the visit would be a preparation for the meeting with Gran.
Fran was uneasy about that. Gran was shrewd. To use one of her own favourite phrases, she might smell a rat. If she did, she wouldn’t be discreet. She’d voice her suspicions, loud and clear. Fran had lost count of the times she had heard her grandmother say, ‘If there’s one thing I can’t abide it’s folk being underhanded.’
‘Shall we leave the car at the pub and walk to your sister’s place?’ Reid suggested, as they entered the village.
‘Good idea.’ She wondered if he had suggested it as a tactful way of not turning up in a luxurious car far beyond her brother-in-law’s means.
Being unable to put them up, Shelley had booked two rooms, which Fran would pay for, at The Plough, a public house that did bed and breakfast. It remained to be seen whether the accommodation would be of a standard Reid found acceptable. But it was only for one night.
The Plough had a garden at the back which ran down to a stream. The car park was at the side. Reid parked next to a tractor, whose driver must be having a beer on his way home, and a van with lengths of piping sticking out of the back door.
Taking their overnight cases from the back seat, he followed Fran into the pub which had a lounge bar on one side of the hall and a snug on the other. As they entered, the landlord’s wife was coming from the rear of the premises with a tray of home-made sausage rolls.
She knew Fran by sight. ‘Shan’t keep you two ticks, Miss Turner. Good evening, sir.’
Seconds later she bustled back. ‘I’m afraid my two best rooms had already been booked by two of my regulars when your sister rang up. I’ve had to put you in the attics. But I think you’ll be comfortable, just for the one night.’
She led the way up the stairs, chatting over her shoulder about the more spring-like weather.
The doors of the rooms at the top of the house stood open, showing sloping ceilings, small dormer windows and fresh-looking flowery wallpaper.
‘They’ve both got their own basins. The bath and toilet are in here.’ She opened the door of a smaller room lit by a skylight. ‘I’d suggest you have the double-bedded room, sir...being so tall. It’s a nice big old-fashioned bed, more roomy for someone with long legs. I’ll leave you to settle in.’
Leaving his case on the landing, Reid put Fran’s on one of the twin beds and went to the window to look out. ‘There are chickens in the orchard across the stream. Perhaps we’ll get real eggs for breakfast.’
‘Probably.’ Fran opened her case and began to unpack the few things it contained.
Although they had separate rooms, there was something peculiarly intimate about being the only people sleeping on this floor and sharing the bathroom. She wondered if, later, Reid would try to persuade her to share the big double bed.
He turned round and came to stand beside her. ‘You’re a very neat packer.’
‘Is that a surprise?’ she asked.
‘No...but you can’t always tell. Some apparently organised people prove to be anything but when you get to know them. I would find it hard to live with someone who was chronically untidy.’
‘Someone obsessively orderly might be equally irritat—’ She broke off as he turned her towards him and took her face between his hands.
‘Just to remind you that we are engaged...’ He kissed her lightly on the lips.
Then he let her go and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Her knees suddenly wobbly, Fran sat down on the bed. She found herself wishing this was a pub somewhere in Wales or Scotland and they were on their honeymoon, all the formalities over, the knot tied and only the final hurdle of their wedding night still to come. In which case, of course, they would be in the room with the big double bed and he would carry on kissing her.
Thoughts of where this might lead made her close her eyes and lie back, overwhelmed by a powerful longing to rid herself of the gift she had been reserving for Julian but which he hadn’t wanted.
As she lay there, imagining herself being made love to by someone she scarcely knew, there was a light tap on the door and, before she could disengage her imagination and switch back to reality, it opened and Reid walked in.
‘Are you tired?’ he asked.
‘No...’ Fran hoisted herself into a sitting position. ‘I was just trying out the mattress. I like a fairly hard one.’
‘I see.’ His expression suggested that he recognised an improvisation when he heard one. ‘I thought I’d have a quick shower. I came in to ask if you’d like to use the bathroom before I go in there.’
‘No, thanks.’
‘I shan’t be long.’ He withdrew.
It had been considerate of him to ask, she thought. But she wished he hadn’t come in and found her lying down. He might guess it had something to do with his kiss and be amused.
By the time she heard Reid leaving the bathroom, she had organised her belongings. As it would be a few more minutes before he was dressed and ready to go, she decided to brush her teeth.
He had left the bathroom immaculate, the dampness of the shower curtain the only clue that someone had used it recently. There was no condensation on the tiles or the mirror so he must have had a cold shower. She hoped that had been from choice, not necessity. But a test showed there was no shortage of hot water.
Fran left her door open when she returned to her room and when Reid emerged from his she was ready to leave. They had both changed their shirts. Reid’s hair was still slightly damp, the way it had been the day she lunched with him.
It wasn’t far to the cottage. When Fran knocked on the front door, there was a pause before it was opened by a small boy who would have had to stand on tiptoe and stretch to reach the old-fashioned latch. He was wearing a clean yellow tee shirt but nothing else.
‘Mummy’s busy,’ he announced, before shouting over his shoulder, ‘It’s Franny and the man, Mummy.’
Fran swung him up in her arms and kissed her nephew’s peachy cheek. He had obviously just had a bath and was in the process of dressing himself while her sister attended to his sister.
‘This is Sam... and this is Mr Kennard.’
‘Hello, Sam.’ What Reid thought of being greeted by a half-naked child was impossible to guess. In his world, no doubt, children of this age were always immaculately turned out by a Norland-trained nanny.
‘Hello.’ Sam wasn’t shy. He looped an arm round his aunt’s neck and gave her companion a considering look before launching a conversation with, ‘My sister’s having her bath. It’s been a helluva day. One damn thing after another and dinner is going to be a total disaster.’
Fran clamped her back teeth together to stop herself laughing. She could see Reid was doing the same.
‘I’m sure it won’t be. Your mummy’s a wonderful cook.’ She set him back on his feet. ‘You finish getting dressed. I’ll show Mr Kennard round till Mummy’s ready.’
‘OK.’ He ran off, flashing his little bare bottom, a sight which made Fran feel broody every time she saw it.
But Reid might not share her feelings. Brought up in a part of the house separate from his parents’ quarters, probably sent off to an exclusive preparatory school when he was still in short trousers, he might think the casual way Shelley’s children were being raised was slovenly, not to say slumm
y. But at least he had been amused by Sam parroting Shelley’s moan to John.
John, when they came upon him in a corner of the nursery garden, looked as if it had been a ‘helluva’ day for him too. Fran had never seen him looking so worn, or so sweaty and dirty. But he managed to put on a smile and an affable manner when she introduced his future brother-in-law.
‘If you’ve had a long drive, you’ll be ready for a drink,’ he said. ‘Fran, you know where the booze is. Fix Reid and yourself a reviver. I’ll join you as soon as I’ve finished packing this order.’
‘Don’t they have any help?’ Reid asked, after they were out of earshot.
‘Not full time. It’s a hard life, but a very satisfying one...more than a lot of people can say about their jobs.’
‘That’s true.’ Something in his tone made her glance questioningly at him, but as usual his expression was hard to read. Perhaps she had only imagined a note of...what? She couldn’t identify what she thought she had heard.
Built on to the back of the cottage was a sizeable conservatory which was the family’s main living room.
‘What would you like to drink?’ she asked.
‘A beer would be good.’
‘Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.’
If he didn’t like the litter of toys and the general untidiness, that was just too bad, was her thought. This was the way it was for young couples bringing up tinies on a tight budget and running a business that forced Shelley to combine mothering with helping John run the plant nursery. It would do Reid good to see how the other half lived.
It wasn’t late when they walked back to The Plough. Fran wondered what Reid had thought of the evening. He had appeared to enjoy it, but his impeccable manners would have made him pretend to even if he hadn’t. She was even more curious to know what her sister had thought of him, but would have to wait till tomorrow to find that out.
‘John will sleep soundly tonight,’ Reid said, as they strolled past the moonlit churchyard, some of its most ancient gravestones leaning at tipsy angles.
‘He was having a problem staying awake, wasn’t he? He gets up at five, except on Sundays. His idea of a lie-in is staying in bed until seven. It’s not as bad now that the children sleep through the night. It was murder when they were teething. Shelley is praying the new baby will be a dormouse.’
‘Why don’t they put them to bed early and have some time to themselves?’ Reid asked. ‘It’s not as if John is away from home all day like most fathers.’
Fran had often thought the same thing and Gran, who held strong views on the modern way of rearing children, had often lectured Shelley about making a rod for her own back by letting the children stay up until they felt sleepy.
‘I don’t know. I haven’t asked. I don’t like being told what to do and I don’t suppose Shelley does either. I think she manages brilliantly. Far from being a disaster, the lasagne was delicious. Considering how hard up they are, it’s amazing how well she dresses herself and Sam and Emma.’
Because her sister had always discouraged too much help from her family, virtually everything they wore came from charity shops, but Reid wasn’t to know that. In his milieu, people supplied the charity shops. They didn’t buy from them. Perhaps someone a bit eccentric like Mrs Heatherley might buy something from them occasionally, but Lady Kennard and Mrs Onslow wouldn’t be seen dead in other people’s discards.
‘Yes, your sister’s the best asset John could have,’ Reid agreed. ‘But on nights when he’s not as bushed as he was this evening, I’m sure he’d enjoy exclusive rights to her company. I know I shall when we get to that stage.’
For reasons she hadn’t yet analysed, the evening had been a stressful one—and the stress wasn’t over yet. There was still a pass to be dealt with... if an attempt by a man to coax his soon-to-be wife to spend the night in his bed could be fairly described as a pass.
A lot of men—and an equal number of women—would regard sleeping together, this close to the wedding, as par for the course. She would herself...if he loved her, if this were a normal engagement. But he didn’t, it wasn’t and she was torn between curiosity and reluctance; an uncomfortable state of mind which made her sound more belligerent than she intended to be.
‘If you think I’m going to hand my babies over to a nanny, think again.’
‘I wouldn’t suggest that you hand our offspring over to anyone,’ Reid said calmly. ‘But if families can afford it, and if the husband’s job involves a good deal of travelling, it makes more sense to have a properly trained nanny than a series of untrained au pair girls. It’s also a big advantage to have someone really reliable, whom the children know and like, to baby-sit, rather than being dependent on local teenagers as John and Shelley are...or will be when the business leaves them more time and energy for going out together.’
‘I don’t think either of them miss a rich full social life. They had it when they were single and now they’ve moved on to other pleasures. Is your social life very important to you?’
‘If you mean the London and New York dinner party circuits—no. Seeing my close friends and making new contacts with people who share my interests—yes. When people marry or even move in together, it’s a radical change of lifestyle...can’t be otherwise. They have to make major adjustments...sometimes giving up some previous friendships or interests. Whatever happens they need to spend quality time together. That’s not easy to do with children demanding their attention.’
‘Well, I’m sorry if having Sam and Emma around was a pain as far as you were concerned. It wasn’t for the rest of us.’ She quickened her pace, knowing she was very close to picking a quarrel but unable to stop herself.
‘I didn’t say that, or mean it.’ Reid’s tone was mild but held a hint of impatience.
In fact, as she had to acknowledge, he had been very sweet with both children. When Emma had crawled over to him and hauled herself upright by grasping handfuls of trouser leg in podgy and possibly sticky little fists, he had picked her up and set her astride one long thigh. He hadn’t gone as far as to pull silly faces or make baby-speak noises. But he’d let her play with his fingers while holding her firmly in place with his other hand, the sinewy strength of it emphasised by her smallness.
At the time Fran had thought it odd that Reid’s hands actually looked stronger than her brother-in-law’s, although John did heavy outdoor work and Reid’s most strenuous activities appeared to be occasional stints of skiing and windsurfing.
They walked in silence for the rest of the way. In times gone by, when the village houses were lit by oil lamps and candles, most of their inhabitants would have been asleep at this hour. Now nearly all the downstairs windows showed that people were watching TV. A lot of the upstairs windows were also alight as the young of the village watched their own favourite programmes, or played computer games.
Near the pub, a group of late-teens youths and girls were chatting and horsing around. They looked curiously at the strangers. Fran half expected some cheeky remarks to be passed. But perhaps Reid gave the impression that, unlike many people nowadays, he wouldn’t tolerate insolence.
The pub was still serving customers. ‘Another drink?’ he suggested.
‘Not for me, but don’t let that stop you. I think I’ll have a bath.’
‘Have you something to read in bed?’
‘Yes, thanks. Goodnight, Reid.’ While there was friction between them, lifting her cheek seemed out of order. Instead she held out her hand, although that seemed unnaturally formal.
‘Goodnight, Francesca.’ He lifted her hand to brush his lips against the side of her wrist.
For a moment she was tempted to apologise for her crossness, but thought better of it. As things stood he wasn’t likely to try his luck later, after she’d had her bath.
She turned and went up the stairs.
Reid went into the lounge, asked for a double whisky with soda and took it to a corner table.
It had been an interesting eveni
ng. He liked Fran’s sister and was impressed by her husband, but he thought both children should have been tucked up in bed before supper started. Although the lasagne had been tasty, the vegetables fresh from the garden and the supermarket plonk perfectly drinkable, the meal hadn’t been a relaxed one.
He and John hadn’t had any problems getting along. But both girls had been on edge. Probably Shelley had been tense because she didn’t entertain often enough to be laid-back about it. She had a lot on her plate: what could be a full-time job helping her husband, two energetic tots to cope with and another baby due in a couple of months.
The reason for Fran being strung up was harder to judge. She had kept her tension under control at the cottage, letting some of it out while they were walking back. Spoiling for fight was the phrase that sprang to mind. The antithesis of the urge he was having trouble with.
He sipped his whisky and thought of her lying in the bath, the warm water calming her nerves and sensitising the beautiful creamy skin that went with her fiery hair and emerald-bright eyes. He remembered the lovely shape of her bare back, seen in London the previous afternoon. If the rest of her body was like that...
Fran was standing up in the bath, drying her upper half while the water gurgled down the waste pipe.
The round of pre-nuptial visits was nearly over, thank God. It couldn’t ever be easy even in conventional circumstances. One heard and read about in-laws who hated each other on sight. Apart from Mrs Heatherley and her mother, who had horticulture in common, that was likely to be the case with Reid’s family and hers.
Careful to leave the bathroom as immaculate as Reid had, she wrapped the damp towel round her sarong-fashion and unlocked the door.
As she stepped onto the landing, lit by a rose-shaded wall lamp, Reid’s dark head and broad shoulders appeared on the last but one flight.