Tall Poppies

by Janet Woods

  ‘I imagine he’s just putting his scent around his new home. I daresay . . . Connie will give you the scraps for them, so they won’t cost anything to feed.’

  Beamish had a box in his arms. ‘What’s in the box? Not more animals, surely,’ Livia asked.

  ‘Christmas decorations,’ Beamish said. ‘I’ll hang the garlands up, and the children can put the toy soldiers and baubles on the tree. That will make it look more like Christmas.’

  ‘Come on, Bertie,’ Chad said. ‘I’ll show you where we sleep.’

  It was time to put her foot down. ‘He’ll sleep in the kitchen.’

  Beamish placed the box on the settee. ‘There’s a basket for him in the car. Come on, Chad, we’ll go and find it.’

  ‘Would you mind moving that trunk in the hall, Mr Beamish? It needs to go upstairs on the landing, under the window will do.’

  Esmé went with them. ‘I’ll show you where.’

  Richard smiled warmly at her. ‘You’re not angry about the cat and dog, are you?’

  Her cheeks began to glow. This man could charm the birds from their nests if he put his mind to it. ‘Of course not, they’ve never had an animal to look after, so it will be good for them. It’s going to be the best Christmas ever, now we’re together again. I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘I’ll think of some way . . . I know. The next time I visit I’ll bring . . . some mistletoe.’

  He laughed when she blushed. ‘Why, Miss Livia Carr, I do believe you’ve never . . . been kissed . . . before.’

  Immediately, her thoughts went to Denton Elliot and the kiss on the train. A lot Richard Sangster knew! Trying to hide her grin, she said with mock severity, ‘Don’t get too personal. I’ll go and make the tea.’

  ‘Wait . . . this is for you.’ He took a small carriage clock from his pocket and handed it to her.

  Tears came to her eyes when she saw the pink enamelled face and the little monkeys clinging to the hands. ‘This belonged to your mother.’

  ‘Yes . . . I bought it for her birthday, just before I went away to war. It’s a little too feminine for my taste, and I thought you might like to have it . . . a Christmas gift. It might amuse the children as well as tell you the time.’

  ‘Yes . . . I would like to have it, and I’ll treasure it as much as she did.’

  Mrs Sangster had counted the minutes until her son had come home. Now, Livia would look at that same clock and count them until he left again – this time for good. It was too sad to contemplate.

  ‘Richard . . . I’m so sorry. Your mother was so looking forward to your return. I’m glad she didn’t . . .’

  ‘No tears, Livia, what’s done is done. It was dashed bad luck copping this, and just when the war was almost over, that’s all . . . Oh, damn convention to hell! I’ll kiss you without mistletoe, if you’d allow me to. Or you can kiss me.’

  When she stooped to kiss his forehead she found her face cupped in his trembling hands and drawn down to his. She didn’t resist when his mouth touched against hers and lingered there for a few tender moments. When he drew away, his eyes gazed into hers, intensely blue. There had been a world of longing in that kiss, and she’d enjoyed it. But she could feel the need in him to survive, and there was an incredible sadness inside her because they both knew he wouldn’t.

  She set the little clock on the mantelpiece, keeping her back to him in case he saw the tears in her eyes. ‘I don’t think it would be a good idea to do that too often, do you?’

  ‘Probably not. I’ve made you cry, haven’t I? Was the kiss that bad? I’m out of practice.’

  ‘It was the best of kisses.’

  ‘Then stop snuffling. How many times have you been kissed before?’

  ‘Once.’

  He chuckled. ‘So you’re experienced. First kisses are an agony, aren’t they? You never quite know if you’re going about it right. Tell me about it?’

  ‘It was a stranger on a train, a soldier leaving for the front . . . it was very innocent and sweet. He just needed to kiss somebody goodbye, and I was handy.’

  Wild horses wouldn’t allow her to tell him it had been his friend, Denton Elliot . . . that he’d taken her by surprise and she knew now that she’d have welcomed a longer, less innocent kiss.

  His father had told her that Denton had got his discharge and was doing his formal surgery training in a London hospital under a distinguished surgeon. He’d probably forgotten the girl on the train by now, and she wondered if he’d be home for Christmas.

  ‘That soldier probably kept that kiss with him, and it gave him a reason to keep going.’

  His speech had barely faltered once, and she encouraged him with, ‘Why?’

  ‘People who are stressed cling to symbols and luck. They p . . . provide hope when there is little left to hope for. Even if you never meet that soldier again, that kiss on the train will always be in your memory. You’ll remember him at odd times, and without even trying, and wonder what happened to him. He’ll do the same with you.’

  Livia knew what had happened. Denton had survived and she was glad of it.

  Hearing the kettle lid begin to rattle furiously, she drew in a breath to banish her tears before she turned. ‘Would it embarrass you if I said you have a rather romantic nature for a man?’

  ‘Yes . . . I imagine it would.’

  She smiled widely. ‘You have a rather romantic nature for a man, Richard Sangster.’

  He chuckled. ‘I fell into that one, didn’t I? Go and make the tea . . . and if you happen to have any of c . . . cook’s gingerbread, a large s . . . slice.’

  Seven

  Christmas came. The day was cold with an occasional flake of snow in the air.

  ‘It won’t come to much,’ Matthew Bugg said, gazing up at the sky with a knowledgeable eye.

  Now the war was over, the church was full of people giving thanks. The family and staff attended as one body. The Sangsters sat in the front pew, their staff behind.

  Major Henry, Captain Sangster and Sergeant Beamish all wore uniform, as was their right, since, officially, none of them had yet been discharged.

  Richard leaned heavily on Beamish’s arm and was helped to his seat. He didn’t seem to notice the averted eyes, or the curiosity in the various glances that did go his way. He smiled pleasantly at those who knew and greeted him.

  Towards the end of the service Livia saw signs of tension in Richard’s face, and he began to tremble. Beamish leaned forward and whispered something in Major Henry’s ear. As soon as the Amen was said, Beamish carried Richard out to the car, and they drove away.

  ‘The car is coming back, isn’t it, Henry?’ Rosemary asked, her displeasure at the thought that it might not written plainly on her face.

  ‘As soon as Beamish gets Richard settled down to rest, m’ dear. In the meantime we can walk. It’s not far.’

  ‘It’s two miles and I’m wearing court shoes. Everywhere is so far from everywhere else in this Godforsaken hole. When are we going back to London? We’re missing all the parties and celebrations.’

  She sounded so peevish that Henry turned a frown in her direction. ‘My son has just returned home. He’s ill. Celebrating in such circumstances is unseemly.’

  ‘So is wallowing in self-pity over him, since it won’t change anything.’

  Livia had never met anyone with less sympathy for her fellow human beings than the new Mrs Sangster.

  ‘Can’t we have a New Year’s party . . . do something to liven the place up?’

  ‘Enough, Rosemary. Allow me to enjoy the season in the company of my son,’ he said wearily, and began to walk away, leaving her to follow.

  For a moment she hesitated, then she followed after him. Her arm slid through his. ‘Don’t be cross, Henry. I was only suggesting we could invite a few people to dinner.’

  ‘I know what you were suggesting.’

  ‘Anyone would think you were ashamed of me.’

  ‘Oh . . . for God’s sake,’ he said, under his b
reath, and gave her a measured look, as though he was considering it.

  ‘I miss the theatre so. I wanted to attend Lionel Crawley’s New Year party. He promised I could sing to his guests; they will all be from the theatre, and he’s casting for a new show. It’s an audition, of sorts, really. I won’t get a chance like this again . . . a talent scout from an American film studio will be there. Imagine that. I might be discovered!’

  ‘Then by all means don’t miss the opportunity to be discovered. You don’t need me along to hold your hand.’

  ‘You won’t mind if I go to London by myself then?’

  ‘Not in the least . . . in fact, I’ll ask Beamish to run you up in the car.’

  The look she gave him was arch. ‘The least you could do is to pretend you’ll miss me, darling.’

  ‘Why pretend anything?’ he said shortly. ‘Go if you want to. Now, can we please change the subject?’

  Livia exchanged a glance with Connie. It sounded as though the major couldn’t wait to be rid of his new wife.

  It was half an hour before the car returned.

  ‘Is Richard all right?’ the major immediately asked Beamish.

  ‘He had a disturbed night and he’s tired, Sir. He’ll soon pick up after a sleep. Matthew Bugg is keeping an eye on him till I get back.’

  They piled into the car. Rosemary’s perfect oval face was expertly made up and framed by grey fur. She gazed out of the window, giving the occasional sigh, like a misunderstood and martyred wife.

  Her husband, grey-haired and handsome, was behind the wheel. Outwardly, they were a perfect couple, except Rosemary was a lot younger. Yet it seemed that now she’d got what she wanted, she was still dissatisfied . . . while marriage had not curbed the major’s roving eye.

  Beamish gave Florence a smile as he seated himself next to her, and she blushed. The children leaned against Livia. They were still clingy, but there was a sense of excitement about them because it was Christmas.

  Their little Christmas tree was nothing when compared to the splendour of the one at Foxglove House. It stood in the corner of the drawing room, frosted with cotton-wool snow, glass icicles and tinsel. The light caught the baubles as they twisted and turned, sending out dazzling gleams. Gifts were stacked underneath.

  Connie disappeared into the kitchen with Florence. Soon delicious smells began to waft through the house. Livia set the table, with holly arranged down the centre. If she’d expected any help from Rosemary she was disappointed; the lady of the house arranged herself in a chair by the fire and sipped sherry.

  Richard came down in time for dinner. The major carved the turkey and made a toast to his son, then they tucked in. Afterwards, the gifts were opened.

  The children were almost overwhelmed by receiving so many gaily-wrapped parcels: there were knitted jumpers from Florence, socks and scarves, jigsaw puzzles and a toy aeroplane.

  Richard had bought Chad a bicycle.

  ‘How absolutely spiffing, I can’t wait to ride it,’ Chad exclaimed, giving Richard a look brimming over with hero worship.

  ‘You can have a quick dash around the hall on it,’ Richard told him. ‘I’ll come out and watch in a minute. Everyone is welcome to attend the event.’

  Everyone except Rosemary Sangster joined in the fun as Chad wobbled around the hall, a self-conscious grin on his face.

  Esmé received a doll’s pram. Its superior-looking occupant had blue eyes, dark fluttering eyelashes and real hair.

  It struck Livia that the pair were open to influences beyond her control when Esmé exclaimed, her voice a childish gush, ‘She’s so sweet . . . thank you so very much.’

  They gathered round the piano to sing Christmas carols, and Rosemary Sangster suddenly came to life, her voice putting them all to shame. As a result, the voices of the others faded away. She gazed around at everyone with an entirely self-satisfied look on her face when they applauded, then said, ‘Goodnight,’ and left the room.

  It was a blatant signal to everyone who had a home to go to, and there was a scramble to find coats, hats and scarves.

  ‘Can I ride home, Livia?’

  ‘Not in the dark, Chad, the bicycle can go on the back of the car. Mr Beamish will take us.’

  ‘Are these things ours to keep?’ Esmé whispered.

  ‘Yes, and I’ll expect you to write thank you letters to everyone. Place all your gifts in the pram, and we’ll put it in the car.’

  When they arrived at the cottage, Bertie set up a racket and leapt all over them. The kitten mewed pathetically when Esmé picked him up and made a fuss of him. There was a sense of homecoming.

  Beamish stayed for a cup of tea after the children went to bed. They sat in the kitchen where it was warm. ‘I enjoyed today,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, so did I. I was worried about Richard in church, though. He’s not as strong as he’d like us to think.’

  ‘The captain has these turns. Sometimes he’ll go for days, then he thinks he’s getting stronger and overdoes things.’

  ‘Is Chad being a nuisance?’

  ‘Chad’s good for him. He has a child’s honesty and Richard tells him little things about the war. It’s good that he can talk of it.’

  ‘Richard is a hero to Chad.’

  ‘Make no mistake; the captain is a hero, Miss Carr. Ask any of the men who fought with him. He kept going, though his condition was threatening to let him down. He brought many of his men through and they looked up to him.’

  ‘Including you.’

  He nodded. ‘Things could have been different for him if he’d sought medical help earlier. As it turned out he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  ‘And you were there for him. I’m sorry your wife didn’t make it through the flu outbreak. That must have been hard to come home to.’

  He nodded. ‘Doreen was a nice woman, ordinary and goodhearted . . . but life goes on and we cope as best we can. We didn’t have any children.’ He smiled. ‘I haven’t got a great deal, just a small flat over an ironmonger’s shop in Parkstone, but it’s more than many have got. There’s enough profit in the shop for a couple, and my father runs it. After my job finishes . . . well, perhaps I can start over.’

  There was a small charged silence. ‘And then?’

  He shrugged. ‘Expand. Repair bicycles, install a petrol pump for motorists, and perhaps buy a charabanc and take people on day trips to the seaside. I hope I’ll find a nice woman and we’ll make a life together. I’d like a family. What about you, Miss Carr? What are your plans for the future?’

  ‘More of the same, I suppose. The late Mrs Sangster made generous arrangements for me through the Sinclair trust, and Major Henry and Richard endorsed it. They have been kind towards me and I’m grateful to them. I’ll work at the house and live in the cottage with my sister and brother until Chad has finished his education.’

  ‘You don’t want to get married yourself?’

  ‘Who would want me with two children to support?’

  ‘You’d be surprised, a lovely young woman like you.’ He stood, shuffling his feet. ‘Would you do me a favour?’

  ‘As long as you’re not going to propose marriage to me.’

  For a moment he looked startled, then he laughed. ‘I can see the notion has no appeal. Well I don’t blame you since I’m no oil painting.’

  ‘Actually you have a nice face, Mr Beamish. You look dependable and trustworthy. We never see ourselves as others do.’

  ‘That’s true.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I wondered if you’d find out what Florence thinks of me.’

  ‘Do you need to ask when she blushes every time you go near her?’

  ‘I don’t want to make a fool of myself.’

  ‘There are worse things than making a fool of yourself, Mr Beamish. If you want Florence, be positive. She’s straightforward and will appreciate knowing where she stands. You’d better not leave matters for too long, though. I have a notion that Matthew Bugg has his eye on her,’ she lied, in a moment of misch
ief.

  ‘The devil, he has!’

  Livia grinned to herself after he left. She washed the cups, turned down the light and went to check on the children. There was a suspicious bulge under Chad’s eiderdown. Peeling back the corner revealed a wagging tail. ‘All right, just this once, seeing that it’s Christmas.’

  Esmé coughed in her sleep. Holding the candle high, Livia gazed down at her. Esmé’s cheeks were flushed, and she tired easily. She laid the back of her hand against her sister’s cheek and found it was slightly moist with perspiration. Her new doll occupied the chair and Whiskers was asleep in the pram. He opened one eye, looked at her then shut it again.

  Livia stooped to kiss Esmé’s cheek, reminding herself she should get the children checked over by Dr Elliot. She would ask him the next time he came to see Richard.

  The atmosphere lightened a little when Rosemary Sangster left for London.

  When the major wasn’t with Richard he wandered around aimlessly, getting underfoot and putting the routine of the house out.

  Connie scoffed, ‘He never did know what to do with himself here. It’s not as if Major Henry was born to be a country gentleman, and he’s not really needed here. He likes the high life, and the attention of women. I reckon he should have gone back to London with her. At least they have that sort of thing in common. And he has his club to go to.’

  After lunch the major decided to walk over to see the reverend. ‘Wish him a happy new year . . . it’s the done thing, you know.’

  ‘Don’t forget to wear your scarf, Major. It’s cold outside.’

  ‘I will. Where are the children?’

  ‘In my sitting room.’

  ‘I thought I might take them with me for a walk. They must get bored.’

  It was a kind thought. ‘Chad might like to go; he’s got his new bicycle with him and is dying to show off on it to someone. I don’t want Esmé to go out, though, she’s got a cold coming on, I think. I’m going to ask Doctor Elliot to take a look at her the next time he calls. I’ll ask Chad if he’d like to keep you company, shall I?’

  ‘Do.’ His face crinkled into a roguish smile. ‘Tell Chad he’ll be doing me a favour. He’ll provide me with an excuse to leave when the man gets boring. Besides, the reverend is going to teach the boy Latin, so Chad will have the chance to look him over. We might go to the stables afterwards and inspect the horses.’