Tall Poppies

by Janet Woods

  ‘They’re quite noisy humbugs.’

  They grinned at each other.

  ‘Have you had the car long?’ she asked.

  ‘I had it on order before the war started, and I took delivery of it just before I joined up. It cost me sixty-three pounds, and my father found room for it in his garage for the duration.’

  ‘So it’s practically new.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was it bad? The war, I mean.’

  ‘It wasn’t too bad for me. I was in a field hospital, and though I saw the result of the conflict, I wasn’t really in the thick of the fighting and was able to detach myself from it a little. I wouldn’t have been able to do my job otherwise. As it was, I learned my practical surgery the hard way, taking a hands-on approach.’

  After a reflective silence, he said, ‘You saw what Richard was like when he arrived home, though at least his condition was stable. My father is pleased by his progress.’

  ‘Is there any chance that—’

  ‘None whatsoever, I’m afraid. A cold winter could finish it for him. But I shouldn’t be discussing Richard’s condition with you, especially since he’s my father’s patient.’

  ‘Sorry . . . I like him . . . a lot. He treats me as though I’m a friend, rather than an employee.’ She shrugged. ‘I worry about him.’

  His hand covered hers for a moment or two and he said evenly, ‘I’m sure he considers you to be a friend, but he wouldn’t want you to worry about him. The best that can be done for Richard is to keep him warm and happy, and allow him to live as normal a life as his condition will allow.’

  Then she could never confide in him about his father’s attack on her. Not that she wanted to, of course. It would be too embarrassing.

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘With you and Beamish looking after him I see no problem about that. I just don’t want you to have any false hope.’

  ‘I’m worried. I will need to take time off to look after Esmé if she’s ill. I don’t know how I will manage.’

  ‘Richard and my father will sort something out between them.’ His profile set into a firm line. ‘Let’s not talk about the war or illness. I like to think there’s a better future ahead of us.’

  ‘May I just say that I’m glad you came home in one piece.’

  ‘I’ll let you into a little secret . . . so am I. Luckily I had my pheasant’s feather to protect me, and the thought of a lovely young lady waiting for me at home. I never forgot you, you know.’

  ‘Now who’s having delusions, Denton Elliot. That pheasant’s feather had nothing to do with it . . . and I wasn’t waiting for you to come home.’

  ‘My father said you asked after me often.’

  ‘Once or twice, actually. I was being polite, that’s all.’ She slanted a look in his direction. ‘Did you really think of me? You looked so important standing there on the station, talking to that officer. As soon as you turned your back I imagined you’d never think of me again.’

  ‘Then you’d be wrong, Livia, since I thought of you every day. Having a girl to come home to gives a man something to look forward to.’

  ‘I would imagine you looked forward to coming home to any number of young women.’

  A smile played around his mouth, and she suddenly remembered the kiss he’d given her – such a fleeting touch, like a butterfly alighting. How tender it had been. He was a tall man, decisive in his ways and sure of himself. A void opened inside her as her heart seemed to slow down, then it gave a thud. She blushed. ‘You’re still a flirt. Stop it at once.’

  He seemed not to hear her. ‘I can remember what you were wearing the day we met . . . a suit as grey as the day itself, and a hat that looked like an upside-down bucket.’

  ‘A bucket!’

  ‘Well . . . a flower pot then, complete with drooping pheasant feathers.’

  ‘The day was cold, but lovely, and my hat had a turned-up brim. It was you who broke the feather and made it droop.’

  ‘Like I said in the first place; a bucket.’ He chuckled. ‘You also had a hole in the sole of your boot.’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘I noticed it when you fell backwards on to the seat with my kit bag on top of you. It’s not often I get to literally bowl a girl over the first moment we meet.’

  She began to laugh. ‘You noticed too much. A gentleman wouldn’t have pointed that out.’

  ‘It’s your turn now. What did you notice about me?’

  ‘That you were the only other person in the carriage.’

  ‘Ouch . . . can’t you do better than that?’

  ‘I suppose I could. Let me see . . . you were in uniform and your eyes were sort of devil-may-care, and were the greenish-brown colour of pine trees.’

  He flapped his eyelashes at her. ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘There was a moment, just a small one it was, when I mentioned that Richard was in France. The laughter in your eyes was replaced by intense sadness. It was a poignant moment, one that said you cared, and for that alone, I’ll never forget you.’

  ‘My dear, Livia, you are almost reducing me to tears. Of course I cared. The trick is learning not to care too much, lest you end up like Richard. He always took things to heart.’

  ‘You know, you’re very much like your father, Denton.’

  ‘Really . . . in what way?’

  ‘You tease a lot, but underneath is a confidence that’s disconcerting. You’re aware of who you are, what you are and where you’re going. Your own sensitivity is tempered by good sense.’

  ‘Then perhaps this is a good time to ask. Would you wait for me?’

  She hadn’t expected that, and fell silent. It was not possible now, and she couldn’t tell him why . . . that she was no longer worthy of him – of any decent man.

  ‘I . . . I really don’t know what to say, except I feel . . . ‘How did she feel? Different to what she felt for Richard. She was attracted to Denton in a less protective manner, and totally aware of him as a man despite her negative experience. Her reactions towards him were so positive she almost felt like part of him.

  ‘It’s too soon, huh?’

  She grabbed at the straw he offered. ‘There’s that . . . Also, I have the children to consider, especially Esmé.’

  ‘If my father proves to be right – and he’s an excellent diagnostician – Esmé is suffering from bronchial pneumonia, which has been left untreated. As a result, she’s now prone to a cough that’s become a habit. She might well grow out of it.’

  ‘I do hope so.’

  ‘Then will you at least think about me now and again. In another year I hope to be working locally, and I’ll be back again in about six months.’

  She nodded. ‘I’ll probably think of you a lot more than now and again.’

  ‘Thank you for that. If I wasn’t driving, I’d kiss you.’

  ‘Kissing is rude,’ Esmé observed from behind them.

  ‘Only if somebody doesn’t want to be kissed . . . and I’m sure your sister does . . . don’t you, Livia?’

  She felt the colour seep under her skin. ‘I’m disinclined to answer that question.’ Of course she wanted to be kissed. The awareness pulsed back and forth between them like a spark of lightning, and he knew it.

  ‘Mrs Starling said kisses have got germs hiding in them,’ Esmé persisted.

  ‘Not mine. I’m a doctor, and I haven’t got any germs. Besides, I’ve just eaten a humbug.’

  Chad began to laugh. ‘That’s bum hug backwards.’

  Esmé giggled.

  ‘Ah . . . the minds of juvenile males,’ Denton said. ‘Actually, humbug backwards isn’t bum hug, it’s gubmuh, which sounds rather oriental and grand. Using your cruder method of translation, Chad, it would come out as bug hum.’

  Livia snorted. ‘Actually, it’s muh gub backwards. Can we put an end to this ridiculous conversation?’

  With great seriousness, Esmé said, ‘I know the name of a hum that bugs. It’s called a bumble b
ee.’

  Livia and Denton shared a glance and dissolved into laughter.

  Beamish made himself scarce when the major arrived.

  ‘Hello, son.’ Richard’s father went to stand at the window, hands in pockets and jiggling on his heels. He was a handsome man settled into late middle age. He observed rather vaguely, ‘A nice day, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it, Father?’

  With a sudden shock, Richard recognized that he didn’t really know this man who was his father. He’d gone to boarding school at an early age, and spent most of the holidays with his mother, here at Foxglove House. Then it had been a law degree, something he’d earned comfortably, though never practised before the war had claimed his attention.

  He’d always regarded and respected his father from afar. The major had never been the sort of man Richard could get close to because he’d been his mother’s son more than his father’s. He realized now that the pair had been estranged long before his mother’s accident.

  His father turned. ‘No, I don’t suppose it is a nice day, really. Rosemary rang to tell me she’s going off to America with some film chappie. I should never have married her. It will cost me a pretty penny to get out of it, I suppose.’

  ‘Why did you marry her?’

  He shrugged. ‘When your mother died I had no excuse not to. A man needs a woman.’

  ‘But you had a relationship with her long before mother died.’

  ‘Yes, well . . . Your mother was an invalid.’ He cleared his throat.

  ‘Rosie wasn’t like the others. She did things – things no respectable woman would even imagine doing. Damn it, Richard, surely I don’t have to explain to you. She was exciting, and I always did like the chase.’

  ‘I don’t want to know. You were weak, you’ve always been weak where women are concerned.’

  He gave a faint smile. ‘It’s true that I was able to attract women easily . . . apart from my wife, who didn’t seem to need me once she’d provided the Sinclair estate with an heir.’ He shrugged. ‘But why not take advantage of women, when they are one of the great pleasures in life? They seem to enjoy a man who knows what he wants and who can gently coerce them into wanting the same. I imagine you know all that without us needing a father and son tête-à-tête at this stage in your life.’

  Coerced was an odd sort of word to use. Richard had never considered that his mother might have been an indifferent wife. But then, one didn’t usually regard one’s parents in a sexual context. But he admitted that by being reluctant, his mother might have contributed to the situation. ‘Have there been any women who didn’t enjoy being coerced?’

  His father looked uneasy, and his eyes didn’t seem able to settle on anything, least of all Richard. ‘I’m not sure where you’re taking this conversation, my boy.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think you’d have to stretch your imagination too far back, do you?’

  Henry grimaced. ‘Did the girl tattle on to you about it? I paid her to keep quiet about it, the silly creature. How was I to know she was inexperienced? She should have said.’

  ‘Ah . . . so you remember that about her.’

  He shrugged. ‘If I were you I’d get rid of her.’

  ‘You’re not me, and Livia hasn’t said a word, because she wouldn’t have wanted to upset me. What happened?’

  His father shrugged. ‘I’d been drinking heavily . . . Rosemary’s phone call, you know. The girl was clearing the table, a pretty little thing. Nice hips, I thought. A girl like that would be snug. I tried to kiss her. She objected, but it was too late for me. She struggled and we fell on the floor . . . I’m not sure what happened then. I think I got the business over and done with quickly, then passed out. Didn’t wake up until that man of yours practically dragged me upstairs to my bed by the scruff of my neck.’

  ‘Beamish told me.’

  ‘When I spoke to the girl the next day she said nothing had happened. I gave her a cheque for the fright I gave her, you understand. You say she didn’t complain, so how the hell did you learn of it?’

  ‘The cheque was found ripped to pieces and thrown into the ashes of the drawing room fire.’

  ‘There you are then, that proves I’m innocent of any hanky-panky. Don’t worry your head about it, Richard, it won’t happen again. Odd, I always thought her to be a nice girl . . . but she’s the same as all the other women, accepts money for favours. It’s no good complaining about it after she’s accepted payment, is it?’

  Richard’s blood began to boil and his throat constricted so he could hardly speak. ‘No . . . it won’t happen again. Not to my staff. Not in my home.’

  ‘I say, old boy, was I treading on your turf there? Sorry, and all that. I understood you were past that sort of thing.’

  ‘Be quiet, Father.’ And for the first time in a long time, Richard began to stutter. ‘I have s . . . something to say to you.’

  His father gazed at him, surprised by his tone.

  ‘Pack your f . . . fucking bags and get out. Go back to London and sort out that woman of yours if you want to keep her. Follow her to America if you need to.’

  ‘I say, old chap, there’s no need for that sort of language. I’m your father, after all.’

  ‘There is every need. Livia Carr is a decent young woman, who I happen to have a great deal of affection and respect for. I won’t have you mauling her whenever you feel the need. Get out. Go back to your tart and stay there.’

  ‘Look, Richard . . . I can understand your anger. I’ll apologize to the girl.’

  ‘You won’t go near her again . . . not while I have a b . . . breath left in my b . . . bloody useless body. I don’t want to see you again.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Richard. You need me to look after you.’

  ‘I don’t need you at all. I have Beamish and Livia. For Christ’s sake, stop being a bloody nuisance, and leave me to d . . . die in peace.’

  Richard reached for the bell on the table, but his arm jerked and everything went crashing to the floor. It sounded like a shell exploding and he cowered in the chair, his chest tight, so he found it hard to breathe. He didn’t want to die, not now. His breath came harshly as he was surrounded by stinking yellow mist, the stuff that had caused the damage to him.

  Beamish came in. He swept him up in his arms and laid him on the bed. Richard’s men came, the ones left behind in France. They crowded around the bed, wearing their gas masks. Their eyes behind the glass eyepieces were anonymous as well as accusing.

  ‘I’m s . . . sorry,’ he murmured, his body beginning to shake and his hands plucking at the eiderdown.

  His father hovered behind Beamish, watching wide-eyed as Beamish prepared an injection and administered it. As Richard’s muscles relaxed one by one his breathing became easier. He began to float.

  ‘I’m all right . . . leave me now . . . get the men to safety, Sergeant.’

  ‘They’re safe, Sir, and so are you.’ Beamish removed Richard’s shoes and tucked the eiderdown over him. ‘You rest now, Sir. You’ll be all right in a little while.’

  ‘He wants me to go back to London,’ his father said.

  Beamish had a fierce look on his face. ‘He can’t afford to be upset, so it would be for the best.’

  ‘Who will manage his affairs?’

  ‘Captain Sangster is quite good at managing them himself, he always has been. But the Sinclair trust lawyers have his power-of-attorney, so you needn’t worry that he’ll be taken advantage of. Do you need any help packing, Major?’

  ‘Perhaps it would be better for him if I did go back to London. Richard seems to be distraught. I had no idea he jumped at the sight of his own shadow. This sort of thing shouldn’t be pandered to. He needs to learn that the war is over, and to straighten his spine and be a man. But then, he always was his mother’s son.’

  Beamish’s voice was deceptively mild. ‘He needs to be a man, does he? Let me tell you this . . . a better man you couldn’t wish to find.’

  ‘Don’t be impertin
ent. As for you, Beamish, I don’t know what you thought you saw the other night, but it would have been better if you’d kept it to yourself, then this wouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘And better for you if you’d kept your dick inside your trousers, Major. Well, let me just say this to you, and with the respect it deserves. You’re a desk soldier who doesn’t know how to salute without knocking his cap off. You don’t know the first thing about war, or about the loyalty shared between soldiers-at-arms. You just enjoy a kiss-arse relationship propping up the bar and grunting with the rest of the desk officers.’

  ‘I think that’s enough insubordination from you, Beamish. Were you still enlisted I’d have you up on a charge.’

  Richard grinned widely. The sergeant didn’t usually say much, but when he did it was a corker of a speech. He opened his eyes to exchange a smile with his men, to find they were no longer there.

  Beamish was in full flood. ‘No doubt you would. You know, you’re a poor excuse for a man, Major. If Captain Sangster told you to make yourself scarce, then be quick about it. As for Miss Carr, if you as much as look at her sideways again, I’ll knock your soddin’ head off your bleedin’ shoulders, officer or not, and kick it all the way to Land’s End.’

  Thank you, Beamish, Richard thought, and he began to chuckle.

  An hour later a knock came at the door and his father cleared his throat before whispering against the panel, ‘I’m off then, Richard . . . we’ll let bygones be bygones, shall we? Keep in touch.’

  ‘Goodbye, Father. Get yourself sorted out.’ Despite everything, the man was his father and Richard couldn’t shame him by disowning him altogether.

  ‘I will. I promise.’ Henry’s feet trod heavily down the stairs, and Richard’s door rattled when the front door closed behind him.

  When the car drove away, Beamish said, ‘I forgot to fill the tank with petrol. I hope he checks the gauge when he gets to Bournemouth.’

  Richard chuckled. ‘You know, Beamish, we should buy ourselves a car, something practical like Dents has got. You could teach Livia to drive it.’

  ‘Yes, Sir, I suppose I could, though I don’t go much on women drivers in general.’