Coming Home To Holly Close Farm

by Julie Houston

  She glanced towards Madge, who was standing shyly, unsure whether to sit or remain standing in the presence of, not only two superior officers, but a lord and lady as well. Oh God, what was the protocol here? Should she be curtsying? Saluting?

  ‘Your father spoke to Daddy this morning,’ the girl continued, ‘and said you were home, James. He called round and picked me up, knowing you’d be back from your… picnic…’ Constance broke off and raised her eyebrows ‘… at some point this afternoon. It’s lovely to see you, darling. Mummy wants to know if you’ll come over for dinner this evening?’

  ‘I’m not sure…’ James hesitated and walked back over to Madge. ‘What time is your train, Madge?’

  ‘I’m going back up to town in an hour,’ George Montgomery-West interrupted, smiling briefly. ‘I’ll be happy to give your friend a lift back to her base.’

  ‘Oh, really, no,’ Madge felt herself redden as all eyes swivelled towards her. ‘I have my travel pass. Really.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ George barked. ‘You can drive up in comfort with me. I know how full the trains are with the damned Yanks and all the paraphernalia they seem to think it necessary to carry with them. I’m driving myself, m’dear, but you’ll have a much better journey than standing up on a crowded train all the way back to London.’

  He continued to appraise her, not taking his eyes off her face, until Madge began to feel quite ill at ease and didn’t know where to look. He knows, she thought. He knows I’ve made love with his son. She could see grass seeds on her stockings and longed to remove them.

  Lord Montgomery-West pulled his watch from his waistcoat pocket. ‘Actually, I’ve a meeting with Winston early evening. Going to have a drink with him first. Won’t do to keep the old boy waiting. Shall we say twenty minutes, m’dear…?’

  He can’t remember my name, Madge realised. He has no intention of remembering my name. She glanced over at James, who was still deep in conversation with Constance about people of whom she didn’t have a clue.

  ‘You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner, Marjorie,’ Ursula Montgomery-West smiled, standing to pass over a cup of weak tea in a tiny delicate bone-china cup. Oh heavens, if they could only see her dad’s blue-striped pint pot in which he regularly slurped the strong orange brew he always insisted on after a session out in the cold with the cows. If she hadn’t been feeling so wretched about having to leave James once again, knowing he would be off on yet more bombing raids, she might have laughed out loud.

  ‘Do, Madge,’ James was back at her side, smiling down at her from his six-foot height. ‘We can look up train times; there’ll only be Mother and me if Father’s hell-bent on seeing the PM. We can have a kitchen supper, just the three of us, like I used to have before I went back to school after exeats.’

  What the hell was an exeat? It sounded horribly painful. Madge smiled back up at James. ‘I really have to be back for eight, James. There isn’t a later train, I don’t think.’

  ‘That’s settled then.’ Lord Montgomery-West smiled a rather cold smile before draining his cup and placing it back on its saucer with a rattle of his teaspoon. ‘I’m just going up to get my valise and briefcase. I’ll see you out by the Daimler, Miss… er…’ He cleared his throat and took out the heavy silver fob watch once more before heading for the door. ‘Fifteen minutes?’

  ‘Thank you, if you’re sure?’ What else could she say? Madge herself certainly wasn’t sure about spending the next hour sitting next to this rather cold, patrician man. And would he drive her right up to Oxford Street? She knew what Briscoe would have to say about that if she were to see Madge climbing out of the Daimler driven by one of Winston Churchill’s ministers. Madge realised she really wanted her big sister, Lydia, here with her right now. She couldn’t see Lydia being intimidated by this lot.

  ‘Marjorie, I’m sure you’d like to use the bathroom and freshen yourself up before you leave?’ Ursula stood to reach for a little bell on the sideboard. ‘I’ll get Agnes to show you where you can.’

  ‘Don’t bother Agnes,’ James frowned. ‘Come on, Madge, I’ll take you.’

  James, Madge realised as she said her goodbyes and saluted Constance once more, had no idea his father had manipulated her into driving back with him. He might be a bomber pilot, trained to be totally aware of potential danger up in the skies, but the undercurrents she’d felt both from Lord Montgomery-West and the Constance woman appeared to have gone straight over his head.

  ‘Do come and see us again, Marjorie.’ Ursula kissed her fondly. ‘You’re always welcome, you know that. At least driving back to London, you won’t be late and be in trouble with your superiors. Bye-bye.’

  Madge stared at her reflection in the cloakroom mirror: her eyes were bright, her face flushed. She was a fallen woman. She carefully picked the grass seeds from the foot of her stockings and removed a recalcitrant blade of grass from her hair. Then, after applying a generous dash of lipstick to her full mouth and wetting her fingers to smooth her eyebrows, she tossed her head at this new person staring back at her and thought: I don’t care. I have no regrets. It’s what I wanted.

  Madge repeated this to James as they stood by the car waiting for his father to appear.

  ‘Midge, darling, I don’t want you having any regrets at all. You do know I’ve fallen in love with you? That you’re all I think about? That it’s your face in front of me pulling me back to England when we’re over France and Germany?’ He touched his shirt pocket. ‘And your little cross is with me wherever I go.’

  ‘When am I going to see you, James?’

  ‘Soon, soon. I can’t bear to not be with you. I’ll get a lift, or bag a motorcycle or something, and come up to London. Even if it’s only for a few hours.’

  ‘Are you ready, Miss Gregory? Shall we get off?’ Lord Montgomery-West appeared at their side and because they hadn’t been expecting him so soon, they jumped apart almost guiltily. ‘I think Constance is hoping you’ll go back with her this evening, James. Hmm?’ Lord Montgomery-West shook James’s hand. ‘Goodbye, old boy. Keep safe, won’t you? Give Jerry all you’ve got.’ He opened the boot of the Daimler, threw in his case, bowler hat and rolled-up umbrella before walking round to the passenger side, holding the door open for Madge.

  ‘Thank you.’ There was nothing else she could say. Her head was beginning to throb – too much wine, sun and, she supposed, lovemaking – and almost immediately the smell of hot leather from the car’s seat assailed her senses, making her feel nauseous.

  ‘Madge, I’ll ring you as soon as I can.’ James seemed totally oblivious to his father’s disapproval and reached into the car, kissing her on the mouth before Lord Montgomery-West put the car into gear and moved swiftly forward.

  What on earth was Madge going to talk to this taciturn man about for the hour and more it would take them to drive to London? She started on the weather – how warm and sunny it had been this third week into August – and then, catching sight of fruit trees already laden down with apples and pears, commented on their abundance and how, in a few weeks, her mum would be picking the ones in their garden and storing them in rows up in the attic. Eventually, with very little response from Lord Montgomery-West apart from a nod and an occasional wintry smile, and beginning to feel quite car sick, Madge sat back on the slippery leather seat, and determined not to say another word.

  A good twenty minutes passed before James’s father deigned to speak. ‘How long have you known my son, Miss Gregory?’ Montgomery-West took his eyes from the road and looked directly at Madge.

  ‘Oh,’ Madge replied, pleased that he was now making conversation. ‘Around four weeks or so. I’m based at the Met training school on Oxford Street with Francesca, James’s cousin. We’re both cooks. Fran introduced us when she took me up to The Ritz and James was there too.’

  ‘And you have become good friends?’

  ‘Yes.’ She could hardly add that, from that afternoon, she’d become his lover.

  ‘Miss Gregory, I don
’t wish to pour cold water on your friendship – I’m sure that’s just what the two of you have: a friendship – but I feel I need to say something here. Both James and his mother have… how shall I put it...? an overly romantic idealism about life? I can see that James has become very fond of you.’ Montgomery-West slowed down and then veered slightly to the right as a large ginger cat stepped out onto the road and into their path. ‘But you must realise that any notions James may have of… of taking your friendship further cannot be accommodated. Once this war is over, if he survives, James will begin to take on some of the responsibility for the estate and his position in society – although heaven only knows what the state of that society will be once this war is over. I’d hate to think – and this is for your benefit, Miss Gregory – I’d hate to think you were under any illusions as to your position with my son in the future.’

  When Madge didn’t respond but kept her eyes firmly on the road ahead, George Montgomery-West sighed deeply and continued, ‘The thing is, your backgrounds are worlds apart. When my wife told me you were from a farming background I assumed – wrongly – your people to be landowners in the North. I have nothing against the North per se, although from what I’ve seen of it, it does appear a particularly bleak and depressing sort of place – but I cannot let my son involve himself with a… with a milkman’s daughter. I’m sorry, my dear, it just can’t happen. James will have a duty to his family – to the Montgomery-West family name – to his heritage. He will, if he survives, marry one of his own class. I’m sure you get my drift?’ He took his eyes from the road once more in order to gauge the effect he was having on Madge and patted her knee.

  A whole gamut of emotions passed swiftly through Madge as George Montgomery-West continued to drive, his eyes fixed on the road ahead but his left hand still planted firmly on her leg above the heavy-duty material of her uniform skirt.

  ‘I understand entirely what you’re trying to say, Mr Montgomery-West.’ No way was she about to honour him with his full title. ‘I appreciate your concern for me, but I think my… my friendship with James is his – and my – concern.’

  ‘Unfortunately, Miss Gregory, I think you’ll find it’s my concern too.’ He smiled that chilly smile Madge had come to expect and she moved her knee away from him in order to dislodge his hand. It didn’t work. ‘Going off to France for the summer when he was just eighteen was a big mistake,’ he sighed. ‘I’m not sure what he got up to there, although I have a jolly good idea: I find the French, despite hiding behind their Catholicism, rather loose with their morals.’

  ‘Could you let me out please?’ Madge was starting to feel really sick now as well as being near to tears. ‘Please drop me off anywhere; there’ll be an underground nearby now that we’re heading back into London.’ She wasn’t going to give this man the satisfaction of seeing that his words had upset her, as was his sole intention, she knew. ‘Thank you so much for the lift, but I can make my own way from here.’

  ‘If you’re sure. I am running a little late and the PM won’t be too happy if I’m not punctual.’ James’s father deigned, finally, to remove his hand from Madge’s knee. ‘Miss Gregory, I’m glad we’ve had the opportunity for this little chat and been able to put things into perspective. I trust our conversation will remain just that – ours. I’m sure you understand that James need not be apprised of what’s passed between us this evening?’

  ‘I understand perfectly.’ Madge managed to open the car’s heavy door before Lord Montgomery-West could alight and walk round to her side and do it for her, slammed it closed, hauled her bag over her shoulder and, without a backwards glance at the car or its driver, set off at a brisk step in the direction of the underground station ahead of her.

  21

  Christmas Eve and I longed for a man of my own. Embroiled in Madge’s story about James until late the previous evening, I suddenly felt the need to be wrapped around a real man rather than the ghost of James Montgomery-West, who had been so much at the heart of Madge’s past but now, it seemed, was pervading my, Mum’s and Daisy’s present.

  After ringing Almast Haven to say Madge was staying with us at the bungalow for the night, Daisy and I had helped her to undress, found her a spare toothbrush and tucked her up into her own bed, pale and quite worn out.

  Daisy and I had bunked down together in my bed, giving Mum who, after drinking more wine, seemed pretty spaced out herself, the bedroom Daisy had occupied since the pair of us had moved in.

  ‘Madge is determined to get her story all out in the right order, isn’t she?’ Daisy grumbled, sitting up in bed and reaching for her iPad on the floor beside her. ‘Right, what does it say here? Arthur Booth of Holly Close Farm near Westenbury… poultry farmer… married with one nine-year-old daughter… petty criminal… burglar. Burglar…? Blimey. Madge was married to a burglar? Why can’t she just tell us why Arthur ended up killing two policemen? Do you reckon it was anything to do with James, Charlie? You know, why Arthur was hanged? It just says the police had been lying in wait for him to come home. D’you know, I’m even more in love with James now,’ Daisy had whispered, putting down the tablet and switching off the light. ‘And fancy Granny Madge having sex with him in a wood. I honestly didn’t think they did that sort of thing in those days.’

  ‘Come on, Daisy, there were so many girls left pregnant during the war. I bet they were all at it like rabbits. And can you blame them? They could have been blown to Kingdom Come without having ever experienced a man.’

  ‘It made me a bit jealous,’ Daisy had whispered. ‘Is that awful of me?’

  ‘I felt the same, and it reminded me of being on the motorbike with Josh that time.’

  ‘So how is the very attractive Mr Lee? You’ve not mentioned him for a while.’

  I hadn’t. I’d been meeting up with Josh fairly regularly for a drink, for heavenly food, for – let’s face it – rather rampant sex, but not really admitted to Daisy, or myself, that I appeared to be getting – as Vivienne might say – my feet under his table. I knew I wanted to work with Josh as the builder on Holly Close Farm and our cottage, and had told the Hendersons and Libby as much. He’d taken me round several of his completed and ongoing building projects and I’d been really impressed with the standard of workmanship, detailed finish on the joinery and quality stonework. Edward Bamforth, who owned most of the fields around Westenbury, had been given permission to build a couple of hundred houses on fields towards the end of the village and Josh’s company had bid for and won all the contracts.

  Josh was incredibly driven. He was up and out of the house by five each morning and was always the last to leave every one of his building sites, even though he had managers in charge on each. He’d taken me to the site where, only five months after work had commenced, thirty houses were already under construction. Being December, the workmen had knocked off once the best of the light had gone, but the site manager and a couple of the labourers wouldn’t leave until the site had been left each evening to Josh’s obviously exacting standards. Wearing hard hat and boots, Josh and Gatis, the site manager, had escorted me round the muddy site but not a stray piece of piping, broken breeze block or abandoned wall-tie cluttered the area. Having worked on much less tidy sites in London, I’d been impressed.

  ‘I definitely want Josh to be in charge of all of the building up at the farm.’ I turned to Daisy.

  ‘Don’t blame you,’ Daisy said seriously from her side of the bed. ‘You’ll be able to have coffee breaks with benefits once you’re both working together up there.’

  ‘You do talk rubbish,’ I tutted. ‘My heart, I would remind you, is still broken. I wonder what Dominic is up to?’ I still had fantasies that Dominic was going to appear, that he would drive up north looking for me, that he had left Arabella Double-Barrelled and that he’d find me on site at Holly Close Farm in my hard hat – as well as full make-up and push-up bra – in a passionate clinch with Josh Lee in the half-finished cottage. He’d push Josh roughly away, pull off my hat an
d, as my freed hair tumbled around my shoulders, ask my forgiveness. There were differing conclusions to this scenario. Depending on what sort of day I’d had at the bungalow, it would veer from me throwing the hat at him, laughing in his face – ‘Ha!’ – and driving off into the sunset with Josh on his motorbike. But too often I would be speechless with relief at Dominic’s appearance and sink into his arms.

  ‘Dominic, I would imagine,’ Daisy had yawned sleepily, ‘will be shagging the new office junior at Abraham Developments. Now shut up, get over to your side of the bed and go to sleep or Father Christmas won’t come tomorrow night.’

  ‘So, what are you doing tomorrow?’ I asked Daisy hopefully. ‘Maybe we could go over to Leeds or Manchester?’

  ‘Clementine’s,’ Daisy mumbled, half asleep. ‘Am working.’

  ‘Oh.’ I really didn’t want to be stuck at home on Christmas Eve without even Daisy to fight or get drunk with. Was there anything sadder than being nearly thirty and holed up at home with parents, the dog and a bottle of eggnog?

  *

  ‘Dad and I are over to the O’Hare’s for Christmas drinks tonight,’ Mum said when I asked her the next morning what she was up to that evening. I’d taken Madge, still a little pale and rather uncommunicative, back to Almast Haven and dropped Daisy off at Clementine’s before heading to Mum and Dad’s – Daisy and I hadn’t done any food shopping – to scrounge breakfast. ‘We always go. Had you forgotten?’

  I had.

  ‘Vivienne won’t be here this evening,’ Mum said frowning. ‘She’s off to some drinks do herself. She’ll probably come back the worse for wear, you know what she’s like. Anyway, if you’re not going anywhere, that’s good.’

  ‘Is it? Why?’

  ‘Well, Malvolio gets terribly anxious being left by himself, particularly at Christmas.’

  ‘The dog knows it’s Christmas?’

  Mum tutted. ‘You know what I mean.’

  I didn’t.