The terrible moments of ending her association with Perry were looming in front of her. Emilia wouldn’t think about that now. It was enough to be seeing glimpses of him. To be with him when the children played together.
Two days ago he had invited her and Alec to Ford House to demonstrate the use of the archery gear. Perry had hit the inner gold zone several times and they, and Selina and Libby, had applauded his skill. Alec, who had a deadly aim with the shotgun, was a good shot and Emilia had cheered him on enthusiastically. No one thought it odd or inappropriate when Perry, leaning forward from behind, had physically helped her to position her hands on the longbow and sight the arrow. By terrific luck she had nearly hit the outer gold zone. Recoiling from the force of the shot, she had tumbled back against Perry’s chest. ‘I love you,’ he had whispered, touching her momentarily with his gentle, steadying hands.
Selina had invited Alec to take a turn round the front garden with her and Libby, leaving Emilia to help Perry gather up the equipment and stow it back in the garden shed.
He had caressed her hair. She had pressed down on his hand. ‘Selina knows about us, darling Em. We must talk.’
‘I know, but not yet.’ Perry was to tell her the same dreadful news, that they couldn’t go on with their secret love, and somehow she knew he would say something even worse. That he was going away, for ever. Perry was too honourable, too sensitive to stay on here, so agonizingly close to her, where without the slightest doubt they would keep on with their love affair.
It was enough to know for today that he was to come to where she now was, in Higher Cross field, to set up his archery gear for the sports day.
‘I love you so much,’ she told the image of him she had fashioned in her mind. Soon, images and beautiful memories would be all she had left of him.
‘Don’t cry, Em. Someone might see,’ Selina’s voice whispered in her ear and her arm came to rest heavily round her shoulders.
‘What? Sorry, we’ll never finish setting up these archery lanes, will we?’ Emilia gazed at the rope hanging limply in her hands. She shrugged Selina’s arm off her, ill at ease in her company after her so-called friendly advice about her and Perry. Emilia saw Selina as a habitual liar, a complicated misfit, and if not for her close connection to Perry, as someone she could talk to about him, hear about him, even the little mundane things like what he ate for supper last night, so she could feel she had been with him, she would allow Selina very little time.
‘Life’s not fair sometimes, is it?’ Selina took the rope and measured out a short lane of fifty-six yards for the men, then placed another rope down for a shorter one of thirty-four and a half yards for the women.
In a state of numbness, at an aloof distance, Emilia watched her making the swift, efficient movements.
Selina, an imposing figure in a shirt and trousers and walking boots, rejoined her. ‘I can’t see what difference the size of the lanes are really for in something like this but Perry wants everything just right. Come on, try to smile. You know what we need, don’t you?’
‘What’s that?’
‘A drink. Ruby Brokenshaw’s offering a bottle of ale to the chaps working here. Can’t see why we should miss out. The crate’s sitting over there in the shade behind the platform, where Daphne Dowling’s unlikely to see it. Come on, we’re due for a break; let’s shock the honourable Daphne by leaning against the hedge and swigging straight out of a bottle like a man. Not scared, are you?’
The proceedings were to start at four o’clock in the afternoon, eight hours away, with the children’s races, and the field was already bustling with activity. The lorry had arrived with the marquee and a host of brawny arms were erecting it. Mrs Dowling, carefully hatted although the early morning sun was only just finding its wings, and followed by an anxious, cotton-frocked Mrs Frayne, was striding through the scratchy yellow stalks of the cut grass, making sure everything was being accomplished to her perfectionist requirements. She had taken no care to avoid showing her disapproval of Selina’s presence and had actually been curt and rude to her.
Selina had laughed into her impatient, taut face, and said later to Emilia, ‘I suppose Perry and I would have to live here for at least ten years to be considered bona fide residents of Hennaford. Stupid mare. How dare she object to me helping out! I despise her type, narrow-minded and hypocritical.’ Emilia had thought Mrs Dowling had come across as indignant and angry and strangely disquieted.
Emilia cast her eyes up and down the long, broad field, shimmering silver in the sunlight. The marquee bunting was up. Edwin, Jim and Midge Roach had erected the poles for the sheaf-pitching. Alec and Jonny had brought over a cartload of sheaves, then had left to get on with the everyday chores of the farm. Jonny had an important air about him today – Alec had asked him to be a member of his tug-of-war team and the boy had insisted he would, even though Emilia had pointed out he should, as Ben’s nephew too, be impartial.
Other Ford Farm labourers were working on the greasy pole for the pillow fight. The wooden bowling run, the small hard balls and the skittles had been carried up from the pub, as had the rope for the tug of war; the red and yellow and blue flags were already in situation on it. Elena Rawley and her father were supervising the positioning of the trestle tabling brought up from the Wesleyan Hall. All was fitting into place as on every other year, but Emilia had been given no warning that this year her emotions would be in tatters, stretched to their limits.
‘Are we having a drink or not?’ Selina’s eager-to-please tones broke off her latest musings.
Emilia wanted to go off on her own but Selina would only follow her. ‘I’ll take a bottle but I’ll not offend anyone here. We must drink discreetly.’
‘Fine by me. Let’s stroll down the field. Too bad if virtuous old Daphne doesn’t like it. I was never such a slave driver on the wards.’
Jim was now beside the dancing platform, near old Mr Quick, who had parked his creaking bones down on it, while Ben, Brooke, Eliza Shore and Cyril Trewin were admiring their handiwork. All except Brooke were quaffing ale, and old Mr Quick was telling tales about the days when he was ‘light on his feet’. They were answering his deaf ears with indulgent nods. He saw Emilia and Selina approaching. ‘Now here comes a couple of maidens I could’ve whirled round any dance floor in my day. Should’ve seen me then. I was a good-looking man, I’ll have ’ee know. Had me pick of the local girls, I did.’
‘Hello, Mr Quick.’ Emilia smiled down on his gaily squinting, upturned, antiquated countenance. She chatted a while with the Tremore contingent, noting, while dampening down her reawakened feelings of raw maternal loss, that Brooke’s pregnancy was beginning to show.
Brooke eyed Emilia and Selina, wishing her sister-in-law was not at all friendly with the other woman.
Selina yanked the stoppers off two ale bottles. She met Jim’s steady stare at her with direct, uncompromising aloofness. There wasn’t the usual hateful snarl on his outstanding, lush, fair features. He was watchful, quiet almost, except she saw the naked, raw energy of hate driving through him. Jim would always be overrun by passion of some sort – it was this that had prompted her without hesitation or remorse to seduce him. He wasn’t a man to be trusted, but she reckoned he was no threat to her.
‘How are you, Jim?’ Her question was short, to the point, interested, almost soothing, as it might be to a patient under her care.
‘Very well as it happens, Selina.’ He smiled. Sort of smiled, it even reached his eyes.
‘Glad to hear it.’
Jim was still smiling when the two women walked away. The Tremore contingent also left. Jim stood alone, his cap off, the sun making his hair shine like polished gold. He fished for a smoke. Held his head high, proud, satisfied. Selina Bosweld had said he ought to believe he was good enough for anyone. He did now. No longer was he workhouse scum. One day he would make something of himself. He wanted to move on, move up, to a better life. And his route, and for Sara, was through Sara. Through Wally Eathorne of Druzel Farm. He was hers for the taking. Wally’s parents had acknowledged it. It was time Sara thought differently too and considered the future. She would be a farmer’s wife instead of a farmer’s skivvy. Mrs Eathorne was ailing, was consumptive, so it was said, and wanted to see grandchildren playing at her hearth before she died.
He and Sara would not sleep in the attics at Druzel Farm. He would make decisions on the farm; Wally and his father were easy-going, pliable sorts. Jim’s mind was made up. He would see his sister married within the year.
From a backwards glance he spied the approach of Myrna Eathorne. Doubtless, the nosy shopkeeper was intent on inspecting the dancing platform. He was pleased to see this particular busybody bearing his way. Anything Myrna Eathorne was told or overheard would be all over Hennaford in an hour, and would make for many a tasty reworking, and, if this second part of his plan for revenge on Selina Bosweld worked, many an exclamation of disgust would be issued before the sports day got underway, to resurface, when it did, in public indignation. How he would like to have been in the infirmary when the seductress had been given her marching orders, but, he grinned maliciously to himself, he’d not miss witnessing the village unceremoniously giving her the boot!
He sat down close to old Mr Quick. Waited. Made his voice loud and clear. ‘Poor Mrs Dowling, she’s some upset, you know, Mr Quick. I heard her telling Mrs Frayne that Miss Bosweld’s gone and ruined her cousin’s life. The cousin found out, you see, that her husband, who’s a doctor at the infirmary, was up to no good with some nurse. Well, turned out that this nurse was Miss Bosweld, and she was sacked the very same day. You wouldn’t think it to look at her, would you? She’s a bit modern, a bit eccentric, I suppose, but I always thought she was respectable. But you never know about someone, do you? Who’d have thought that she was a marriage wrecker?’
‘Eh? What?’ Old Mr Quick prodded Jim’s arm. ‘What’d you say, boy? You’ll have to speak up. Never heard a word you just said.’
A gasp of shock came from behind the two men. Mr Quick did not hear this either, but Jim smiled all the way down the field to where his former lover was walking in the distance. ‘Never mind, Mr Quick. Sadly, word’ll get round soon enough, I suppose. Well, must get on. Have to build a pen for the piglet. Here, you have this last bottle of ale.’
He dropped his own empty ale bottle back in the crate. When he turned round he saw Mrs Eathorne hurrying off, beckoning to a group of neighbours.
Emilia and Selina were making their way along the side of the tall hedgerow, out of sight now and no longer hiding the filched bottles in front of their bodies. Emilia intended to turn back soon.
Selina took off her cardigan and flung it over her shoulder, to enjoy the gilding of the hot sun. ‘Jim seems quite content now. I’m curious over what’s brought about the change in him.’
‘I suppose Sara finally got through to him. I spoke to him myself yesterday. He says he’s finally got everything sorted out in his mind.’
‘I feel quite bad about upsetting him. I should have behaved with more feeling; he was just an ordinary chap, a boy really, when I took up with him.’
‘Yes, he was.’
‘Don’t you believe I’m sorry?’
Emilia did not. ‘I hope you’ll be more careful in future.’
‘Well, I don’t think you need worry about any lasting effects on Jim. From the steely look in him just now I’m sure he’ll be fine.’ After her defensive remark Selina allowed a pause of silence, then she grew jolly, buoyant, and Emilia knew she was trying to change the mood. ‘This is nice. Spending time with a friend. I hope you like me, Em, darling. Really like me.’
‘Haven’t you had many friends?’
‘Women friends? Oh, lots, from time to time. Some I’ve been especially close to. As for male friends, lovers, I’m not seeing anyone now. I think I’ve had enough of men for a while.’ At the lack of sympathetic response she was getting she went on in a rather pitiful tone, ‘I know you’re distracted at the moment, Em, but you do like me, don’t you?’
Emilia hated this, she had more urgent, more disheartening things to consider and she had no real choice in her answer. ‘Of course I do.’
‘Oh, I’m so glad!’ Selina leaned across and hugged her round the waist and pecked her cheek. ‘I like you lots. I want us to get very close before I leave.’