Jonny was on his way to Ford Farm. He was down in the dumps, but heaven alone knew what Tom and Jill were going through. Why did bad things happen to good people? It didn’t make sense. Somehow the war had made sense, the world fighting off dictators and evil regimes, but these little personal tragedies were always hard to accept. Tom and Jill had lost the baby they’d wanted so much. They would make perfect parents. It just wasn’t fair. Their marriage was a love match. In Jonny’s experience there weren’t many of those about. His own parents’ marriage had come to a bad end – although if his mother hadn’t embarked on a disastrous affair his wonderful half-sister, Louisa, who lived in Truro, would not have been born. He couldn’t ignore that his father had married again, very happily, until his wife had died in an accident, and he was now blissfully in love with his third wife.
All was quiet as he turned out of Back Lane into the main street of the village. There were usually people about, arms folded in the way of those involved in chitchat. The blacksmith’s, the butcher’s, the shop and sub-post office, and the farm shop were all shuttered up, as if closed down for good. There weren’t any children out playing or even a dog taking a wander. It was as if the population had decided to stay indoors and quietly mark the sadness that had come among them. Homes were set on either side of the main road, singly, in pairs, or in short terraces, some at odd angles. All seemed to have assumed a shadowy greyness, the picturesque or quirky sacrificing their character, the drab even more drab. Taking a lengthy puff on a cigarette, Jonny sighed and kicked a stone into a short stretch of hedge. He hated seeing Hennaford deserted. It was unsettling, foreign to him.
After several yards he’d passed the shops, the village court, and the little Anglican mission church planted by thoughtful Victorians to compensate for the parish church being two miles distant down Church Lane. The pub, the Ploughshare, came into view across the road. The new landlord had painted the walls pale pink. The usual half barrels of spring flowers on the courtyard had been replaced by long terracotta troughs. ‘Bloody cheek,’ Jonny snarled. People had no right to come in and make changes. The window displays of the shop, he had noticed, were rearranged in unrecognizable order. Roughly across the road from the pub was the redoubtable grey Wesleyan chapel, rightly shorn of its iron railings for the war effort, now with the addition of a small hole high up in one of the plain window panes. Sacrilege! Damn the perpetrator, probably some ignorant youth throwing a stone. Jonny balled his fist. How dare someone sully his village? But he must shake himself out of this grimness. He had no right to be selfish. Tom and Jill were the ones who really had something to be depressed about.
A moment later he was surprised to see Tom, in the company of a young blonde, emerging from Church Lane. ‘Tom!’ He ran to his cousin, grabbing his hand and placing a grip on his shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry. You and Jill must be devastated. I was horrified to hear the news when I arrived at Tremore. Thank God Jill came through the operation OK. I was on my way for an update.’ All the while Jonny jabbered away, his heart was wrenched over Tom’s stricken expression. Tom was usually a blend of quiet resolution, dignity and laughter. Now he displayed the emotion of one who had lost an essential dimension of his being. He chewed his lip when troubled; now it was red and raw. ‘Oh, were you on the way to Tremore?’
‘Thanks for coming, Jonny.’ Tom’s voice was thick with unshed tears. He clung to Jonny’s hand. ‘Actually, we’re on our way to the Moses place. This is Abbie Rothwell, by the way, Honor and Archie’s daughter. Abbie, this is my cousin, Jonny.’
‘How do you do, Miss Rothwell.’ Jonny treated her to the well-practised smile he used on women, but he didn’t linger over her as he’d normally have done, but returned to Tom.
‘Why are you calling there? Father told me about the demise of the Moses woman. What’s the latest news on Jill?’
‘Um.’ Tom shook his head and pressed his fingers above his eyes to call up the dreadful facts. In the last few hours he’d been tossed back and forth between fear and horror. He was numb and confused. ‘They’re keeping her in for a few days. It was what they call an ectopic pregnancy. The baby was growing outside of Jill’s womb, in a fallopian tube. The tube ruptured. The surgeon had to operate swiftly. Thank God, Mrs Moses’s granddaughter happened to be with her when she collapsed, and then Abbie came along. I could have lost her, Jonny.’ Tom sniffed, gulped and tossed his head away, no longer able to hold back the tears.
‘Steady, old man,’ Jonny whispered, taking Tom in a hug. Tom brought himself under control. His voice stayed watery. ‘I saw her when they brought her out of the theatre. She was so pale and grey. Her whole body had gone into shock, you see. They had to remove the damaged tube. Jill doesn’t fully realize what’s happened to her yet, and that it means it will be even harder for her to conceive again. I can’t bear it, Jonny. I can’t bear to think of her suffering.’
‘I know,’ Jonny soothed. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m sure Jill’s quite comfortable now, out of pain and being well looked after.’
Abbie had moved away to give Tom space. Poor man. What a day it had been. She had only been in Hennaford a few minutes before being faced with the traumatic scene of Jill Harvey on the ground in terrible pain, blood staining her trousers and her heavily sweating face an unearthly pallor. And the girl, Kate Viant, frightened and bewildered, but bravely trying to help her. Abbie, who was never easily fazed, had taken charge, while Kate, after explaining who the casualty was, had gratefully followed her orders. Jill had passed out. ‘We must get her off the road. You stay with her and I’ll run on to get help and tell them to ring for an ambulance.’ Emilia Bosweld and her husband, a former Army surgeon, had rushed back with Abbie to the scene. Perry Bosweld had tended Jill. Tom had been fetched from the fields in time to go to the infirmary with Jill. After Jill had been loaded into the ambulance it was realized that young Kate Viant had slipped away.
Tom had not long ago arrived home with the news that Jill had recovered consciousness and was fussing about Kate. ‘She was very groggy but also insistent,’ he’d told those in the spacious kitchen in his mother’s half of the house, the usual gathering place at the farm. ‘I couldn’t make out all that she said but it was something to do with the girl being upset and needing help. I reassured Jill that I’d go to see her. I need to thank her properly anyway. I hope she wasn’t too distressed. It’s not long since she witnessed her grandmother’s horrible death.’
‘Would you like me to come with you?’ Abbie had offered. ‘I think she trusts me.’ Abbie had soon realized she had come amid a close family who cared about the community. Her mother had stated that the Harveys and Boswelds were a fascinating lot, and although Abbie hardly knew them, she was already sure this was true. With an unfulfilled marriage behind her, Abbie had believed all the love and romance stuff was nonsense until seeing the fear and panic in Tom Harvey for his adored wife. His mother, still an earthy beauty in her middle years, and her husband Perry, exuded the same affinity. Unwittingly they touched each other as they talked and gazed into each other’s eyes. Abbie should have known such a deep sensual and abiding love existed. Her own parents shared it. They automatically finished off each other’s sentences, answered each other’s unspoken remarks.
She sensed Tom to be perceptive and genuine, one who saw no point in ceremony. The Harvey males had powerful physiques, of the sort that drew admiring looks from women and envy from weedier men. Tom had an attractive face, but Jonny Harvey’s was gorgeous, a stunning piece of sculpted maleness, with strong lines, cheekbones in just the right place, and divine dark grey eyes. Suave in his uniform, he looked as if he had been born to be a warrior and looked even more the part with his slightly marred face and ruined hand, yet she sensed in him a loss of spark and direction. The way the wholly masculine cousins gave and sought comfort, unembarrassed to do so in public and in front of her, a relative stranger, touched her soul. These were real men, as opposed to Rupert whose flashy fagade had hidden a shabby weakness.
A moment later, Jonny said, ‘I’ll tag along with you to the Moses place.’ Knowing Tom needed to be alone in his thoughts, he joined Abbie during the short walk. ‘I knew your parents well, Miss Rothwell, as a boy when I lived at Ford Farm.’ He was taking her in. She was a ‘looker’ and totally at ease under his appreciative gaze. She was open and satisfied with herself, with no secrets to keep and no particular struggles after her recent widowhood. Very good company too, he was sure. He liked women for company as much as he enjoyed bedding them. Abbie Rothwell had something of Honor’s sweet femininity and Archie’s vibrant watchful eyes. Archie had been his friend and he wanted to start off with Abbie as a friend, so he adjusted his manner appropriately.
‘Really. I’d like to hear all about that.’ Out of interest and to enjoy the chat with him. From the way he’d swept his eyes over her it was obvious Jonny Harvey was a dedicated woman-chaser. She didn’t mind. She could handle that sort of attention and she had no inhibitions about enjoying sex. He was a charmer, he kept women guessing and hoping, but she didn’t figure him as a rat. There was something going on, however, behind his potent bearing, something new to him – for he didn’t have the grimness of one long dragged down. This enigma made him a perfect subject to paint. Few people needed persuasion to sit for her. She usually picked out those who would not be compliant but she had no idea which way he would react.
‘I’ll look forward to doing so when we get the opportunity.’ It would be good to relive old memories of when Uncle Alec was alive. ‘The Moses place is just here.’ A few steps back along the way he had come and he was pointing to a narrow weedy path through a break in the high privet hedge. ‘I’m glad not to be facing the old woman. Her tongue was like a poisoned dart.’
‘I took little notice of her granddaughter,’ Tom said, after coughing in a bid to clear the husky emotion from his throat. ‘But she seemed the opposite to Mrs Moses. A little mouse, in fact.’
‘She’s very young,’ Abbie said, as they trooped up the path. ‘She might be nervous to see all of us at once. She’s a little used to me. I think I should go first.’
‘Good idea.’ Tom stepped back.
Jonny glanced through a window. There were no curtains up at the sparkling clean glass. ‘Good Lord. There’s not a stick of furniture in there. It seems she’s packed up and gone.’
‘Her family must have been here,’ Tom frowned. ‘But if the key had been handed in Mum would have said so. Abbie, try the door.’
Abbie lifted the latch. ‘It’s not locked. I’ll knock and call to her.’ She opened the door a crack and tapped on it twice. ‘Hello! Kate? It’s Abbie Rothwell. Can I come in?’
Through the gap in the door she detected sounds like a little scampering creature. Then there were light irregular steps. ‘She’s coming,’ Abbie whispered.
It had startled Kate to receive a visitor. She recognized Miss Rothwell’s firm bright tones – she might have come with news of Jill Harvey – but she went warily to the door. She gazed at the older woman through the newly forming twilight, then retreated from the doorstep at spying the two men. ‘I’m sorry. My brother Sidney said the rent was paid up for a few more days so I thought it would be all right to stay here.’
‘It’s all right, Miss Viant,’ Tom said. ‘We haven’t come to take issue with you about anything. My wife was concerned about you and I promised her before I came away from the infirmary that I’d see if all were well with you. The other chap here is my cousin. Do you think we could come in, please?’
Kate was relieved at his friendly manner but wouldn’t dream of disobeying someone older, let alone one of her betters. ‘Of course.’ The door opened straight into the living room and she limped into its middle. It was bleak and cheerless – as it had been before it was stripped of its furnishings. Beside the empty hearth was the kindling chopping block, which she had carried in from the back garden to use as a seat. Kate had been huddled down on it trying not to cry over her fate, or what the kind Jill Harvey’s might be, while trying to form a plan about how she might get work and a more permanent roof over her head.
Abbie went inside and approached Kate, all smiles. Tom followed but kept back a little. Jonny stepped over the threshold but stayed thoughtfully near the door. The place was uninviting and smelled of stale liniment. The linoleum, so well trodden its geometrical pattern was blotted out in most places, had been brushed clean of the last speck of dust. Kate had been an excellent housekeeper for her grandmother.
Abbie thought she should reassure Kate again. ‘Mr Harvey has only come to thank you for helping Mrs Harvey this morning.’
‘Yes, absolutely,’ Tom said. ‘We’ll both always be grateful to you, Kate.’
‘How is she? Will she be back home soon?’ Kate was praying it would be so, hoping she might get the chance to open up her troubles to Jill, who might be able to point her to a job.
‘Not soon, I’m afraid,’ Tom said. He explained why, watching the girl’s eyes, which were so like a kitten’s, stretch wide in horror and become wet with tears.
Kate looked down at the floor, too inexperienced in life to know what to say except, ‘I’m sorry.’
The simplest statement, yet the sincerity in it was profound. Tom understood why she had brought out the protective side in Jill and it stirred him in the same way. It was evident Kate had known a lot of misery and had been put upon, probably all her life. ‘Thank you. Would you like to tell me why you’ve been left here all alone? Is someone coming to fetch you?’
Kate shook her head, her wretchedness almost palpable. ‘No. They don’t want me no more. My parents or my brothers. They said I’ve got to fend for myself from now on.’
Abbie’s jaw fell open in outrage on Kate’s behalf. Jonny, glancing between the little mouse of a girl and the older woman, saw that Abbie could be something of a lioness. He liked that strength in a woman.
Tom gasped. ‘Well, we can’t have that,’ he said firmly.
It was not lost on anyone how Kate responded to the edge of authority in his tone. Some of the misery cleared from her drawn features and she adjusted her stance, as if coming to attention. She was reaching out in hope. She was like a sad, neglected child. It was easy to want to gather her in close and swear to look after her for the rest of her life. She said nothing, waiting in that pitiful hope that things might be about to change for the better.
Tom glanced at the forlorn cloth bag and the tatty shoe box. ‘I see you’ve got your things together. Good. How would you like to come with us, Kate? To Ford Farm? Miss Rothwell has just come to stay but there’s plenty of room. My mother, Mrs Bosweld, will be glad to welcome you, and my wife will be pleased to know you haven’t been left to remain all alone.’
‘You mean it?’ A glow filtered into Kate’s pallid complexion and chased away the shadows, but the lightness eased off quickly. She was too used to having any kind of hope snatched away. Was Tom Harvey, the heir to Ford Farm, as genuinely kind as his wife? Was it possible for so many good pepple to live in one place and to be gathered here in one small room? Miss Rothwell had rushed to her aid in the lane with concern and had given orders without snapping. The RAF officer, whose amazing good looks she found a little daunting, was aiming the most pleasant of smiles at her.
‘Absolutely,’ Tom replied. He had the urge to ruffle her auburn hair. He wouldn’t dream of actually touching her but she shouldn’t be treated like a child anyway. She deserved respect and needed careful interaction or she’d retreat into herself. He picked up the bag and the shoe box. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Yes. Thank you,’ Kate said. She had proper shelter for the night, perhaps for a day or two, perhaps even until Jill got out of hospital. It was enough for now.