Sophie was fighting an urge to run and run, leave Cwm Derw and find another place to live secretly and alone, as she had so many times in the past. It was hopeless to try to return to normality, make friends, find work, fall in love and settle into the life most women expect.
Thoughts tumbled around in her head like knives, hurting her: the faces of people she had harmed – Mam and Dad, her brother Frank and sister Carrie, her grandparents; all of them shadowed by the memory of the man she had once dreamed of marrying: Geoffrey, pushed away by her bulldozing her way through his doubts and hesitations, convinced she knew best.
Geoffrey had seen her for what she was: a pushy, over-confident young woman. He had been able to walk away, but not so her family. They were all gone for ever, and had lost their lives because they had followed her emphatic advice. By stopping her grandparents going back to their own home and taking her brother and sister with them, she had condemned them all to death. The dramatic words hit her like hammers, beating her shame into her brain, but the pain was not lessening by repetition.
She wandered in the dark, rain-threatened evening, unaware of where her feet were taking her, and found herself in the wood close to Treweather Farm. The horizon, lit by the last rays of a setting sun, seemed to tempt her, encourage her to set off and search again for a place where she might find peace. Suddenly she knew she needed to get back to Badgers Brook. This wasn’t the time for running away, especially in the middle of a gloomy, late-summer evening. She’d be better to try to sleep, then, in the light of a new dawn, make her decision.
She wore soft-soled shoes, light sandals chosen for the wedding, and was little more than a pale, silent shadow as she passed between the trees and headed for the lane. She didn’t make a sound as she walked up the path, and was able to see someone standing near the back door before being heard. She knew at once that it was Ryan and slid backwards using the shadows to hide. When she reached the lane she moved across the grass verge and into the trees. Leaning against the knobbly trunk of a birch she stood and waited for him to leave.
Ryan slid down the wall on which he was leaning and sat on his heels. No matter how long it took, he wouldn’t leave until Sophie came home. After half an hour he became uncomfortable and wondered if she was already inside and just refusing to answer his knock. He stretched his cramped muscles and began to move around the house, intending to look through the windows of the living room and dining room.
Sophie had been allowing her concentration to drift, and when she screwed up her eyes and stared at the doorway she saw that he was gone. She waited a moment then crossed the road and walked up the path again, in time to bump into Ryan, who had walked around the house. She turned to run but he grabbed her, held her arms and pulled her round to face him.
‘Sophie, talk to me. Just talk to me. If you don’t want me to bother you again, at least tell me why. I can take rejection, but I would like to understand why.’
‘I can’t talk to you. I can’t talk to anyone, so will you please go. I’m tired and I want to go to bed. Please, Ryan,’ she pleaded, as he refused to release her arms.
He dropped his arms and lowered his head, defeated. ‘I was beginning to think we might have a future together. I thought, once you learned to trust me, believe me when I promise I’d never hurt you, you’d feel the same.’
‘It isn’t you, it’s me,’ she almost shouted. ‘Why don’t you listen? I can’t share my life with you, I’d make you miserable. It’s what I always do!’ She pushed him aside and ran into the house. Ryan heard the sound of the key being turned and the bolt being thrust home and the harsh sounds were like blows.
Hurt and bewildered, he crossed the lane and walked through the wood here and there without purpose. After an hour, when he was reasonably sure his parents and Owen would be in bed, he went back to the farm, but the house wasn’t at rest. He found Owen in the office working on some forms, which he put aside when he heard his cousin come in.
‘Hello, Ryan. I didn’t hear the car.’
‘No, I left it near the post office. I’ll collect it in the morning.’
‘Too much to drink?’
‘No. Not enough.’ Without another word he went to bed.
Owen waited a few minutes to make sure Ryan wasn’t coming back down, then returned to the forms he was filling in with his careful, neat writing. Before he, too, retired, he slid them into a briefcase, which he put in the back of his wardrobe hidden under a couple of ancient jackets. Tomorrow he would meet the new solicitor and his new life would begin.
In the morning, although she had slept very little, the house had performed its magic and Sophie was calmer. She wouldn’t run away; she had a house where she was comfortable and, although she hadn’t enough money to live with ease, she would stay and maybe build a new life. New beginnings were always hard even without the memories and pain she was dragging along with her, but this time she would hold firm.
Throughout the summer she had been busy filling jars with her preserves. Instead of offering everything she had made to Peter and Hope to sell in their shop, she decided to take as much as she could carry to Maes Hir market. She knew that hiding away was the wrong thing to do, and she needed to be among people. Besides, money was getting low and with luck she’d earn enough to pay a couple of weeks’ rent to Geoff and Connie, and maybe find a few bargains – perhaps a pair of shoes suitable for wearing at school.
She required very little money for food, taking what she needed from the garden and buying little more than the small ration allowance at Hayward’s grocery shop. Like many others she bartered what she didn’t want for other things and in exchange for her meat ration she gratefully accepted sugar and sometimes cheese.
She saw Sarah waiting for the bus, talking to Connie Tanner and Betty Connors. She felt the panic that accompanied the thought of having to sit and talk to someone on the half-hour journey. She wished she hadn’t come. It was foolish to expect people to be friendly sometimes then allow her privacy at others. When would she relax and enjoy living among these lovely people?
She stepped back and allowed the small queue to find their seats before struggling with her laden baskets and finding a seat where she could have the baskets beside her. She waved towards the people she knew but turned quickly away, signalling her disinclination to talk. Taking out a notebook, she began to browse through the almost empty pages.
When they reached the market, Connie and Betty were among her first customers, buying mint sauce and, for Connie, the unusual carrot jam and another made with tomatoes.
‘Any time you have pickles to sell let me know,’ Betty said, refusing the jams suspiciously. ‘I do a few sandwiches in the bar and I’d be glad to buy some that are a bit different. And Geoff loves your parsnip wine, doesn’t he, Connie? Although I shouldn’t be encouraging you to take my customers,’ she added with a smile.
‘The parsnip wine is only for gifts, not to sell,’ Sophie said. She was looking anxious, wishing they’d go away; she knew from experience that after a few casual remarks, the questions would begin. She was raw from Ryan’s persuasions and felt vulnerable and inexplicably afraid. Then she saw Sarah approaching with a reluctant Bertie in tow.
‘Where did you learn about this preserving, Sophie?’ Sarah asked. ‘From your mam, was it?’
‘I just became interested.’ Sophie looked to the side, where a newcomer was trying to attract her attention, holding up her only pot of wild raspberry preserve. She served the woman and the others thankfully moved on. With an eye on the market inspector, who usually pretended not to notice her, she was busy for the next hour and soon her baskets were empty.
She stood for a while, enjoying at second hand the bustle and chatter of the customers wandering around the stalls. An outsider with an ache, a longing to be a part of it but invisibly manacled to past errors.
A crowd was picking over the pile of second-hand shoes that had been unceremoniously tipped out on to the ground. She saw there were none suitable for her. The lively bargain hunters were trying them on, searching for a match, debating colour and style. Besides hoping for a good buy, they were treating the search as an excuse for entertainment; laughing at the height of some of the heels, the poor quality and the impractical designs. A visit to Maes Hir and its popular market was an enjoyable day out. The faces of the customers and sellers alike told her that.
She stood watching the scene for a while, but when Sarah called and asked if she would join them at the snack bar for a cup of tea and a scone she declined and ran to catch the early bus. She felt a deep disappointment. She would have liked to stay a while, watching the crowd and perhaps picking up a bargain or two when the stalls were packing up, but the thought of travelling back with Sarah and the others was more than she could cope with. ‘Idiot that I am!’ she said aloud.
Betty Connors was on the bus. She didn’t sit next to Sophie, but behind her, so the girl could talk or not, as she wished.
‘I have to get back early to open for lunchtime. Banging on the door they’ll be, like prisoners in reverse, demanding to be let in. And there they’ll stay until I close the doors. Sad isn’t it, how little some people have in their lives.’
Sophie agreed but she sensed the questions about to begin and took out her notebook and wrote a few words. Betty leaned forwards and patted her shoulder in silence, as though understanding her reticence.
Sophie wondered if she should repeat her concerns about Elsie, and cautiously she asked, ‘How are Elsie and Ed today, after all yesterday’s excitement?’
‘I haven’t seen them today. I might go and see them later, although whenever we meet these days we end up arguing.’ Betty said sadly. ‘It’s hard to believe how he’s changed. He’s on the defensive all the time, treating me like the enemy instead of his friend.’
‘Give them time. It can’t be easy to adjust to sharing when you’re used to making all your own decisions,’ Sophie comforted.
‘What about you and Ryan? You seem to get on well.’
Obliquely changing the subject. Sophie laughed and said, ‘I don’t think his mother approves of our friendship. A vegetarian and a farmer? A stranger as well? Impossible!’ She turned back to the imaginary importance of her notebook.
Ryan telephoned the farm every day and soon after the wedding managed to speak to Daphne, who was still helping each morning, although Rachel was gradually taking over again. After general questions he asked about Bertie and, as though as an afterthought, about Sophie.
‘She’s changed so much,’ said Daphne with a sigh. ‘When we were in the WAAFs she was such a lively character. Outgoing, full of mischief, always ready for a laugh. If there was ever a hint of trouble she was usually in the middle of it. But she seems to blame herself for her family’s deaths, and she refuses to tell me why. That’s all I can tell you, Ryan.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I have to go, there’s someone waiting to use the phone. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Oh, you don’t happen to have the address of her previous home, do you?’
‘Maybe. If I can decipher the scribbled-out words in my tattered address book. I’ll let you know.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Who was that? As if I can’t guess,’ Owen said as he walked into the room. ‘My cousin, who leaves me to run the place then checks up on me daily as though I’m not to be trusted.’
‘Don’t worry about him,’ Daphne said. ‘He knows you’re running everything as efficiently as he could. He keeps phoning and asking questions simply to cover his guilt at not being here.’
‘Well I wish he wouldn’t. He should either be here or leave me alone to run things as I see fit. He can’t have it both ways, can he?’
‘Lunch will be ready in half an hour,’ she said, avoiding a reply.
‘Where are my aunt and uncle?’
‘They went to order winter fodder. Harry drove them.’
‘I have to go out. Will you stay until they get back?’
‘Of course, but they’ll be back for lunch, they never stay in town.’
‘I’ll wait and eat with them,’ he said. ‘There are one or two things I need to discuss. The new barns will need financing, and the road desperately needs to be resurfaced. I can sign cheques but I want authority for a larger outlay.’ He left the room, still seeming disgruntled, and Daphne went into the kitchen to check that the food was progressing satisfactorily. She enjoyed pleasing the particular and fussy Rachel.
She liked Owen and thought he was treated with a lack of respect for what he was doing, but she avoided becoming involved in his complaints. Better to stay out of family arguments, wherever her sympathies lay. Working in the farmhouse and dealing with some of the lighter farm work, she was aware of a growing contentment, and joining one side of a disagreement, however casually, might see her time here ended.
Perhaps, she mused, if Owen hadn’t been married she might have allowed herself to become more than fond of him and the life he offered. But he had never bothered to sue for divorce and she often wondered why, after all the years he and Sarah had been apart, he still didn’t break the legal ties.
Leaving a note for Rachel and Tommy to tell them where she would be found, in case she failed to hear the van return, she went into the barn and began pulling down the bales of hay needed to clean out the chicken coops. She’d deal with the job once lunch was over. The work was gradually extending from the small tasks she had managed at first, and its attraction was expanding too.
Killing time, half listening for the sound of the van driving up the bumpy road, she began to brush up the loose hay, laughing at the dog’s attempts at catching the mice she disturbed. Yes, she could be happy doing this for the rest of her life. If only Owen were free.
Sophie had a visitor one afternoon towards the end of the school holiday. Betty came after closing the Ship after lunch and brought a basket filled with assorted empty jars. ‘I asked over the bar if anyone had any they didn’t want and here they are,’ she announced, plonking them on the kitchen table.
‘Don’t thank me,’ she said as Sophie began to speak. ‘Selfish I am. I want some of the pickles you make. In fact, have you any to spare now? I thought I’d go and see that brother of mine, take him a gift as an excuse. Crazy needing an excuse to visit my brother, eh? The truth is, I hardly see him since he and Elsie got married. She keeps him busy and he does a lot more for her than he did for me. The power of love, eh?’
Sophie thanked her, found a couple of jars of piccalilli and put the kettle on for tea.
She could see that Betty had something on her mind. She had settled into an armchair in the living room, sipped the tea and nibbled at the home-made biscuits, making the usual polite comments about the simply furnished room with its view of the garden. And Sophie stayed quiet, just making a few comments, waiting to learn the reason for Betty’s visit.
‘How are things at the Ship?’ she asked after a particularly long silence, while she refilled their cups.
‘Oh, I’m coping. Sarah does a good job of cleaning each morning, and Daphne is becoming very useful in the bar when I’m busy. She’s such a hard worker that one. It’s Ed that’s the problem.’
‘You miss him?’
‘Yes, of course, but it isn’t that. Sophie, have you heard any news about Elsie’s condition?’
‘Only rumours and they’re best ignored, don’t you think?’
Betty smiled at her. ‘You’re very good at that, aren’t you? Answering a question by not answering it at all,’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s all right, but I don’t know what – if anything – I should do.’
‘She’ll have spoken about it to Ed – perhaps you could ask him again.’
‘I have and he says it’s nonsense.’
‘But you don’t believe him?’
‘I believe he thinks it’s nonsense, but I also believe Elsie has been lying to him as well as to the rest of us. Sarah suggested – thinking I knew – that Elsie married my brother because she’s ill and will need someone to take care of her, and isn’t he a wonderfully kind man.’
‘If Ed doesn’t want to talk about it you can’t force him to.’
‘But what if Sarah’s right and he doesn’t know? He should be warned at least.’
‘And if Sarah’s wrong? You’d upset your brother for nothing.’
‘You think I should do nothing?’
‘I don’t know,’ Sophie said at once, alarm widening her eyes. ‘I don’t have an opinion either way. You must decide what to do. Ed is your brother and you know best.’
That night she couldn’t sleep, worried about having influenced Betty. However long she considered, whatever she did, her conclusions were always wrong. She was a danger to everyone she knew and cared for.
She was woken at eight o’clock by the sound of a robin singing in the tree outside her bedroom window. It was as though he was trying to cheer her, put her in a happier mood.
She had to admit to herself that avoiding involvement was impossible. If she were to stay here and become a part of the community, becoming involved with people was a part of the deal. One day she would be able to talk about her own tragedies, but this morning she would call on Betty and try to help her by listening. That was what most people needed, anyway, not someone forcing their opinion on them.
A long letter came from Ryan with news of his progress, and saying that when he next came home he wanted to take her out for a meal in a village some way away, where they could discuss their plans for the future. A future he hoped they might share. He promised there would be no pressure and he signed it with love. She read and reread it but didn’t reply.
Sophie wasn’t the only one in turmoil about a growing love. Sarah was beginning to warm towards Owen. He had begun meeting her from the shop and offering her a lift home. He brought gifts for her and for Bertie, and her response varied from anger and irritation to being amused and feeling flattered.
Swearing her to secrecy he repeated that he might be going away. ‘I’d like you to come with me, you and Bertie.’
‘Where to? I haven’t got much but all I have is here. I can’t go anywhere. I don’t have the train fare as far as Cardiff. What are you talking about, Owen?’
‘If things go to plan I’ll have enough for all of us.’
‘Doing the football pools are you?’ she asked sarcastically. ‘Are you sure you’ll be one of the big winners?’
‘Not the pools. This is a certainty. It’s mine, it’s what I’m owed and it will be enough for us to buy a place, you, me and young Bertie.’
She became intrigued and asked questions but didn’t learn very much, just that it had to be a secret until he told her different. She left him convinced the whole thing must be a joke, an attempt on his part to persuade her to take seriously his efforts to befriend them. ‘Treating me like a child being promised a treat,’ she told Sophie when she called to collect Bertie. ‘As if I’d believe a story like that!’
Sophie was in the post office on Wednesday morning when Ryan walked in. She smiled, a tremor starting in the corner of her mouth as she wondered how he would behave towards her. When she had bought the stamps she needed, and accepted an invitation from Stella to call on her at the country cottage later that day, she went out. Should she wait for Ryan to be served, or walk away?
She stood outside staring at her notebook as though checking a shopping list when he came out and joined her.
‘Have you time for a coffee?’ he asked rather formally.
‘I’d like that. Thank you.’
They walked to the café, crowded with shoppers having a rest between errands, and found a place at a table, which they had to share with two others.
‘How are the studies progressing?’ she asked.
‘Fine. I’m lucky to have this chance to prepare. I’ve visited schools and colleges, attended lectures, talked to ex-pupils and teachers, as well as doing a lot of reading. I couldn’t have done any of it staying at home. I’m enjoying the prospect of college and feel more and more certain that teaching is what I want to do.’
‘I was training to be a teacher but I gave it up and joined the WAAFs,’ she reminded him.
‘Why didn’t you go back?’
‘Everything had changed. I no longer felt certain about what I wanted to do.’
‘D’you regret it?’
‘I couldn’t go back, too much had happened.’
‘Such as?’ he asked. She glanced at him and at the two women sharing their table, who were listening with great interest.
‘I was no longer the same person. You can’t go through an experience like that and stay the same.’
‘An experience like what?’ he insisted.
Cornered, unable to get up and walk away, hemmed in by the two women, she said, ‘Death, destruction, and more death and destruction. It made what I wanted to do seem trivial and unimportant.’
‘Daphne told me about losing your family,’ he said softly. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’
She looked at the women sipping their tea, implacably blocking her escape. She felt like screaming, shouting at them to get out of her way. She was filled with panic and finding it difficult to breathe. Sensing her distress, Ryan’s hands covered hers, and he whispered softly so the other women couldn’t hear. ‘All right, love. You don’t have to talk now, but one day you will and I promise you the pain will be eased. I hope I’m there when that day comes. I want to be the one you tell.’
He stood up and politely asked the women to move, and, holding Sophie’s hand firmly so she couldn’t run away, he led her out of the café to where the farm van was parked outside the post office.
Stella was at the door, taking in the advertising boards. ‘Don’t forget to come and see us this afternoon, Sophie. You too, Ryan, plenty of cakes I’ve made. Only saccharine sweeteners, mind. I’ve run right out of sugar and she’s got the fault – swapped me for some bacon for Colin’s breakfast she did.’
Ryan went back to the farm for lunch, made by his mother, who was managing heroically with her injured arm. Daphne had gone and he sat with Owen and his parents, listening while Owen and Tommy discussed the finances for the new barn – the reason for his midweek visit.
He tried to take an interest in what was being said, costs, loans and percentages, but his mind refused to concentrate. He kept seeing those sad hazel eyes in that beautiful face with its frame of flyaway hair. Somehow he had to persuade her to talk to him.
Leaving Owen and Tommy still arguing over the position of the new barn, which Owen wanted to site away from the old brick-built one to avoid frightening the barn owl, he went to meet Sophie. He left the car in the lane and they walked together to Stella and Colin’s allotment.
Scamp ran up to say hello as they approached the country cottage, then went back into his blanket-lined cardboard box.
‘Kettle’s on,’ Stella called. ‘Why don’t you go and admire Colin’s vegetables, while I pour? And wait till you see the chrysanthemums. Growing a treat they are, thanks to Peter’s horse’s generous contributions. Delighted he is to be growing a few flowers again.’
Colin was on the afternoon shift, but they duly admired the neat rows of vegetables and weed-free areas, dug and dusted with lime ready for next year’s crops.
‘It’s all looking wonderful,’ Sophie said, and Ryan agreed that Colin was a first-class gardener. As reward for their admiration they were given tea and cakes.
Rachel had promised to lend Sophie some old recipe books and Ryan used them as an excuse to invite her back. ‘I’ll drop you back at Badgers Brook as I leave,’ he promised. ‘I have to get back tonight.’
There was no sign of Rachel or Tommy when they got to the farm. Owen was nowhere to be seen and the chickens were hovering around the coops ready to tuck themselves up for the night.
‘Where is everyone?’ Ryan said with a frown. He went upstairs to see if anyone was there and came down with the frown even deeper. ‘There’s no sign of them.’
‘Phone the pub, Daphne might know,’ Sophie suggested.
When he replaced the receiver a flash of anger crossed his face. ‘Mam and Dad have gone to Tenby again. Owen decided to book the few days as a treat for them. He’s driven them there. Why didn’t he tell me?’
‘A surprise?’
‘I don’t like secrets and Owen is keeping too many lately. I still haven’t been told exactly why we have to change our accountant.’
‘Might he be taking things into his own hands to make sure he’s indispensable? Rumours about your selling must concern him a little.’
‘He’s taking advantage of my parents. They’re so unhappy about Gareth and me refusing to take on the farm and he’s playing on their vulnerability.’
‘He’s been trying to persuade Sarah they might have a future together. She treats it as a joke but he’s told her he’s moving away.’
‘What’s going on? What’s he up to? Is there something I don’t know? He didn’t tell me how badly they’d been hurt in the accident, now he’s shuffling them off on holidays without a word. Is there something else I’m not being told?’
‘I don’t think your parents are ill, if that’s what you’re thinking, just, as you say, unhappy. Perhaps Owen’s aware of how hard they work and wants to give them a few days holiday before it gets colder. They enjoyed the last visit so much.’
‘I’m their son, so why wasn’t I in on the surprise?’
She shrugged. ‘Do you want me to stay until Owen comes back?’
‘I should stay, have it out with him, remind him of his position here and the need to keep me informed. But if I miss another day I’ll be working all weekend and every evening to catch up.’
‘Then go. I’ll wait here, and as soon as Owen gets back I’ll tell him to phone you, however late.’
‘I don’t want to leave you. Besides, I want to get to the bottom of it.’
‘Shouldn’t we shut up the chickens and check the barn doors?’
‘I’ll do that,’ he said, reaching for a torch. ‘Will you build up the fire? You might be in for a long wait.’
As he put on his coat and waited for a taxi to arrive to take him to the station he looked at her, and she stood and walked over to him. His arms came round her and he pressed her close. This time she didn’t resist when he kissed her, and he left her wide eyed and a little anxious, her heart pounding as though it would burst, wanting to run after the taxi, call him back.
Ryan sat on the late-night train, his mind clear, but he couldn’t look at the papers he had brought, and he thought only of Sophie. He hoped she hadn’t been frightened away by his kiss. A kiss he had longed for ever since they had met. He wanted to look after her, not just now but always.
Owen came in at eleven and was surprised to see Sophie sitting beside the fire dozing in the cosy warmth.
‘Sophie? What are you doing here?’
‘Hello, Owen. Will you phone Ryan? He should be back by now. He said it didn’t matter how late.’
‘At this time of night? No, I won’t!’
‘It’s important.’
He went into the hall and she heard his voice, low, but clearly angry, followed by the sound of the phone being returned to its rest. He came back into the room and said, sharply, ‘Come on, I have to get you home. I have an early start, remember.’
It sounded like a reprimand, but she said nothing, just collected her bag and coat and followed him to the van. He hardly said a word on the short journey and when she stepped out at the gate of Badgers Brook he drove off without even saying goodnight, hardly giving her time to get out so he had to lean over to close the passenger door as he was moving off. He was angry and she wondered what had been said.
The following morning, Owen rose earlier than usual, and before Harry Sutton arrived most of the routine chores had been done. ‘I have to go into town,’ he announced as Harry reached for the overall he habitually wore. ‘If I’m not back at dinner time, go in and make yourself a cup of tea.’
‘Anything special you want me to do?’
‘You know what needs doing, don’t you?’ Owen snapped.
The solicitor was with a client and Owen drummed a tattoo with nervous fingers on the table as he waited to be seen. The solicitor was new and enthusiastic and he listened carefully to Owen’s instructions. When he left the smart new office, which still smelled of paint and varnish, Owen was smiling, all tension gone. The papers he held in his hand promised him a safe future. Ryan and Gareth could go and stuff themselves.
To his annoyance he saw Sophie and the dratted Bertie in the field and called to them, waving an arm impatiently.
‘I want you to keep out of these fields,’ he shouted as they drew near. ‘This isn’t a public highway!’
‘We were gathering mushrooms to make some soup,’ Sophie protested. ‘No one will object to that, surely?’
‘I object! Now get off this land.’
‘I hate you!’ Bertie shouted as they went into the wood.
‘Hush, Bertie, he’s only a bad-tempered man.’
‘He keeps coming to talk to Mam, and he isn’t bad-tempered then,’ the boy grumbled.
Jekyll and Hyde, Sophie thought. Smiles for Sarah and a scowl for everyone else. If he was really interested in winning Sarah back, upsetting Bertie wasn’t a good idea.
The surveyors came later that day and again on the following morning. If Harry was curious he didn’t ask, he just got on with the work while the small group wandered across the fields and disappeared into the various outbuilding, but he watched them and wondered why Daphne hadn’t come, and why it was being done while Tommy and Rachel were out of the way.
He didn’t go into the farmhouse at midday to eat his lunch. Instead he drove down to the Ship and Compass on the tractor, where Daphne was behind the bar.
‘So this is what you’re doing. Skiving, eh?’
‘Yes, and enjoying it,’ Daphne said, pulling his pint. ‘Owen said he could manage without me today, so I’m helping Betty. Nice to be popular, Harry.’
‘Something to do with them surveyors no doubt.’
‘Oh?’ she looked thoughtful then added, ‘Tommy did say something about getting a new barn, it’s probably that. Pity they had to come when Tommy and Rachel aren’t there.’
‘They’re doing a lot of measuring for one Dutch barn,’ he muttered, before taking a first loud sip.
When Harry went for a drink on the way home that evening, he was surprised to see Daphne there, and on her own. ‘Taken over, have you?’ he asked, putting down a shilling. ‘Blimey, girl, wherever I go you turn up. I’ll have you know I’m spoken for,’ he teased.
‘Betty went to see her brother but she’d delayed so I opened up. She’s sure to be back soon.’
He moved closer and asked, ‘Do you know anything about the Treweathers selling up? The survey covered most of the land and all of the buildings.’
‘Not a thing, I’d never been on a farm until I came here.’
Daphne was kept busy that night, but Harry helped, collecting and washing glasses and bringing up bottles from the cellar.
‘I used to help Ed now and then, when Betty was out,’ he explained. At closing time Betty still hadn’t returned. She came in as Daphne was washing the last of the glasses.
‘Sorry I am, I couldn’t even let you know.’
‘Is your brother all right?’
‘Not really. Look, I’ll make a cup of tea and I’ll tell you what’s been going on.’
‘There’s no need,’ Daphne protested, but she found it difficult to hide her curiosity and hurriedly dealt with the till and locked the money away while Betty took off her coat and made a tray of tea.
‘Today I made Elsie tell Ed the truth, and he’s shocked beyond belief. The poor man is reeling. He had no idea. She’s been running the guest-house, employing extra help and covering up her gradually worsening condition.’
‘What will he do?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve revealed the problem but I can’t offer a solution. I tried not to interfere but in the end I decided that my loyalties were with my brother, not Elsie, and I made her tell him. Now I don’t know whether I’m feeling guilty or relieved. Both I think. Look, I know it’s an imposition, but could you manage here for a few evenings, while we discuss what’s to be done?’
‘Of course. Once Rachel and Tommy are back they won’t need me any more, so I’d love to help.’
‘Thank you. You, Daphne Boyd, are amazing.’
The next time Owen was waiting for Sarah outside the shop she marched up and demanded to know why he had sent her son off his land. ‘He wasn’t doing any harm. Even a nine-year-old can’t do much damage to grass!’ she shouted.
‘I know and I’m sorry. It wasn’t Bertie, it’s Sophie I’m trying to discourage.’
‘Why? What can she do to grass? Anyway, Harry Sutton told us your aunt and uncle have no objections to us being there.’
‘Harry Sutton should mind his own business.’
‘So should you, Owen Treweather. So should you!’ She pushed against the side of the van as though trying to push it over. ‘And get this filthy old van out of my way, it lowers the tone of the street!’ She was hiding her laughter as she hurried away.
Two days later, Rachel and Tommy returned to find Harry Sutton had been sacked and Owen had employed two part-timers. He made up some story about Harry’s poor time-keeping, telling them he had done most of the chores before he arrived, without explaining that he had risen two hours earlier to make sure it happened. ‘He also went to the pub at dinner and was twenty minutes late, explaining that he’d been helping Daphne while Betty was out. We pay his wages, not Betty.’ It sounded reasonable.
The real reason he didn’t want Harry around was in case he said too much about the surveyors’ visit. The mortgage he had arranged was not intended to be used for a Dutch barn or resurfacing the approach road. Owen had a far better plan for the money, which had been transferred into a new account with himself as one of the signatures required for withdrawals and payments. He wouldn’t have difficulties faking a signature for Rachel or Tommy.
He’d been treated as nothing more than a labourer and now he was going to take what he was owed.
Daphne protested about the sacking of Harry. ‘He did much more than he needed while he was there and the twenty minutes was once only on the day the surveyors were there and that was my fault anyway.’
To her utter surprise he told her she was sacked and needn’t come again, and her wages would be sent to her.
Shocked and puzzled, she told Sophie.
Ed and Elsie sat and stared at Betty: neither of them knew what to say. Betty had arrived that morning, was closely followed by the doctor and Brenda Morris, the nurse. The prognosis of Elsie’s illness was discussed but Elsie herself said nothing.
‘Deterioration is never constant. Sometimes there is little change for a while, then it begins to move again,’ the doctor explained. Glassy eyed, Elsie still remained silent.
When the doctor had left and Elsie had gone to her room to rest, Betty asked her brother whether he thought he and Elsie still had a future together.
‘I married her for better or worse and I’ll stick with that. But I won’t live with her. That would be too much of a farce.’
‘You can’t come back to the Ship, Eddie, you can’t leave her alone.’
‘I don’t intend to do either. I’ll run this place – I’ve been doing it for these weeks and I know the routine – and Elsie will go into a nursing home. The money this place makes and what she’s got saved will pay for it.’ That was his decision, he said, and it was final.
After walking around for a while, calling to see Stella and scrounging a cup of tea, Betty went back to the pub and asked Daphne if she’d like a permanent job there.
‘I’d hoped that once Elsie and Ed had settled down, Ed would have come back to helping me. After all, Elsie ran her place alone for years and he wouldn’t have been needed, but now the chance of that is well and truly gone.’
They talked about the tragedy Elsie faced and both admitted a sneaking sympathy for the dishonest way she had dealt with it. ‘No one wants to be alone, and having an illness must make it even harder to face loneliness,’ Betty said.
‘Yet because of her you’re losing the partnership of your brother after so many years.’
‘I’ll cope. Especially with you helping me.’
Daphne happily accepted the job then went to find Sophie to tell her the good news.