29

‘Right, lass, this is as far as I can take you.’ The milk-lorry pulled up with a rattle of churns. ‘Over there.’ He pointed. ‘Make for yon’ church spire and you’ll be at Kirk Sutton. Someone’ll tell you, then, where Glebelands Farm is.’

Kath jumped down, thanking the driver, waving as he pulled away. Just across the fields was the village she was looking for and perhaps Marco, too. Or she might find Jean Butterworth, who could tell her where he was, though probably she would run into the farmer himself who might just tell her to keep her socializing with his landgirl until after working hours!

But somewhere, soon, she would meet someone who would help her, she knew it; knew it from the dryness of her mouth, the giddy beating of every pulse in her body.

She climbed the fence and began to walk across a cow pasture where a herd of shorthorns grazed, tails flicking. Today was warm for early October and she loosened her tie and unfastened the top two buttons of her shirt. Smart this walking-out uniform might be; cool, it was not.

‘Hey, there! Looking for someone?’ Standing by the fence at the far end of the field was a tall, slim landgirl. ‘And I’d get a move on, if I were you. The bull’s in with the herd today.’

‘Oops!’ Kath quickened her step. Shorthorn bulls were known for their aggressiveness, but they rarely gave trouble when surrounded by a herd of cows – that, at least, being a landgirl had taught her.

‘Hullo.’ She smiled, holding out her hand. ‘I’m looking for Jean Butterworth. Do you know if she works around here?’

‘She does, and she’s me. And you are Kat – Kath Allen?’

‘It was you –’ Kath stopped, taking in the silver-blonde hair tucked up in a bright green snood; the smile, showing white, even teeth and eyes so blue you couldn’t help but notice them. Just for a moment she knew panic. Or was she plain, old-fashioned jealous that Marco knew so beautiful a woman? ‘– you who posted that letter for – for …’

‘For Marco Roselli? Yes, I did.’

‘Then thanks. Thanks a lot. But will you tell me why you did it? Oh, heaven only knows I’m grateful – but why?’

‘Why risk getting myself into trouble over a prisoner of war?’ She shrugged, then smiled, it’s because somewhere there are Italians who took a risk for my boyfriend. I owe them one, I suppose. My John is in the Navy, you see. His ship was torpedoed on the Malta convoys and he was taken to a prisoner of war camp near Naples. It wasn’t a lot of laughs, he said – that’s why I can sympathize with Marco, though I know I shouldn’t.’

‘So what happened?’

‘Well, John isn’t the sort to take it lying down. He got fed up with the whole set-up, so he escaped. And to cut a long story short, the Italian escape network helped him. They hid him until they could get him on a neutral ship bound for Gibraltar. Seems not all Italians like Mussolini. I think those Partisans who helped John were Communists, though he never quite found out. But I’m not complaining. He’s back home and we’re getting married on his next leave, so I don’t mind doing Marco the odd favour.’

Relief washed over Kath. The beautiful Jean was engaged to a sailor, thanks be!

‘Then I hope it won’t be too long before you’re applying for your marriage leave. Do you know where Marco is working today? Is there any way I can talk to him, without being seen? All right – so I shouldn’t be here –’ She stopped, lifting her shoulders, all at once embarrassed.

‘Shouldn’t be fratting with the enemy, you mean? Listen, Kathleen, what you and Marco do is your own business. And I don’t mind posting letters for him – or having you send his to me. I’ll see he gets them. As I said – those Partisans were good to John. And you needn’t worry about being seen. In fact, you couldn’t have picked a better day. There’s a big farm sale on this afternoon and just about everybody around is there – except Marco and me. You’ll be all right for an hour. I don’t expect them back until afternoon milking.’ She pointed to the corner of the adjoining field. ‘See him? He’s clearing the ditches. Can’t miss that yellow patch, eh?’

‘No.’ Kath turned, smiling, and held out her hand. ‘Just in case I don’t get a chance later – thanks a lot, Jean. And good luck.’

‘You’re welcome, pal.’

Kath walked slowly, her heartbeats thudding delightfully in her ears. Then she began to run, calling his name, waving to him. He looked up and cried, ‘Kat! Katarina!’ and ran to meet her, scooped her up in his arms, lifting her high so she lost her balance and clung to him, laughing as he swung her round in a giddy whirl.

Then he lowered her gently to the ground, his eyes on hers, touching her face with gentle fingertips as if he couldn’t believe she were real.

‘Kat – it is you?’

‘It’s Kath,’ she whispered tremulously, closing her eyes and lifting her face for his kiss. ‘And oh, I’ve missed you so. Tell me you’ve missed me?’

‘I have missed you, Kat.’ They began to walk to the shelter of the hedge, arms linked, fingers entwined. ‘I think I shall never see you again, and then I am lucky and sent to work on this farm where there is Jean, who helps me. But how is everyone at Home Farm? And Roz – does she still grieve for Paul?’

‘Yes. She’s been through a terrible time, poor love, but she asked me to say “All the best,” to you. Only Roz knows I’m here, but everyone misses you.’

He smiled, and she wondered how ever she had existed so long without that smile; wondered how she would bring herself to leave him, when their hour had run.

‘And you, Kat? How is it for you?’

‘For me? We-e-ll –’ She sat down beside him on the sun-warmed grass, taking out her cigarettes, lighting two, passing one to him, and all the time the joy of what she was about to tell him – what she had so longed to tell him – surging through her in bubbles of excitement. Then moving closer so their shoulders touched she whispered, ‘Barney wants a divorce.’

‘He – what did you say?’

‘He wants me to divorce him.’ Laughter trembled on her words. ‘He wants to marry someone else; a nurse called Ellie he knew long before he met me. They met up again in Cairo, and – well – he’s giving me grounds for divorce. I saw my solicitor this morning and she’s pretty sure we’ll soon get a hearing – because Barney isn’t defending it, you see. She says that with luck I could be free by next summer.’ She stopped, breathless, then whispered, ‘Barney’s eyes are going to be all right. He had another operation in Edinburgh and already he can see. Soon he’ll be back with his regiment and oh, Marco, I can’t believe it; I just can’t. Even when the solicitor tells me it should be all plain sailing, I still can’t.’

‘I am glad that Barney sees again – more glad than you know, because if he hadn’t been so lucky you’d have stayed with him, I know it.’

‘Yes. I would. But it turned out all right, and I could have my decree nisi in the new year.’

‘Then you wait, Kat?’

‘Yes. For six months. And for that six months I mustn’t do anything – well – wrong. That’s what the law says, anyway.’

‘For six months,’ he frowned, ‘we can’t meet?’

‘I think not – I’ll ask my solicitor. But we’ll write, won’t we?’

‘Si. All the time we will write. And when I am wanting you I will tell myself that when next we shall meet – in the summer, perhaps – you will be a free lady, and I can ask you to marry me.’

‘And when you do,’ she whispered, holding his hand to her cheek, ‘this free lady will say yes, my love. Gratefully and gladly, she will say yes.’

Tears filled her eyes, spilled on to her cheeks and he gathered her close, kissed them tenderly away.

‘Katarina-mia, it is sad you must be so good, because I want so much to love you. And I want for you to stay with me; always to stay …’

‘Me, too. But it will come right for us, I know it. A gypsy came to Ridings, you see – you know what a gypsy is, Marco?’

‘Yes. I know.’

‘Well, she said I would know great love and much happiness.’

‘Si. I shall love you and make you happy always, Kat.’

‘And you won’t mind that perhaps we’ll have to wait a long time before we can be together?’

‘I will mind, but I shall, how you say, put up with it.’ He jumped to his feet, pulling her up beside him. ‘And let us walk or I shall kiss you and kiss you and we shall forget you must be good.’

She laughed, loving him and the nearness of him; glad it was the same for him, too.

‘I’ve brought you some cigarettes, Marco. Flora got me some when the WVS ladies came to the hostel. And I’ve brought you some of my chocolate ration; and some envelopes, with stamps on them. You’ll hide them, won’t you? Hide them some place the guards can’t find them if they search your hut?’

‘I’ll hide them good. No one finds Marco’s envelopes and no one will find the letters you send to me.’

‘But you can’t keep my letters. It’s too risky,’ she wailed. ‘You must tear them up – get rid of them.’

‘No, Kat. I shall keep them, but no one will ever find them. They will be all I have. Soon, it will be winter and dark and cold. I shall read your letters many times, so that summer comes more quickly.’

‘If I can’t come to see you until the divorce is absolute, you won’t forget me? You won’t let it make any difference that I’ll be a divorcee?’

‘No, Kat – and no. I love you. Tell me you will always love me?’

‘Ti amo, Marco. I shall always love you.’

‘Don’t go, Kat,’ he whispered, his lips against hers.

‘I must. They’ll be back before long. But I’ll see you again, if there’s a way. I promise I’ll try. Now that I’ve found you, I’ll find a way, somehow.’

‘Do you really know,’ he cupped her face in his hands, his eyes dark with longing, ‘how much I love you, and want you?’

‘Yes, I do,’ she murmured, straining closer, ‘but don’t ever stop telling me?’

And please, God, forgive me this shining happiness in a world so full of heartache. And let me keep it.

She looked at her watch. Their time was nearly gone.

‘I don’t want to leave you. Hold me, my darling. Just hold me …’

And he held her tightly, and whispered, ‘Ti amo, my Katarina. Ti amo, my love.’

Roz walked, hands in pockets, moodily kicking at piles of fallen leaves, thinking there could be no more miserable a time than this, when summer had gone and trees began to shed their leaves; when the days grew shorter and nights longer and lonelier.

She had awakened early, out of habit, listening as Kath crept downstairs and out of the house to help Mat with Sunday morning milking. She had stood at the window, watching her walk across the orchard over the wet, once-green grass.

In the east, the sky had begun to lighten, yet high in the sky to the west the half-moon still shone brightly and, with it, the morning star.

Roz envied Kath the warmth of the milking shed and the noise of the beasts, the chuck-chuck of the milking machine and oh, anything and everything that was people to talk to and laugh with.

This morning, Ridings was empty and cold, and unless she lit the kitchen fire there would be no hot water. Polly didn’t come on Sundays, either. This would be an awful day, and if the Lancasters at Peddlesbury started their circuits and bumps, she would scream.

On the other hand she could, of course, stop acting like a spoiled brat. She could dress quickly, go downstairs and rake out the remains of yesterday’s fire. Then she could light it, chop logs and fill the baskets and oh, there were so many things she could do. Indeed, she must learn to fill her days – if each day of the rest of her life were to be as long and lonely as this, then what would be the point of going on living?

She blushed furiously with shame. Paul would be glad to be this miserable; and Skip and Flight and the rest of Sugar’s crew. And Peg Bailey, too.

‘What is the matter with you?’ she demanded angrily of the malcontent who gazed at her from the dressing-table mirror.

The matter, whispered the voice in her head, is Paul. You can’t accept that you won’t ever see him again. You fret and fume that you lost the child you were carrying, and wonder that life dares to do such things to you, Roz Fairchild.

‘And who, really, are you?’ she asked out loud of the face in front of her. ‘Just who are you – and what does life owe you?’

Life owed her nothing, and she could either sit here, wallowing in her loneliness until Kath came back, or go out and walk until she couldn’t go another step. She could walk down Peddlesbury Lane and cross the field to the wood behind which Sugar had crashed; she could go to where it happened and call for Paul with her heart, tell him how wretched she was, how lonely. Maybe he would call to her, softly tell her it was all right; that she had only to cry out to him from her heart and he would hear. If she stood calm and still, would she hear his voice, quiet as a whisper, and see his face in her mind’s eye – the face that had eluded her since he’d died? Why, when she loved him to the point of madness, was he such a stranger to her, now?

We made a child together, Paul. You were real and warm, full of laughter and love of life. So why now have you left me? Why can’t I call you back, remember the sound of your voice. Is death so final, so unkind?

She turned quickly, impatiently, reaching for her clothes, pulling them on, and ran downstairs to the kitchen, filling the kettle, placing it to boil. She would make herself busy, then this afternoon she would walk and walk as Polly once did, though she would not weep. Her tears were spent, though she wished they were not, because even tears were better than the black nothing that wrapped her round whenever she was alone and prey to her thoughts.

And so she walked, now, kicking the fallen leaves, knowing she was going in search of Paul, of his voice, his face and the sweet relief of discovering he had not entirely left her.

She hated this part of the year, when autumn’s richness gave way to near-winter and everything was dying without protest. She preferred the starkness of mid-winter: leafless trees, twigged branches like black lace against a sky of grey velvet. She liked the glare of winter sun on an untrodden field of snow, pheasants kark-karking as they fluttered up to roost and a setting sun so red it made your heart glad just to see it. And cold ears and fingertips, frost patterns on the windows and tall, dead grasses dusted with silver.

Winter she could take, but the half-dead months at the end of autumn she could not, she thought, as she leaned on the field gate at the end of Peddlesbury Lane, remembering the last time she had stood here, Kath’s restraining hand on her arm and the RAF sentry warning her to go no farther, ordering her away as if she had no right to be near Paul. Well, the sentry wasn’t here, now. There was no-one to stop her opening that gate and walking to where it happened.

She looked ahead to the edge of the wood, where branches grew stark and jagged; Sugar, falling like a great wounded bird, had done that, two seconds before –

Before you died, Paul. Before you died on a soft June evening, filled with beauty.

She walked to the edge of the field. They said there had been a huge crater, but it wasn’t there, now. Someone had levelled it, then ploughed over the field. There wouldn’t be anything left of Sugar. Paul wasn’t at this place. If she waited for ever, she wouldn’t find him here.

She turned and walked back to where the sentry had stood, then crossed the lane, making for the riverbank and the copper-beech trees, their dying leaves waiting to fall. Once, she and Paul walked here, talked about soon being married. It was useless to wait, they’d decided, for the war to be over. All they had known was now, and their need for each other. But Paul had gone, and their child, and all around her was aloneness and despair.

‘Where are you, my darling,’ she yearned. ‘How could you leave me so completely when I need you so, love you so?’

And I love you, Roz. I always will. I promised, didn’t I?

‘Paul?’ His voice – she had heard it! After trying and trying, she’d heard him!

She closed her eyes, and his face was back in her mind’s eye. He was smiling, loving her, looking just as he’d looked that night in the ruins when he’d said their last goodbye.

She waited, listening. The wind sighed gently through the copper-beech leaves and she heard his voice again, soft and tender.

I love you, Roz. Fifty years from now, I’ll still be loving you …

Paul had come back to her! She could recall his face, hear his voice. He’d come, out of her remembering, like a whisper on the wind; a soft, warm wind from the summer of their loving. When she had stopped fighting the pain and accepted, Polly had said, then she would hear him.

Paul, I love you so. Don’t go away again. Don’t leave me.

Because she needed always to remember how it had been, to hear their laughter and their whispered words; needed to recall their closeness as they danced, thrill again to the love in his eyes each time they had met. And she could see him now; had called him back to her, at last.

She began to cry softly; tears of relief and love and acceptance. There was no anger in them; no bitterness. She wept for a love that would never be lost. Fifty years from now, she would still remember; see his smile, hear his voice. When she was old, he would still be young, straight-backed and handsome. And remembering, she too would be young. She smiled, not able to imagine it, not caring, knowing only that she could keep him in a small, secret corner of her heart for all time.

‘And I’ll love you, Paul Rennie,’ she whispered as the wind took her words and carried them to him. ‘Fifty years from now, I’ll still be loving you.’

Her love for him would make her nineteen again, wild with youth. Even fifty years from now, when she was old, he would make her young again.

The fire glowed warmly, lighting the shadowed corners of the little sitting-room.

‘The eighteenth of December, Roz – imagine, a whole year since I first came to Peacock Hey.’

‘And worried sick because you couldn’t milk a cow – and that Barney was going to hit the roof when he found you’d joined up.’

‘And now I’ve got my decree nisi; I’m half way divorced.’

‘And you’ll be free, absolutely free, at the end of June. Just in time for your birthday, Kath. Then Marco will ask you to marry him –’

‘Ask me again, Roz. Oh, I miss not being able to go near him, but until June I’ve got to accept that I can’t.’

‘Stupid divorce laws.’

‘Never mind. At least we can write, thanks to Jean, and oh, it doesn’t seem possible – such luck, I mean.’ She stopped, red-cheeked. ‘Sorry, Roz. I shouldn’t flaunt my happiness so, should I; not when –’

‘When I’ve lost Gran and Paul and the baby? Look, Kath, I’ve accepted it, now. I’m learning to live with it. I – I’ve grown up, I suppose.’

‘My word, yes. You’re a real farmer – you’ve harvested your very first crops, don’t forget. Ridings is a farm now.’

‘And paying its way again, thank heaven.’

They sat for a moment, gazing into the fireglow, strangely at peace.

‘Kath?’ Roz murmured, her eyes not leaving the flickering flames. ‘Do you ever wonder about your father?’

‘No. Now that you mention it, I don’t. Only about my mother and why she had to leave me. Do you?’

‘Funnily enough, I don’t, either. I did, once, and then I realized he mightn’t even have known – or cared – that he’d got my mother pregnant. Megan, I mean, not Janet. But I do sometimes think about Megan, and hope she found happiness, somewhere along the way. I won’t look at every red-haired, green-eyed woman I see, though, and wonder if she’s the one. And I won’t ever try to find her, Kath. It wouldn’t be fair, either to her or to Janet.’

‘It wouldn’t. You’re a Fairchild, and you must look after Ridings, for your gran.’

‘Mm. Dratted old ruin.’

‘No it isn’t! You know you love it. And you will get used to – well – being like me. You’ll accept it, Roz, as I did, and not feel too sad about it. You learned about it suddenly, you see; it came as a shock. But me – well, I always sort of knew it; always knew I was different from most other kids – an orphan …’

‘But we aren’t orphans. We do have mothers – somewhere. And we’ve got each other, Kath. Sisters, remember?’

‘Sisters. But no more talking about the past, uh?’ Because Roz was doing well, now; starting to live again. The sadness had gone from her eyes and she laughed more often. But she would never forget Paul. Kath knew he would always be with her, and thoughts of what might have been never far away.

‘Mm. And I suppose I am a farmer – or I will be, when the place is really mine. I want to farm properly, Kath, just as Jonty does. Ridings can’t ever be just a house again. Do you suppose, when the gypsies came on Luke’s Day, that they blessed the land, as well – when they lifted the curse, I mean?’

‘How do you know they lifted it? I didn’t see anything happening, come to think of it.’

‘No chanting, you mean; no creeping widdershins around the place? Neither did I, but I know the bad luck has gone, Kath. I can feel it has.’

‘They’ll come every year, now – you realize that, don’t you? You’re stuck with them every October,’ Kath, still the practical one, reminded her.

‘I know. But they didn’t do any damage – only left a lot of horse muck in the lane …’

‘And horse muck is good for mushrooms, I suppose.’

‘And rhubarb.’

‘Rhubarb? Now what good is rhubarb without sugar, Roz? Didn’t you hear it on the wireless yesterday? That lot in London are cutting the sugar ration in the new year. Wouldn’t it make you sick?’

‘Yes, but we have had a victory.’

The winning of a battle, a big battle. Rommel’s Panzers routed and prisoners taken, by us; thousands of prisoners! The light at the end of the tunnel. Not the beginning of the end, Mr Churchill said, but the end of the beginning. We were going to win!

A victory – wasn’t it just! And wasn’t it great to hear the church bells again?’

Once, the ringing of church bells would have sent fear into every man, woman and child; would have warned them that Britain was being invaded. On that wonderful November Sunday every bell in the land had rung out joyously for the winning of a battle and the scenting, at last, of victory to come.

‘By the way,’ Kath murmured, placing a log on the fire, ‘what were you and Jonty talking about so earnestly this afternoon?’ Leaning on the stackyard gate they’d been; talking, heads close. ‘You were nattering as if you were putting the world to rights.’

‘Were we? I could have sworn we were talking about pigs.’

‘Pigs?’ Kath wailed. ‘We’re not back to pigs again? I thought you once said you didn’t want them so near to the house?’

‘No, I didn’t. Gran said it. Ridings is a farm, remember, and those doghouses would make good sties. Wouldn’t it be marvellous to have our own bacon?’

‘Well, I must say you’ve got a point there.’

Home-reared, home-cured bacon. Lots of it, in sizzling, spitting bacon-fat, and fried bread …

‘Jonty said I was to think about it, and if I want to I can have two or three from Home Farm’s next litter – for a Christmas present, sort of. But d’you know what I’d really like? I’ve got a fancy for a good breeding sow.’

‘Breeding? Good grief, Roz – think of the trouble there’d be when farrowing time came. You know sows can be one heck of a nuisance.’ She’d been a landgirl for a year; Kath Allen knew about such things. ‘A breeding sow needs a lot of attention. How could you manage on your own?’

‘Manage?’ Roz frowned. ‘I’d be all right. Jonty would help me. Jonty would be there.’

Jonty would be there. Jonty would always be there, Kath brooded, staring into the fire. He’d be there when she needed him just as he’d always been from the time she was a little thing, not three years old. Still loving her and waiting for the time she would want him …

‘Sorry,’ Kath murmured. ‘What was that you said?’

‘I said you were miles away. And before that I was trying to tell you there are six bottles of champagne in the cellar – didn’t I show you them – all dusty and cobwebby?’

‘You did not. What about them?’

‘Gran put them there for my twenty-first birthday – or my wedding, whichever was first. But what say we open one for New Year’s Eve? Let’s have two? And let’s ask Mat and Grace and Polly and Arnie and Jonty over. We’ll blow a couple of corks for 1943! Shall we, Kath? Shall we be devils?’

‘Why not!’ Why not drink to a new year and a new beginning? All right – so the war could go on and on and on – who knew when it would end? But we’d turned the corner, hadn’t we? We were going to win! ‘And we’ll drink to absent ones, won’t we?’

‘We will,’ Roz said softly. To Marco, whom Kath would marry one day. And to Gran, who’d have been pleased about Ridings doing so well and glad about the curse being lifted. And silently, with love, to Paul. ‘And Kath – I wonder where we’ll all be – all of us, I mean, fifty years from now?’

‘Good gracious – whatever put that idea into your head?’

‘Oh – Paul, I suppose. But it’s a thought, isn’t it?’

Fifty years from now – a thought? Yes, Kath was forced to admit, she reckoned it was. Quite a thought.