The war against Germany seemed to be clambering over itself in order to disrupt the natural workings of the town. Sweyn’s Eye had become almost empty of its youth. Young men no longer stood on corners with white scarves hung around cocksure throats, and in the parks there were no noisy games of rugby to relieve the dullness of a Saturday afternoon.
Older men took on extra work and the tasks they could not do fell to the women. Even the Sunday services in the many churches and chapels lacked colour and vigour, for most of the true pure tenors were gone, leaving the choirs unbalanced.
Gina Sinman was seated in the kitchen of the mill house, her arms resting on the table and a pen clutched between her fingers. Upstairs the children slept – Dewi, her son, and Cerianne who had become like her own child.
She paused over the letter she was writing to Billy Gray; she had told him that Cerianne was talking like a little demon and that she ate hearty and slept like a top and now there didn’t seem much else she could say.
Biting the wooden shaft of the pen, she tasted ink in her mouth and rubbed at her lips with her fingers. She wanted to tell Billy that there were people at home who cared about him, but of course he knew that for Rhian had sent him a parcel of clothes and a supply of Woodbines only last week. And Gina felt she was doing her bit by writing to him – weren’t the papers always telling folk to make someone at the Front happy with a letter? She frowned and for a moment the words she had written on the page before her were blurred.
Heinz Sinman was gone from her and she would never see him again. Mansel Jack was a man to be believed and trusted and though it was difficult, she must accept that she had lost Heinz for ever.
It seemed that he had never even reached the internment camp. His strong spirit had rebelled at the thought of prison and apparently he had made a run for freedom and been struck down by a bullet fired in panic. But she had no wish to dwell on the manner of his going, the fact remained that her beloved Heinz was dead.
She turned her attention to the letter once more and wrote that Rhian seemed very happy and content in her marriage and that Mansel Jack was a good kind man who would take care of her always. She found she was going on to say that she herself was lonely. Surrounded though she was by kindness and company, she lacked a mainstay in her life – someone who was hers and hers alone. She had her son of course, but she could not tell her heartache to a little child.
The door opened and Carrie came into the kitchen, bringing with her a flurry of cold damp air. ‘Have you heard about Heath Jenkins?’ she asked, her face a pale glow in the lamplight. Gina sat up and folded the letter, unwilling for any other eyes to see it.
‘No, what’s happened to him, injured is he?’ Gina watched as Carrie shook out her shawl and hung it on the peg on the back door. Her movements were slow, as though suddenly she was giving in to the years which had crept up on her so stealthily that no one had noticed the grey in her hair and the lines around her eyes.
‘Missing believed killed.’ The words fell like a strange religious chant into the silence of the room.
‘There’s awful, I expect his sister’s heartbroken, isn’t she?’
Carrie nodded and stared into the fire. ‘I expect so.’
‘Make us a cup of tea, Gina,’ she asked wearily, tears slipping down her face. ‘Empty inside I am and Heath Jenkins was special to me. There’s cold I feel, perhaps a drop of tea will warm me up.’
Gina rose instantly and pushed the kettle on to the flames. It was so rarely that Carrie asked for anything that it was clear she was very upset.
‘Don’t be too downhearted, girl,’ Gina spoke softly. ‘If he’s missing there’s no proof that he’s not well and chirpy as a cricket, hiding in one of them French haystacks or something. It’s not so final, is it?’
Carrie sniffed and dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. ‘I suppose you’re right, but I’ve loved that boy these many long years and I can’t bear to think of him lying in a ditch somewhere foreign, hurt and frightened maybe… oh, to the devil with this war!’
Gina made the tea, her hands trembling. ‘Here, have this, there’s plenty of sugar in it to bring out the shock.’ She sat down and stared at Carrie worriedly. ‘What about Rhian? She and Heath Jenkins were very close before Mansel Jack, weren’t they?’
Carrie made an effort to staunch her tears, sipping the tea, her lips trembling on the brim of the cup.
‘Aye, she loved him too in a way – part of her youth he was, had a passion for him in those days. Might have worked out for the two of them if Mansel Jack hadn’t come into Rhian’s life. But the right man for Rhian he is, mind, and I’m not saying any different.’
The clock ticked loudly in the silence of the kitchen and the gaslight hissed and popped, sending shimmering patterns of light on to the flagstone floor.
‘I’ve been writing a letter to Billy Gray,’ Gina volunteered, trying to take Carrie’s mind off the painful subject of Heath Jenkins. ‘Only doing my duty, but then I have to admit that I’ve a special feeling of friendship with Rhian’s brother. Hard done by he was, what with that hussy Delmai Richardson running out on him and dumping her babba like a sack of spuds. Is it wrong of me to spend so much time writing to another man? I feel it’s disloyal somehow to the memory of my Heinz.’
Carrie sat up straighter in her chair and really looked at Gina for the first time since she had entered the room.
‘Duw, you follow your heart, merchi – you’re doing a good job, keeping Billy’s spirits up, writing to him every week like you do. This war has done funny things to us and we must grab at any little piece of happiness we can. I’m sure Billy loves hearing from you, so write to him all you like and feel proud of yourself for doing him a kindness, that’s what I say.’
Carrie was rising to her feet then, pulling her shawl from the peg and swinging it round her shoulders. ‘It’s no good, I can’t sit still. I’m going to see Mary Jenkins; I must talk to her about Heath, for I can’t get the boy out of my mind.’
Gina watched her go to the door and shook her head helplessly. ‘But it’s past eight and getting dark and there’s a bit of rain in the wind too.’ But her words made no difference, Carrie let herself out and closed the door with a click of finality. After a moment Gina sighed, spread out the letter once more and picking up the pen began to write.
As Carrie hurried through the dark windswept streets, her thoughts were of the past. She remembered with a feeling of warmth the night she had lain in Heath Jenkins arms; she’d been renting her own little house then and lived quite well on the money paid her by Agnes Gray to do a bit of cooking and cleaning.
Heath had been a bull of a boy, randy as hell and after every bit of skirt in the town. Got his way with them too, if Carrie was any judge. It had been wonderful to be bedded by him, he had youth and vigour and a clean unlined skin and she had gloried in the time she had spent with him.
She hurried through the Strand and up the hill, ignoring the lighted trams that rattled along on the shining metal lines, growling like a beast chained and fettered.
It did not take long to climb the hill, though by the time she reached the brow Carrie was more than a little breathless.
‘You’re getting old, girl,’ she told herself, but she did not believe her own words.
It was a little frightening to knock on the door of the elegant house and at such a late hour, but Carrie stood her ground when a girl in neat uniform stared at her suspiciously from the warmth of the hall.
‘I want to see Mary Jenkins.’ Carrie stepped inside out of the cold teeth of the wind. ‘Tell her Carrie’s here and don’t stand there gawping, be quick about it.’
Mary was wearing a long robe of deep blue, her hair hung to her shoulders and she looked beautiful even though there were traces of tears in her eyes. ‘Carrie, come in and sit by the fire – you look frozen, mind.’
They sat together in the warmth of the gracious drawing room, for they were old friends and there was nothing uppity about Mary Jenkins even though she had got on in the world.
‘About Heath,’ Carrie said softly. ‘I had to come to see if you’ve had any more news.’
‘Nothing,’ Mary shook back her dark hair. ‘Only the bald statement that he’s missing and that they presume him to be dead.’ She clasped her hands together and stared at Carrie with a world of misery in her eyes. ‘Just the same cold unfeeling message I received when Brandon was posted missing.’
‘But there’s something else troubling you, isn’t there, merchi?’ Carrie asked gently. ‘There are such shadows in your eyes, would it help to talk about it?’
Mary shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know, Carrie. I don’t think anything can help me, but I have to talk or I’ll die of the weight of it.’
She moved to the door as though to reassure herself that it was closed and Carrie, staring at her, wondered what else could be wrong in Mary’s life for she seemed to have more than enough already.
Mary’s voice was low and Carrie leaned forward in order to catch every word, for the tense expression on Mary’s face showed that she was near to desperation.
‘Brandon and me, we had our quarrels but I loved him and I’m sure he loved me. It was all because I didn’t conceive his child – I became miserable and picky and I must have been hell to live with.’ Her eyes met Carrie’s for a moment and they were haunted. Carrie leaned forward and put her hand over Mary’s, pressing gently.
‘Look, I’m a woman of the world, there’s no shame in me for anything I’ve done. Guilt is a heavy, useless burden, mind.’
Mary relaxed a little. ‘I was unfaithful to Brandon – once and only once – but it was enough apparently, because now I’m going to have a baby and it doesn’t seem likely it could be my husband’s after all the times we’ve tried for a child.’
Carrie shook her head. ‘Don’t look so worried, Mary, how many married couples can say they’ve never strayed? Like it says in the good book, “Let him that is without sin cast the first stone”.’ Carrie smiled ruefully. ‘Something like that anyway – I can’t claim to be a religious woman, but there’s a lot of sense in that saying.’
Mary bit her lip. ‘The worst part of all is that after I heard of Brandon’s death, I went straight into the arms of another man – like a cheap floosie, I was, and my only excuse being I was sick with grief.’ She paused and glanced up worriedly at Carrie. ‘And worse is to come: Mary Anne Bloomfield of all people overheard me talking about it. She’s not to be trusted, she hates me as it is.’
Carrie whistled inelegantly through her teeth. ‘Duw, that’s a real stunner of a problem you’ve got there. I’d have told you to keep your mouth shut, ’cos your child would be your own flesh and blood whoever fathered it, but with this dangerous woman knowing all about you – well, that puts a different sort of flour in the pudding.’
‘I’m not willing to be at her mercy,’ Mary said quietly. ‘Mary Anne is the sort who will try to push me to the limit. Already she’s exerted a mild form of blackmail, but what can I do?’
Carrie could not conceal her anger. ‘Brazen it out, call her a liar if need be – after all she’s not one of us, is she? What’s more, she’s got a past of her own, so who is going to believe anything she says?’
Mary held her head high but there was pain in her eyes. ‘And now this news about Heath has just about broken my spirit. Everything seems to be turning sour in my life… is nothing ever going to be in order again?’
‘There’s one little matter you’re overlooking, that there’s your baby to consider. This is what you’ve always wanted and it seems you’re paying a high price for it.’ She paused. ‘There is one way out – perhaps you should consider a visit to that nurse, Mrs Benson.’
Mary wrapped her arms around her stomach and sat back in her chair. ‘No! I want this baby more than anything in the world.’
Carrie rose from her chair and smiled as though satisfied. ‘Then that’s it, you’ll keep the baby and take the consequences. And after all, the little one might have been planted there by your husband; I don’t see how anyone can ever know.’ She moved to the door. ‘And as for this Mary Anne Bloomfield, take my advice and call her bluff – show what you’re really made of, there’s a good girl!’
Carrie left the warmth of the house and stepped out towards the roadway, hugging her shawl close round her body. Her heart was heavy with pity for Mary’s plight – this strange powerful urge between man and woman had a lot to answer for.
A smile curved her lips – what would she give if only she could partake of the sweet heady wine just once more! She sighed and moved towards the tram stop; the rain was coming down more heavily now and soon she would be soaked and after all, she was an old woman in spite of the fact that her heart told her a different story.
The morning air was chill and a cold March wind swept through the streets of Sweyn’s Eye. But Rhian was warm and happy in her bed, for she was lying alongside her husband. Given a brief leave before being transferred to another part of France, he had hinted there was something big about to take place and Rhian’s heart had raced with fear. But she pushed the unpleasant thoughts away now as she crouched, warm and sleepy, beside Mansel Jack. Her arm was stretched over him, her legs entwined with his; intimacy was so much more than passion, she decided as the mists of sleep cleared from her mind. She had never known that she could love the closeness of a man, the minute details about him from the curling hairs on his chest to the little crease of impatience that sometimes appeared between his eyes.
She snuggled closer to him, knowing a biting fear at the prospect of his leaving her. She put her arms around him and in an instant, he was awake.
‘Our last day,’ she whispered softly. ‘I love you, Mansel Jack.’ Without answering, he turned to her, touching her cheek with tenderness. She closed her eyes against the harsh burning tears she had promised not to shed.
It was she who began to move sensuously beneath him, her head back against the sweet-smelling pillows, her eyes closed… for she knew she must remember this moment, it might be a long time before they could be together again in this way.
He responded to the rhythm of her, his fingers gentle as they caressed and adored her. Every movement between them was an act of love and when at last it was over Rhian wept as she had never done in her life before.
Wordlessly he held her, allowing her to shed her tears, for they both knew of the emptiness that parting would bring. After a time he rose and disappeared into the small dressing room; she could hear the normal everyday sounds of him shaving and washing and her tears flowed afresh.
She looked around the room, knowing that it had been a haven for them both. But he was not willing for her to live here alone and in any case she was needed at the mill; there was work in abundance for her and she needed hard work to keep her sane. Carrie and Gina depended on her as well as the two children; once Mansel Jack was gone her life would return to the same pattern as before, yet subtly altered.
She was a married woman now in every respect, she thought proudly, and Mansel Jack was the powerful force that coloured her days. She knew she could love no other man, not now or ever.
When he returned to the bedroom – his face fresh, his hair combed and with small particles of water shining like diamonds in the soft darkness – she smiled at him and forced back the horror which rose to threaten her life with unknown dangers.
She watched quietly as Mansel Jack dressed in his officer’s uniform, splendid and handsome and somehow unfamiliar.
‘I’ll come with you to the station.’ She pushed back the sheets and rose from the bed which still bore the scent of him, wondering if all women felt the same pain of parting that now was tearing her in two.
‘I’d prefer to take you to the mill and leave you safely there, lass,’ he said quietly.
She moved towards him and reached on tiptoe to kiss his mouth. ‘Let me have my way in just this one thing,’ she pleaded. ‘I want to treasure every moment that I can with you. I’ll go straight from the station to the mill, I promise you.’
His face softened. ‘All right, now get dressed up warmly, I don’t want you catching a chill.’ When he closed the door the room was suddenly silent and empty, a great vacuum where there was no sound and no light.
She made herself ready with haste, her fingers shaking, her heart beating swiftly. She must go down to the dining room, make a pretence of eating breakfast, try to keep back the tears for she would not distress him for the world.
He smiled at her as she entered the room, his eyes warm with approval as he noted her apparent calm. He watched as she placed a piece of bacon on her plate and when she sat at the table he pushed a packet towards her.
‘You must pay off the housekeeper for me,’ he said. ‘Offer my apologies for giving her such a short term of employment.’ He smiled into Rhian’s eyes. ‘But tell her it was my wife’s fault, for she worried too much about me fending for myself.’
Rhian reached across the table to touch his hand and their fingers caught and held; she felt tears sting her eyes, tears that she would not allow to fall. It was several moments before she could speak.
‘I shall tell her no such thing, for I shall reinstate her as our housekeeper when you are home again.’
She pushed her plate away, knowing she could not eat another bite and seeing that even Mansel Jack had left his plate untouched.
When he glanced at the clock and rose to his feet Rhian felt her being dissolved in fear – the time had come for him to leave the house and go to the station.
‘How shall we go? By tram, is it?’ She forced herself to speak calmly and Mansel Jack pushed his chair under the table, his eyes meeting hers dark and filled with feeling, though when he spoke his voice sounded normal.
‘I have already seen to it, a cab will be arriving at any moment. Come here.’
She went into his arms, feeling the roughness of his uniform against her cheek. His hand caressed the nape of her neck and tears slipped from her eyes in spite of her efforts at self-control. She turned away from him quickly as a loud rapping on the door disturbed the silence of the house.
Surreptitiously she dried her eyes and drew on her coat, holding the large collar up around her face. She pushed a soft velvet hat over her hair and slipped her arm through her husband’s as though they were simply going outside to take the air.
The horses’ hooves beat a tattoo against the cobbled roadway and the rain washed down as though the heavens were shedding tears of pain and farewell. Rhian sat upright against the cold leather seat, hearing the creaking and groaning of the cab, feeling the jolt as the wheels hit the cobbles, praying that the driver would rein in the animals between the shafts and make the journey last a little longer.
Her fingers crept into Mansel Jack’s warm strong palm and though he did not look at her, she knew by the pressure of his fingers that he felt the bitterness of parting just as she did. She looked at the tall elegant villas on the hill, staring at the blank windows colourless in the rain, forcing her mind to concentrate on anything but the fact that Mansel Jack was going away.
The streets of the town were busy and the narrow main road thronged with vehicles, while on the pavements people hurried along blindly, heads bent against the harsh grey rain.
All too soon the station came into sight and towering above it the hill of Kilvey, looking down as though frowning at the fussy steam trains standing at the platform.
Mansel Jack asked the driver to wait and handed him a generous sum. The man doffed his hat. ‘Good luck to you, sir, give them Jerries hell!’
Rhian went on to the platform. Her heart was like ice and she didn’t know how she kept walking steadily beside her husband, for her legs were trembling and she felt a great weakness wash over her.
There were several men in uniform and from a carriage further down the platform came the sound of a woman sobbing hysterically. Rhian knew that Mansel Jack would abhor such a demonstration and so she chastely raised her mouth to his and gently he kissed her.
Neither of them spoke for they were beyond words, but his hand was at her waist, pressing her to him.
And then there appeared to be a flurry of activity – the guard was blowing the whistle, doors were slamming and great gushes of steam and cinders flew upwards. Rhian felt a moment of sheer panic, wanting to scream and sob and cling to him, beg him not to go to the war. She stepped away from him, her head high, her neck stiff with the effort she was making to control her emotions.
‘Goodbye, my lovely lass.’ He spoke softly and she sensed the words rather than heard them. They penetrated her being, lying inside her like precious gems.
‘You’ll write, won’t you?’ Her eyes were luminous and Mansel Jack looked away from them swiftly.
‘Aye, lass. Now go on home.’ He jumped quickly into the train as it began to move, swallowed up as though by a great ravenous monster. She stared at the window and there he was waving his hand as the train gathered speed.
Rhian watched until the sinuous line of the train was a blur on the rain-sodden landscape, and even after it had disappeared from view she stood as though rooted to the spot unable to move.
‘Come on missus, no good getting soaked – your man won’t want a sick wife to come home to, will he now?’ The stationmaster was old and wise, his eyes having witnessed a great many partings. Rhian nodded and turned her back on the empty line, walking purposefully to where the cab stood waiting for her.
She climbed into the cab that seemed to retain the power of his presence. How she wished she could turn back time to when they were starting out from the house – just to relive the journey to the station, there was so much she could have said to him. And yet she knew in her heart that there was no need of any words, and she rubbed her hand on the leather of the seat beside her as though to remind her that Mansel Jack had sat there next to her.
‘Where we goin’ to, missus?’ The driver hunched his shoulders miserably as rain dripped from his hat down his neck.
Rhian sat up straight, clutching her hands together and holding back the tears with a great effort of will.
‘You know the mill house?’ Her voice trembled and he glanced at her sympathetically, nodding his head.
‘I know it, I’ll have you there in two ticks. Going to friends, are you? Best not to be alone at a time like this.’
Rhian turned to look at the station. It was grey and lifeless and no one would know the grief and sorrow of the many partings which had taken place on its rain-washed platform.
She alighted stiffly like an old lady and Carrie was there to meet her at the door, opening it wide to reveal a roaring fire that crackled and spat behind shining black-leaded bars. The brass gleamed and a white cloth was spread over the table. Rhian knew that it was all done in an effort to welcome her and so she stretched her mouth into a smile and shrugged off her coat, seating herself in the chair near the fire.
‘Gina’s taken the babbas out to the shops, just to give you time to settle in all right.’
‘There’s good of her, I hope the children won’t catch cold in this rain.’
‘Sturdy they are, the pair of them, and I swear that little Cerianne grows more like you every day.’
Rhian looked up as Carrie brought her a cup of tea. ‘I expect there’s something of Billy in her too.’ Her words were stilted, inane, but she was numb as though she had stood too long in the cold. The tea had no taste, but she drank it anyway to please Carrie who was trying so hard to comfort her.
‘Had a letter from Billy we did, just the other day. I’ll get it for you,’ Carrie offered eagerly, but Rhian held up her hand.
‘Not just now, Carrie, but I’d like to know if he’s well of course,’ she added hastily.
‘He’s right as rain, cariad, says thanks for the parcels and he would like to hear more from us back here at home. Gina’s very good, you know – writes to him often, she does – it makes her feel she’s doing her duty by Cerianne I suppose, keeping her dad in touch with everything…’ Carrie’s voice died away as she ran out of things to say.
Rhian knew she was making things difficult for Carrie, but her head was buzzing with pain and it was as though she was living in a nightmare world where nothing was real. She could scarcely believe that a short time ago she had lain in Mansel Jack’s arms, close to his warmth, had talked to him and touched him and now he was gone.
‘Duw, Rhian, you’ll do yourself a hurt, gripping your hands so tightly together. And those shoulders, look how tense they are – let Carrie rub them for you.’
As soon as Carrie touched her, it was as though a dam had burst. Rhian turned to her, face crumpling into tears, a long cry escaping her lips.
Carrie was on her knees at once, holding her close. ‘That’s it, merchi, you cry it all out and you’ll feel better then, I promise you.’
Rhian clung to Carrie’s shoulders. ‘My husband’s gone from me and I can’t bear it.’
‘It will be all right, I promise you it will be all right.’ Carrie rocked her as though she was a child and Rhian wanted to believe her, but in the depths of her soul she knew that nothing would be right until Mansel Jack was at her side once more.