Honey's Farm (12 page)

It was a fine sunny day and Gwyneth had the door of the cottage standing open. She had bathed and washed her hair in sweet-scented herbs and put on her best frock. It was one she had worn to work at Will's shop, but she had deliberately left the top buttons of the bodice undone. If she had the charms, she might just as well show them, she reasoned.

The beef was cooked and sliced, ready to serve, and on the table stood a bottle of Nina's home-made wine. It was not a feast such as Will was accustomed to, but the food was good and well cooked, and the wine which Nina had laid down last year was fine and potent. Her mother would not be best pleased that Gwyneth had opened one of her precious bottles, but it was all in a good cause.

Impatiently, Gwyneth waited in the doorway, staring longingly down the empty street. A dog lazed in the sun, spreading across the cobblestones like a fur carpet, paws outstretched as the animal luxuriated in the warmth of the day.

Then, at last, the tall figure came into view. The springy step was unmistakable, and Gwyneth drew a sharp breath as she watched the man she loved coming towards her. She could scarcely breathe; he was here, William Davies was actually here.

Common sense told her that his visit was simply business. He was paying her money he owed her, nothing more, but surely she
must
be able to make an occasion of it, make it a day he would never forget.

She welcomed him into Mam's parlour with bated breath, trying her best to seem at ease. ‘Please sit down by the window,' she said. ‘I've got some nice wine for you and a plate of meat and oysters. I hope you'll stay and eat with me.'

He sank easily into the depths of the old, sagging sofa, his long legs spread out before him. ‘That's very kind, Gwyneth, but I'll be having a meal with Hari – Mrs Grenfell – she'll be expecting me.'

‘That's all right.' Gwyneth hid her disappointment. ‘But you'll have a glass of wine, though, won't you?'

‘Yes, of course I will.' He sat up straighter, and Gwyneth knew her bodice had fallen open to reveal the curve of her breast as she bent forward over the glasses.

She knew Will was watching her; he was a man after all, a young, strong red-blooded man. As far as Gwyneth knew, he hadn't had a woman, not in the time she'd worked for him, anyway.

He took the glass and smiled up at her. ‘I owe you an apology,' he said. ‘I know it was wrong of me to go off so suddenly the way I did. I tried to contact you, but when I called round there was no-one in.'

‘It was a bit of a shock, mind, I won't deny it,' Gwyneth said. ‘You closing the shop so sudden, like, gave me a real turn.'

‘I can only apologize once again.' Will lifted the glass in a salute.

Gwyneth, encouraged, spoke softly. ‘I've missed you – I mean missed working for you.' She sighed and topped up his glass. ‘I'll have to look for something else, though what I don't know, there's nothing around here.'

Will drank in silence, and Gwyneth knew, with a feeling of triumph, that he was feeling guilty. ‘I was going to ask Eline for a job,' she said casually, ‘but I don't know if that would be the wise thing to do.'

She looked at Will from under her lashes, but his expression hadn't changed. ‘But of course now she's got a partner, she won't want anyone else working for her.'

‘A partner?' Will's voice was equally casual, and Gwyneth knew with a dart of excitement that he hadn't heard about this man, Calvin Temple, going into the gallery with Eline.

‘He's so handsome,' she enthused, ‘a fine gentleman and rich too, from what they say. A Mr Calvin Temple. I suppose you'll have heard of him?'

Will's nod was non-committal. ‘I'll have some more of that wine, if I may,' he said. ‘It's really quite good.'

Willingly, Gwyneth refilled his cup; he didn't realize, she felt sure, just how potent home-made wine could be.

‘Here.' He reached in his pocket. ‘I'd better give you your wages before I forget.' He fished about unsuccessfully for a moment, and Gwyneth sat down beside him, pouring wine neatly into his glass. The anger he felt against Eline Harries was making him careless, and he was drinking much too quickly.

‘Here, let me,' she said breathlessly and leant across him, pressing herself close as though by accident. She heard his harsh in-drawn breath with a glow of exultation; he might think himself in love with the bloodless Eline but he needed a real woman to take care of him.

He must have sensed her feelings, because he put his arm around her in what she believed was a protective gesture which quickly turned into an embrace. She turned her face up, so that his mouth was very close to hers, and closed her eyes, waiting for the kiss that must surely come.

When his lips touched hers, such a fire of joy flared through her that she knew that she could not resist this man. She loved him so much that anything he desired, he could have.

His kisses became more demanding, his lips parting hers. She took his hand and placed it against her breast, and after a moment, he reached inside her bodice, his fingers gentle and caressing.

Her breathing became ragged and she clung to him, knowing that she must have him. If it was only to be this once, if he never came to her again, then so be it; but this moment would be hers.

‘Come upstairs,
cariad
,' she whispered softly, and drew him towards the bedroom. ‘You need me, Will, come on, it will do no harm, let us enjoy the moment, shall we?'

She was in bed then, in his arms, and he was undressing her slowly and deliberately. He was heady with the wine, but he was far from drunk, and Gwyneth was glad of it, for when he took her, he would remember it and want her again and again, she felt sure of it.

He was a skilled lover, and she knew that she could not be the first with him. Gwyneth felt jealous of the unknown woman. Was it Eline? Had she been Will's mistress all this time, and her pretending to be the good and upright wife of Joe Harries?

Then, when he took her, all thoughts of anything else but his love-making faded. It was so wonderful, so all-consuming, that Gwyneth felt she was drowning in a sea of emotion and sensations.

At last, it was over and they lay curled together side by side, she against his naked shoulder. How she loved this man, how she wanted him for all time.

‘Will,' she said softly, ‘you're not sorry, are you?' He leant up on one elbow and looked down at her, his face sober.

‘No,' he said, ‘I'm not sorry.'

But as he covered her body with his own, desire urging him to take her once again, Gwyneth knew with a sinking of her heart that, well enough intended though his words were, they were lies.

‘I intend to buy the fourteen acres belonging to Tommy's mother.' Jamie was seated at the kitchen table opposite Fon, his sleeves rolled up above his elbows, his strong arms browned by the sun. ‘Mrs Jones is not too well these days; she's set on moving away to the town to be with her sister.' He paused. ‘They'll find the money from the land very useful.'

Fon waited for him to go on.

‘We'd keep young Tommy with us, sure enough; perhaps he'd even want to cultivate a few acres for himself. Anyway, we could work all that out.'

Fon looked at her husband doubtfully. ‘But, love, there's the few head of cattle that graze those lands; we'd have to take them on as well.' She sighed heavily. ‘Anyway, I can't see why those few acres should be important to you.'

Jamie shook his head at her as though he was exasperated by her lack of comprehension. He was frowning, but Fon felt compelled to air her reservations.

‘Our own herd is still recovering from the sickness, mind, and prices for cattle are falling; is this a good time to expand, do you think?'

‘Got to take the opportunity while it's there, Fon,' Jamie said shortly. ‘It could be crucial to us to own the ground rather than allow God knows what to go on alongside our fields.'

He didn't explain further, and Fon watched him as he flicked a page of the account book to look at the previous figures. ‘Anyway, one bad quarter doesn't mean all that much,' he said thoughtfully. ‘Looking at last year's profit, we should be well away come next spring.'

‘We've got the winter to see out first, though,' Fon said, ‘and with more beasts to feed we'll be hard put to find the fodder.'

‘You may be right,' Jamie agreed, ‘but it's buy now or lose the land.' There was a note of determination in his voice.

He looked directly at her then. ‘Bob Smale is keen to put in a bid. The land divides their farm from ours, and I don't want that man as a close neighbour. Never did get on with him. A townie, he is, at heart.' There was a wealth of scorn in Jamie's voice. ‘Dabbles in newspapers while he neglects his land, letting it run wild. He only wants the Joneses' land because I want it.'

‘He's got a lovely daughter,' Fon said. ‘I've seen her riding about the place, her silver hair streaming behind her.'

‘Aye,' Jamie said, ‘she's neglected too, from what I can see of it. A bad lot, is Bob Smale.'

He paused and rubbed at his chin. ‘Anyway, Mrs Jones said she'd give me first chance of the land, her Tommy having worked here so long and me prepared to make a deal with him. I'd never have a better opportunity, you must see that.'

Fon sighed. ‘Yes, I can see it's tempting. All right, Jamie, but I'm worried. It don't seem right to go spending out money at a time like this, that's all.'

Jamie caught her hand. ‘Don't worry, I know what I'm about. I've not farmed all my life for nothing. Look, I've got more tatties than I need, haven't I? We'll sell some of them and some of the root crop too. I've got to clear the fields soon in any case, and that means putting down the surplus crops and covering them over with grass until I can get shot of them. The sooner the better as far as I'm concerned.'

‘Tatties and carrots won't bring in much, though,' Fon said gently.

Jamie rubbed back his fall of dark hair. ‘They will if I cart the stuff to the market in Swansea. Always wanting good clean vegetables down there, aren't they?'

‘I suppose so,' Fon conceded doubtfully, ‘though there's plenty of competition from the Gower farms, mind.'

Jamie closed the book with a snap of finality, and though he said no more, Fon knew that he meant to go his own way, whatever objections she raised.

‘How's the black bull?' Fon changed the subject. ‘Not taken sick since you started him with the cows, has he?' She warmed to the smile that lit Jamie's face.

‘The devil couldn't be better! That bull is good and docile, now he's serviced the herd. Looks as if we'll have a fine new bunch of calves out of that prize bull of mine.'

‘You think the beasts are over the sickness, then?' Fon asked anxiously. She had been worried that the cows would abort again, and, worse, that Jamie's expensive bull would catch the sickness and die. That would be disaster indeed.

‘I told you, my little worrymonger, everything is going to be all right.' Jamie stretched his arms above his head. ‘I think it's time we went to bed, don't you, wife o' mine?'

Later, as Fon lay curled in Jamie's arms, her head against his chest, hearing the pounding of his mighty heart against her cheek, her worries seemed to disappear.

Jamie knew what he was doing, she told herself. He had farmed in Ireland when he was a child. And once in Wales, he had taken over Honey's Farm, building up a good stock of cattle for beef and for dairy products.

Fon smiled to herself in the darkness; eventually, if Jamie added to his acreage, he would doubtless work hard and long to make a success of things. The fourteen acres Mrs Jones intended to sell was valuable; he was right, it was too good an offer to pass up.

She snuggled into the warmth of his body and closed her eyes, and when she fell asleep, she dreamed that she and Jamie owned the whole of the land spreading above the town of Swansea and that she had given her husband fine sons to till the soil. And in her dream, giving birth was beautiful and painless, the way Fon would have liked it to be.

It was a good dream, and in the morning she woke Jamie, kissing his mouth, rousing him to hardening awareness of her as his arms encircled her. ‘I dreamed we had sons, Jamie,' she said softly.

He held her close, his hands caressing her with skill, even though he was scarcely awake. ‘I'll do my best to make that dream come true, colleen,' he whispered against her neck. ‘It will be my pleasure.'

She sighed in apprehension; not yet, her mind cried, she didn't want children yet, not until she was ready for them.

But as he kissed and caressed her, she closed her eyes, surrendering herself to him with a feeling of joy. Everything was going to be all right, of course it was; nothing could hurt them, now or ever.

Will stared at the busy Cardiff street, aware of the strangeness of the place, of the rapid progress of carriages that jostled between the crowds of people, scarcely giving them time to jump clear of the striding hooves and spinning wheels. The noise was incredible; voices were raised of necessity, and everywhere people seemed to be making wide gestures with parasols, walking sticks, or even their arms, as though to emphasize what their voices were failing to express.

He came to the huge shop where Hari Grenfell had a boot-and-shoe counter and pushed open the door of Bell's Emporium with a sigh of relief. At least indoors it was moderately quieter than the street outside.

The shop was something of a bazaar, crowded with ladies in large gowns picking with inquisitive fingers at displays of headless dummies draped in elegant clothes set in an alcove bearing the legend ‘Costume Room'.

Further into the long room, almost right at the end, Will could see a small desk at which an elderly lady sat writing painstakingly in an open ledger. This must be the owner. He had not yet met her; she was strangely elusive, and most of his time in Cardiff had been spent in finding himself suitable accommodation.