Honey's Farm (15 page)

Gwyneth was nonplussed when an elegant waiter held her chair for her. She looked uncertainly at William.

‘Please' – he gestured with his hand – ‘take a seat, Gwyneth, and then we'll see what we can order for luncheon, shall we?'

She was grateful to him for putting her at ease, and when the waiter glided away she relaxed a little, glancing around at the other people in the tearooms. There were elegant ladies wearing sweeping skirts with enormous bustles, and suddenly she felt shabby and ill at ease.

William seemed to understand her feelings, because he smiled at her encouragingly. ‘You are the envy of the other ladies,' he said. ‘You look so fresh and charming and so much younger than most of them.'

She warmed to his words; she'd not known what to expect from him. He might well have been angry with her for chasing after him in what was a most unseemly, unladylike manner. But they were lovers, after all, she reminded herself with a feeling of warmth; she had the right to some consideration, didn't she?

‘Now, how about some fresh salmon to start and then some lamb with a side dish of creamed potatoes?' Will said, reading the page before him with what appeared to be intense interest.

‘They
cream
new-picked potatoes here?' Gwyneth asked in disbelief. ‘What a waste of a good spud!'

She saw that William was trying not to smile. ‘Aye, it
is
rather wasteful, isn't it?' he agreed, ‘but very, very tasty, spiced with pepper.'

‘All right, then,' Gwyneth said, and added, as an afterthought, ‘That would be lovely, thanks.'

The meal was, as Will had promised, a delicious treat, and the salmon was followed by lean lamb chops in mint jelly and baby carrots and a small portion of creamed potatoes.

Even though Gwyneth protested that she needed nothing else to eat, Will insisted on ordering a dish of fresh fruit soaked in brandy.

‘I've never tasted such food,' Gwyneth said in wonder.

Will smiled rather wryly. ‘I must admit that it's not my usual fare, but today is rather special, isn't it, Gwyneth?' he said.

She looked at him, trying to read his expression, wondering what exactly he meant. Was he, could he be, proposing marriage?

When they had finished eating, Will led her through to a huge room that was furnished with soft leather sofas and enormous leather chairs. Above her head were chandeliers with what looked like diamonds suspended from them, droplets of light and colour.

‘
Duw
, will you look at this, then?' she said in awe. ‘I've never seen anything so wonderful in all my life.'

She looked at William and made up her mind to ask him a direct question. She took a deep breath, but before she could speak, he'd leant forward, his expression earnest.

‘Gwyneth,' he said softly, ‘the other day, I shouldn't have – have taken advantage of you. I'm very, very sorry.'

Gwyneth felt her elation fading, along with the belief that he was going to ask her to marry him.

‘Well, I'm not sorry,' she said quickly, ‘not a bit sorry. I wanted you then and I want you now.'

She had nothing to lose, she might as well put her cards on the table, she decided. ‘I'm not going to go away and forget you, if that's what you're going to ask me to do.' She stared at him defiantly. ‘I love you, Will, I can't help it, I . . . just love you.'

He frowned, and she saw that he didn't know what to say, so she rushed into speech again. ‘I know I'm far beneath you, I'm not a lady as some of your fine friends are.' She lifted her head high. ‘But I'm as good as Eline Harries, mind,
and
you are the first, the only man in my life.'

Will looked away, and Gwyneth felt tears burn her eyes. ‘Look,' she said, ‘just let me be with you sometimes,
please
, Will. I can't live without you, you must know that. Why else did I follow you all the way to Cardiff?'

She saw a mixture of feelings cross his face; he didn't know what to say. ‘Let me stay with you tonight,' she said softly, ‘and I promise I won't ask you for things, I won't ask to sleep with you or anything like that.'

‘Gwyneth!' he said beseechingly. ‘I can't offer you anything. I'm just a working man with no private means. This' – he waved his hand to encompass the grandeur of the room – ‘this is as much a treat for me as it is for you. I don't live like this all the time. I have a room, a small suite of rooms, in a cheap boarding house. I'm
poor
, Gwyneth, just like you.'

‘Let me come home with you for tonight,' Gwyneth begged again, only hearing what she wanted to hear, that he had a suite of rooms. ‘I will go home tomorrow. Just let me have this one night with you; can't you even give me that much?'

William sighed. ‘All right.' He took a key from his pocket. ‘Here, I have to get back to work. The boarding house is a few streets away, in Compton Court. The landlady is not the type to ask questions; she minds her own business.'

Gwyneth took the key and held it as though it was a good-luck charm. She clutched it between her fingers, feeling as though Will had given her the whole world.

When he'd returned to work, she wandered around for a while looking at the fine array of shops. The streets did not seem so alien now. For tonight she would be in Will's arms; for tonight he would be hers, she was determined on it.

Later, when he came in from the emporium, Gwyneth greeted Will with a pot of tea and some fine lardy cake that she had bought in the shop on the way to his lodgings.

‘This is nice,' he said as he shrugged off his coat. ‘I am grateful, Gwyneth, but you shouldn't have gone to any trouble.'

‘It was no trouble,' she said, and she meant it, shopping for Will's tea had given her the illusion that she was married to him, a respectable housewife going home to her man.

‘I'm not very hungry after that huge luncheon,' Will said, sitting at the table. ‘A bit of cake and a cup of tea is just right.'

‘I know what you mean.' Gwyneth smiled. ‘I don't want much myself.'

Will seemed almost ill at ease, and after he had eaten, he got up and paced through to the bedroom. Gwyneth cleared the table and took the dishes into the tiny kitchen.

She had soon made herself at home there; the place was so small there was hardly room to stand at the strange-looking stove to boil the kettle. Will must be very hard up indeed. This was a far cry from his rooms in Oystermouth, where he was waited on like a lord, his meals cooked, his rooms cleaned daily. But Gwyneth didn't mind that he was hard up; in a way, it drew them closer. He did not seem so unobtainable any longer.

The evening passed in desultory conversation. Will was working on some figures, something to do with the stock in the boot-and-shoe shop, and now and again he would look up at Gwyneth and smile apologetically.

After a while, she searched out some of his shirts, looking for missing buttons, and spent a happy hour repairing his linen.

She glanced covertly around her. In the light from the fire, the room looked more intimate, more comfortably furnished, than it had seemed at first. From outside came the sound of children playing, voices raised in shouts of laughter as the dying sun faded behind the buildings.

Then, at last, Will closed his books and stretched his arms above his head. ‘I think I'd better get to bed,' he said. ‘I've got to be up early in the morning. I'm no man of leisure, just a hard-working shop manager, and it's not much of a shop at that.'

He glanced uncertainly at Gwyneth, and she smiled up at him. ‘Don't you mind me; I'm going to finish this bit of sewing and then I'll get my head down on this lovely big sofa by here.' She looked away from the relief in his eyes. ‘Don't you worry, now, you just get to bed, right?'

When she heard the door close behind him, Gwyneth hugged the shirt she'd been mending to her and breathed in the faint scent of William that clung to it. She closed her eyes in anguish. She loved him; it wasn't right that he should be shut in there, away from her, she wanted him, and she knew he was a hot-blooded man; so how could he turn her away if she went to his bed?

She slipped off her best dress and put it carefully over the arm of a chair; she would have to wear it tomorrow to go home. The thought tore at her painfully, and with renewed determination she took off the rest of her clothes.

Quietly, she opened the door to his bedroom, and on bare feet made her way between the shadows cast by the curtains, to his bed.

She lifted the covers and slid in beside him, and after a moment she put her arms around his waist, her cheek against his back.

‘I'm sorry, Will, I can't keep away, I love you so much,' she whispered. ‘Just give me tonight, just tonight, and tomorrow I'll go home like a good girl.'

He hesitated, his shoulders tense, and then, with a sigh, he turned and took her in his arms.

Gwyneth drew in a sharp breath as his flesh touched hers. She knew in a moment of triumph that he was roused, he wanted her as she wanted him.

‘Will,
cariad
,' she breathed, ‘my fine handsome man, I'd die for love of you.'

She clung to him, and as his mouth came down on hers she felt humble and grateful; for at this moment, for this moment at least, Will Davies was her man, and no-one could ever change that.

It seemed to Fon that their bad luck, hers and Jamie's, had begun on the night the spare crop of potatoes was ravaged by the angry bull. It had been bad enough losing the revenue from the surplus potatoes, which they had hoped to sell at the market in Swansea; but since then matters had become decidedly worse.

Tom had decided to go with his mother when she moved, instead of coming to live at Honey's Farm, which left Jamie short of a farm-hand at a time when he most needed help.

Facing him was the enormous task of lifting the later variety of potatoes and liming the fields ready for the transplanting of the cabbage and cauliflower. There was the grass to cut for hay, and the cows still needed to be carefully watched in case the sickness returned. With only one labourer, times were going to be very difficult indeed.

‘We can't go on like this, Jamie, love.' Fon threw down her pen, the list she was making swimming before her tired eyes.

‘I know, colleen,' Jamie said. ‘I think perhaps you should go into Swansea and place an advertisement in the
Cambrian
for more help. Even casual labourers would be better than nothing.' He shrugged. ‘I don't like going to Smale for anything, but as he owns the paper, I've no choice. Anyway, I shouldn't think he'd actually work in the office himself, and to advertise is the only thing we can do, now I must have help.'

Fon picked up the list and studied it again. ‘You're right, the grey cow should be coming into season any day now,' she said, ‘and shortly after that, it'll be Bessie's turn. Thank God the Black Devil came back. You want to use him again, don't you?'

‘Aye, sure I do, if I can spare the time.' He leant back in his chair, and Fon saw with a feeling of pain that he had dark shadows beneath his eyes and a new furrow between his brows.

‘Can't we sell off some of the herd?' she said quickly. ‘That would cut down the work a little bit.'

‘Well, love' – Jamie rubbed at his eyes – ‘we could sell off the finished beasts, the few bullocks we've been growing for beef, I mean. I could do with the money, to tell you the truth.'

He sighed. ‘But it's help in the fields I really need, or all my hard work will be lost. If the greens are not transplanted soon, it will be too late and we'll lose the whole crop.'

‘I know, and then there's the grass,' Fon added. ‘You must have help to cut it, Jamie, or you'll lose more than the crop; your health and strength will suffer.'

He smiled suddenly, his white teeth gleaming against the tan of his skin. ‘Don't fret, girl, I won't lose my health and strength for
some
things.'

Fon felt the colour run into her cheeks even as she laughed with him, for Jamie was indefatigable in bed; however tired he was, he always found the energy to make love to her.

‘If only Patrick was older,' Jamie said thoughtfully, ‘he would be a great help to me. A farmer needs sons to survive in these difficult times.'

Fon looked down at her hands. ‘We will have babies, Jamie,' she said wistfully, ‘but now is not the right time.'

Jamie shrugged his big shoulders. ‘Now is not the right time, Fon.' His reply was a little curt, and Fon knew why, well enough. It was becoming something of a bone of contention between them that she wasn't anxious to have children.

‘I'll go into town, later,' she said, changing the subject, ‘put an advertisement in the
Cambrian
, as you suggested. It might help.'

Jamie worked the potatoes all the morning, and Fon, with Patrick at her side, did her best to help him. It was a backbreaking task, bending and lifting the earthbound vegetables, and Fon stopped and eased herself upright, pressing her fingers against her spine. Perspiration gleamed on her forehead, and her entire being felt as though she had been on a rack.

Patrick did his best, his chubby fingers digging into the soil. Smiling encouragingly, Fon looked down at him.

‘Good boy,' she said. ‘Look how quickly the sacks are getting full.' But when she looked ahead at the field stretching out before her, with only a quarter of the crop lifted, her heart sank.

‘Can't we get the other labourer in to help us?' she asked, but Jamie shook his head.

‘Dewi's working on the grass. His wife is helping him for the present, though even
he
is going to leave when the new baby is born; going to the town to get work, so he says.' Jamie sighed. ‘No good standing here talking. It's all got to get done and quickly. We don't know how long the fine weather will last.' He moved closer and kissed her mouth, and he smelled of earth and grass and sun, and love poured through Fon's veins, bringing a sense of renewed energy.