Honey's Farm (29 page)

‘That's right,' Will said, not bothering to explain his exact situation as employee to Hari Grenfell or to conceal his surprise. ‘What do you want with me?'

‘Well, I'm sorry to approach you in the street in this way' – Bob Smale smiled with a deprecating manner – ‘perhaps you'd come into the Burrows Arms for a drink. I'd like to talk to you about a bit of business.'

‘I'm not really a businessman, you know,' Will said, bluntly. ‘I simply work for Hari, Mrs Grenfell.'

‘I'll explain over a glass of port.' Bob Smale led the way into the warmth of the back room of the inn and lifted a finger to the barman. As if by magic, a bottle of port and some glasses appeared on the dull surface of the table, and Will realized that Smale was obviously a very good customer here.

‘What's the business?' Will said, not inclined to give up too much of his time. He was on his way to see Hari; he longed to talk to her, to hear her common-sense views on the way his life was moving. He found it more than a little wearing commuting between Cardiff and his home on Kilvey Hill, and it seemed Hari had come up with a solution. Recently, he had been given promotion; it seemed Hari and Mrs Bell from the Cardiff emporium had got together and talked about his future, coming up with startling results.

‘I want you to act for me in a business venture. I'm part of a consortium, you understand.'

‘I'm not quite sure what you mean?' Will said, his eyebrows raised. ‘Why should you need me? This isn't crooked, is it?'

‘Of course not,' Bob said smoothly. ‘I'm a respected citizen of Swansea; I couldn't afford to be mixed up in anything the slightest bit crooked. No, it's just that there's been a clash of personalities, you might say.'

‘I'm waiting.' Will took the glass of port the man handed him and watched him over the rim of the glass as he drank.

‘I wish to buy a certain piece of land,' Bob Smale continued. ‘Unfortunately, though all I would like is to be friends with the vendor, he simply does not like me. I believe he would refuse to sell me the land, just out of stubbornness on his part.'

He shrugged. ‘Still, the consortium in which I'm involved does not care about personalities; all they want is to pay a fair price for a fair deal.'

He eyed Will shrewdly. ‘You are at liberty to look over all the relevant documents, just to assure yourself it's all above board. Jamie O'Conner would be getting a good deal, and you could be the one to help him.'

‘Jamie?' Will said. ‘Surely you don't find him unreasonable?'

Bob Smale smiled wryly. ‘He is where I'm concerned. His stubbornness is doing him out of a good price for the land; he wants to sell it, I know he does. And,' Smale continued, ‘there would be a nice little sum of money by way of commission for you.'

Will rubbed his eyes. He wasn't really interested in Bob Smale's problems. ‘Look, if Jamie doesn't want to sell, there's nothing I can do,' he said, wearily.

‘You are a trusted man in these parts,' Bob Smale said persuasively. ‘And I'm sure you want what's best for your kin, don't you? Jamie could do with the money; we none of us can afford to turn down a good deal. Look, there's five per cent of the sale price as remuneration, a respectable sum in anyone's book.'

Will looked up at Smale, studying his face carefully, but there was no sign of avarice; the man seemed genuine enough. He paused; the money would certainly make a difference to him.

‘I'd like to know a lot more about the deal before I make a decision,' he said at last.

‘Quite right too.' Bob Smale smiled, leaning back in his chair. ‘I'm sure that, after due consideration, you'll see that everything is fair and above board.'

Will tipped up his glass; he didn't like the idea of pulling the wool over Jamie's eyes, even for a short time, and for his own good. The matter would need careful thought, but if, as Smale claimed, this was just a case of personal dislikes and Jamie was cutting off his nose to spite his face, then perhaps he should step in.

‘All right,' he said. ‘I suppose it's for the best.' He wanted out of the pub, away from Smale's persuasive voice; Will wanted to be alone with his own problems – he had enough of them, goodness knows.

‘Fine!' Bob Smale seemed well pleased, and so, in theory, should he himself be, Will thought; and yet there was a feeling of uneasiness about the whole thing that rang warning bells in his mind.

Perhaps he was being over-cautious; his judgement at this time was not too finely honed. He sank back in his chair and took another drink; to hell with reservations. It was about time he made some money for himself, instead of relying on others to put him on course.

He thought of Mrs Bell, urged on, no doubt, by Hari. She'd already hinted that she wanted a branch of her emporium opened in Swansea, and Will would be the obvious one to run it.

Run it – the words echoed in his mind. He was a little tired of running other people's business, and now, with only a little capital, perhaps he could have a stake in the business, buy in as a partner, if only in a small way.

He lifted his glass as if in a toast. ‘To the success of your consortium and to my five per cent,' he said, almost in a mood of resignation. He tossed back his head and drank the sweet liquid from the glass in one swallow.

Fon sat at the table, a large platter of bacon and eggs steaming before her. ‘Will Davies must be all right to do business with, mustn't he, Jamie?'

‘It's not Will Davies I'm concerned about,' Jamie said. ‘It's the fact that he doesn't seem to know who exactly is behind this consortium that bothers me. There's a doubt niggling at the corners of my mind.'

Fon sighed. ‘Well, it's either sell the land or the Black Devil.'

‘Perhaps I could sell my wife,' he paused, head on one side.

He pulled her close and rested his head against her breast. ‘I suppose you still have your uses,' he said, his mouth nuzzling the buttons of her bodice. ‘Perhaps I'll keep you a little while longer.'

‘Let me go, and behave yourself! The boys will be in any minute for breakfast.'

‘Shrew,' Jamie said, releasing her. ‘I'll just have to contain myself in patience until later, then, will I?'

Fon ignored his smile and pushed the kettle on the hob, where it immediately began to issue steam from the blackened spout.

‘What are you going to do about the land, then?' Fon asked, making the tea in the huge brown pot.

‘I suppose I'll sign the documents when someone brings them over this evening,' he said. ‘But I do wish I knew who the consortium consisted of.'

‘Well, at least it can't be one owner,' Fon reasoned, ‘so it will take a group decision to do anything with the land.'

‘Still, I'll insist I know the names of the people involved in the deal as part of the agreement,' Jamie said. ‘I don't want just anyone owning the land; the Lord only knows what would be done with it in the wrong hands.'

‘It couldn't harm us, could it?' Fon asked, putting the cups together and pouring the tea. ‘I mean, could it be used against us in any way?'

‘Possibly,' Jamie said, taking his cup from her hand. ‘I suppose, if it wasn't a roadway that was planned but a coalmine, the damage to our land could be disastrous. Our ponds and streams could be choked up, for a start.'

‘Aye, but it was Eddie who found out that a road was planned. He's a sensible man, he wouldn't be easily fooled.'

‘I know,' Jamie agreed, ‘but you mustn't believe everything you read in a newspaper, especially one part-owned by Smale.' He smiled. ‘That's why I've done a bit of checking on my own account.'

The door opened and Eddie came into the room on a blast of cold, damp air. His face was reddened by the wind, and his hair, beneath his cap, was plastered on his forehead.

‘Ploughing's bloody hard work.' He glanced at Fon. ‘Excuse my language; I didn't mean that to slip out.'

‘Sit down and have some bacon and eggs,' Fon said, smiling to show he was forgiven. ‘You'll feel better when you've got some good food inside you.'

Eddie sat in a chair and rubbed the splattering of earth from his face with the back of his hand. ‘Well,' he said, ‘I've found out something this morning, something I think we should all know.'

Fon saw the sparkle in his eye and felt instinctively he'd been talking with Arian Smale. She felt a sudden knotting of her insides; she knew that what Eddie was about to say was something she wouldn't want to hear.

He leant forward, his face earnest. ‘If we sell the strip of land bordering the farm, you know who will own it?' He paused a moment for effect. ‘It's that bastard Smale. He's the one behind the whole deal; he must really want that piece of land.'

Jamie smiled enigmatically. ‘Well, in that case,' he said slowly, ‘we must make sure the man gets just what he wants.'

He looked at Fon and winked, and she realized that, whatever was happening, her husband had everything under control.

Eline looked down at the books resting on the desk before her and saw, with no sense of satisfaction, that the profits from the gallery were excellent and improving day by day.

She sighed and glanced through the gallery window at the snowy landscape spread before her. The trees glittered whitely against the pale sunshine, and across the road the seashore held drifts of untrodden snow right to the water's edge.

She closed the books. It was time she was getting back to Swansea, to the big house she'd rented on Mount Pleasant Hill, where there would be cheerful fires in the grate and she would spend the evening working on yet another design for winter boots.

It was strange, Eline mused as she rose to her feet and moved closer to the window, the way that success bred success, for not only was the gallery flourishing, with Eline's reputation for handling only the finest painting spreading across the country, but her footwear designs and her window-dressing talents were now almost as much sought after as were those of Hari Grenfell. Eline was, if not rich, at least comfortably placed. But she was not happy.

Earlier today, as she had travelled on the Mumbles train down the curving coast from Swansea, memories had swamped her, memories of her abortive love affair with Will Davies. She smiled ruefully; it hadn't even been an affair, not really. They had never touched, intimately, never become lovers; and now she wondered at the foolishness that had kept them apart. What good was chastity, when it left nothing to hold on to, not even memories? If only she and Will had consummated their love, given everything to each other, at least now she would have memories, real memories that she could take out like precious jewels and examine in the loneliness of night.

Suddenly her attention was caught by the sight of two figures bent close together. With a leap of her heart, Eline recognized Will's tall frame bending protectively over Gwyneth Parks. No, not Gwyneth Parks; she was now Mrs Davies. Eline's heart contracted with pain.

‘Eline!' Calvin came into the room on a gust of wind. She was startled; she had not seen him enter through the gallery door. Snow lent a white frosting to his hat and fringed his moustache, and she drew herself upright, forcing a smile even as she attempted to push away the image imprinted on her mind of Will and Gwyneth so close together.

‘Calvin, it's good to see you!' She felt a throb of affection for the man who had accepted with good grace her decision not to marry him, loving her enough to let her go.

‘Eline, my dear girl, I'm sorry I wasn't here to meet you; you must have had an uncomfortable journey in from town.' He shrugged out of his coat. ‘But what are you doing here so late?' he said in concern. ‘You are not going to be able to return home tonight; all the roads to Swansea are closed.'

Eline shrugged. ‘It doesn't matter. I'll take a room in one of the lodging houses, I'll be all right.'

Calvin took her hands and drew her towards him. ‘Poor little love, you're so unhappy; coming here always affects you that way.'

She looked up at him. He was so strong and yet so sensitive; why couldn't she just fall in love with him and have done with all the torment of longings for a man she could not have?

‘What's upset you now?' Calvin put his finger beneath her chin and looked down at her. ‘You seem more edgy than usual.'

‘I saw them, together,' Eline said with difficulty, ‘Will and Gwyneth.'

Eline took a deep breath, trying to force back the pain that the sight of the couple arm in arm had aroused in her. ‘Her child must be due very soon now.'

Calvin drew her close. ‘Eline, I've respected your wishes, accepted your decision not to marry me, but look, you can't stay alone all your life; you are a flesh-and-blood woman, you can have children of your own, a family – our family – at least you won't be on the outside looking in for the rest of your days. Won't you reconsider?'

Eline leant against him, warmed by his concern, feeling, in spite of her success, an emptiness inside her that cried out to be filled.

As she struggled for a reply, Calvin spoke again. ‘You know how I feel about you,' he said softly, his mouth against her hair. ‘I'd always care for you, respect your every wish; I'd be good to you, Eline.'

She looked through the window at the snowy scene outside, and she shivered.

Calvin held her closer. ‘Come into my sitting-room,' he said softly. ‘You haven't seen what I've done to the attic rooms, have you?'

Eline felt strange as she mounted the stairs beside Calvin. She knew she was playing with fire as he led her from the impersonal gallery rooms to his own quarters.

‘There!' He opened the door, and Eline drew a deep breath at the cosy atmosphere that was generated by the cheerful fire burning in the grate and the oil lamps strategically placed around the room.