Honey's Farm (36 page)

Pity swept through Eline; she reached out and touched his hand. ‘Will, I'm sorry, your wife and baby – I don't know what to say.'

And suddenly she ached to take him in her arms, to wipe away the air of sadness that hung almost tangibly around him. ‘You been working today?' She gestured to the doorway behind him, knowing that the question was banal, the words she longed to say dying on her lips.

He nodded. ‘I work and live here now. It's my shop, my home; it's all I have.' He smiled down at her, and she saw the old Will still lived; life had taken a hand against him, but he still had his spirit.

‘May I see it? I'm suddenly hungry for the touch and the smell of leather,' she said; but she was hungry for much more.

‘Come inside.' He led the way indoors.

At the bench Eline stopped and picked up an awl, staring at it as though it was a precious gem. ‘How I miss it all,' she said. ‘But I intend to do something positive about it.

She felt suddenly that she wanted to confide her plans in Will; he if anyone would understand. ‘I'm tired of doing nothing,' she said. ‘I must work at my designs, otherwise there's no reason for living, no reason at all.'

Will was leading the way into the back room. ‘I'm just closing up the shop,' he said. ‘I'm going to make some tea; like some?'

‘Yes, please.' Eline felt as though she was a little girl out on a treat. She sat near the bright fire and watched as Will removed his apron and hung it behind the door.

‘You are too thin,' she said, and then she felt the colour rise in her cheeks; what he looked like was no concern of hers.

He didn't appear to notice her confusion. He placed the cup before her and stood at the end of the table, looking down at her. ‘So you are weary of being lady of the manor, are you?'

There was a note of derision in his voice, and Eline looked up at him defensively. ‘Not exactly,' she said, ‘but I do want to continue with my own work.'

‘Why?' Will said challengingly. ‘You'll only be taking bread out of the mouths of cobblers who really need it.'

Eline rose and pushed away her cup. ‘I see I was wrong,' she said, her voice trembling. ‘I thought you of all people would understand my need to . . .'

Will moved closer to her. ‘Your need to what? To play the grand lady stooping to help the poor? How laudable!'

‘I didn't mean that at all!' Eline said hotly, suddenly realizing that Will was deliberately baiting her.

‘But that's what all the rich do, isn't it?' he said. ‘Play at helping those less fortunate, it's expected.'

‘I'm not like that,' Eline said.

Will smiled, but without humour. ‘You don't think so? You married for money a man you didn't even love – do you deny it?'

‘And
you
married because you were unwise enough to get the girl pregnant!'

He caught hold of her wrists as she lifted her hand to push him away, and then he was shaking her, his face bitter and angry.

‘Get away from me!' Eline said. ‘Take your hands off me.' But her voice held little conviction. Suddenly, without realizing it, she was in his arms, held against him, and she could feel his heart-beat, loud and fierce, as though it was her own heart.

‘Oh, my God, Will, I love you so much,' she said in anguish.

He kissed her mouth and her eyes and her throat. They clung together then, in silent misery, just holding each other, without passion, like bereft children.

Finally, Will released her. ‘Go on home to your husband,' he said softly. He sank into a chair and covered his eyes with his hand.

‘My God, talk about history repeating itself!' He spoke harshly. ‘I've said those words to you so many times before, and all that's changed is that you now have a different husband to go home to, a rich husband.'

He gestured around the room. ‘I'll never be rich – you are well out of it.'

‘Did I ever ask for riches, Will?' she said quietly. ‘I only wanted you. Together we would have made a good life for ourselves, only you were too proud. You had nothing to offer, so you said, but we had love, Will, we had the most precious thing in all the world.' She paused. ‘If only you'd made love to me, held me in your arms, made me forget everything but that we cared about each other; it would have been a memory to cherish.'

‘It's too late to talk about it now, isn't it? Go home, Eline – forget me.'

She moved to the door. ‘I'll never forget you, Will,' she said. ‘I think I'll love you till the day I die.'

Out in the street, she stared around her with a feeling of confusion; her optimism had faded and given way to a sense of dull determination. She could not have Will, but she could have a goal in life; whatever anyone thought, she would open her shoe shop, she would help people, especially the children.

She needed to walk, to clear her mind; she could not go home to Calvin, not yet, not with her flesh still tingling from Will's touch, even though he had touched her in anger. She made her way through the winding streets of the town and towards the sweet open hills where she had once lived. She would walk around the perimeter of Honey's Farm, think about her childhood and try, somehow, to find peace.

‘I will not go to Auntie Maisie's house!' Arian stood facing her father, ignoring the packed bag at her feet and trying not to be frightened by the look on his face.

‘I want you out of my sight,' he said, ‘before I lose control and kill you with my bare hands.

‘Anyway,' he added dully, ‘you need looking after – a woman's touch – and Maisie will give you that.'

‘I
am
a woman, Father,' Arian protested. ‘I have feelings just as you have, and I can look after myself.'

‘You might have to; if you give Maisie any trouble, you'll be out on your backside!' he said through his teeth, and Arian knew that his control was beginning to break. ‘I want you out of the way, and I will see to it that the rutting pig of a man you were with gets his just reward.'

Arian was suddenly chilled; while she was not frightened for herself, she feared what her father might do to Eddie.

Behind her the door opened and her Uncle Mike came into the room, his big arms folded across his chest.

‘I got the cart ready, Bob,' he said. ‘I'll have the girl over to our Maisie's before you can snap your fingers.'

‘I'm not going,' Arian said, her chin lifted, ‘especially with a man like you who spies on people and then tittle-tattles to others about what he's seen.'

Mike grunted, lifted her in his big arms and threw her, like a sack of potatoes, over his shoulder. He picked up her bag and left the house, kicking the door shut behind him.

‘Now we can do this hard, or we can do it easy,' he said, dumping her into the cart. ‘You can be tidy and behave yourself, or I can tie you up like a crazy animal; which is it to be?'

‘I'll be quiet.' Arian had no intention of being quiet, but neither had she any intention of being hog-tied to the cart.

She folded her skirts beneath her legs and stared around her at the open land she loved. She was supposed to submit peaceably to living with her auntie in the suburbs of Swansea. Well, wild horses wouldn't make her do what she didn't want to.

Mike climbed up to the front of the cart and clicked his tongue at the horse, urging the creature into movement. The jolt threw Arian off balance and she fell back, her head catching the edge of the wooden rail.

‘Damn and blast!' Her voice rang out. ‘What do you think you're doing, Uncle Mike?'

He grunted. ‘Nice language for a lady, I must say.'

He didn't turn to look at her, and as Arian righted herself, she poked her tongue out at his unresponsive back.

‘You know I'll run away from Auntie Maisie's the first opportunity I get, don't you?' Arian said defiantly, and Mike shrugged is big shoulder.

‘There'll be nowhere to run to, my girl,' he said, laconically.

‘I'll go home,' Arian said reasonably, wondering what on earth Mike was talking about.

‘Won't be no home to go to,' Mike said quietly. ‘Your father has lost everything; the bank has called in the loan he took out to buy that useless piece of land. Your father's flat broke.'

‘No!' Arian pushed herself up on to her knees and looked over at the uneven ground beneath the wheels of the cart. She had to get back to her father; he would be in despair. No wonder his control was so thin; whatever he did now, he had nothing to lose.

‘Whatever he did . . .' She uttered the words out loud, and a great fear filled her. Lightly, she poised herself on the edge of the cart, and when Mike slowed for a slight rise in the land, she leaped downwards and outward to avoid the small hunched patches of rock.

She hit the ground and rolled over, grazing her legs, but she looked after the retreating cart with a sense of triumph, knowing that Mike, always slow-witted, would not realize she'd gone – not yet at least.

She ran back towards the farm, but as she neared the outbuildings, she saw her father mounted on the grey, a gun under his arm; and he was heading towards Honey's Farm.

‘Oh, my God – Eddie!' Arian cried out loud, a sudden fear paralysing her limbs. She stood uncertainly for a moment, trying to sort out her confusion of thoughts. Then she began to run.

Eddie was working in the barn, pulling down a bale of hay from the diminishing store of winter fodder. He glanced up through the open door, just in time to see Bob Smale cross the yard and enter the cottage, where Fon was busy working in the kitchen. His gut tightened; he had caught sight of the barrel of a rifle protruding from under Smale's arm.

Slowly Eddie moved towards the door and glanced about him. He had to make sure that Smale was alone; usually he took the precaution of having company when he went out looking for trouble.

The yard was empty. Jamie, Eddie knew, was gone to the market in Swansea, and Tommy with him; in all probability they would not be back till sundown. Whatever was to be done, Eddie must be the one to do it.

He made his way cautiously across the yard; every snapping twig, every loose stone, sounded like a crack of thunder. His heart was beating swiftly. What he would do when he reached the cottage he wasn't quite sure; but one thing was clear, he could not leave Fon to the devices of the crazed Bob Smale.

The kitchen was empty except for young Patrick, who was lying flat out on the floor. There was a small bruise on the boy's temple, and Eddie felt fury burn within him; the man must be a maniac to attack a child.

Quickly, Eddie knelt beside the boy. He seemed to be all right; in any case, there was nothing Eddie could do but wait for him to recover consciousness. In the meantime, where was Bob Smale? And where was Fon?

He picked up the huge poker from the fireplace and moved slowly and cautiously towards the stairs. From the room above he could hear Fon's voice.

‘I will not strip!' Her voice was like ice. ‘You'd have to kill me first.'

There was the sound of tearing cloth, and Eddie bit his lip, resisting the urge to fly up the stairs. His only advantage was the element of surprise, and he would do little good by throwing it away.

At the door of the bedroom, his first fears were confirmed. Fon was standing before Bob Smale, her bodice hanging in tatters. Her face was white but defiant. Her eye was beginning to turn black, and, even as he watched, Eddie saw Bob raise his hand to Fon again.

‘Are you going to do what I say?' His voice was almost unrecognizable, and Eddie felt fear tear at his gut; this man had no feelings, he would plunder and destroy with no compunction.

‘No, I am not.' Fon sounded calm by comparison, though Eddie could see that she was trembling. Admiration filled him; Fon was a fine woman, a brave woman – but Bob Smale would not be denied.

His hand came down with such force that Fon staggered backwards, crashing against the china washbasin, which fell to the floor and shattered into pieces.

Bob Smale was, for a moment, distracted, and it was then that Eddie lunged forward, the poker held high. He brought it down hard, aiming for the base of the man's skull; but some sixth sense warned Bob Smale and he half-turned, the blow landing on his shoulder.

The gun was knocked from his hand and skidded across the floor.

‘Get out!' Eddie shouted to Fon, and she rushed past him, her skirts flowing behind her as she ran.

Eddie raised his arm to strike again, but Bob Smale hurled himself forward, his weight and strength bearing Eddie to the ground.

‘I'll kill you, you bastard!' Smale ground out the words. ‘Fool with my daughter, would you? Well, I'll show you who has the last word on that little matter.'

The man's illogical words told Eddie just how crazed Smale was; he, who had been on the point of raping Fon, was prepared to beat a man to death for making love to his daughter.

Eddie scrambled to his feet and launched himself down the stairs. He dimly saw Fon bending over Patrick, and then Bob Smale was upon him, bearing him to the floor, the rifle pointing at Eddie's head.

Smale squeezed Eddie's throat with one hand, but while he had breath, Eddie called to Fon in anguish. ‘Run!' he gasped, as he twisted and turned, trying to suck air into his lungs. ‘Take Patrick with you and get help!'

He lashed out and the rifle clattered to the floor.

Fon, as though galvanized into action, picked up the rifle and tried to steady it. Smale released his grip on Eddie and lashed out, felling Fon easily with the back of his hand.

Eddie drew rasping breaths and tried to rise to his feet, but then Bob Smale had picked up the gun and was pointing it again at Eddie's head.

‘Don't!' Fon cried, and Bob Smale looked at her, his face twisted.

‘Save your pity for yourself! You'll be going the same way – after I've finished pleasuring myself with you.' He laughed.