All the dear faces (40 page)

“
Nothing, Bert. Annie was just sayin' how sorry she. . ."

“
Well, she's said it so let's shut bloody door," which he did
.

*

Annie and Reed had met three times since their dramatic reunion on the boulder-strewn slope of Broad End. Each time it had not been planned, as the first meeting had not been planned and each time they had moved, thankfully, into one another's arms as though the action, the clinging, the closeness, the simple joining and twining of their bodies against one another, gave them both air to breathe, sweet water to drink, food to eat, sun on their sun-starved faces, life. They did not make love. They had done nothing from which they could not, with honour, both withdraw. They were content, it seemed, after the wild passion of their first meeting, merely to be together, neither wishing to disturb the sudden sweet harmony which flowed between them. She was happy, blindly, rapturously happy, blissful in the sweet, secret knowledge that perhaps today, or tomorrow, when she went with her dogs and her
shepherd's crook to check on her growing lambs, she might see him. And for now, that was enough. Each time they met they made no plans to meet again. They would sit together in the sunshine, Reed's back resting against a rock, hers against his chest, his arms about her, his cheek against her wind-blown hair. They talked, she could not remember afterwards what about. His lips would capture hers, but with a loving patience which confounded her, soft, gentle, so tender, so . . . so moderate, she was aware that Reed Macauley was, for the first time in his life, humbled by an emotion stronger than his own demanding need. That his love was true and selfless. He was an individualist, an opportunist, self-indulgent and arrogant, but what he felt for her had softened him and his fear of losing her had awakened a quality in him which, perhaps again for the first time, had him putting another before himself. Maybe it would not last for he was a man, and his masculine sexual curiosity, his desire, could sweep away this gentleness in the necessity of satisfying his own male loins.

“
Do you need anything? Anything at all?" he asked her, begging her to want some tremendous, difficult to come by thing that would stretch him to the utmost to get for her.

“
No, nothing. I am managing very well. My lambs are thriving . . ."

“
I know, I've seen them." He smiled into her hair. "Are you spying on me?" She turned to look up at him,
her lips beneath his, and when he took them, she sighed
into his mouth with the sheer joy of it.

“
Keeping an eye on you," he said when he could. "You won't let me do anything else for you, or give you anything, not even some trumpery bit of jewellery, so I do what I can by making sure your sheep are as fit as mine. They are grazing together on the same fell after all."

“
Thank you."

“
Dear God, if there was only something I could do to make your life easier."

“
There is.
”

At once he turned her in his arms, straining into her face in his passion to give her the moon, the stars, his own heart plucked out of his breast, any of these easy things but not the one thing he wanted to present her with, his name.

“
What? Say it, anything."

“
My daughter."

“
Yes . . . ?" He leaned back, disappointed, for what was Cat Abbott to him and what could he give to her that would satisfy his obsession with this woman.

“
I want her to go to school."

“
Well, that's easy enough. There is one in Gillthrop."

“
No, she is clever. Charlie has taught her . . ."

“
Goddammit woman, don't talk to me of that man. Have you no heart that you must mention him in my presence?" He stood up, thrusting her from him and his dog and hers stood up with him. All three animals were still uneasy with one another and it took very little to unsettle them. They sensed the tension and anger in him and
Blackie
raised his muzzle warningly.

“
And you can tell that bloody dog of yours to back off or I'll take my whip to him."

“
You'll do no such thing, Reed Macauley. They don't like your attitude any more than I do. I'm sorry if it upsets you when I speak of Charlie but I thought, unlike the rest of this damned community, that you understood my relationship with him. I have told you before that he and Phoebe are my only friends, except perhaps for Sally Garnett. There is nothing . . . nothing between us. Do you think I would be up here with you if there was? I met him at Rosley when I went to buy sheep since no one at the Keswick market would sell me any. I needed a ram and he helped me. The men there are as pig-headed as those around here and when it was discovered I was female despite my 'disguise' ... " indicating her masculine clothing, "they wouldn't sell to me either. Charlie did it for me, and helped me to bring the tup and the ewes home. And that is all."

“
All!" He stamped up and down, his boots crushing the tussocky grass and a clump of celandine which grew there. The wind lifted his tumbled hair from his frowning forehead and he brushed it back impatiently. His eyebrows scowled ferociously over his piercing blue eyes and it was obvious that peace had gone leaving jealousy, and his own anger at suffering it.

“
Dammit, Annie. You make light of this ridiculous 'get-up' you wear but can you blame men who only deal with other men, when they mistrust it, and you? They don't know what to make of it, or you. They are used to their women in decent skirts and bonnets, keeping their place in the home as they have done for centuries. Then you come along, so obviously female despite this . . . this bloody outfit you wear, and they are distracted from the purpose of their transaction which is to make a profit. Not only are they insulted by what they see as your immodesty, they are seriously affronted by their own need to stare at your . . . attractions. Which, by the way brings me to the subject of how they discovered you were a woman and not a man! Oh, yes . . ."

“
It was my hair, dammit. What do you think I did? Exposed my . . . my body to them? My blasted hat fell off. . ."

“
Fell off ! Fell off! Or did you take if off to show Charlie . . ."

“
What the devil are you insinuating, Reed Macauley? Are you saying . . . ?"

“
Dear sweet Christ, I don't know what I'm saying, woman." Again he twisted and turned in his savage distress. "I only know I cannot bear to think of you living under the same roof with him, with . . . any man. . . no matter how innocent. Yes! . . . Yes! . . ." He held up his hands in acquiescence. ". . . I know it is innocent since I know you well enough by now to understand you would dishonour neither yourself, nor me, nor him. I know you love me, Annie Abbott, I can see it in your eyes. Even now, though your face is furious and you're ready to black my eye for my impudence. Forgive me . . . I cannot help
the way I am, Annie . . . my Annie . . . don't let's quarrel . . ."

“
You began it by inferring that Charlie and I were more to each other than friends." She slapped away his placatory hand but he grasped her forearm and pulled her roughly to him.

“
Only because I'm so jealous, dammit. I want you . . ."

“
You could have had me. We were both of us free."

“
Aah . . . don't . . ." He bowed his head in sudden desperation and his hands fell to his side. His stance was one of such hopelessness that at once she put her arms about him, dragging him to her in an agony of remorse.

“
Reed . . ."

“
I know . . ." His words were muffled in her hair. His arms rose again and held her to him. "I know . . . Christ . . . do you think I have not regretted it a hundred times since. I thought . . . you were with him . . . they said you were . . . he was living at the farm . . ."

“
He needed work. I needed help . . . that's all." "He is . . "

“
That is all, Reed."

“
I should have married you when I had the chance but . . ."

“
. . . But I was . . . who I am." Her words were soft and they said she did not reproach him.

“
Do you think that would have mattered? As my wife you would have been accepted no matter what you had done." His voice was arrogant and sure. Was he not Reed Macauley? One of the Macauleys who were 'statesmen', men of standing and wealth in these parts. There would not have been a hostess in the parish who would have shut her door in his wife's face, or if she had, her husband might have found himself in a poor way of business. So many owed him something, money, a favour, a bit of business put their way, and it would not pay them to insult him or his wife. Under his shelter and protection Annie Abbott would have been treated as a young queen.

“
Perhaps."

“
There is no perhaps about it. They would not have dared . ."

“
Does it matter now, my darling? Really, does it matter? It is too late. You are committed elsewhere and I can see no . . . future for us . . ."