Daisy's Secret (23 page)

‘Wind?’

‘Indeed, we get positive howling gales up here, being situated on the side of the mountain, as we are. Oh dear, I wouldn’t recommend you trying those taps Mrs Carr, the drain is blocked, unfortunately, at present. There seems to be some problem with the plumbing but I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be remedied. Perhaps it is vermin stuck in the pipes. You know, a field mouse or rat, or. . .’ she frowned. ‘Or it may be the septic tank, I suppose, assuming there is one and not just a soakaway.’

‘Soakaway, Mrs Rampton?’ whimpered Mr Carr.

‘Mice? Rats?’ wailed Mrs Carr.

‘I’m sure it’s nothing at all to worry about, nothing a good plumber couldn’t fix.’

‘At a price,’ said Mr Carr as they lumbered back into the hall.

‘Now, shall we go upstairs, or would you prefer to view the outbuildings, and the privy out the back?’ Laura smiled upon them both beatifically.

‘Privy?’ The man barked. ‘Damp? Dry rot! Woodworm! Vermin! I believe we have seen enough Mrs Rampton. Thank you so much for your time.’

 
It was ludicrously satisfying to see how very quickly they escaped to their car. Laura had to sit down she was laughing so much. ‘Oh dear, forgive me, Daisy, for maligning your memory, but I hope you understand it was necessary in the circumstances.’ Wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes, she picked up her brush and returned to her painting.

‘I shall finish this wall then I’ll relight the stove and cook myself a large steak for dinner. And I might open a new bottle of wine. Why not?’ She deserved it. No doubt Felix would ring later, and it wasn’t going to be a pleasant experience.

Laura was absolutely correct in her supposition. Felix demanded a full briefing on the prospective buyers, refusing to accept her bland comments that they seemed slightly put off by the isolation and maintenance required with such an old property.

‘You deliberately put them off, didn’t you?’

‘Felix, what a thing to say.’

‘What did you tell them?’ He was shouting down the phone, so loud that Laura had to hold it some distance from her ear. ‘That it had rampant dry rot, I suppose?’

‘How did you guess?’ she said sweetly. ‘Don’t send anyone else, Felix. Remember what I said: the house is not for sale. And if you were so foolish as to try, I’ll see them all off in exactly the same way.’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Of course not, darling. Simply being entirely honest, open and frank, as I was with the Carrs. Believe me I find it tiresome to have to keep repeating myself, but until you start listening, I must continue to do so. The house is not. . .’

‘I’m not done yet, Laura. Don’t think you’ll beat me, because you won’t. I’m not giving up on our marriage and unless you intend to ruin me, neither am I giving up on selling that damn house.’

After he rang off, Laura wondered why she didn’t feel pleased that he wasn’t giving up on their marriage, only deeply uneasy.

Daisy fortified herself for the day ahead with a cup of tea and a scone in Storms Lunch & Tea Rooms, then stood in the tiny market place at a loss to know what to do next. Despite it not being market day, the place was bustling with people, all dashing about and plainly with some specific purpose in mind. It made her feel quite alone in the world. Stuck on the windows of a tall building proclaiming itself to be the Moot Hall, there were advertisements for a War Weapons week that had taken place in May, and one on the dedication of a new assembly hall at Keswick School to be held in June. A badly torn poster urged the residents of Keswick to come to see Twelfth Night, performed by the Old Vic Players. And yet another announced that there would be dancing every Tuesday night at the Park Hotel.

Daisy felt a lump come into her throat as she thought of the dances she’d attended with Harry. It had become a regular event for them after that first date, at least until he was posted to Silloth. Despite her better judgement, she’d fallen head over heels in love, and worrying about him was now a part of her life. Loving Harry was the last thought in her mind as she slipped into sleep each night, and the first when she woke every morning. But she didn’t regret loving him. Oh dear me, no. Daisy had resolved to live for the moment. It seemed the only way to cope. So long as she got his regular letters, telling her that he was fit and well, that he still loved her, what else need concern her? The war couldn’t go on forever, and then they would be together at last. Oh, and didn’t she love the bones of him? He made her head positively spin whenever he kissed her, which made it difficult not to let matters run out of control. She could remember all too clearly the last time that they very nearly had; replay every blissful moment in her head.

‘Harry, I must be careful,’ she’d whispered, as they’d lain together in some dappled patch of woodland, all flushed and hot and rumpled from their loving. He’d lifted her blouse to fondle her breast, and she’d made no attempt to stop him. Didn’t she long for him to love her properly? In no time, lost in a riot of emotion, he’d been lifting her skirt, smoothing his hand along her thighs, over her flat belly, and still she didn’t protest. But Daisy hadn’t wanted him to think her cheap. ‘What would my mother say if she saw us like this?’ Oh, but didn’t she just know what Rita would say?

‘You can trust me, Daisy. I love you too much to risk hurting you.’ But he’d sat up and lit a cigarette, drawing deeply upon it and remaining silent for a long time as if he couldn’t quite trust himself, before talking about the war and how uncertain life was. ‘The worst of it is, how can I bear to be away from you, knowing some other chap might snap you up while I’m gone.’

Daisy giggled as she smoothed down her skirt. ‘Nobody’s going to snap anything on me, take my word for it. No one shoves Daisy Atkins around, not without my say so.’ Not any more, said a small voice at the back of head.

He’d turned to her, eyes burning with an intensity she’d never seen in them before. ‘If anything did happen - between us - I wouldn’t mind too much. I love you, Daisy, every hair of your head, the sound of your voice, your lovely smile, every last freckle. I love everything about you that makes you who you are, so if we were to make a child, so be it. I’d love him too.’

There was a great swell of happiness in her breast. It was all going to be all right, after all. Perhaps she should tell him now, about the baby she already had? ‘Oh, Harry, and I love you too. We’ll make everything good between us, war or no war, I know we will. It’ll all be fine. The thing is . . .’

He kissed her then like he never had before, with a hunger that made her ache with renewed longing. When they broke away his eyes were dark with need. ‘I’m not sure how much longer I can be satisfied with just a few kisses. I need you, Daisy girl, all of you.’

‘And I need you,’ Daisy said on a sudden burst of shyness.

‘We could always . . .’ But she stopped the words with the flat of her hand.

‘Don’t say it. Don’t ask anything of me, not just yet, eh? We’ve only been going out together for a short while and it’s too soon. Where’s the fire, eh? Give us a kiss and be happy with that, for now, eh?’

And he’d groaned, tossed away the butt of his half smoked cigarette and pushing her back down into the sweet smelling grass, proceeded to kiss her with such a passion that it made her head spin.

Now Daisy couldn’t bear to think that a dirty old man had attempted to touch her as Harry had. Not that she had any intention of telling Harry about Mr Chapman’s fall from grace. Yet another secret to carry with her through life. It would only upset him, remembering how he’d called him a silly old cove and taken exception to his lack of trust when Harry had taken her to that very first dance.

But she could cope well enough. At least she hoped so.

But then she’d naively imagined that she could cope with Mr Chapman’s wandering hands, though really she’d got off lightly, considering what might have happened.
 

She didn’t dare let herself think about poor Mrs Chapman. That was too dreadful to contemplate. Poor woman. Daisy rather thought the guilt of that moment would live with her forever. She’d gone over and over in her head how she might have prevented the accident. Perhaps if she’d not dashed so recklessly out of the room, or if she’d tried to talk rationally to him. Yet Daisy knew that would have been hopeless. Mr Chapman had not been in a rational frame of mind. He’d had his hand up her night-dress, and God knows what he might have been about to do next.

The incident was accepted locally as a tragic accident. Daisy certainly had no intention of becoming embroiled in any difficult questions to the contrary. She would never forget her employer’s grey pallor on the day she’d left, for all she’d kept her mouth shut and said nothing to anyone. His face bore the look of a broken man: the confident, self-important and slightly pompous person he’d once been had gone for ever. He’d allowed the dark side of his nature to overtake him, and now he could never get back to the sunny side.

Daisy hadn’t waited for the funeral. She’d taken the money he offered, packed her bag and walked out. It had seemed the right moment to find Aunt Florrie. Catching the bus to Keswick had been simple enough; finding where her aunt lived, however, was proving to be more problematic.

Chapter Thirteen

On Sunday, David took her out for a pub lunch. They drove to Borrowdale along the eastern shore of Derwentwater, taking a detour to visit Watendlath by way of Ashness Bridge, made famous by Hugh Walpole as the home of Judith Paris, then passing the Lodore Falls and on to Rosthwaite, marvelling at the graceful beauty of the silver birches, the glimpses of sparkling lake and green mountain, fresh charms revealed at every twist and turn in the road.
 

‘From Borrowdale comes the wad to make the lead pencils for which Keswick is most famous,’ David told her. ‘
Crayon d’anglais
. Provided riches equal to a diamond mine in its day. The area was rife with illegal digs and smuggling on secret paths and trods across the fells. I shall take you to see the pencil museum another time.’

They exchanged smiling glances, each reading more into the simple suggestion than the history of the humble pencil could possibly justify.

They took lunch at The Royal Oak at Rosthwaite, opting for spicy Cumberland sausage which David claimed was his favourite local fare. Laura told him about the Carrs whom she’d put off buying Lane End Farm, and he laughed so much he got the hiccups and she had to bat him on the back.

‘I must be mad to play such dangerous games. Felix isn’t the sort who likes to lose. He’s bound to fight back.’

‘Let him. You have your rights, and it is your house.’

‘Trouble is, he doesn’t always play by the rules.’

He looked at her questioningly for a moment, then took her hand between both of his. ‘You know where I am. Should you need a friend.’

‘Thank you.’ Acutely aware of her hand being warmly enclosed by the strength of his grip, Laura felt as tongue-tied as a young girl, and then recalling his earlier words, began to giggle. ‘I thought you said I was the practical, capable, no nonsense and non-fussy type, so surely with such attributes I should be able to cope on my own?’

‘Why do I get the feeling the compliment has not come across quite as I intended?’

Laura widened her eyes in pretended innocence. ‘Is that what it was?’

‘I did add beautiful, charming and deliciously sexy, didn’t I?’

Laura slowly shook her head. ‘You were comparing me to Daisy, I seem to recall, who was almost eighty when she died, I believe.’

He hung his head. ‘No, it clearly didn’t come across at all as I intended,.’ He glanced up at her and gave his lazy smile. ‘What about dessert by way of recompense for my clumsiness?’ He insisted she try hot gingerbread with rum butter. ‘Its a traditional dish of the Lakes, so I won’t take no for an answer.’

‘Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb,’ Laura laughed. ‘It feels sinful enough to be out with a man other than my husband.’

‘We’re only having lunch. There’s surely nothing very wicked about eating lunch, is there?’

Still holding her hand, he dipped his lips to her finger tips and kissed them, the glint of mischief in his eyes making her heart turn right over. ‘Not that I’m aware of, no.’

‘You don’t sound too convinced.’

‘Then don’t look at me like that.’ She gently pulled her hand free and self-consciously tidied her hair. David helped her, tucking a strand tenderly behind one ear. ‘Don’t. Let’s stay in neutral, shall we?’

‘What a spoil sport you are. I was just beginning to enjoy myself. All right, I’ll engage neutral. So, what was it you were telling me about the Carrs? Ah yes, I dare say they thought they’d walked straight into a nightmare.’

‘Absolutely.’ Laura took a sip of her lager, steadying the race of her heart. ‘You should have seen their face when I mentioned rats blocking the drains,’ which set them off laughing all over again.

‘I won’t give up. Oh, dear me, no,’ Daisy told herself as she trudged about town with increasing desperation. Daisy had discovered that no one had heard of Florrie Pringle, let alone had any idea where she might live. The last thing Daisy wanted was to look for a fresh billet with yet more strangers, or worse, be forced to return to Salford and her mother. Nothing would induce her to do such a thing.