Evie (23 page)

Roger had, that morning received another letter from his son which, coming so soon after the previous one, alerted him to the fact that it might contain important information.

Alice joined Roger and they smiled over his description of his rather one-sided conversation with Rose.

‘You should have told her Christo’s news,’ she said. ‘It would have cheered her up.’

‘No,’ Roger said. ‘It wasn’t “cheering up” she was after. I think she was enjoying her role as comforter of the abandoned parent. Ouch!’ he exclaimed, as Scarlet O’Hara, in full cry and wielding the heavy serving spoon from the trifle bowl, struck him hard on his shin bone and then smiled up into his face and asked, ‘’Poon hurt?’

‘Bad girl!’ Mabel admonished, with a touch of pride, as she hauled her daughter away from her wincing boss.

‘Can we leave now? Please!’ Roger asked his wife, rubbing his shin.

Day had followed day and any local curiosity there had been concerning Norman Clark’s recent reappearance in the valley and his abrupt departure from it, seemed to have dissipated, much like the thick mists or sharp frosts that occurred on most days at this time of the year and were usually gone by mid morning.

Life moved on in the valley. It was as though the winter storm that had struck on the day of the incident and roared through the Bayliss woods, up and over the bleak grassland of The Tops and on, across the moor, had taken with it, into oblivion, Norman Clark’s violence and any evidence of the gory accident that had ended his sad story. Despite this, Dave and Hester, Ferdie, Mabel and Rose, had found themselves drawn together at the party, standing in a group, sipping, biting into cake and smiling awkwardly, like the conspirators they had become while concealing and supporting Evie and Giorgio and, since the incident that had ended Norman Clark’s life, carefully guarding their secret. Edward John, finding it difficult to accept the possibility that Clark had simply conceded defeat, continued to explore his own theories regarding the man’s disappearance.

‘Orright?’ Dave, his mouth full of cake, had asked Edward John. Edward John nodded and moved away from the group. When he was out of earshot Rose spoke in a low voice.

‘No one said nothun to no one, then?’ she wanted to know, and when this was confirmed by all of them she added, ‘And
no one’s not ever goin’ to say nothin’, neither. Ever. Right?’ They all concurred. It was at this point that Roger Bayliss had tapped his glass and embarked on his speech. By the time it was concluded, the group had drifted apart.

Since the successful removal of Evie from the dangerous domination imposed by her husband and the news of her happy reunion with Giorgio Zingaretti, Edward John had begun to be concerned by the fact that whatever the facts of Norman Clark’s disappearance, the pair would be unable to marry without proof of his death. And since, were he still alive, he would be unlikely to agree to a divorce, it seemed that a legal marriage was going to remain unattainable for them.

‘Penny for them?’ Roger asked his stepson later that evening. Edward John, deep in thought, started almost guiltily. His hardening suspicions regarding Norman Clark’s disappearance made him guarded and cautious.

‘Nothing, really …’ he said absently.

‘No?’ Roger persisted. ‘I thought you were looking distinctly wistful.’

‘I was thinking about Evie and Giorgio,’ Edward John admitted, truthfully.

‘It’s all good news there, surely?’ Roger enquired.

‘Except that they can’t ever get married, can they? Not with Norman alive, I mean.’

‘Well, certainly not for a while,’ Roger told him, surprising Edward John.

‘But I thought unless he divorced her it would be bigamy or something.’

‘As the law stands,’ Roger told him, ‘if, after seven years have passed, Clark can’t be found and has made no attempt to contact Evie, the marriage can be annulled.’ Edward John knew what annulled meant and his face briefly reflected the impact of this information.

‘So … She’d be free to remarry?’ he queried.

‘Yes. Why d’you ask?’ Roger wanted to know. Edward John shrugged.

Later in the evening, sitting with Roger, one on each side of their fire, Alice reread Christopher’s letter.

‘Does Edward John know about this?’ she asked her husband.

‘Not yet,’ he told her.

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m not sure how he’ll take it,’ Roger said. ‘It’s pretty clear from what Christo says that he sees himself eventually taking over from me here. But ever since Edward John set foot on the farms it’s been obvious he fancies farming, and when Christo seemed to have lost interest, Edward John might have thought …’ He paused, scanning Alice’s face and thinking how like an angel she looked, lit by the blending of lamplight with firelight.

‘You used the word “thought”,’ Alice said and saw Roger’s attention refocus on the subject under discussion. ‘I think you’re right about what he “thought”, but I’m not so sure it’s what he thinks now.’

‘Really?’ Roger asked in surprise. ‘You think he’s losing interest in the farms?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t think he’ll ever do that but …’

‘But?’

‘Well, when he was nine years old Edward John wanted to be a vet. But he didn’t think he was clever enough. Now his schoolmasters seem to think he is clever enough. You’ve said yourself he is exceptional. “A highly developed intellect for a twelve-year-old”, you once said.’

‘You’re right,’ Roger smiled. ‘I did say that and it’s true. So … you think he may be looking at broader horizons than my modest acres could offer him, do you?’

‘I think it would ease his mind enormously if he thought that choosing something other than farming would not disappoint you or hurt your feelings – he’s very fond of you, you know. And now that we know that Christo is planning to return to the valley you wouldn’t be disappointed, would you? And that is why, darling, I think you should give my boy an early Christmas present by letting him read Christo’s letter … Mmm?’

‘Oh, wise and most exquisite of women,’ Roger murmured, getting to his feet. ‘I think a small brandy is called for, no? Just to settle our stomachs, after Eileen’s prodigious trifle.’

Alice had volunteered to drive Winnie and Gwennan to the station. She saw this as discharging a final and affectionate duty to the last of the land girls to whom she had been warden. From ten girls at the start, down to half a dozen when the end of the war was celebrated, to two with the closing of the hostel. These two, ultimate departures, had a special importance to Alice. It would be the final scene of a significant episode in her life and she was very aware of the journey she had made. She was conscious not only of the
effect of the war years on herself but on her son and on the young women who had come and gone from the hostel, some briefly, others, like Georgina, who had become a member of her family, and Hester Tucker and Mabel Hodges, who had married into the local community. Evie was undoubtedly the girl whose life had been most radically altered by the chance that had delivered her to Lower Post Stone Farm. Altered more radically even, than Alice was aware.

The storm which the war had created had stranded all of them in unfamiliar territory and then, as the turmoil receded, they had, one by one, moved on and away, taking what they could, as well as what they could not avoid, from the chances and the experiences they had been given.

Winnie and Gwennan were standing outside the pub with their various suitcases and carry-alls clustered round their ankles. The wearing of Land Army issue hats had always been a bone of contention. The girls had unanimously shunned them and had only ever worn them under duress for occasional church parades and, once, for a funeral. Today, as a sort of prank and looking totally inappropriate with their civilian clothes, both girls were sporting the wide-brimmed, khaki felt hats as they stood giggling and waving to Alice as she brought the car to a standstill beside them.

‘Very suitable!’ she called to them, playing up to their joke. ‘Put your cases in the boot and let’s get on our way or we shall miss your train!’

The locomotive was already puffing up the incline towards Ledburton Halt as they hauled their luggage across the platform. As it stood, blowing and hissing, they heaved
their cases into a carriage and up onto the rack above the seats. Before any serious leave-taking could get underway the stationmaster was blowing his whistle and slamming doors. There was no time for tears. Just swift, warm hugs, before Alice was alone on the platform and Winnie and Gwennan were two heads, leaning, one above the other, out of the window, shouting goodbye and blowing kisses. Just before reaching the curve in the track which would take them out of sight the girls removed their hats and shied them into the air with whoops of delight. Alice whooped back. Then the carriage had rounded the curve and they were gone, leaving the two hats skimming through the air, out into a field in which a couple of milking cows paused in the chewing of cud and eyed them suspiciously as they landed amongst the tufts of wintery grass.

A mud-splattered Land Rover pulls up in the lane outside Lower Post Stone farmhouse from which Kiwi Bayliss runs, reaches the open window of the Land Rover and turns a bewitching, ten-year-old’s smile on its driver. She is, he realises, at that wonderful stage in her life when everything has the potential to be an adventure.

‘Have you come to see the photo?’ she asks and when he nods, smiling back at her, adds, ‘The parents think they know who it is but I’m not allowed to tell you! Come on!’ She runs ahead of him up the path and into the farmhouse. ‘Edward John’s here!’ she yells ‘Oh, where is everyone? And where is the photo?’

Seated at the farmhouse kitchen table with the family clustered round him, Edward John examines the snapshot. All he has been told is that the picture has just been found. He doesn’t know where or in what circumstances. Christopher,
Georgina, Kiwi and Pom stand stock-still, barely breathing, expectant, the children suppressing giggles. Then Edward John speaks.

‘Evie,’ he says. ‘It’s definitely Evie. Where …?’

His question is cut by a burst of laughter, everyone is speaking at once so that Edward John can’t hear anyone. Smiling, he puts his hands over his ears.

‘Shut up, everyone!’ Georgina orders.

‘One at a time!’ Christopher says.

‘Me, then!’ says Pom. ‘Me first! Because I’m the one who found it!’ He meets his sister’s scowl and she turns sulkily away.

‘Where?’ Edward John asks again.

‘Under the bridge,’ Pom tells him. He is leaning on the table, turned, so that he can see Edward John’s reaction. ‘There’s a sort of ledge that sticks out …’

‘Near the roof. Yes, I remember it.’ Edward John had explored the farm as thoroughly in the forties as Pom is in the process of doing, now, in the fifties. ‘But how can it have survived this long? It must have been inside something?’

‘It was,’ Kiwi interrupts. ‘It was in a sort of leathery wallet thing …’

‘Which was inside another sort of bag …’

‘A kind of kitbag,’ Kiwi adds.

‘A kitbag?’ Edward John asks sharply, suddenly more serious. ‘What sort of—’

‘It was all mouldy and falling to bits,’ Kiwi says, waving her hands, miming the disintegration.

‘And you dropped it in the stream and it got washed away!’ her brother chips in, accusingly.

‘It wasn’t my fault!’ she protests. ‘And, anyway, there was nothing in it except some sodden rags. It all just fell to bits in the water.’

Edward John turns the snapshot in his hands. Nothing on the back. Only the smudged image on the front. Evie. Younger than when she arrived at the hostel. But definitely Evie.

‘The leather wallet that this was inside,’ he asks Pom, ‘– was there nothing else in it? No papers of any sort?’ The boy shakes his head.

‘Nope. There could once have been some but they were all wet and mushy and coming in bits,’ he says.

‘Even the snapshot was pretty far gone when the kids first brought it in,’ Georgina adds. ‘We dried it carefully and then you could just about see what it was.’

‘And then who it was,’ Christopher adds.

Hours later, when the children are in bed and Georgina, Christopher and Edward John have dawdled over the food Georgina has cooked for them and are finishing the bottle of Macon that had been Edward John’s contribution, they speak again about the long-lost snapshot which Pom has taken to his room and pinned onto his noticeboard.

There are lengthy pauses in the conversation, as Georgina and Christopher pick over the facts that emerge as Edward John answers their questions. Slowly, they both begin to sense in Edward John a reluctance to explore or endorse the
various theories or explanations that they themselves offer for the discovery of the photograph. As they continue to ply him with queries, his evasiveness increases.

‘So … presumably, Norman Clark put it there,’ Christopher says. ‘Hides it, you think? Along with a kitbag containing what were once items of clothing?’ Edward John shrugs and pours the last of the wine into his glass.

‘Well, who else would have done?’ Georgina wants to know. No one answers her.

‘But why would he?’ Christopher asks.

‘And when would he?’ Georgina persists. ‘He came down here twice, looking for Evie, right? Once to fetch her from the hostel and take her home to Coventry, then, after that, he came again. She wasn’t here, there was a scuffle and Ferdie, Dave and Hester saw him leave the valley. So, both times there were witnesses to the fact that he left the area. Roger the first time, when he drove Clark and Evie to the station and put them on the Birmingham train, and the second time, by the stationmaster himself, did you say?’ Edward John nods. ‘But the third time he came – the day Evie sailed from Tilbury – all we know is that he vanished off the face of the earth after Edwin Lucas sent him packing. Is that right?’ Edward John nods again. ‘So when is he supposed to have left the kitbag with the photograph in it, under the bridge? And how come no one knows what happened to him after he left Lucas’s yard? And why, if he was still so obsessive about finding Evie, did no one see him afterwards – or since?’

There is a long pause. Edward John gives a shaky sigh. He
looks at Georgina and then at Christopher, swallows the last of his wine and says, ‘You’d better brace yourselves, you two.’

He still has mixed feelings about telling them. For twelve years the knowledge has been confined to himself, the Crockers and the Vallances. The sleeping dogs have lain undisturbed for all that time and could have continued to do so. But now, this photograph, this small, damp shadow of the past, has fallen into the hands of two inquisitive children. ‘The reason no one has seen him since,’ he tells them, ‘is because he’s dead.’

It is midnight before Edward John has laid all the facts before them, describing how, his suspicions once roused led him on to discover what happened on that stormy December morning. Georgina has brewed a second pot of tea. The night has turned cold and Christopher has laid and lit the open fire.

‘So what made you suspicious?’ Christopher asks and Edward John explains again how the account given by Ferdie and Dave of the damaged ladder, their own injuries, plus the disappearance of a broken harrow which Roger Bayliss had decided to get repaired rather than replaced, had finally given him a scenario which proved to be very close to the truth.

‘At one point I honestly believed they’d killed him,’ he tells them. ‘That was the worst time for me because it looked like being murder. But after I confronted them, I became convinced that it was an accident. It was all so horribly plausible. The mistake they made was not to go straight to the police.’

‘Why on earth didn’t they?’ Georgina wants to know.

‘Hester would have phoned them from the barn but Clark had pulled the wires off the wall.’ He pauses, watching their faces as they receive and then react to each piece of the jigsaw. ‘And’ – he hesitates – ‘Well … The thing I think we all accept and mustn’t forget is the fact that the valley people have a deep, inbred distrust of the law. Farm labourers were hanged for snaring rabbits and women deported for stealing a loaf of bread – almost within living memory, you know! “One law for the rich and another for the poor”. Oh, they’ve moved on a bit since Victorian times, but more slowly here, in the back of beyond, than in the cities. Generations of hardship have taught them basic survival tactics and I reckon there are worse secrets in these parts than this one.’ He pauses, watching them.

‘It’s true,’ Christopher muses. ‘Pa told me a few things when I was a kid. About country people taking the law into their own hands. Old women burnt as witches when someone’s kid had a fever or a horse went lame. That sort of thing. Mysterious deaths. Unexplained disappearances and so on. I wouldn’t put it past our Rose to have cast a spell or two in her day …’

‘Shush!’ Georgina says, laughing and briefly easing the tension.

‘There was such a pile of evidence against Clark,’ Edward John says, ‘including his attack on my mother on the morning of the incident that killed him, that Dave and Ferdie probably wouldn’t have been charged. Their disposal of the corpse is what would have told against them.’ Georgina
shudders. Edward John’s description of the weighting of the body and the image of the crusty surface of the slurry pit closing over it will haunt her. ‘That was why I decided to keep quiet,’ Edward John continues and then, looking at them both, sighs. ‘And now I’ve spread the responsibility to you two. Sorry! One of the disadvantages, perhaps, of having two bright kids! If they hadn’t found that snapshot …’ He sighs again. ‘It’s a huge relief to have told you. Although, in a way, a bit of a risk. You might feel obliged to … I don’t know … to take a more responsible view?’ Georgina shakes her head and puts her hand on Edward John’s.

‘I’m with you,’ she says. ‘Absolutely with you. There’s no doubt that Clark deserved what he got, “accident” or not.’

‘And it was an accident, Georgie! I couldn’t be more certain of it. I have spoken to all of them, together and separately and listened, over and over to each account. I saw the ladder and the wall weeks before I put the whole thing together. That ladder had been pulled away from the wall when someone heavy tried to use it. Everyone on the farm knew it was unsafe. No one had used it since the fire. Both Ferdie and Dave had splinters of wood in the wounds they tried to claim were “storm damage”. Splinters from the bolt of timber Clark used to lay Ferdie out and then whacked Dave with. The telephone wires
had
been pulled out. I saw evidence of the repair. And another thing we know now, since the photograph turned up, fits with Hester’s account of seeing Clark climb up over the parapet of the bridge, and that he was not carrying the knapsack he had with him when he attacked my mother
and when he encountered Edwin Lucas. I could go on. D’you want me to?’

Christopher shakes his head and sits for some time considering the various aspects of the dilemma. The effect of a police investigation of this kind on his father and stepmother and on the lives of those members of the farms’ workforce who would be directly and possibly destructively involved in it, deserved consideration.

‘No,’ he says at last. ‘What would be the point of digging over all that? And after all this time. Who would gain?’

‘No one, now,’ Edward John says. ‘Evie would have, back then, because she would have been able to marry Giorgio without waiting seven years until her marriage to Norman could be annulled.’ They sit for a while, sipping cups of tea from the second pot, considering the conclusion they have come to and adjusting to its implications.

A night wind is pressing on the old farmhouse which is responding with a series of soft creaks. Georgina cocks her head and smiles. Edward John understands the smile.

‘Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?’ he asks her. She nods and he turns to Christopher. ‘In the war, when this room was my mother’s bedsitting room and I slept here when I was off school, I used to love the creaking of this building.’

‘Me too,’ Georgina says. ‘I persuaded Alice to let me sleep in the little room over the porch – the one Kiwi has now. Very draughty it was then – but I loved it. All the other land girls had to share. I was a bit of a spoilt brat, I’m afraid!’

‘Clearly!’ Christopher laughs, and then adds, ‘Those were the days! … But come on. No more reminiscing about
the dear old war. Have we decided what to do with this unfortunate information?’

‘Yes, we have,’ Georgina says, without hesitation. ‘We do nothing. It’s none of our business. Okay, it would probably have been wiser for Ferdie and Dave to have fessed up at the time but …’

‘But they didn’t because that’s how they think and the way they are and we have to respect that,’ Edward John says, aware that Christopher still seems unconvinced by this argument.

‘But don’t you think someone might—’

‘Spill the beans?’ Edward John says, interrupting him. ‘Who would do that?’

‘And why?’ Georgina wants to know. ‘After all this time?’

A log shifts in the fireplace. Christopher frowns and runs his fingers through his hair.

‘But what about our kids?’ he asks Georgina. ‘They could see we were pretty intrigued by that photograph. Won’t they want to know more? Won’t they tell people about it? Alice and my pa for instance? If
they
became inquisitive – the whole balloon could go up!’

‘We’ll play it down,’ Georgina says. ‘If the children ask any more questions about it I’ll tell them that the snapshot was interesting because it was obviously left here when the war ended and the land girls all went home. Then it can get mislaid, then lost, then forgotten. I’ll deal with that.’ Christopher is still not entirely convinced. ‘You’re tired, sweetheart,’ Georgina says. ‘You’ve got milking in four hours’ time. You need sleep. We don’t have to decide
anything tonight if you don’t want to. But just think of the consequences if we don’t keep quiet.’ Edward John gets to his feet, stretches his long limbs and yawns.

‘Better get off,’ he says. It is a forty-minute drive to his digs in Dorchester where he has recently accepted a junior partnership in an expanding, large-animal veterinarian practice.

‘There’s always the sofa,’ Georgina suggests. ‘I’ll fetch some blankets and pillows.’

A few hours later Edward John and Christopher drive up to the higher farm where Ferdie Vallance and Mabel are already herding the dairy cows into the milking shed.

‘See you soon, matey,’ Edward John shouts to Christopher as their ways part. ‘Give my love to my mama, will you? Tell her I’ve got next Monday off so I’ll see her on Sunday night. Plus laundry!’

‘Oh, she’ll love that!’ Christopher laughs.

‘She will, actually!’ Edward John calls, almost adding ‘you know what mother’s are’ and then remembering that, in fact, Christopher does not know.

He takes the Land Rover up through the lanes and out of the valley. The sun is already high and the familiar landscape brilliant with the flora of full summer. Foxgloves, honeysuckle and tall grasses flick past his open window. Buttercups and Schiaparelli-pink campions blaze amongst the frothing meadowsweet that fills the cab with its scent. The happiness that his mother has found with Roger Bayliss pleases Edward John, as does the practical solidity and warmth of Georgina and Christopher’s marriage.
He is careful with his own emotions, conscious of the damage irresponsibility can cause, but ‘one day he’ll find her, moonlight behind her’. In the meantime there is an intriguing girl on one of the farms he regularly visits in the course of his work.