Honey's Farm (16 page)

Later, she left Patrick in the fields with Jamie and made her way down the hill, glad to be walking instead of constantly bending over the furrows of potatoes. The air was fresh coming in off the sea, and Swansea, as always, was a busy bustle of people, all intent on following their own pursuits.

Fon was glad of a change of scene and of a rest from the seemingly endless work on the farm. The town was thronged with traffic, with colour and excitement, then Fon became aware of the shadows falling from racing, stormy clouds on to the cobbled streets. One or two of the grander ladies sported bright parasols, clearly anticipating rain. Fon sincerely hoped they would be proved wrong; rain, right now, would delay work on the farm for some time, especially the cutting of grass.

At the
Cambrian
offices, the man at the desk, with his collar askew and ink on his fingers, looked somewhat familiar to her. She smiled, attempting to be friendly, as he took the slip of paper from her.

‘Work on Honey's Farm, do you, missis?' he asked, his eyes falling to her bodice, his open gaze making Fon feel vulnerable and threatened. ‘There's a lovely colour on your skin; comes of being in the open air so much, I suppose.'

His attempt at flattery was embarrassing, and Fon spoke quickly. ‘I'm the farmer's wife,' she said quickly. ‘Mrs Jamie O'Conner.'

‘Wife?' he echoed, and somehow his attitude altered a little. ‘
Duw
, you look too young to be married.' He smiled, but somehow there was little warmth in it.

‘I'm Bob Smale,' he said. ‘I own the property adjoining Honey's Farm – at least it does now that your husband has bought the strip between us. You have a small son, don't you?' he asked.

Fon's first instinct was to tell him to mind his own business. Instead she replied as politely as she could. ‘No, he's my stepson,' Fon said, pointing to the slip of paper and wishing Bob Smale would get on with the business in hand and stop asking her personal questions.

He ignored her gesture and leaned closer over the counter, looking at her closely. ‘You're a real lovely girl, mind, pretty as a picture and smelling of the sunshine. Experienced too, being a farmer's wife.'

Fon was disconcerted. She didn't know how to deal with the man's almost leering interest.

‘I own this paper,' Bobby Smale said softly. His hand lightly rested on hers. She drew away quickly.

‘Yes, I know,' Fon stuttered. ‘I've heard about you, of course, you being a neighbour and all that.' She didn't wish to appear rude but she moved impatiently, wanting nothing more than to be out of the office and back in the safety of the street.

‘Could I take you out for a pot of tea, and we can talk about this advertisement?' he asked, and, not wishing to hurt his feelings, Fon thought carefully about her reply.

‘It's very kind of you but I don't think my husband would like it,' she said at last.

‘But, lovely, I'm not asking your husband, am I?' he persisted.

Fon looked down at her hands, before putting them behind her back. She felt stupid and inept. She should know how to repulse unwanted attention at her age. She was sure Gwyneth wouldn't be at a loss in such a situation; but then Gwyneth was used to men.

‘Right, then.' Bob Smale's voice was suddenly brisk as the door opened and a group of ladies came into the room. ‘Let's see to the wording of this advertisement, then, shall we?'

Fon watched, grateful for the interruption, as Bob Smale took down the details in a surprisingly neat hand.

‘I'll see to it,' he said, smiling, and yet there was something menacing behind his expression.

Fon was glad to be back out into the street. The smell of the ink had given her a headache, and keeping Bob Smale at arm's length had been something of an ordeal.

The prospect of the long walk home was not a pleasing one, but Fon knew she was needed at the farm. Patrick would be ready for his sleep about now, and there was the evening meal to prepare. Still, a few minutes looking round the shops would do no harm, she decided.

It was growing colder as Fon set off for the hill leading upwards from the town in the direction of Honey's Farm. Her legs ached, her back ached, and a feeling of weariness was creeping over her. She sank down on the grass, feeling she would like to rest, if only for a few minutes.

A pleasant breeze was drifting in from the sea. Up here on the hill, the air was clear and bright, and above her was the vast arc of the sky, with the clouds more settled now; hopefully the rain would keep away for a while.

Fon sighed and stretched herself out in a hollow in the grassy slope. A bee lazily hovered near by, doubtless seeking some late flowers, and faintly the sounds from the town drifted upward, a background to the chirping of crickets in the grass.

Fon closed her eyes, comfortable in her little nest of grass, and eventually she must have slept, for she was dreaming of being in Jamie's arms; he was holding her, caressing her breasts with his fingertips, but his hands were unusually rough.

She woke suddenly, frightened to see a strange face looking down at her and to feel unfamiliar hands inside her bodice.

She reacted instinctively, pushing the man away from her with such force that he fell back into the grass, an expression of surprise on his face. She recognized him then, and her heart was suddenly in her throat.

‘Bob Smale, what do you think you are doing?' she demanded with more ferocity than she'd intended.

‘What's wrong?' he asked in an innocent voice. ‘Were you
really
sleeping, then? I thought you were putting it on.'

‘Keep away from me.' Fon attempted to rebutton her bodice, but Bob Smale had recovered his composure and was forcing her fingers away from the buttons.

‘Oh, come on, now don't play the little Miss Innocent with me,' he said grasping at her breast with one hand and pushing at her skirts with the other. ‘I know what you married women are like – love a bit of a change, don't you? At any rate you led me on enough back there in the office, simpering and blushing and all that nonsense.'

‘
You
are talking nonsense,' Fon said, pushing herself upright, but he put all his weight upon her and she was forced back into the hollow of the grass.

His fingers yanked her skirts aside and began probing, painfully and intimately, and a sense of disbelief and outrage filled Fon's senses.

‘Come
on
,' he said. ‘You farmers' wives see it happening all the time, don't you? A little bit of playing around won't do anyone any harm. I want you! You are a lovely girl. Why are you resisting? You know you want me, I can hear it in the way that you breathe,' he laughed.

Fon felt horror and fear overwhelm her as he fumbled at his buttons. His mouth came down on her breast, catching her nipple, and at the same time he was pressing himself against her.

‘Don't be silly, now,' he said. ‘Let me do what I want. ‘You'll like it, you'll see. Just relax now, don't keep fighting me. I know you mean yes even when you are saying no – women are like that.'

Fon relaxed suddenly, as though submitting, although the touch of his cruel hands made her feel physically sick. Bob Smale looked down at her and grinned. ‘That's better! I knew you wouldn't say no when it came down to it. Come on now, let's have a bit of fun, is it?'

Fon took her chance while he was off guard. She instinctively brought up her knee, catching him between the legs. Before he could utter a sound, she had scratched at his face and was tugging his hair even as she twisted away from him.

‘Bitch!' he gasped as he rolled away from her. ‘I'll have you for that, you'll see if I don't.'

Fon was on her feet, trying to run uphill, her feet slipping as the ground grew steeper. The farmhouse was in sight but still some distance away. Smoke rose from the chimney, and Fon wished with all her heart that she was in the kitchen, away from harm.

She heard footsteps pounding behind her, and the sound of Bob Smale's rasping breath brought goose pimples out on her skin. She cried out in pain as she felt her hair caught in a cruel grip and she was dragged backwards. She was pushed down on to the ground, and his knee was across her stomach, so that she felt she couldn't breathe.

‘Keep still!' He slapped her hard across the face. ‘I mean to have my way with you, and the more you cry out, the more I'll enjoy it.'

Fon felt her skirts being lifted above her waist, her underwear torn away, and shame burned in her cheeks. She screamed out loud, her voice ringing on the quiet air. She screamed again and again, as she felt him force her legs apart; at any moment now she would be violated, and she knew then she would rather be dead.

She tried to lash out with her feet, but he hit her again, so that her head reeled, and coloured lights flashed before her eyes.

‘Jamie!' The cry of anguish was wrenched from her, and for a moment she almost welcomed the blessed darkness that seemed to be descending over her.

With a suddenness that made her gasp, the cruel grasp upon her body eased. She heard a pounding and didn't know if it was the sound of her own heart.

The pounding came nearer, and she struggled to raise her head. She saw Bob Smale standing over her, and past him, like an avenging angel, she saw the big grey, with Jamie riding bare-backed, clutching the animal's mane as he rode towards where Fon lay, hunched over now, her hands desperately trying to rearrange her torn clothing.

‘Bloody hell!' There was no fear in Bob Smale's voice, even though Jamie had a murderous look on his face as he bore down upon the man.

Bob Smale stood his ground as Jamie jumped down from the back of the horse and ran towards him. Fon saw Jamie's clenched fist connect with the man's jaw. Smale snapped back and immediately a swelling began to rise around his eye. Jamie shook him to his feet as though he was a rag doll and punched him again and again.

As Fon rose shakily to her feet, she saw that Bob Smale was sagging at the knees now, his eyes turning black, his mouth bleeding.

‘I'll teach you to molest my wife,' Jamie growled and hit the hapless man again.

‘Stop!' Fon said. ‘For God's sake, stop before you kill him.'

‘Kill him?' Jamie echoed. ‘Sure and shouldn't I be castrating him, for what he's tried to do to you today?'

But Jamie stood back and looked down at the man, who was on his knees, swaying from the beating he'd received.

‘Get out of here,' Jamie said, ‘and don't let me see you on my land again, or I'll take a gun to you, do you understand?'

Bob Smale lurched to his feet, glowering through the eye that remained open. The venom in his face made Fon shudder.

Jamie watched for a time making sure the man was well out of sight before turning to Fon and folding her in his arms.

‘The bastard!' he said, ‘daring to lay hands on you. He's lucky he can still walk.'

Fon clung to him. She was trembling, but she made an effort to smile. ‘I tried to beat him off,' she said, ‘but I couldn't run very fast up the hill.'

Jamie's shoulders were tense with anger. ‘Come on home, colleen,' he said. ‘You're safe now. I can only thank God I heard you calling my name.'

In the kitchen later, Jamie washed her gently and helped her put on fresh clothes.

‘The bastard has bruised you,' he said, ‘and from now on I'll make sure he won't touch you again.' He fetched a gun and stood it near the door. ‘I'll put the ammunition on the shelf,' he said. ‘With Patrick around we can't keep the thing loaded. But don't answer the door to anyone, do you understand? No strangers must cross this threshold.'

When Jamie had returned to the fields, Fon brought in the tin bath and washed again, soaping herself liberally, closing her eyes as she saw the blackening bruising on her breast and thighs. She felt so tainted, so unclean, and she hoped that washing would make her feel better.

She could still feel hands upon her breasts, on her waist, gripping her, preparing to violate her, and she shuddered. It would be some time before she would be able to forget what had happened today. Never again, she told herself, would she venture into Swansea alone.

How awful it would have been if Jamie had not come to her aid when he did! Imagine being taken by force by a man who was nothing more than a violent stranger. It didn't bear thinking about.

She stayed in the hot water until it cooled, and only then did Fon step out on to the flag floor and rub herself dry.

Her torn clothes she pushed on to the fire; she never wished to see them again, not ever. Quickly she dressed in fresh clean underwear and a good serviceable skirt Jamie had found for her. She felt refreshed and almost normal again as she brushed out her long hair; soon, she promised herself, the incident would fade in her memory.

When Jamie came in for his supper, he took her in his arms and held her close, kissing her face and neck, his hands tender as he held her.

She cupped his face in her hands. ‘I'm all right, love, really I am,' she said softly.

He buried his face in her neck, and she felt him tremble. ‘If anything happened to you, Fon, my little colleen, I think I'd want to die.'

‘Nothing is going to happen to me, my love,' she said softly, ‘except that I'm going to be the best wife in the world to you.'

‘Let's forget about supper,' he said, kissing her mouth so tenderly that tears came to Fon's eyes.

‘That's the best idea I've heard for a long time,' she whispered, and together, arms entwined, they climbed the stairs to their bedroom.

Over the next few days, there was a response to the advertisement in the
Cambrian
. A labourer by the name of Mike the Spud came to work on the farm, and as the potatoes were lifted and the fields limed sooner than expected, Jamie was ready to start the replanting of the greens.

Fon had seen him go out to the fields looking fitter than he'd done for some days, and she was happy that a great deal of pressure had been lifted from his shoulders. So she was surprised when she saw the men come back to dinner early.