Honey's Farm (19 page)

Eline's smile would have melted an iceberg. ‘Thank you so much,' she said, drawing off her gloves. ‘Perhaps I'd better start looking round for some materials right away.'

Mrs Bell took her long skirt between stout fingers and moved to the stairs. ‘You just wait here until I have a word with my staff, and then I'll come and help you,' she said, and her tone could almost be described as amiable.

‘You certainly have a way with people,' William said, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen after Mrs Bell had departed.

‘I feel that being tactful helps.' Eline was on the defensive, and Will knew that she hadn't changed in her feelings for him at all. She was still angry and bitter at his betrayal, and could he honestly blame her? Still, they must work together now, and at least she could offer the olive branch during business hours.

‘Unforgiving sort, aren't you?' he said, with sudden anger, and Eline's fine eyebrows arched in assumed surprise.

‘Have I anything to forgive Mrs Bell for, then?' she said, with some sarcasm.

Will caught her arm. He could see the gentle swell of her breasts at the vee of her neckline, and he longed to touch her intimately, to make her yield to the passion that burned in him. He had never possessed Eline; he felt that no-one had possessed her, not really reached her inner core – not even the husband she had been married to since she was little more than a child.

He drew her close and pressed his mouth fiercely on hers, trying to force a response from her. She didn't protest, she didn't push him away, she simply remained passive and unresponsive.

He released her angrily. ‘You
are
a cold woman, Eline,' he said. ‘I think you should have become a nun, remained chaste; you weren't cut out for anything as human as passion.'

She didn't rise to the bait. She simply moved away and picked up a lady's boot from one of the the shelves. After a moment, she looked over her shoulder at him, and Will thought he saw a flicker of something like sadness in her eyes.

‘Can't we make a new start?' Will said humbly. ‘I don't want us to quarrel, it achieves nothing.'

‘You're right,' Eline said. ‘We should try to develop a reasonable working relationship at least. Life would be much easier then.'

‘That's a start anyway, now,' Will said, feeling exultant. It was just the start he'd been hoping for, but he kept his voice deliberately businesslike.

‘Let's see what we shall put in the window, shall we?' he said, and his gaze lingered on her mouth as he suppressed the desire to kiss her.

Will scarcely saw Eline for the rest of the day. She worked hard, he had to admit that; she asked no quarter but carried stock upstairs on her own and left him free to serve the few customers who did venture down to the basement.

Later, they sat together in the modest tearooms at the top of the emporium building and talked in a desultory manner about work. But at least, Will thought, they were no longer at each other's throats. It was possible, he reasoned, that, given time, Eline's hostility would fade.

‘Where are you going to stay in Cardiff?' Will ventured a personal question, and Eline looked up at him coolly.

‘I have a room in an hotel,' she said, ‘just for a few days, then I will be returning to Swansea.'

Will felt disappointment grip him. ‘You wouldn't like to live in Cardiff, then?' he asked, and she shook her head.

‘Oh, no.' She fiddled with a bracelet on her arm. ‘I'll just be coming up for a few days each week to see how things are going, but I'll be based at home.'

She met his gaze squarely for the first time. ‘I'm going to begin to make a new life for myself. I think it's high time I cut away from the past and started again.'

‘I see.' Will felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his world.

‘You know that I want to design and make shoes for children and adults who have difficulty walking properly. Well, at last I'm putting that wish into practice.'

‘And Calvin Temple, is he helping you?' Will regretted the words as soon as they were spoken, for the shutters came down on Eline's face and she retreated into her shell once more.

She picked up her bag. ‘I'd better be getting back to work,' she said, not looking at him. ‘There's plenty to do if I'm to modernize the display area; it doesn't look as if anything's been changed for years.'

As Eline's window display began to take shape, Will found that the number of customers patronizing his basement area of the emporium grew steadily. Some came to buy, but most came out of open curiosity and appeared disappointed with the dark and dour shelves and old-fashioned fixtures.

When the emporium closed for the night, Will went out into the street to study Eline's finished window. He stood back amazed; she had excelled herself.

In the background was a hazy backdrop, the outlines depicting accurately the sturdy lines of Cardiff Castle. The foreground appeared to be a grassy area, with a cricket pitch to one side of the display and a croquet lawn behind a hedge of shrubs on the the other. Sporty shoes danced across the lawn; ladies' pumps and men's fancy shoes rested on the lawn, while along the cricket ground, like an edging of spectators, was a plethora of boots and shoes, men's, ladies', and children's, in a carefully arranged scene of disorder.

Will felt a flood of admiration. Eline was a remarkable woman, not even Hari Grenfell herself could have created a finer display.

‘Like it?' Eline spoke from behind his shoulder, and Will spun round, his face alight.

‘Eline!' he said. ‘It's a masterpiece!' He wanted to hug her, but he contained himself and simply took her hand in his. ‘Congratulations on a fine piece of work,' he said warmly.

Eline smiled up at him, and for a moment it was as if they were back on the old footing.

‘Is it really all right?' she asked with the modesty that Will found so appealing.

‘All right?' he echoed. He put his earlier feelings into words. ‘Even Hari couldn't have done better.'

Eline sighed. ‘It's taken a few days' hard work, but I think now it's finished.' She shrugged, sounding almost regretful. ‘I can't do any more to it. Tomorrow, I'd better make arrangements to return to Swansea.'

‘Eline,' Will said quietly, ‘would you please stay another day – help me make the shop area more appealing, if that's at all possible? It's like a dungeon down there.'

Eline searched his face, as though suspecting a trap. ‘I don't know if I can spare the time,' she said, uncertainly.

‘Please, Eline,' he urged. ‘I assure you that it's a request that's based on business, simply that.' He paused and gestured towards her display. ‘However good your window might be, the customers are put off once they enter the shop and see how dreary it is.'

Eline inclined her head; obviously she saw the truth of his words. ‘All right,' she said. ‘I'll stay for another day, see what I can do.'

In the event, Eline did a great deal. She somehow persuaded Mrs Bell to move the stocks of boots and shoes to a much better location on the first floor of the emporium, so that, as customers mounted the ornate staircase, the first thing they would see was the Grenfell boot-and-shoe mart.

‘It will take a little time to set out the shelves and counters,' Will said, feeling desperate to keep Eline near him for as long as possible.

Mrs Bell was fussing around, ordering her staff to rearrange the china displays to accommodate the Grenfell stock. She looked up curiously at Eline, and Will turned his shoulder, not wanting Mrs Bell to witness his discomfiture should Eline turn him down.

‘I don't know if I can keep on my room at the hotel,' Eline said doubtfully. ‘It must be costing Mrs Grenfell a fortune.'

‘Stay here, my dear Mrs Harries,' Mrs Bell said quickly. ‘I have a spare room in the staff quarters, if you'd like it.'

‘That's very kind of you,' Eline said. ‘I'll stay a little while, then.'

Will gave a sigh of relief. ‘I am grateful, Eline,' he said quietly. ‘And I'm sure Hari will be too.' He looked round him in satisfaction. ‘We should do well here. It's so much better than I thought it could be.'

And, he thought joyously, he would have Eline close to him for just a little longer. Smiling, he began to move the stock towards the counters and fixtures, ready for Eline to choose some boots and shoes for display purposes. Things were not turning out too badly after all.

In Oystermouth, Gwyneth was just leaving the house of Mary Preece, midwife. She stared up at the cloud-filled sky without seeing the signs of the gathering storm. Neither did she hear the wash of the sea against the dull gold of the wet seashore. Gwyneth was locked into her own thoughts and fears; her emotions were mixed, she didn't know if she should laugh or cry.

She put her hands up to her hot cheeks and tried to think clearly. She, Gwyneth Parks, was going to have a baby, Will Davies's baby.

She walked across the road to the beach and sank on to a wooden bench, clutching at the slatted wood for support. For a moment, she didn't want to think about the consequences of her passionate nights with Will; all she wanted to do was marvel in the knowledge that she was going to bear his child.

She didn't know how long she sat, dreaming in the wash of the sea and the dullness of the day, and she didn't care that, back in the small house flanking the beach, Mary Preece was probably standing in her window, watching the harlot who was with child and no gold band on her finger.

The midwife's attitude had been clear. She disapproved. Even as she'd questioned Gwyneth about her courses and conducted a thorough examination, her mouth had been pursed together like a squeezed lemon.

‘Nina Parks know about this yet?' she had said, and her tone implied that it was a case of like mother, like daughter.

Gwyneth had dressed without making a reply, and, as she'd handed over the money due, the midwife had sniffed her disapproval.

Gwyneth wrapped her arms around her body as if to protect her child. The midwife had suggested that she slip the baby, now, while it was still in the early stages. Gwyneth had looked around the bare clinical room and shuddered, shaking her head vigorously.

Mrs Preece had shrugged. ‘Well, then, bring your bastard into the world if that's what you want.' She'd issued a word of warning. ‘Don't expect the father to marry you, mind. They hardly ever give a fig for you once you give them what they want.'

Gwyneth stopped dreaming and faced reality. What would Will do? He was an honourable man, no doubt about that. He was a real gentleman, but marriage to the daughter of an oyster fisherman was something he might not even wish to consider; and who could blame him? His future was set fair. He was cared for by the rich and powerful Grenfells. His life was destined to go along different, better paths than her own. In one thing the midwife was right; Gwyneth had just been a moment's pleasure to Will. He had never promised her anything.

She rose and shook the drifting particles of sand from her skirt. She had better get on home; she was hungry now, thirsty too. She smiled; she had better look after herself, she had another life to think about now.

Nina Parks was in the kitchen, pushing a bowl of cowl on to the table. ‘There you are, girl, just in time for some dinner. Where you been then?'

‘Sitting by the beach,' Gwyneth said evasively. The soup looked appetizing, filled with mutton, carrots and swede, and beside the bowl was a plate of chunky bread slices.

‘
Duw
, I'll be glad when you can work on the oyster beds again, girl,' Nina said, placing another bowl on the table and sitting down with a loud scrape of her chair legs against the flagstones. ‘Money's getting a bit short now.'

‘I won't be working on the beds for much longer, Mam,' Gwyneth said softly.

Her mother looked up at her, eyebrows raised. ‘Oh, planning on going back into shop work, are you, then, girl? The beds not good enough for you now, is it?'

‘I'm going to have a baby, Mam.' Gwyneth's heart was beating fast. She dipped a chunk of bread into the stew, her hand trembling.

‘You are being funny, aren't you?' Nina said uncertainly, and Gwyneth shook her head.

‘I'm being serious. I'm sorry, it's definite, I've been to see Mary Preece.'

Nina sank back into her chair, her soup forgotten. ‘Dear lord, what's wrong with you, girl? Haven't you learned by my mistakes?'

‘No, Mam, sorry.' Gwyneth smiled. ‘Don't give me a row, Mam. I love him, I couldn't help it, see.'

‘It's William Davies's child, of course,' Nina said, shaking her head helplessly. ‘I suppose I saw it coming, if I was honest. Well, he'll have to help pay for the baby's keep, won't he?'

‘I haven't thought that far ahead,' Gwyneth said. ‘I suppose the best thing is to go up to Cardiff and see him, tell him the good news.'

Nina gave a hollow laugh. ‘I doubt he'll think it good news, my girl. Men never do, not even when there's a gold ring on your finger.'

‘Well, you should know, Mam,' Gwyneth said good-naturedly. ‘You've had enough experience, haven't you?'

‘Don't get lippy, now, girl,' Nina said, but without rancour. ‘I am telling you the truth; men don't like babbies – not much, anyway.'

She sighed. ‘Kevin used to deny that he'd slipped up; used to tell me I was all right, he'd been careful.' She grimaced. ‘I don't think he knew what careful meant.'

‘What about Joe, what did he say?' Gwyneth was curious, because Joe had fathered bastard children on her mother, same as Will had done to her. The only difference being that Will was a free man and Joe had been married to Eline.

‘Oh, Joe was a real man,' Nina said, her features softening. ‘There was no compromising with him; he admitted straight off he was the father, and they don't all do that, mind.' She made a rueful face. ‘Some try to blame the woman, call her a whore, all sorts of things – but not Joe, not him.'