Honey's Farm (38 page)

In the morning he met Tommy's sister at breakfast and saw at once why she had been sent away for causing trouble at home. She was about eight years old, skinny, but with a startlingly white skin against an unruly mop of dark hair. There was a sullen expression on her face.

‘Morning,' Eddie said pleasantly, sitting opposite the child and smiling.

In reply, she kicked him fiercely beneath the table.

‘Little horror,' Eddie said calmly and turned his back on her. She made a soft raspberry sound with her lips, but Eddie took no notice.

‘What's for breakfast?' he asked and Fon looked up at him, laughter in her eyes; she'd not missed the little scene between him and April.

‘The usual,' she said, ‘bacon and eggs and fried bread. I see you've met our new guest.'

‘You could say that.' Eddie didn't look at April. ‘Perhaps I'm wishing I hadn't.'

‘I don't like you,' April said, leaning forward.

Eddie barely glanced at her. ‘I don't think I like you very much either.' He moved from the table to take the large dish of bacon from Fon's hands.

The door opened and Jamie entered the kitchen on a rush of soft spring air. ‘God, something smells good!' he said, and moved towards Fon, kissing the back of her neck.

‘Cupboard love,' Fon said laughing. ‘Sit down and eat, there's a good man.'

She glanced at Eddie. ‘Where's Tommy? He should be back from the milking by now.' She smiled down at April. ‘You can go with him tomorrow, learn how to handle the beasts. You'll enjoy it.'

‘Shan't,' the girl said, looking down at the plate Fon had set before her as though it contained poison.

‘Nevertheless, you'll do it,' Fon said calmly, but with such authority that the child remained silent, even though her eyes gleamed angrily.

‘He got up a little late,' Eddie said. ‘But, knowing Tommy, he'll be here as soon as he smells food.'

Looking round at the peaceful breakfast scene, it was hard, Eddie mused, to imagine the violence and the horror of the moment, almost a month ago, when Bob Smale had come charging into the place brandishing a gun and bent on murder. Now the man was buried in Dan-y-Graig Cemetery, his passing scarcely causing a ripple on the surface of the town's awareness.

If nightmares still haunted any of them, it was never spoken of. These days even Arian scarcely made any reference to her father.

The room where the killing had taken place had been scrubbed within an inch of its life. New mats had been placed on the boards, even new drapes had been hung in the windows. The kitchen seemed a bright place, Eddie thought, if he could forget his nightmares.

He glanced at April and smiled ruefully; it would be a brave spirit that would manifest itself to such a wilful child. Not that Eddie believed in such things as hauntings, and yet he rubbed his sore shoulder and shivered.

It was as if Fon read his thoughts. She looked up at him, and her eyes were clouded.

‘How is Arian getting along these days?' she asked softly. ‘I do hope she's managing to get over . . . things.'

‘I think she is,' Eddie said. ‘She seems quite happy working for Eline Temple –
Lady
Temple, I should say.'

‘Good woman that,' Jamie broke in. ‘Thank God she came on the scene when she did.'

‘I agree,' Eddie said, ‘but it was Arian who stopped Bob Smale; otherwise I think the madman would have killed us all.'

Jamie met his gaze; his knuckles were white. ‘It still frights me to think about it,' he confessed. ‘It would happen when I wasn't here, wouldn't it?'

Fon reached out and covered his hand. ‘It's over now, love, over – we must forget it.'

‘Sure, I know you're right,' Jamie replied, taking her hand and kissing the palm. ‘But I shudder when I think of the danger you were in, all of you.'

Eddie pushed away his plate; he was no longer hungry. ‘I'll get out to the fields,' he said. ‘My shoulder's healing nicely; I can do a little bit of preparation work at least.'

Jamie nodded. ‘If you're sure, lad,' he said. ‘There's a lot to do, I must say, but are you ready for it?'

‘I'm the doctor, remember?' Eddie smiled. Outside, he breathed in the soft scents of spring, the first flowers, the clear air, the smell of earth waiting to receive its early seeds. It was as if all the world knew that this was a time of regeneration and was receptive to it.

His heart lightened as he strode across the fields. Tonight, he would be with Arian, he would hold her in his arms, taste her sweetness; he could not get enough of her. And yet would he or any man ever possess the inner core of her? He doubted it.

But Eddie was whistling as he climbed the stile and made for the stretch of land where the potatoes would be planted. All in all, it was a good world, and he was glad to be part of it.

‘Eddie is a good man, but I've no intention of marrying him.' Arian shaped the leather with deft movements of her fingers and took up the dog to crimp the upper to the sole.

‘Why?' Eline smiled at her and put down the large boot she had been measuring.

‘I don't want to be tied to any man,' Arian said. ‘I had enough of that with my father.'

‘But Eddie is a very clever man,' Eline said. ‘I'm surprised he's just a farm labourer.'

‘He was going to be a doctor,' Arian said. ‘He'd begun his training but, when his father died, apparently there was no money left for Eddie to go on.'

‘That's a shame,' Eline said at once. ‘I think he would make a very good doctor; he certainly has the mind for it.'

Arian looked up at her as Eline stood and stretched her arms above her head. ‘You haven't really seen much of him; how can you say that?' she asked curiously.

Eline smiled. ‘I pride myself on being a good judge of people,' she explained, ‘and you only have to talk to Eddie for a few minutes before you realize how intelligent he is.'

‘I know you're right,' Arian said, and indeed, she entirely agreed with Eline; but what could Eddie do? He had only his small wages to keep himself, he could never afford to train. But there, she thought wryly, people like Eline who had money could never understand those who did not.

One day, Arian promised herself, she would have money in abundance; she would be free then, really free. In any case, one thing was certain, she was never going to rely on any man, nor be obligated to any man. Her father had taught her a sharp lesson and one she was never likely to forget.

The sun was streaming in through the grimy windows and Will realized, quite suddenly, how dirty the glass was – so dirty he could hardly see the streets outside. Later, he would get a bucket of water and wash the windows down; otherwise his handwritten advertisement for boot-and-shoe repairs would not be decipherable to anyone on the outside, he thought ruefully.

But for now, there was an urgent job he must be getting on with; he needed to finish mending the boots that Glen the baker needed so desperately.

Will rubbed at the leather. The boot was still coated in the white dust from the bakery; the flour had encrusted the eyelets of the laces and clung to the stitching around the worn sole.

Will scratched his chin, and his fingers met rasping stubble. His beard badly needed trimming and so did his moustache, but Will was too busy to care much about his appearance – which, perhaps, was a mistake. Customers wanted a clean shop and a neatly dressed proprietor to greet them when they entered it. He smiled to himself a little wryly; perhaps his present customers wanted only cheap and good service, and to hell with appearances.

He looked along the shelves lined with good heavy working boots, some of them tapped, some still awaiting attention. He was managing at least to make some sort of living, keeping a roof over his head; that, and having a little food in the pantry, was all he really needed.

He thought of Eline, and there was a sudden ache in his loins – no, not all: there was the love of a good woman, something he would never have now.

It took him almost an hour to complete the repairs on the baker's boots, and then he took up a cloth and began to polish them so that they shone like new.

Glen would be eager to have them back; perhaps it would be just as well to take the boots over to the bakery straightaway. It would at least get him out of the workshop for a while.

It was sunny and fresh, with the promise of spring in the air, as Will stepped out of his workshop. The street was busy with traffic, and all around him people seemed to be in a hurry, eager to get somewhere. Not like him; he had nowhere to go, no-one to go to.

He smiled wryly; feeling sorry for himself was futile and weak and he seemed to be doing quite a lot of it this spring morning. Introspection was a luxury he could not afford. Will squared his shoulders, glancing back at the tall building where his shop was housed; it was not much but soon, if he wished, he would have enough money to put down a deposit on it and own rather than rent it. He had plans for leasing out the rest of the building to other aspiring shopkeepers, make a sort of hodge-podge of goods available to the poorer population of Swansea. He had already been approached by Amos Fisher, who wanted to start up his own pawnbroker's shop – a service that would be used frequently enough, if Will was any judge.

Glen was standing at the long table that filled the bakery, his apron hanging round his thin frame, a great mound of dough before him, which he was kneading with an expertise born of long practice.

He glanced up as Will entered and smiled a welcome. ‘Thank God you've brought my boots back! My feet been killing me. Been wearing my brother's old cast-off boots, I have, and they pinch like hell.'

The atmosphere in the bakery was overpowering; the great ovens seemed to shimmer with heat, and the scent of newly baked bread teased Will's empty stomach.

‘Duw
, you look like you could do with a good feed, man,' Glen said cheerfully. ‘Come home with me and have some dinner.'

Will shook his head, his first instinct to refuse; and then he thought better of it. ‘Thanks,' he said. ‘I'll take you up on that.'

Glen looked at him with some sympathy. ‘It's a hard thing for a man to lose his wife and child,' he said, ‘but now's the time for you to look for a new woman to fill your life. You can't mourn for ever, mind.'

He grinned then, and deftly cut the dough into pieces before shaping it into loaves. ‘And I think I know just the girl for you.' His grin widened, showing a great gap in his teeth. ‘My Rita, pretty as a picture, but that shy with the boys, can hardly speak to them without blushing. Sixteen, she is, and her afraid to move from her mam's skirts.'

Will smiled wryly. ‘Thanks for the honour, but your daughter will think me an old man. In any case, I'm not ready for marriage, not yet awhile.'

‘
Duw
, you're only a boy, yet,' Glen said easily. He opened one of the ovens and manhandled a huge tray into the gaping mouth, heedless of the blast of hot air that issued round him.

Glen closed the oven and then squeezed the dough from between his fingers. ‘We'll go back into the house, and our Rita can check on the loaves for me.'

He led the way out of the bakery and round to the front of the building, grinning at Will as he went.

‘I'll be glad to get these lousy boots off my feet and get into a pair that fits me.'

Glen's house was typical of the area, tall and gloomy, with dull windows staring sightlessly into the mean court outside. Little sun penetrated between the buildings, and even on this bright spring day the houses appeared to be in darkness.

Inside the kitchen was another picture, one of brightness and warmth, with a good fire in the grate and a clean, fresh tablecloth set for dinner. The appetizing smell of roasting rabbit permeated the room, and suddenly Will realized how long it was since he'd had a decent, cooked meal.

Kerry was a tall, red-haired Irish woman, and she greeted Will with a warm smile, just as though she'd been expecting him. With little fuss, she set the table with another place and then took the boots from Will, studying them with bright, laughter-filled eyes.

‘Watch out,' Glen said, humorously. ‘Gimlet eyes, has my good wife; spot a bad job a mile off.'

‘Aye, but this isn't one of them,' Kerry said cheerfully. ‘This is as fine a bit of cobbling as I've seen; nearly in bits were these boots, and now shining like the day they were bought, so they are.'

She disappeared into the parlour, and Glen winked. ‘Going to raid her hidden hoard of money now, mind,' he said. ‘Don't let on to me where she keeps it, in case I take it into my head to have a jar or two down the public.'

The sound of voices filled the passageway outside and Will froze. He glanced at Glen, who shrugged.

‘Sounds as if we got another visitor,' he said. ‘Eline Harries, as she was, come to see our Mickey and his bad feet, I spects.'

Will felt the blood pound in his head. Eline here, in the same house as he was? It was more than he could have dreamed of. He moved out into the passage, without noticing Glen's expression of surprise, and was drawn towards the front parlour, where he guessed the voices must be coming from.

At the doorway of the parlour, he paused, taking in at a glance the old polished piano, the worn rag mats and the table, covered in a lace cloth. Lastly he looked towards the sofa, where Eline sat alongside a small boy, who was staring in wonder at the pair of boots Eline held in her hand.

Eline looked up and her eyes met Will's; he almost flinched at the naked joy he saw in her face, mirroring his own.

‘Will!' Her voice shook a little. ‘How are you?'

He became aware, with a sudden sense of shame, that he was looking far from his best. ‘Well enough, and you?' he asked, though the question was superfluous. She was as beautiful as ever, her hair shining, her eyes clear, her clothes immaculate. But then, he thought ruefully, she had servants to do her every bidding; she did not bend over a tub scrubbing at her clothes the way he did.