Honey's Farm (43 page)

‘But you could learn more about shoemaking' – he'd held her closer, his taut, strong body against her offering a potent inducement – ‘with the extra experience you would gain from working in London you could come back and take up a high position in Eline Temple's scheme of things.'

She had touched his face lightly. ‘Eddie' – she'd spoken softly but emphatically – ‘I'm not the do-gooder you seem to think me. I'm a young girl out to suit herself in life, that's all.'

He had made love to her then, with great tenderness and a feeling of saying goodbye for ever. It had been good, very good, a memory that Arian treasured; but it was not the love of a lifetime, and the sooner Eddie realized that, the better.

Arian looked up. The workshop had been extended; new, more efficient machines, recently acquired, had been placed in the room at the back – a room full of inhuman monsters that seemed to dominate the building with their noise. Even now they clattered busily, a strange, unreal sound but one that, strangely, pleased Arian, gave her a sense of power.

In the workshop itself, a small staff of three lady cordwainers and four cobblers worked easily, talking to each other over the noise of the machines as busy hands shaped and cut and fashioned the shoes that Eline Temple had designed. Some of them were making remedial footwear, but many of the shoes Eline was producing now were new and innovative designs, eye-catching and lovely. The patterns, when translated into leather, would hit a market ripe for change, and Eline would become even more rich and famous.

The door opened from the street and Arian sat up straighter as one of the new young cobblers entered the workshop. He paused, the light behind him emphasizing his broad shoulders and slim hips; and her eyes kindled.

Price Davies was a beefy, handsome young man, with more brawn than brains but with a fall of dark, straight hair across his brow and incredibly bright blue eyes. And, as if his looks weren't attraction enough, he was an extremely talented shoemaker.

‘Got the leather we wanted,' he said. ‘Good stuff, last us a couple of weeks.' He was no silver-tongued charmer, not up to Eddie's standards when it came to conversation and quick repartee; but he had other attributes, Arian thought with a wry twist to her lips.

She nodded to him and indicated that he should come closer to the workbench. ‘I want to know how to choose good leather,' she said bluntly. ‘Seeing as Eline has put me in charge, I need to know all about the job of shoemaking. I'd like you to teach me all you know, Price.'

He rested his hand on her shoulder. It was hot through the material of her bodice; he had read more into her words than she'd intended him to. She looked up at him, frowning but without a word.

Swiftly, he removed his hand. ‘
Duw
, Arian, the way you look at a man is enough to freeze the balls off him.'

‘“Miss Smale” to you,' she said, ‘and we can do without vulgarities, if you please.'

He was open-mouthed at the reproach, and suddenly Arian smiled with all the charm she could muster. ‘Come on, Price, show me how skilful your hands can be; show me how to feel and judge the leather the way you do.'

He rubbed his hand through his hair. ‘You got me beat, Arian . . . Miss Smale. I don't know what to make of you.'

She was well pleased; that's exactly what she had intended. While she might consider having fun with him out of hours, in work he would treat her with respect.

She followed him outside to the store room, and the smell of new leather swept over her. It seemed, as always, to bring her a sense of excitement. She knew, in her bones, that this was going to be her life from now on; she would make it her business to know everything about leather, from choosing the best, to cutting and shaping, moulding and stitching. She was greedy for knowledge.

‘See' – Price took up a piece of leather – ‘when you buy it first off from the tanner, it stinks to high heaven. But it's then you'll spot the best stuff; it must be firm, but not too unyielding, and don't touch any stuff that's ragged on the edges.'

He became engrossed in his appraisal of the leather, and Arian listened intently, drinking in the knowledge that it had taken Price five years to assimilate.

She found him, in that moment, incredibly attractive; she admired his expertise, wanted to graft it from his mind to her own.

He seemed to sense her feelings, because he stopped talking and looked up at her. ‘Arian . . .' His voice trailed away, but the desire in his eyes was unmistakable.

‘No,' she said flatly, and then she smiled again. ‘Later, maybe.'

And maybe not, she added silently; but for now, she chose to humour Price, she needed his knowledge, she thirsted for it. She was using him shamelessly, she was aware of that; but then men were so gullible. Tempt them, as Eve did Adam, and they would give you the earth.

‘Go on,' she said. ‘Tell me more about the leather; I want to know it all.'

And she did; she would learn the business from the workshop floor to the management of the books and the running of the finances. And, she promised herself, she would be independent; she would not be subjugated to any man, not now, not ever.

Arian shuddered as she thought of her father, of his beatings when he was in drink. She remembered with a sense of horror the moment in the farmhouse when her father had cold-bloodedly shot Eddie. She had battled with her father then for the last time, and the cold metal between them had spat fire and her father had died. It was like a nightmare that would never completely go away. No, Arian would trust no man, depend on no man; she would be alone, and alone she would succeed beyond her wildest dreams.

She clenched her hands into fists. She would make it happen; she would shape her own future, and no man would stand in her way. So she smiled at Price Davies even while her mind was fixed on the goal that was ahead; and in that moment she had invited the very thing she vowed never to endure again, the violence of a man.

Fon was perplexed and very relieved. In spite of Jamie's efforts to make her with child, there was still no baby on the way. Her mouth curved into a smile; the trying was good – the loving that Jamie showered on her was the very breath of life to her.

She loved him more with each passing day, and yet sometimes, like now, she felt a sense of guilt wash over her. Was it her fault that no baby came from their love-making? Was her reluctance to be a mother not smothered, as she'd thought; was it preventing the very thing that Jamie most desired?

She stood in the window and looked out at the land spread out before her, O'Conner land, Jamie's land. Mists rose from the damp morning grass, swirling upwards in delicate drifts. Out there, somewhere in the morning air, was her husband, lifting the late potatoes; and alongside him, Tommy and the new boy, Cliff, who had come to replace Eddie.

Fon thought of Eddie with warmth. She was glad for him, glad that he was to finish his training as a doctor. After all, his talent had been wasted on the farm. And yet his presence had been reassuring; he was thoughtful, intelligent and had proved a companion for Jamie.

‘Can I have some pencils, Fon, and some paper? I want to show Patrick how to write his name.'

April stared up at Fon with large eyes, her thick dark hair hanging around her face in wild curls. She was going to be a beauty when she grew up.

Fon smiled at her affectionately. ‘There's a soft question,' she teased. ‘Of course you can have pencils, and there's some paper in my drawer. Go on, you get it, there's a good girl.'

Fon watched as April opened the drawer and took out the paper, caressing it, almost as though it was a thing of beauty. April loved writing and spent a great deal of her time showing Patrick how to form his letters.

Fon sighed. April really should be going to school; she must see about it, it was only proper. The girl was intelligent; her usual belligerence had given way now to an attitude that could almost be described as amenable. Schooling would suit April; in any case, it was what Mrs Jones would have probably wanted for her daughter had she been well enough to deal with the child herself.

Fon looked through the window again. Soon, the sun would take away the mists, the land would warm, and then she and the children would go out and help with the potato picking.

The children. The phrase rang in her ears; what would she feel like when she had her own brood around her? Would she be happy and fulfilled, or would she feel that her happiness with Jamie was being threatened?

She was about to move away from the window when she saw a horse and rider coming along the rutted track towards the farmyard. Fon grew tense; even since the day that Bob Smale had arrived at the farmhouse intent on his thirst for blood, she had feared strangers.

Constantly on her mind was the knowledge that out there, somewhere, was Mike the Spud. He might never bother them again, but the man was unpredictable, a thug with little intelligence. Fon glanced towards the rifle, kept always by the door, and she shuddered.

She often thought of the moment when Eddie had been shot, when Arian had struggled with her father for possession of the rifle and it had gone off, killing Bob Smale. Awful as the thought was, if Mike, Bob's brother, ever came to the farmhouse seeking revenge, it might be necessary for Fon to use the gun; and the thought frightened her.

The rider came nearer, and she saw it was a young man, straight and tall in the saddle, and she relaxed as she saw the white collar of the priest.

He reined the horse near the railings of the yard and swung himself down with the ease of practice. He doffed his hat as Fon opened the door to him.

‘Morning, Father,' Fon said, smiling a greeting and wondering if this was a social call or if the priest had any business with Jamie.

But it was Tommy he'd come to see. ‘It's bad news, Mrs O'Conner,' he said, standing in the warm kitchen, his ruffled hair giving him an impossibly young appearance.

Fon knew instinctively that he must be new to the position, and she smiled encouragingly. ‘I'll send April to the fields to fetch him.' She glanced at the small girl, who was engrossed in her writing, head bent over the paper, oblivious even to Patrick's busy chatter.

‘April is Tommy's sister,' she said warningly. The priest inclined his head and waited in silence until Fon had spoken to April, asking her to fetch Tommy in from the fields.

‘Take Patrick with you, April, there's a love,' Fon said encouragingly and April studied the priest, her expression solemn.

‘It's about Mammy, isn't it?' she asked, and before the priest could answer, she had grasped Patrick's willing hand and urged him outside.

‘The child is quite right,' the priest said softly. ‘I'm Father Murphy, and it is about Mrs Jones – God rest her soul – that I have come.'

Fon, not being Catholic, was at a loss how to treat the priest. She indicated a chair uncertainly.

‘Would you like to sit, Father Murphy? Have a drink of tea with us, I'm sure you're tired after your ride.'

He took a seat and smiled up at her. ‘I'd love a cup of tea and with lots of honey, if I may. I have a good thirst on me this morning, and I've been up all night, you see.'

Fon pushed the kettle on to the flames and busied herself in silence, warming the pot and carefully spooning in just enough tea leaves to make a decent brew. ‘I know it's none of my business, but Mrs Jones – she's . . . she's . . .' Fon's words trailed away as the priest nodded.

‘Aye, she slipped away into the night, poor lady. A brave woman, was Mrs Jones, and her not wanting her son to see her
in extremis
.'

Fon poured the tea and sat opposite the priest. ‘And now you have the awful job of telling Tommy the bad news,' she said sympathetically.

‘That's part of my duties,' he agreed. ‘Is Tommy likely to take it badly?'

‘He's a sensible boy,' Fon said hesitantly. ‘I think it will upset him, of course it will; but he is very stoic, very brave, just like his mother.

‘April, though' – Fon bit her lip – ‘I'm not so sure about her; she's only a child, and she
was
very close to her mother. She seems to know what's happened, but she's acting so calmly, I worry about her.'

‘Children are often the most resilient of folks,' the priest said. ‘They have acceptance, which is just what is needed right now.'

It was about half an hour before Tommy came in from the fields, and Fon saw that April was lingering with Patrick outside in the yard, reluctant to come indoors. The sun was brighter, now, dispelling the last of the morning mists; it was a lovely day but one that was to be for ever a painful memory for both Tommy and April.

When Tommy saw the priest he made the sign of the cross and stood head bent, waiting for the father to speak.

‘I'm sorry, Tommy.' Father Murphy's voice was kind. ‘It's bad news about your mam.'

‘I know,' Tommy said. ‘I guessed that, Father.' He was suddenly pale and Fon went to his side and instinctively put her arm around his shoulder.

‘She passed over in her sleep, Tommy,' the father continued. ‘Peaceful it was, at the end; you can be sure of that, for I was with her to the last.'

‘She knew it was coming,' Tommy said slowly. ‘She didn't want me to see her sick and ill.' He swallowed painfully. ‘I'm glad she went peaceful-like.'

He turned beseechingly to Fon. ‘You'll tell April, won't you? It would come better from you – begging your pardon, Father,' he added quickly.

‘Yes, of course I'll tell her,' Fon said reassuringly, though she was quite sure the girl knew already.

‘You'll come down to town for the funeral, of course?' the father said softly.

Tommy nodded. ‘Aye, I'll pay my last respects to Mam.' His voice broke, and he moved towards the door. ‘If you'll excuse me, Father, I'll go outdoors, be by myself for a bit.'