Daisy's Secret (17 page)

Laura had sat down again. ‘You’d have thought then, if she believed a house had a story to tell, that she’d be happy to tell her own.’

‘In my experience people very often say one thing and mean another. Hard to fathom at times. Have you spoken to David? David Hornsby, your nearest neighbour. They were great friends and I’m almost sure he encouraged her to do something of that nature.’

Laura was flabbergasted. ‘He never said. I had supper with him the other night but he denied all knowledge of a diary.’

‘Oh, I could be entirely wrong. Don’t quote me. And Daisy was far too active to sit still for more than five minutes, let alone keep a diary. That much I did learn about her in the few years I knew her. If she wasn’t mending walls, she was re-roofing the barn or whatever. She felt an enormous pride in keeping the house up to scratch, and a great sense of responsibility though it got too much for her in the end. Clem had been determined that the property be left to her and not to Florrie, his wife. She would be Daisy’s aunt, if you remember, who’d lived at the farm since they married. A bit before my time but they were an odd couple apparently.’

‘In what way, odd?’

‘Oh, something to do with him being a good bit older than her for a start, Florrie being one for a good time and Blencathra not really having its fair share of night spots. I think she found it rather lonely up there. And then there was the loss of their child, which didn’t help.’

‘Oh, how dreadful. What happened?’

He shook his head. ‘Bit of a mystery and a long time ago, of course. The pair blamed each other, I believe. Did their relationship no good at all.’ The telephone rang and he picked up the receiver with an apologetic smile. Seconds later he put it down again. ‘My next appointment, I’m afraid. Well, it’s been good talking to you Mrs Rampton.’

‘Laura, please.’

He smiled. ‘I hope you come to enjoy living in the house as much as Daisy did. You may even change your mind and decide not to sell after all.’

‘You never know. I’m certainly curious to learn more about her life, and anyone else who occupied the house before me.’

He led her to the door. ‘You should talk to my father then, retired and taking life easier now but he would have been around when Daisy was here, even if not when Clem was making his will. He may know something about it. Memories live long in these parts. Certainly my dad is sharp enough for anything that happened forty or fifty years ago; ask him what he had for his lunch yesterday and that’s another matter.’

‘Thank you,’ Laura said with a smile. ‘You’ve been most helpful.’

On her drive back from town the sky grew heavy with snow, grey and threatening, the surrounding mountains seeming to gradually retreat and vanish in the gloom. A late snowfall would play havoc with the lambing and no doubt with her own plans. She took the precaution of stopping off at a supermarket for further supplies, mindful of the warnings of blocked lanes. The idea of being snowed in was not unpleasant, an excuse to postpone the inevitable confrontation with Felix but she’d no wish to be marooned without sufficient sustenance. Not that Felix could be ignored indefinitely. If she was going to turn Lane End Farm back into a guesthouse, she should tell him of her decision sooner, rather than later. She must face it at some point, and delay would only make his temper worse.

She bought meat, chicken, flour, oats, herbs and spices, unsalted butter and other delicious ingredients together with a new cookbook she’d been promising herself for ages. She meant to take advantage of the respite by trying out some of the recipes. Laura also purchased a large notepad, in which she meant to start making lists and outline her plans for the house. She enjoyed making lists, never happier than with a pencil in her hand organising something, that’s when she wasn’t up to her elbows in flour, of course.
 

She would restock the freezer and invite David Hornsby round to act as guinea pig for some new dish or other. It would give her the opportunity to ask him again about a diary, and whether he had, in fact, succeeded in persuading Daisy to keep one, had perhaps been holding out on admitting as much and making her work for it.

She also bought such items as paint, brushes, white spirit, nails, screws, sand paper and other unexciting but essential items. She meant to get started with the refurbishments just as soon as she’d spoken to Felix.

With the solicitor’s advice to back her up, she felt a surge of new confidence, a tiny nub of excitement burning in the pit of her stomach.

The snow didn’t look like it would stick, fortunately, but David Hornsby happily accepted her invitation when she came across him late that afternoon in the lane. She challenged him about the diary but to her disappointment, he repeated his belief that Daisy hadn’t kept one. ‘It’s true that I did try to persuade her but, as I told you before, failed utterly.’

They leaned on the drystone wall looking out over towards Skiddaw Forest, chatting amicably: Laura explaining how she intended to try out a new recipe and David speaking of his concern for his ewes whenever the weather took a turn for the worse. ‘The sky still looks heavy with snow. The last thing we need are blizzards to coincide with lambing. January and February are bad enough in these parts. But then you’ll probably be gone by next winter.’

He cast her a sideways, speculative glance and Laura hesitated only momentarily before launching into an explanation of her plans to turn Lane End Farm back into a guest house. ‘I’ve never done anything of the sort in my life before, and could easily make a complete mess of it.’

His face became alert with interest. ‘I’m delighted to hear that you might be staying on, and I can’t imagine your making a mess of anything, not for a moment. Daisy too was practical, a capable, no nonsense, non-fussy type, and I’m quite sure you must be the same.’ An odd sort of compliment which nonetheless brought a schoolgirl flush to her cheeks, more from the look in his eyes than the words themselves.
 

Then he was continuing with his story of Daisy and Harry, and as Laura became totally absorbed by it, as always, everything else vanished from her mind. She forgot all about her cooking, and about ringing Felix to tell him what the solicitor had said about the house.

Daisy’s natural inclination was to turn to Harry for comfort, but how could she? That would involve explaining why her parents were so concerned about her, how they expected her to misbehave because she’d already done so once before, which would never do at all. She’d no wish to take any risks over losing Harry. She needed him too much. Daisy finally acknowledged, to herself at least, that she was in love, but, instead of being ashamed of getting over Percy so quickly, as by rights she should be, she felt positively brimming with excitement. Just being with Harry filled her with joy and happiness and with each passing day he became more and more important to her, the dread of separation growing ever greater for them both.

So why would she risk spoiling that by telling him stuff that would only upset him?

He was being trained to fly Tiger Moths, but even that couldn’t last forever. Some day soon, he’d be off, and then what? Daisy worried about this as she lay in her bed at night. Whenever he could wangle a day off to take her out, she’d feel sick with anticipation beforehand in case this was the day he would say good bye. She loved him so much but sometimes she’d wonder where it was all going to lead? Would they ever get together? Would the war ever end? He loved her too, she was certain of it. Well, almost certain. But how would he feel if he knew the truth about her? What would his reaction be then?

Hadn’t her mother made it clear that a man wasn’t interested in second hand goods, that he’d discover any lies she’d told him on her wedding night. Daisy believed all of this as a matter of course, that in this respect at least, Rita must be right. It filled her with fear that Harry might find out about her murky past and decide she wasn’t the girl for him. Men got funny ideas in their head. Yet she didn’t believe it was possible, or right, for her to keep this secret forever.

Often, on the days they were together, happy and loving, she would scold herself for only looking on the black side, for not trusting him and only expecting the worst. After all, he’d never asked for more than she was prepared to give him. A kiss and a cuddle seemed to be enough whenever they walked out in the countryside, or when they sat in the back row at the pictures together, even when he walked her home afterwards in the black-out. This seemed to prove that he respected her, and Daisy loved him for that too.

If only she could keep that respect, even after she’d fully confided in him. Then she would know that he truly loved her. And surely he would appreciate how very young and naive she’d been at the time? All she had to do was to work out the best way to tell him.

‘Have you ever had any other girl friends, before me?’ she asked him one day. ‘Serious ones, I mean, where you - you know. Did it!’ Her cheeks flushed bright crimson, yet Daisy didn’t regret asking the question. This might be the very opening she needed to confess her own terrible secret.

He glanced at her then quickly away again, shrugging his shoulders, trying to look casual and manly, but when he caught the querying look of hope and anticipation in her eye he misjudged it completely and gathered her close in his arms. ‘Aw, don’t look like that, love. I know chaps are supposed to have loads of experience before they settle down but, to be honest, I haven’t had much at all. I’ve never done it with anyone, any more than you have, eh?’

The smile in his eyes as he looked down into hers was almost more painful than she could bear, for he clearly expected a negative response, and that’s what he got.

‘Course I haven’t. What kind of girl d’you think I am? It was only that, like you say, chaps are supposed to spread their charms and get in a bit of practise first.’

‘Well, not this one. I was saving myself for the right girl. Aren’t I soppy?’

 
‘Oh no, I think that’s lovely.’

‘And after meeting you, Daisy, I’m that glad I did.’

And her heart just melted inside at the thought that he’d saved himself specially for her. Harry couldn’t understand why she burst into tears.

Daisy couldn’t remember a winter as cold as this one. Rivers froze over, pipes burst, roads became blocked by snow and utterly impassable, and the dreaded rationing started in earnest, cutting down on supplies of bacon, sugar, butter and other fats. It didn’t lessen her own happiness one bit but Mr and Mrs Chapman rarely stopped complaining about how bad things were. Finland fell in March, Denmark was occupied in April, the blame for which Mr Chapman put squarely upon Neville Chamberlain’s lap rather than Hitler’s, as he’d got everything wrong from the start. He would explain this theory to them at great length each evening, as they sat with the black-out curtains drawn, listening to the wireless.

‘If the government had shown more sense, we wouldn’t be in the mess we’re in now.’

‘Yes, dear,’ said Mrs Chapman, barely pausing in her knitting of balaclavas, save to correct Daisy in the mistakes she was making with her own effort, or pick up yet another stitch that she’d dropped.

It was in April too that Harry finally got his posting, to Silloth, just along the coast. He wasn’t expected to be there long but it was the best news they could have hoped for, as it meant they could still see each from time to time, if not perhaps as regularly as before.

‘You won’t forget to write, Daisy? I’ll be watching for your letters.’

‘Every day, like I promised. And you’ll write to me too.’

‘You can depend upon it. And if you find your Aunt Florrie, you’ll let me have the address of where you move to, won’t you?’

‘Oh, Harry, course I will. You’ll always be the first to be told everything about me.’ Well, she thought with a gentle sigh, almost everything. She’d been so much in love, so engrossed with the excitement of looking forward to her next meeting with Harry, that she’d forgotten all about her earlier determination to find Aunt Florrie. It no longer seemed quite so important. Seeing Harry, that was all that really mattered.

Mr Chapman expressed himself highly relieved when, in May, a coalition with Winston Churchill was formed, and not a moment too soon as it was swiftly followed by the fall of Holland and Belgium. A call sent out via word of mouth for whatever small craft could be made available, conveyed the frightening message that British troops were very possibly trapped with the sea in front of them and the Germans behind. Later, when pictures of the Dunkirk rescue emerged, together with stories of wounded and war weary soldiers being dramatically plucked from the beaches, it seemed that the war wasn’t phoney any more. And far from boring. Defeat now seemed a terrifying possibility, making even Megan determined to do her bit.

‘I’ve told Mrs Marshall that if she’ll let us stop on a bit longer, I’ll not be naughty no more. And our Trish says she won’t cry in the bath never again, even when she has her hair washed.’

‘That’s good, Megan. That’s very good indeed, and what did Mrs Marshall say?’

‘She said she’d ask Mr Marshall.’

So all their lives were still hanging in the balance, even the children’s, and Daisy hoped and prayed she could keep them safe. So far, she’d managed to stave off the proposed move by persuading Mrs Marshall to keep them on the promise that she herself would go in every evening, after work, to help put them to bed. And being equally concerned for Mrs Marshall’s health, she offered to do some heavy chores for her, in addition to the ones she did for Mrs Chapman.