Honey's Farm (11 page)

He came towards her, standing very close, his eyes searching hers. ‘I would very much like to be part of that life,' he said softly.

Eline looked up at him. He was a fine handsome man. Calvin would never have to worry about making a success of anything, for, apart from his illustrious background, as the son of a greatly talented painter, he had a flair all his own for saying and doing the right thing; Calvin was a gentleman in every sense of the word.

There would be no barriers to divide them, Eline realized with surprise, no stiff-necked pride to stand in the way of their happiness. But there would be no love, not on her part; she had given all her love to Will, but Calvin's friendship, that she would treasure.

She sighed heavily. ‘I am grateful,' she said, ‘but I have a great deal to think about just now.' She added apologetically, ‘I must be alone for a time, I feel so confused.'

‘I can wait,' Calvin said, smiling down at her. ‘I'm a very patient man, and I usually get what I want in the end, you'll see.'

It would be wonderful to have someone strong to take care of her, to make her decisions for her, to hold her and comfort her. Eline smiled up at Calvin, resting her hand for a moment on his arm. ‘What will be, will be,' she said softly, and then she moved away from him, remembering that those self-same reasons had made her marry Joe Harries. She'd wanted his support and his strength, but the marriage had been far from a success.

Her tone became brisk. ‘I'll leave everything to you, then?' she said, without looking at him. ‘You'll see to the legalities concerning the gallery?'

‘You can trust me on that,' Calvin said easily. ‘I will make sure that our partnership works, don't doubt it.' If there was a double meaning in his words, Eline chose to ignore it.

Later, she walked alone along the edge of the sea, staring out at the distant horizon, where the coast of Devon was just faintly visible like a mysterious land rising up out of the sea. She sighed. Was she doomed to be alone for the rest of her life? It certainly seemed that way. Perhaps she should enjoy Calvin's overtures? Begin to live life to the full, instead of being for ever on the periphery of it, an empty shell of a woman without love or family?

‘Rubbish!' She said the word out loud, and a startled seagull flew screaming up into the sky. Eline sank down on to the sand, and it felt soft and hot beneath her fingers. She plunged them deeper into the warmth, catching a shell between her fingers and drawing it free. It was luminous, pearl-like and delicately shaped, and so thin that the edges were razor-sharp. She stared at it. It wasn't an oystershell: she had handled enough oysters to know the craggy, hard feel of an oyster. Perhaps this was a mussel shell; it certainly looked like it, but it was fragmented and broken, and it cracked as her fingers pressed it. Fragile, just as she was at this moment.

Impatient with herself, Eline rose to her feet and moved away from the beach. She was becoming introspective, self-pitying, and it would not do, not at all. She must think rationally now, plan her future, a future that would have some meaning, even if she was to live it out alone.

As she left the beach, she became aware of the shapely figure of Gwyneth Parks, outlined against the pale sand. The girl was standing at the roadside watching her; she was smiling in a way that warned Eline to beware. There was a crisp piece of paper held between her fingers.

‘
Bore da
, Eline,' Gwyneth said, and Eline stared at her suspiciously. There was no love lost between them, and it was unlike Gwyneth to make the first move to speak. Her reasons quickly became apparent as she held out what appeared to be a letter.

‘Heard from William, I have, see.' She spoke triumphantly, her eyes alight. ‘Bet you haven't had a letter from him, have you?'

Eline felt sick; she wanted to run and hide from the pain and the almost violent feelings of jealousy that gripped her. Her mouth was dry. She couldn't speak, but in any case there was no need to; Gwyneth had read her silence well.

‘I thought not. I mean, you was probably the reason he wanted to get away from Swansea in the first place.' She hugged the letter to her full breasts. ‘Be joining him, I will. In Cardiff.' Her head was high, her chin thrust forward, as though she expected her words to be challenged. They were, at once.

‘I don't believe you,' Eline said, but of course she did. Gwyneth must be speaking the truth, otherwise how would she even know that Will was in Cardiff? She could hardly have asked Hari Grenfell; it was doubtful that Gwyneth even knew her.

‘Believe what you like,' Gwyneth said, ‘but I'm going to see him tomorrow. He wants me, see, not you.'

Slowly, Eline walked away, unable to bear the girl's bright, triumphant look a moment longer. Why did the Parks family always dog her heels, making unhappiness for her on all sides? What had she ever done to them that they hated her so much?

There had been one moment of softening, during the days of the sharp depression that had hit Oystermouth. Gwyneth and her mother had come to the soup kitchen organized by Eline; they had eaten the food she had provided and the two women had been almost approving of her. It had lasted only as long as the soup kitchen, and thereafter the friendliness vanished, to be replaced by the old hostility.

It seemed that where once Nina had taken Eline's man away from her, now it was the turn of Gwyneth, her daughter, to interfere in Eline's life, to destroy any last hope of a reconciliation between her and the man she loved.

Eline longed to cry, but the tears would not fall; instead they lay hard and hot and bitter like a stone deep inside her.

Gwyneth returned to the kitchen and sank into a chair. She smoothed out the letter and read it yet again, even though she knew every word by heart.

It told her that William was sorry he had needed to terminate her employment so abruptly, and that he hoped that she would accept two weeks' wages instead of proper notice. The wages he would give her when he next came down to Swansea.

She sighed over William's flourishing signature, and, holding the sheet of paper to her lips, kissed it longingly. If only it was true, if only Will had asked her to come to Cardiff to work with him. He probably hadn't even thought of it; he didn't know that she would fly to the ends of the earth to be at his side.

She smiled more cheerfully. He was coming down to Swansea; she would see him, talk to him, perhaps persuade him to find her a job in the shop in Cardiff. There, if it was a large store, they would both be living in; she would have every opportunity to be with him.

She began to plan. Tomorrow Mam would be gone to market most of the day; she always did on Wednesdays. The house would be empty. Gwyneth smiled to herself; she would look her best, she would be her most beguiling. She moved to the speckled mirror over the mantelpiece and looked at herself critically. She was quite presentable; there was something of her mam about her, not a bad thing when you remembered that Nina had a way with the men – at least they always seemed to want all they could get from her.

Gwyneth knew she had fine breasts, perhaps a bit too big. They strained at the bodice of her calico frock as though trying to break free. But men liked that, didn't they?

Gwyneth didn't really know, she'd never had a man, not properly. She'd kicked up her heels with the village boys more than once, allowing them just enough familiarity to be exciting, but balking at what her mam called ‘going too far'. That way babies were made, and her mam knew that better than most.

Babies, according to Mam, were the ruination of a woman's figure; their coming made the breasts and belly slack and put grey hairs on a woman before her time. Well, Gwyneth wanted none of that. She was proud of her firm body and she would keep it that way, at least until she had a wedding band safely on her finger. Then it might be a fine thing to have a son, a boy who looked just like William Davies. Hope filled Gwyneth's blood like fine wine running in her veins. Tomorrow, she would see William; that was enough happiness to be going on with.

It was later that day that a bit of good news came Gwyneth's way. She was at the butcher's, buying some fresh pork to make a meal for Will, when she heard the gossip.

‘
Duw
, that posh gallery of Eline Harries's is being passed on to a new owner, then?' Mr Bockford in his blood-stained apron was leaning on his cutting slab, talking to the girl who worked for Eline. Penny lifted her head as though to deny such loose-tongued gossip, but Mr Bockford was a handsome devil, and when he smiled it was enough to melt any girl's heart, especially, Gwyneth saw with glee, that of a young girl like Penny.

‘Well, yes I suppose there's no harm in you knowing,' Penny agreed. ‘A Mr Calvin Temple is taking over, but not buying outright, mind; him and Eline will be partners, sleeping partners, they call it.'

‘Do they now.' Mr Bockford took the liberty of pinching Penny's cheek. ‘I could do with one of those myself.'

Penny dimpled at him. ‘We all know what
you
are like with the ladies.' Penny giggled. ‘Need copper drawers they do when you are around.'

Gwyneth listened impatiently, longing for Penny to say more about this Mr Temple who had suddenly come on the scene. As though picking up her thoughts, Penny did just that.

‘He's a lovely man, mind, young and handsome, nearly as handsome as you, Mr Bockford.' Penny smiled up at him, and he put an extra rasher of bacon on the snow-white cloth she was holding towards him.

‘Soft on Eline, he is, mind. Anyone can see that,' Penny continued. ‘If I was her, I'd marry him straight off, no trouble. Worth a fortune he is, so they say, and him such a gentleman.'

‘But Eline Harries was walking out with William Davies, wasn't she?' the butcher said, and, noticing Gwyneth, he nodded affably towards her. ‘Serve you now, Gwyneth, girl.' His grin widened. ‘Always willing to serve the ladies, me.'

Penny, becoming aware of Gwyneth's presence, quickly paid the butcher and wrapped up her purchases. ‘I'd better be off then, if I'm to get any work done.' She was wary of Gwyneth and loyal to Eline, and it was clear that she was annoyed with herself for having said so much.

‘Day to you, Mr Bockford,' she said quickly and hurried past Gwyneth without looking in her direction. Gwyneth didn't care. She felt elated. What a bit of luck; she had some juicy gossip that would surely drive the wedge between William and Eline deeper than it was already. She had no compunction about it; all was fair when it came to catching a man, and she would be more suitable for Will than Eline, who, when all was said and done, was a widow – used goods, so to speak.

Gwyneth smiled to herself as she walked out into the sunshine, a good piece of roasting meat nestling in the dish in her arms, a nice bit of dripping surrounding it. She would add some fresh-cut carrots and potatoes and pop the lot into the oven to cook slowly. She would show Will what a good wife she could be to him.

‘Will is coming back tomorrow.' Hari Grenfell looked elegant in a blue coat and matching skirt, but Eline scarcely noticed, so intent was she on what Hari was saying.

‘William has some business he wants to discuss with me,' Hari continued, casually. ‘Would you like some iced coffee?' she invited. Eline found herself agreeing, thankful that she had unexpectedly met Hari Grenfell in the street.

Eline's mind was racing. Had Gwyneth lied? But then, she
had
known about Will's visit, even if she'd made it sound as if he was coming solely to see her.

As she sat in Hari's luxurious office watching her pour coffee for the both of them, Eline bit her lip, wishing for the niceties to be over and for Hari to talk some more about Will's plans.

As if reading Eline's mind, Hari looked levelly at her for a moment before speaking. ‘I think it's about time you two sorted things out,' she said. ‘I know you'll think I'm interfering in what doesn't concern me, but I love Will dearly and I happen to think you two are meant for each other.'

Eline forced a polite smile. ‘Will is so stubborn, he has such pride.' She paused and sipped the coffee without tasting it. ‘I know the gallery was a barrier between us and I've brought in a partner to run the place.'

‘I see.' Hari spoke slowly. ‘But what do you intend doing now?'

Eline had thought very long and hard about just that question, and through the long, sleepless nights she had come to a decision.

‘I'm going to work at new designs for those children with defects of the feet and legs,' she said. ‘We've both done work on those lines in the past, and I found it most rewarding.' She smiled apologetically. ‘If that sounds pompous, I'm sorry.'

Hari shook her head but didn't comment, and after a moment Eline spoke again. ‘My life seems to have been taken up with trivialities, and I've got to do something about it before it's too late.'

‘Do you need any help?' Hari asked quietly. ‘I'd be glad to inject some funds into the project; it's one dear to my heart, as you know.'

‘Thank you, but no. I want to do this alone. I'll work with the less fortunate who can only afford one pair of boots, boots that have to last until they are outgrown. I'll be renting the cheapest premises I can find and buying the most inexpensive leather. The boots and shoes will be functional, not fashionable.'

‘Sounds like a very good idea.' Hari sounded doubtful. ‘But are you sure you could survive financially, like that?'

‘I must try,' Eline said, and Hari nodded as though she realized there was no going back for Eline; she must go forward to a future she had mapped out for herself, a future that might or might not include William Davies. Hari's smile was a little sad.

‘Don't worry about me,' Eline said. ‘I'll survive. I always do, somehow.'

If both women knew that, the words carried more bravado than conviction, none of them spoke of it.