Honey's Farm (3 page)

The room, a high attic with a southward-facing aspect, was sunlit and mellow, the newly whitened walls reflected the light. For a moment, Eline paused, imagining the pictures she would paint hanging in the deep shadows of an alcove. It was a perfect studio for an artist, and though Eline would have hesitated to call herself that, she was nevertheless excited by the prospect of actually working in the room.

It was already her workshop, where she had spent hours designing shoes, working on drawings for practical boots; but now it would house a high, sloped bench which would make her designing work so much easier and in addition, at the far end, she would install an easel where she could paint to her heart's delight.

She had come a long way, she mused, a very long way. Her life as a farmer's daughter on Honey's Farm had once filled her childhood with light and happiness; then she had married Joe Harries, a man twenty years older than her.

Eline sighed. She had tried so hard to do her duty by Joe, but she had failed miserably. How could she blame him for taking a mistress when she did not welcome him into her own bed? And now he was dead she felt nothing but sadness that she had never made him happy.

Outside, the Sunday bells of All Saints were ringing out into the soft air, echoing across the village. Eline felt the sad memories fade away, and suddenly she was at peace with the world.

‘So here you are.' The voice was low, melodic. ‘I might have known.'

‘Will!' Happiness flowed through her, as it always did at the sight of her beloved husband-to-be. Eline rose to her feet and dusted her fingers against her skirts.

‘I was just trying to fit one of my pictures into a frame. I'm not very good at it really.'

‘Hmm.' He encircled her waist from behind, chin resting on her shoulder as he looked down at the picture. ‘That's a lovely watercolour of the Mumbles,' he said. ‘I like the feeling of the rocks rising out of the morning mist. You are a talented girl, Eline.'

He turned her to face him and kissed her mouth. ‘I'm a very lucky man, though I don't know if I relish the prospect of marrying a lady who has more money than me.'

‘Ha!' Eline's voice was sceptical. ‘Don't fool yourself that you are getting a rich woman, my love. I have only debts and the good-will of the people who have invested in me.'

‘And I have only debts,' Will said ruefully, releasing Eline, ‘though I must admit the villagers are doing their best to repay me for the shoes they bought on credit last year, when times were hard.'

Eline sighed. ‘The hard times are far from over, Will.' She shrugged. ‘I know the oyster fishing is better now, but only a little. The villagers are still finding things difficult.'

‘I know,' Will said soberly, ‘and that doesn't make it any easier for me to make a living, either. If it wasn't for the customers Hari Grenfell sends me from Swansea I'd have been finished long ago.'

Eline put her arms around his neck. ‘You are a fine man, William Davies, and you will be rich one day, I know it.'

Will sighed heavily. ‘I can't wait, Eline.' He kissed her throat, and his voice became hoarse. ‘For one thing I can't wait to get you into my bed.'

Eline clung to him, feeling the usual sweet longing for him, and though she knew she was being unfair, playing with fire, she pressed herself against him.

‘Let's get married anyway, Will,' she urged softly. ‘We'll be all right, you'll see.' She kissed his mouth. ‘Between us, we'll make a reasonable living.'

Will moved away as though putting as much distance between Eline and himself as he could. ‘We'll marry when I think I can support a wife,' he said sternly. ‘I don't want to have to take handouts from you, Eline, surely you can see that?'

‘Don't be so pig-headed!' Eline replied, and then bit back the angry rush of words. This was an argument she'd had with Will many times, and she recognized it was an argument she would not win.

‘Look, I've come to a decision,' Will said, and there was something in his tone that alerted her, heightened her senses, bringing a tingling feeling of anxiety.

Eline glanced at him, deliberately keeping her voice even. ‘What decision?' she asked quietly.

‘I'm returning to Swansea,' he said. ‘I'll give up the shop in Mumbles, cut my losses. Hari Grenfell is willing to take me on to manage part of her shoemaking empire.'

Eline felt a pang of fear. Will could not move away, not now, just as she was establishing herself as a successful businesswoman in the area.

‘Don't look like that.' Will smiled. ‘Swansea is only five miles away, you know, and Hari is a dear friend. She virtually brought me up.' Will paused for a moment. ‘Come on, Eline, Hari would not be happy if I made a wrong choice. She is a fine, intelligent woman; I trust her judgement, and she feels as I do over this, the best thing is to pack up the business now.'

‘I know you love and trust Hari Grenfell, and I respect her too, but, Will, you can't give up your shop and move away.' Eline caught his arm. ‘Please, Will, I can't bear it if you are not here with me.'

‘My mind is made up, Eline,' he said firmly. ‘The business is not viable any longer. I'm not making a profit, I'm simply increasing my debts. I can't go on like that, it's simply not responsible.'

Eline stared around her at the bright, sunlit room, at the large windows overlooking the sea, and suddenly she felt as though she was standing on shifting sands.

‘I'll hold a sale of my stock of boots and shoes,' Will continued, ‘let the villagers have the benefit of it before I leave.'

He took her hand and, turning it, kissed the palm lightly. Eline tried to suppress her anger; was it directed at Will, at herself, or at the fates that seemed intent on dragging them apart?

‘Don't you understand, Eline?' Will said softly. ‘I can no longer afford even the small rent I'm paying Mrs Parks. Things are that bad.'

‘Oh, Will, why don't you let me help?' Eline protested. ‘You could come here, live in these rooms above the gallery.' She gestured around her. ‘You can see how pleasant they would be.'

Will shook his head and, squaring his shoulders, moved to the door.

‘That's impracticable and you know it.' He spoke softly but there was an edge of anger beneath his words.

‘How is it impracticable?' Eline demanded. She went to him, resting her head on his shoulder. ‘Let's not quarrel about it, Will.'

‘We won't quarrel, not if you don't insist on trying to run my life, you little bossy boots.' Will rested his cheek against her hair. ‘You see, Eline, I couldn't live here under the same roof as you. There would be talk. In any case, these are your rooms, your workshop; you need them.'

‘There wouldn't be talk, not if we were married,' Eline said, knowing she was persisting in a line that would only anger Will; and yet she couldn't help herself. She wanted to be with him, to have him all the time; she loved him so much that it almost hurt.

Will eased her arms from round his neck. ‘Eline!' he said in exasperation, ‘I will not be a kept man.'

‘That's absurd!' Eline was growing exasperated too. ‘Does Emily Miller's husband look on himself as a kept man?'

‘That's different,' he said. ‘Emily Miller took John in marriage when he was a successful cobbler. I admit he was poor by her standards, but at least he wasn't a failed businessman like me. Anyway, I'm not going to argue with you any more.' Will moved towards the door. ‘I'll speak to you later, when you're in a more reasonable frame of mind.'

Then Eline was alone in the sunfilled room, the room that suddenly seemed to have lost its charm for her. She tried to return to the job in hand of getting the place ready to work in, but her concentration was gone.

She left the studio and wandered down the stairs. Aimlessly she went from room to, room, not seeing the paintings hanging on the wall, not even seeing the red dots alongside some of the works that indicated they were sold to some eager customer. Business was good, very good, and yet suddenly Eline was full of doubts about her future. Perhaps she would be better off if she had no business; perhaps then Will would not be too stiff-necked with pride to marry her.

The building was silent. Penny, the girl who did the cooking, had gone home to her parents for the weekend, and Carys Morgan, who kept the place spotless, was with her husband in the little house further along the village street. Everyone, it seemed, except Eline had a family, someone to spend Sunday with.

Eline moved out into the street. The sun spilled over the pavements, washing the buildings with light. Along the shore the beached boats lay, idle now in the summer months, waiting for the start of the oyster season in September.

On the edge of the sweeping bay Eline paused, feeling the sand fall away beneath her feet, soft and golden, with a rim of deeper colour where the tide had retreated, leaving a trail of seaweed.

She picked up a group of oystershells that had fused together. It was almost a work of art. She dusted it free of sand and decided to put it in the gallery, a good luck charm, an omen, perhaps.

Across the bay, she could see the pilot ship skimming, it seemed, over the calm waters. Overhead, gulls wheeled and cried, echoing her own loneliness. Tears filled her eyes, and she brushed them away impatiently; self-pity did no-one any good.

Eline returned to the roadway. As she passed the row of small fishermen's cottages, Carys Morgan called a greeting to her.

‘
Bore da
, Eline.' She was sitting on the step of her house, knitting needles flying between deft fingers, her face wreathed in smiles. ‘Having a quiet time, are you?'

Eline paused, glad of someone to talk to. ‘It's such a lovely day, I felt I had to get out for a while.'

‘A bit lonely, like, are you?' Carys said, with such perception that Eline stifled the instinct to deny any such thing.

She sighed. ‘I am a bit sorry for myself today. I'll be glad when Will and I are married, I must say.'

‘Come and have a nice cup of dandelion and burdock with me,' Carys said. ‘I could do with a bit of company too.' She rose from the step and retreated into the darkness of the kitchen. Eline followed her.

‘My Sam's gone drinking beer with his pals in one of the cottages,' she said, raising her eyebrows. ‘Always does on a Sunday, the heathen.'

Eline sat at the scrubbed table and looked around the spotless kitchen. Carys in her home, as well as in the gallery, made a virtue of cleanliness and order.

During the awful months of hunger and famine that had gripped Oystermouth in the oyster famine, Carys had lost her baby son, a loss doubly tragic because Carys had despaired of ever becoming a mother.

‘I miss him, mind,' Carys said softly, and it was as though she had picked up on Eline's thoughts. ‘Some days my poor old arms ache for my baby. I'll never get over it, for all the old women tell me time heals all wounds.'

‘I know,' Eline said. ‘I've never had a baby, but when I lost my father I felt the world had come to an end for me too. In a way, I've been alone ever since.'

Carys looked at her curiously. ‘Even when you was married to Joe you felt like that?'

Eline nodded. ‘Because Joe was so much older than me and was Dad's friend, I thought he could fill the gap in some way. I was sadly mistaken.'

‘He was a good man, though,' Carys said, ‘and he loved you. Mind, I'll never understand why he took up with that hussy Nina Parks.'

Eline was silent. She blamed herself for Joe's infidelity. Had she been a better, warmer wife, Joe wouldn't have strayed to another woman's bed.

‘Funny how he gave her children and yet you . . .' Cary's words trailed away and Eline smiled.

‘I know, I often wondered at that myself. Perhaps I can't have children. I worry about that sometimes.'

‘Probably you are all right,' Carys said confidently. ‘It just wasn't meant, not between you and Joe. I spects him and Nina were . . . were – fitting for each other. Any rate, poor man's gone now, God rest his soul.'

Eline sat quiet, still, wondering why she was exploring past wounds and present doubts with Carys. Probably because she instinctively trusted her; Carys was so down-to-earth and sensible when it came to dealing with her own life.

Eline drank the mug of dandelion and burdock and smiled at Carys, determined to switch the conversation back to more mundane topics.

‘Sam be glad to get back to sea?' she asked lightly.

Carys poured more cordial and shrugged. ‘I suppose so. He don't talk much about his feelings; but then men never do, do they?' She sighed. ‘Let's hope the oysters are more abundant than they were last season. I wouldn't like to face a winter of going hungry, not again.'

‘Will you still be able to work at the gallery?' Eline asked. ‘I know the oyster beds need a lot of time and attention, but I need you too, Carys.'

‘I'll be cleaning for you, don't you worry,' Carys said firmly. ‘It's my bit of security in case the oysters fail again.' She leaned her elbows on the table that gleamed white in the splash of sunlight, the wood pale with much scrubbing.

‘The oyster beds are hard, mind; you know that, to your cost!' Cary's eyes were suddenly full of merriment. ‘Stubborn, you are, mind, I'll never forget you struggling with the sack of oysters and the tide coming up round your belly, ready to suck you down.'

‘I won't forget either!' Eline grimaced. ‘I thought I was going to die, but I wasn't going to let the oysters fall back into the sea.'

‘If it wasn't for William Davies coming like a hero and bringing you out, you would have been a goner.' Carys sighed. ‘So romantic, it was.'

Eline glanced down into her mug, watching the swirling brown liquid as she raised it to her lips.