Tall Poppies (11 page)

‘You might see the man on the moon,' Esmé said, giving a bit of a cough. Emptying the bags, Livia sorted out the clothing and folded it into drawers, thankful that Mr Stone had been practical in his choices. There were at least two changes for everyday, flannel smocks, a pretty velvet dress with a lace collar for Esmé, and for Chad, a suit for best and sturdy boots.

Chad's mind wasn't on clothing, though. He swung the telescope round, then shouted, ‘I can see a big red bird in the garden. He looks jolly fierce.'

‘Where?' Esmé said, joining him and jiggling up and down with impatience.

‘Down there,' and he handed the telescope to Esmé.

Livia smiled when she looked out of the window. ‘It's a chicken. I'd better go down and shoo her back into her pen, else the fox will have her for dinner tonight. Then we won't have any eggs for breakfast.'

‘Can I do it?' the twins asked in unison.

‘We'll do it together in case the others have escaped. We don't want to scare them.'

Only two of the five were roaming the garden. The children took a handful of bran each and enticed the chickens back into their pen. They'd got out through a hole in their coop. ‘See if there's a hammer and nails in the shed, Chad.'

He came back with both, and an old tin tray, saying in manly fashion, ‘The wood's rotten. We need another piece.'

‘Chickens need  . . . new home.'

They turned to gaze at Richard Sangster, who was rugged up and leaning on Beamish.

‘I thought you had a meeting with Mr Stone. Have you followed us?'

‘We did. Simon only wanted my signature  . . . he's w  . . . with Pa now.'

Beamish smiled at them all and shrugged. ‘He was too curious to wait, and insisted I bring him.'

‘You walked all that way in this cold wind? I could have taken the children upstairs to meet you if you'd wanted, Mr Sangster.'

‘Room  . . . like prison.'

‘He needed to get some fresh air, so I drove him in the Rolls.'

‘Hah! Call that  . . . driving.'

‘Children, this is Captain Richard Sangster, for whom I work. And this is Mr Beamish, who looks after him.'

Esmé clung to her leg. Richard held out a hand and Chad took it. ‘Your hand is shaking, Sir,' he said. ‘Are you cold?'

‘The war  . . . made me ill.'

‘Were you shot?'

‘Chad, that's rude.'

‘No, not rude  . . . curiosity. War seems  . . . an adventure to a boy. Yes  . . . shot head and back  . . . uncover scar for inspection, Beamish.'

Beamish removed Richard's hat and Chad's eyes widened. ‘Crikey Moses! You were jolly lucky, Sir. Have you still got the bullet? Can I see it?'

A wry smile twisted Richard's mouth. ‘No bullet  . . . I'm afraid. I should have  . . . ducked  . . . but didn't see it coming. Beamish caught one in his arse and couldn't sit down for a week. S  . . . sorry, Livia.'

‘How do you manage to look innocent? Arse yourself, Richard Sangster.'

He laughed.

‘It was merely a splinter, but it's not a war wound I can brag about,' Beamish said.

When Chad began to laugh, Richard and Beamish grinned at each other.

‘Arse is a rude word,' Esmé scolded. ‘Chad got the cane for saying that, and he cried.'

‘It didn't really hurt, and I wasn't crying, I had something in my eye,' Chad said quickly.

‘I beg your pardon, Miss Esmé. A man shouldn't speak like that in the company of  . . . young ladies. Help you build henhouse  . . . Beamish and me, next week. I'll  . . . instruct. You and Beams  . . . do the work. All right, Chad?'

‘I'll say, Sir,' Chad said, adopting a man-of-the-house air. ‘We don't want the fox to get at the chickens. In the meantime, I'll patch it up with this tin tray I saw in the shed.' He set to with a will, hammering nails through a rusty tray and rotten wood. It wouldn't last long.

‘That's  . . . the ticket.'

Livia was worried about Richard being out in the cold. ‘Would you like to come in and have a cup of tea. The stove is lit, and it won't take me long to put the kettle on and put a match to the fire in the sitting room.'

‘Good of you, Livia. Give me your arm. Beamish, fetch my  . . . gift.'

Richard was trembling all over from the effort he'd made walking into the house. Livia seated him in a wing chair, struck a match and lit the fire. When she looked up at him his eyes caught hers. It was like looking at his mother; he had the same fragile vulnerability to his face.

‘Go and see where Beamish  . . . has got to,' he said to the children, and they ran off to do his bidding.

‘The room won't take long to warm up,' she said, feeling suddenly awkward without the children as a barrier between them. She straightened up.

‘Don't fuss over me, Livia. I've been in  . . . colder places.'

She smiled. ‘I didn't expect you to be quite so different. You were strong and healthy when you left  . . . younger, of course, but less mature.'

‘I've aged about a century in the last few years. I expected you to be the same too  . . . a child bobbing  . . . around the house in an apron and cap with dustpan and brush  . . . trying to please everyone at the same time. I felt  . . . sorry for you.'

‘Now the boot is on the other foot. Hush, don't talk so much, Richard Sangster, you're running out of breath.'

His mouth twisted into a grimace.

Guilt filled her. ‘I'm sorry  . . . I didn't mean that how it sounded.'

‘I know that too. Do you really feel sorry for me?'

She nodded. ‘Yes  . . . I suppose I do.'

‘You're sweet, Livia.' He reached out to gently touch her cheek, but jerked his hand away when they heard the children.

Esmé had a purring black kitten with white socks, nose and whiskers cuddled in her arms. She wore an ear-to-ear smile on her face. ‘His name is Whiskers. Chad's got a dog.'

Another two mouths to feed, Livia thought glumly, as a hairy white dog with brown patches came in, dragging Chad along on the end of a leather leash. ‘He's fully-grown and yaps a bit. Beamish got him from the market. He's house-trained and will keep the rats down.'

‘Watch this, Livia,' Chad said proudly. ‘Sit!'

The dog sat and gazed up at him, his short tail sweeping the carpet.

‘Can we keep him? Please, Livia. It's a moving-in present from the captain.'

A
fait accompli
if ever she'd heard one. Livia looked at the odd creature with its tufty hair, which already seemed part of Chad, and she didn't have the heart to say no. ‘What's his name going to be, Chad?'

‘Bertie.'

She offered Richard an accusing look when Bertie lifted his leg against the door frame. ‘I thought you said he was house-trained.'

Richard passed the look on to Beamish, who shrugged slightly and turned an innocent glance through the window. ‘That's what I was told.'

‘I imagine he's just putting his scent around his new home. I daresay  . . . Connie will give you the scraps for them, so they won't cost anything to feed.'

Beamish had a box in his arms. ‘What's in the box? Not more animals, surely,' Livia asked.

‘Christmas decorations,' Beamish said. ‘I'll hang the garlands up, and the children can put the toy soldiers and baubles on the tree. That will make it look more like Christmas.'

‘Come on, Bertie,' Chad said. ‘I'll show you where we sleep.'

It was time to put her foot down. ‘He'll sleep in the kitchen.'

Beamish placed the box on the settee. ‘There's a basket for him in the car. Come on, Chad, we'll go and find it.'

‘Would you mind moving that trunk in the hall, Mr Beamish? It needs to go upstairs on the landing, under the window will do.'

Esmé went with them. ‘I'll show you where.'

Richard smiled warmly at her. ‘You're not angry about the cat and dog, are you?'

Her cheeks began to glow. This man could charm the birds from their nests if he put his mind to it. ‘Of course not, they've never had an animal to look after, so it will be good for them. It's going to be the best Christmas ever, now we're together again. I can't thank you enough.'

‘I'll think of some way  . . . I know. The next time I visit I'll bring  . . . some mistletoe.'

He laughed when she blushed. ‘Why, Miss Livia Carr, I do believe you've never  . . . been kissed  . . . before.'

Immediately, her thoughts went to Denton Elliot and the kiss on the train. A lot Richard Sangster knew! Trying to hide her grin, she said with mock severity, ‘Don't get too personal. I'll go and make the tea.'

‘Wait  . . . this is for you.' He took a small carriage clock from his pocket and handed it to her.

Tears came to her eyes when she saw the pink enamelled face and the little monkeys clinging to the hands. ‘This belonged to your mother.'

‘Yes  . . . I bought it for her birthday, just before I went away to war. It's a little too feminine for my taste, and I thought you might like to have it  . . . a Christmas gift. It might amuse the children as well as tell you the time.'

‘Yes  . . . I would like to have it, and I'll treasure it as much as she did.'

Mrs Sangster had counted the minutes until her son had come home. Now, Livia would look at that same clock and count them until he left again – this time for good. It was too sad to contemplate.

‘Richard  . . . I'm so sorry. Your mother was so looking forward to your return. I'm glad she didn't  . . .'

‘No tears, Livia, what's done is done. It was dashed bad luck copping this, and just when the war was almost over, that's all  . . . Oh, damn convention to hell! I'll kiss you without mistletoe, if you'd allow me to. Or you can kiss me.'

When she stooped to kiss his forehead she found her face cupped in his trembling hands and drawn down to his. She didn't resist when his mouth touched against hers and lingered there for a few tender moments. When he drew away, his eyes gazed into hers, intensely blue. There had been a world of longing in that kiss, and she'd enjoyed it. But she could feel the need in him to survive, and there was an incredible sadness inside her because they both knew he wouldn't.

She set the little clock on the mantelpiece, keeping her back to him in case he saw the tears in her eyes. ‘I don't think it would be a good idea to do that too often, do you?'

‘Probably not. I've made you cry, haven't I? Was the kiss that bad? I'm out of practice.'

‘It was the best of kisses.'

‘Then stop snuffling. How many times have you been kissed before?'

‘Once.'

He chuckled. ‘So you're experienced. First kisses are an agony, aren't they? You never quite know if you're going about it right. Tell me about it?'

‘It was a stranger on a train, a soldier leaving for the front  . . . it was very innocent and sweet. He just needed to kiss somebody goodbye, and I was handy.'

Wild horses wouldn't allow her to tell him it had been his friend, Denton Elliot  . . . that he'd taken her by surprise and she knew now that she'd have welcomed a longer, less innocent kiss.

His father had told her that Denton had got his discharge and was doing his formal surgery training in a London hospital under a distinguished surgeon. He'd probably forgotten the girl on the train by now, and she wondered if he'd be home for Christmas.

‘That soldier probably kept that kiss with him, and it gave him a reason to keep going.'

His speech had barely faltered once, and she encouraged him with, ‘Why?'

‘People who are stressed cling to symbols and luck. They p  . . . provide hope when there is little left to hope for. Even if you never meet that soldier again, that kiss on the train will always be in your memory. You'll remember him at odd times, and without even trying, and wonder what happened to him. He'll do the same with you.'

Livia knew what had happened. Denton had survived and she was glad of it.

Hearing the kettle lid begin to rattle furiously, she drew in a breath to banish her tears before she turned. ‘Would it embarrass you if I said you have a rather romantic nature for a man?'

‘Yes  . . . I imagine it would.'

She smiled widely. ‘You have a rather romantic nature for a man, Richard Sangster.'

He chuckled. ‘I fell into that one, didn't I? Go and make the tea  . . . and if you happen to have any of c  . . . cook's gingerbread, a large s  . . . slice.'

Seven

Christmas came. The day was cold with an occasional flake of snow in the air.

‘It won't come to much,' Matthew Bugg said, gazing up at the sky with a knowledgeable eye.

Now the war was over, the church was full of people giving thanks. The family and staff attended as one body. The Sangsters sat in the front pew, their staff behind.

Major Henry, Captain Sangster and Sergeant Beamish all wore uniform, as was their right, since, officially, none of them had yet been discharged.

Richard leaned heavily on Beamish's arm and was helped to his seat. He didn't seem to notice the averted eyes, or the curiosity in the various glances that did go his way. He smiled pleasantly at those who knew and greeted him.

Towards the end of the service Livia saw signs of tension in Richard's face, and he began to tremble. Beamish leaned forward and whispered something in Major Henry's ear. As soon as the Amen was said, Beamish carried Richard out to the car, and they drove away.

‘The car is coming back, isn't it, Henry?' Rosemary asked, her displeasure at the thought that it might not written plainly on her face.

‘As soon as Beamish gets Richard settled down to rest, m' dear. In the meantime we can walk. It's not far.'