The Wild Seed (10 page)

As they came closer, he saw that Catherine was smiling up at Liam, her red hair was escaping from the confines of its ribbon and as Liam leaned towards her, the figures seemed to merge, both red-haired, both with good Irish blood flowing in their veins.

Liam was a fine man, a man who would not let one mistake on Catherine’s part unduly influence him. That he was falling in love with Catherine was obvious to anyone who had eyes to see.

Catherine waved and ran the rest of the way towards him. ‘Dad, you’ve got a lovely colour in your cheeks.’ She bent to kiss him and Jamie revelled for a moment in the feel of her petal-soft skin against his own. Of the children he had sired she was the only one left and he wanted everything that was good for her.

Fon came and stood behind his chair, her arms around his neck, her lips touching his hair. Tears came to Jamie’s eyes; his two girls, his loves, they were here with him, would be with him until the end, that was all he could ever ask of God.

‘You’ll come with me to the fair on Saturday, then?’ Liam was leaning on the fence, his sun-freckled arms bare beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt.

‘I suppose so, it seems to be what Dad wants.’

‘Is that the only reason you’re going to come with me, then?’

Catherine looked at him carefully; over the past two weeks she had grown used to him being around. His presence on the farm was welcome and very necessary; some of the work was too heavy for Catherine to do alone. The labourers had gone, money was short, most of the savings her parents had made over the years had been spent on doctor’s bills.

‘No,’ she conceded slowly, ‘I’m coming with you because I enjoy your company.’ It was true, she liked being with Liam, he was fun, easy to get along with and, if it hadn’t been for the unfortunate circumstances of their first meeting, she would have liked him unreservedly.

‘Well, that’s a start, then.’ He smiled down at her, his eyes dark beneath the heavy thatch of red hair. That was where Liam differed in appearance from Catherine: his eyes were brown, dark and unfathomable and hers were green, flecked with amber.

She felt a lift of excitement that had nothing to do with Liam or the proposed visit to the fair. Tomorrow she would be meeting Boyo. She would wait for him in the park opposite the beach and then they would drive in Boyo’s carriage to their home in Caswell. The fires would be lit by the caretaker Boyo had hired, the house would be cared for by the man’s wife. It would all appear normal and homely. They would have only a few short hours together but, for a time, she could pretend that everything was all right, that she and Boyo were entitled to be living this way.

She never asked about his wife and he didn’t volunteer any information. Sometimes he was troubled and moody and she could not bring herself to ask outright if anything was wrong. In any case, she had her own problems to worry about.

Her father was growing weaker by the day and Catherine felt she was under as much pressure as she could endure without taking on Boyo’s troubles as well.

‘I’ve lost you.’ Liam’s voice, heavy with the lilt of his Irish accent, broke into her thoughts.

‘I was thinking about my father.’ It was partly the truth. ‘He’s growing weaker, I can see it and I don’t feel I’m doing enough to help him.’

‘There, there, colleen, nature will take her course whatever we do or don’t do.’

‘Colleen’, that was the endearment used by Jamie when he spoke to Fon. Tears misted Catherine’s eyes. For the first time she wished she had never seen Boyo Hopkins again, that she could fall in love with Liam, do what her father wanted her to do.

She glanced at Liam, would marriage to him be so bad? He was young, vigorous, handsome. He had his own property in Ireland but he was more than willing to remain on Honey’s Farm and make it thrive with the innovations he employed on his own lands. So well were his farms organized that they needed only a manager to keep things in order. If Dad and Liam had their way, Honey’s Farm would be run along the same lucrative lines.

She was probably being selfish holding out against her father’s wishes, but to marry Liam was to put Boyo out of her life and that was unthinkable.

Her meeting the next day with Boyo did not bring the unadulterated joy she had been expecting. He had greeted her by saying he couldn’t stay long. Bethan, it seemed, was not coping with her pregnancy very well.

‘Serve her right for getting pregnant at her age.’ The words had come out of their own volition and she had seen the frown that had crossed Boyo’s face before she had flung herself into his arms and begged him to forgive her.

Now, he was making ready to leave. Their coupling had been swift, a release for Boyo, but for her it left a feeling of being used.

‘Don’t forget to leave the money before you go,’ she said with sarcasm. He looked at her quickly.

‘Cat, what do you mean?’ He came and knelt beside her and took her hands.

‘Well, I’m behaving like a whore, I can’t blame you if you treat me like one, can I?’

He held her close and suddenly she was crying. ‘Oh, Boyo, you don’t know how unhappy I am.’

He gave her his handkerchief and she mopped her eyes. ‘Dad’s so sick and you can hardly spare me five minutes of your time, can’t you see what it does to me to have you take me and then run home to your wife?’

‘Cat, my love, I’ve been thoughtless and I apologize.’ He kissed her fingertips. ‘Perhaps when the baby is born and when…’ his words trailed away for a moment. ‘Perhaps we can take up residence together again when the time is right.’

‘When you have your son and I lose my father, you mean? How kind of you, Boyo!’

He rose to his feet. ‘I can’t seem to say anything right, I’d better go.’ He took up his coat. ‘I’ll send my man to bring you a cab.’ He stood in the doorway. ‘I’ll be in touch, Catherine. I’m sorry to prove such a disappointment to you but perhaps your cousin, the Cullen fellow, is offering you the comfort that I, apparently, singularly fail to do.’

She looked at him sharply. ‘Liam, what has he to do with anything?’

‘Well, he is staying at Honey’s Farm, I understand, acting as lord of the manor from all I hear.’

‘So you have your spies out watching me, have you?’ Catherine was angry. ‘Yes, Liam
is
a comfort and a strong arm to lean on. As you say, in that way
you
are a disappointment.’

His face blanched and Catherine moved slowly towards him, touching his arm. ‘Boyo! I didn’t mean it, I’m overwrought, that’s all.’ She buried her face in his neck and the tears came fast and hot, bitter tears of frustration and anger.

He patted her shoulder. ‘I know, I understand, we are both under strain. It will all work out for the best, you’ll see. Everything passes in time, difficulties, unhappiness, even sorrow. We have our lives before us, we don’t need to grasp at them, we can take everything one step at a time.’

Later, the rest of her clothes in a bag, she drove home to Honey’s Farm, tears she could not shed, hot beneath her lids. Catherine thought over the heated words that had passed between her and Boyo and she knew that he was right; they were both young and healthy, their lives stretched out before them, no need to take their happiness at the expense of others.

She asked the driver to stop at the end of the lane; she didn’t want to answer awkward questions by turning up at the door in a hired cab. She listened to the clip clop of the horses’ hooves dying away in the distance before she began to walk towards home.

Liam was standing at the top of the lane and from his easy stance as he leaned against the gate, it appeared he had been waiting for her.

‘Been shopping?’

‘No, visiting an old friend.’ Catherine knew she sounded defensive but she felt irritated, Liam had no right to question her movements. ‘I do have to get away from here from time to time just to keep myself sane.’

He put out his hand and touched her shoulder in a comforting gesture. ‘I know, it’s an unhappy time for you. Let’s have your bag. Lord, ’tis heavy enough, what have you got in here?’

She smiled up at him wanly. ‘Just a few clothes. Liam, I’m sorry for being so sharp, you mustn’t mind me, I’m like a bear with a sore head. I don’t know why you should put up with my moods.’

‘I put up with you because you are the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.’

In a moment of weakness she leaned against him. He held her close, not taking any liberties for which she was grateful. He held her for a long time until at last she freed herself.

‘I’d better go in, my mother will be worried about me.’

Upstairs, in the bedroom where Jamie lay sick, Fon stood at the window holding back the curtain.

‘If you could see what I’ve just seen you would be very pleased.’ She turned to her husband, her tone soft. ‘Liam was just holding our Cath in his arms, just holding her, not trying to kiss her or anything. He’s a good man, I hope our girl sees sense before it’s too late.’

Jamie was too weak to answer but Fon was rewarded by a faint smile. She forced back the tears and bent to kiss her husband’s forehead.

‘If young Liam is half as good a man as you then our Catherine will be a very lucky girl indeed.’

He took her hand and held it close to his cheek. There was a glint of tears in his eyes.

‘I’ll go down and get the supper.’ Fon fought the pain within her, how could she bear to live her life without Jamie? ‘I’ll bring you a little bit of
cawl
, you can eat that, can’t you, love?’

Jamie opened his eyes as though with a great effort. ‘I’ll try, colleen, I’ll try.’

Fon swallowed hard and once outside the door, she leaned against it, the tears running salt into her mouth. How it hurt her to see Jamie brought to this. It wasn’t fair! What had they done to deserve such troubles? Soon she would lose him, she had tried to prepare herself for it but in her heart she knew, once her husband was gone, life for her would be over.

Downstairs, Catherine and Liam were laughing together. It cheered Fon, a small oasis of normality in the sea of dread that was gripping her. She pushed away the waves of fear and forced herself to speak normally.

‘Cut some bread for supper, there’s a good girl.’ As she sat there with her daughter who was bright-eyed, chattering easily to Liam, Fon felt her spirits lift a little. Here was youth and health and happiness and she drank in the atmosphere eagerly.

Watching Catherine, it was clear to Fon that her daughter was unaware of how sick her father really was. Would it be kinder to try to prepare her? But no, let her remain in happy ignorance until the truth was forced upon her.

‘Are you tired, Mam?’ Catherine leaned forward solicitously. ‘You are looking so pale, shall we have an early night?’

‘No!’ Fon shook her head emphatically. ‘No, I’d much rather stay here by the fire and listen to you two chattering.’

She subsided in her chair knowing that deep within her she was afraid, afraid to go upstairs to the bedroom she’d shared for so long with her husband, afraid that in her absence he would have slipped away from her into a world which she could not reach.

Bethan stared at her reflection in the long oval mirror in the bathroom and smiled wryly to herself. She had never been a beautiful woman, she could not even be described as pretty but impending motherhood seemed to suit her. Her cheeks had a bloom, her eyes were bright and even her hair had taken on a glossy sheen.

She was approaching the sixth month of her pregnancy and now, feeling the tiny movements of her child, she wondered that she had not realized her condition sooner. She rested her hand on the swell of her stomach and amidst her delight in her condition, she felt an icicle of fear. She was old for motherhood, how would she manage at her confinement, would there be complications? And the child when it came, would she be able to care for it properly? And above all her anxieties was the overriding knowledge that she was married to a man who didn’t love her.

Boyo cared, of course he did, but love, the love a man gave to his wife, that was missing. It was no-one’s fault. Boyo had made no pretence of being in love with her and, in the beginning, she thought she did not love him. Or did she? Had she known all the while that love had been there underneath the friendship and the companionship and the liking that she felt for her husband? Had it been lurking, afraid to declare itself all this time?

So many questions. Impatiently, she turned away from the mirror, such introspection did little good. She had made her bed and now she must lie in it.

Bethan grimaced at the triteness of her thoughts but then she had never pretended to be an original thinker. She was a moderately intelligent woman, a pleasant if not spectacular conversationalist, but what she had to offer was, obviously, not enough.

She heard the front door slam and with a lifting of her heart, she realized Boyo had come home. Where he had been she didn’t know and she didn’t want to know. Bethan made her way along the landing towards the graciously curving staircase, below her she could see her husband handing his coat to the maid.

He looked up and smiled and even from this distance she could see the hint of anxiety in his eyes. ‘Come down to the drawing-room, Bethan, I have something I wish to discuss with you.’

Her heart dipped in fear, her mouth was dry but her head was high as she descended the stairs. In the drawing-room, Boyo was standing with his back to the ornate mantelpiece. Behind him, the fire glowed and flickered and Bethan fixed her gaze on it as a source of warmth and comfort and normality.

She took a seat. ‘Are you going to leave me, Boyo?’ Her voice was shaky, desperate and Bethan hated herself for the weakness that revealed her dependence on her husband.

‘Bethan! Of course I’m not going to leave you, not now when you need me so much. What kind of a bastard do you think I am?’

She felt weak with relief. She clasped her hands together in her lap and risked a glance at Boyo. ‘What’s on your mind, then?’

He paced across the room towards the small round table where a tray of decanters stood and helped himself to a brandy.