Full Circle (14 page)

There were various occasions when Harold's worsening mental state became obvious, but Bella always tried to cover his failings and boost his flagging confidence. One such occasion was a cold March morning when Alicia was hardly more than six months old. Upstairs tidying the bedrooms, with one eye on Alicia, who was at the crawling stage, Bella had no idea that Harold had decided he would light the fire in the sitting room, even though it wasn't usually lit until the afternoon.

The first she knew that something was wrong was when he called out to her. ‘You'd better come down, Bella, I need some help!' he shouted from the bottom of the stairs, and from his voice she knew he needed it quickly.

Carrying Alicia, she ran down the stairs to find him standing in the doorway of the sitting room, a burnt-out sheet of newspaper in the fireplace with tentative flames licking the edge of the smouldering hearthrug. Her first thought was the baby, so she dumped her on her bottom in her playpen in the kitchen where, offended, Alicia screamed angrily. But there was no time to spare.

‘Move the chairs!' Bella yelled to Harold, remembering what she had read about burning upholstery being the cause of so many house fires. ‘No! Not that way! Away from the fire, off the rug.' Her heart was pounding; in her imagination she could see those small half-hearted flames bursting into furious life. She stamped hard on the edge of the rug as she called her next instructions to Harold, who stood helplessly. Even in her moment of fright, pity for him made her lower her tone. ‘It's all right, Dad. I want you to get me a bowl of water and a brush, any brush – even a nail brush if you can't lay your hands on anything bigger. Be as quick as you can, there's a dear.' Somehow, talking gently to him had driven away some of her own fear. Thank goodness he had shouted for her when he had. The rug was still smoking but if she scrubbed water deep into it, it should go out. Then she'd get him to help her carry it outside.

‘Here's the water. Alicia wants to come in, shall I get her?'

‘No, leave her in her pen. When I've scrubbed water into the pile you and I can carry the rug outside. It's a blessing you shouted when you did, Dad. I think we're going to be OK. Now then, ready? Let's lift it gently and make sure it's not still burning or the fresh air might set it off again. Then straight out of the front door.'

‘You're a good girl, Bella, my dear. I don't know how I let the paper catch fire.'

‘It was an accident, Dad. But it's better to use the bellows than hold a newspaper in front of the fire to make it draw properly. Promise that next time that's what you'll do.'

‘Don't seem to be able to do anything properly these days. Don't know what's the matter with me.'

‘You take that end and I'll take this,' she said, picking up her end of the large hearthrug as she spoke. ‘The matter with you? I can't see anything the matter with you. You look in pretty good nick from where I stand.' She said it with a saucy smile but silently she thought,
Poor old darling. He must be so frightened. I've got to try and take his mind off what he did.

His natural love of having the admiration of a pretty young girl helped to restore his self-esteem.

‘Let's roll it. I can get it outside on my own if it's rolled. I'll see I take it right away from the house. You go off and sort our little girl out, eh?' His fright was fading and already he began to see himself as master of the situation.

‘Thanks, Dad, you're a honey.'

So the honey, feeling completely restored and forgetting he'd been the cause of the short-lived drama, picked up the rolled rug and staggered off with it while she went to restore peace in the kitchen. That was one of the more dramatic of his muddled wrong-doings, but a day never passed without something: he would go into the hall to pick up the post and come back carrying her coat taken from the rack instead; he would go outside to the shed to fetch the vegetables needed for her to cook and then catch sight of one of the men in the field and forget his mission. When Eva Johnson came to ‘give the silver a real good clean' he decided to help her; being with Eva always made him forget recent times and think himself back when they were all young, but even that was changing. For, his offer of help accepted, he disappeared to find a nice soft cloth for polishing and came back with a nightgown of Alicia's he'd taken from the top of the pile in the ironing basket. And so it went on, each day bringing something different. The men who worked the fields were very patient and encouraged him to join them, but during the cold weather there was less activity and he was often to be found indoors with Bella.

Leo had looked forward to ‘working from home'. But boredom soon made him restless – which in some ways benefited the business, for he spent more time visiting dealers who were agents for their implements. And it was as he covered the miles on his own that he gave full rein to his thoughts. His heart wasn't in his work; it never had been. He envied David his wholehearted interest and yet the thought of having a life as narrow as was his elder brother's appalled him. Married to Lilian for more than fifteen years, and childless, his only break from work was his Sunday morning round of golf, after which he and Lilian would have lunch at the golf club with a couple of longstanding and similarly-minded friends before returning home to read the Sunday paper and perhaps have the same couple in for a game of bridge in the evening; only on a Sunday would David let his mind wander from the affairs of Carters' Agricultural Implements. Week after week, month after month, that was his life, and yet he seemed almost smugly satisfied with his lot. Were they childless from choice? A reserved couple, Leo felt he could never really know either of them. But who does one ever know? And here his mind would always jump in the same direction: Louisa Harding. There were moments when he felt they came closer to a true and understanding friendship than he believed possible. Or was that his imagination? What was certain was that he was never bored with her. A good-looking woman, not pretty, not beautiful in a feminine way, but striking. If she walked into any room she would be noticed. Yet there was nothing flamboyant in her style of dress. It was the way she walked, the way she held her head, her self-assurance that set her apart. She was over thirty … never mentioned any male friends … fastidious in every way … and yet, and yet … under that cool exterior he was certain there was a fire waiting to be ignited. Had she ever had a man? Perhaps during the war there had been someone, perhaps she had lost a sweetheart … so had she known love, physical love? Just for a moment he thought of Bella, beautiful Bella, yet where was the passion, where was the drive in her that knew only one goal? Still, what a godsend it was to know she was looking after Dad.

At the thought of his father Leo felt real sadness. Alive and healthy, and yet it was as if each day he slipped further away from them. He had been a role model as long as Leo could remember. And here his mind took a sideways jump as he thought of Violet and the
rightness
of the two of them being together. And yet what about his mother? She too had been a truly good woman and a loving wife in the only way she knew. But that could never have been enough for Dad; the most important thing in his life had been the love he shared with Violet. And was it to happen again? Was he to find the joy and true union with Louisa that his father had known with her aunt? And then there was Bella. He had promised himself that he would be a good husband to her. But couldn't he still be a good husband to her, and father to Alicia, if he found happiness elsewhere? Bella would still have everything she wanted: a family, a home, security. His being with Louisa would be completely separate from his marriage. Surely Louisa would see it that way, too?

Louisa was Bella's friend – although what they had in common was beyond his understanding – and instinct warned him that if he tried to gain her interest in any way except platonic friendship he would lose what he had of her. Even though what he had could never be enough, he couldn't think of his life without her. But in his mind, especially at the end of the day, as he gave the impression of settling for sleep, he gazed on her imagined nakedness, he held her firm rounded breasts, he covered her mouth with his and felt her lips part as her tongue escaped like a caged animal finding freedom. She may be Bella's friend, but she was
his woman
. Most of his short-term girlfriends through the years had been easy prey; Bella had been different – easy prey indeed but with such innocent purity that she had touched finer feelings he'd not known he possessed. But Louisa was like no other; she was the best companion, she was the most desirable, the most physically aloof and, he was certain, the most sensual woman he had ever known.

His nocturnal thoughts stayed with him through the day as he drove westward to one of the firm's established agents near Taunton, and on through his discussion and lunch which was Carters' way of showing appreciation to a worthwhile customer. Charm was second nature to Leo and no one listening to him would have guessed that his mind was anywhere but on the new and improved design of the two-furrow plough for which he was hoping to be given a good order. Uppermost in his mind was how quickly he could decently get away. He could be back in Lexleigh by late afternoon. He'd never been used to being rebuffed. Surely she would give him a sign that under her façade of ice maiden she was as hungry for love as he was.

That same day had been unexpectedly exciting for Louisa. After spending an hour with a client in town she'd decided to call at the nursery and see what she could find to add colour to her still drab apology for a garden. Last year she had made a bed for annuals and been pleased with the result, but now, with summer approaching, by no stretch of the imagination could her miserable patch be called a garden, despite the hours she had spent in it. Maybe she just hadn't got green fingers. Sometimes she felt that all she saw for her efforts were broken fingernails and a stiff back. But she was determined not to be beaten. McLaren's Garden Centre was a mile or so off her road home, and she remembered how pleased she had been on the day she had first discovered it when she'd been touring the district and gathering confidence and experience at the wheel. How distant all that seemed, and her days in Reading might have been in another life altogether.

Each time she'd been to the nursery the same girl had served her; in fact, she appeared to be the only person there except for a couple of men working outside. Part of the pleasure of going there had been talking to the assistant, who appeared knowledgeable and was friendly. She was a girl with red curly hair (red bordering on auburn) and a crop of freckles over the bridge of her nose, but it was her smile that drew Louisa back. So late that morning she was disappointed to find a young man in the shed that doubled as a shop. A tall man, about her own age or perhaps even younger, his gingery brown eyes in keeping with his hair, and when he turned to greet her and introduce himself as Hamish McLaren, she saw he had the same ready smile as the girl.

‘Good morning to you.' He greeted Louisa in a voice that, like the girl's, held a hint that he came from north of the border. ‘Are you wanting help or do you prefer to wander around and see what there is?'

‘I suppose I want both. I bought a load of annuals here last year and they almost persuaded me I was turning my wilderness into a garden. But it'll take more than that.' Then, as if she owed him an explanation, ‘It's the first time I've ever had a garden – and it's the first time my patch of scrub has been expected to try to look like a garden too.'

‘A new house with an uncultivated area round it? On some of the new estates where I've been called in, you wouldn't believe the state of the ground. Dig just below the surface and do you find soil? More likely builders' rubble. Some developers put a bit of turf on top; turf can cover a multitude of sins.'

‘The house isn't new. But the land used to be part of a farm and they took a strip near the road and fenced it off as an independent dwelling. It's really hard work to try to turn what used to be a field into a lawn.'

‘Would that be at Lexleigh?' When she nodded in surprise, he continued, ‘My gran used to live the other end of the High Street and when my sister and I were bairns we liked nothing better than to go home with her for the night. So I remember her telling us how the house used to belong to the farm. Whenever I've driven that way I've always wondered why the folk who owned it didn't have the garden sorted out. Now Gran has gone, I don't go that way often, although last year I did some landscaping in the big house, Lakeside. I dare say you know it?'

‘Not really. I've seen it from the road, but it's the other end of the village from The Retreat.'

‘Surely. Now then, would it be the grass that's bothering you? Or are you thinking of more annuals? That's a big area, big enough for a tennis court and still room to spare.'

‘In your dreams! No one could play tennis on that lumpy ground.' She had meant to knock him off his perch, but from his chuckle knew she hadn't succeeded.

‘You're right there. But with the old field ploughed, the soil turned and then a harrow over it, it could be turfed and, hey presto, you have the basis of a garden. Flower beds, an ornamental tree or two and the transformation would be complete.'

‘You make it sound so easy. My tools don't go beyond a spade, a hoe, a rake and a pair of blunt shears.'

Again he chuckled. ‘Even with the tools it's no job for a lady. That's where I could help if you're interested. After that we could think of bedding plants or maybe a flowering tree or two.'

Louisa's imagination was working double time, but she had been an accountant long enough to know that dreams on this scale cost money.

‘Can you give me some idea of the cost for having the land turfed?'

‘Off the top of my head that's not easy. I've seen it sure enough, but I wouldn't like to guess the area. If you're seriously interested, how about I drive over and take a look? There's no job I'd like better than to turn that neglected patch into a garden. Will you be there this afternoon if I bring my measure and we try to envisage what can be done?' Then, his businesslike manner giving way to an impish grin, ‘No obligation, I promise.'