Larkrigg Fell (36 page)

‘I hope so.’

‘She’s playing hard to get. See how she swims away from him. Taunting him. No better than she should be.’

Beth’s giggles faded as the candlelit image again rose in her head. ‘She likes him really, you can tell.’ As she liked Andrew.

‘But would you stay if you were her? As well as being too small for a couple, it’s an empty spot. Winter lasts for eight months of the year, and the wind can cut you to pieces. It’s wickedly lonely with no other swans or water birds of any kind for company. Bit bleak, wouldn’t you say?’ Then Ellen half glanced at her. ‘How’s your own love nest?’

Beth managed a smile. ‘About the same. Andrew is good to me, and we get on OK.’

‘Married life suiting you then?’

Beth flushed, turning her face away from Ellen’s curious gaze.

‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘We’ll be fine.’

‘You don’t sound too sure.’

‘I am. It’s just - well - it takes time, I suppose. There are one or two things we need to - well - sort out - as you might say.’

‘Then grasp the nettle,’ Ellen said, her attention once again fixed upon the swans. ‘As our new bride is doing here.’

The young female was making a valiant attempt at a take-off. She was plainly anxious about the sweep of fell which rose steeply all around, and the lack of space she had to play with on the water itself. She was beating her wings with a kind of frantic resolution, sending the water swirling. Even so she too ended up in the rushes, nose down in the sphagnum moss.

‘Oh, dear. Not going well, is it?’

After more abortive attempts she finally managed to get airborne, and for some moments circled the sky above the small tarn, beating her wings dramatically in the thermals. Then with a supreme effort Pegleg was up there with her.

‘They’ll go now,’ Ellen said, rather quietly. ‘Find a more salubrious lake, with good company and better landing facilities.’

‘Oh, no.’

‘Life changes and you have to change with it, or you’re done for.’

‘But I shall miss him.’ Beth watched as the pair circled once more, then flew away together, no more than specks in the distance.
 

‘This isn’t the place for them. Every pair must have their own space that they’re both happy with. They need to start afresh, somewhere else. With married quarters.’ She laughed.

But Beth was sad. ‘Bye, Pegleg,’ she whispered.

She visited the tarn every day for a week after that, but Ellen’s warning appeared to be correct. Pegleg and his bride never did return to Brockbarrow tarn.

Beth, however, had no wish to leave Broomdale. For all it was quiet and lonely at times, she loved it here. And if her marriage wasn’t quite what it should be, then it was up to her to make it right. She would begin with that dratted parlour.

‘Every pair must have their own space that they’re both happy with.’ Isn’t that was Ellen said?

Beth made her plans and when they were complete, presented them to him. ‘Tam is bringing my things over from Broombank tomorrow. They can’t find space for my stuff indefinitely, it wouldn’t be fair, and I really would like to have my own bits and pieces about me.’

‘Bits and pieces of what?’ He looked surprised. ‘Haven’t we enough stuff here?’

‘Yes, but it’s not mine, is it? I’d like my own cushions, pictures, books and ornaments. Some crockery Meg gave me and, oh, various bits and bobs.’ She smiled. ‘I might re-cover those two old chairs in the parlour, then we could light a fire and be cosy together each evening as the nights draw in. Just the two of us. It could be our room. Don’t you think Billy and Seth would agree this time? It would be so pleasant?’ she wheedled.

How could it be anything but pleasant to have Beth all to himself? For a moment Andrew felt himself weaken, then an image of her, naked in the candlelight, came into his head and he felt again that burning frustration deep in his belly. The more they were alone together the more he craved for her, and the more her rejection of him rankled. It was like living in a hair shirt. No, best to avoid close contact altogether. He tightened his lips and his resolve.

‘I thought we’d settled the matter of that damned parlour. If you start doing things to it, there’ll be all hell to pay.’

Beth drew in a deep breath. ‘I must take my chances. I’m re-opening negotiations. I know it belonged to your mother, and was used only for special occasions, but things are different now, Andrew. We’re married, and need time to ourselves. We can’t sit every night with those two old men, kind as they are. The place is too small, too cramped, and it’s driving me mad. We need space to get better acquainted, as they say back home in the states.’ She laughed, trying to lighten the tension.

Andrew considered his wife, hungrily appraising the smooth round cheeks, still pink and girlish. The swell of her breasts rising and falling with little breaths of excitement beneath the simple blouse, and the curve of her hips in the tight blue jeans she often wore. He longed, very urgently, to press her against himself and make love to her, right here, on the floor of this old kitchen.

‘Aye,’ he admitted slowly. ‘A place of our own would be nice.’

Her heart rose on a beat of hope. ‘I’ll make Billy understand. See his pride isn’t hurt. We can’t live in the past, Andrew. We have to go forward, you and I. Change is inevitable.’

Her cheeks were flushed to a bright cyclamen pink, in bewitching contrast to her beguiling, grey-blue eyes. It would have taken a stronger man than Andrew Barton to resist their appeal.

‘Happen it’s not such a bad idea,’ he conceded. In his mind he’d already unbuttoned her blouse and his hand was closing over the soft ripeness of her breast, feeling the nipple harden beneath his fingers. He flinched, then his chest puffed out as he drew in a steadying breath. ‘You do what you want with the front parlour, Beth, and I’ll tell them that I said you could.’

She was so thrilled by this small victory that she flung herself at him, kissing him with exuberant delight. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you. I shall make it so lovely and cosy.’ And, as once before, they were both so startled by her impulsive action, embarrassment washed over them in a dampening wave. Then she scurried away, duster in hand, eager to make a start.

The parlour was scrubbed out and polished, the new curtains returned to the window, chair covers made, and Beth’s pictures and bright scatter cushions set about. It transformed the room. If only it could have the same effect upon their increasingly stilted relationship, Beth thought, then she would be content.

Each evening she and Andrew would sit together, the old battery radio playing soft music, ‘Bright Eyes’, or ‘I Will Survive’, two appropriate hits that year. Andrew would read his paper and Beth the latest novel she had borrowed from the library van which visited the dale every Tuesday. They looked like any other contented married couple, and if there was little conversation between them beyond farming matters, who could say that was so unusual after a tiring day’s work?

Often he complained about poor prices at the mart, or fretted over some ewe that didn’t seem quite right.

‘We’re living on the edge here,’ he would say. ‘We can’t afford any disasters. I’ll have to take her to the vet next week if she doesn’t mend.’

‘Ask him to come here.’

‘And be charged double? Don’t be daft.’

But she was pleased with her small victory and it proved to be every bit as pleasant as she’d hoped for. Beth began at last to relax, deciding that she might even come to be happy here with Andrew, in this beautiful dale.

Through the small window she could watch the seasons slowly change, clouds boiling with fury or listlessly mellow, and the arrival of bramblings and siskins as the summer days grew shorter, the leaves dropped from the trees and the glory of autumn also passed and a winter coolness came upon the land. A scouring wind that Seth called lazy, because it couldn’t be bothered go round you, but went right though you, would roar up the dale. Yet here, in the parlour, all was safe and secure and warm.

Their relationship too grew warmer. They exchanged snippets of news, laughed and joked together, even made tentative plans for the future. Andrew spoke of his dreams for Cathra Crag, once it was entirely his.

‘I’ll put in new equipment.’

‘And electricity.’

Grinning, eyes met with a radiant sparkle. ‘Aye, best generator money can buy. And more stock. I mean to grow t’best herd of Galloways around.’

‘And a washing machine?’ Giggling.

‘TV and record player happen.’

‘And who will pay for all of this?’ She laughed.

‘We’ll get a loan. We’re young and can work hard. We can build a good business here, don’t you reckon?’ He gazed steadily at her and just as steadily Beth gazed back. He was asking her if she meant to stay, meant to make a go of life with him.

‘Yes,’ she said, very quietly. ‘We have all the time in the world to build a good life here.’

Then he gave her one of his smiles, less rare these days. ‘Cathra Crag has been in our family for generations. Going steadily downhill. It’ll take years to get it on its feet again.’

‘But it could be done?’

‘Oh, aye. It could be done.’ He frowned, wishing he felt as confident as he sounded. It would take a life-time of sweat and toil. And for what purpose, he thought with a sudden bleakness, if there were to be no future generations to pass it on to.

This marriage had not turned out quite as he’d hoped. He’d seen the warning signs right from the first, but hadn’t taken them too seriously. He’d genuinely believed that in a few short weeks, days even, he’d be in her bed and they’d be man and wife in truth, content together.

Yet as the months had gone by they’d grown further apart than ever. Each night as he climbed the stairs to his bachelor bed, Andrew agonised over how he was to break this impasse. Should he burst in and take her, insisting upon his rights as a husband. No, too Victorian. And he was a poor man at courtship, no good at wooing a woman, whatever you liked to call it. One look from those cool grey-blue eyes and all hope and passion drained from him.

But he’d given her the parlour and Beth seemed more content than he’d ever seen her. Gave him quite languishing looks at times. He lived in hope that she would one night invite him to her bed.

Later, as she stood with her hand on the door knob he thought she meant to do it. She hesitated, glancing back at him from beneath her lashes. Was this it? Was this to be his lucky night. Dear God, he was ready for it.

‘Andrew?’

‘Aye?’ He held his breath. He must remain calm, no rushing at the last fence. He smiled up at her. ‘What is it?’

‘Are you coming up soon?’

His heart began to pound against his rib cage, leaving him agonisingly short of breath. ‘Do you think I should?’

‘Well…’ Again she hesitated. ‘There’s something we should discuss.’

He sat up straighter in his seat, keenly aware of every flicker of expression on her lovely face. ‘If you’ve anything to say, Beth, I’m a good listener.’

‘I know.’

He wondered if perhaps her shyness was getting the better of her, whether he should say that talk wasn’t needed between them, and sweep her off upstairs. Unfortunately he hesitated a second too long and she’d started to talk.

‘I want you to understand that it was just the once. Not that anyone cares about such things these days, but you have the right to know.’

‘Know what, Beth?’ Had he missed something? What had she said?

It was quite beyond Beth to live a lie. He was her husband so she believed he should be told. Should, in fact, have been apprised of her true state before ever she’d agreed to marry him. If she and Andrew were ever to have a future together this matter had to be cleared up between them. She must purge herself of guilt. Then she would be free to take him to her bed.

So she told him, quite bluntly, hardly daring to pause for breath or to watch his reaction. When, in the silence which followed her brief explanation, she finally dared to glance at him, Beth knew that the tactic had been a terrible mistake.

His jaw had tightened and his face was set as if frozen. Andrew gazed at her for so long without speaking that for a moment she almost began to doubt he’d taken it in.

‘Did you hear me, Andrew?’ She reached out a tentative hand to touch his shoulder but he flinched and jerked out of her reach. The gesture of revulsion hurt her deeply and she drew back as if scalded.

‘Aye,’ he said, his voice echoing the cold bitterness that gnawed at his guts. ‘I heard. You’re saying you gave yourself to Pietro Lawson. You belong to him and I’ve made a proper fool of myself.’

‘That’s not what I meant at all. I’m simply telling you it happened only the once.’

‘And whose fault was that?’ He stood, towering over her, almost threatening in his anger. Hating himself for his intolerance yet he could do nothing to still the hot jealousy that surged through him. What a fool he’d been to imagine she could ever love him. ‘Why tell me now? Why would I want to know what you’ve done with him?’

‘You are my husband. You have the right.’

Hadn’t she the sense to guess how such news would tear him apart? No, like all women she thought only of herself. ‘Shove your guilt on to me, you mean.’