No Wings to Fly (12 page)

He stepped through, and Lily, still with her hand in his, went with him. Inside, Joel let go her hand. They stood breathing a little heavily from their run through the rain, while the water glistened on their faces and darkened the fabric of their clothing. On the roof above their heads the
rain drummed. They gazed out for a moment while it lashed down, then Joel said, glancing about him, ‘Well, I think we’re going to be here for a few minutes. We might as well sit down.’

The floor of the barn was of earth, packed hard over the decades, and covered with bits of hay and straw, detritus from a myriad harvests. Filtered through the small, grimy, cobweb-festooned windows the storm-dulled light showed bales of hay stacked up against the walls. The place was dry, and had a sweet, dusty smell.

‘Here,’ Joel said, gesturing to a bale of hay that lay further out from the wall, ‘let’s sit down.’ Lily stepped over to it and sat down, and he sat beside her. They did not speak for some moments. Beside the steady sound of the rain there came the faint rustlings of mice. Near to the bale on which they sat, leant an old shepherd’s crook. A spider’s web clung to the wood, with a huge spider in its centre. Joel pointed to the creature and said, ‘Does it bother you, the spider?’ ‘Not a bit,’ Lily replied. ‘There’s room for all of us. Besides, she was here first.’

He took off his damp cap and laid it down on the floor next to his sketchbook. They were sitting so close, her skirts were touching his thigh. He looked at her intently, his dark eyes fixed upon hers, a faint frown on his brow. Lily took in the intensity of his gaze and almost felt it was too much, that she must look away, but she did not, she could not. He murmured her name. ‘Lily,’ he said, and then again, ‘Lily,’ and a moment later his arms were coming around her, wrapping about her slim body and drawing her to him. For two or three seconds the two of them seemed locked, their faces just inches apart, then he drew her closer still, and in
the same instant bent his face to hers and kissed her on the mouth.

His lips were firm but soft upon her own, parted slightly, so that she felt the warm moistness of the inside of his mouth, and the faint taste of him, a taste of nothing that she could name, it was merely an extension of all that he was. And, being so close, there was also the smell of his skin, the scent of his hair oil, the scent of
him
. The touch of his mouth on hers was the sweetest thing she could ever have imagined. He breathed with a sigh, ‘Oh, Lily. Lily Clair . . .’

Momentarily, in response, her lips formed his name, but she did not speak it. He could sense, though, that it was there unspoken on her tongue, and he said, ‘Yes, go on, say my name.’ And she said, ‘Joel,’ and he gave a little laugh, and bent his head and kissed her again.

His kisses were the first lover’s kisses she had ever known. She did not know how to respond, and was afraid of making any response at all. So she sat there a little stiff, a stranger in a foreign land, no matter that her heart cried out for her to give in to the sensation that swept over her, and urged her to let go. And he kissed her again, and with his lips upon hers she felt herself melting against him, letting herself, without resistance, be held fast in his arms, fast against the damp cloth of his jacket, smelling the smell of it, of his hair, his skin.

He released her, and leant back a little, the better to take in the sight of her. ‘I shall think of you all the time I’m away,’ he said. ‘I can’t bear the thought of being away from you.’ He paused. ‘Will you think of me, Lily?’ When she did not answer at once, he said, putting his head a little on one side, ‘Sometimes, Lily? Just sometimes? Tell me you will.’

I shall think of you all the time
, she wanted to say.
You’ll never be out of my thoughts
, but she said nothing; there was danger in such words.

‘Oh, you will, won’t you?’ he said with a little mroan. ‘You’ll think of me sometimes, won’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said, and heard herself add bravely, ‘of course I shall.’

His smile was wide, showing his white teeth in the gloom. ‘Ah – that’s splendid. Oh, thank you. Thank you. Oh, Lily, I shan’t know a moment’s peace while I’m away. And now I know you’ll be thinking of me too . . .’ He let his words trail off with a little shake of the head. ‘I’ll write to you at the Haskins’. That’ll be all right, will it?’

A little breathless at the wonder of it all, she wanted to say,
Yes, oh yes, I shall watch for the post every day
, but, still trying to hold on to some sense of reason, she said in a little burst, ‘Oh, Joel, we’re oceans apart, you and I.’

‘
No
,’ he said at once. ‘No, we’re not. Don’t say that.’

‘I must,’ she replied. ‘We’ve got to be sensible.’ Then with a sad smile she added, ‘It’s a perennial situation – and a perennial problem too – the rich man’s son and the maid.’

A look of sadness darkened his face. ‘Is that how it is?’ he said. ‘Is that how you see it – as simply as that?’

‘I – I can’t escape from it. It’s something I have to face. Something
we
have to face.’

‘Yes,
we
. Something we’ll face together.’

They fell silent, and the only sounds were that of their breathing, the scratching of the mice in the straw, and the drumming of the rain on the roof, a little fainter now. Then into the gentle quiet, Joel said, a little sound of wonder in his voice:

‘I – I think I love you, Lily.’

He was not touching her now. His hands lay at his sides, but his eyes were piercing her own, not allowing her to shift her glance away, even had she wanted to. She looked back at him, held there by his words and his gaze, and feeling her heart beating with joy: so full of emotion and happiness
that she felt that, like a cup, it might fill to the brim and spill over.

‘No,’ he said then, ‘I don’t
think
I love you. I
know
I do.’ He gave the briefest pause. ‘I love you. Oh, Lily, I love you.’

She held her breath. His words were the most wondrous sounds she had ever heard, and she wanted to say,
I too. Oh, I love you, Joel.
And even as she stifled the words in her throat she knew that they were the truth.

‘I can see,’ he said, gazing at her, a faint smile on his lips, ‘I can see it in your face. Something . . . Oh, Lily,’ he breathed her name, ‘if you would say such words to me, I would be the happiest man in England.’

She frowned. ‘I – I’m afraid,’ she murmured.

‘Afraid? Of me?’

‘No, not of you. Never of you. Of – our situation. As I said, we’re oceans apart.’

‘It will be all right,’ he said. ‘You’ll see. I’ll make it so.’ He leant forward a little. ‘Do you believe me?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I do.’

And then he was holding her in his arms again, and his face was there, his mouth upon hers, and as his lips moved against her own a little voice in her head said yes, everything would be well; it was true what he said, and she must believe. Everything would be all right; he would make it so. And hearing the silent, sweet, comforting words, she took them and embraced them, and gave herself up to his kiss.

For long, long minutes they had remained close together on the bale, arms entwined. Joel had kissed her over and over again, murmuring her name, and, caught up in the spell, she had been for a while almost unaware of anything else. There had been only him. In the whole world there was only the two of them.

But now, turning a little out of his embrace, she became
aware of the changed silence and realised that the rain had ceased. How long had they been there?

‘The rain,’ she said, ‘it’s stopped.’

They sat listening to the quiet for a few moments, then, coming out of the spell, she said, frowning, ‘I must go. Joel, I must go,’ and with her words she stirred, preparing to rise. ‘No, wait,’ he urged her, ‘we don’t need to go just yet.’ But she got up from the bale, and began to brush the dust and the threads of hay from her skirt.

Minutes later they were outside, and stepping onto the muddy track that led back down to the lane.

Reaching the end of the lane, they waited interminable minutes for an omnibus, and when at long last one came by Joel hailed it and they climbed aboard. Inside the coach they sat side by side without speaking while the other passengers came and went. Lily felt different. She would never, she thought, be quite the same again.

When the vehicle reached the corner of Willow Street she and Joel alighted, and set off towards the Haskins’ house. The day was dying, the light fading over the rain-wet landscape. Her hand was held in Joel’s as they walked, and she had taken off her glove, so as to feel the touch of him against her skin. Soon, too soon, they reached the corner of the lane that joined the Corster Road. Hollygrove was so close.

When they drew near the house, Lily halted a few yards from the front gate and said, ‘Oh, no further. Don’t come any further.’

They stood together on the cinder pathway. The light was swiftly fading now. ‘I’ll write to you,’ Joel said.

‘Yes. Yes, write to me. I’ll wait for your letter.’

He gazed down at her. In the fading light his eyes were shadowed, dark pools. ‘How shall I manage?’ he said. ‘I managed perfectly well before, but now – now that I’ve found you – everything is different.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know.’ And she did.

‘All I’ll have is my little drawing of you, but it’s better than nothing. Though I shan’t need to be reminded to think of you.’ He smiled gravely. ‘In time we shall be together. I know it. For ever.’

‘Yes. Yes.’

He bent his face to kiss her, and for a moment she was minded to resist and say,
Oh, no, not here
, but she kept silent, and the kiss came and then she could not have uttered a word.

After a few moments he drew back. Raising her ungloved hand, she touched at her lapel, feeling for the flowers, and said with a little moan, ‘Oh, my flowers, my gardenias – I’ve lost them.’ She bent her head to look down. Even the pin was gone.

‘I’ll bring you a real one,’ he said. ‘You shall have the prettiest there is.’

She smiled. ‘You won’t forget.’ Half question, half statement.

‘No, I won’t forget.’

She gave a little nod. ‘I must go,’ she said. ‘I’m so late.’ Another moment, drawing out the seconds, and then she was turning away, leaving him standing on the cinders.

Inside the gate she turned up the gravel drive, and at the last minute looked back and saw him standing there. As their eyes locked, he lifted his hand to his mouth, and kissed the palm. She smiled back at him, and then he was gone from her sight.

She entered the house by the scullery door, and went straight into the kitchen. From the front, the house had appeared to be in darkness, but Mr Haskin was there, sitting alone in his chair by the light of a single lamp, a glass and a bottle on the small table at his side.

‘Well,’ he said, as Lily came in, ‘the wanderer returns.’ He
waved a hand towards the long-case clock. ‘Almost half-past-nine, look. I was thinking of sending out the peelers.’

Acutely self-conscious, she felt as if she were drenched in the brightest light, and as if all her words and actions of the evening were written on her face, exposed in the glare for anyone to see. She was at a loss as to what to say. After a moment she asked, ‘Did you see Mrs Haskin, sir?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘No, I didn’t. I’ve had a very solitary evening.’

She hesitated on the spot, wanting to go, to be alone in her room, but not wishing to appear rude. She began to untie her bonnet strings. ‘Well, sir – I think I’ll go to bed if you don’t mind.’ Then she added quickly, ‘Unless there’s something you want doing, sir?’

‘What? No, nothing. You go on.’

Lily nodded. ‘Well, sir – then I’ll wish you goodnight.’ Another moment’s hesitation then she moved across the room towards the hall. As she reached the door, she heard him say:

‘As I told you, I shall be having a word with Mr Carter and Mr Horsham next week.’

She turned back to face him. ‘Oh – well – thank you, sir.’

He took another drink from his glass. ‘Yes, we’ll see what they’ve got to say.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ She reached for the handle, then his voice came again:

‘My God, but you’re in a mighty hurry, aren’t you, miss?’

She turned back to face him, awkward, uncertain. ‘Well – I’ve got to get up early in the morning, sir.’

‘Yes, I know that. It wouldn’t hurt you, though, to stay and talk for five minutes.’ He smiled. ‘You can at least be sociable. Doesn’t cost anything.’

‘Yes, sir.’ She gave a nod, remaining on the spot.

He took another swallow from his glass. ‘As I said, I’ll have a word with Mr Horsham. Mr Carter too. I’m sure you
could be quite an asset to have in the office – smart girl like you. And I’ve seen for meself that you write a good hand.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ She could think of nothing to say, and covered the awkward moments in taking off her bonnet.

He watched her in silence for a second, then said, ‘Did you get caught in the rain earlier on?’

‘Yes, but I – I managed to get some shelter. I was all right.’

‘Good. It came on heavy for a spell.’

‘Yes – it did.’ She hovered there while the moments passed, then, her bonnet in her hand, reached out again for the door handle. ‘Goodnight, sir.’

‘You’re a fraud,’ he said. ‘You’re nothing but a fraud.’

She turned back to him. ‘Sir?’

‘You – earlier, shakin’ your head when I asked if you had a young man.’ He was smiling, his eyes twinkling, slightly narrowed. ‘And there you are with one – right under our noses.’

Lily felt herself flushing.

‘Yes, I saw you, the two of you. Not far from the gate.’ He gave a little chuckle. ‘Oh, Lily, my girl, you
are
a dark horse, and no mistake.’ He chuckled again. ‘And it made a very pretty picture, I have to say, the two of you standing there in the twilight.’

Lily remained motionless, her cheeks burning.

‘I couldn’t help wondering who the young man might be . . .’ His words trailed off with the inflection of a question, and when Lily said nothing in reply, he added, ‘I just hope he’s a decent sort. After all, I’ve got some responsibility for you while you’re under my roof.’ He paused. ‘I’ve no doubt the young man’s fond of you, isn’t he? And why shouldn’t he be? – a pretty, personable young woman like you.’