Someone Special (55 page)

You stupid thing, Hester scolded herself, brushing tears off her lashes and hurrying over to the pantry, you’re nothing but a sentimental fool; if he washed your clothes it was to stop them going mouldy and smelling the
house out, not in the hope that you’d come back. Now get on with the job in hand and stop being so daft. Obeying her own instructions wasn’t difficult once she got started, because she had always enjoyed cooking. She made soup with the spring cabbage and bacon fat, stewing it slowly on top of the oven; while that cooked she made a suet crust and lined a pudding bowl, then tipped in the tin of stewing steak and a finely chopped onion. She wrapped the pudding in a cloth and put a pan of water beside the soup, then turned her attention to concocting a dessert.

An apple pie was soon made. Once it was cooking she peeled the potatoes and carrots and stood them on the back of the fire to simmer. She searched again for milk in the outhouses, under the sink – a custard would have gone down well with the apple pie – but could find none. She thought of dried milk and, sure enough, there was half a tin on the back of a shelf, so custard was a possibility.

Her preparations over, she peeped into the front room. It hadn’t changed at all; heavy, over-stuffed furniture, dark oil paintings, too many reminders of other people, other times. China shepherdesses and goose girls, china ladies in crinoline dresses, their skirts full of primroses or violets, china dogs with bows under their chins and cats with baskets full of kittens. And then there were the Presents; Presents from Gt Yarmouth, from Blackpool, from Rhyl, from Colwyn Bay – they crowded every surface not packed with shepherdesses. How I hated cleaning them, how I resented every tiny hand, every dainty, flower-encrusted apron, Hester remembered, awed at her own youthful disgust with these pretty, powerless things. What a lot of energy I wasted, just wishing them elsewhere, when I might just as well have enjoyed their beauty, their sheer uselessness.

Matthew had kept the front room fairly clean, fairly tidy. The ornaments weren’t washed as regularly as they
should have been – many a tiny hand was grimy, many a petal blackened above or below – but he had plumped the cushions, dusted the mantel, arranged the religious books on the shelves by the fireplace. The windows were dirty though. The curtains hung, heavy with neglect, pulled off their rings here, unravelling there. He never could mend, Hester remembered. But he’s done his best, poor Matthew, to keep things decent – I wonder what Mr Geraint has done, up at the castle?

She returned to the kitchen, checked that the food would not be ready for some time, then took off her apron, donned her coat and went out of the house. She began to walk up the drive towards the castle but, oddly enough, the nearer she got the more nervous she became. There it was, against its cliff, brooding, magnificent, seeming to scowl at her as she approached. She could just about make out the tangle of the wild garden, tamed by winter but still there, when she decided that enough was enough; she would go no further. She would return to the lodge and keep an eye on the dinner. She retraced her steps and as soon as the lodge was in view and the castle behind her, her nervousness vanished and she rebuked herself once more for silliness.

No one can hurt me, she thought, stepped out briskly nevertheless, but Geraint is a powerful man; he might still try to do me harm. He might not want me anywhere near him, not after all that happened. She stopped just short of the lodge. The sun came out from behind the clouds and shone, pale but bright, upon the cottage with the thread of smoke emerging from the chimney stack. It looked pleasant from here, homely. It looked, Hester thought wistfully, quite a nice place in which to live out one’s days. Then she shook herself and set off for the back door at a quick pace. She would take a look at the apple pie, check the water level in the pudding saucepan and then make herself another cup of tea and have a sit-down
while she drank it. Matthew was unlikely to return until evening, but you never knew …

Matthew came slowly out of the barn where he had stabled the pony and went towards the cart-shed. Best clean down the wheels before he snugged the little vehicle down, and perhaps he ought to clean out the bottom-boards, too. Pigs were dirty travellers even in deep litter and no one, himself least of all, would be pleased if pig-dung dried on the inside of the cart.

He was walking towards the shippon when he happened to glance down the drive and stopped short, staring open-mouthed. For a moment he had thought smoke was coming out of the lodge chimney, but it must have been his imagination; he remembered not bothering to light the fire this morning, cold though it was. No point, he had thought, since he was going down to the market in St Asaph and would not be back in time for his midday dinner. He had intended to eat at the Plough, believing that he would still be waiting for the beasts he wanted at dinnertime. He had not known that the best young pigs would be in the first lot sold or that nothing else would appeal to him.

He turned towards the shippon and drew the cart towards the pump in the middle of the yard just as Dewi rounded the corner pushing a barrow.

‘What, back already are you, Matt?’ the elderly man asked. ‘No pigs good enough this mornin’, then?’

‘Bought ’em,’ Matthew said briefly. ‘They’m in the sties. Ten, a dozen nice ’uns. Take a look.’

‘I will. Best give you an ‘and wi’ cleanin’ that cart first, though, eh? ’Twon’t tek the pair of us more’n ten minute at the most.’

‘Where’s Willi?’ Matthew asked suddenly as they sloshed buckets of water from the pump into the flat-bottomed cart. ‘Thought I saw smoke comin’ from
the lodge chimney just now, but I didn’t put a light to the fire this mornin’, thinkin’ I’d be at market for me dinner.’

‘Willi’s cuttin’ back the roses, young Ted an’ Bertie are hedgin’ and ditchin’ out on Cuckoo pen and the lads are fetchin’ a trailer o’ gravel from the quarry for the paths, like you said,’ Dewi said placidly. ‘And there
is
smoke comin’ from your chimney, man. I seed it when I barrowed the muck past the gate’ouse, just now.’

‘Oh aye? Well, when the cart’s finished I’ll get down, take a look,’ Matthew said. ‘I never lock the back door; perhaps someone saw me come back early and put a match to it for me.’

‘Probably Mrs Alice,’ Dewi said, shooting a cautious look at the other man. ‘Likes you, Mrs Alice do. Or she could’ve sent one o’ the girls down there to give an ’and, like.’

Matthew snorted. ‘My foot! She’s too busy indoors to bother much wi’ me and I can’t see her sendin’ anyone else.’

‘Put my nose round the door I could, as I go ’ome for my dinner,’ Dewi volunteered. ‘Goin’ right by I am … havin’ dinner wi’ Willi’s old ’oman today we are. How’d that suit?’

‘Mebbe,’ Matthew said. ‘One more bucketful will do it. Pass the yard brush, will you?’

Hester set the table. She put out a fine white cloth which she had only used half a dozen times in her married life. She found the frail silver and bone cutlery which had been a present to some long-dead Coburn woman from an employer, and in the garden under the great grey wall, just where she had expected, she found a cluster of early snowdrops.

There had been a little green glass vase which she had
particularly liked for snowdrops; she searched the cupboards and found it, whole and unchipped but remarkably dirty. Matthew’s housekeeping had clearly not extended to unused china and glass. She washed it with soap and water until it sparkled, then put the snowdrops in it and set it on the middle of the cloth-covered table. There was a wonderful smell from the meat pudding, so she popped plates in the oven to warm and took off her cooking apron.

When the back door opened, she looked up – and for the first time the enormity of what she had done struck her like a blow in the face. She was ashamed, terrified, shocked, all at the same time, and all she could think of was that she mustn’t be found here, not only trespassing but virtually taking over the home of the man she had abandoned, left to his own devices for more than twelve years.

She dropped to her knees, below the level of the table and then, when the door neither opened wider nor shut, she peeped around the edge, keeping all but an eye hidden.

A man stood there. She could tell that he was staring, dumbstruck, at the table, sniffing the good smell of food, wondering what on earth had happened. She could not see who he was though, because he was hidden by the door … then he came forward and she saw him.

Matthew. Older, greyer, but still indubitably her husband. And he didn’t look pleased; he just looked angry.

All her old doubts and fears came rushing back; he had said he would kill her if he ever set eyes on her again and here she was, mucking about, hiding behind his table, cooking his food, puzzling him and making him angry. You’re not only a fool, Hester, you’re a coward, she told herself … and stood up.

They stared at each other, standing like stone, eyes fixed, breath held. It could not have been more than ten seconds before he moved, but it felt like a lifetime
to Hester. Then he said, ‘Hes! It
is
you, isn’t it?’ and there was such pleasure, mingled with bewilderment, in his voice that Hester took a couple of steps towards him and burst into tears.

It was probably the best thing she could have done; Matthew had always been wonderful when she had been upset. In a trice she was cradled in his arms, she could feel his breath on her hair, the warm strength of him against her body. Thus held, she knew without a shadow of doubt that he still loved her, that his love had never wavered.

‘My darling girl, is it really you or is this some kind of dream? I never meant it, you know, I’d never have hurt you or the baby. You should have known it, should have trusted me! I’d been concussed, it does strange things to a man. Oh Hes, I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it!’

Hester clung to him and sobbed into his rough grey shirt and thought of how she had treated him, how she had behaved to Ugly Jack, and hugged him hard, speaking through her sobs. ‘Matt, I’m so sorry, I was a fool, but I’ve come to my senses at last. Nell’s a big girl now, she’s well, she’s longing to see you. Can you forgive me for running off like that?’

‘Course I can,’ he said at once, stroking the side of her wet face. ‘Course I forgive you, Hes my love. If only you’d seen my advertisements, come to me then … but no use cryin’ over spilt milk. Are you back for good? You wouldn’t leave me again, Hes? I don’t think I could stand it again.’

Hester thought, briefly and even a little regretfully, of the trailer that was now hers, of Phillips and her friends, of the life she had enjoyed so much with Ugly Jack by her side. Then she tried to imagine what life must have been like for Matthew, alone for twelve years in this cottage, wanting her, wanting the child he had thought was his own little girl, unable to find them, always searching.

‘I’m back for good,’ she said, cuddling closer. ‘If you want me, I’m here for you. I’ll never leave you again.’

They had a lot to talk about, and even the talk was comfortable, easy, Matthew refraining from all the questions which must have crowded his tongue.

‘You’ve been away, but you’re back. All I’ll ask is, are you still free, Hes? Free to stay with me.’

‘Yes. I was working, but Nell’s seeing to that. What about you, Matt?’

He smiled. They were sitting on either side of the table, having finished eating.

‘There’s never been no one but you for me, Hes. If I hadn’t thought you’d come back I dunno what I’d ha’ done. But Mr Geraint always said it were a mistake, that you’d come to your senses, realise it were the blow on the head talkin’ and not Matthew Coburn. He helped me a lot, Hes – the old man ain’t all self, despite what I’ve thought in the past. So I hung on, even when it seemed he were wrong. And here you are … oh, my dearest girl!’

Hester looked down at her hands; they were trembling. She knew she would have to ask about Mr Geraint, but suppose something in her tone reminded Matthew of the words flung at him that day on the mountain? Because it was clear he had not remembered them, and equally clear that Mr Geraint could never have repeated them.

She looked across at him, and the question came to her again: who did he remind her of, who? Then she put it from her; it didn’t matter, what mattered was reconstructing their lives and going forward, this time together, hand in hand.

‘Matt, shouldn’t you be getting back to work? I wouldn’t want to make trouble for you, particularly since you say Mr Geraint’s been good to you these past years.’

Matthew smiled. ‘He ain’t here at present, Hes. It’s a long story – d’you want to hear it now, or later?
Only I’m in charge up there; perhaps I ought to go back for twenty minutes or so, see things are going on right.’

‘You go off then, while I wash up and clear,’ Hester said. She was longing to hear what had happened in her absence, but there was no point in rushing things. Matthew had suffered enough through her, without adding to it. ‘Don’t rush, just do your usual work and then come back. What would you like for your tea, Matt?

A slow smile spread across Matthew’s face. He got to his feet and Hester followed suit. ‘You – you won’t disappear? You’ll wait for me? I could just go up and tell ‘em how to go on, only there’s a deal of work for me to do and I’d be happier gettin’ it settled. Why don’t you come up wi’ me, meet ‘em all?’

‘Not today, Matt,’ Hester said, standing on tiptoe to smooth the silky, greying hair from his brow. ‘Don’t
worry
, I shan’t stir from this place. But there isn’t much food in the house – I’ve brought my ration book, but I’m not registered here. I could walk into town and see if Evans the meat remembers me …’

‘No,’ Matthew said at once. ‘Don’t! I’ll bring something back from the castle, they always seem to have grub in. We killed an extra pig last back-end so there’s plenty o’ bacon and I’ll fetch a pan o’ lard and mebbe some eggs. And I’ll cadge a loaf off Mrs Alice. They’ll be all agog that you’re home, Hes.’

‘Right,’ Hester said, not asking about Mrs Alice though she longed to do so. She gave him a squeeze, kissed his cheek, then released him. ‘See you later on, then.’