All the dear faces (63 page)

Where was that lovely lilting harmony they had known a year ago, she asked herself despairingly? That lively joy and anticipation of each day they had dwelled in. Annie, Charlie, Phoebe, Cat, and later Natty, living in peaceful understanding beside one another, the future shimmering ahead of them like a silver ribbon. Natty's, short certainly, but filled with the warmth of friendship, the satisfaction and fulfilment of knowing, even at his age, that he was a trusted, needed member of the household. Cat had been at school and ahead of her were the days and years her splendid education would bring her, her clever young mind nourished and complete, her lovely young body giving promise of the same. Herself, here, as she had wished to be until the day she died, serving those she loved not in self-sacrifice but in joy for it was in doing so that she was complete. And Charlie and Annie growing closer, growing softer, growing together until their children came to complete the natural circle of love which filled this house
.

Now there was nothing but strain, awkwardness, politeness, Charlie's face sad and empty, Annie's always turned
in the direction of Dash Beck, or so it seemed to Phoebe who watched her. Gone were the laughter, the songs, the impish endearing humour with which Charlie had entertained them. Charlie, honest, sincere, candid and true-hearted, was becoming truculent, inward-looking, bitter, waiting for Annie. And how long would it be, as he waited, before he was spoiled, his love and need and sweet gentleness soured within him?

“
See, get out o' me way, Annie, ah've put that milk to set and if tha' keeps movin' it it'll tek three days instead o' three meals for t'cream ter come."

“
Well, let me help you with the churning."

“
There's no need lass. Ah've managed it these months gone an' . . ."

“
I could make the clapbread."

“
An' how long is it since tha' made clapbread?"

“
I've been making it since I was tall enough to stand at that table, Phoebe, which is longer than you."

“
'Appen it is, but ah've got me own way o' doin' it and I can't abide havin' it messed about."

“
Messed about! This is my kitchen, you know." "No, it's not, it's mine, so go an' . . ."

“
Go an' what? What do you suggest?"

“
Isn't there summat in t' fields tha' can be checkin'?" "No. The hay isn't ready to be cut yet."

“
Well . . ." Phoebe tutted again, looking vexedly round her clean and shining kitchen which she could not abide having 'messed about'.

“
Tek this tea out to t'chaps . . ."

“
No, Phoebe . . . I don't want to do that." Annie's eyes turned to look out of the side door to where Charlie had a firm grip on a bawling sheep. They were both determined to have their own way, Charlie and the ewe, the ewe to get back to its frantic lamb, Charlie to heave it on to the shearer's stool. Charlie was soaked in sweat, his brown face grim, the muscles straining in his strong neck. With an enormous effort, he landed the ewe in its proper place, stepping back to grin in triumph and as he turned to get another, his eyes caught Annie's. Both looked awayhurriedly, not in embarrassment but in an effort not to have a confrontation of any kind, even one as simple as a sympathetic smile.

“
Lord's sake then, why don't tha' take Royal up to t' . . ."

“
No . . ." for Charlie would see her and wonder where .. .

“
Well, I don't know, but just stop gettin' under me feet." "I'll go and cut some peat then, if that's the case." "Aye, tha' do that." Phoebe was obviously relieved.

“
Sledge's at back and Charlie left the flay spade with
it. . ."

“
Really, it's corning to something when I have to be sent from my own kitchen so that . . ."

“
Oh, get on wi' thi'! Tha' knows tha'll enjoy a walk up to t' peat moss.
”

She simply stepped through the back door whilst Charlie was bending over a salved sheep and before he straightened she was up behind the farmhouse dragging the loyal sledge behind her, moving through the deep tunnel of bracken towards a stand of trees and the peat moss which was beyond it
.

The wood was in full summer bloom. The air beneath the canopy of trees was cool and damp-smelling, the energy of the hot sunshine soaked up by the leaves which spread above her head. The leafy crowns were so thick, barely any light got through, forming a solid mass which seemed to float above the tall, straight trunks of the graceful trees. Beech trees and oak, and growing freely beneath them were rhododendrons, their natural purple blossom gone now with the month of May. There was an open glade in the wood's centre where the sun reached, thick now with bilberry bushes, nettles, the bright yellow of celandine, the white of wood anemone, the delicate pale green fungus growing on fallen oak branches
.

The silence was broken only by the droning song of a heavily laden bee and the sudden broken laugh of a jay as it was startled up from the tangle of a fallen tree when she approached. She continued upwards, moving again
through bracken and gorse, following a sheep trod beside the rushing noisy waters of the beck, skirting the deep fern garlanded tarn into which the beck emptied. The sound the water made was deafening after the peace and calm of the woods but beyond it, as Annie reached the flatter area of the peat moss, the silence fell again
.

It was sultry now, the sun scowling from behind the frown of a cloud. She dug for an hour, her thin cambric shirt clinging wetly to her back and breasts as she stacked the cut peat neatly on the sledge. Sweat trickled unpleasantly down her body and she thought longingly of a bath and of the jugs of cool water Phoebe would pour over her. Her hair, which had started the day braided tightly about her head, had fallen in its usual vigorous tangle across her back and shoulders and she thrust it impatiently from her face with both hands
.

The man who studied her felt the hot glow begin and he shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. He was above her, hidden from her by a natural buttress of boulders which formed a screen from all eyes but that of the hawk. His face was quite inscrutable, dark and brooding, brows scowling over his darkened blue eyes and he slouched on the mare's back, one arm resting on the pommel of his saddle, both feet hanging loose from the stirrups
.

He continued to watch her for several more minutes, then with a deep sigh, one of resignation to a fate which seemed greater than his own will, he threw one leg over the mare and jumped to the ground. Several sheep cropping close by twitched nervously, moving away with their heads held high and the collie dog who dozed by the mare's hooves, eyed her master in anticipation. Throwing the mare's reins over a jagged piece of rock from which she could not stray, Reed Macauley spoke quietly to both animals and then began the slow descent towards Annie. He could see her small figure in the distance all the way down the sprawling slope, but as he gazed at her, only taking his eyes from her to keep a sharp watch on the rough rock strewn track he walked, she straightened up, threw her spade on to the peat-laden sledge and began to manoeuvreit across the peat moss towards the wooded ravine a hundred feet below where she worked. There was a rocky gutter to which she kept as she went down, moving behind the sledge, clinging to the rope to prevent it from going too quickly. It was heavy, too heavy really and it took all her strength to hold it. Had the path been less rocky, it would have careered away from her. Now and again it became stuck and she was forced to go to the front and pull it free
.

When she reached the tarn she was so hot and uncomfortable, she felt as though she had been plunged into a warm bath, her clothes sticking to her body like a second skin. Trickles of perspiration ran down from her hair, slipping across her eyebrows to her eyelashes. One drop kept catching at the end of her nose, and others ran into her mouth, salty and unpleasant. She paused to get her breath, bending down with both hands on her knees, gasping in the warm air, and beside the rocky path the water of the small tarn glistened deep and black. Above her the cloud had moved on, not a wisp remaining and the sun scorched down from the blazing blue of the sky. She could feel it on her back and when she straightened, pushing her heavy hair from her face, a heat haze danced, with the midges, across the surface of the pool. Dragonflies clung to the stalks of the reeds, and two delicate yellow butterflies waltzed madly in the heat. There were birch trees on the water's edge, leaning over gracefully towards it as though they would like nothing better than to dip their heads into its icy depth and beside them, crowding in great sheltering profusion were fern, flowering rush, water violets and crowfoot, green and lush and fragrant. The water ran into the tarn from the beck which careered down the ravine. It quietened when it reached the still pool, sliding sinuously round and across the satin smooth grey rocks, then moved on to the rushing drop of the waterfall and down again to follow the course of its rocky bed. A tiny breeze had stolen through the gorge to the pool. The dripping mountain plants which clung to the glistening vertical walls surrounding it moved and the dancing, tossing spray drifted across
it, a million crystals shimmering where the sun touched them. The churning waters of a thousand years had carved this smooth basin from the solid rock and its peaceful beauty enchanted the mind and stole reason and good sense
.

Annie hesitated for no longer than ten seconds. She looked about her, first up the path from where she had come, and then down to the wood through which she must go to reach Browhead, but there was no sign of another living human being. Kicking off her old clogs, she unbuttoned her shirt and tossed it on to a nearby clump of fern, stepped out of her trousers and the short drawers she wore beneath them and moved, trance-like, to the water's edge. Her body gleamed, white in the sunshine, clean-limbed, straight and slender, her breasts high and pink-tipped, her waist fine as gossamer, her hips curving slimly away from it. The triangle of darkness at her thighs' division had a glint of russet in it as did the fluff in her armpits and all about her flew her vibrant hair. She was glorious, glowing, polished as a russet apple and the man who watched her, drew in his breath in rapt wonder.

“
Shall I jump?" he heard her say to herself, and his heart moved in him smilingly, but caution prevailed as she warily put a toe in the water.

“
Dear heaven," she gasped out loud, "it's cold," and again the man felt his mouth curve in a smile. She stepped down the shallow bank, gasping with the shock of it, but at the same time her mouth widened in a delighted grin. The dark inviting depth of the water which had never known the sun's touch drew her on and beneath her white feet as she stepped on them, was the tinkle of sliding pebbles. The sound of the waters splashing and gurgling among the boulders, the roaring of the falls further on masked the sound of the approach of the man and when he reached the pool he stood between a tall clump of fern for several bewitched minutes to watch her.

“
Ye gods, but it's cold," she gasped again and he could see the skin of her back prickle into a milliongoose-pimples. Suddenly, taking a deep breath, she plunged under the water and there was nothing to see but the ripples she left behind her
.

Annie dived down and down and down between the dank walls, getting nowhere near the bottomless depths, and above her as she turned, she could see the sunlight, the green of the trees as they rushed to meet her and the tall wavering figure of a man. She broke the surface, gasping, her heart plunging in sudden terror. It was Reed, Reed Macauley. He was standing quietly by the edge of the water, his legs apart, his hands resting low on his hips. Their eyes met and clung, and could not look away, a clinging which was strong and vibrant with their suppressed emotions, suppressed these five years, but unwilling, they seemed to say, to accept it any longer. It had a sweetness about it, that exchange, a sweetness which was mixed with a sensual need so great, it was like an explosion and this time she knew she could not escape him, and did she want to? He was unsmiling, he did not speak and neither did she, though the shock of seeing him there had been severe. They had no need to speak, not now, for they had become fast in the drifting dream world of the moment, the moment towards which they had been moving ever since they had met again, as adults on the road from Penrith. He had known how it was, how it would be even then, though she had not, for she was, despite her experiences, no more than a girl, and ever since they had felt their desire grow, a desire in him which was not romantic, but was the fierce need of a man to put the mark of love on the woman who belonged to him; in her, the female need of submission to that mark
.

She continued to look at him, understanding in those last few seconds what he had in his mind, and knowing that at last the time had come. Almost, but not quite, it had happened before, but now, out here where it was wild and free, uninhabited by anyone but Annabelle Abbott and Reed Macauley, was the place, the time, the appropriate place and time for them
.

Her body gleamed white beneath the clear waters. She
moved her legs slowly to keep herself afloat and just below the surface of the water her breasts lifted gently to reveal the rock-hard peaks of her nipples. Her face was white and calm but in her eyes was the narrowed glow of sensuality. For a moment, the tick of a clock, no more, as his hands went to the belt of his breeches, her lips parted in denial and a cool clear voice inside her told her how insane this was, but when at last he stood before her, his beautiful male body, brown and hard, stripped of the packaging of civilisation, the words died within her.