Honey's Farm (2 page)

He met resistance when he tried to make them one flesh. Fon winced as he patiently persisted, gently but firmly taking her to him, making her his own. She felt herself beginning to relax against him; fear departed and she was suddenly in tune with the old rhymes of nature. She cried out and clung to him.

‘Jamie, my darling, my love! I want you so much.' Her voice was hoarse. His hands tangled in her hair, he kissed her mouth, her throat, her breasts. Together now they moved in harmony, and Fon was exultant. Now Jamie was truly hers, her dear, beloved husband, they were one at last.

Then he called out a name in his release, and the name tore into the silence like a blow, and that name was Katherine.

‘So how is married life treating you, then?' Gwyneth Parks perched on the edge of the table, swinging her legs, oblivious of the fact that her slender ankles and shapely calves were exposed.

She spoke again without waiting for a reply. ‘I must say I couldn't take to farm life, though it's nice enough up here, with the sun shining and the birds singing.'

Fon bent her head. ‘Married life is wonderful,' she said lightly, and so it was. She loved the soft misty mornings when, head against the warm flanks of the animals, she drew the pure milk down into the bucket. Afterwards, with Patrick clinging to her skirts, she would collect the eggs, still warm, from beneath the hens.

She liked baking savoury, crusty pies and fruit tarts in the peace and tranquillity of the sunlit kitchen, bringing water from the spring – sweet water that tasted wonderful. She liked it in the evenings when Patrick was in bed and she and Jamie went over the books, working out the milk yield and deciding what stock to buy. These were comfortable times, close moments to treasure. It was only in the marriage bed that uncertainties seized her, and though he had never once, since that first time, called her by his first wife's name, the ghost of Katherine seemed to be between them.

She glanced at her sister. How would Gwyneth react if Fon were to confide in her? She would doubtless laugh, dismissing the incident as the way of men; but Fon still bore the hurt and the pain of feeling she was second-best.

‘I must say you look every inch the blushing bride.' Gwyneth stared at Fon, head on one side. ‘There's a bloom to the skin, a light in the eyes.'

She paused, an imp of mischief twisting her mouth into a smile. ‘Tell me, is he a stud in bed, your Jamie?'

Fon felt the rich colour suffuse her face. She turned away from her sister's eyes alight with mirth and tried to think of something to say.

‘Oh, come on!' Gwyneth said derisively. ‘Surely you are not still the prude you used to be?'

‘Of course I'm not a prude,' Fon protested. ‘Jamie and me, we do what every married couple does.' She lifted her head. ‘There's no questioning my Jamie's vigour.'

‘Well, I'm relieved to hear it,' Gwyneth said. ‘For a minute there I thought my little sister had married a cissy.'

She poked her tongue between her teeth. ‘Come on, then, tell me about it. What was your wedding night like?'

Fon stared at her hands. ‘It hurt at first, but then it was wonderful.' And so it had been until the moment when Jamie had called out Katherine's name; and now the knowledge of his mistake hung like a stone between them.

‘Well, of course it did!' Gwyneth said. ‘It always hurts the first time, and it pleases the men, they know then they have taken a virgin.'

Gwyneth gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘How can you be so ignorant? It's bound to be difficult at first, and a real man gets carried away with his own feelings, but it's worth it, isn't it?'

‘Yes, I suppose it is,' Fon said, wondering just how much her sister really knew about love. She had dallied with the fishermen at Oystermouth, it was true, but her words now lacked conviction. Still, Fon was feeling better than she'd done since the first night with Jamie; men had to be excused their strange ways. She smiled. ‘Anyway that's enough talk about me, what about you?'

‘I'm still hoping that Will Davies gets over his infatuation with the do-gooding Eline Harries. How he can fall for a dull widow woman, I don't know,' Gwyneth said acidly. ‘He was turning to me before
she
put in her oar, her and her damned soup kitchens – who does she think she is?'

‘Well, she did save our lives,' Fon said mildly. ‘You were hungry that time in the village too, mind.'

‘Aye, but she was only giving back money she'd made on the backs of the workers, her running her posh art gallery while we starved through lack of oysters.'

Fon shook her head. She didn't like arguing with her sister, but sometimes Gwyneth was totally unjust.

‘What difference did running an art gallery really make to the village?' Fon asked, rubbing her hands on her apron. ‘The art gallery didn't make the oysters disappear; over-fishing did that.'

‘Whose side are you on, anyway?' Gwyneth said petulantly. ‘Eline Harries was always an outsider in Oystermouth; she left her man when he was injured at sea, didn't she? Oh, yes, our mam could take over and nurse Joe when he was sick, and
she
was free to clear off to Swansea.'

Fon sighed. ‘Joe wasn't faithful to Eline, was he?' she said patiently. ‘He went with our mam of his own free choice, gave her a baby, even. What was Eline supposed to do?'

Jamie entered the kitchen, his eyes bright, his face fresh from the soft breeze that swept over the sunlit fields.

‘Hello, Gwyneth, love,' he said. ‘Having a day off from work, then, are you?'

‘Aye.' Gwyneth made no attempt to cover her legs, but Jamie appeared not to notice as he put his arm casually around his wife's shoulder. ‘'Bout time, too,' she continued. ‘Like a bailiff I am these days, trudging round the houses trying to collect money that's been owing for boots and shoes since last year.'

‘Things improving in the village now, though, aren't they?' Jamie asked. Gwyneth nodded. ‘Getting better, slowly, but it'll take a time, mind. They oysters are coming back, but it'll be a long job before things get back to normal.'

‘What's for dinner, love?' Jamie turned to Fon. ‘I'm starving.'

Fon, turning to cut into the freshly baked loaf, heard her sister's low, throaty chuckle.

‘Need to keep up your strength, Jamie boy, from what I've heard of your prowess between the sheets,' she teased.

Fon felt her colour rise, and she concentrated on liberally spreading the butter, watching it liquefy as it ran into the crevices in the hot bread.

‘Give me plenty of cheese, love' – Jamie good-naturedly ignored Gwyneth's remark – ‘and some pickle. I've got a lot of work up on the top end field; some fences down again, with the cattle walking all over them.'

Gwyneth subsided into a chair and leaned forward, elbows on the table. ‘Where Pat?' she asked, looking round the kitchen as if expecting him to come out of a corner somewhere.

Fon smiled. ‘He's having a nap. Up early he was, helping me with the hens. Leave him be in peace until we've eaten, is it?'

‘Right enough,' Jamie said. ‘I'll take him off up the top end with me later on, give you two girls some time alone to gossip to your hearts' content.'

Fon poured tea, weak but hot, and then handed round the plates of cheese and pickle before sitting down. She was aware of Gwyneth smiling wickedly.

‘How's my little sister shaping up as a wife, then?' she said, leaning towards Jamie, her broad mouth revealing perfect teeth. ‘I
know
how well
you
are doing, but our Fon – pleasing as a wife, is she?'

Fon shook her head in despair at her sister's wickedness, and she glanced at Jamie anxiously. He rested his hand on her shoulder.

‘She all right,' he said, his expression quite sober. ‘She's a good mammy to the boy, and as for me, I couldn't ask for better.'

Fon glanced away. Jamie hadn't said he loved her, had never said he loved her, not since their wedding. Doubts assailed her afresh; was she just a substitute for Katherine?

‘That's men for you, Sis; only get excited when it's bed-time, they do.'

Fon looked quickly at Jamie, but he didn't seem to mind Gwyneth's teasing.

‘Not given to romance, our men – not the men I've met, anyway,' Gwyneth continued mercilessly. ‘It's food in their belly and pretty quick about it, and clean shirts to put on their backs, or there's hell to pay. It's only when the sun goes down do they like a bit of kissing and cuddling.'

She laughed out loud. ‘Oh, I bet you get really full of vigour then, don't you, Jamie? A real stud you are, come on, admit it now.'

Jamie buttered a crust without turning a hair, but a smile played around his mouth, and with a dart of surprise, Fon realized he was not at all embarrassed by her sister's remarks; rather he was pleased by the praise to his manliness.

‘Been talking about me, have you, love?' he said softly to Fon, and she bit her lip, hoping that Gwyneth would keep quiet for once. It was too much to hope.

‘She's been talking all right.' Gwyneth tossed back the thick hair that had escaped from the flash of red ribbon. ‘I think my little sister has picked a real man in you, Jamie boy.'

He was smiling broadly now, and Fon sat back, realizing she was learning a great deal about her husband; he loved a bit of flattery, loved to have his prowess praised. Were all men like that, she wondered, so easily pleased by a few nice words?

‘How's Mammy managing?' Fon asked, determined to change the embarrassing turn the conversation had taken.

Gwyneth shrugged. ‘With her usual crabbiness, I suppose. You know what our mother is like as well as I do, a right misery when there's no man around to distract her.'

‘That's not fair!' Fon said, and then realized she had done just as Gwyneth wanted, provoked an argument.

‘You know it's fair,' Gwyneth said placidly. ‘Nina is only happy when there's a man in her bed.' She looked coyly at Jamie. ‘I can quite understand it, mind; I like a man's company myself.'

Jamie rose from his chair and picked up his coat, swinging it over his shoulder. Fon saw him suddenly as Gwyneth must see him, sun-browned and muscular, his shirt sleeves rolled up above strong elbows, his face handsome, with the curling black hair clinging to his brow. He was, without doubt, a desirable, fulfilled man. Why then was she, his wife, having doubts about his love for her?

‘I'm going down to the fields,' he said. ‘I'll call in a bit later for the boy.' He left the kitchen, and for a moment there was silence, except, for the droning of a bee trapped inside the window seeing freedom but unable to get out.

‘He's no womanizer,' Gwyneth said, with a hint of disappointment in her voice, ‘I'll give him that. You got a good man there, Fon. Look after him in bed, I'm warning you, for if you don't someone else will do it for you.'

‘Meaning you, I suppose.' Fon was suddenly angry – though with herself, Jamie or Gwyneth she wasn't quite sure.

Gwyneth shrugged. ‘Could be, Sis.' She relented then and put her hand on Fon's shoulder. ‘Look, love, I'll flirt with any man, you know me, but I wouldn't take your husband from you even if I could.' She sighed. ‘And to be truthful, I don't think he'd bite. No, your Jamie is a rare being, a one-woman man. Make the most of it, and don't be a fool.'

‘One-woman man,' Fon repeated. ‘Perhaps you're right.'

Gwyneth didn't seem to hear her; she stared round the kitchen for a moment, her face thoughtful. ‘You've got what you want, Fon; you are a very lucky girl. It don't look like I'll ever have the man I want. I'll never find happiness.'

Suddenly, Gwyneth, happy-go-lucky Gwyneth, was sitting at the kitchen table with her head buried in her arms, her shoulders heaving.

‘Love!' Fon put her arm around her sister and hugged her. ‘You are so beautiful, much prettier than me. Of course you'll be happy, you wait and see.'

Gwyneth looked up, her cheeks stained with tears, the light gone from her eyes.

‘Will I?' she said softly. ‘I know I talk big, but all I want is the love of a fine man. I'm afraid that Eline Harries will win, as she always seems to do, damn her!'

She thumped her fist on the table, and the cups leapt in the saucers. ‘I hate Eline Harries! I wish she'd never set foot in Oystermouth. Since she came there, she's been nothing but trouble.'

Fon was silent; what could she say? Eline Harries had not always found life easy. She'd had her share of tragedy, and who knows if she even
wanted
Will Davies? But Gwyneth was in no mood to listen to reason.

‘Come on,' Fon said, forcing a cheerful note into her voice, ‘I'll make us a nice, fresh cup of tea.' She patted Gwyneth's shoulder, wondering at the strangeness of life. Her sister had always got everything she'd ever wanted, or so it had seemed to Fon. She was pretty, with a fine figure that would attract any man, while Fon had been a mouse, quiet and withdrawn, with curling tawny hair but unremarkable features, a girl no-one would lose his heart over, unsure of herself, diffident in the extreme.

But now the roles were reversed; Fon had a husband, a home and a family. She had blossomed; even she could see that. Her body was filling out, her face more mature, its lines fined, so that her eyes appeared larger. In the eyes of the world, she was a success, a woman with a fine husband.

She squared her shoulders with new resolution, knowing that whatever she had to do, whatever compromises she would have to make, she would ensure that nothing spoiled the almost perfect life she was leading.

Eline Harries sat back on her heels, disregarding the hammer and nails and lengths of wood that were spread around the bare floorboards of the room. Disregarding even the painting that lay beside pieces of wooden frame, the painting she had been so pleased with earlier but that now seemed mundane, ill-conceived.