Wait For the Dawn (44 page)

‘I don’t even know why he wants to see me,’ she said, and then bravely she added, ‘Or why I want to see him.’

Evie nodded. ‘So you do want to see him.’

Lydia gave the briefest nod. ‘Oh, Evie, I can’t help it. I do. I do.’ She shook her head. ‘But I’m not going to.’

There came a burst of laughter and the sound of feet in the undergrowth, and then Davie and Hennie and the dog came running from among the trees. The time for quiet conversation was over.

A week and a half later Lydia set out once more for Pershall Dean. As before, she carried the burlap bag with the new batch of sewing to be done by Mrs Castle and her daughter. It had rained the previous day, and that Wednesday had dawned grey, but now the clouds had gone. Lydia set off from the shop just before three o’clock, stepping out smartly to get to the railway station. Her train came in on time, and a relatively short while later she
was in Pershall Dean and making her way beside the green.

As she anticipated, the kettle was on in the kitchen at the Castles’ little cottage when she arrived, and after the fortnightly business concerning the sewing had been dealt with, she sat and drank a cup of tea with the ladies. Afterwards, she wished them good day and took her departure.

She had only gone a few paces from the end of the lane when she heard someone call her name.

Even as she turned to the sound she knew whose voice it was, and there was Guy, coming towards her from the shade of the trees that grew on the edge of the green. She waited until he had reached her side, her face holding all the questions that were unspoken on her lips.

‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he said. ‘I got here before you and watched you walk past me into the lane.’ He shook his head. ‘I thought you’d never get through with your business.’

‘But – how did you know that I – ?’ she began, then broke off and gave a nod. ‘Of course, I mentioned it, didn’t I. I said I’d be here in a fortnight.’

‘Yes.’

‘What – what are you doing here?’ she asked after a moment, though she knew the answer well.

‘I had to see you. I couldn’t leave it like it was. I’ve got to talk to you.’

‘What is there to say? There’s nothing to say.’

‘Please. Lydia.’

She could have said no, and been adamant, but she remained standing there. He took her stillness for acquiescence, looked around and then gestured over towards the duck pond where on its bank stood an old wooden bench, half hidden behind a screen of cascading weeping willow.

‘Please,’ he said, ‘can we sit down?’

She turned and looked over towards the bench, hesitating.

‘Please,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘Well – just for a minute.’

In silence they walked over onto the grass and made their way to the pond. Guy saw her seated on the bench, then sat down beside her. For some moments neither spoke, then turning to her, he said:

‘Lydia, if you knew how I’ve been waiting for this moment, looking forward to it . . . I could hardly sleep last night for thinking of it, that I would be seeing you today. My greatest fear was that your husband might come instead of you.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘his foot’s still troubling him.’

‘Don’t you sometimes bring Davie?’

‘I have done, but the weather seemed uncertain. He’s at home with his nurse.’

‘He’s a splendid little fellow.’

‘Yes, he is.’

Silence between them. On the surface of the pond a mallard drake swam, dipping its head under the water among the reeds close to the bank. A damselfly came skimming by, its wings shimmering.

‘We had no real chance to talk the last time,’ Guy said. ‘You went off in such a hurry – and I had so much I wanted to say.’ He hesitated just for a second, then added, ‘I love you, Lydia. I love you.’

‘Oh, don’t – please.’ She raised a hand to her mouth. Already things were going too far, moving too fast. ‘Don’t say such things, Guy. It only makes it worse.’

‘You called me by my name,’ he said. ‘I never thought to hear that again.’

She looked away from him, over the water, but really unseeing, only aware of the man beside her.

‘I’ve thought about you so much,’ he went on after a moment, ‘and I don’t mean just these past two weeks. Though God knows, you’ve been so much on my mind during that time. I haven’t been able to sleep for thinking about you – and thinking about our son.’ He sighed. ‘If only I could go back and change things. I’d do it all so differently.’

‘We can’t,’ she said.

‘No, we can’t.’ He sighed again. ‘But I find myself doing that all the time – thinking
What if? What if?
– and it does no good, of course. It’s just another kind of torment.’ He paused. ‘Look at me, Lydia – please.’

She turned to him after a moment’s hesitation and saw the pleading, the anguish in his eyes.

‘Did you ever think of me over these years?’ he said.

‘Did I ever think of you?’ Her eyes widened in surprise at his question. ‘How can you ask such a thing? Every time I look at my son I see you. Oh, don’t ask if I ever think of you.’

‘I’ve grown up a little over these past years,’ he said. ‘When I look back at myself at that time when we met, when we were together, I was so young. I didn’t know what I wanted. Though, as I said to you, I didn’t want commitment. I wanted the carefree life that I’d known – and I suppose I wanted you as a part of it, that carefree life. Perhaps I wanted you without any responsibility going along with it. It’s hard to think now what was going through my mind. And then of course there were my parents. They had their plans and dreams for me.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve told you all this.’

Lydia said nothing, but waited for him to go on.

He looked down at his clenched hands. ‘My father had always been so good to me, and I wanted so much to do the right thing by him. Can you understand that?’

‘Yes.’

‘I wanted so to please him, especially when he was lying there, so ill, and perhaps I believed him when he told me that I’d get over you. What experience of life and love did I have?’ He gave a little shake of his head. ‘But I didn’t – get over you. I never have. I don’t think I ever will.’

‘Guy – don’t talk like that.’

‘I had eventually begun to think that I would – get over you. I had tried another relationship. It hadn’t worked, granted, but at least I was able to give my mind to other things – and then I saw you, in the shop, and I realised that all along I’d just been fooling myself. You and I – we’d known each other for such a little space of time – just for that one week – but it was enough. After that time you were always there, Lydia, always there.’

She said nothing. A swallow came skimming over the water and vanished beyond the trees.

‘You don’t know what it’s like,’ Guy said. ‘Loving, wanting . . .’

‘Don’t I?’ she said.

‘Oh, Lydia . . .’ He raised his head and looked at her. ‘Is it possible that you’ve felt the same things?’

She could not meet his eyes now and she turned her face away. Before her the mallard still dipped among the reeds and the damselfly hovered.
Yes
, she wanted to say, and give way to the feelings, so long kept down.
Yes, it’s true, I love you. I’ve loved you all the time. I think I’ve loved you since we met in the market square that day – and I’ve kept on loving you
. She said nothing, however. Guy’s eyes dwelt on her, and then he had moved closer to her and his arms, so strong, were coming around her. And she gave herself up to the wonderful safety, feeling herself drawn against him, feeling her cheek against the rough fabric of his coat, smelling the warm scent of him, familiar after all this time. It was like coming home. She wanted the moment never to end.

‘Oh, Lydia, Lydia . . .’

He breathed the words as he held her close, and she revelled in the sound and in his touch.

She murmured against him, weakly, ‘Please, Guy – someone will see us.’

‘No,’ he said, his voice soothing, soft. ‘There’s no one about, and even if there is, no one knows me here, no one knows you – only your two ladies, and they won’t come out.’ His hand lay on her back, moving once or twice in gentle, soothing strokes. She could have been a child again, being comforted after a fall or a bad dream. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Tell me that you love me too.’

At his words it was all she could do not to say
Yes, yes! I love you too
, but she held back, and said instead, her voice muffled against the grey tweed of his coat, ‘Whatever we say to one another now – it can’t make any difference. It can’t change anything.’

He drew back a little from her so that he could look down into her face. ‘No! Oh, no, don’t say that.’

‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘Nothing that is said between us now can make any difference.’ She felt tears welling, and she fought to hold them back. ‘We’ve got to go on as if – as if none of this has happened. We haven’t any choice.’

He held her hands, both hands between his own. ‘I know what I’d
like
to happen.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I want to be with you. I want to be with you always. You and Davie. The two of you. You complete my life.’

‘Guy –’

‘I’d like to start a new life with you both, a new life for the three of us – and if not here then somewhere else. Somewhere far away if need be. You – and my son.’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘your son. Davie is your son – but he is Alfred’s son also.’ She looked into his eyes as she spoke. ‘He is Alfred’s son by dint of all the love and caring that Alfred has given him. Alfred gave him a future when he had none.
Alfred gave him a father’s love when there was none. He is Alfred’s as much as he is mine.’ She shook her head. ‘I could never leave Alfred after all he’s done for me. He gave me a name. He gave your son a name. He saved me from shame and degradation – and you don’t need me to tell you that those things were very real possibilities in my life. He saved me from all that, and we have a good marriage. Oh, we have our little disagreements, and on very rare occasions we say harsh things, but those things are never so harsh that they are past easy forgiveness. He loves me. He loves me, and he shows that love in a thousand ways.’ She turned on the bench and drew her bag and umbrella towards her. ‘I must go.’

‘Not yet.’

‘I have to.’

As she rose he got up beside her, but she put out her hand, staying him. ‘Oh, don’t come with me, Guy. Please.’

‘But –’

‘Please don’t.’

‘But we can’t leave things like this.’

‘We have no choice. Our time for choices is past. At least mine is.’

He shook his head. ‘Whatever you say, I’m not going to let it go like this.’ He reached out and caught her wrist. ‘I shall be here two weeks from now, and if you don’t come here then I shall go to Merinville. I must see you.’

‘No – please. Please don’t.’ Her voice breaking, she snatched her arm from his grasp and turned and hurried away.

Thursday was market day in Merinville, so the shop was expected to be busy. Alfred left the house at the usual time, going ahead of Lydia, who would follow a little later. Before she left she spent a short while with Davie, who was somewhat fractious and irritable, and giving signs of a developing cold. Eschewing breakfast – he had no appetite – he clung to her in an unaccustomed way, saying that he did not want her to go out. She had to, she said; she had to go and help Pappy in the shop. However, she promised, she would try to get back a little earlier. She left him then in the capable care of Ellen.

As expected, business at the shop was brisk. On Thursdays people came in from miles around, not only the farmers, but their wives and children too. The streets were full of people, and there were many who found their way to Canbrook’s draper’s. Along with Mr Federo, Miss Angel and Alfred, Lydia was kept bustling about, giving all her attention to the work at hand, and having little time to think about personal matters.

In the short period when the shop was closed for the half-hour dinner break, she and Alfred and Miss Angel sat in the back room and ate the sandwiches they had brought, and drank the mugs of tea that they had poured from the large brown teapot. Mr Federo did not join them, for he had gone out to a café a short distance away.

While Miss Angel sat on one side of the table with her corned beef sandwich, Lydia and Alfred sat on the other
with their sandwiches of ham and cheese, made up for them that morning by Mrs Starling. Making full use of the time, Miss Angel’s greying head and steel-rimmed spectacles were bent over a novel, while Alfred spent the time consulting one of his order books. Lydia merely ate, immersed in her thoughts.

After a while Alfred closed the ledger and pushed it aside. Taking a drink, he looked at Lydia, silent beside him. She saw his glance on the rim of her vision, but did not turn to him. He took another bite from his sandwich, but chewed without relish. When he had finished, he pushed his plate aside, brushed a crumb from his waistcoat and took up the morning paper. Miss Angel murmured an excuse me, and left the table and went out of the room into the yard. As the back door closed behind her, Alfred turned to Lydia again and said, ‘Are you all right?’

‘What?’ Her eyes widened slightly as if she were coming out of a dream. ‘What did you say?’

‘I asked you if you were all right.’

‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you.’ She smiled at him.

‘Where were you? You were miles away.’

‘Oh, just – daydreams.’

She had been thinking of Guy. She had been thinking of him as he had been the day before in Pershall Dean – suddenly appearing as she had turned out of the lane, and then as he had sat beside her on the bench before the duck pond. She could see it all so clearly in her mind’s eye, the damselfly skimming the water’s surface, the mallard dipping its head in his search for food. She could hear Guy’s voice too, feel his arms fold around her as he drew her to him. Alfred, of course, must never know that such a thing had happened. She had been a fool, she told herself; she should not have consented to sit with Guy beside the pond. She should not have been drawn into conversation. She should not have listened to him. She should have just
walked on and forbidden him to talk to her. Being close to him as she had for those brief moments on the bench, she had felt all her strength and resolve draining away, and she knew that under other circumstances she would not be able to guarantee her control.