Where Earth Meets Sky (8 page)

‘Oh, I’ve known him since we were knee-high,’ she’d say. ‘He’s just old Laurie.’

But there was also the child and today, for once, she wasn’t there either.

Mrs Gregory was a woman of good works, many would have said kindness itself. So upright, Sam sometimes thought sourly, that you could hang a lamp from her.

Although a widow herself, she had taken on the upbringing of her dead sister’s child. Helen said that the sister had lived in Liverpool and had taken ill and died tragically young, leaving the baby girl, Emma, to a feckless husband who would never be able to care for her. So Ma Gregory stepped in. The child was a sweet enough little thing, but Helen had to take her turn in minding her and from Sam’s point of view she was yet another obstacle to his getting anywhere near Helen. Today, though, Emma was round playing at a neighbour’s house and his chance had come!

Mrs Gregory said with a meaningful look, ‘I won’t be long, you know. You might polish the brasses while I’m gone, if you’re short of summat to do.’ And she set out into the slushy Coventry street in her old brown hat and coat, her sinewy figure bent against the wind.

‘Well, there’s a miracle, anyway,’ Sam said, shuffling closer along the settle towards Helen.

‘Sam! You’re awful. She’ll get drenched out there, and Mrs Nightingale’s been taken bad again.’

Helen turned to him, her creamy face dotted with toffee-coloured freckles, tawny eyes twinkling reproachfully while she tried not to look pleased that they were alone. Sam could think of nothing but his urgent desire to hold her.

‘I want to kiss you, love,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘I’ve been sitting here bursting to kiss you all afternoon!’

‘Oh, Sam!’ she said again, as if he was a naughty schoolboy.

He felt like anything but a schoolboy. His feelings were much more manly than that! To give her a few token moments to pretend she was resisting him, he caught the end of a thick strand of her hair. She had washed it and was drying it by the fire. To the touch, it was deliciously thick and heavy.

‘Caramels and cream, that’s you,’ he said. He tilted his head and lightly kissed the shadowy part of her neck beneath her ear. ‘All sweet. That’s my girl.’

She giggled and her face lit up. Helen was nineteen then, Sam twenty. She was so pretty and everyone liked her, though she was quiet and shy. It all felt right to Sam: Helen was the wife he was looking for, because he needed a wife. It was the right thing. He was going to be a successful and respectable professional man and such men had wives and lived in one of the new, nicely-kept-up villas at the edge of town.

And he thought he was in love. What else could these overpowering feelings mean? It was like an itch on him all the time, that powerful longing to know what it would be like to lie with her, to
have
her, even though he was scarcely sure what that meant. He could see why men said women were a torment. He’d sit beside her and they’d be talking, yet all the time, all he could think about was the way her frock pushed out, tightly covering her chest, a tantalizing swell that gave him an almost overwhelming hunger to reach out and touch.

He took Helen in his arms, seeing her smiling eyes turn solemn, and he had his kiss that day. Once a few months of little walks to the park and snatched kisses had passed, he asked her to marry him. He was at such a pitch by then, something had to shift. He had to lie with her and make her his or he was going to go mad. He knew he was a good prospect, with his apprenticeship. He wasn’t sure that Mrs Gregory had taken to him, not
fondly
, but she had no good reason to object to him.

Their wedding night was the first time he saw her naked, though she didn’t want him to.

After a nice mutton dinner in an old inn a few miles away, they went up to the old oak-beamed room which was their private haven at last. God knew, Sam didn’t know what he expected exactly, but that night was a bitter disappointment. Almost as soon as they got through the door he went to take her in his arms, but she pushed him off, frowning.

‘Just let me get ready, Sam!’

Stung, he stood watching her go to the door, saw her slip a little on the uneven floor and say, ‘Oh, damn it!’ as she disappeared out to the bathroom across the passage. He wanted her to
want
him. He told himself she was shy, and waited, taking his boots off and unbuttoning his shirt, hearing the splash of water, and Helen clearing her throat, then a long silence. He sat on the edge of the bed, beginning to wonder if she was all right or had perhaps been taken ill.

At last she came back in, wearing an enveloping white garment, her lovely hair brushed loose and hanging down her shoulders. Sam’s heart leaped at the sight of her, seeing the rounded shape of her soft breasts pushing at the white stuff of her nightdress. Full of desire he went to her at once, to take her in his arms again, and found that she was trembling, and seemed close to tears.

‘Helen, my lovely?’

Again, she pulled back.

‘Hadn’t you better get ready, Sam?’

‘Ready for what? I am ready, love—’ he managed to put his arms around her – ‘I’ve been ready for you for months and months . . .’

Her face was buried in his chest. It was queer, and frustrating.

‘Come on, love,’ Sam said coaxingly, though he was getting more and more het up. ‘I just want to be with you – for a bit of lovemaking. That’s what married people do, you know that, don’t you?’

She nodded and a tiny voice said, ‘Yes’ into his shirt.

‘Let me look at you,’ he said. Reluctantly she drew back and raised her face. The room was quite dark by now, lit by a single candle, and he could only just make out her features.

‘What’s the matter, dear?’ He kept his voice very patient.

‘I don’t know what it is. Lovemaking, I mean.’ She looked up then, like a little girl, ashamed. ‘I don’t know what we do.’

Her being so innocent like that made him want her all the more.

‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘We’ll find out somehow, together, won’t we?’ He looked lovingly into her eyes and said, ‘I want to see you, Helen. See how lovely you are.’

‘What d’you mean?’ She sounded frightened.

He managed to talk her sweetly into lying down on the bed with him and once he started touching her round, soft body, she began to loosen up a bit and he did see her at last because, gently pulling her shift up high, she let him complete the marital act. She didn’t put up any protest, but watched him, wide-eyed, and when he’d finished she made a little sound, of pleasure, he thought and hoped, and clasped her legs round him.

‘Oh, Samuel,’ she said, and he felt her breath on his ear. He was happier then. She’d get used to it, of course she would. It was always more difficult for a woman, he understood, and at least he didn’t seem to have given her any pain.

Married life started with them living with Mrs Gregory. It was bad from the word go. Anything in the bedroom department felt impossible in her house, and it was difficult enough on their own: Helen just about tolerated the physical side of things. There was very little privacy, especially with the child about. Helen was far too patient with her, in Sam’s view. After all, Emma was nothing to her really. But if the child came knocking on the door, Helen would say, ‘I’ll just let her in, just for a few minutes, poor little thing.’ And bang would go their time together. He quickly began to think she did it on purpose to avoid him touching her. But he couldn’t stop wanting it, and wanting her. He’d waited long enough and he was a passionate man.

As soon as he could, after a couple of months, he found a house. He had a decent wage now and he thought, We’ll get out of Coventry, right away from Mrs G and all that stifling set-up. So they took out the rent on a place in Kenilworth. Helen was a bit upset at first as she’d never lived away from home. But she loved the village and the old castle and cleaner air, and she was such a kind girl that she soon made friends. She took a little job in the grocer’s shop and got to know people that way. And they settled. They didn’t find a great deal to say to one another, but they both worked hard, and got on with it.

That autumn, after they moved into the house, they realized there was a baby on the way. Helen was poorly to begin with and went to the doctor.

‘Dr Small says you shouldn’t have relations of an “intimate” kind during the time a child is expected,’ she told Sam.

This came as a blow to Sam. It was an important thing in life to him. He even wondered if the doctor had really said that and almost asked his mother if it was true, but shyness prevented him.

‘You make it sound like something dirty,’ he said resentfully. ‘An animal thing.’ She talked as if he was disgusting, like a hog. ‘It’s just the way men are and I don’t see why I should have to be ashamed of it!’

‘It won’t be long,’ Helen tried to soothe him. ‘You’ll just have to be a good boy, Sam – just until the babby arrives.’

And then, after Christmas, Sam was called into the offices at Daimler.

‘We want you to go with a delivery,’ he was told. ‘One of the new models, to be shipped to Bombay and up to a place called Ambala. Big army station. All being well, you should be back end of March or so.’

God, he was excited! Seeing a bit of the world on the job! And the fact that the delivery out here came up while Helen was carrying the child seemed good timing. She could have some peace and he wouldn’t be tempted by the feel of her close to him in the bed. She could rest, safe and cosy in the English winter, while he went off adventuring and slept under the Indian stars.

Ambala, India, 1907

His first morning in Ambala, Sam woke to a tremendous racket of crows from the trees round the house. For a second, he thought the room was full of fog, then realized everything was shrouded in white because of the mozzie net round the bed. He’d got used to being on the ship and it was a shock finding himself in this new place, especially as he’d woken from a dream about Helen and expected to find her in the bed beside him. It was one of those times when he wanted her badly.

There was plenty to take his mind off it, though. So far as Charles Fairford was concerned, today was to be devoted to the Daimler, and he was looking forward to showing the Captain all he knew. And that wife of his would be well out of the way, Sam hoped, doing whatever it was such women did in India.

As soon as he set foot out of bed there came a knock on the door. It was only six in the morning, but when he opened up, there was a native chap standing out there with a tray of tea. My goodness, Sam thought, that’s service for you. The man came in, very deferentially, and put the tray down. Beside the teapot was a plate on which were arranged several biscuits and two bananas.

‘Sahib would like me to pour the tea?’

‘Oh – yes, please! Er – is Captain Fairford up already?’

‘Captain Sahib has gone for his morning ride.’

‘Ah. I see. Thank you.’

Before his morning ablutions he sat to drink his tea in the cane chair by the window. It was rather misty out, all soft greens and greys. There were Indian voices coming from somewhere and he could just see a chap, thin as a railing like most natives, working with a rake in front of the trees. The sound of his coughing carried across the dew-soaked lawn.

Once he’d downed this rather meagre breakfast and dressed it was still early and all the action seemed to be going on outside, so he decided to slip out for a look around. It was then that he saw Lily Waters properly for the first time, though he didn’t know her Christian name then.

He was strolling through the cool morning air smelling the mixed scents of a country that was not his own, along the drive to the gate, thinking to walk a little along the road. He had gone very little distance when he heard the sound of hooves behind him and, turning, saw the two women riding towards him. They made a lovely sight. Susan Fairford was in front, her pale hair just visible under her
topi
, riding elegantly side-saddle, the boy tucked in front of her with a rapturous expression on his face. And riding behind was the woman whom they called Miss Waters. Unlike her mistress she was not riding side-saddle, but astride the bay horse, clad in a modest, feminine blouse and jacket and pair of manly breeches. She was managing the animal with apparent confidence and obvious pleasure, a radiant smile playing round her lips.

‘Good morning, Mr Ironside!’ Susan Fairford greeted him. There was laughter in her voice and she seemed very different from last night. ‘I trust you slept well?’

‘Very, thank you,’ he replied. He nodded at Miss Waters, touching his hat to them both.

‘Good morning,’ Miss Waters said, and her eyes seemed full of joy as she looked at him, then shyly away.

They passed on towards the stables and Sam watched, his eyes fixed on Miss Waters’s curving form above the shining rump of the horse.

God
, he found himself thinking.
What a woman.

The sun was higher when he returned from his stroll, beginning to burn off the mist. Captain Fairford came round from the side of the bungalow where they’d left the car, striding along manfully, still dressed in riding gear, jodhpurs and puttees. While slender, he was a superbly athletic man. Sam pulled his shoulders back, feeling conscious that he had only ever once sat astride a horse and that an old farm nag, to boot. The safety bicycle had been more his sort of ride!