Читать книгу Always In My Heart - Freda Lightfoot, Freda Lightfoot - Страница 14

Nine

Watching from the dining-room window as the girl was driven away by Carter at dusk, a wave of guilt washed over Hugh. Where on earth would she go at this time of night? Had he become so torn by personal anguish that he’d ceased to show any concern for others? Had he done the wrong thing, he wondered, by being so dismissive towards her? He surely had the right to protect the family’s future, although admittedly he’d been in something of a state on the day she’d arrived, having only recently buried his beloved fiancée.

But then nothing seemed to be going right these days. He felt beset by problems.

As if he didn’t have enough family issues to deal with, he’d spent the entire afternoon caught up in a dreadful union meeting doing battle against impossible demands. When he’d refused to comply with his workers’ requests, a strike had been called and they’d all walked out. They were objecting to everything: the number of hours they worked, the level of their pay, the shortage of staff and even the limited time allowed for a tea break, assuming there was any tea available. Had they forgotten there was a war on? There’d been a considerable growth in trade unions and strikes, workers unwilling to put up with difficult conditions, many of them obstinate women, almost as if they possessed more rights than soldiers.

Men had gone to fight while women had taken on their work. This had, of course, given them a huge sense of independence, which would soon come to an end once the war was over and the fighting men returned home. There were some tasks, such as management, Hugh was still reluctant to offer them. Yet male managers were hard to find, so all responsibility fell entirely upon him.

Now, despite having more bills to pay and higher wages to find, the factory was at a stand still. The bank, too, had put a stop upon any more loans to help tide him over. No wonder he frequently lost his temper whenever creditors and employees bitterly complained, let alone stupid girls with no morals making claims upon his brother’s inheritance. People constantly seemed to be making demands upon him. Did they imagine he was the richest man in the kingdom?

*

‘What on earth possessed you to defend that chit of a girl?’ Melissa truculently remarked. She’d tripped across the kitchen garden the following afternoon in her high heels to present her younger sister with a mug of Camp coffee, wishing to take the opportunity to give her a good telling off, as she so liked to do. ‘You never think things through properly, just follow your heart and not your head.’

‘Not a bad policy,’ Prue said with a wry smile as she took a grateful sip. ‘Brenda is my friend, has been from when she first came to work here, so why would I not be fond of her?’

Her mind flew back to the day they’d met, making her smile at the memory of how Brenda had chased and stalked the hens one evening, pounced and dashed about in an attempt to grab them and shoo the little creatures into their hut. Tripping over a bunch of flapping hens she’d fallen flat in the mud, then watched in amazement as they’d formed an orderly queue in their correct pecking order, hopped through the pop hole of the hen hut and settled on to their perches for the night. It was then that she’d heard old Joe laughing his head off.

‘They know what they’re doing better than thee, lass,’ he’d said with a chuckle as he’d helped to pull her out of the muddy mess.

‘Oh, how clever they are. I didn’t know they could do that, having lived in a city all my life. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome, lass,’ and he’d walked away still chuckling.

Laughing too, Prue had gone to show Brenda how to lock the hut doors with a padlock. ‘That was very brave of you, not to cry when you fell.’

‘I think I’ve a lot to learn,’ Brenda had woefully remarked.

‘Well, I’ve learned a lot from old Joe too, not only about hens but also sheep and cows. Best of all, how to grow fruit and vegetables, which is what I love doing most.’

‘I’m not even as good at cooking as I’d thought, or not according to Mrs Harding. So I’ve a lot to learn from her too,’ Brenda had admitted.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll get there. And Joe will help. He’s worked on our farm for most of his life, ever since he was a boy of fourteen.’

Now the old man was crusty and bent, his face brown and lined as a leaf, his small frame battered by wind and weather. Prue still felt a great fondness for him, as if he were her grandfather, having always felt much closer to him than her domineering father. Fortunately, the responsibility for the farm had been left in old Joe’s hands, and Hugh’s, of course. Although how her brother was going to manage to run both farm and biscuit factory in future, Prue really had no idea. She did not envy the pressure placed upon him, which seemed to be stressing him out.

Turning to smile now at her equally bossy sister, Prue stoutly stuck to the defence of her friend. ‘I’m sure Brenda was married to our Jack.’

‘We have only her word for that.’

‘Hopefully that situation will change, once she has spoken to the family solicitor and he’s recovered the necessary documentation. Then you and Hugh will have to accept the truth.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Melissa snapped. ‘How can she ever get back papers that don’t exist? No wonder she claims that the alleged son of our darling late brother is lost. She’s a confidence trickster, hell-bent on defrauding us. Fortunately, Hugh and I made a point of not revealing the solicitor’s name.’

‘Well, I did,’ Prue said with a big grin. ‘Someone needed to, and since you two were busily condemning her for all manner of atrocities, finding her guilty without trial, I stepped in to help.’

‘You bloody idiot,’ said Melissa, hot with anger. ‘Why do you never think things through properly? Don’t you realise our family is nowhere near as wealthy as we were before the war, so we have to hang on to every penny we’ve got?’

‘Oh, really?’ Prue said with a scornful smile. ‘And there was me thinking you’d hopped off to live in London just so you could more regularly visit Harrods to indulge yourself using your allowance.’

‘Damn you, I am entitled to some fun, and more importantly, my children deserve their heritage to remain safe, particularly Ross.’ Glancing round, she spotted her small son splashing about in a puddle, getting himself soaking wet. ‘Oh no, the stupid boy.’

Prue laughed. ‘He’s just having fun.’

Melissa wagged a furious finger inches from her sister’s face. ‘I warn you that if Fairhurst hands over any money to that chit of a girl, this family will be in serious difficulties, which will be all your fault. And we all know what a defiant little idiot you are.’ Spinning around in her high heels she almost tripped over a row of rhubarb. Then grabbing her son by the collar, she dragged him into the house.

‘What an unfeeling family I have,’ Prue said with a sigh to the hens as she began to count them. She did this each evening to make sure none had gone missing, been attacked by a fox or become lost as they happily meandered about the farm. They needed to be safe, as did everyone in this frightening world. Her heart went out to poor Brenda if she really had lost her son. As a mother herself, why couldn’t Melissa feel some sympathy for her too? There were times when it felt as if her sister was worse than a fox, always keen to bite someone.

Prue had to admit that she did sometimes make hasty decisions, generally out of affection and sympathy, or to stubbornly prove she could please herself as to what she did in life. Which was perhaps why she’d rushed into marriage without proper thought.

Watching the hens line up to pop into the hen hut, the memory of how she first met Cecil Weston came back to her. It was at a dance at the local co-operative rooms. He was tall with dark, wavy hair, really quite good looking. ‘He’s a bit of all right,’ she’d said to her friend. Something in the way he’d looked at her had lit a spark within her and she’d happily slipped into his arms to dance the entire evening with him. After that they would secretly meet to go for walks and kiss in the woodlands, and being young and inexperienced, Prue had loved the attention he was giving her. Within weeks he was called up, and freely admitted he felt filled with fear.

‘Will you write to me every day?’

‘Of course,’ Prue promised.

He’d gladly agreed to come but it proved to be a total disaster. Her father had instantly set about questioning him about his income, family and place in society, making it very clear he was unimpressed to discover he was a mere mechanic at a local factory. ‘So you’re working class,’ Sir Randolph had dismissively remarked. Not at all the kind of husband with money and high ranking he’d planned for Prue to marry.

As they walked out together later that afternoon, she’d apologised to Cecil for her father’s attitude. Smiling, he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her with even greater passion. ‘My parents are equally neglectful. They don’t care a jot about what I think or wish to do. Marry me, darling. I need to know I’m not alone in the world; that someone cares about me.’