‘But you don’t actually farm, do you?’ Her tone was cynical.
Leonard gave a dry, angry laugh. ‘You just don’t understand, do you?’ he said. ‘I may not often sit in the tractor, or plough in the seeds, or cut the corn when it’s grown. But I’m a landowner and as such have certain responsibilities. I plan which seeds go into the ground, or which tractor suits the job best. I scour the country for the best price I might get for my harvest … There are a multitude of things that come with working the land. I monitor every single thing. I buy and sell, and treat my part of the job with respect.’
‘But you have Barney Davidson. You sing his praises so often, I’m sure if you let him, he would take a lot more responsibility from your shoulders.’
There was another moment of silence; a moment when Lucy felt uncomfortable, for she could almost taste the atmosphere.
It seemed an age before, in a cutting voice, Leonard Maitland spoke again. ‘You will never understand, will you, Patricia? You don’t even try to understand the implications of what I’m telling you. I bought this land because I needed to. If I didn’t have land around me, I would simply suffocate. But land is not just for looking at, and when you take it on, you give yourself wholeheartedly to its well-being. You treat it like a living, breathing entity, because that’s what it is. The land gives more than it takes, and it deserves to be cared for. But, like I say, you will never comprehend that, and I don’t blame you for it.’
‘I’m sorry, Lenny darling.’ True or false, the voice and its owner seemed contrite. ‘All I’m saying is, why not let Barney take over occasionally? After all, you’ve always said he knows the land as well as you do. I can’t count the number of times you’ve remarked on how a capable man like Barney Davidson was meant to have his own farm, but that life had not treated him kindly enough.’
‘Yes, Pat, and I meant it. But this is my land. My responsibility. Barney is my partner in a sense. He is my eyes and ears, and while I organise everything else, he farms, and that’s all right, because he has the same love for the land that I do.’
‘Oh Lenny.’ The voice grew whining. ‘I know how passionate you are about this place …’
‘No, you don’t.’ Now he was calmer, wanting to explain. ‘You live in town. You can have no idea of what it feels like to see the harvest being brought in, or to stride the fields on a winter’s morning, when the snow lies deep in the ditches and the trees bend and dip with the weight.’ His voice dropped. ‘If you want us to marry, as I do, then you must accept that my work is important to me.’
‘All right, my darling, but why can’t we go away – for a month maybe?’
‘We will,’ he consoled her. ‘Look, we’re due to be married next spring, and if it suits you, we can have a much longer honeymoon than planned. How’s that?’
‘And can I plan where we go?’ She was a spoiled child.
‘If you like, yes.’
‘And money’s no object?’
He gave a sigh. Did his fiancée not realise that most of the world was plunged into a financial crisis? ‘It is our honeymoon after all,’ he said resignedly.
‘Oh, Lenny, it will be so wonderful!’ Excitement coloured her voice. ‘Then in the winter, can we go far away – to the South of France or even further afield? My London friends spent last winter in Sydney and they said it was the best time they ever had. Oh, it would be so nice to get right away. I do get so bored visiting the same old places.’
‘You’re a mystery to me.’ A different emotion crept into his words. ‘You’re infuriating and selfish, and sometimes I wonder what I see in you. But fool that I am, I can’t help but love you.’
‘I’ll remember that when you refuse me what I ask.’
‘You will have to remember something else too.’
‘For instance?’
‘For instance, that being a landowner, I must bow to my duties here. There will always be times when I can’t just take off at your every whim and fancy.’
There came that soft trill of laughter again. ‘We shall have to see, won’t we? Now I think you should give me a kiss, by way of apology.’
‘Don’t you think the apology should come from you?’
‘Aw, Leonard! Does it really matter who apologises? Kiss me, and we’ll forget we ever quarrelled.’
Silence reigned for a moment, when Lucy imagined they were in the throes of the ‘apology’. Then came the sound of a door opening and closing, and when she glanced out of the window, Lucy saw them going arm-in-arm down the driveway to the long black car, recently chosen by Patricia Carstairs, paid for by Mr Maitland, and delivered only three days ago.
‘Oh darling! Won’t people be envious when they see us together in this!’ was Patricia’s parting remark as she climbed into the car.
Lucy watched them drive off; the woman slim, beautiful, and arrogant to the quick, while the gentleman was attentive and homely, a gentle giant of a man.
Lucy thought them quite unsuited. ‘That one’s trouble. He should drop her like a hot potato!’ Closing the curtains, she pranced across the room on tippy-toe, emulating Patricia Carstairs, one hand on her hip, the other swanking by her side, mimicking the woman’s voice to perfection. ‘Oh darling! Won’t people be envious when they see us together in this?’ She pitied the poor wretches who had no work and no money; to see a smart car passing by, occupied by that one with her nose in the air would be like a red rag to a bull.
Breaking into song, Lucy returned to her work, gave the large silver teapot another rub with the cloth, then with the greatest of care replaced it in the cabinet, where she shifted the silverware about until the display was pleasing to the eye.
She now closed the door, took up a clean cloth from her basket and giving the door-glass a good polish, gave a sigh of relief. ‘All done for another week!’
A few minutes later, she was out of the house and running across the back lawns towards the fields. Now, as she rounded the brow of the hill, she heard the laughter from Barney’s house. Pausing, she took off her shoes, set off at the run and before long was at the gate of Overhill farmhouse. ‘Quick, Lucy!’ Vicky was beckoning her. ‘Hurry!’
When the young woman ran into the garden, she saw little Jamie standing with his back to the trunk of the apple tree, arms wide and laughing as only a child can laugh. ‘He’s trying to walk all the way over to us unaided,’ Vicky told Lucy. ‘Three times he’s started off and three times he’s fallen. I’ve stood him up again, but he loves this game, and he wants to carry on playing it.’
Lucy was delighted. Jamie was a good little walker now, but his gammy leg meant he often fell over. Falling to her knees, she opened her arms wide, coaxing the boy. ‘Come to your mammy, sweetheart.’
He stopped giggling and stared at her, as though he might be giving it some thought. Then he looked up to excitedly point into the skies, at a hawk hovering nearby. ‘Bird!’ he shouted. ‘Big bird.’
Arms still wide, Lucy took a step nearer. ‘Look at me, Jamie. Come on, sweetheart.’
The child would have none of it. Completely ignoring her, he scoured the skies with his big bright eyes, one finger pointing as he slowly but surely slid downwards, his back seemingly glued to the tree.
‘Stay there, Lucy!’ Running forward, Vicky propped him up again. ‘Try, sweetheart,’ she urged the little man. Slowly she backed away, one hand up flat, as though it might dissuade him from sliding down again.
Standing