Authors: Tania Anne Crosse
The church was packed, and Ling was relieved that a pew had been reserved for them to share with the Warringtons. At the front sat Toby with his half brother, James, who at only sixteen was acting as best man. Ling smiled to herself as she remembered the first time she had seen James – as a young boy doggedly following in the wake of his elder sister – in those early days when she was living at Fencott Place. Ah . . . She clenched her teeth. Today she was putting all that behind her. Today she was beginning a new life, at last accepting her place beside her husband.
She glanced down at Hal Warrington at her other side. At seven years old and in a smart sailor suit, he was gravely tutting at his younger sisters, who were whispering conspiratorially, dark heads pressed together. Amusement touched Ling’s lips and she let her gaze wander about the old church. On the bride’s side, every pew was taken, mostly by villagers. At the front sat a petite woman who must be Beth Pencarrow, with her sons of about ten and twelve years old beside her, and Ling recalled that Chantal’s half sisters were to be bridesmaids together with Toby’s sister Charlotte. Ling could only see Beth Pencarrow from behind, but she was amazingly slender for someone who had brought four children into the world. But then a farmer’s wife would lead a busy, active life, and there would be no time to sit around growing fat!
The gentle medley from the organ flowed into the bellowing introductory chords of the wedding march. The congregation rose to its feet, and all whispered conversation ceased. Ling was on the opposite end of the pew from the aisle, but, being tall, she managed to catch a glimpse of the bride as she floated on her father’s arm past the rows of well-wishers and guests. Chantal Pencarrow was beautiful, with a halo of jet-black, bouncing curls. It was no wonder that Toby was so deeply in love with her. She was captivating.
Her father was just as striking. Tall, broad-shouldered but slender of waist, he had the kind of face that would have smouldered with brooding good looks in earlier years, but he was still an incredibly handsome man, his shock of dark, wavy hair barely threaded with silver at the temples. He held himself tall and proud, and, when they reached the pew behind the Warringtons’, Ling saw him dip his head to whisper something in his daughter’s ear before moving on.
But there Ling’s gaze remained as her heart came to a standstill. For there, across the aisle on the bride’s side of the church, was Elliott. Sharing a pew with the elderly William Greenwood, who had examined her the previous year, a considerably older-looking gentleman and another man of about fifty, all wearing the frock coats and stiff, winged collars of the professional classes.
Elliott didn’t appear to have seen her and she swiftly turned back, her neck rigid as she locked her eyes blindly on the altar. She scarcely heard the minister’s initial address as the tones of the organ faded away and was saved from her buckling legs as he invited the congregation to be seated.
Elliott! What was he doing here when she had so agonizingly driven him from her heart? For several minutes she simply could not think straight as her entire being fragmented into tortured splinters and she had to fight to piece them together again. Elliott was seated on the bride’s side of the church. But why? Seeing him again had instantly relit her passionate love for him like a flash of lightning. Without him, it was as if she had lost her true self, and though she had striven to live without him, she knew she was merely floundering in the mud.
But, dear Lord, what if Barney recognized him during the reception? What if anything was said that connected her and Elliott? She had deliberately never told Barney that Elliott was the physician on the train who had delivered Laura, and, to her knowledge, Fanny had never mentioned it either. At least, Barney had never made any comment. But if it came out now, wouldn’t it look suspicious?
She hardly heard a word of the service. She sat, stood, sang the hymns and knelt, moving mechanically. But while the rest of the congregation prayed for the newly-weds, Ling prayed for her own deliverance. After the service, there was the hubbub of merry voices and laughter of so many acquaintances, and eventually the bride and groom climbed into the hired open coach and were cheered as the gleaming horses spirited them away to the reception at the Pencarrow family home.
Rosebank Hall stood on the rising edge of the moor. Ling scarcely noticed the carriage jostling her this way and that as it bumped along the rutted track to the farmhouse. She took in the unexpectedly elegant building at a glance. All she could think about was Elliott, and she was grateful for Rose’s ebullient enthusiasm as she chatted about the beautiful service and attempted to keep her children in order.
‘Oh, thank goodness for that!’ Rose declared as they alighted from the carriage and her offspring scampered off to the house and garden they knew so well. ‘They can let off steam now.’
‘They was so good as gold, I thought,’ Barney chimed in with a smile.
‘Yes, but it wouldn’t have lasted much longer!’ Seth chuckled.
Ling responded with a faint smile as she walked, on Barney’s arm, across the tended lawn in front of the house. Guests were milling on the grass, sherry glasses in one hand while they greeted each other yet again with the other. Ling and Barney were introduced to the beautiful bride, who spoke to them with the merest hint of a French accent. Ling hoped her replies appeared respectful and coherent, for her heart was racing as she tried to hide herself from Elliott, whom she could see on the far side of the garden.
He evidently didn’t spot her until they were all ushered into the dining room, which was laid for the formal wedding breakfast. Ling knew she could avoid Elliott no longer and braced herself.
They were sat almost opposite each other. She saw Elliott start the instant he clapped eyes on her, and the shock and then the hurt registered on his drawn face. He looked tired. Had he been pining as she had been, burying himself in his work? Except that Ling had clawed her way out of the pit. Or, at least, she had thought she had. Until today.
Their eyes met, locked, their souls intertwining across the width of the table that separated them. An uncomfortable sweat broke out down Ling’s back, the fear of discovery trapping the breath in her throat, while at the same time she became oblivious to everything but her need for this man. She saw the colour slowly return to his cheeks, and he swallowed before he addressed her.
‘My goodness, it’s Ling, isn’t it?’ His voice was calm, professional, instantly recovered. ‘Do you remember me?’
Ling thought her heart must have stopped beating. Elliott had chosen his words well, leaving the conversation open for both her and anyone listening to interpret as they wished. Ling knew she must reply, but her mind had turned to a complete blank as she fought to remain in control.
Unwittingly, it was Barney who came to her rescue. ‘Yes, I remembers you.’ His words were slow, deliberate and distinctly contemptuous, and when Ling glanced sideways at him she saw that his face was stiff. So, after all this time, Barney still held a grudge against the stranger who had surpassed his own frozen courage and saved her from the crushing wheels of the engine. God alone knew what Barney would have done if he had known that throughout the previous summer . . .
‘Elliott Franfield, yes, of course!’ The exclamation tumbled out of her mouth. She was desperate to throw Barney off the scent. ‘How nice to see you,’ she went on politely. ‘And this is my husband, Barney.’
‘Barney.’ Elliott smiled and held out his hand. Barney glanced at it across the table, hard lines about his mouth, but he obviously felt obliged to shake it briefly. Ling inwardly cringed. The hands of her husband and her lover.
‘Wasn’t it a lovely service?’ Ling found herself saying as she searched for a way out of this appalling situation. ‘And may I ask how you come to be here?’
‘Oh, I’ve come to know the Pencarrows well over the past few months,’ Elliott explained with a casual lift of his eyebrows. ‘Dr Greenwood has worked with Beth Pencarrow for years. You know she’s a herbalist and the local midwife? Well, now that Dr Greenwood is partly retired, I’ve taken over all the outlying villages he covers, so here I am. And how about you?’
‘I know the Bradleys from when I worked for their friends, Mr and Mrs Warrington,’ Ling explained. ‘Through them, Toby and I became good friends. So, who are the other gentlemen who were with you in the church?’ she asked, endeavouring to keep the conversation away from themselves.
‘Doctor Greenwood, Doctor Ratcliffe and the elderly gent is John Seaton. Eighty next year, he’d be proud to tell you himself, and still going strong. Another retired physician, I’m afraid.’ Elliott laughed softly. ‘Used to tend the Bradleys.’
Ling smiled back, swamped with relief that the potential conflict had been diffused. She could see the sour expression on Barney’s face soften as the wedding guest on his other side engaged him in conversation. The dread that something might arouse his suspicions was, for the time being, over, but Ling yearned desperately for the day to pass. All she wanted was to be with Elliott, a suffocating, strangling need. But she couldn’t. She mustn’t. And while the celebrations erupted all around her, even Barney’s rancour dissolved by the excellent food and free-flowing alcohol, Ling felt that, inside, she was slowly dying.
Once the meal was over, she didn’t speak to Elliott again. The spacious drawing-room had been cleared for those who wished to dance to the strains of fiddle and accordion, while other guests wandered across the lawn, chatting, laughing, exchanging reminiscences. The sun began to dip over the Cornish hills, the April air turning cool. The bride and groom departed in the handsome coach for Tavistock and the Bedford Hotel, and the party began to disperse. Ling watched Elliott climb up into the carriage with the other physicians. He paused with his foot on the folding step, and his eyes searched the remaining guests. For a glorious, terrible moment, Ling stared back at him, the pain, the intense harmony of their lost love spearing into her heart.
And then he was gone, and the wound bled.
Ling was sure the world was standing still as the door opened. She should not have come. And there was Elliott, turned into a block of stone as he stared at her. Seconds passed, seconds in which Ling’s wasted life flashed in front of her. Finally, without uttering a word, Elliott stood back and Ling dragged herself inside.
Elliott quietly shut the door behind him, gazing at her in silence, motionless, until she thought her heart must burst out of her chest. Had she made a mistake? Had Elliott found someone else to fill the gaping void in his life? Perhaps his soul had not been mangled by the chance meeting as hers had been, the reopened wound festering until it ran with despair. She looked into the clear depths of his eyes, saw the spasm of pain that twitched at his face. And then he crushed her to him, his jaw pressed against her cheek.
‘Oh, my only love,’ he choked into her ear. ‘You’ve come back. Oh, thank God.’
She felt his tense body relax as if the agony was emptying out of him and when she looked up, the taut muscles in his face had slackened with relief.
‘I . . . I just couldn’t live without you,’ she faltered, joy bubbling up inside her like a rising tide, ready to drown out the sands of her conscience. ‘I know it’s wrong, but I don’t care any more. I’ve been so miserable without you.’
‘And I without you.’
His tight hold on her had eased, but now he squeezed her against him once more and she allowed the magic of him, his lean masculinity, his compassion, his intellect, to wash over her. It was as if she could not get close enough to him, breathing in the zestful scent of the lemon soap he used, drawing him into herself. She lifted her mouth to his and their lips met, delicately at first, ricocheting the desire down her spine, and then with mounting, overwhelming passion. Her body melted, on fire, every fibre sensitive to the slightest touch. They both knew what the other wanted. Needed.
Elliott took her hand and they ran up the stairs, laughing as Ling tripped on the hem of her skirt. Up in the bedroom, Elliott tore at his own clothes while she took off her outer garments. He turned her to him then, the afternoon light falling on his naked body, accentuating the curved muscles of his shoulders and chest, his flat stomach, the sinews in his strong arms. He lifted the chemise over her head, flinging it away, and her full breasts fell into his hands. He caressed them tenderly, reverently, while the breath fluttered at her throat and her hair escaped from its pins and fell down her back in a flaming mane. They moved as one towards the bed, Ling lying down so that Elliott could slide off her drawers and reveal the full glory of her flesh to him. Fingertip met fingertip, the electrifying sensation crackling through their limbs as they stroked each other lovingly and in total rapture. The yearning shot down to Ling’s belly as Elliott led her onwards, his mouth and tongue following his fingers as he found the soft, moist centre of her, and she moaned deliciously as he brought her towards the exquisite point that had to be satisfied.
He stopped for a brief moment then, and she waited impatiently on the crest of desire. She knew what he was doing, and when she heard him mutter a mild oath under his breath, she caught his hand.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she whispered.
Elliott met her eyes with a frown, but this force, this craving, was too strong for either of them. Then Elliott was inside her, and she clung on to him as their bodies moved in unison, at first slowly, then with growing urgency as they reached the dizzy heights of euphoria together. They stayed locked in a tight embrace as the tension eased, and then their satiated bodies rolled apart, full and content, and they marvelled at how they were so meant to be together.
Elliott’s lungs expanded as he propped himself on one elbow and smiled down at her somewhat sheepishly. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that to happen. It’s just . . . I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind. God, I
love
you, Ling. And when I saw you at the wedding, with Barney—’