When they awoke the fickle sunshine had disappeared and a cold mist had crept in from the sea and surrounded them as they slept.
‘Jonathan – oh, whatever time must it be? There’s the milkin’ to do. And Kate will be looking for me!’ Esther scrambled to her feet and rushed headlong towards the twisting track which led back across the marsh and the dunes to the lane.
The mist swallowed her.
‘Esther – Esther, wait.’ He was instantly fully awake. ‘You’re going the wrong way. Esther!’
She could hear his voice but she could not see him. The mist swirled about her obliterating her sense if direction completely. ‘Jonathan,’ she shouted, ‘I can’t see you. Where are you?’
Suddenly Esther knew real fear. She had never been lost like this. She heard his voice just once more. ‘Now just stand still, Esther, and keep talking to me and I’ll come to you.’
There was silence.
‘Jonathan,’ she shouted. ‘Jonathan!
Jonathan!
’
There was no answering shout.
E
STHER
called his name until she was hoarse. She stumbled over thick tufts of grass, fell into sandy hollows, until she was almost weeping with fear. Her heart was pounding and her breathing painful. She ran first one way and then stopped, unsure, turned and ran another way. Prickly sea-buckthorn loomed out of the mist and scratched at her hands and forearms. She thought she had found the footpath which led back across the marshland to the lane and began to follow it, still calling his name all the time. She shivered in the dampness of the mist and yet she was sweating with fear.
She trod in a rabbit burrow and twisted her ankle, giving a cry of anguish as she fell to the ground. She pulled herself up again and plunged on blindly. The path she was following gave way to a stretch of sand and she knew she was on the beach. She turned around and began to go in the opposite direction which she now knew must lead her back to safety. Then she stopped. What about Jonathan? She could see nothing but the grey, clinging mist all around her.
Suppose Jonathan, who didn’t know the beach and the ways of the sea at all, were to wander in the mist out towards the sea? What if he was caught by the incoming tide as it swirled inward, forming creeks and sand islands? That much at least she had learnt about the sea
and the tides since coming to live here. Jonathan knew nothing. He would be cut off, caught by the rushing water . . .
‘Jonathan,’ she cried, fearing more for him now than for herself.
There was silence all around her, the mist wrapped itself about her like a shroud.
She stood still and listened intently. Was that a seagull crying?
Suddenly it was clearer, though faint. ‘Eeestheer!’
‘Jonathan, Jonathan – I’m here. Where are you?’
His voice was nearer and now she continued to call his name and steadily he was coming closer and closer, the sound of his voice in answer to her own becoming stronger and louder. ‘I’m coming, Esther. Stay where you are and I can come to you.’
The mist cleared a little and his dark shape came towards her. She was so thankful to see him that she flung herself against him, winding her arms about his neck, kissing his face, crying and laughing all at the same time.
‘I thought you’d gone towards the sea. I thought you could have drowned.’
Jonathan’s arms were about her, tight and protective and thankful. Their mouths were warm against each other, whilst the cold mist enclosed them.
‘Oh, darling, my love, my dearest love,’ she was murmuring, her endearments echoed by his deep voice. She was shivering as much from fear as with the cold. Jonathan took off his jacket and wrapped it around her, hugging her close to him. He kissed her, soothing away her
terror. His lips were gentle, but as she returned his kisses, his mouth became more urgent.
‘Esther, oh, Esther,’ he whispered and they sank down together into the sand.
In their relief at finding each other safe, having for a few brief moments believed each other in danger, their longing overwhelmed them and they were lost. They yielded to the hunger that had been between them almost since their first meeting – an inexplicable craving that had shocked and engulfed them both.
And now their bodies came together in a flood of ecstasy. It was as if they were the only two people in the world. Swept away on a tide of emotion, there was no Matthew, no Kate – even no farm. It was as if for the whole of her life, Esther had been waiting for this moment, for this man. Her need of him was a physical pain. Her body ached for his. Nothing and no one else mattered . . .
‘I never knew it could be like that,’ she said, lying back on the sand.
Jonathan kissed her forehead, her eyelids and then her mouth, his lips gentle and caressing. ‘Oh, my dear love, neither did I.’
She opened her eyes to find his blue eyes, full of concern, searching hers. She could feel his breath upon her face as he whispered, ‘You’re not – sorry?’
Her own eyes widened. ‘Sorry? How could I be?’ She reached up to trace the line of his jaw with her fingertips. ‘I love you,’ she said simply and no other explanation was needed.
His arms tightened around her and his lips kissed her neck, moving down, down to her breast and she felt the flutter of desire begin again. They made love again, slowly now, exulting in each other, murmuring endearments until again the waves of passion bore them to the heights of exquisite happiness.
Afterwards they still lay together in the sand. The mist enveloped them, but they were oblivious to the searching damp, reluctant even yet to leave. Holding her, Jonathan said, ‘Esther, what about your – husband?’
Esther, her cheek against his chest, said, ‘Matthew doesn’t love me. He never did.’
‘What?’ There was astonishment, and disbelief, in the one word.
‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘it’s time I told you the truth about my marriage.’ She shivered suddenly, as if for the first time becoming aware of the cold and, noticing, he wrapped his jacket around her and held her close, warming her with his body.
‘I suppose,’ she mused as much to herself as to him, ‘we should not have married. I—’ She stopped as realization came creeping unbidden into her conscious mind. ‘I didn’t know what love was.’ She heard the surprise in her own voice and paused, as understanding at last flooded through her. ‘But now I do,’ she added. There was a sadness too mingled with her present happiness. A sadness for Matthew – and even for Beth. She sighed deeply and began to tell Jonathan from the beginning.
‘I was born a bastard,’ she began bluntly, and felt his arms tighten about her. ‘My mother died at my birth, refusing to name my father.
‘My mother’s sister – my Aunt Hannah – brought me up. She didn’t love me, though I have to admit she taught me all I know and her harshness has made me a survivor. But as soon as I was old enough, I left.’
She told him how she had come to this place, walking through the night to arrive out of the early morning mist at Sam Brumby’s farm. How she had made herself useful to Sam and how, by the time he died, she believed that the old man at least had had some affection for her in his gruff way.
‘From the moment I arrived here, Matthew was – well – after me. I always vowed I’d never give way to any man before marriage.’ Bitterness crept into her tone. ‘I wasn’t going to bring another bastard into the world!’
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ she heard Jonathan murmur.
‘I knew there was something between him and Beth but when the squire refused to give me the tenancy of Brumbys’ Farm in my own name just because I’m a woman . . .’ At the indignation in her voice, he raised her hand to his lips and held it against them. ‘I just never stopped to think. Matthew wanted me, asked me to marry him and I agreed.’
There was silence. ‘But – but why, darling, if you didn’t love him?’
‘I liked him well enough. He was the only one of my own age round here who’d been friendly. But it was the farm. I wanted the farm – a home of my own. Somewhere I could belong, and I had to be married to get the tenancy. It was the only way. The only way.’
‘Then he – he must have loved you, Esther. He wouldn’t just ask you to marry him for no reason.’
She buried her face against him, aware of a kind of shame only now when she had learnt the difference between real love and mere physical lust. ‘He – he only wanted me – physically.’
There was a long pause, then Jonathan said quietly, a little ruefully, ‘Well, I can hardly blame him for that, now can I?’
She curled up against him, winding her arms around his waist, pressing her head against his chest. ‘I think Beth truly loved him, and at the bottom of him I think he loved her. But you see Matthew’s the sort of man . . .’ She hesitated for a moment searching for the right words to express a knowledge that she was only just becoming aware of herself. ‘He’s the sort of man who can’t resist a challenge – any sort of challenge. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I think so.’
‘Poor Matthew. It was the same when he volunteered. It was only because Martha Willoughby and her bitch of a sister made loud remarks in church about cowards and that Major Langley . . .’ She paused. ‘God – I’ll never forgive that man! His speechifying altered all our lives. He whipped up such patriotism in his speech at a rally in the town, well, poor Matthew, he couldn’t resist it, could he? If something was out of his reach or denied him, he wanted it all the more. At first I was that challenge, whilst Beth was always willing. When he had married me, he had me whenever he wanted. I never said no. Maybe,’ she mused thoughtfully, ‘it would have been better if I had said no now and then.’
She let out a long sigh and continued. In the circle of
Jonathan’s arms, his cheek against her hair, Esther was quietly remembering just how her marriage had been, seeing it clearly for the first time. For now, in this moment in the dunes, she had learnt the difference.
‘Matthew seemed to change. I know he was bitter about the farm and why I’d married him. He knew that it was really me that Mr Marshall gave the tenancy to – not him in his own right but only because he was my husband. It sort of – lessened his manhood. In his own eyes, if no one else’s.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Jonathan murmured.
‘Before we married, when I held out against him, all he could think of was getting me, even if it meant having to marry me. When at last he’d got me, he began to hanker after Beth again. I think he had some funny idea that Beth would still be his even after he’d married me, would always be his. So when she married Eland and was out of Matthew’s reach, it made him want her all the more. Then, of course, she had Matthew’s baby.’
She felt Jonathan’s whole body stiffen and she raised her head to look up at him as he asked, ‘Little Danny is
Matthew’s
son?’
‘Yes.’
‘I – see,’ he said slowly, trying to comprehend how it must affect the close-knit community of Fleethaven Point. ‘It must be difficult for you – for everyone.’
Esther shivered suddenly. ‘I’ll have to get back to
the farm.’
She got up from the sand and held out her hands to him. ‘Let’s try and find our way back to the road and this
time I’m keeping tight hold of you,’ she laughed artfully, ‘in more ways than one.’
They stood together for a moment, gazing deeply into each other’s eyes, sharing again that special intimacy.
‘You’ll come to the farm tonight?’
‘Esther, I don’t think . . .’
She placed her forefinger against his lips to still his objection, and whispered urgently, ‘Promise me you’ll come?’
He nodded, his breath touching her fingers in a soft sigh. ‘But only after dark. I don’t want the gossip to start.’
‘I don’t care . . .’ she began, but firmly he said, ‘It would hurt you, my dear. You – and Kate. I don’t want that.’
They parted just before the bank of grass bordering the lane, he to turn off towards the rear of the Seagull and Esther to cross the road to her farm.
She walked as if in a dream. All round her the familiar scene seemed unreal and yet suddenly so much more vibrantly alive. The pungent smell of the yard met her. She breathed deeply revelling in the air around her.
How wonderful it was to be alive – and to be loved.
A smile curved her mouth, softening its hard, set line to tenderness. She hummed softly beneath her breath, and every so often she gave a little skip of sheer happiness.
The farm seemed quiet and unusually still as if waiting for her return. There was no sign of Kate. She would be at the Point with Enid – or Danny.
As she pushed open the back door, she saw it.
Lying on the floor, delivered whilst she lay in Jonathan’s arms, was a postcard from Matthew.
S
HE
stood holding the card in her hands, tensing herself against the expected flood of guilt. But it did not come. It was as if the card was from a stranger, or from someone she had known a long time ago – a person from another life.
She moved jerkily into the kitchen, and raised her head slowly to look up at the photograph of Matthew on the mantelpiece. She stared at it, but she could not even summon up memories of the real person; she could not hear his voice in her mind, or feel his touch.
To her, now, Matthew was only a face in a photograph.
It was Jonathan who was real. It was Jonathan’s face she saw in her mind every waking moment; how the laughter lines crinkled round his eyes when he smiled. The way his mouth was a little lopsided, but how his blue eyes sparkled when he looked at her. How the flick of blond hair fell continually over his forehead so that she longed to brush it back and to feel his face beneath her fingers. It was his deep voice she heard, not Matthew’s. It was Jonathan who loved and held her. It was his touch she craved.
Esther tucked the latest card behind the picture at the back of the others. She would tell no one of its arrival, she thought, but then remembered ruefully, doubtless
everyone at the Point would already know of its delivery if the postboy had cycled all the way from town.
‘Where’s my little girl, then?’ Will asked climbing stiffly down from the front of his cart as Esther came running around the corner of the house from the front garden, a wet shirt in one hand, clothes pegs in the other.