Authors: Iris Gower
Catherine walked to the beach and sat on the promenade staring across the bay to Oystermouth. There, her mother had lived as a child, brought up in the small fishing community, loved and cared for until the day she had chosen to move to Honey’s Farm.
Catherine rose impatiently, she must stop feeling sorry for herself, it was merely self-indulgent and did no-one any good. She had lands and money enough to live on, she had her health and strength and it was about time she got on with her life and stopped moaning about her lot.
‘We must try again for another child.’ Bethan lifted her chin and stared into Boyo’s face, trying to read his expression. ‘You want an heir, I know that and I, well, I want a baby to hold close in my arms, a live baby to suckle at my breast…’ Her voice broke for a moment, ‘I know I can’t replace our first son but another child would do much to alleviate the pain of our loss, don’t you agree?’
She watched his face carefully, she knew that he had been sent packing from Honey’s Farm, knew that somehow something had gone wrong in the relationship he had shared with Catherine O’Conner and she could not help but rejoice, for now he would stay with her. Boyo would be true to his vows, he would protect her and care for her and if he did not love her, well, hadn’t she known that all along?
‘I don’t know,’ he said at last, ‘your age is against you, Bethan, I don’t want you to risk your life for what might end in another tragedy.’
‘It’s because of my age that I want us to try again as soon as possible, Boyo.’ She spoke softly, ‘I’m not asking you to forget your love for the young O’Conner girl, I know that it’s impossible, at least for the time being. All I’m asking is that we try for another chance at happiness. Please, Boyo, I need a child so very badly.’
He rubbed his forehead and she could see the mixture of expressions flit across his face.
‘Boyo, I’m not so repulsive to you that you cannot come to my bed am I?’
‘Of course not.’ He took her in his arms and held her close. She could hear his heart beating and tears rose to her eyes. If only she could have his love, she would be the happiest woman in the world.
‘All right.’ He spoke the words on a sigh. ‘If your heart is set on it then we shall try for a baby.’
It was only a beginning but suddenly Bethan felt as though she was lit from within with happiness. She clung to him, feeling the crispness of his hair beneath her fingers, her heart bursting with love for him. She closed her eyes and sent up a small prayer of gratitude to the heavens. Boyo would again hold her in his arms and perhaps, just perhaps, they could recapture the old easy relationship they had once enjoyed.
Boyo moved upstairs to the master bedroom with an air of a man attending his own funeral. He felt he was about to be unfaithful to Catherine, which was absurd, he was going to bed with his lawful wife, how could that be wrong? And yet it felt wrong. Every instinct within him urged him to move on past the open door to his own room. He stopped for a moment on the landing and closed his eyes. In a moment he was transported from his home to the house he had shared with Catherine. He could picture her stretched across the bed, her hair like fire around the whiteness of her shoulders. A great surge of need drove through him, followed quickly by a feeling of loss. How could he make love to Bethan feeling as he did?
Purposefully he moved into the room and stood for a moment as his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. The lamps were turned down low, the curtains open, revealing a fine moonlit night, a night for lovers.
He saw Bethan stretch a pale arm towards him and he went to her, closing his eyes, trying to warm himself into a feeling of love for her.
Once he was beneath the sheets, he held her close and her arms clung to him, her breasts soft against his chest. He caressed her gently and she pressed closer; he could feel the tears on her cheeks, they tasted of salt beneath his lips.
His body refused to respond and then, unbidden, there came to his mind the image of Catherine. With a groan he turned away from his wife, burying his face in the pillow, as though hoping that by hiding his face, he could quench the misery that rose within him.
He felt Bethan’s hurt as she turned her back on him, dragging the bedclothes with her and yet he could do nothing to help her, his own pain was too much to bear.
‘It’s over, then.’ Her voice was muffled but he could hear the hardness that was an attempt to hide her feeling of rejection.
‘Oh, Bethan, leave me alone, I don’t want to hurt you, I’m so sorry.’
‘She has ruined our lives, hasn’t she?’ The harshness was still there but now it was tempered by sorrow. ‘What we had is gone for ever and I do not even have the consolation of a baby to care for.’
Bethan began to sob quietly and Boyo knew he should turn to her, take her in his arms and comfort her and yet he could not. He had never heard his wife cry, she was a woman of immense control but he had broken her with his love for another woman. In that moment he wondered what perverse fate had brought Catherine back into his life only to snatch her away from him again.
Summer Lodge was almost unrecognizable. Rooms once elegant and gracious were becoming a desolate waste, empty of furniture. Carpenters worked tirelessly, the sound of hammers and saws echoing through the hallways. Servants cowered in the kitchen, dreading the day when work would begin on the place that had been their own, a sanctuary from the whims of the ruling classes.
Hari was appalled at the way the money was being eroded on the alterations, materials cost the earth and the labour of the men employed ate into her money at a frightening rate. She worried constantly about the future, her’s and Craig’s, but outwardly she was the collected Hari Grenfell everyone knew.
The stocks of leather from the warehouse had been lodged at the tannery belonging to Boyo Hopkins. The warehouse was bringing in a good regular rent which Hari used to eat away at her debts.
Hari was seated now in the office which had once been Craig’s den. The room had required very little by way of alteration, at least structurally, but the furnishings had been changed. A gleaming typewriter held pride of place on the leather-topped desk. A cupboard to hold files had been crammed into a corner. The soft, comfortable old sofa had been stored in the attic and in its place stood a drawing-board with a lamp fixed above it.
Hari stared down at a letter from the bank, turning it over in her hands, almost afraid to take up the paper-knife and tear open the envelope. Her heart raced and her mouth was dry, she feared there were new problems to contend with before the old ones had begun to sort themselves out.
The letter was quite pleasant in tone, informing Hari that a new sum of money had been placed at her disposal. She scanned the page quickly and then put down the letter with a trembling hand. Bethan Hopkins had known the difficulties Hari would face and had injected a further £2,000 into the project. She sighed in relief, at least for now there would be no problems. Yet in a way she was becoming deeper in debt and the thought was frightening.
Hari rose and made her way across the rubble of the hall towards the back of the house. She moved past the kitchens and out into the grounds. There, an outbuilding was slowly taking shape as a large workshop. New machines were in place, a cutting machine and a machine for stitching the leather. All that was left for the workmen to do was to put the finishing touches to the window-frames.
She would make a start in the morning, let the men work around her. Some shoes would simply be finished by hand, others, costing a great deal more, would be entirely handmade.
Hari would need to find a young apprentice as well as an experienced shoemaker. She would work on the designs herself and take on some of the manual work, at least until the business began to make a profit, if it ever did. Profit, what a wonderful word.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Craig looking down at her with such tenderness in his eyes that she immediately turned and buried her face against the crispness of his shirt-front.
‘We will make a go of it, won’t we, Craig?’ she asked almost fearfully.
‘Of course we will. I can’t offer many skills, except that of choosing good leather but my back is strong, I can fetch the stocks from the tannery for you.’
The thought of her husband acting as a labourer cut deep into Hari’s heart. At his age, Craig should be able to relax, to take life easy and here he was, offering to take an active part in the business.
‘If we pull together, we’ll make it.’ He spoke with a confidence Hari knew was forced.
‘We’ll have to,’ she said, ‘otherwise we’ll end up even deeper in debt than before. We can’t have that, can we?’
He laughed out loud, throwing back his head, the strong column of his neck was tempting and Hari reached up and kissed him, just below where his beard was beginning to turn grey.
‘Why are you laughing at me?’ she asked in mock indignation.
‘Because you suddenly reminded me of the little monster girl I first saw in a tiny kitchen that smelt of cooking and leather.’ He drew her closer in his arms. ‘My little Welsh
cariad
, my own Hari.’
She nestled against him, they had so much to be thankful for, they had each other.
She then pushed him away. ‘Now then, let’s see if this fine talk of yours has any substance to it, shall we?’
He looked at her, his eyebrows raised, waiting for her next words with a hint of a smile on his face.
‘If I’m to make a start on my first pair of shoes tomorrow morning as planned, I’m going to need some fine calf for the uppers.’
‘Yes, boss,’ Craig bowed his head. ‘Anything you say, boss.’
Hari slapped out at him playfully. ‘You think you are being funny, don’t you, but you’re going to find out exactly just how bossy a woman can be, my lad.’
He took her hand. ‘Before I become totally subservient, please may I have the honour of taking my boss to bed? I suddenly feel very much in need of love and comfort.’
‘Craig!’ Hari looked round, wondering if any of the men working inside the building had heard. Craig laughed and pulled at her, drawing her towards the house.
‘It’s quite legal to want to make love to you, you are my wife, after all.’
Hari looked at him sternly. ‘That’s as maybe, but now you have to conserve your energy, I need that calf here by tonight so that I can make…’ She stopped speaking as he put his hand gently across her mouth.
‘I know, so that you can start first thing in the morning. You’ll have your leather but only if I have what I want first.’
Giggling like a young girl, Hari allowed Craig to lead her towards the house and suddenly her heart was light, her new venture was going to be all right or she would break her back in the attempt.
The unseasonal weather swept in on Honey’s Farm with torrential rain fading the landscape to grey and beating the crops into submission. The fields of once proud, golden corn were flattened and rotting, turning the meadows to swamps and bringing the danger of disease to the beasts.
Catherine looked out at the dismal weather and with her finger traced the tracks of a raindrop slipping like a tear along the window-pane. The silence in the kitchen was oppressive, if only she had someone to talk to. She sighed, she would have to brave the storm and do some work, there was no-one else to do it for her, not now.
She faced the fact, standing there in the dismal darkness of the unlit kitchen, that she was not managing the farm very well, not managing at all, if the truth be told. Contrary to her mother’s prophesy that she would bring the lands back to their former glory, she had done nothing but make one mistake after another and now, with even the weather against her, it was almost certain that the farm would face ruin. The precious crop of corn would rot in the ground and there would be no seed to sow in spring.
Catherine sighed heavily, reluctant to step outside and face the beating rain. What did it matter, anyway, what was the point in struggling? There would be no profit this autumn, no money at all, not unless she sold some of the stock.
She had been giving it some thought; the most valuable asset she had at her disposal was the prize bull that her father had been so proud of. He was a huge creature kept solely for breeding, docile enough while there were enough cows to service but moody and even bad-tempered when he was left idle for too long. Catherine was a little afraid of the animal and it would be no hardship to get rid of him.
She glanced round uneasily, it was so quiet that the silence was almost tangible. Occasionally a coal shifted in the grate but otherwise the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece.
A coal fell through the bars in a shower of sparks and Catherine turned briefly to look at the fireplace. The flames were dying, it was about time she fetched in some logs from the shed across the yard. And yet the rain was sweeping now, rushing against the window in gusts, rattling the glass in the small frames.
But she must stir herself; whatever happened, the cows needed to be milked before nightfall, the hens shut in the coops for safety, for there were always foxes about the farm. She did not relish doing the chores in such weather but she had no choice, the entire work of the farm now rested on her shoulders. Only that morning she had paid off the two remaining labourers, there was no more money in the wages box. Both the men had promised to hold on till the end of the harvest, managing without pay, but Catherine had taken a lingering look at the beaten corn and had shaken her head, there would be no harvest.
So now she was entirely alone, alone on the farmlands that spread across the hill like a patchwork quilt washed by rain and greyness. She was facing a crisis and she knew it.
She took her coat from the back of the door and wrapped herself in it, buttoning it up to her neck. She tied a scarf around her long hair and then pulled on her boots.
It was a battle to open the door, the wind tugged and twisted her clothes and swept the fallen leaves into the kitchen. The rain fell in spiteful darts against her face and briefly she wondered why she was still struggling to survive. And yet she knew why, farming was in her blood as it had been in her father’s before her. She only needed one good crop to recoup all her losses, one good harvest of corn would see her right. In the meantime she would just have to do the best she could.