Lakeland Lily (38 page)

In future, many of his richer friends meant to build themselves something power-driven and fast, as Bertie had once predicted. No more idling up and down the lake, they said. The days of leisurely serenity were a thing of the past. Lily thought it rather a shame. Not that it was any concern of hers what they did. Her own war work on the boat was done, which, in a way, she felt sorry about too. She’d quite enjoyed chatting with their customers, had loved the gentle glide through the waters and the sound of the steamer’s farewell whistle as it departed from the jetty each time. She’d even enjoyed shovelling coal into the boiler.

Now she had to wear pretty frocks and smart costumes. Put her hair in a fetching chignon instead of scraped up beneath an engineer’s cap. Her life had certainly been full of change and quite a few surprises. Lily had come a long way since the day she’d left The Cobbles for the last time, and for the most part she wasn’t sorry.

She couldn’t deny that it was much more comfortable living here at Barwick House than in Mallard Street, though she did have a few regrets, of course. The diphtheria taking her sister Emma and her own little Amy. Her mother-in-law, as sour and difficult as ever, and Selene as petulant. But Lily had little Thomas now, and a husband who was kind to her. When he was home. So why couldn’t she be content?

The answer imprinted itself firmly upon her mind, and Lily wondered if she’d shouted it out loud as a moorhen suddenly launched itself into the water and set off in a great flurry to go nowhere in particular. When the ruffled waters had calmed to shimmering steel again, she spoke softly, not wishing to disturb the afternoon calm.

‘Nathan, please don’t marry Selene. How can I live without you?’ Yet what right did she have to ask? She, a married woman?

Did that make her a harlot? A whore? The kind of woman Margot had accused her of being, whom even her own mother would cross the street to avoid?

‘Oh, God, tell me what I am to do.’ Lily closed her eyes but could not pray. Unlike her mother, she was not particularly religious and, much as she longed for help, it seemed like blasphemy to ask Him. ‘You’re right, God, it’s my mess and I should sort it out,’ she said sadly.

Lily was lingering in the wooded gardens, enjoying the dappled sunshine and picking a few daffodils to take to Hannah when she saw Selene come out of the house and hurry down the stony drive. But instead of taking the gig, as she usually did, she headed at a brisk pace along the shore path, in the direction Lily herself had first taken.

For no reason she could rightly explain, Lily found herself stepping back out of sight behind a beech tree, curious to know where it was Selene was off to in such a hurry.

Selene pushed her way rapidly through the thick laurel and holly bushes that cloaked this part of the shore, crossed an open meadow, jumped a narrow beck and then, branching off at a tangent, let herself quickly out through a small gate in the top corner of the field. Lily knew now where she was going. The gate opened on to a path which led uphill through dense vegetation, before meandering for perhaps half a mile right to the door of Rosedale Lodge, the magnificent Gothic mansion occupied by Marcus Kirkby. And something about the way she walked told Lily that this little-used route was very familiar to Selene.

Lily remained where she was until Selene had quite vanished, letting the anger surge through her. Then she turned on her heel and flew through the woods on furious feet, kicking at broken branches that got in her way, swiping at branches, being clawed by brambles as she stormed heedlessly on.

How dare she?

Not for a minute did Lily imagine these visits to be innocent. It was all perfectly clear now. No wonder Selene hadn’t looked too thrilled when Lily had brought Nathan home unexpectedly from the station. His return had really put a fly in her ointment. No wonder her mind always seemed to be elsewhere and she’d never been available to do any kind of war work or even simple chores.

After all the agonies Lily had suffered, worrying and depriving herself of Nathan’s company. That little madam just upped and cheated on him, without thought or care. Who would Margot call the shameless hussy now?

Lily was so angry on Nathan’s behalf that she’d almost reached the edge of the woods before she came to a skidding halt, panting for breath and quite red in the face.

Now what? And what did it have to do with her? How much, exactly, would Nathan mind?

Perhaps he wouldn’t mind at all. He’d never actually claimed to be in love with Selene. Pretty as she undoubtedly was she was also spoiled and selfish. But of course, as the daughter of a wealthy businessman, she had other attributes. Nathan had never denied that he was an ambitious man who must look to his future. Weren’t those his exact words? Lily would have liked to hate him for that fact alone, if only she had the will.

Because she had been expecting Bertie to arrive at any time, Lily had meant never to go to Nathan again, albeit every inch of her body longed to do so. But Bertie wasn’t coming, and a reckless decision was already forming in the back of her mind, one she was helpless to control.

‘Two wrongs don’t make a right.’ She could almost hear Hannah’s voice giving one of her many Methodist sermons. ‘If someone does summat wrong and hurts you, it don’t mean you can do it too.’

But I need him, Lily thought. I need him now. She broke into a run, stumbling over stones and tree roots in her eagerness to get to him.

There was the question of whether she should even tell him of her suspicions. This sobered her so that she slithered to a halt to consider the matter more carefully.

He might not believe her.

He might accuse her of being jealous. Which she was, but that surely didn’t alter the facts.

He might suggest Selene was visiting Catherine Kirkby, and not Marcus at all.

Lily recalled the time when even thick snow had not prevented the girl from going, though any sensible person would have turned back. She’d returned home the following day with the kind of perfect calm about her that only another woman, likewise in love, could interpret. Certainly it was plain enough now, looking back. Lily didn’t feel it necessary to catch them together to prove her suspicions correct. But perhaps Nathan would, being a man.

Yet if she didn’t tell him and he found out later, after he’d married Selene for instance, might he then blame Lily for keeping quiet? Say she could have saved him from humiliation?

Lily sank on to a log, put her face into her hands and silently wept. Whatever she did could turn out wrong. But, oh, how she loved him! How she longed to be with him day and night, to hear him say that he loved her.

Whatever her mam might say, no one else was playing fair so why should she? Bertie hadn’t been honest with her, had he? Nor had Selene with Nathan. So for whose sake were they depriving themselves? Surely they had as much right to happiness as everyone else?

Lily paused only to check that Thomas was happily occupied playing with soap bubbles in the kitchen with Betty, a large towel wrapped about his neck. Then she offered up her lie.

‘I thought I’d take a long walk over the fells this afternoon. Do me good to get some fresh air after this dismal winter. It’s such a lovely spring day.’

‘You do that, ma’am,’ Betty cheerily agreed. ‘Do you good. Master Thomas and me’ll have us a nice wee tea-party. Don’t you worry none about us.’

Betty insisted on packing a sizeable packet of sandwiches and bottle of lemonade, instructing Lily to wear her ‘proper boots’ and take a map and waterproof. ‘Easy to get lost, and you never knows how the weather might turn. Be back afore dark or I’ll have to set George off looking for you.’

Lily made the necessary promises and escaped, heart beating so loud she was certain Betty must hear her excitement or see it in her trembling hands.

She fed the sandwiches to the ducks as Ferryman Bob rowed her across, his knowing glances taking in those flushed cheeks, the unusual brightness in her hazel eyes. But he made no comment, confining himself to polite enquiries about her family.

‘How’s Arnie? Still at the fishing?’

‘The fishing’s not too good right now.’

‘I did hear. How’s he managing then?’

‘I’m not sure. He doesn’t say much.’

Ferryman Bob looked thoughtful. ‘Aye, he’s a proud man is Arnie.’

The moment they docked, she leaped from the boat and hurried straight to the house on the corner of Drake Road, pushing the scribbled note she’d prepared through the letterbox. Now all she had to do was to hurry up the twisting path to Carreck Woods without seeing anyone she knew, and wait for him to come to her.

He came like a young giant, bursting through the thick undergrowth of hazel and laurel, tearing the clinging branches apart in his eagerness to reach her. In his ears was the roar of water from the beck as it tumbled down into the lake far below. Or it could have been the sound of hot blood pulsing in his head. Before him lay the ruins of an old bobbin mill which once had produced wooden bobbins for the Lancashire cotton mills in its prime, when cotton had been King. Now
he
felt like a King, rich with the power of his need.

But when Nathan came upon her in the clearing, lying back on the soft turf, her thick brown hair spread upon a pillow of lush green moss, he thought he had never seen anything more beautiful in all his life. He stopped, stricken by sudden uncertainty.

What rights could he ever have over her? She didn’t belong to him. He had always believed that if he attempted to possess her, he would lose her. That she might vanish like some woodland sprite and be gone, as every other beautiful thing in his life had likewise vanished.

A shaft of sunlight caught her hair, firing it to a deep chestnut, then as quickly cooling as it moved on over her flushed cheeks and stroked the golden beauty of her throat.

His love for her was like a fire, one that would never cool, and one he could never properly express. For all his refusal to make an avowal, deep in his heart Nathan knew there was nothing he wouldn’t give to make Lily his. Nothing he wouldn’t do to possess her completely.

If that meant cuckolding his one-time best friend, so be it. He’d seen how short life could be, knew there might only be today. Why shouldn’t he enjoy their love?

He saw that she watched him from beneath the crescents of her dark lashes, smiling a welcome. Somewhere high in the treetops a blackbird sang, and deep in the woods a pigeon softly cooed. At his feet a pair of voles rolled over each other in a clump of violets, then scampered off into the undergrowth. It seemed that every living creature thought of love this day.

She spoke his name softly. ‘Nathan.’

How he had longed for this moment. Not since before the war had they last lain together. And he knew that for all the promises to himself over the years since, all the vows he had made, he still did not have the strength to resist her. Were they not predestined for each other?

He lay gently beside her, his fingers clumsy as he reached for the buttons on her gown. Sliding it from her shoulders he kissed her throat and the swell of a white breast, heart clenching as she instinctively arched her body against his.

Then he was fighting to get out of his own clothes with a wretched slowness, hating the uselessness of his frozen arm. He watched, mesmerised, as quickly she stripped off her own few garments with impatient hands. How her nipples leaped with life as a playful breeze teased them. But he would make them burn with a greater need.

She sat up, ripe and naked, her skin glowing pale as alabaster in the sun. ‘Can you manage? Do you want me to help?’ It was the wrong thing to say. Nathan flinched away from her, and Lily saw the expression on his face become defiant.

‘I can manage.’ The last thing he needed was her pity.

‘I only asked because you look so tempting.’ Though he wasn’t the same young man who had gone off so eagerly to war, in her eyes he would always be attractive. ‘And I’m nervous as a kitten.’ She laughed.

 
He knelt before her then, glowering, afraid he might make a fool of himself. He’d heard of soldiers losing their manhood, of not being able to love their wives and sweethearts. ‘If I-I revolt you, s-say so?’

Lily stared at him for a whole half second, then rolled those glorious green and golden eyes as if he’d made the funniest remark imaginable. ‘Why should you revolt me? Dear God, I can’t keep my hands off you.’ She lifted them to him, pushing her fingers through the crisp curls of his hair, as wild as ever, and when still he hesitated, ‘For God’s sake, will you come to me? I can’t wait a minute longer. I can see you aren’t missing the important parts, which look pretty healthy to me.’

For a moment she thought her deliberate bluntness had offended him, and this time he really would be angry. But after a stunned silence he put back his head and laughed, the sound deep and husky and highly sensual. ‘Sh-shameless hussy.’

The word, so soon after she’d used it about herself and Selene, shook her, but then Lily tossed back her hair, and lifted one foot to curl her bare toes seductively against his chest. ‘Don’t think I shall spare you. It’s every man for himself here. You’ve got one perfectly good arm, haven’t you? And two legs. I’m not going to fight you off. If you can’t take me with the resources you have available, you’re not the man I thought you were.’