CHAPTER 5

      ‘David, when are we going back to London? When are we going to America?’

      Across the breakfast table, David Hunter gave Rosaleen a quick surprised glance.

      ‘There’s no hurry, is there? What’s wrong with this place?’

      He gave a swift appreciative glance round the room where they were breakfasting. Furrowbank was built on the side of a hill and from the windows one had an unbroken panorama of sleepy English countryside. On the slope of the lawn thousands of daffodils had been planted. They were nearly over now, but a sheet of golden bloom still remained.

      Crumbling the toast on her plate, Rosaleen murmured:

      ‘You said we’d go to America—soon. As soon as it could be managed.’

      ‘Yes—but actually it isn’t managed so easily. There’s priority. Neither you nor I have any business reasons to put forward. Things are always difficult after a war.’

      He felt faintly irritated with himself as he spoke. The reasons he advanced, though genuine enough, had the sound of excuses. He wondered if they sounded that way to the girl who sat opposite him. And why was she suddenly so keen to go to America?

      Rosaleen murmured: ‘You said we’d only be here for a short time. You didn’t say we were going to live here.’

      ‘What’s wrong with Warmsley Vale—and Furrowbank? Come now?’

      ‘Nothing. It’s them—all of them!’

      ‘The Cloades?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘That’s just what I get a kick out of,’ said David. ‘I like seeing their smug faces eaten up with envy and malice. Don’t grudge me my fun, Rosaleen.’

      She said in a low troubled voice:

      ‘I wish you didn’t feel like that. I don’t like it.’

      ‘Have some spirit, girl. We’ve been pushed around enough, you and I. The Cloades have lived soft—soft. Lived on big brother Gordon. Little fleas on a big flea. I hate their kind—I always have.’

      She said, shocked:

      ‘I don’t like hating people. It’s wicked.’

      ‘Don’t you think they hate you? Have they been kind to you—friendly?’

      She said doubtfully:

      ‘They haven’t been unkind. They haven’t done me any harm.’

      ‘But they’d like to, babyface. They’d like to.’ He laughed recklessly. ‘If they weren’t so careful of their own skins, you’d be found with a knife in your back one fine morning.’

      She shivered.

      ‘Don’t say such dreadful things.’

      ‘Well—perhaps not a knife. Strychnine in the soup.’

      She stared at him, her mouth tremulous.

      ‘You’re joking…’

      He became serious again.

      ‘Don’t worry, Rosaleen. I’ll look after you. They’ve got me to deal with.’

      She said, stumbling over the words, ‘If it’s true what you say—about their hating us—hating me—why don’t we go to London? We’d be safe there—away from them all.’

      ‘The country’s good for you, my girl. You know it makes you ill being in London.’

      ‘That was when the bombs were there—the bombs.’ She shivered, closed her eyes. ‘I’ll never forget—never…’

      ‘Yes, you will.’ He took her gently by the shoulders, shook her slightly. ‘Snap out of it, Rosaleen. You were badly shocked, but it’s over now. There are no more bombs. Don’t think about it. Don’t remember. The doctor said country air and a country life for a long time to come. That’s why I want to keep you away from London.’

      ‘Is that really why? Is it, David? I thought—perhaps—’

      ‘What did you think?’

      Rosaleen said slowly:

      ‘I thought perhaps it was because of her you wanted to be here…’

      ‘Her?’

      ‘You know the one I mean. The girl the other night. The one who was in the Wrens.’

      His face was suddenly black and stern.

      ‘Lynn? Lynn Marchmont.’

      ‘She means something to you, David.’

      ‘Lynn Marchmont? She’s Rowley’s girl. Good old stay-at-home Rowley. That bovine slow-witted good-looking ox.’

      ‘I watched you talking to her the other night.’

      ‘Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Rosaleen.’

      ‘And you’ve seen her since, haven’t you?’

      ‘I met her near the farm the other morning when I was out riding.’

      ‘And you’ll meet her again.’

      ‘Of course I’ll always be meeting her! This is a tiny place. You can’t go two steps without falling over a Cloade. But if you think I’ve fallen for Lynn Marchmont, you’re wrong. She’s a proud stuck-up unpleasant girl without a civil tongue in her head. I wish old Rowley joy of her. No, Rosaleen, my girl, she’s not my type.’

      She said doubtfully, ‘Are you sure, David?’

      ‘Of course I’m sure.’

      She said half-timidly:

      ‘I know you don’t like my laying out the cards… But they come true, they do indeed. There was a girl bringing trouble and sorrow—a girl would come from over the sea. There was a dark stranger, too, coming into our lives, and bringing danger with him. There was the death card, and—’

      ‘You and your dark strangers!’ David laughed. ‘What a mass of superstition you are. Don’t have any dealings with a dark stranger, that’s my advice to you.’

      He strolled out of the house laughing, but when he was away from the house, his face clouded over and he frowned to himself, murmuring:

      ‘Bad luck to you, Lynn. Coming home from abroad and upsetting the apple cart.’

      For he realized that at this very moment he was deliberately making a course on which he might hope to meet the girl he had just apostrophized so savagely.

      Rosaleen watched him stroll away across the garden and out through the small gate that gave on to a public footpath across the fields. Then she went up to her bedroom and looked through the clothes in her wardrobe. She always enjoyed touching and feeling her new mink coat. To think she should own a coat like that—she could never quite get over the wonder of it. She was in her bedroom when the parlourmaid came up to tell her that Mrs Marchmont had called.

      Adela