A Whisper of Life Read online

  Kate quailed at the inquiry. This was terrible. She wouldn’t be able to get a word out. She went blood red. ‘I… I…’

  Jonny gave her an encouraging wink. He was thinking how she had turned into a captivating swan since he had last seen her.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Jill offered quickly.

  ‘You can share my script, Jill,’ Emilia said, on her other side.

  The reading went well, although hesitantly and with a certain amount of giggles and apologies over mistakes. Kate was relieved when it was over. Handing out the tea was another trial. She was sure everyone thought she was stupid for stammering at the headmaster’s request. If possible she would get out of coming again.

  When she collected up the mugs, Alan held on to his for a moment. ‘You’d have made the perfect Maid Marian, Kate,’ he said, with no silly banter in his voice, just serious intent. ‘I was thinking, would you like to go to the pictures with me sometime?’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘You don’t know me well enough yet. I’ll wait until you do then I’ll ask you again.’ Alan Killigrew’s unexpected invitation was echoing inside Kate’s head long after the event. She had reacted with mortified silence, and he had done nothing more than smile at her during the following week’s rehearsal, an occasion she had agreed to attend only after a lot of persuasion from Jill. ‘Don’t worry about Alan. He won’t become a nuisance. He’s not like that. You’re far too young for dating anyway. I’ll take you to the pictures myself. Did you consider going out with Alan?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Kate had replied swiftly, afraid Jill would think her ‘fast’. Her mother had warned her that if she ever caught her ‘behaving like a whore’ she’d take a horsewhip to her.

  Out on her own and wandering along the top of Long Meadow, watching the tall grass parting for her from behind a pair of sunglasses, a straw sun hat pulled down low on her forehead, she mulled over Alan’s invitation. It was frightening and exciting to be asked out, she had never believed she would be. If she did go out with Alan some time in the future, allowing for the fact he hadn’t met someone else and was still interested in her, she would have the worry of him trying to do things to her that he shouldn’t. She knew what that sort of behaviour led to, she had spied Sidney with his hand up Delia’s skirt and Delia hadn’t liked it. And what if Alan tried to kiss her? Even a simple peck was far beyond what she wanted yet.

  Alan wasn’t bad looking. He had a good build and nice buttery-coloured hair. With his jolly sense of humour he never failed to lift the atmosphere when the rehearsals got too serious. Along with Mrs Patterson, he was helping Miss Rothwell paint the scenery and was doing a brilliant job of it. He was clever and talented. Her mother would never have dreamt she’d be asked out at all, let alone by someone with prospects – Alan having a father who was a partner in a business. Part of her would like her mother to know about this, she would like to say to her, as her mother had often put it to someone she felt she was one up on, ‘There you are. Put that in your pipe and smoke it!’ She wished she had not thought about her mother. It reminded her of her grandmother, of her bawling at her and insulting her, and of the horrible choking noises she had made as she died. It was hard not to think about those in her family, to leave them in her past for good.

  After days of steady rain, which had pleased Tom by thoroughly irrigating the crops, it was a lovely sunny day, the air fresh and warm and a little balmy. The long hedgerow was adrift with bushy hawthorn trees, their clusters of dainty flowers long gone rusty and died off, promising a wealth of bright red haws late in the year. The hawthorn may have lost its profusion of lacy whiteness but lower down was the radiant mist of cow parsley. Jill had picked a large bunch of the blossoms, also known as Queen Anne’s lace, as a pretty alternative to garden flowers. A wren, likely the inhabitant of a domed nest somewhere in the protective hedge, trilled from its hiding place, inspiring Kate to break into a blues song. Tom had introduced her to jazz with his gramophone records. She was experiencing so many new things. Brambles were forming and she was looking forward to picking blackberries for Jill and Mrs Em at the summer’s end, to being able to take her time with the pleasing task rather than have to hurry back and slave for her mother.

  ‘Hello Kate. Out for a stroll?’ It was Abbie Rothwell, roosting on the summit of the meadow with her painting gear.

  Kate pushed back her hat and pulled off the sunglasses. She blinked in the bright light. Jill had given her the sunglasses and she’d been thrilled to wear them, she’d only seen them before on the well to do or in pictures of film stars. ‘Miss Rothwell. I didn’t see you there. Hope I’m not disturbing you.’

  ‘Not at all. It’s all right to call me Abbie, you know, Kate.’ Abbie put her easel aside. She hadn’t formed a single stroke of pencil or paint. ‘I’m really not in the mood to do anything today.’ She patted the picnic rug. ‘Want to sit down? There’s plenty of room.’

  Kate knew why Abbie was looking so glum – the engagement of Mark Fuller and Mrs Louisa Carlyon had recently been announced. Kate lowered herself down carefully on the edge of the rug. She pulled her hat down over her brow and replaced the sunglasses on her nose. Abbie had the discomfiting habit of gazing deeply at her and she wished she were wearing trousers instead of a skirt.

  Abbie had come here to be alone but she didn’t mind Kate’s unobtrusive company. She had felt a fool in front of Jill over Mark and Louisa Carlyon’s decision to marry – Jill hadn’t kept up the antagonism, she wasn’t a spiteful sort. Abbie had thought she’d stood a chance of winning Mark’s interest but she was merely the artist who had depicted his daughter. He had fallen in love with Louisa and, honest and sincere, he had stayed faithful to her. Abbie was left appalled at her own lack of integrity. Rupert had been shallow and conniving, leaving her hurt and humiliated, yet she had tried to steal Mark without a thought about how it might have affected Louisa. She wanted to get away from here but was staying as a penance until after the performance of the play. After that she would start her travels, as Jonny was also planning to do.

  She glanced at Kate, who was waiting silently and respectfully for her to start up a conversation. She admired the girl. Treated as an unpaid skivvy and rejected by her family, she was understandably timid in feeling her way through her new life, but at no time had she uttered one resentful word about those who had cruelly abused her. She was like a child seeking and accepting and gladly returning affection and care, an innocent, deserving the very best in life. And she was growing ever more pretty in an ethereal way. Her naiveté and angelic sweetheart features made her attractive to men; trustworthy as Alan Killigrew seemed to be, sadly she would also inevitably be a target for those who’d enjoy exploiting her. It was a good thing Jill and Tom and the Boswelds kept a close watch over her. It would be a terrible tragedy if Kate were defiled in any way.

  She would be perfect, as Jonny had said, for a portrayal of a fairy princess. Abbie’s creativity was stirred. She longed to paint a series of Kate in various spots in the countryside, which could be used for books, postcards or stylized as separate studies, but she wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of her. ‘Lovely here, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Peaceful.’ From up here there was a sweeping view of the large meadow and the rambling stream below and the fields that sloped up gently beyond with infant crops or grazing cattle. The woods emerged from the direction of the farm. Away in the distance was the smaller acreage of Druzel Farm. Jim Killigrew’s twin sister, Sara Eathrone, was the farmer’s wife, and having a fine singing voice she was to lead the community singing at the end of the play. She had a sixteen-year-old son, who according to a giggly Tilda had given Kate ‘the eye’. Could she really be attractive to boys?

  ‘You feel really settled at the farm, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. I never dreamt I’d be living there the day I met Jill.’ Kate was hunched over her knees and rubbing her withered leg, which had grown hot and chafed sore by her built-up shoe.

  ‘Kate, I ho
pe you don’t mind me mentioning this.’ Abbie dropped her voice to a motherly tone. ‘Aren’t your feet uncomfortable in those shoes? You could take them off. I promise I won’t stare.’

  The usual wrench in her gut when the subject of her legs was spotlighted made Kate shudder, but Abbie meant her suggestion kindly. If she could steel herself to expose her feet to someone perhaps it wouldn’t matter so much. No one outside the family had seen them, not even Jill. But Abbie was leaving Hennaford soon and would quickly forget all about it. ‘It would be good to let my feet breathe. They get very tender.’

  ‘You do that. I’ve brought some Coca-Cola. You can use the cup and I’ll drink out of the bottle.’ She half turned away to give Kate privacy, listening to the unlacing of the shoes and Kate’s sighs of relief as she eased off the inflexible leather and her socks. When she handed over the drink Kate had curled her legs to the side with her feet tucked in under her cotton skirt. Abbie knew Kate had won a mental battle by relinquishing her footwear, the mark of her disability.

  ‘Thank you.’ Kate took a couple of long sips. ‘I like this. I never had Coca-Cola until Jill gave me some. I had sherbet made up into a drink occasionally.’

  ‘What else do you like, Kate?’ Abbie wasn’t merely being nosy. She was genuinely interested in her former life. How different it must be compared to her own. She had been lovingly given everything a child could want.

  Kate took on a contented expression. ‘Oh, animals. I like the dogs and cats on the farm and the horses.’

  ‘You should learn to ride.’

  ‘Mr Tom is going to teach me, when I pluck up the courage to try.’

  ‘Just go ahead. You’ll be fine. How would you like to learn to draw and paint? I’d teach you.’

  ‘Really? But aren’t you too busy?’

  ‘I finished the illustrations for the children’s books a while ago and I’ve sent off some land and seascapes to my agent. I can afford to allow myself some free time and I think it would be nice to spend it with you. Kate, dear, don’t think I’m being pushy but I’d so like to start on a painting of you. What do you think?’

  ‘Well…’ Some of Kate’s doubts about this were fading after the woman’s kindness and she wanted to cheer her up. ‘As long as it doesn’t take me away for long from Jill, and as long as other people aren’t watching and you don’t paint my feet.’

  It felt natural for Abbie to give her a quick hug. ‘Anything you say. I want you to feel absolutely comfortable. We could come here or go down by the stream. Perhaps we could start tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll see what Jill says. We might be going into town.’ Jill had suggested that they go to watch an afternoon matinee of The Ghost and Mrs. Muir.

  ‘As soon as you’re free then.’

  Kate finished the drink and reached for her shoes, not worried if the difference in her feet was seen. It was a wonderful liberation. ‘I’d better get back to Jill.’

  ‘I’ll walk back with you.’ On the way Abbie asked Kate more questions.

  * * *

  Jill was preparing a lunch of potato and watercress soup for herself and Kate. There was a knock on the door that connected the two separate homes and Abbie peered round it. ‘Hello, all right to come in for a minute?’

  It counted to Jill that Abbie had made no further attempt to try to come between Mark and Louisa. It meant Abbie wasn’t as designing as she had appeared. Jill noted how downcast she was. It seemed there had been more than a blow to Abbie’s pride when her hopes about Mark had been dashed. ‘Of course. Would you like to eat with us?’

  ‘Thank you, no. I’ve just had a sandwich with Mrs Em and Perry. Is Kate about?’

  Jill paused from cutting potato into cubes. ‘Just slipped out to the washing line. Why?’

  ‘We walked back from Long Meadow together a little while ago. Did she tell you she’s agreed to let me paint her?’

  ‘Yes. Kate tells me everything.’

  ‘So you know it’s her birthday next month? I was thinking about a surprise party for her. Or a meal out.’

  ‘You were thinking?’ Jill narrowed her eyes, peeved that she didn’t know Kate had a birthday coming up, that she hadn’t thought to ask her when it was. ‘If Kate is to have a party then Tom and I will see to it. As for eating out, it would be too daunting for her. I know what’s best for her.’

  Abbie frowned. Jill had taken exception to her suggestion because she jealously considered herself Kate’s sole mentor. ‘There was no need to be sharp, Jill. You should allow Kate to make up her own mind about things. She isn’t your property. You’re not her mother.’

  ‘How dare you!’ Jill slammed the knife down on the cutting board. ‘I’m not anyone’s mother and I don’t know if I ever will be. Get out!’

  Horrified with herself, Abbie reached out imploring hands. ‘Jill, I’m so sorry. Please believe me, I didn’t mean to imply… I’d never seek to hurt you like that… I just wanted to… Oh look, please forgive me.’

  Jill thought she probably was really sorry but it didn’t stop the horrendous pain once again taking hold of her shattered heart. Tears burned her lashes then gushed down her face in large scalding drops. She was racked with sobs and trembling.

  ‘Please, Jill…’ Abbie was weeping too. She had wanted to do something nice for Kate but instead had succeeded in clashing with Jill and, worse still, distressing her unforgivably. She made to go to Jill but Jill thrust out a hand to ward her off. Abbie fled through the stable door, unable to bear facing the Boswelds by returning the way she had come. She ran through the farmyard, scattering the poultry and making a couple of Jack Russells bark at her heels. ‘Get away from me!’ She had no idea where she was going, only that she must leave Hennaford for good.

  Pegging up a white damask tablecloth on which Jill had spilt elderberry juice, Kate hesitated with a peg between her teeth. She thought she had heard a cry, then the dogs and poultry had started up a commotion. The dogs were probably chasing the cats or geese, not an uncommon occurrence. She was pleased their barks were heading away into the distance and they weren’t likely to come tearing round here to the back garden and leap up at the tablecloth. She pushed down the last peg. She’d pull up the line then go in and enjoy lunch with Jill. She’d tell her about her birthday and that Abbie had said she’d ‘do something for her’ as part of the celebration. Perhaps she would give her a little present. She had never got anything much for her birthday, or at Christmas; a pencil, a handkerchief, once a rag doll made from scraps of cloth and old stockings; a tangerine and a few nuts before the war. It was wrong to hope to be given anything, but well, she was only human. Tilda said that a lot when excusing someone’s little failings.

  ‘Hello there.’

  ‘Oh!’ She leapt back at seeing a face and shoulders suddenly appear above the tablecloth. Wrong-footed, she fell backward on to the path.

  Jonny ducked under the tablecloth and knelt beside her. Kate was leaning back on her elbows, stunned and blinking. ‘My dear Kate, I am so very sorry. I didn’t mean to make you come a cropper. Are you hurt?’

  Her bottom was hurting but she wasn’t going to tell him that. Her stomach was jarred and her heart was racing with the shock. She shook her head. She was annoyed with him, he had flustered her, but more than that it was disturbing to have his handsome dark face just an inch away from hers. Why on earth had Abbie preferred Mark Fuller to him? He was just as nice as Mr Fuller and didn’t have a child as a possible issue. She had overheard Jill and Tom talking about Abbie and Mr Jonny. They had become ‘more than just friendly’, which Kate had interpreted as having ‘done IT’ together. Mr Jonny was what people called a ladies’ man. Had he tired of Abbie or was she flighty for wanting another man? Kate hoped the truth was that Abbie had fallen in love and had hoped to become the second Mrs Fuller.

  ‘Up you come,’ Jonny said. He put his hands on her waist, and while lifting her to her feet he rose on his own as if she was as light as a drift of thistledown. Kate’s face glowed scarlet
while he looked her all over. ‘You’re not too badly dishevelled, thank goodness, or I’d have Jill reading me the riot act. Are you sure you’re not hurt, Kate?’ He stood back to gaze at her; a camera was slung round his neck. What a sweet little treasure she was. Lovely and adorable. It was partly due to her that he was a civilian after sixteen years and about to start a new career.

  He had been having dinner with Louisa at the hotel she was staying in near the base at Biggin Hill and he had showed her all the snaps he had taken on leave.

  ‘They’re very good, you know, as good as any that dear Will and Uncle Alec used to take. I especially like the ones of Kate. She’s not looking at the camera in any of them. She’s not shy or intimidated and she has a lovely smile in the one that Jill’s also in. Jill looks so much better too; they’re good for each other. Kate is quite bewitching. She didn’t know you were taking these, did she?’

  ‘No. I didn’t want to make her feel compromised. I hope she’ll agree to pose for me at some time. I suppose I’ll have to mention it to Jill first, she’s fiercely protective of her.’

  ‘So are all the family. Now what about you, Jonny? I sense you’re still in a dither. I’m not going home until you’re fully settled again.’

  He’d made a wry face. ‘You are good to me, Lou. What about Mark Fuller? He might not like it if you keep him waiting.’

  ‘He will.’ Louisa had smiled the coy shining smile of one involved in a trusting love affair. ‘I’ve every faith in Mark. Now back to you. What would you like to do?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Let me put it another way. What do you really like doing?’

  ‘Flying, of course. Women…’ That had made him grin. ‘Um… photography.’

  Louisa had gazed at him for some time. He knew that what she said next would be the result of a lot of deep thought. ‘You could take up photography in a bigger way. I mean it could be the answer you’re looking for, a new direction, if you can tear yourself away from the air force. Perhaps it’s time you moved on.’