Thadeus had fled to England in 1939 when the Russians arrived at his ancestral home, and had drifted on the wind of Fate to this sleepy corner of Devon. He had always vowed he’d return one day to reclaim his home, but he was older than his sixty-two years and had suffered enough. In Faye he found a soul mate, a woman who understood him, and slowly love had flowered between them. He had captivated her with his pale, liquid eyes and unrestrained passion. Together they played music, read books and talked. Unlike Trees, Thadeus listened. He didn’t just listen with his ears but with his whole body, touching her hand every now and then to show compassion, understanding or when he laughed, which he did in loud, infectious guffaws. At first it had been an affair of the mind. She hadn’t contemplated sleeping with him. But one afternoon he had told her of the horrors suffered by his family at the hands of the Russians and she had given herself to him for comfort. Their lovemaking had been both tender and ardent, like the music they played together or the poetry he read to her. It enabled him to escape his past and she the war and her fears for her son. But since George had been back she hadn’t visited him.
Faye’s fingers worked away as if by remote control while she wondered what advice Thadeus would give her. Even if he had none to offer, he would hold her and listen and she would inevitably feel better for his support. Unable to bear the aching loneliness a moment longer, she looked out of the window, at the large, luminous moon that beckoned her to throw her reservations to the wind and yield to her longing.
George stood at his bedroom window. He knew he had hurt Rita and he hated himself for it. He felt under pressure to marry her, but he wasn’t ready. He couldn’t take her to the Argentine unless they were married. The wheels were now set in motion. His mother had already sent a telegram to her sister in the northern province of Córdoba. George knew he was running away. From his grief, from the memory of his lost friends in the squadron, from the echoes of his past and the boy who used to live there.
His eyes were suddenly drawn to a shadowy figure leaving the house by the back door, just below his bedroom window. It was his mother. She disappeared a moment then returned with a bicycle. He watched, intrigued, as she cycled out of the farm.
Chapter 7
When Rita arrived at Lower Farm for work the following morning, her eyes were red from crying and her face taut. She wondered how much longer she would be needed as a land girl now that the army was now demobilizing and returning home. She enjoyed the open air and loved the animals, especially the calves and lambs.
The sun blazed down but the air was fresh and autumnal. The nightingale had gone and so had the swallows, taking their twittering song and sanguinity with them. But the titmice had arrived. She had noticed them sitting playfully on the washing line, as happy upside down as the right way up. Her mother tamed them with walnuts and pretty soon they’d be eating out of her hand.
When she appeared at the door of the workshop Cyril and the boys were already talking with George and Trees. She smiled tightly and joined them, avoiding catching eyes with George who looked as anxious as she did. She felt the tension in the air and barely heard a word Cyril said. Mildred sensed it too for she lay at Trees’ feet blinking uneasily.
‘Right, Rita, you come with me,’ said Cyril when he’d finished explaining the jobs for the day. George managed to tap her on the shoulder before she left.
‘I need to talk to you,’ he hissed.
‘Later,’ she replied, hurrying after Cyril. Her voice sounded unfriendly.
‘I imagine a Spitfire’s easier to manage than a woman,’ Trees quipped, looking at his son.
‘And so are trees.’ George grinned, but he felt dead inside.
Rita set to work sweeping out the cowsheds. She tried to concentrate on the rhythm of the brush on concrete, focus her eyes on the old pieces of straw that she was clearing away, anything but think of George. She felt anxiety strain the muscles in her throat and neck, making them ache. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice George who had left his job on the tractor to find her, so she jumped when he appeared.
‘George, you shouldn’t creep up on people like that!’ she chided, then began to brush again, this time with more vigour.
‘Stop working for God’s sake. I want to talk to you.’
‘What about?’ She paused and straightened up.
‘Us. I’m sorry I was offhand with you last night.’
She immediately felt guilty for being so unfriendly. ‘That’s all right. I know things aren’t easy for you at the moment.’
‘Come. Let’s go and sit down somewhere,’ he suggested, taking her by the hand.