Illusions of Happiness (2 page)

Catching sight of her standing there looking his way, he gave a small, friendly nod, his gaze lingering for a moment before continuing on his way. In that moment, even from a distance of some fifteen feet she was aware of his dark brown eyes that seemed to her to smoulder, causing her young heart to quicken. So much so that on impulse and without thought of why or what had got into her, she followed him as he went out of sight around the far corner of the house.

Reaching the place where he’d disappeared she hovered, hopefully concealed, to watch him manoeuvre the awkward milk cart alongside the rear door to begin ladling out the thick creamy milk from a churn into the two large jugs that their cook, Mrs Plumley, had brought out to him.

As the woman retreated back inside he replaced the churn lid and deftly manhandled the milk cart around the way he’d come. The movement was faster than she had expected, too late to hurry back to the front of the house as he came abreast of her. Giving an impression of shocked surprise, seeing her there, he gave a dramatic execution of recovery as a broad grin widened his lips to reveal white even teeth.

‘Good gosh, miss!’ he burst out, ‘you gave me quite a start!’

Not knowing how to combat the play of surprise she was on the point of apologizing when she heard him say, ‘You’re Madeleine Wyndham, aren’t you?’

‘Maddie,’ she corrected impulsively. Warmed by his infectious grin, she forgot that she was talking to a mere tradesman. Mummy would have had a fit had she been here.

‘I prefer Maddie,’ she finished awkwardly. It was what her friends at finishing school had used despite the rules forbidding the shortening of names.

‘I bet you’re Madeleine to your parents though,’ he chuckled, making her smile, in that moment feeling more drawn to him than she knew she should be.

There was a warm look about him, not just his smile but seeming to issue from him physically as if she could actually feel it. His arms about her would be warm. She had never had any man’s arms around her, wondered how it must feel and suddenly she wanted them to be his.

‘I guessed it was you,’ he was saying, bringing her abruptly back from her thoughts, ‘although I don’t ever remember seeing you before.’

‘I’ve just returned home after my two years education at a finishing school in Switzerland,’ she answered, trying to sound composed although her heart still thudded from those earlier thoughts.

He gave a little snort of self-derision. ‘Lucky you! Me, well, I was . . .
educated
, if you could call it that, a bit closer to home, local junior school here in Pilbridge. The three R’s and that was that – left at twelve years old to work with me dad, tending the cows, milking ’em and learning the ropes. That was it, really.’

It sounded sad but his smile remained so wide and cheeky that she found herself smiling with him.

It was then he made the comment that he thought her pretty, adding, ‘Hope you don’t mind me saying, but when I heard this family’s daughter was coming home from some finishing school abroad, in me mind’s eye I saw some gawky girl all full of herself. But you don’t seem like that and you’re far prettier than anyone I’ve ever met, if you don’t mind me saying.’

As she stood lost for a reply, he went on, ‘And by the way, my name’s Freddy Dobson. I work with me dad who has the dairy, the other side of the village. Dobson’s Dairies, do you know it?’

No, she didn’t. Most of her life had been spent away from home, her childhood in the care of a nanny until, as with most children of good families, she’d gone to boarding school; after that, college then finishing school. When home, recreation was visiting friends or they visiting her, any journeys would be in her father’s Wolseley-Siddeley motor car he’d bought new in nineteen twelve, just before she’d gone off to Switzerland and which he still ran.

‘It’s not a large place, me dad’s dairy,’ Freddy was saying, jerking her thoughts back to him. ‘It’s at the rear of where we live. That’s not all that large either, just a cottage, not like here where you live.’

Brookside, so named because the tiny River Pil flowing beside it was indeed more a brook than a river, was the last in a sprinkling of rather nice houses this end of the village. The road went on to Beaconsfield some five miles further along with little in between. There used to be a couple of farms and one or two smallholdings on the other side of Pilbridge but she couldn’t ever recall noticing a dairy. No doubt she would be obliged to pass it from now on, on her way to Gerrard’s Green, four miles off in that direction where Hamilton Bramwell’s parents lived in their big manor house.

But at the moment her thoughts were on the man in front of her, he now telling her that in between milking cows, cleaning out their stalls and delivering milk to the surrounding area, he was trying to educate himself by reading books in whatever spare time he had. Really she shouldn’t have been standing talking with him at all. Were her parents to see her she would be severely instructed that young ladies did not converse with tradesmen on a social standing. To families such as hers, despite him and his father owning their own dairy, they were tradesmen and as such should keep their place.

‘I usually deliver here on Monday, Wednesday and Friday,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts – though why tell her this, she wondered. It was an unnecessary comment unless he was trying to make it obvious that he hoped to see her again on those days – in fact almost too obvious.

Even so a tiny thrill had rippled through her as she replied maybe a little too quickly, ‘Then I’ll probably look out for you,’ trying to make her tone sound jocular to offset the strange excitement sweeping through her.

Today she hovered out front as she had these last two weeks other than both Wednesdays when rain had prevented her. It was Friday and he wouldn’t be here again until Monday, two days without seeing him instead of just one.

Her excuse for lingering out here
in full view of everyone
, which was how her mother had described it, was that she wanted to enjoy the warmth of the early morning sun on her face. Even so her mother hadn’t been at all pleased and said so.

‘I’d rather you didn’t, Madeleine. Much nicer to wait for the sun to move to the rear of the house when you can enjoy it in the privacy of your own garden. Standing in the front in full view like a common hawker . . .’

‘The sun isn’t so hot in the mornings, Mummy,’ she’d cut in. ‘And much fresher, and besides,’ she couldn’t help adding a little caustically, ‘hawkers and tradesmen always go to the rear door.’

Her mother had reacted with a touch of pique. ‘There is no need for sarcasm, my dear! I am merely suggesting that you display a little decorum if you must indulge in this odd habit you seem to have acquired recently. I cannot stop you, but please, do try not to let tradesmen notice you hovering there.’

Little did she know! It was precisely her intention to be noticed by one special tradesman; have him beckon her with a small tilt of the head as he went towards the servant’s entrance, she following cautiously, coming to a stop just beyond the corner of the house, hopefully out of sight of prying eyes.

The milk delivered, Mrs Plumley gone back inside, as always he came up to Madeleine, pausing beside her and they’d pass the time of day. He’d ask how she did. She’d respond gladly, a little self-consciously to start with, telling him what she had been doing the days between seeing him, he in turn telling her what he’d been up to during that time. All the time her heart would beat heavily, excitement tingling through her veins at his closeness as she listened to his deep voice.

The days between not seeing him would drag, taken up by dreaming of him. But she didn’t tell him that, nor how she counted the hours seeking anything that might speed up their agonizing, creeping progress; how she would linger over dressing far longer than was necessary, taking time to choose which morning dress to wear, which afternoon robe, which tea dress or evening gown, constantly changing her mind, to the scarcely concealed impatience of her mother’s personal maid, Lily, who attended Madeleine too. But still the time seemed to creep.

Also she would prolong the time in having her hair done by the girl, first asking for her long tresses to be puffed out over her ears in the latest fashion, only to change her mind and have it taken down again and wound in a loose coil on the nape of her neck, ignoring Lily puffing and sighing.

Mealtimes also helped speed up the hours. Afterwards she’d go to her bedroom to write to friends or sort out her wardrobe, hobbies like painting and needlework and the like not being her idea of engaging pastimes, giving too much scope for dwelling on those days she didn’t see Freddy. She would tell herself over and over how silly she was behaving but it didn’t help.

Today she wore her beige-coloured tube dress with dark buttons all down the front that showed off her slimness. Her heart began to pound as she saw him come through the gates, guiding his milk cart along the smaller path that led to the rear of the house. In response to his signal and after a moment or two to make sure no one had seen the gesture, she followed as if idly sauntering.

It was exactly the same pattern as before – a few minutes’ small talk, awkward pauses, she not quite knowing what to say as she silently pleaded for him to fill in for her. Then suddenly he bent his head towards her, his deep brown eyes searching hers.

The smile on his lips had faded, his expression grown serious. ‘So, what are we going to do about these meetings of ours?’ he asked in a low tone.

For a moment she was thrown. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean we can’t keep on just meeting like this.’

He broke into a grin at the triteness of the remark. ‘Just standing here chatting about the weather. Shouldn’t we do more than that? I’d like to see more of you – somewhere else, more convenient. What d’you think?’

Caught unawares, she was stunned for an answer. Finally she heard herself saying: ‘That might be nice,’ in the tiniest of voices.

Before she knew what was happening, he had leaned towards her to plant an unexpected kiss on her mouth.

Startled, she flinched back, but even as he made to draw away from her obviously feeling he’d overreached his position and expecting a frigid repulse, she lifted a hand. She saw him stiffen against the expected slap. Instead her fingers came about his neck, pulling his head down towards her again and, surprised by her own action, returned the kiss very briefly before stepping quickly back from him.

For a moment he looked at her. There was no smile on his face now as slowly he said, ‘You’ll meet me then, Maddie?’

‘Yes,’ she said somewhat breathlessly.

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know.’

He thought for a second while she stood awkward, uncertain; aware that her body was quaking a little although no thought was in her head. Then he said almost matter-of-factly: ‘There’s a lane a few yards down the road, running alongside the Pil. Would you meet me there on Monday?’

Madeleine nodded, then burst out, ‘I have to go!’ suddenly aware of the jumble of thoughts now tumbling across her brain like tiny acrobatic figures.

Why had she done that, kissed him? Why had she agreed to see him? She was completely mad. All sorts of trouble could come of this. Yet she had said yes, and she knew she
wanted
to say yes, to see him, somewhere less obvious; she knew, and her insides were bubbling like a cauldron, her whole being shaking, trembling with excitement deep inside her – her first ever kiss from any man and it had felt wonderful.

Even Hamilton had never kissed her, not truly kissed her. All the time in the company of others, dinner parties or social gatherings, they’d never been left alone together for a minute, both their families constantly hovering in their misguided attempts to encourage them into getting to know each other more.

Beyond the occasional peck on the cheek which she dutifully offered for the benefit of those around, that was as far as it had ever gone. Not that she wanted him to kiss her anyway. Compared with Freddy Dobson, he was an insipid shadow, certainly not the stuff of a promising husband.

The trouble was, neither was Freddy, a man who laboured for his living, forbidden to court her. At night, trying to sleep, she’d make up wild plans to run away with him, be married in secret, such schemes merely fantasy. Her dreams would be filled with people, she and Freddy kneeling hand in hand, taking their vows. It would be beautiful but the dream would then change. Her father storming down the aisle as the ring was about to be slipped on to her finger, a scuffle, she being dragged away, Freddy pleading, calling out for her – nearly always the same dream, she waking up in tears.

Losing him had become her constant fear. August soon, they’d been seeing each other for almost three months. At first it was in the little lane where they had arranged to meet after his work. That first time, hidden by bushes he’d taken her in his arms and kissed her, a lingering kiss making her body tingle, something she’d never known before. Lost in the pleasure of it she’d not realized that he’d been gently slipping the bodice buttons of her dress until she’d felt his hand inside her clothing.

Shocked she had made to push his hand away yet the urgent tingle had lingered as he murmured, ‘Why would you come here to this secluded lane, Madeleine, if you were merely looking for a peck on the cheek?’ speaking so soothingly that her fear had changed to a strange pleasure and she had once more lifted her face to his.

After three weeks meeting in the lane, she by then delighting in the pleasure of his tender petting of her, finding herself not wanting him to stop, he had found them a derelict old barn no one ever used. There he taught her about love.

So gently persuaded that first time she’d become frightened but was soon lost in the strange joy of him, that first tiny hurt soon vanished as the sensations he’d aroused took hold. She’d never known such a feeling existed, so strange that it had worried her it might even be harmful to her. But he’d soothed her fear, telling her it was quite natural.

‘In fact it surprised me how quick it was for you,’ he’d whispered as he held her close afterwards. ‘Some girls would give anything to feel what you felt that quick.’ Although it did dawn on her to wonder how he would know that, she was in love with him and so dismissed it.