Chapters (53)
- Cover
- Title page
- Dedication page
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Forty
- Forty-one
- Forty-two
- Forty-three
- Forty-four
- Sow the Seed
- Reap the Harvest
- About the Author
- ALSO BY MARGARET DICKINSON
- Acknowledgements
- Copyright page
That night their love-making was as tender as ever and when they lay together quietly afterwards, she cried against his shoulder, and kissed the scar with tender lips, her tears falling on to it as if to wash it away if she could. But it would always be there. It was as if the scar on his body was like a scar on their happiness. An unceasing reminder that it all must end.
Twenty-nine
ESTHER watched the rotund figure of a man on a bicycle riding with solemn concentration along the lane towards the Point.
The sun glinted on the silver buttons of his black uniform and her heart gave a lurch of fear as she saw him dismount and lean his bicycle carefully against the gate.
A policeman! Why was a policeman coming to her farm?
He walked slowly across the yard towards the back door of the house. ‘Mrs Hilton?’ he greeted her.
She nodded and ran her tongue over lips that were suddenly dry.
‘We’ve – er – reason to believe that there’s a soldier staying hereabouts, Mrs Hilton.’ He paused, but she returned his gaze steadily and remained silent. Her heart thumped so loudly she was certain he must hear it. She was praying that Jonathan would not appear out of the cowshed.
‘Well, now . . .’
At that moment there came a clang from the cowshed and the sound of a man’s voice. ‘Steady, girl. Steady, Clover.’
The policeman raised his voice so that it carried across the yard. ‘This ’ere soldier, been in these parts a while now, so we understand. And – er – whilst he might have been on sick leave at first, if you understand me, well, time’s gone on, so to speak, and if he’s fit and healthy enough to be working on a farm, then . . .’ The man spread his huge hands palms upwards.
Esther caught her breath. Over the man’s shoulder she could see Jonathan emerge from the cowshed and walk across the yard towards them. She made an involuntary movement to stop him, to try to prevent the inevitable. But purposely Jonathan avoided noticing her gesture and came to stand quietly beside the policeman. The older man turned slowly to look at him as Jonathan asked, ‘Could it be me you’re looking for?’
‘I really couldn’t say, sir.’ The policeman was polite with a hint of apology in his tone. ‘I have to follow up these – er – reports we get, you know. People get some funny ideas, about deserters and such.’ He lifted his huge shoulders in a shrug. ‘Ugly name, isn’t it, for a man who’s probably done more than most for his country and rightly deserves a bit of respite, but – well – you know how it is, sir?’
Jonathan nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. ‘I do indeed,’ he said quietly. ‘You have your duty to do.’