A Scent of Lavender. Elizabeth Elgin

of love and kisses and early nights and – and –

      ‘Bags of passion, eh, Lorna?’

      She bit on her tongue. She shouldn’t have said that. What went on between a man and his wife who haven’t shared a bed for weeks wasn’t open to skitting, and she was glad she had the grace to blush at her clumsiness. Or at least until Lorna said, quite off-handedly,

      ‘Oh, yes. Nothing’s changed in that department. The usual twice a week!’

      ‘Beg pardon?’

      ‘William and me, I’m talking about. We always do – er – make love twice a week; always did, right from the start,’ she smiled.

      ‘But twice, Lorna? Never once, or three times? I mean – has it got to be twice?’ She was missing something. She had to be!

      ‘We-e-ll, William and I were very frank with each other before we got married. It was good of him to consider my feelings, though I knew what went on in the privacy of the bedroom. You learn a lot, you know, at boarding school.’

      ‘Didn’t know you’d been away to school,’ Ness floundered, amazed at such directness.

      ‘When I was thirteen. Maybe Grandpa thought it was best – that I needed a woman’s hand. Gran had gone, you see, and I suppose he felt a bit awkward with a girl growing into puberty. And it wasn’t exactly boarding. I wasn’t all that far away; came home every weekend. Thought I’d told you. I was there for three years. Quite fun, really.’

      ‘So you and William talked about – feelings?’

      ‘Of course. He bought a book on the subject of – you know – and I put a brown paper cover over the jacket, just in case Grandpa picked it up. One of the things it said was that the average British man and wife made love twice a week – so that’s what we decided on. Tuesday nights and Sunday mornings.’

      ‘And that’s it?’ Ness had no answer to such directness, such ill-informed directness. Twice a week, come rain or shine, was it? ‘And always in bed, of course.’

      ‘Well, of course! Where else would you do it?’

      Where else? Oh, Lorna, girl! Everywhere else you can think of! In bed – all right – but how about in a field in summer; how about on a hillside with not a soul for miles and only the clouds to see you? How about on a winter evening with a log fire blazing and the two of you on the hearthrug? It’s good in the firelight, Lorna …

      ‘Where else indeed?’

      ‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ Now Lorna’s cheeks pinked. ‘Here’s me going on about things private and you not knowing! Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to embarrass you. And it’s quite nice, really – especially when every time you do it there’s a chance of a baby.’

      ‘So you still want children?’

      ‘Of course. It’s William who – who pointed out it wouldn’t be very sensible, in view of the world situation.’

      ‘Yes. Sensible, I suppose.’ Flamin’ Norah! How had they got onto the subject? And how could Lorna be so blind, think that what she and William shared was passion – or even love? And why, oh why was she sitting here, saying nothing when she longed to cry, ‘Wrong, Lorna! Loving and being loved can be so different!’

      ‘Anyway, now that you’re unpacked and you and I are back to normal, shall we take a turn round the garden? The hens will have forgotten who you are, Ness. And I didn’t tell you, William said the eggs were delicious boiled for breakfast though he won’t admit, yet, they were a good idea. I think he still secretly winces to see them scratching on his lawn. Now – blackout is nine, tonight. Shall we see to the windows, then have a stroll outside before it gets dark? And something else I forgot! Glebe Farm’s conchie came yesterday, late. And I shouldn’t have called him that! He’s probably a brave young man, sticking up for what he believes in. He’s probably had to take a lot of flack, not wanting to fight. I haven’t seen him yet. Goff Leaman told me – Goff’s been giving them a hand whilst you’ve been away. Anyway, you do the upstairs blackout and I’ll see to down here. And oh, it’s so good to have you back, Ness!’

      Which was a very peculiar thing to think when your husband has just gone back to his regiment and you should be aching all over, missing him, wanting him.

      ‘Good to be back, queen.’ All things considered, she really meant it.

      

      ‘Good to have you back. Lorna said she’d had a card from you and that your folks hadn’t been hit.’

      ‘Great to be back, Kate, and yes – reckon I panicked more’n I should have.’ Ness waited in the kitchen for early drinkings. ‘But it was good seeing Mam and Da and Gran. I feel a bit better about things, now I’ve seen the air-raid shelter Da’s rigged up for them.’

      ‘I read in the paper this morning that London’s copped it again. Eighteen nights without a break; two thousand killed and heaven only knows how many injured,’ Kate murmured. ‘Said they were starting evacuating mothers and children – again. But save my legs will you, Ness? Nip along to the dairy and get me a jug of milk? And whilst you’re there, tell them I’ve made a brew and ask them if they want it in the shippon.’

      Ness crossed the yard. Ahead of her the cow shed and the steady chuck-chuck of the milking machine. New-fangled contraption, Kate called it, though her husband and son had been set on buying it. Save hours of hand-milking, Rowley had argued, and he was right, Ness had to admit. And fingers crossed that machine would never break down because where would Ness Nightingale be, then? Stuck with her head against a cow’s flank, trying to squeeze milk out of the dratted animal!

      ‘Mornin’,’ she called from the dairy. ‘Just come for milk and do you want your drinking here or in the kitchen?’

      ‘Good morning to you, too.’ The voice was unfamiliar and Ness turned in her tracks.

      ‘Ooh! You – you’re the –’

      ‘The new farm hand. Michael Hardie – Mick.’ He held out a hand. ‘And you must be Ness.’

      He was slim and dark, though his eyes were blue. He had a lovely smile, too. Look smashing in uniform, Ness thought. Pity he was a – a …

      ‘Ness Nightingale – that’s me.’ She took the hand he offered. ‘An’ – an’ I hope you’ll like it at Glebe.’

      ‘I already do. And they want drinkings in here. I was on my way to tell you. No sugar for me.’

      He smiled again and Ness was struck by the way he looked straight into her eyes when he spoke, as if being a conchie came naturally to him and no way was he going to hang his head for it.

      ‘Right, then. Three teas it is.’

      ‘They want it in the shippon,’ Ness said to Kate, ‘and the – and Michael doesn’t have sugar in his, he said.’

      ‘So you met him? I know about his tea, and we call him Mick,’ Kate smiled. ‘He seems a decent lad, though Rowley and he have hardly exchanged a dozen civil words since he came.’

      ‘Ar, well,’ Ness tilted the teapot, ‘that won’t bother him a lot – Mick, I mean. I got the impression that people could take him or leave him. Pity, though, that him and Rowley can’t get on with each other. This war might last a long time.’

      ‘Oh, it’s our Rowley. He’s been giving Mick all the dirty jobs and it’s grieving him that it doesn’t seem to be having any effect. A nice-looking young man, don’t you think? Tall, and handsome with it.’

      ‘Nice enough,’ Ness smiled, placing mugs on a tin tray, ‘but I don’t fancy him.’

      And with that she whisked out of the kitchen, having had her say and put Kate right – if Kate was matchmaking, that was.

      ‘Got a bit of news for you, from Ladybower,’ she confided on her return.