‘Gosh, what a mess.’ Caroline righted the bucket, tutting. She set her fists on her hips, looking down, disgruntled, at the slop on the cobbles. ‘I’ll have to get the shovel and clear this up.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Selina bit her lip. ‘I don’t know what’s got into the boy. That damn school, I expect … I’ll have to go after him. I can’t let him wander the cliffs in that mood.’ She gave her friend an apologetic look. ‘If you can wait ten minutes, I’ll bring him down to clean it up for you.’
‘No, don’t bother. It needs to be done now.’ Caroline gave her a weary smile. ‘I don’t envy you, looking after Bella’s kids. You must need the patience of a saint.’
‘Yes, the one thing Idon’tpossess!’ Selina agreed with a broken laugh, and then hurried after her nephew before he could do himself a mischief in that dangerous mood.
She found Peter standing on the gate he’d failed to secure before, staring mournfully at the grazing sheep, who would soon need to be moved to a lower pasture, given the increasingly cold weather.
He turned his head as she approached, and she realised he’d been crying. ‘I’m sorry about the slop bucket, Aunt Selly. I don’t know what came over me.’ His voice was bitter. ‘Though maybe Mrs Postbridge was right. Maybe Iama born troublemaker.’
She perched on the gate beside him, her gaze on his averted profile. ‘She only said that because she doesn’t know you. You’re a good boy, Peter. But something awful happened to you this year. You lost your mother.’ Feeling tears prick at her eyes, she took a deep breath. ‘Of course you’re unhappy and confused. And instead of keeping you home until you felt more able to take on the world, I sent you off to that horrid boarding school. It’s no wonder you’re at sixes and sevens.’ She sighed, looking across the frost-whitened field, and remembering happier days spent up there as a Land Girl, before Johnny had broken off their engagement, beforeher sister had died. ‘We can stay up here awhile, if you like. But you do need to go back and apologise to Caroline, and then to the Postbridges again.’ She came to a decision. ‘And then you and I should take a drive out in the car.’
He looked at her, surprised. ‘Where are we going?’
‘You may have heard us mention Joan, who used to be a Land Girl here. She married a young man called Arthur Green, I think it must have been around September. I’d like to pay them a visit. It’s a bit of a hike out of the village, though. Perhaps it’s extravagant, given fuel rationing, but we can take the car to save our legs,’ she added, grinning.
‘I’d like that, thank you.’ Peter swallowed. ‘And thank you for not flying off the handle at me. I’ve behaved like an idiot, and probably deserve far worse than having my head bitten off by the farmer. But I’m going to be more careful from now on, I swear it.’
She laughed at his earnest expression, relieved that he seemed to be returning to his usual, more reasonable self. ‘That’s the ticket.’
After helping Caroline wash down the cobbles with a pail of hot soapy water, and then apologising profusely to the Postbridges, Peter jumped into the car with her, looking relieved to be escaping the farm.
‘What are the names of your friends again?’ he asked, winding down his window, the cold air blowing his hair about.
‘Mr and Mrs Green,’ Selina told him, driving carefully along the narrow, icy lanes. ‘Joan was a friend of mine, a fellow Land Girl. She married Arthur, and they live in a ramshackle old cottage in his parents’ grounds. When I lastsaw her, Joan was planning to redecorate the place and spruce up the garden. I can’t wait to see how she’s getting along with the project.’
Selina had some vague idea that Arthur Green, who’d come home from war in a terrible state, and had taken a long time to settle back into ordinary life again, might be able to advise her on how best to deal with Peter’s mood swings. Not that Peter had been to war, of course, or seen dreadful things as poor Arthur must have done. But he seemed to have gone through a traumatic ordeal at that school.
But when she drove out to the little cottage, she found only Joan, homely as ever, clad in bulky overalls, a paintbrush in hand. ‘Selina,’ she cried. ‘How marvellous to see you. I never seem to get any visitors out here. And I’m sorry, but Arthur’s not here today. He and his parents have gone to an auction, hoping to pick up cheap furniture for the cottage. I spoke to Mrs Newton the other week, and she said you might be visiting while she was away in Penzance. But who’s this?’
‘This is my nephew, Peter,’ Selina said proudly, and the two shook hands. ‘I’m still hoping you and Arthur will come to visit us at Bodmin. Then you can meet his sisters too.’ She eyed Joan’s paintbrush thoughtfully. ‘I take it you’ve been painting?’
‘Just giving the hallway a lick of fresh paint. Do come in. I’ll make tea, shall I? Oh, watch out for wet paint!’
As they chatted amiably in the kitchen, Peter spotted a small dog in the back garden and ran out to play with it.
‘Joan,’ Selina said quickly, ‘do you think your husband might be able to speak to Peter before we go home?’ Sheexplained the situation, and Joan listened in concern, but then sadly shook her head.
‘I don’t think Arthur will have time. Not on this visit. He’s taking a portfolio of sketches and paintings down to a gallery in Truro tomorrow and will be gone several days. You remember he’s an artist? People have started taking an interest in his work, and there’s a chance he may be invited to exhibit in the spring.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m ever so sorry.’
‘Perhaps if you were to come and visit us at Bodmin, then?’ Selina asked, determined to find a solution.
‘Well, erm …’ Joan blushed. ‘Thank you for the invitation, but the doctor thinks I shouldn’t travel any long distances for a while. Not until a certain happy event has occurred.’
Selina gasped. ‘You mean … You’reexpecting?’
‘I know, it’s not obvious yet.’ Joan nodded, laughing at her shocked expression. ‘My brother Graham joked at the time that Arthur and I would need to get married quickly, and he wasn’t far wrong.’ Her blush deepened. ‘Though my mother-in-law insists we should call it a “honeymoon baby” and hope nobody works out the dates.’
‘You dark horse!’ Selina hugged her, adding her heartfelt congratulations. ‘Goodness, everyone’s falling pregnant at the moment. Violet thinks it’s because of the war, and she’s probably right. It’s a shame, though, about Arthur not being here. Maybe he could speak to Peter another time?’
‘I’ll tell him about it, never fear.’ Joan turned to make the tea, a healthy glow in her face. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your nephew’s troubles … But he’s young, and I’m sure he’ll bounce back in time.’
‘Yes, I expect so.’ Not wanting to admit how worried she was, Selina could only smile, hoping that Joan was right.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
As Sheila was about to head into Penzance with her grand-daughter, hoping to hear the former lady Member of Parliament speak on the topic of poverty, she was shocked to hear a telephone ring. ‘Blimey,’ she exclaimed, dropping the glove she’d been fumbling with. ‘You got a telephone here, Lily?’
