‘Oh, no, it’s so much more. That air!’ Mr Soames took in a deep lungful. ‘What a wonderful life you must have had here, sir.’
Bobby, who knew that Andy’s life – like so many Dalesfolk who had lived through the agricultural depression of the late 1800s – had been marked by poverty, hunger and heavy loss, chose this moment to hail her friend and halt the conversation.
‘Good afternoon!’ she called as she approached, waving to him.
‘Ah, now here’s a visitor I’m right glad to see,’ Andy said, flashing her a genuine smile. ‘Now then, young man. Here’s a name tha’ll know, right enough. This here is Miss Roberta Bancroft.’
Bobby laughed, both flattered and amused by the evident pride in his voice. ‘You talk as though I’m Dorothy Sayers or somebody, Mr Jessop.’
‘She another lady writer, is she?’
‘Yes, she’s very famous. You’ll have heard her stories on the wireless.’ Bobby nodded a greeting to the young hiker, who was regarding her in a puzzled sort of way. ‘I must apologise for my friend. He thinks I’m far more of a celebrity than I am. I’m really only a humble journalist.’
Mr Soames raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re a journalist?’
‘I know, it’s hard to believe they have them even out here. I work for a magazine.’
‘Ah, I see.’ The man smiled indulgently, looking as though he was back on familiar ground. ‘You write for one of those women’s magazines. I thought for a moment… very foolish of me.’
Bobby tried to hide her annoyance. ‘No, not a women’s magazine. I work forThe Tyke. It’s a country publication about Yorkshire and the Dales.’
‘Aye, and a good one at that,’ Andy said, glaring at Mr Soames as if daring him to disagree. ‘She don’t just write recipes and that neither. Never one like her for words. Me and t’ missus are right proud to know her.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offence. I’m sure it’s a charming publication.’ Mr Soames gave Bobby a patronising smile. ‘My wife used to do a bit of scribbling in that vein herself, when she was single. Short stories, articles, poems, that sort of thing. You might have seen her work in theReader’s Digest. Her maiden name was Penhaligon – Ivy Penhaligon.’
‘Ivy Penhaligon,’ Bobby repeated slowly. ‘Yes, I remember reading some of her stories. Great flair for description. She’s a very talented woman, Mr Soames.’
He shrugged, as if it was no concern of his whether his wife was talented or not. ‘Perhaps. I’ve never read her stories myself.’
‘Does she still write?’
‘No, she gave it up after we married. Well, we hardly needed the income.’ He puffed himself up. ‘I’m the assistant manager for a bank, you know.’
‘She could still write for her own enjoyment. It’s a shame to waste natural talent.’
‘There was no time for foolish pastimes after the children were born. I daresay Ivy was happy enough to let it go once she had her babies to attend to. Women always are.’ He glanced at her ringless wedding finger as she removed her gloves. ‘You’ll feel the same way yourself once you marry and become a mother, Miss Bancroft.’
Bobby tried not to glare. ‘I don’t believe I will.’
‘Oh, you will. Take it from someone who’s seen rather more of the world than you have. It’s in a woman’s nature – instinct takes hold, and her husband and children become her whole world. As they ought to be, of course.’ He nudged Andy. ‘A good thing for us chaps, eh, old man? Lord knows where we’d be if these little girls got it into their heads to leave us to our own devices. I’m sure I’d have burned the house down long ago if I’d lived alone as a bachelor.’ He laughed uproariously, as if the idea was absurd.
‘Where is your wife?’ Bobby asked, barely managing to keep the coolness out of her tone.
‘At home with the children, naturally. Sometimes a hard-working man needs a little holiday to himself.’ His gaze flickered again to her left hand, and he smiled slightly. ‘Perhaps we might see more of one another while I’m here. I’ve booked for a full week. I noticed a shabby sort of little pub in the village – I don’t know if you frequent?’
‘Occasionally,’ Bobby said coldly. ‘My young man usually escorts me.’
Mr Soames didn’t seem perturbed by the rebuff. Bobby had seen enough of life to know that men like him rarely were.
‘Well, if you’re short of an escort any evening then I’d be glad to join you for a drink,’ he said. ‘I must be pushing on, or my landlady will have me locked out by the time I get back to my lodgings. Goodbye, Mr Jessop. Miss Bancroft. I shall be sure to purchase a copy of your little magazine if I see one on the newsstand.’
‘Young streak o’ nowt,’ Andy muttered as the man walked away. ‘Tha sees why I warn thee about lads, Miss Bancroft. I’ve seen too many a clever lass ruined by a husband who believed he were more than he was. Don’t let that young fiancé o’ thine take thee for granted neither.’
‘He’s not my fiancé yet,’ Bobby said absently, watching the annoying Mr Soames stride away. ‘Besides, Charlie isn’t like that.’
‘Don’t believe it, lass. They’ll offer thee t’ moon, till they get what they want from thee.’
They were interrupted by Ginny bustling out of the farmhouse with a couple of saucepans in her hands and an old tin chamberpot under her arm.
