The Land Girl: An unforgettable historical novel of love and hope. Allie Burns

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      He stood so at ease with his hands in his trouser pockets that HopBine could have been his own home. He seemed quite comfortable with the silence. Then he pointed up to the roof.

      ‘You’ve some tiles missing, and the guttering is in a bad way.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she said, sneering at him as he turned away. ‘We’re aware the house needs some repairs. My brother is away at the Front at present, so our priorities have changed. You work in banking, I understand,’ she said. ‘Is that interesting? A challenge?’ She was talking too fast. It happened when Mother was watching her. The pauses between words evaporated making them all slide together into a chaotic jumble. ‘I can’t say I know much about money, or investments.’ Her mouth really was running away from her. She should be quiet, adopt some of his detached, confident demeanour.

      She checked over her shoulder. The women were talking, but Mother’s gaze was resolutely on her daughter. She gestured for Emily to remove the bloom from behind her ear.

      ‘No, I don’t suppose you do,’ he said, not without a hint of superiority. ‘It takes a certain level of skill and education to master the markets.’

      Her back straightened at his condescension. She twirled the camellia between her thumb and forefinger, before lifting her head and capturing him in her gaze. ‘I’ve always regarded the world of finance to be a little soulless. And you are helping to confirm my theory that people who enjoy the company of numbers are insentient beings themselves.’

      ‘Oh, …’ he said, breaking eye contact. ‘Well, let me assure you that isn’t the case at all.’

      ‘No? Perhaps your remarks don’t represent you well.’

      He concentrated on the horizon, but she continued to study him fixedly, let him bathe in the discomfort. He found something of interest on the concrete floor of the terrace. His hair flopped forwards to obscure his oversized nose. She paused a while longer, let the silence hang between them and then checked the window. Mother’s gaze was still trained on her; probably trying to read her daughter’s lips. She shouldn’t be picking arguments.

      ‘Do you play tennis often?’ She dropped the pink bloom to the ground, slipping into the polite patter expected in these circumstances. But the chap was frowning, he hadn’t liked being told off by a young woman.

      He told her he didn’t, no, he was training to fight a war, and then he excused himself and slipped back in to the safety of the older women’s conversation, slamming the French door harder than was necessary, and trampling on the camellia’s petals. She hesitated before following him in. Mother’s expression was granite-edged. There was nothing she could do about it but limit the damage, which for now meant she would keep her newspaper clipping to herself.

      *

      When she found Mother in the sitting room after the guests had gone later that evening, she caught her reading a letter, a smile on her face. As Emily crossed the threshold, Mother hastily balled the letter up, stuffed it in her pocket and lifted the knitting from her lap.

      ‘You didn’t mention that you’d had some post,’ she said wondering which brother it might be from. ‘Cecil or John?’

      ‘What?’ Mother’s cheeks coloured. ‘No, no, neither.’

      It should have been cosy in the sitting room. Daisy had cleverly used their scant coal supplies to time the fire to perfection for the early evening, but there was a persistent chill in Emily’s spine.

      ‘I caught two of Mr Tipton’s volunteers in trouble on the farm earlier on,’ Emily said before Mother could mention the mess she’d made of the house call. Lawrence, as it turned out he was called, had shown no interest in wanting to hear from her again. No one would ever ask her what she thought about him. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the impression she made, while the men could be as rude as they liked.

      ‘If I hadn’t been there to rescue them, Mrs Hughes and Mrs Little might have been trampled to death by Lily,’ she continued.

      ‘I wonder …’ Mother said looking up.

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘If Cecil might be able to come home from Oxford when John is next on leave. Wouldn’t it be nice to have the boys back together?’

      ‘I suppose it would, yes,’ she replied. ‘We could have a Christmas celebration for John – he’d like that, to mark the one he missed.’ It would be wonderful to see John again, he always listened when she told him about her adventures on the farm.

      ‘Good idea,’ Mother said. Emily paused for a moment to savour the rare praise. She smiled. Mother’s eyes glistened, a sure sign she was thinking up ideas of what they could do for John on his next leave. Perhaps this was her moment. She took a deep breath, rummaged inside her pocket for the newspaper article. Just as she was lifting it out, Mother changed the subject.

      ‘Despite what happened today, all is not lost. I told Lawrence’s mother that you’d write to him when he gets his first commission.’

      ‘Would Lawrence like that?’ Emily asked. He’d hardly said another word to her once he’d been back inside the sitting room.

      ‘Why ever not?’ Mother smiled to herself as she began a new row. Emily’s stomach tightened; Mother mustn’t have false hope. Lawrence had probably already forgotten about her, and she would gladly forget about him.

      She may as well get it out of the way. She reached inside her pocket and handed Mother the article, flattening it out for her. Mother reluctantly gave up her knitting, held the piece of paper to the lamplight.

      ‘I suppose if they train up these educated girls they’ll soon bring the likes of Olive Hughes and Ada Little under control.’

      ‘Exactly.’ So, Mother had been listening to her after all, but Mother handed her back the piece of paper and resumed her knitting. She hadn’t understood the relevance of Emily handing her the announcement.

      ‘The thing is, Mother, I wonder, could it be me? I love the outdoors and—’

      ‘You?’ Mother said. ‘Do you mean go off on a training course? And how much will that cost? We’re already paying for your brother’s officer commission; his mess fees won’t pay themselves.’

      ‘They would pay me,’ she said.

      Mother pinched her nose. ‘I have enough to worry about with your brother away at the Front, and with conscription looming I might end up with both sons fighting.’

      The reply would have been the same no matter what she’d said. Many of her old school friends had answered the call for nurses, canteen supervisors, ambulance drivers, tram conductresses, even policewomen. Lady Radford was now the commandant of the hospital she’d set up in her home, Finch Hall, the village’s big manor house. Clara Radford, the same age as Emily, was the assistant for goodness’ sake. Her ambition was humble in comparison; she only wanted to help out on their family’s estate.

      ‘Even if I were to work here on our own farm?’

      ‘Even then.’

      Mother glanced up from her knitting. ‘Don’t look at me like that. It isn’t right for you, an educated girl with СКАЧАТЬ