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Message-ID: <42969asstr$1055718604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "smilodon" <smilodonREMOVE@postmaster.co.uk>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 15 Jun 2003 12:44:36 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Like Father Like Son Part Three
Date: Sun, 15 Jun 2003 19:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Part Three

   July 1916 Bethan

   Phillip was reluctant to send a telegram home to announce his unexpected
arrival: the appearance of the telegram boy was viewed as an ill omen now
at home.  This would be particularly the case with the battle raging across
in France.  He had heard that over sixty thousand British and Empire
soldiers had died on that first morning as he watched the mines go up. 
Casualties had been mounting with each successive day of abortive attacks
as the offensive ground on.  He therefore decided to go to Dorset
unannounced but, instead, to send a telegram to Bethan asking if she, too,
could get leave.

   This done, he hastened to Waterloo Station and caught the early express
to Dorchester.  There was a branch line train through to Bridport a little
later in the day but, in a fit of extravagance, he hired the station's
elderly taxi to take him home.  He marvelled at how little changed the
countryside seemed but noted, with a heavy heart, the large number of black
wreaths that adorned the cottage doors as they trundled through the little
villages.  More land appeared to have gone under the plough than was
customary in peacetime and he noted with mild surprise that many of the
farm workers he glimpsed through the hedges were women.  The logic, he
supposed, was inescapable.  With more and more of the Nation's men under
arms, it was left to the old, the very young and the womenfolk to keep
things ticking at home.

   He found himself growing more relaxed as the old car wheezed on.  It
slowed to almost walking pace on some of the steeper hills and rattled and
swung alarmingly when it gathered speed on the down-slopes.  After about an
hour, they swung in through the pillared entrance to the long gravel drive
that led up to the house.  He paid the cabman, thirty shillings and
sixpence, tipped him a further five shillings and walked up the steps of
the old house.

   Mrs Bugler, his parents' housekeeper, dropped the vase of flowers she
was carrying when she saw him walk in.

   "Why Mr Phillip!  Oh my goodness, look what you made me do!  I'll go and
tell the Master that you're here.  Won't they be surprised!"

   "Good morning, Mrs B.  You're looking as lovely as ever I see.  No,
don't disturb them; I'd rather go in unannounced, if you don't mind.  Where
are they, by the way?"

   "They're taking tea on the terrace, sir, just took it out myself not
five minutes gone.  I'll go and fetch another cup, shall I?"

   "That would be splendid, Mrs B.  I think I'll just go through now and
surprise them."

   Phillip strode through the familiar rooms.  A sense of peace enveloped
him.  He loved the old house with its mellow hamstone facings and gabled
windows.  His father had bought the place before he was born and he had
known no other home than this.  The estate included two tenanted farms and
a row of cottages for the workers.  As a boy he had roamed every inch of it
and was often to be found in some cottage or other, drinking homemade
cordial and listening to stories of the 'old days.' Phillip's father was a
popular landlord who did his best for the estate dwellers and never dunned
those who were late with the quarterly rents.  His mother enjoyed equal
status: she had started an elementary school for the Estate children and
paid for the teacher out of her own resources.  She also was the giver of
the Great Annual Picnic - an event awaited with eager anticipation by young
and old alike.  It was natural, then, that their only son would be welcome
wherever his juvenile legs carried him.

   He made his entrance through the French doors from the library.  His
mother gave a little cry and then sprang up to hug him.  His father was
half a step behind with a beaming smile and outstretched hand.

   "Phillip, you utter hound!  Why on earth didn't you warn us?  How long
are you home for?"

   "Phillip, your eyes!  My God, have you been wounded?  Why didn't you
send a telegram?"

   "Mother, my eyes are fine, just a touch of conjunctivitis - it's lucky
for me too, it's the reason I'm home.  I've two weeks' sick leave.  And I
didn't send a telegram because I thought it might give you a fright - you
know, what with the big push and everything."

   "Well, I must say you're a sight for sore eyes, my boy.  Oh I say, what
a dreadful joke!"

   "And I think he looks tired, William.  Have you been getting enough to
eat, you look thinner, Phillip?"

   "Oh, they feed us like fighting cocks, Mother, much better than the
infantry.  And we go home to a warm bed every night, no long spells lying
in mud and dugouts for the Flying Corps.  I should say not!"

   "Don't nag the boy, Beatrice.  He looks fine to me, apart from the eyes,
that is.  Now, Phillip, what are you going to do with this unforeseen
bounty of yours, eh?  I dare say you'll want to be off to London, dancing
and chasing the girls, what?"

   "No, father, I don't feel in the least like going to London and dancing.
As a matter of fact, I've invited someone to come here, if you don't mind
awfully much.  I'm not sure she'll be able to get away but I sent her a
telegram and hope for a reply later today or tomorrow."

   "Ah, and who is this mysterious lady?  Not an actress, I hope!"

   "No, father.  Her name is Bethan Meredith and she's a nurse - one of
those who looked after me at Bentley Hall.  You might even have seen her
when you visited me.  A very pretty girl with the most wonderful eyes."

   Phillip's mother laughed delightedly.

   "I cannot speak for your father, of course, Phillip, but I didn't come
to Bentley Hall to look at the nurses.  Of course, we'll be delighted to
receive your friend.  The Lord knows this old place has enough rooms and it
will be nice to have some young people around for a change, won't it
William?"

   "Yes, of course.  Only right that a young chap like you should find
himself a pretty girl or two.  How long will she be staying?"

   "I really don't know, father.  It depends how much leave they will
allow. Sister Hallam's a good stick, though, and I'm sure she'll put a word
in for Bethan."

   The rest of the morning passed in gentle conversation.  At Phillip's
request, they shied away from the topic of the war and his father spoke of
the running of the estate instead.  Even here, the war cast its shadow, as
every so often, he had to explain to Phillip why someone different was now
doing a certain job, the previous incumbent having enlisted.  It seemed to
Phillip that the war tainted everything.  A subtle mood of depression
descended on him and he resolved to go for a walk after lunch and 'blow
away the cobwebs,' as Mrs Bugler would say.

   They took luncheon in the small dining room and, after the meal, Phillip
took a couple of cigars from the humidor on the mantel and went to his room
to change.  He put on his walking britches, a woollen shirt and tie and his
favourite old Norfolk jacket.  He found a pair of stout shoes in the boot
room and, feeling heartened by the change into familiar, comfortable
clothing, set out for his walk.  The path skirted the rose garden and ran
down beside the old coach house, across the stable yard and out into the
open fields of Home Farm.  His pace quickened once away from the house and
he found the years dropping away.  He had followed this track countless
times in the past, in younger, happier days.  He saw the well-rounded
figure of Betsy Stevenson and waved a greeting.  Betsy was the daughter of
the tenant of Home Farm and it was with her that Phillip had enjoyed his
first adolescent fumblings behind the stables after one Great Annual
Picnic. She was married now and her young husband was a farrier corporal in
the Field Artillery.  He had been employed as a groom on the estate and was
reckoned to be 'mustard' with horses.

   The path rose up in front of him and he began to climb.  The hedgerows
were a riot of wildflowers.  There was the pink of the foxgloves and
campion, here the blue of speedwell and the deeper glow of violets.  He was
sorry to have missed the bluebells that carpeted the woodland floor each
year in May.  He thought, too, of the apple and cherry blossom that turned
the winter-stark trees to glory even before the leaves were fully out in
springtime.  His heart was full of love for the soft countryside.  Where
else did the beech trees grow just so?  And in what other country stood
such majestic oaks and stately birches?  He moved upwards through the Holt,
striding easily.  Dead leaves and beech mast cushioned his footfalls and
peace invaded his soul.

   He burst out of the woodland onto the hilltop and turned to look back.
Below him, the old house drowsed in the valley, its stone facades turned
golden by the rich, warm sunlight.  He paused and took in the sweep of the
land.  How neat it all was, how right!  After the open expanses of France
and the rolling chalk-land of the Somme, the small, irregular fields with
their ancient hedges pleased his eye beyond measure.  He turned again and
walked down a slight ridge to another summit where the trees ringed the
hill but had not ventured to the top, leaving a green expanse open to the
sky.  He climbed up again through the beech and hornbeam until once more he
stood in the open.

   From here, he could see down into the village itself.  He watched a
horse-drawn farm cart amble along the white road that led up to the farm on
the far side of the valley.  Here and there the fields were a lighter green
where the haymakers had left their mark.  Birdsong drifted from the wood
below and he felt he could almost breathe in the tranquillity.  It was to
this very spot that he had willed himself during the worst moments in the
trenches.  He drew strength from its normality and now, as he reacquainted
himself with the vista before him, he renewed his vow to build his house
here.  It would need to be of local hamstone, of course.  Nothing too
fancy, he thought, and a stable block on the reverse slope.  It had to fit
within this landscape so nothing too grand or modern.  He would ask Bethan
what she needed.  He could always add a nursery later and maybe an extra
bedroom or two.  Then he caught himself; "putting the cart before the
horse, old son," he murmured and then, with a shrug, walked on.

   He walked all afternoon, over the hills to Netherbury, past the old
Roman fort and home by way of Stoke Abbot.  He stopped briefly in the
village square for a pint of bitter at the inn.  He was hot and thirsty but
utterly at peace.  The war had receded from his horizons; now he could
relax and revel in being home.  One or two familiar faces raised their
glasses to him but no one pestered him for news of the war.  He felt he had
stepped back into his old life just as he donned his old clothes that
afternoon.  All it needed now was a positive answer from Bethan.

   ****************************

   Bethan Meredith was changing a dressing when the telegram arrived. 
Sister Hallam called her away.

   "Telegram for you, Nurse Meredith.  And you've no need to worry, whoever
sent it paid for a reply."

   Bethan ripped open the envelope and read:

   "HOME ON SICK LEAVE UNTIL END OF MONTH STOP PLEASE COME DORSET SOONEST
STOP DESPERATE TO SEE YOU STOP PHILLIP STOP"

   She felt herself redden under the grinning gaze of the telegram boy. 
She whirled away and ran to Sister Hallam who stood, hands on hips, looking
formidable but with a give-away twinkle in her eye.

   "I suppose it's from that young man you spend hours writing to?"

   Bethan nodded her agreement.  Her mouth was dry and she couldn't seem to
find her voice.

   "And I equally suppose that he is home and wants to see you?"

   Again, she could only nod.

   "Well, I'll have to ask Matron, but I, personally, can do without you
for a little while.  Let's see, you haven't had any leave since you got
here, have you?  No, I thought as much.  I will need you tomorrow but you
can go on Thursday.  Four, no, five days I think."

   Bethan finally managed to stammer out a few words of thanks but Sister
Hallam brushed them aside.

   "No, you've earned a little break.  Now go and send your reply and get
back to your duties.  I can't have you mooning about the hallway all day."

   A thrill of pure happiness swept through her and before she could think
what she was doing, she leaned forward and kissed the older woman on the
cheek.  Then she sped back to the door and wrote her reply on the little
form the telegram boy handed to her:

   "HAVE FIVE DAYS FROM THURSDAY STOP PLEASE WRITE TRAVEL DIRECTIONS STOP
BETHAN STOP"

   She found a sixpence in her pocket and tipped the grinning boy.  He rode
away whistling 'Tipperary.' Returning to the ward, she found herself all
thumbs and the young officer she was bandaging mocked her gently.  They had
all heard the exchanges in the hall and took the opportunity to rib her
mercilessly.

   "Oh, don't say you are leaving us, dear Nurse Meredith."

   "No!  Say not so.  We would all be desolate without you."

   "I say, Nurse, who is the lucky fellow?"

   "Will you come and spend five days with me, Nurse Meredith?  I promise
you, you would never forget it!"

   Once this would have embarrassed her beyond words but after six or so
months in the company of young men, she was able to give as good as she
got.

   "If I could leave you lot of cheeky monkeys, I would, now, wouldn't I?
But don't any of you fret, I'll only be gone the five days.  Then I'll be
back to make you all miserable again.  And put that smelly pipe out, Mr
Wilson, you know Matron hates it on the ward.  And as for you, Mr Larimore,
I would sooner spend five days in the company of my father's sheep.  At
least they have better manners, don't they?"

   The others cheered this sally and started ribbing Larimore for lacking
the manners of a sheep.  Their conversation turned more earthy but they
were rapidly subdued by the return of Sister Hallam.

   "Officers and gentlemen, are you?  I have heard better conversation in a
four-ale bar!  Now remember your manners, our Nurses here are young ladies
and I will not tolerate such rudery."

   This brought a submissive mumbling of "Yes, Sister" and "Very good,
Sister." She scowled about the ward once more, pointedly sniffed the air by
Wilson's bed and stalked out.

   "How can you stand that old dragon, Nurse Meredith?" one of the young
officers asked.

   Bethan whirled in outrage.

   "How dare you call Sister Hallam such a thing?  I'll have you know that
she is kindness itself.  If you cannot keep a civil tongue in your head
then, pray, don't speak to me at all."

   Sister Hallam heard the exchange and smiled.  She thought now would be a
good time to go and talk to Matron.  For all that Bethan Meredith was only
nineteen years old, she had the makings of a first rate nurse.  There would
be no problem with the leave, she would see to that!



   ********************************



   The telegram was waiting for Phillip on the hall table as he entered the
house.  His heart fluttered wildly as he saw it and for a second or two he
stood stock-still, unable to bring himself to open the buff envelope. 
"Courage, man," he muttered and ripped it open, staring in joy when he read
the contents.  His mother entered the hall and saw him standing there,
transfixed by the message in his hands.

   "From your demeanour, Phillip, I believe you have the reply for which
you were hoping?"

   "Yes, mother.  Bethan may come for five days from Thursday.  Isn't that
spiffing?"

   "Yes, dear, spiffing.  Now hurry and dress, for dinner is nearly ready
and you know your father hates to be kept waiting for his victuals."

   Dinner passed in a blur for Phillip.  He tried to make conversation but
several times his attention wandered into a private reverie.  He missed the
knowing looks that passed between his parents and barely tasted the food.
Had he been asked what he had eaten, he would have been unable to say.  His
thoughts looped and spun around Bethan.  Five whole days!  He could hardly
believe his good fortune.  He planned each day in his head and then
re-planned in case the weather was inclement.  Then he rejected all of
those plans as not good enough and started the whole process over again. 
Yet everything he thought of seemed inadequate.  He gnashed his teeth in
anguish and then, before he could catch himself blurted it all out.

   "I say, what shall I do with Bethan.  I mean, I want her to have a
really tiptop time but, for the life of me, I cannot think how!"

   His mother smiled.

   "Phillip, if she is the person you believe her to be then there is no
reason to worry.  Show her the estate, take her on a picnic.  Use the
governess cart and take her to the seaside.  Do whatever you want.  But I
would say, if she is anything like as smitten as you so obviously are,
dear, just be with her.  It is probably all she will ask."

   "Oh, do you think so, mother, truly?  I do so hope you're right."

   His father chuckled.  "I was the same when I met your mother.  Went
right off my fodder for a fortnight!" He slapped his ample girth.  "Could
do with losing me appetite for a bit now, what?"

   They all laughed and Phillip felt immeasurably better.  His mother was
right - wasn't she always?  If Bethan Meredith was the girl for him she had
much better see him 'warts and all.' With this decided, the evening
improved and he was even glad to join his parents in the library for a hand
or two of whist after dinner.

   A decanter of Port stood by the card table and another of Madeira. 
Phillip and his father smoked cigars contentedly and, apart from the soft
rasp of the cards and the occasional muted expression of triumph or
disappointment, they played mostly in silence, happy in each other's
company.  His mother retired at about ten o'clock and this left Phillip and
his father alone.  Phillip had the suspicion that this had been planned. 
His father lit a fresh cigar and, when he had it drawing to his
satisfaction, turned his attention to his son.

   "Now, Phillip old man, I'm not going to come the heavy-handed
paterfamilias but your mother and I think it's time we had a talk.  How old
are you now?  Twenty one, is it?"

   "You know very well, father, that I shall be twenty two in a month."

   "Ah, well, yes.  Be that as it may, it is certainly time we discussed
your future."

   "Father, I'm not so terribly sure that I have a future.  The war, you
know."

   "Nonsense, my boy.  This big push on the Somme will soon put an end it,
the newspapers all say so!"

   "Father, I don't care much for what the newspapers say.  The big push is
a failure.  As far as I can work out it failed on the very first morning. I
was talking to some of the chaps on the leave boat;; walking wounded, you
know.  They told me that half our shells didn't detonate and it was the
same as at Loos - large stretches of the wire uncut and the Huns snug in
their deep bunkers just waiting for the bombardment to finish.  Then
they're up on the parapet like a long dog after a rabbit, machine guns to
the fore.  Some battalions lost over seventy-five percent of their strength
just negotiating the gaps in our wire.  You see, they'd been marked with
white tape.  It gave the Hun machine gunners a perfect aiming-point."

   "I am sure they were exaggerating.  Shell-shocked, I expect.  Does funny
things to a fellow, I've heard.  All the communiqu�s are quite clear that
we are advancing.  Why, I saw a map in the Times this very morning.  Showed
we've pushed the blighters back almost everywhere."

   "And the scale of the maps, father?  Did you also observe how large
scale those maps are?  At our best we've advanced little over a mile.  In
some places, we haven't managed to get forward at all."

   "That's all by-the-by, Phillip.  I still say we need to discuss the
future.  After all, you are my only heir and neither your mother nor I is
getting any younger."

   "Now I know you are talking nonsense, father.  You're little above
fifty. You've both got years ahead of you yet!"

   "I do so pray, my boy, but that's all beside the point."

   "Well, if there is a point, father, I rather wish you would bring
yourself to it."

   "Very well then.  This young lady of yours, who is she?  Do you know her
people?"

   "No, father, I don't know her people.  And that doesn't matter to me in
the slightest.  I do know her father owns his own farm in Wales but, even
if he were a chimneysweep, I shouldn't care.  I think I love her, father
and I have some hopes she may come to love me."

   "But you hardly know her, boy!  And you must also bear in mind that you
were hurt, wounded.  It's the most natural thing in the world to feel
attracted to one's nurse in those circumstances."

   "Just wait you until you meet her, father, that's all I ask.  You're
worried that she's some gold-digger, aren't you?"

   "Well, the thought had crossed my mind.  However, I shall do as you ask
and suspend any judgement until we have made the young lady's acquaintance.
I do hope you can understand our natural concern, my boy.  I have no desire
to stand in your way and neither does your mother.  We have your welfare at
heart, you know.  It's just that we would hate to see you taken for a
tuppenny ride."

   "I understand, father.  And please don't think me ungrateful for your
concerns.  You will see, though, that they are groundless, when you meet
Miss Meredith."

   "I do hope so, my boy, I do hope so.  Now tell me, is she pretty?"

   Phillip and his father chatted on for an hour or so.  William
Welford-Barnes often cultivated the outward appearance of a fool but this
was simply armour against the world.  Like his son, he was by nature
diffident.  Whereas Phillip accepted this side of his character, William
had erected a barrier of buffoonery.  In truth, he was an educated and
enlightened man, especially for one born in the middle of Victoria's
over-long and stultifying reign.  That he was a patriot, there was no
doubt. He believed the reports of the Newspapers because he wanted them to
be true.  Talking then, with his son, he found the truth less palatable and
realised, with something akin to genuine shock, that his only child did
indeed stand a very good chance of becoming another name in the endless
casualty lists.  It was a sober and thoughtful man who went to his bed that
night.

   At breakfast the following morning, Phillip's father again raised the
subject of Bethan Meredith.

   "Your mother and I had a good long chinwag, my boy, and we have decided
that whatever you decide to do will have our blessing.  These are turbulent
times, especially for the young.  Seize what happiness you can.  Carpe
diem, Phillip, carpe diem!"

   "Thank you, father.  Oh, and you, too, mother.  I cannot say what the
future holds for Bethan and me or even, indeed, if we have a future. 
Perhaps the next few days will tell, perhaps not.  I only know that I want
to discover whether we do have the makings.  And, of course, I would value
your opinion as well."

   After breakfast, Phillip found the day stretching out ahead of him as an
endless void.  The night before he had penned a few lines to Bethan and
taken his letter to the Post office to catch the first collection.  With a
little luck, she would receive it that afternoon; if not, the following
morning first thing, giving her plenty of time to catch the train to
Salisbury and onwards to Dorchester.  He had looked up the times in his
father's copy of 'Bradshaw's Directory' and had resolved to meet her in
Dorchester, sparing her the wheezing branch-line to Bridport.  He would
borrow his father's Vauxhall Prince Henry tourer.  The car rarely got a
proper run out.  But that still left the day to get through.  He resolved
on another walk, to the North of the village this time.  He scrounged up a
lump of hard cheese and a couple of last year's apples, stuffed these into
his jacket pocket and set off.

   He had to walk through the village to reach the northern hills and he
stopped once or twice to exchange pleasantries with old acquaintances. 
Turning up Fleet Street, he soon came to the little collection of houses
known as 'the new town.' Yet again, he was saddened by the black wreaths on
the cottage doors and was glad to hurry on, past the old church and the
farm and up onto the hills.  It was a long, easy climb.  The hills to the
north were set further back from the village and, although no less high,
sloped more gently.  He climbed the dip, rather than the scarp, and he set
a good pace.  The hobnails rang on the flinty road and he amused himself
for a while by striking sparks with every tread.

   Soon he had left all signs of habitation behind.  He came up out of the
woods and crossed the Maiden Newton road.  There, on the upland, sheep
grazed undisturbed, and he delighted in seeing the swift stoop of a falcon
taking a pigeon on the wing.  He saw no cruelty in this - it was simply
natural -- and the speed and grace of the raptor lightened his heart.  Four
miles later he was in the woods above Cheddington, gazing out through a gap
in the cover at the distant views of the Somerset Levels.  He saw the white
plume of a steam engine as it huffed its way up the line to Yeovil and was
reminded again of Bethan.  With any luck he would be with her this time
tomorrow!

   He walked on, stopping only briefly around noon to gnaw on the cheese
and the sweet, wrinkled apples.  The afternoon was hot and still and the
sky an azure bowl without the trace of a cloud.  He amused himself by
trying to identify the different snatches of birdsong that he heard; there
was a chaffinch and there a warbler; behind was a distinctive yellowhammer
and, as counterpoint to all, came the constant cooing of collared doves. 
By mid afternoon he was tired and turned his footsteps homewards, cutting
across the country with a familiarity born of many such rambles.  He
pondered as he walked, weary but at ease, that this was what he was
fighting for.  This, to him, was England, Britain and the Empire and all
that that stood for.  The little patchwork farms and sleepy hamlets, the
industrious little towns like Bridport and Crewkerne.  It was not about the
big ideas; he could not relate to those.  It was about the simple freedoms:
to walk the hills, to graze one's sheep, plough the land and raise a
family. If a man could do those things unmolested then, in Phillip's view,
there would be little wrong with the world.

   It was nearly six o'clock when he walked up the dusty drive to the
house. The evening light softened the hard planes of the old stone
buildings and bathed them with an amber glow.  He was tired, thirsty and
not a little overwrought.  Despite the fatigue, he still felt restless.  He
mounted the stairs to bathe and dress for dinner.  Why couldn't it be
tomorrow?  Suppose his letter didn't arrive in time?  He checked himself;
that would not do at all.  It was no use mooning about like a love-struck
puppy.  He owed it to his parents to be convivial.  He must pull himself
together and stop acting the goat.

   The bath relaxed him somewhat and by the time he had dressed and tied
his bow tie, he felt more able to get through the remaining hours.  Nothing
like this had ever happened to him before.  A memory of Anne Marie floated
to the surface and he felt a pang of guilt.  How could he have been so
easily seduced?  He would have to confess the episode to Bethan.  No!  He
dare not.  What would she, a decent young lady, think of him?  He was no
better than a beast unable to control its appetites.  But, somehow, that
didn't feel quite right.  Certainly, there had been wild, abandoned
passion, but there had also been a sweetness and a tenderness that had
touched him deeply.  Perhaps, after all, Madame Rose had had the right of
it.  He had needed the understanding of what love could give.  He began to
imagine what it might be like to make love in such a way with Bethan but
dragged his thoughts away from the lascivious images forming in his mind's
eye.  It was not seemly; they were neither married nor betrothed and yet
and yet.

   He drank rather too much at dinner and was silent and slightly morose
for much of the evening.  Stray fancies kept disturbing him.  His parents'
jollity seemed forced.  He was overcome with a dread of loss.  What if
Bethan did not like him?  He was rushing things.  After all, they had had
dinner only the once.  But she had written; long, wonderful letters that
seemed to grow more affectionate each time.  Or maybe was he imagining
things.  Perhaps she was simply being polite to a young soldier, simply
doing her bit to keep up morale.  The more he worried at it, the more
confusing it all seemed.  He realised with a jolt that he was scared - as
scared as he ever had been in the trenches before going over the top!  How
could this be?  His life wasn't at stake if Bethan didn't love him, or was
it?



   *****************************

   The car engine fired on the third swing of the starting handle.  Phillip
advanced the spark a little and pushed the Vauxhall into first gear.  It
had been a while since he had driven the car and he made less than smooth
progress at first.  By the time he had swung through the village square and
turned up East Street, he found it all coming back to him and he started to
enjoy the sensation of speed as he accelerated up the hill.  The engine
sang with the power of twenty horses and he drove faster.  He turned right
at the junction at the top of the hill and sped off over Rampisham Down. 
There was no other traffic on the road and he gave the car more throttle.
Of course, he couldn't drive back this way, not with Bethan on board.

   He was in Dorchester in forty minutes.  He had to slow as he approached
the town and he carefully negotiated each junction, swinging wide to avoid
the square corner kerbstones.  Motorcars were still a relative rarity in
that part of the world and they had not yet begun to round off the corners,
as they had in London.  The Salisbury train was still fifteen minutes away
when Phillip bought his platform ticket and walked into the station.  He
killed the time by walking back and forth along the length of the platform.
He glared at the faded recruiting posters: 'Women of Britain say GO!' and
Kitchener's bluff features insisting 'Your Country needs You!' A million
men had answered the call and now many of them, too many, lay in ragged
heaps along a French river.

   But even these reminders of the war could not dampen his spirits.  He
attracted some hostile looks and returned them with a self-assured smile.
He could almost hear the old busybodies thinking: what's a young man like
that doing out of uniform?  He had put on his best 'thornproof' suit; a
sort of brown tweedy affair that he always felt was most suitable for the
country, a cream woollen shirt and a bottle-green woollen necktie.  He
decided against a hat but his flying goggles dangled nonchalantly from one
hand.  He caught sight of his reflection in the waiting room window and
smoothed down his wind-ruffled hair.  He was satisfied with what he saw. 
Two days walking the hills had given him a fine colour and he looked a
picture of health.  He prayed that Bethan would be favourably impressed.

   At length he stopped his pacing and stood at the end of the platform
straining his ears for the first sounds of the express.  He caught sight of
the fine feather of smoke before he heard the grunting chuff of the engine
and he was positively bouncing on his heels as the distant shape resolved
itself into the Salisbury train.  The locomotive started to slow and then
he was running along the platform, peering into each carriage, trying to
catch a glimpse of her.  He spotted her at last and he jumped onto the
train before it had come to a stop.  He grabbed her leather valise from the
luggage rack and beamed at her like a schoolboy.

   "Oh, Bethan, I'm so glad you could come!  Five whole days, isn't it
positively splendid?"

   She smiled at him and blushed.  He had forgotten how shy she could be.
He hefted the valise and took her arm to help her from the train.  Their
surroundings had disappeared from his view and he nearly collided with the
train guard in his eagerness to hurry her away from the platform and into
his world.  The elderly guard glared at him and muttered "shirker." Bethan
rounded on him.

   "I'll have you know this gentleman is an officer in the Royal Flying
Corps.  And he was wounded with the infantry at Loos.  Shirker, is it? 
It's mind your manners, I should say."

   The guard looked uncomfortable, as did several of the other bystanders
who had been sharing his thoughts.

   "I'm sorry, Miss, I didn't mean no offence.  It's just we ain't used to
seeing young gentlemen what's not in uniform these days."

   "Well, you shouldn't jump to conclusions, isn't it?"

   And with that she stalked off to follow Phillip, who had been oblivious
of the whole exchange.

   Phillip waited for her at the ticket barrier and she took his arm as
they strolled out into the station yard.  He slung the valise onto the
Vauxhall's rear seat and opened the door for Bethan to mount beside the
driver.  Bethan watched in awe as Phillip fiddled with various levers and
moved to the front of the car and swung the starting handle.  The engine
was still warm and it obligingly fired first time.  She had never been in a
private motorcar before.  Her experience was limited to the odd ride in an
ancient taxi.  The gleaming green buttoned leather of the big Vauxhall
seemed to her to be the last word in luxury.  Then Phillip was beside her
and they were moving off.

   "Oh, Phillip, wait!  I haven't got a hat and my hair!  It will be
ruined!"

   He stared at her in consternation.  Why hadn't he thought of that?  Then
he remembered the milliner's shop on the High Street and he drove there
very slowly.  He stopped the car outside the shop and sprinted around to
hand Bethan down.

   "Here we are, we'll soon fix you up."

   Bethan selected a suitable hat with a veil that would shield her from
both wind and sunshine.  It wasn't fashionable but it was serviceable and
Bethan was not the sort to pursue the dictates of fashion at the expense of
her own comfort.  She noted Phillip's reddened eyes with professional
concern and resolved to ensure that he bathed them twice daily in a mild
solution of brine.  Then she felt a small twinge of guilt - suppose such a
course hastened his return to the war?  She decided to force back any
thoughts of the future for at least the next five days.

   They swung out of Dorchester and Phillip took the car around by the
Bridport road so that he could show Bethan the imposing earthworks of
Maiden Castle.

   "There it is.  At least two thousand years old and, I believe, the
largest Iron Age hill fort in Britain."

   "It wasn't built by the Sais, then?"

   Phillip laughed.  "No, I'm not quite sure when it was first built but it
was before even the Romans came.  The clever chaps who've looked into it
say it was abandoned and reoccupied a number of times."

   "Why is it called Maiden Castle?"

   "Again, they think it was originally called Mai Dun, or something like
that anyway.  You Celts didn't write a lot down so nobody is really sure.
It's all based on oral traditions."

   "Ah yes, well we Celts have always been ones for telling stories. 
That's why we have so many bards, see?"

   They walked around the mighty earthworks for about half an hour before
setting off for Phillip's home.  They were both secretly pleased to find
that they were easy in each other's company if still a little nervous and
unsure.  Bethan, particularly, was uncertain quite how she should behave
towards him.  She had never been courted before.  Her understanding of what
was appropriate had been gleaned from novels.  Some of those, like the
books of Miss Jane Austen, of which she was most fond, were very old
fashioned and she just couldn't see herself acting like that.  In reality,
they had spent such a small time together that there had been no chance for
that gradual accretion of intimacies that is the usual way of things.

   Instead, Bethan felt she had come to know Phillip through his letters.
He wrote to her at least three times a week and she had read and reread
every missive, looking for hints and meanings in every word he had written.
For his part, though he was unaware of it, Phillip had embroidered their
single evening's conversation, added a patchwork of impressions and
revelations from her correspondence, to invent a personality and character
for her.  Happily for them both, there was little either would discover
that would disappoint.

   Bethan settled back into the green leather upholstery and revelled in
the sensation of power and speed as they drove along the highway.  She
supposed that this must be a little like flying.  The veil protected her
face from the insects that splattered against the windscreen.  A motorcar
was still enough of a novelty in those parts to bring out crowds of small
boys as they rocketed through the villages.  She took in the passing
scenery and found herself entranced by the soft greenness of it all.  The
hills were lower and less bleak than in her native Wales.  Little coppices
and orchards dotted the countryside.  She was pleased to see the abundance
of sheep; that, at least, reminded her of home.

   Phillip swung the Vauxhall through the gates of the house and onto the
gravel drive.  Bethan caught her first view of the old house and felt anew
the little thrill of fear.  How grand it all seemed!  Not the sort of place
for a farmer's daughter at all.  The car glided to a halt by the steps in
front of the house and she saw Phillip's parents come out to greet her. 
Her mouth felt dry and she was glad again of the veil that hid her blushes.
Then she realised it would be impolite not to remove it and her trembling
fingers fumbled with the knot beneath her chin.  Phillip was suddenly by
her side and opening the door for her and she descended on legs that seemed
to have turned to water.

   "Mother, father, allow me to present Miss Bethan Meredith.  Bethan, my
mother and father."

   Bethan saw a man of middling height with a jovial expression.  He looked
like a fatter, older version of Phillip.  Her gaze moved on and she saw a
slender woman with faded blonde hair turning slightly grey in places.  The
woman seemed to have a kind face and Bethan thought she must have been very
beautiful in her youth.  The couple appeared most elegantly dressed and
Bethan felt a further tremor of trepidation when she thought of her own
meagre wardrobe in the leather valise that Phillip was lifting out of the
car.





   "Well.  Miss Meredith, welcome to Pitton House.  I say, I can really see
why my boy's so smitten, you really are quite lovely."

   "Oh, William, don't embarrass the poor child!  I expect you're quite
nervous enough already, Miss Meredith.  Pay no attention to my husband. 
He's nothing but an old rou�.  Now come inside and refresh yourself.  I
expect you are quite exhausted after the journey.  Travelling is so tiring,
don't you think, my dear?"

   Bethan was ushered into a large hall with a confusing number of doors. A
central staircase rose up in two flights and angled beyond her view.  The
housekeeper showed her upstairs to her room and Phillip followed with her
valise.  Mrs Bugler shooed him away and ushered Bethan into the room.  It
was far bigger than any other bedroom she had ever seen.  Tall windows gave
out onto a little balcony with a stone balustrade that afforded a view over
the formal gardens and beyond to the distant hills.  Mrs Bugler poured
water from a tall ewer into the china basin and smiled at her.

   "Now don't you fret none, Miss.  This family is as good and gentle as
you would ever wish to meet.  You just freshen up a bit and then come down
when you're ready.  I've been told to serve luncheon on the back terrace.
It's just a cold collation so there's no need to rush."

   Bethan gave her a hesitant smile and enquired timidly how to find the
back terrace.  Mrs Bugler gave the simple instructions and bustled off to
finish her preparations.  Poor child, she thought, she's scared half out of
her wits!  And who could blame her?  Such a pretty thing with those huge,
dark eyes, no wonder Mister Phillip was so taken with her.

   Somehow, lunch on the terrace was a great deal less intimidating than
she had imagined.  The Welford-Barnes family was obviously a very close one
and she found herself emerging gradually from her shell.  Phillip's father
told silly jokes and pulled outrageous faces and Phillip's mother mocked
him gently and told him to stop showing off.  Then the older woman had
taken her arm and shown around the sunken garden.  Bethan was still a
little overawed by the obvious wealth on display but found she was chatting
happily, nonetheless.  Phillip's mother seemed quite human after all and
although Bethan recognised one or two pointed questions, it seemed that
mother at least was readily being won over.

   Beatrice Welford-Barnes was very favourably impressed.  She had
harboured some doubts when Phillip had announced his invitation.  She had
even felt a little uncomfortable with the idea that her only son now had
another woman in his life.  It scarcely seemed possible that he was old
enough!  She rebuked herself for being foolish and determined to make the
best of the forthcoming visit.  Now, having finally met the young lady in
question, although, in truth, she was little more than a girl, she found
herself pleasantly surprised.  Bethan Meredith was extremely sensible and
down to earth.  She seemed wholly lacking in any guile and put on no airs
and graces.  Beatrice herself was a countrywoman and she delighted in the
fact that Bethan was, too.  Country living kept one's feet firmly on the
ground.  Yes, she decided, she approved of Phillip's choice.  Miss Meredith
would do; she would do very well indeed.

   Back on the terrace, Phillip and his father smoked cigars and sat
contentedly.  William Welford-Barnes was content because he saw his wife
taking over and he knew from long experience that Beatrice was a far better
judge of character than he would ever be.  Still, he thought, it would be a
damned shame if the girl did turn out to be a dud.  She was as pretty as a
picture with eyes that did something to a man.  All his instincts told him
that the girl was a good'un.  However, as in so many things, he would defer
to his wife.  He gave a far-away sort of smile as he remembered his own
courtship of Beatrice.  How lovely she had been, still was, actually, and
how headstrong!  Once she had set her cap at William Welford-Barnes none of
the other fillies had stood a chance.  Somehow she had contrived to seduce
him in her parents' summerhouse and the next evening, they were engaged to
be married.  Sometimes he still wondered how it all had happened.  Still,
he was jolly glad it had!

   Phillip was simply delighted that Bethan was there.  It had never
occurred to him that she might be nervous.  He was walking on a personal
cloud of happiness and he felt sure that everyone would rub along together
just fine.  He looked up and saw her coming, arm in arm with his mother
like two old friends, and he thought his heart would burst for joy.  Their
heads were leaning in towards each other and they were obviously deep in
conversation.  His father also marked their return and read the signs for
himself.  Good, he thought, the girl has passed the 'Beatrice test.'

   "And how did you come to be a nurse?"

   "Well, I wanted to 'do my bit', see?  My elder brother had gone to the
Navy and my Dad, well, he's managed on his own since my Mam died.  There
was a lady in the village, used to be my headmistress at the Grammar
School. She suggested I should join the F.A.N.Y.  She said I had the 'right
temperament' for it, didn't she?  So I took her advice and joined up."

   "But surely, it must be very distressing to see all those young men
knocked about so?"

   "Well, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't.  But more, it's that they need
us so much, isn't it?  You can't be thinking about your own tender feelings
when there're others in need.  And we're lucky really.  It's the girls who
get to see them when they're first brought in that I admire.  We hear the
most dreadful things!"

   "Well,, I think you're jolly brave."

   "Brave?  Me?  Oh no.  I'm not brave at all.  The girls in France are the
brave ones.  I don't know that I shall go even when I am twenty-one.  We're
not supposed to go France if we're younger.  Some girls have managed it, I
hear."

   The conversation trailed off as they mounted the steps onto the terrace.
Phillip suggested a walk and Bethan readily agreed.  Then her face fell as
she explained that she didn't really have any suitable clothing for walking
in the hills.  Phillip's mother came to the rescue and promised to find
something suitable.  Bethan was whisked away and Phillip went to change
into his walking clothes.

   Fifteen minutes later they were following the path past the stables and
out into the fields.  Bethan was wearing an old riding habit belonging to
Phillip's mother.  They were much of a size and Beatrice had even found a
straw boater to shield Bethan's fair skin from the sun.  Phillip shyly
caught her hand and smiled down at her.

   "Well, what do you think, then?"

   "I think your parents are lovely.  Your mother has a way of putting
people at ease and your father's a poppet.  But this house!  You never told
me it was so big, did you?"

   "I suppose I don't think about it; being big, I mean.  I grew up in it
so, to me, it's simply home."

   They walked slowly up the hill.  Phillip was anxious not to tire her
although in that, he was in error.  Bethan, like any nurse, was well used
to hard work and long hours.  Added to which, she was a farmer's daughter
and thought nothing of walking several miles from her home to the nearest
village.  Bethan was content to amble along.  It gave her the opportunity
to take in the views.  She found herself trying to see the land through
Phillip's eyes.  He was always writing about how lovely it was.  She was
soon wholly in accord.  They stopped for a while to watch a double hand of
crows mobbing a kestrel.  More and more of the raucous black birds appeared
and, eventually, they drove the predator off.

   Phillip led her through the woods and over the ridge to the site where
he proposed to build his house.  He didn't say anything at first but simply
allowed her to drink in the view.

   "Oh, Phillip, it's absolutely lovely!"

   "Yes, isn't it?  D'you know, I've planned to build myself a house up
here.  What do you think?"

   "I can't imagine a more delightful setting.  Mind, you'll have to be
careful.  The wrong sort of house could ruin it."

   Phillip was elated by her reply.  It was exactly what he had thought not
three days before!  He then began to talk rapidly, painting her a picture
of his ideal home.  They were soon enthralled by the prospect and began to
plan in detail; which rooms should go where, where the main entrance should
be and what sort of flowers there should be in the garden.  They were still
discussing it hours later as they walked back down the hill.  Beatrice
observed their animated conversation and the easy way they swung their
joined hands as they walked.  Happiness seemed to radiate from the couple
and she found herself smiling with pleasure just to see them so.

   As they came under the archway into the walled garden, Phillip swept her
up into his arms and hugged her tightly.

   "Oh, Bethan!  I'm so glad you like it.  Isn't it an absolute piece of
heaven?"

   She smiled up at him, loving the way he looked just then.

   "It's lovely, Phillip."

   "And so are you."

   She blushed and looked and down at her feet.

   "You're very kind to say so, I'm sure."

   "Oh no, Bethan, I mean it.  I think you're the prettiest girl I've ever
seen!"

   "And is that all I am.  Phillip?  Another pretty girl to add to the
list?"

   Phillip's chagrin was so obvious that Bethan instantly regretted her
words.  He stood there mute, shaking his head in bewilderment.  Her heart
lurched with the sudden fear of having hurt him.

   "I'm sorry, Phillip," she said in a small voice.  " I didn't mean that
you were, you know.  It's only that I don't want to be a passing fancy for
any man.  There, I've hurt your feelings.  You mustn't mind me.  Sometimes
things don't quite come out the right way, see?"

   "Bethan, you are far more to me than any passing fancy.  I think about
you night and day.  I really do.  I can solemnly promise you that I am not
toying with your affections and I never would."

   At that, she leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek but somehow, his
face turned and she felt his lips on hers and his arms close about her once
more.  She was startled and she felt her heart race from the surprise - and
something else.  She was aware of his tongue pressing against her lips and
she gave a start as her lips parted and it slipped into her mouth.  The
sensation was strange but not unpleasant and she relaxed a little,
beginning to enjoy that soft probing.  She began to push back with her own
tongue and her arms went up and round his neck, seemingly of their own
accord.  She leaned into him and kissed him back with a will.  Suddenly it
was the right and natural thing to do.  She had the impression that her
body had grown light and she thought she floated there, only prevented from
drifting away by his anchoring embrace.

   Their bodies moulded together perfectly, like two halves of a whole,
long separated but now reunited.  She felt the hardening pressure of his
erection against her stomach and some part of her welcomed this stranger.
She was no longer able to think at all.  She was just being.  She felt more
intensely alive at that moment than at any time in all her nineteen years.
Infinitely slowly, it seemed, he relaxed the pressure and pulled a little
back from her, his arms still around her waist but leaning back, now, to
look at her.  His face was set somewhere between ecstatic joy and deep
concern.  She knew what he was going to ask and placed a warning finger on
his lips briefly before leaning in and kissing him again, lightly this
time. Then she had to step away and break the spell.

   Beatrice observed all of this with a bittersweet sensation.  Her little
boy was a man - in truth, he had been for some years - and now he belonged
to another woman.  Their joy in each other was almost palpable.  They
seemed, to her eyes, to shine with it.  Intuitively, she sensed that this
was their first kiss and it made her heart melt to think of it.  And then
she was glad that she that seen it.  She had found herself responding to
Bethan as she had least expected.  Like Phillip, she had thought of little
else for the last few days, although for somewhat different reasons.  She
had been anxious.  She knew her son was not experienced.  There had been
too little time and opportunity.  She had had visions of some vamp seducing
him; he was, in her mind, vulnerable.  She had certainly not expected the
sweet and unaffected girl she discovered.  Beatrice had been wary at first,
thinking that perhaps it could all be part of the act.  Her walk and talk
with Bethan had rapidly convinced her otherwise.  Certainly, the girl
lacked sophistication, but was that necessarily a bad thing?  The
sophisticated young women she had met on rare forays to London had left her
cold.  No, young Miss Meredith was exactly right for her son.  With her
help, Bethan would make a very suitable future mistress of Pitton House. 
Of that, she was sure.

   *******************************

   The next day dawned chilly and grey.  A stiff south-westerly had sprung
up and the air bore the tang of salt.  Threatening clouds scudded overhead,
driven on by the freshening wind.  At first, Phillip was disappointed by
the change in the weather but then he decided it would be good for Bethan
to see the area in good moods and bad.  He had been up with the lark and
waited impatiently for the rest of the household to rise.  His mother was
the next to appear and she put a loving hand to his cheek and smiled.  No
words were necessary.  The touch alone was sufficient for him to know that
he had his parents' approval.

   About five minutes afterwards, Bethan arrived.  Phillip felt that
familiar whirling sensation, as if his heart was attempting somersaults
inside his chest.  Her dark eyes appeared to be shining and she gave him a
smile that penetrated the gloom outside and lit up the entire world.  His
father followed moments after and Mrs Bugler brought in the breakfast. 
Bethan had never seen such an array.  There were kippers, poached haddock,
kedgeree, devilled kidneys, bacon, and eggs prepared three different ways.
Best of all, the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee filled the small dining room.
She had the feeling that all this had been laid on for her benefit but none
of the family evinced the slightest surprise.  Soon she was tucking in with
relish.  Hospital food was never great and she was almost always hungry. 
Mrs Bugler returned with mountains of hot buttered toast and there was
honey and homemade preserves.

   Unwittingly, and largely because her mouth was full, Bethan observed
another family ritual.  There was to be no talking at breakfast until
everyone had finished eating.  At last, replete and happy, she pushed away
her plate and sat back.  Her eyes were met by three smiling faces and she
was suddenly aware of a great longing to belong to this obviously happy
family.

   "What would you like to do today, Bethan?"

   "Oh, please, Phillip, don't feel you have to entertain me.  I'm happy
enough just to be here.  And I'm sure there are things that need doing
around the farm, er, I mean the estate.  I'd really like to lend a hand.  I
mean, that's what I'm used to, isn't it?"

   Phillip's father soon found that she had a very keen understanding of a
farm's accounts and Bethan spent the first part of the morning tidying up
paperwork while Phillip and his father replaced some broken fencing and
sorted animals for market.  Bethan soon learnt that the estate was mainly
supported by wool production but, since the outbreak of war, had also
branched out into rearing animals for slaughter.  She finished her work by
eleven o'clock and joined Beatrice in the morning room for tea.

   "Bethan, I cannot tell you how delighted we are that you have come to
visit Phillip.  He was positively insufferable before you came and I dare
say he will be the same after you have gone back to the hospital.  Oh dear,
that sounded wrong.  What I meant to say, my dear, is that you shall be
welcome here anytime, whether Phillip is at home or not."

   "That's most kind, Mrs Welford-Barnes.  Indeed, it is most kind of you
to allow me to stay."

   "Not at all!  And between you and I, I think I'd prefer it if you called
me Beatrice.  It won't make me feel quite so old, if you take my meaning?"

   "I'm sure you're not old at all, Mrs Welford.., I mean Beatrice.  It is
lovely here, though, and I should like to visit again."

   "Just visit, my dear?"

   Bethan coloured to the roots of her hair and looked away.

   "I did just happen to see you and Phillip from the terrace last evening.
No, don't be embarrassed, dear, I heartily approve.  My boy is not one of
those 'men of the world.' I believe that you are both innocents and nothing
could be more fitting, in my view, than that you discover life together. 
Now, I promise we shall not have this conversation ever again, but, for
what it is worth, my dear, you have our blessing, come what may."

   Bethan's mind was in turmoil.  No words came and she was suddenly
conscious that she was sitting, mouth agape, like a stranded fish.  She
summoned every last ounce of her tattered composure and managed a weak
smile of thanks.  She collected her scattered thoughts just as the men
entered.  Phillip reached down and squeezed her hand gently before helping
himself to tea.  That brief contact steadied her and she resolved not to be
taken aback by anything else that happened during her stay.  It made her
feel like a schoolgirl all over again - all this blushing and stammering -
it would not do at all!

   Phillip and Bethan spent the rest of the day, with a brief interval for
lunch, walking over the estate.  Phillip showed her each of the farms and
told her something of the tenants.  Bethan found all this intriguing.  Her
father owned his own land and she found it hard to imagine him being
beholden to anyone, however nice and understanding they might be.  She soon
came to see that Phillip's family viewed their privileged position as
having a matching obligation.  Landed gentry they may be, but they were
also central to the well being of the community at large.  She soon learned
that landlord and tenant were interdependent.  For the relationship to
work, there needed to be a healthy respect on both sides.  And yet she
could also see that this ancient way of life was under threat.  Men
returning from the war would not slip happily back into the old ways. 
Already, there was a new mood in the land.  This part of Dorset may be
slower to change than most places but change it would have to, whether it
liked it or not.

   She voiced these concerns to Phillip who frowned but did not deny that
she had the right of it.

   "Too many of the best of our people will not make it through the war.  I
do understand Kitchener's thinking when he called for the brightest and the
best, we shall need them if we are ever to win.  But, oh, the cost, Bethan!
I fear we shall never replace those whom we lose; that our nation will
never be the same when this beastly war is over."

   "Maybe some things need to change, Phillip.  Not everything was perfect
before the war, you know.  I've seen the miners thrown out of their homes
when they went on strike.  I've seen tenants put off their farms when they
couldn't pay the rent.  I know you would never do that but some landowners
do.  Yes, I think some things have to change.  After all, if it was so
good, how come we're now in this dreadful war?"

   "To stop Germany from trying to rule Europe.  Just as we had to fight
Napoleon when he tried it."

   "And did the Germans really want to rule us all, then?"

   "That's what they say, Bethan.  I have to confess that I really never
thought so.  There just seemed too much blood everywhere.  Everyone was
spoiling for a fight."

   "But why did we get involved?  We are an island and the Navy would never
let anyone come here, would they now?"

   "Well, we guaranteed Belgium that we would uphold their neutrality.  The
Germans invaded Belgium to get to France.  They'd been planning since the
year I was born.  Once they marched into Belgium, we were committed."

   "Nobody knew what it all meant then, did they though?  I remember the
crowds all out in the streets cheering because we were going to war."

   "I know; I was there.  We marched through Southampton behind our band
and the people came out to cheer us on our way.  All the ships' sirens blew
when we sailed.  And everyone was saying it would be over by Christmas,
that the French and the Russians would crush Germany between them.  We were
told we were an expeditionary force and only there because of our treaty
obligations."

   They walked on in silence.  Phillip's mood turned as gloomy as the day.
Bethan wasn't quite sure how to deal with him.  Part of her wanted to tell
him to snap out of it while another part simply wished to hold him and tell
him that everything would come right.  Instead, she took his hand and gave
a companionable little squeeze.  He looked down at her and she smiled at
him.  His eyes looked fogged and distant and his brow was furrowed.  She
raised his hand to her mouth and kissed his fingers.  She struggled to find
exactly the right words to soothe him but nothing came to mind so she
wisely opted for silence.  He continued to stare at her and slowly, his
brow cleared and his eyes saw her again.  He leaned over and kissed her
cheek.

   "Sorry, my love, just a touch of the 'black dog,' as father would say."

   "Black dog?"

   "It's father's expression for a fit of the melancholies.  Sometimes I
think that the whole war thing is just a piece of monumental folly. 
Perhaps, instead of countries going to war with each other, they should put
all those jingoistic old men in a great big boxing ring and let them whale
away at each other.  Last man standing's the winner.  And it would provide
good sport for everyone else, what do you think?"

   "Oh, can you imagine it?  King George and Kaiser Bill indulging in
fisticuffs!  And how about Emperor Franz Josef and the Tsar of Russia? 
Then we could have all those silly old generals like Lord Kitchener, well,
not him, because he's dead, but Poppa Joffre, then and that horrid old
German, Falkenhayn or something.  What a spectacle they would make!"

   They walked on, adding any other names they could think of until they
had exhausted their supply of commanders and politicians.  They had fallen
into that easy intimacy which exists between old friends or young lovers.
Time flew by when they were in each other's company and dragged on leaden
feet when they were apart.  Their conversation ranged across many subjects.
Bethan wanted to know all there was to know about Phillip.  She quizzed him
on his childhood, his schooling, his likes and dislikes.  Phillip was
similarly enthralled and hung on her every word as though each was a divine
revelation.  And so they passed that day and the next and the one after
that; walking the hills and talking, feeling their way gently into one
another's hearts.

   When Monday came, Phillip greeted it with a heavy sense of despair.  The
five days were almost up and he must take Bethan back to Dorchester to
catch the afternoon train.  Breakfast was a solemn affair and Bethan could
eat little.  She, too, was depressed by her impending departure.  William
and Beatrice kept silent, allowing the young couple space.  Their sorrow
hung in the air between them like the damp mist that had lain about the
valley for the last few days.  Phillip thought it ironic that Bethan's last
day should dawn bright and clear.  He asked her, somewhat half-heartedly,
how she wished to spend the time remaining to them.  Without hesitation,
she replied that they should climb the hill once more to the place where
Phillip would build his house and he readily agreed.

   They walked up through the woods from the house and onto the hillside.
The magic had not departed and they stood together, each with an arm
trailed about the other's waist, silently gazing down at the sunlit
village.

   "It truly is beautiful here, Phillip, and so peaceful.  Somehow, just
being here makes me feel better."

   "That's exactly how I feel, my love, and it's why I want to live here
for ever."

   They stood in silence for a while longer then Phillip screwed up his
courage and asked the question that had been in his mind for the last few
days.

   "Bethan, I know it's awfully sudden but I would like to ask you
nonetheless.  What I mean to say is, it would make me the happiest fellow
on earth if you would do me the honour of becoming my wife."

   "Phillip?"

   "Yes, my love?"

   "I think I must be hearing things!  Did you just me ask me to marry
you?"

   "D'you know, Miss Meredith, I rather think I did."

   Bethan's mind raced in confusion.  The prospect attracted her and
frightened her at the same time.  Phillip watched anxiously as she bit her
lip.  The white teeth against the rose of her mouth struck him as
inordinately beautiful and his heart lurched.  After what seemed like an
eternity she turned towards him, put her arms around his neck and kissed
him passionately.  He felt the softness of her breasts pushing against him
and he felt weak at the knees.  He had to sit down and he drew her gently
down beside him, spreading his jacket for her to sit on.  Bethan kissed him
again and he felt a new urgency in her embrace, a desperation almost.  His
hands moved to her breasts and she stiffened slightly but did not pull
away. He stroked her through her clothing and she felt the strangest
sensation that emanated from her nipples and kind of swirled down her front
to between her legs.  She broke the kiss and looked down in confusion.  She
stared in a mixture of fear and fascination at the very obvious bulge in
Phillip's trousers and saw again in her mind's eye the rampant erection
that had so disturbed her when he had been her patient the year before.

   Phillip lay back on the grass and pulled her gently but insistently
towards him.  Panic and desire warred with each other inside her.  He
reached out his hand and softly touched her face, trailing his fingertips
down her cheek until he cupped her chin lightly in his hand.  He was
looking deep into her eyes and she began to relax inside, the panic
receding, the desire becoming controllable.

   "You haven't answered my question," he said softly, holding her gaze
with a look that was both worried and tender.

   She heaved a sigh.  "Phillip, I will not give you an answer here and
now. It is too big a thing for me to think about quite yet.  Please, give
me some time."

   "But I love you, Bethan!" His voice was like that of a small boy,
pleading and wistful.

   "And I think I love you too, but I do need to be sure.  Please don't be
sad, after all, I haven't said no, have I?"

   He was tempted to press her further but held himself in check.  Some
instinct told him that forcing the pace would never serve.  He gave a
rueful smile and kissed her lightly once again.

   "Just you be sure you don't take too long.  After all, there's all those
French mam'selles!"

   She threw back her head and gave him a haughty look, then ruined the
effect by laughing.  Phillip was surprised to find that he could laugh too
and, suddenly, he did not feel rejected but rather encouraged.  He tried
for another kiss but she pulled away.

   "Hold your horses, sir.  Things are getting just a little bit, well, you
know, too."

   "Interesting?"

   "Too interesting by half, isn't it?"

   But he pulled her down on to him despite her protests and she
surrendered to his kisses with good enough grace and not a little
enthusiasm of her own.  She felt his hardness pushing against her and his
hands were on her buttocks, kneading them gently through the heavy cotton
skirt.  It seemed to her that immense heat was being generated by his
ministrations and was making her light headed.  She forced herself to push
his hands away and sit up again.  She knew she was wet between her legs and
was a little ashamed of herself.  Then she thought of what Sister Hallam
had told her: how young men, and young women, come to that, were given
these desires for a purpose and that there was nothing shameful in it.  One
should only be careful how one acted on the impulses and to be sure never
to do anything that one didn't want to.  But that was the problem!  Part of
her, the moist, slippery part, seemed to want to do something quite a lot!

   The realisation made her blush and she jumped hurriedly to her feet,
smoothing away the stray stalks of dry grass and dead leaves.  Phillip rose
more slowly, more reluctantly but his face showed understanding.  " I love
you, Bethan" he repeated and she nodded shyly, not able to bring herself to
meet his quiet regard.  They walked together further up the hill to the
summit.  Bethan made a long, slow circle, trying to imprint the place and
its views forever on her memory.  Whatever the future held, she knew that
she would always love this place.

   Then it was time to go down, time for lunch and time for them to part.



   To be continued...  

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