Free Once a Land Girl by Angela Huth Page A

having made a mistake we
should undo it as quickly as possible. No hanging about hoping for things to get better. She had money of her own and I had none so there were no financial fights. She’s married to a man in
Las Vegas now.’
    His large hands were clasped tightly round his cup, as if for comfort against the thought of a past wife. They trembled slightly. Then, Prue noticed, a small pulse in his jaw began a regular
beat. She began to think that here was a neurotic neighbour, a touch highly strung, nervous. She’d have to take care to avoid any minefields. Not mention the wife again. But then he looked at
her with such a disarming, happy smile that she thought she must have been mistaken. ‘Can’t say I ever think of her,’ he said. ‘But Barry? Your Barry? I scarcely know him.
We have occasional landlord-tenant conversations, but that’s all.’
    Prue tipped up her head. (There was a way in which a head could be tipped that signalled nothing more than polite interest.) ‘He’s a good man, Barry. I don’t see much of him.
His work. But he’s generous.’ She held out her wrist, tapped the gold watch.
    ‘He is. Are you happy?’
    ‘What a question!’ Prue giggled, caught off guard. ‘Course I’m happy. I wouldn’t have married him if I hadn’t thought we’d be happy – though I
have to admit we’re a bit chalk and cheese. But there’s no saying what makes a good marriage. Sometimes the most unlikely—’
    ‘Quite.’ It was almost completely dark by now. ‘Really is time to put on a light,’ said Johnny, getting up and taking Prue’s empty cup.
    ‘And time for me to be getting home. Barry’ll be wondering,’ she added, knowing that this was unlikely.
    Now that Prue had taken her decision not even to flirt with Johnny, she felt unconstrained, able to make gestures that she knew were innocent and assumed Johnny would see as innocent too. She
moved to face him, standing close. ‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ she began. ‘You’ve taken so much time and trouble. They’ll change my life, those hens.
Isn’t there something I can do for you in return?’
    Johnny frowned. There was a pause while he gave thought to the question, plainly not seeing in it a devious signal. Then he smiled. ‘Well, there is, come to think of it. Your car . . .
I’ll never afford one even half as beautiful. I’d love a ride in it. Would that be possible?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘We needn’t go far. And I’ll bring a can of petrol. I’ve stored a bit.’
    ‘But I’ve only just learnt—’
    ‘I’ll drive, if you let me. I’ll show you its paces. I know a good straight trunk road.’ He put his hands on her shoulders and swivelled her gently to face him. Then he
kissed her forehead. ‘It’ll be fun,’ he said. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’
    When Prue arrived home she found that the Daimler was not in the garage and the house was in darkness. She let herself into the hall, switched on the light. From the passage that led to the
kitchen Bertha appeared. She moved to the point where the passage widened into the hall, stopped and stared at Prue who gave a nervous laugh. ‘Johnny Norse has finished the chicken run. The
hens are all there. Perhaps you’ve seen them?’ she said.
    ‘I haven’t looked,’ said Bertha. ‘I’m not that interested in hens.’
    ‘But there’ll be the eggs,’ Prue floundered. ‘Do you know when Barry’s coming home?’
    Their eyes met. Bertha folded her arms across her hollow chest. ‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘How should I know? It’s not my place to know, is it?’
    Prue hated her. ‘Well, I’m going to shut up the chickens,’ she said, picking up the torch from the hall table. ‘It’ll be my nightly duty from now on.’ She
tried for a carefree voice – no intention of acknowledging Bertha’s powers of intimidation.
    ‘Very good.’ Bertha turned away, strode back down the passage, her shoulders lifted so high they touched the mean little