Free Evie by Julia Stoneham Page A

developed in him not only an infallible sense of direction but wider instincts of self-preservation and common sense.
    Roger Bayliss had been quick to see these qualities in Edward John. The boy was observant where the stock was concerned and on more than one occasion had spotted anailing or injured animal and been instrumental in saving its life. When ‘little Arthur’, Mabel Hodges’ small son, had crawled into the bull’s pen it had been Edward John who had distracted the inflamed animal and pulled the little boy to safety through the framework of the stall.
    Although he was unaware of it, Roger’s relationship with Edward John was much easier than that between him and his own son. The relationship between them had been complex. Perhaps they were too alike. Both had been unable to articulate their feelings about the loss of Frances, the boy’s mother and Roger’s wife. And when Christopher had become a flier and was under huge pressure, as were all the young Fighter Command pilots involved in the Battle of Britain, Roger’s fears for his son had not been confined to the regular hazards of aerial combat but that he would crack up, as he himself had done when, as an underage volunteer in World War One, overwhelmed by the horrors of trench warfare, he had, for some considerable time, lost his reason.
    In 1943, when history had repeated itself, Roger had failed to respond to his son’s need for sympathy and support, leaving this to Georgina, whose feelings were also in a state of confusion as she herself was caught between her family’s pacifist ideals and her own increasing intolerance of the Nazi regime.
    Half-term approached and to Edward John’s enormous relief, his compulsory visit to his father was cancelled on account of a mumps epidemic at his half-sister’s kindergarten.
    Pamela was due home for a weekend, which coincided neatly with a Young Farmers dinner dance, held at the Rougemont Hotel in Exeter, to celebrate the start of the fox-hunting season.
    Edward John had realised, as he made his way through the guests gathering in the hotel foyer, that he was one of the youngest of them. There was an animated contingent from Seale Hayne Agricultural College, some of whom were self-consciously sporting dinner jackets and black ties, probably for the first time in their lives. Others were wearing what looked like sixth-form blazers with the insignias of their various public schools on their pockets.
    In his final year at his prep school, Edward John had been required to wear his first pair of long trousers together with a new blazer, the sleeves of his old one having become noticeably too short. He was a tallish boy for his twelve and a bit years, so that with his height, his long trousers and his new blazer there was very little evidence of the fact that he was several years younger than most of the other boys there, who already considered themselves to be young men.
    He positioned himself in the ballroom, directly opposite the entrance, so that he would see Pamela the moment she arrived.
    He barely recognised her. She was taller than he remembered and more woman than girl now. With the freedom of her dress-allowance she had bought herself a gown of such sophistication that her mother had almost forbidden her to wear it. But Pamela’s will had prevailed and there she stood, slender in midnight-blue chiffon, shoulders bare except for narrow velvet straps. Her hair was up, revealing her long neck and she was smiling her cool smile. As if it had been waiting for her appearance – and perhaps it had been – the small orchestra began to play. Instantly surrounded, Pamela surveyed the available partners, and choosing the best-lookingof the Seale Hayne boys, allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor.
    Quite what Edward John had expected that evening, he did not know. Certainly not this. He had some vague idea that he would be there and she would be there and that would somehow be enough. Had he intended to ask