The Smallholder Pt. 03

"The medic who arrived said that Joseph had saved his life."

Nigel made to interrupt, but Angela was on a roll.

"I haven't finished yet Nigel. The next day Joseph and a farmer friend rescued the Porsche and put it in Joseph's barn out of the weather and sent a message to Gerard via Greta, telling him where it was. Greta gave him the message. You can ask her, she'll tell you.

"So what did Gerard do? He waited a couple of weeks, then he lodged a complaint that Joseph had taken his car and hidden it. He got Joseph arrested and tried at the Magistrate's court, who dismissed the charge and gave the opinion that it was a frivolous charge which should never have been brought. They congratulated Joseph on what he had done."

Angela sat back, rather out of breath.

"Gerard said every one lied. He parked the car and make his own way home." said Desmond.

"Think, Desmond!" said Angela. "They sent a bloody helicopter for Gerard! The Medic from the air ambulance gave evidence in court. He had no need to lie. Gerard's the liar. He knew perfectly well where the car was – Greta had told him!"

Nigel had been looking thoughtful, and now he turned to Joseph. "This story is all true, isn't it?" he asked.

Joseph nodded.

"You don't seem too bothered," Nigel wondered.

"I follow my conscience. It's up to Gerard to follow his. It's he who has the problem."

"But your wife?"

"It's ten years ago. She's dead. My little girl would be in her teens now. I regret she had no chance to grow. I remember them both daily, but I remember the good times we had before my parents' death."

"Well, I apologise, Joseph. I never thought that Gerard-"

"Forget it, after so long it is of no consequence. Let's move on."

"How did you meet Angie?" Penny asked.

"Gerard lied about that as well," said Angela. "Joseph's dog saved my life."

She went on to tell the tale, and ended by describing Joseph's cottage and small holding. Janice sighed. "How romantic! He saved your life and carried you off to his bed!"

"Yes, I did," Joseph said, paused for effect, then laughed. "But I slept in the study."

"You mean?"

"He didn't try anything until after the Gerard business," said Angela, "He was concerned for me. Even then I had to make the running!" She giggled at that, and Joseph simply smiled.

"What I don't understand," said Penny, "Is why you and Gerard were hiking in that particular place. That's some co-incidence - that Gerard should be there at all."

"Yes, that's true," said Angela. "I never thought of it that way."

There was a silence.

"All I can think of," said Joseph, "Is that Susan and I used to hike round there long before she left me. It was one of her favourite walks. We used to pass the ruined cottage and I used to say to her how I'd love to live in a place like that. Needless to say, she hated the idea!" He laughed.

"Now you mention it," said Angela, "Gerard said something I didn't understand at the time, that the area had special significance for him. A girlfriend had brought him along that particular walk and he had loved it. Perhaps that was Susan?"

"Makes sense," said Desmond, and the subject lapsed.

After that the evening went by with a lightened atmosphere, with everyone pushing Joseph for tales of his life at the cottage. He chatted about life there in a self-deprecating way, giving it as his opinion that his life must seem pretty dull to them.

Angela was happy as they made their way back to her flat, but Joseph was preoccupied.

Having stripped each other and made love at some length, and afterwards they lay sated in her soft kingsize bed.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"I'm not sure telling all that about my relationship with Gerard was a good idea."

"Why? Nigel and Desmond needed putting right."

"I'm not sure about that. I have a feeling the visit by the RSPCA and then by that so called council official, and finally my appearance in court is down to Trevor. He's probably smarting about the rebuke the court gave him indirectly.

"Nigel in particular is a black and white type of guy. He hated me, now he hates Gerard, and I have a feeling he'll not only let Gerard know how he feels, he'll let it be known to all their common friends."

Angela felt a tendril of fear. "You think?"

"I don't know, but I wonder if he hasn't something else up his sleeve...

"Anyway," he said, "we'll just have to keep a weather eye open for more trouble. In the meantime..."

She began to moan and gasp, as his fingers nimbly intensified her desire and her hips began to rise and fall as her feelings took hold.

"Oh! Ah! Not again!" she cried as she stiffened and relaxed in yet another more gentle resolution. Her hand snaked out and found he was hard again, and pulled him over her and into her.

"On second thoughts, again!" she panted.

Next day, they went, on her suggestion, to visit her parents. As she had described it, the house itself looked little different from the others in the road. Inside it was clear that nothing but the best would do for Mrs Furness.

Angela introduced him. "Mum, Dad, this is Joseph Ramsden."

"Call me Jane," said Angela's mother, and he's Robert," she said nodding in her husband's direction."

"And I answer to all variations of Joseph," said Joseph with a smile.

"Angela tells us you are a farmer, Joseph," Robert said with a similar friendly smile.

"A small holding," said Joseph, "just enough to feed me through the year."

"You mean subsistence farming?" Robert asked, intrigued.

"Not really," Joseph smiled again, thinking this was parental inquisition of a putative suitor for Robert's daughter. "I have an interest in a manufacturing company. It provides a safety net and additional income."

By now they were sitting on plush armchairs, Joseph being guided to sit with Angela on the sofa.

"Surely it must be a lonely life for you on your own?" asked Jane. "Miles from anywhere?"

"I've never felt lonely in all the eight years I've been there. There's plenty to do and it's a satisfying life."

"More satisfying that working in a factory?" Jane continued to probe.

"Mother, Joseph is Chairman of the Board of Ramsden and Son," Angela intervened.

"But," said a puzzled Jane, "your name is Ramsden."

"Yes, my father started the company, and I'm the 'Son'."

"So your father's retired from an active life in the company?" Robert assumed with a grin.

"You could say that," Joseph smiled. "He was killed in an accident in the factory."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Robert, mortified now at his jocular questioning.

"It's ten years since," said Joseph. "I was already largely running the place, but after he died I began to lose interest. My mother died shortly after my father and then my wife left me. She just couldn't cope. I appointed a Chief Executive Officer to manage the thing and looked for a better life."

"So you still own it?"

"I sold some of it to the managers and those on the shop floor who wanted to buy in. I own just about sixty percent and keep a watchful eye, but my MD is a good friend and runs it well. I don't really need to do as much as I do, which is little enough – a monthly meeting to keep me abreast."

"You really prefer living out there all alone to running a successful business? Angela says you live very simply." Jane looked perplexed.

"I have everything I need to keep me happy," Joseph assured her. "and since Angela has been coming, I've added a few things she might like."

In the kitchen as Angela helped her mother with the meal, her mother looked at the worriedly.

"He's very nice, I'm sure," her mother said, "but really he's not your sort of man, is he? I mean he might be nice to visit, but you're not thinking of anything more, are you? Angela you'd never survive that sort of life. I mean I can see why you find him so attractive – he's gentle, kind, caring, good looking too, but he's opted out of life! And isn't he a little old for you? What would you do out there in the country? It's just not you darling!"

"Mum, you've never seen his place; it's absolutely beautiful! It nestles in a little valley between two ridges. You don't know him either. He's the most perfect man I've ever met. He had a dreadful life when his parents died and his wife left him, and he came through it with a different view of life, and it's that view I like. He's happy, contented, satisfied with very little. I want that. So can we leave it there? Please, Mum?"

"Oh well," her mother sighed dejectedly, "you'll do what you want I suppose in the end. I don't understand why you dropped that nice Gerard. Now there was a man in your sphere of life. He was ideal, and to leave him for this Joseph..." she shrugged, "I don't understand you darling."

Angela was on the point of telling her exactly how wonderful Gerard was when her father came into the kitchen.

"Time for drinks," he said, getting the glasses out of the cupboard. "You driving, love?"

Angela nodded and settled for a tonic without the gin.

"You've got a good one there," her father suggested. "Knows what he's doing in his life and he's found a way of life that he enjoys and is fulfilling for him. He's well set up financially as well. Seems a gentle comfortable sort."

"Yes, he is," said Angela. "He's lovely."

There his parents left it, and left Angela with plenty to think about. While outwardly rejecting her mother's objections, she knew she would have to think about what she said.

------

EIGHTEEN

Sunday 5 April 2009

Joseph let himself into his cottage mid-afternoon. Angela had understood that he needed to get back to feed the animals and relieve Elaine. Rain had accompanied his journey, but the cloud was beginning to break as he entered the cottage.

Bob went wild with delight, running to him, skirting his legs being too well trained to jump up, his tail lashing in his excitement. Joseph bent down and fondled his ears and neck, and the dog whimpered.

He straightened and went to the kitchen to make some tea. It was good to be back home and its simplicity welcomed him. He sat at the kitchen table and listened to the kettle singing as the water came to the boil. A note from Elaine assured him that all was well with his little kingdom, and that she had washed and dried the sheets of the upstairs bed.

He felt comfortable and relaxed, enfolded by the silence and the familiarity of the place, realising that this was the first weekend since he had arrived at the then semi-derelict cottage all those years ago, that he had been away for a weekend. He remembered conversation on Friday turning to questions as to where each of the folk had booked their holidays and smiled at their amazement that he had never been away on holiday for all those years. He had never felt any need to escape the life he led: he had wonderful hills, peaceful countryside, ever varying weather and above all, peace and quiet.

He made tea and sat again while it brewed. He modified that thought, perhaps not so quiet: there was the croaking of the rooks, the bleating of the sheep and his own goats, the clucking and triumphant cackling of his hens as they deposited another egg, and the birds, especially the skylarks and the curlews. However there was little of the incessant roar of car tyres on roads and the din of traffic.

He took the mug of tea with him and walked round his livestock and checked the turbines and the water screw. He looked over the fields. Everything was in order. It was good to be back.

As he went about the evening rounds, blessing the light evenings, he remembered the weekend and smiled. Angela was so eager to make him comfortable, so keen to entertain him. The concert they attended on Saturday evening was delightful. The visit to her parents on Sunday had gone well; they seemed to like him and he them.

He had lived for so long without any music at all, that the richness and variety of the sounds touched him deeply, and he wondered if he shouldn't set aside some time to listen to music. If there was to be music it would be music to listen to, rather than to have on in the background. Angela had put on the TV for the news, but he found he preferred the radio, to which, he realised, he seldom listened. Should he keep more in touch with world events? Was there a moral obligation to share in the troubles – and it seemed it was mainly troubles which were reported – of the wider world?

He wondered that he knew about most of the news items, and remembered that he usually read the newspaper in the pub of an evening. Of course, that was enough, he needed neither radio nor TV to keep abreast of the news.

She had taken him out for breakfast on Saturday, and he had to admit he found the noise and bustle of the café at once exciting and annoying. It was fun to watch the other patrons and see them deeply engaged in conversation. It was good to see people in relationships as varied as they were: old couples sitting contentedly by one another not needing conversation beyond the odd remark, while younger folk seemed intent on filling every silence with talk. He wondered what they found to talk about at such length.

There was the noise of the coffee machine, the smell of coffee and cooked food, the clatter of crockery and the raised voices, almost shouts of the hidden kitchen staff, all of which was novel for him. The concept of going out for breakfast was new to him, even though on his trips to town he had passed cafés such as the one they visited without ever venturing inside one, indeed he never felt any need to take refreshment there, preferring to go home and make his own meals.

Angela had asked him if he wanted to go to church on Sunday morning. He asked her if she used to go to church on Sundays before she began to spend weekends with him, and on receiving a negative response, said he felt no need.

However, she had invited him to do his meditation on both mornings, and he had agreed to that. He found the experience of a plush carpet under him very luxurious and told her so with a laugh, and she looked a little uncomfortable until he assured her it was simply different and did not affect the meditation at all. He joked that after the experience he might go and buy a thick pile rug. He had a twinkle in his eye and she laughed.

He laughed to himself as he remembered her brazen stripping on Saturday morning when they returned from breakfast, and the intensity of their love-making as a result. Suitably energised by the food and the sex, they went for a long walk in a local park, which again surprised him, seeing how many other people were jogging, or pushing pushchairs in family groups, or playing football on the open fields. He was aware of how crowded it felt living in a large town or city. Lunch was a salad and they dined out before the concert.

His meditation that evening, back in front of his tiny altar in the company of his parents and wife and daughter, and also of the silhouette of Gerard, centred solely on Angela. She would not go away, and eventually he surrendered and allowed her to fill his mind and rest there.

He saw how nervous she had been on his arrival, and indeed how edgy she had been over the whole weekend. It was a side of her he had not seen when she was at the cottage. He knew, and indeed she told him when he commented on her state of mind, that she wanted everything to be perfect for him after all he had done for her. He tried to put her mind at rest, and indeed she did relax to some extent, but he had been unable to resist the comment as he left that 'now you can take a deep breath and relax!'

She was so beautiful, so keen to entertain him, and give him a good time, which she had done, and he told her so, seeing the relief on her face. He was well aware that he desired her and now accepted that he longed for her presence each weekend. The cottage, which had always seemed so full, now seemed empty and lonely during the week. He knew he was becoming dependent on her.

That realisation provoked another train of thought, and it arose from the weekend. Her home life was so radically different from his that his previous misgivings arose again, that he could not see her being happy in his world for very long. At that moment she had the best of both worlds: her life during the week and a weekly holiday with him at the weekends.

He accepted that she could keep coming weekend after weekend, but knew that relationships never stand still: already they had passed from being friends to being lovers. Then came mental images of them making love.

At this point his thoughts became agitated and he abandoned the meditation. The thought of the future and the problems it would pose as their relationship progressed now dominated his consciousness. She was in his life and was in love with him, he knew that, as he was in love with her, he wondered about his responsibility to her and for her future happiness.

Could she be happy in their isolated life? Well they had discussed it before, but the problem did not recede for the talking about it. He knew she was certain that her love for him was all that mattered, and the place or situation she was in was very much secondary to that. Women were like that, he thought, they were person- rather than place-centred.

Then he thought again. Susan also was ostensibly person-centred, but moved to another man when the going became tough and it killed her and little Sonia. His relationship with her had seemed complete and fulfilling, but her love for him was clearly not enough to sustain her loneliness while he worked through his tragedies and coped with the business. He knew he still felt responsible for her death.

It was loneliness, wasn't it? Susan was lonely while he was in the middle of his crises. Of course in his distress he had not felt like having sex. She needed more than a physical presence: she needed a more attentive one centred on her. Would Angela be the same, have the same needs but in a different way?

There were weeks and months when he had to work long hours out in the fields, basically all daylight hours, and they were long in summer. She would be alone with no one to talk to, no one to confide in. Would she end up getting in the car and going back to her friends and gradually needing them more than she needed him.

That was it. It wasn't the isolation in itself, it was the need for her female friends and in fact for the whole of her friendship circle. He could not compete. Then there was the unrelenting routine of farming life, the early rising every day, year in, year out. He recalled the conversation about getting away for holidays. He never went away for holidays. Elaine was very good and could keep things ticking over, but she was nearing the end of her schooling and would be leaving home. Who would look after the smallholding then? He knew of no one with the time and expertise, no one. He could hardly ask Mary!

As he locked up the house, and made his way to his own bed he felt a growing certainty that this relationship was doomed; it would not survive the change in her way of life.

As he lay in bed he began to wonder what he should do about it. He had been the listening ear to so many people over the years, but who was there to listen to him? How could he finish things with her with a little suffering as possible? Buddha was right: desire brings suffering, it cannot be avoided.

There was always tomorrow. Tomorrow he could think some more, and perhaps make some decisions. Perhaps Barry would know what was best to be done. He slept.

"What's up mate?" asked Barry as they sat in the kitchen lit by the grey day outside.

Barry always surprised him with his perception of Joseph's moods. "Summat on yer mind?"

"As usual you read me perfectly. Yes, you're right."

"Spill it lad. Maybe I can help, maybe not, But's better out than in."