The Farm by the Lake полностью

He sucked at the edge of his cup and stared over it into the fire as though he had not heard. Clem winked at Flo.

“The four’s here, so dunna be upsettin’ ’em wi’ none o’ your soft blather,” said Mrs. Nadin threateningly. But it passed over the farmer with as little apparent effect as a wave over grey rock. There was no suggestion of Flo helping with milking. The farmer and Clem went off morosely, and Mrs. Nadin aimed after them a brisk: “Good shuttance!” After seven, while helping to clear up the cabin, Flo saw Bert steering in with the four men in the punt which he forced along cleverly with a heavy wood paddle. The four made for the house and went in by the front door.

“Finish off this lot,” ordered Dot.

Flo was glad to be alone and dawdled a bit. She was weary, and wandered what else there would be to do. She had hoped to have a little time to herself at weekends at least. When she got back to the house there was loud talk and gusts of laughter in the front room. She heard the plup! of a cork, and soon the piano began to ding out: “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do”. The men sang spasmodically, and sometimes the tinkling went on, alone. Mrs. Nadin was looking after a tremendous hot-pot from which seasoned steam clouded up every time the oven was opened. Flo, having finished washing up the last of the cabin things, leaned back, half sitting on the sink edge, not caring to use a chair while Mrs. Nadin was still on her feet. Mr. Nadin came in and hooked his cap on the nail in the frame of the grate just by his chair. In the varnish graining there was a segment of a circle marked by peaks left momentarily swinging, pendulum-like. He sat in shut-in silence for five minutes, then abruptly demanded: “What the hell is that row? If it’s Dot, fetch the bitch out.”

“Fetch ’er out thysen; tha’s big enough,” snapped Mrs. Nadin, “an pig-headed enough.”

He did not move, gazing into the fire in sombre silence again. The tinny piano played on and choruses were sung noisily, tune-careless.

“I’ll hack the damn thing up,” announced the farmer unexpectedly.

“An’ it’ll cost you twenty quid,” was the instant retort. “Smash thi long legs, summat as is thi own; but if thee smashes owt o’ mine, tha’ll rue.”

He kept silent again, and Mrs. Nadin ordered Flo to get the tray and stack pots. At nine promptly she was sent into the front room. Dot was sitting very erect on the stool playing with nimble fingers, while a youngish man with sandy hair, on a chair beside her, leaned over the keyboard and sang and beat his right hand on the piano end. Abi g fire winked on five empty bottles on the blue and white Dutch-girl-and-boy patterned hearth tiles. The fug of ale and tobacco made Flo choke. The big man with the growth on his nose was full-length on the horsehair settee, his big stockinged feet sticking off the end. Bert, drawing on a big cherry-wood pipe on the right of the fire in a flat-backed armchair, was talking seriously to a middle-aged man with a completely bald head. The fourth, of the party, younger again, was watching Dot from the side on the right of the door. His hand held a glass and he sang between drinks. Flo looked round where to rest the tray, while she put the cloth on, and he patted his knees. As she leaned towards him he completely surprised her by slipping his left hand round her neck, hooking her head down, and wetting her forehead with a quick, dabby kiss. She jerked away, all the pots shifting and tittering, as if scared, too.

“Take care,” ordered Dot harshly over her shoulder.

The young man winked and grinned and licked his lips. Apparently no one else had noticed. Flo looked in appeal to Bert, but he merely glanced with a slight arching of his sandy eyebrows and went on talking. She had flushed and knew it, and she felt sweat under her arms and between her thighs. The fug seemed all at once to thicken and become more distasteful, and she coughed in an effort to clear herself. There was nowhere to put the tray, except on the table corner, so she managed as best she could, aware all the time of the young man watching. She dared not lean with her back to him. Setting was awkward, because in addition, she could not get down the side where the settee was. Only at last she was ready to go. She held the empty tray as a shield on her left. The young man let her get past and then she felt her right wrist gripped hotly from behind and he jerked her round so violently that she almost fell. The startle made her cry out. The piano rhythm broke, but was picked up after Dot, by the briefest glance, had learned what had happened. The rest stared and then laughed as Flo smashed the flat of the tray clumsily on the young man’s crown. He started and the dregs from his glass spattered his knees. His grip momentarily weakened, and Flo snatched her wrist free. The next moment he was thrusting himself up, his face creamy-white, eyes staring.