The next month was a mosaic. Rowan did the things all the things she normally did, and plenty of extra things. Small chunks of time became incredibly significant, or lost in so many other similar pieces. She prodded her mother into placing an advertisement. She offered to help her mother interview the applicants, if they applied in time.
"There isn't any point dragging it out, Mother. I've given a month's notice. I'm going at the end of it."
Pride forced her to work harder than ever. She would hand over the farm in the best possible condition.
Rowan wondered about writing to Bridget Walker. Roger could give her an up-to-date address for Bridget. Rowan knew she was putting off explaining the matter to him. She was being silly really. Roger had said nothing to indicate that he would take a similar view to her father. But then he had said nothing to indicate that he would take a view similar to Nicola's. There were so many things they hadn't talked about. There couldn't be many trained farm managers who might just possibly be prepared to live as part of the family at Trennels, letting Karen and Edwin continue to occupy the old farmhouse. Bridget might just be a possibility. Rowan realised that how awkward that could become. And suppose the arrangement became permanent. It would be extremely awkward to visit Trennels as, say, the future Mrs Roger Walker when the current Miss Marlow had been given her marching orders.
-Getting a bit presumptuous, aren't you Rowan?
-Well, why not? He's written three times in the last fortnight.
-Only one of which you've answered.
-I don't know what to say, how to explain this mess. Anyway, he said he didn't know how long he'll be away for. He might already be on the way back. It will be easier to explain when I see him. I answered his letters before that.
And if the need for a new manager becomes awkward for Karen and Edwin – why not? I don't owe them anything.
There was the matter of references. Her father's parting shot about not giving her a reference was neither here nor there. No-one would accept a reference from someone so closely related to her as a parent.
That could be solved fairly easily. Rowan could simply have written to Miss Keith, or even rung the school secretary – what was the new one called? Instead, she chose to 'phone for an appointment – "only a brief one" she assured the new secretary breezily. Disappearing suddenly from home could cause rumours. Rowan was too much of a realist to think that what other people said didn't really matter.
Now, at twenty one, with a boyfriend, and a sister who had married in haste a man much older than herself, Rowan was still less minded to make it easy to draw that particular wrong conclusion. Besides, she had something she particularly wanted to say to Nicola.
"I had thought maybe I should." Nicola admitted. "After School cert. of course, not now."
"Well, don't, Nick" said Rowan. "You're good at a lot of things. Even if you don't fancy the vet idea and you give up on the Wrens, live your own life. Just … it would be a mistake. Dad will have retired in a few years' time, but going back to anything else…. I'm not sure I can go back to anything that's actually a career now."
"It's only been a few years."
"I can hardly turn up at Colebridge Grammar school and say "please may I take my Highers" even if I had somewhere to live. "Don't make the mistake I made." is what I'm saying. There's much less need for it, for one thing."
"But doesn't that make it worse – for you I mean. You gave up school so Father and Giles wouldn't have to give up the navy."
"No." Rowan said, fiercely. "It would make it worse if you left now. At the time I did it because it seemed sensible. It still was, but even now, I'm glad I did it, for you and Ann and Lawrie and Ginty whatever Father said."
Nicola remembered that walk with her father, the summer Jon died and it had taken her so long to realise that they would be living at Trennels for ever.
"I think," Nicola said slowly, "that if it ever came to it that I had to choose between you and Father …"
"Don't say it." Rowen sounded almost curt. "You don't have to. I don't expect you to. I wouldn't want you to. And it's a damnable choice, take it from one who has tried it."
"Are you…. will you…"
"I'll be alright. I've mostly got my head screwed on."
"You'll write?"
"If you want me too. At school anyway. I should think it will make things too awkward for you at home."
They resumed their pacing of the playing field. The lump in Nicola's throat precluded all speech. She wondered if that was why Rowan, too, remained silent.
Packing made Rowan realise how little she really owned. She first had the problem of finding something to pack her things in. Her school trunk would be more than ample, but it was a trunk that had been bought for her use and, she supposed, belonged to her parents. She was reluctant to spend any more of her meagre savings than she had to.
Ann had written, of course. She had written a cheerful, unexceptional letter to the no-longer- quite-so-infant Dodds and had enclosed a smaller envelope with a note for Rowen, duly delivered by Chas on Saturday morning
"It seems strange, a grown-up running away."
"I've been sent away, which is a different thing. Effectively sent away." She wasn't going to prevaricate to save anyone else's face now.
"We wondered if it was because Roger wanted to marry you."
Rowan had rather supposed that Rose and Chas, at least, would have some idea of what the row had been about. Peter and Nicola had been discrete, it seemed.
"I don't know that Roger does want to marry me."
"Rose thinks so. She says he looks at you as if he wants to marry you. I don't know what she means by that. We wondered if he was Madly Unsuitable and he had been Forbidden To See You and you were going to have to Elope to Gretna Green."
"Rose is reading more Georgette Heyer than is good for her."
"They do go on a bit." Chas conceded, judiciously. "I just get Rose to point out the more exciting bits – and the really good words, of course. Anyway, when I was in the shop, I heard Nelly telling Mrs Benn that Mrs. Merrick said that you'd done well for yourself with a wing commander and she could see why you might want to chuck in the farming, because he wasn't likely to want a wife who was all manure and turnips."
"Chas, you really shouldn't be repeating what other people say like that." Rowan found the response came almost automatically and she was sounding like her mother.
"It's about you, so I don't see why it should be a secret from you. Anyway, the others from school say their mothers say you'd be daft to work your fingers to the bone until you're on the shelf and then be chucked out when Giles marries and had kids. So you aren't going to run away with all your possessions tied up in a hankie on a stick then?" Charles grinned, to show that, at eleven, he wasn't that naïve."
"I may be reduced to that yet," Rowan said ruefully. "A tea towel at least."
"Haven't you got suitcases at Trennels then?" Charles was genuinely surprised.
"None that are really mine."
"I don't see how that…. This is one of those things that Nick would understand, isn't it?"
"Yes, Nick probably would."
Scowling ferociously, Charles slithered down from the gate and ran off across Glebe Pasture towards home.
The first part of the note was Ann at her most irritatingly guilt ridden. Rowan had to admit to herself that she would probably have written much the same if the circumstances were reversed.
"I hope I would have been less wet in how I said it." Rowan, informed Lancelot the ram after she had read the letter.
The second part to the letter made Rowan smile and say "Good old, Ann" however. Because however good Ann might be at saying the wrong thing at the wrong time to her family, Ann was practical.
You might decide to take your trunk of course, but even if you do, you might find my rucksack helpful. It's in the ottoman on the landing outside the bedroom. Take anything else of mine that you think might be useful, too. I won't be able to come back and fetch them after all.
The rucksack was a substantial size. Rowan reckoned she could get her pyjamas, wash kit, important papers and some changes of clothes in it.
Karen appeared in the yard as Rowan was making her evening round. Karen was carrying a suitcase – a very light suitcase.
"It's for you." Karen said. "Chas said you hadn't got one. Call it your birthday present."
"It's far more than a birthday present. I'd say that's the next ten years."
"Not that much. And I hope it won't be the next ten years."
"I can't come back." Rowan said it slowly, carefully.
"Perhaps he'll change his mind."
"Even if he does, I can't."
"What about coming to us?"
"I can't do that either. Not while you're living there. You must see why."
Karen nodded. Of course, Rowan thought, Karen generally could see things, unless she was deliberate not seeing.
"I'm sorry." Karen said. "I'm sorry about …. I know I made it harder for you."
"Forget about that." Rowan said, more fiercely than she intended. No good came of explanations and little of apologies. She couldn't bear just now to lose Karen, (again, a small thought insisted).
By the suddenly lightened expression on Karen's face, Karen had attributed Rowan's comment to a more generous spirit than Rowan had felt.
"You will let us know where you are?"
Rowan nodded. "Once I'm settled. Don't expect to hear right away. And thank you for the suitcase."
"You'll come and say goodbye before you actually go?"
Rowan nodded, suddenly unable to quite trust her voice. She swallowed.
"At least you'll be around to make sure Mum isn't too lonely."
Packing for a life she had no idea about was difficult, even so. The Doris-made cotton frock she had worn so much last summer certainly. Some of the clothes she wore for working on the farm. Her woollen suit, once her mother's, also remodelled by Doris. It would be quite respectable for an office job, although without short-hand and typing she doubted she would be considered suitable. She took the dark blue grosgrain dress out of the wardrobe and laid it on the bed. Did it count as her dress? Unlike the remodelled suit she had stepped straight into it. Possibly was still her mother's dress and merely borrowed.
Rowan knew that she was most unlikely to have the occasion to wear it for a long time. She needed to build a new life for herself first. She did not know whether that life would ever involve the sort of dances where that dress would be suitable.
Her mother came in.
"I'm glad you're taking the dress."
"I wasn't sure if I should."
"I'd like you to have it. Please, pack it if you possibly can."
Rowan nodded.
When she came upstairs again at the end of the day, Rowan found a small evening bag on top of the suitcase. It was embroidered with tiny silvery beads on blue grosgrain.
Rowan went downstairs again.
"Thank you for the bag." Rowan said.
"I wanted you to have it." Her mother shifted her weight slightly, looking uncertain, as if hoping for a embrace but afraid to make the first move.
Rowan hugged her briefly.
"You know I'm not asking you – can't ask you – to choose."
Her mother nodded. Rowan looked at her carefully, wondering how many years it would be before she caught glimpses of her mother's face every time she passed a mirror. The choice had been made long ago and had been her mother's choice to make. Rowan could not fault her for that. She was glad, rather, that she did not have to take responsibility for anyone else's action but her own. It was a kind of freedom Rowan had not until then realised she lacked.
"May I take you to the station?"
I have grown far too cynical. Rowan thought. Without the bag and the dress, I think I would still be wondering if it was because she cared what the neighbours thought.
"I would like that very much. Thank you." Rowan said aloud.