Ambitious Love Read online

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Author

  Also by Rosie Harris

  Ambitious Love

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Rosie Harris was born in Cardiff and grew up there and in the West Country. After her marriage she resided for some years on Merseyside before moving to Buckinghamshire where she still lives. She has three grown-up children, six grandchildren and three great-grandchildren, and writes full-time. Ambitious Love is her twenty-second novel for Arrow.

  Also by Rosie Harris

  Turn of the Tide

  Troubled Waters

  Patsy of Paradise Place

  One Step Forward

  Looking for Love

  Pins & Needles

  Winnie of the Waterfront

  At Sixes & Sevens

  The Cobbler’s Kids

  Sunshine and Showers

  Megan of Merseyside

  The Power of Dreams

  A Mother’s Love

  Sing for Your Supper

  Waiting for Love

  Love Against All Odds

  A Dream of Love

  A Love Like Ours

  Love Changes Everything

  The Quality of Love

  Whispers of Love

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Epub ISBN 9781407071534

  Version 1.0

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  Published by Arrow Books 2010

  2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

  Copyright © Rosie Harris 2010

  Rosie Harris has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  First published in Great Britain in 2010 by

  Arrow Books

  Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,

  London, SW1V 2SA

  www.rbooks.co.uk

  Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm

  The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9780099527442

  The Random House Group Limited supports The Forest Stewardship Council (FSC), the leading international forest certification organisation. All our titles that are printed on Greenpeace approved FSC certified paper carry the FSC logo. Our paper procurement policy can be found at www.rbooks.co.uk/environment

  Typeset in Palatino by Palimpsest Book Production Limited

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by

  CPI Cox & Wyman, Reading RG1 8EX

  For Nicola Sak and John Ockerby

  Acknowledgements

  A huge thank you to my wonderful editor Georgina Hawtrey-Woore and also to Caroline Sheldon my excellent agent.

  Chapter One

  Fern Jenkins knew that 1918 was a year she would remember for ever even if she lived to be a hundred. At the moment, she was only a plump schoolgirl with a thick mop of brown hair, a round face and dark eyes.

  The year was starting on a high note; it was the second week in January and today was her thirteenth birthday and, although her brother Barri had been called up and was serving in the Army over in France, her mother, Wynne, and her father, Cradock, were doing their best to make it a very special day for her.

  The first thing Cradock, a dark-haired, dark-eyed wiry man of medium height, did that morning when he arrived home at the end of his night shift at Big Pit was to rake out the ashes and light the living-room fire so that their small terraced house would be warm and cosy before Fern and her mother were up.

  That done and with the fire drawing well, he filled the iron kettle and wedged it on top of the glowing coals so that he could make a cup of tea and take it upstairs for Wynne before she got dressed and came down to prepare breakfast.

  While he waited for it to boil he had a quick wash at the kitchen sink to remove some of the grime from his face and arms. He’d already taken off his working jacket and heavy boots which were coated in coal dust and had left them outside the back door.

  It was a routine he always followed because he knew how much Wynne hated dirt and disorder. Everything in their home was neat and tidy and in its allotted place; floors and surfaces were scrubbed to within an inch of their life and gleamed from zealous polishing.

  They lived at the end of a long terrace of identical houses which were tucked into the mountainside and had been built by the pit owners and then rented out to the miners. Wynne always made sure that the knocker on their front door shone brighter than any of their neighbours’ and their windows were always sparkling clean.

  No matter what the weather was, Cradock always enjoyed the walk home, anticipating the warm welcome which he knew he would receive when he arrived there.

  Coming up to the surface after having spent hours in the black, fetid mine was like being born anew. As he strode out he would breathe in deeply, hoping the fresh air would help clear his lungs of the choking dust; perhaps even ward off the dreaded disease of silicosis that seemed to affect most miners before they were fifty.

  Wynne was so house-proud that she always laid down old newspapers on the kitchen floor inside the back door so that he didn’t leave dirty footprints, even though she knew he would have removed his boots already and would be in his stockinged feet.

  At one time, the first thing Cradock did was to bring in the big zinc bath that hung on the wall outside and half fill it with hot water so that he could scrub away every vestige of coal dust from his body. Now that Fern was olde
r and her sharp, inquisitive eyes missed nothing, he waited until she had gone off to school before stripping off to do this.

  Wynne was up long before the kettle boiled. A short woman with boundless energy and a ready smile, she was very thrifty and practical and put her home and family’s well-being above everything else.

  Usually in winter their breakfast consisted of a big bowl of porridge, sprinkled with brown sugar and the top off the milk, because Wynne maintained it stayed with you all morning and kept out the cold. Today, though, because it was Fern’s birthday, they sat down to a special feast of bacon, eggs, sausages and fried bread for the three of them to enjoy before Fern went off to school.

  ‘Only another year, my lovely, and then you’ll be leaving school and starting work.’ Her mother smiled as she handed Fern a bulky parcel wrapped in shiny green paper. ‘It seems like only yesterday that you were a bonny baby in your pram and Barri was just starting at infant school. When you’re that age every small achievement is a milestone,’ she added as she dabbed at her eyes. ‘In next to no time, though, it seems that both of you are grown-up and starting to lead lives of your own.’ She sighed. ‘Think how wonderful it would be if we could call a stop when we reach our happiest moment and simply stay there for the rest of time.’

  ‘So that would be with me still in my pram and Barri on his first day at school, would it?’ Fern smiled as she unwrapped her parcel and gave an exclamation of delight when she found the red woollen scarf and matching woollen gloves inside it.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that, cariad. You were both a lot of hard work in those days. Perhaps a few years later on . . .’ Wynne’s voice drifted off as she dabbed at her eyes again. ‘I can see you now when you were just a toddler dressed in a little white dress with your frilly knickers showing underneath it and Barri in his grey flannel shorts and grey shirt holding your hand to steady you.’

  ‘There’s sentimental you are, girl,’ Cradock admonished as he leaned forward and cupped her hand tenderly between both his own. ‘Birthdays always seem to have this daft effect on you.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s because I am so happy and know how lucky I am having such a wonderful husband and beautiful daughter,’ Wynne said in a choked voice. ‘I wish our boy was here as well; I won’t rest easy until he is home again.’

  ‘That won’t be for a while yet.’ Cradock sighed. ‘This damned old war is dragging on and I can’t see any end in sight.’

  ‘They should never have sent boyos as young as our Barri to the Front, it’s a positive disgrace,’ Wynne said fervently as she put the frying pan over the glowing coals and dropped a lump of lard into it. ‘Barely out of short trousers and they put a gun in his hand and send him out to kill.’ She shuddered. ‘It’s not right, I don’t hold with it for one moment,’ she added as she popped some rashers of bacon into the frying pan and shook it gently to make sure they were lying flat.

  ‘None of us do, my lovely, but what choice do any of us working-class people have? If it wasn’t for the fact that I work at the coal face I’d be out there as well.’

  ‘Then you’d be able to keep an eye on him,’ she pointed out, straightening up and smoothing a tendril of dark hair out of her eyes with the back on her hand.

  ‘That’s highly unlikely, cariad. I’d probably be fighting on one front with him miles away on another. We’d be such a long way apart that you’d get letters from both of us before we ever met up or even had news of each other.’

  ‘Let’s not talk about it today,’ Fern pleaded as she spread a white cloth on the table and began laying out knives and forks in readiness for their meal. ‘Let’s pretend that Barri will be coming home later on,’ she added as her mother placed a plate of sizzling bacon, fried bread and fried egg in front of her.

  They ate their meal with quiet enjoyment, commenting on how good it tasted. Birthdays were always special occasions in the Jenkins family and this was the first time that they’d not all been together and each of them was conscious that their minds were occupied with thoughts of Barri and wishing he could have been there with them.

  Fern pondered on her father’s words as she set off for school. She could understand that as a schoolgirl she had very little choice about what she could and could not do, but surely grown-ups could decide for themselves what they wanted from life?

  Her train of thought was broken as soon as she met up with her friend Sybel Roberts from the next street who was waiting to walk to school with her as usual.

  Sybel admired Fern’s new scarf and matching gloves enviously. ‘Red’s your favourite colour, isn’t it?’ She smiled. ‘I wish I could wear such bright colours but because my hair is so fair they don’t really suit me.’

  ‘I wish I was tall and skinny and had blonde curls like you,’ Fern told her enviously. ‘Barri thinks you’re the prettiest girl in Blaenafon.’

  Sybel blushed at the mention of Barri’s name. ‘Have you heard from him today?’

  Fern shook her head. ‘No, I was hoping I would and that he’d send me one of those lovely embroidered cards that they seem to be able to buy over there. He sent you one for your birthday, didn’t he!’

  ‘Yes, it’s ever so pretty, pansies and—’

  ‘I know what it’s like, you’ve showed it to me enough times,’ Fern reminded her.

  ‘Well, now I’ve framed it and put it on my bedroom wall right next to his photograph, the one he had taken the day he was called up,’ Sybel told her.

  ‘That’s almost six months ago; I bet he looks a lot older now. Mam and Dad were only saying this morning that they shouldn’t send boys as young as Barri off to fight in a war.’

  ‘Most parents probably say the same thing,’ Sybel agreed. ‘I’m glad I haven’t any brothers and that my dad works down the pit the same as yours. Because they’re so much older they won’t be called up to go in the army.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope not, although my dad says this war is likely to go on for ages and ages and once all the men who are at the Front have been killed or injured, they’ll be looking for older men to train as soldiers to send out there.’

  ‘They won’t call up the miners, though, because they need them down the pits to cut the coal. If they haven’t any coal, then they can’t sail the ships or keep the factories going or anything else.’

  The two girls looked at each other. ‘Come on,’ Sybel grabbed hold of Fern’s arm, ‘we’ve dawdled so much that we are going to be late if we don’t hurry and you know what that means.’

  ‘Yes,’ Fern pulled a face, ‘we’ll be late for assembly and then I won’t have to stand out in front after prayers when Mr Peterson announces that it’s my birthday and tells you all how old I am and everybody sings “Happy Birthday”.’

  ‘And you’ll be blushing because you know that then you have to make a speech.’ Sybel laughed, squeezing Fern’s arm affectionately as they broke into a run.

  ‘Yes, I’ll be as red as a beetroot because I know you will all be laughing at me,’ Fern admitted.

  ‘No we won’t. Why should we? We all have to go through it when it’s our birthday. Mr Peterson says it is good for us and helps us to speak out for ourselves.’

  ‘He doesn’t say that if he catches us talking in class, though, does he?’ Fern laughed as they entered the school gates and crossed the yard.

  ‘No, then it’s a rap over the knuckles with a ruler and a hundred lines of “I must not talk because it distracts other people”,’ Sybel agreed as they made their way to the cloakroom.

  ‘So what are you going to talk about in your birthday speech? Have you been rehearsing it?’ Sybel asked as they took off their outdoor clothes and hung them up on their respective pegs.

  ‘No, I haven’t, because I was hoping that perhaps I would wake up with a sore throat or a cold and not be able to go to school and then I wouldn’t have to do it,’ Fern admitted as they made their way to their classroom.

  ‘There’s daft! Now you really will make a fool of yourself because you’ll be
all tongue-tied and stuttering when you get up on the platform and you won’t be able to think of a thing to say.’

  ‘I will. I know exactly what I am going to say,’ Fern said determinedly. ‘I’m going to say that there shouldn’t be any wars and that it is all wrong sending boys of eighteen, the same as my brother’s age to fight in France. I’ll be looking straight at you when I say it and I bet you will be the one blushing, not me,’ she added triumphantly.

  ‘I don’t think that will go down too well; it won’t be considered very patriotic. You’ll sound like one of those suffragettes who chained themselves to the railings in London or lay down on the roadway in front of the horses to draw attention to themselves.’

  ‘If anything happened to our Barri, I think I would do just that,’ Fern said heatedly. ‘Seeing you’re so sweet on him I would expect you to come with me, mind,’ she added with a grin.

  Sybel gave an affected shiver. ‘You shouldn’t talk like that because it’s tempting fate. Of course he’s going to be all right, I pray for his safe return every night.’

  ‘So do I, but I’m not sure that the Germans know that or that they even care.’

  Their conversation was cut short with the arrival of their teacher and as they lined up in an orderly fashion to walk through to the assembly hall, Fern’s mind was a jumble of all the things she wanted to say in her speech.

  As she entered the hall with the others, Fern stood together with Sybel and the rest of her classmates, wondering if she dared say what she wanted to or whether Sybel was right and they would all think she was being unpatriotic.

  As Sybel had warned, Fern’s speech had a mixed reception. Mr Peterson cleared his throat in a disgruntled manner, some of the other teachers frowned and the rest looked impassive, almost as if they couldn’t believe what she was saying or didn’t want to hear it.

  Several of the children who had brothers or fathers already fighting cheered her but one or two of the older boys who longed to be at the Front doing their bit actually booed her.

  Fern held her head high but her cheeks were burning by the time she finished speaking. She stepped down from the platform and made her way back to take her place alongside Sybel.