Honey's Farm by Iris Gower

don’t you worry.’
    Hari smiled broadly. ‘A big boy is right!’ Her Welsh accent became more marked, purposely so, to express her amusement. ‘And a real charmer into the bargain. I see the girls swooning over you, and there’s proud I am.’
    Will leaned back in his chair. Hari of course was exaggerating, influenced by her love for him.
    Amused by his silence, she continued. ‘
Duw
, Eline better snap you up quick before some pretty new face comes along to take your fancy.’ She paused. ‘Why are you taking your time getting married, Will? I’d have thought you’d have got Eline to the altar long before now.’
    Will’s humour vanished. ‘How can I marry her?’ he asked in a hard voice. ‘I’ve nothing to offer, not even a roof to put over her head.’
    â€˜Proud you always were, Will Davies, too proud for your own good, man.’ Hari sounded cross. ‘Do you think Eline cares so much for material things, then?’
    Will shook his head. ‘Maybe not, but I won’t marry her until I can offer her a secure future.’
    â€˜William.’ Hari put her hand over his. ‘Who can assume security for anything? The entire world is insecure; the only thing that keeps us sane is love. Don’t waste it.’
    Will looked round the sumptuous sitting-room, the plush hangings on the windows, the rich carpeting on the floor. It was easy for Hari to talk when her world was cushioned with money, her own and her husband’s not inconsiderable wealth.
    â€˜I wasn’t always rich.’ Hari as always read his thoughts. ‘You know that better than most, Will.’
    â€˜I know.’ He leaned towards her. ‘But you made something of yourself. Before you were married to Craig, you had already begun to make a name. You took risks and they paid off; I’m not so clever as you, obviously.’
    The words were not spoken with bitterness, only with a deep regret on Will’s part that he had failed to make his business the success that he and Hari had hoped it would be.
    â€˜It was the loss of the oysters that made the business fail, Will,’ Hari said softly, ‘and not any lack on your part. You shod the villagers when they could not pay for shoes, helped them when they were in dire straits. You have nothing to reproach yourself with.’
    â€˜I know.’ Will rose to his feet, stretching his arms above his head, easing his cramped muscles. ‘None the less, I must accept defeat. I’ll go home now, make the necessary arrangements to wind everything up.’ He smiled ruefully at Hari. ‘I’ll be back.’
    He kissed her cheek, and for a moment she clung to him. ‘You’ll work things out, Will,’ she said firmly. ‘I just feel it in my bones.’
    As the Mumbles train careered its way along the narrow tracks, past the large expanse of calm sea towards Oystermouth, Will sat on the top deck, staring back in the direction of Swansea.
    His home town, the mean streets and the broad, the hovels and the big houses, all were familiar to him now, courtesy of Hari Grenfell. She had taken him with her on her rise to riches and fortune, had lifted him from his deprivation and poverty to enjoy a world that he now adopted as his own, the world of fine living and of good manners, of good bed and board, and mostly of the respect of those who thought of themselves as his peers. His background was forgotten or never known; he was now William Davies, beloved protégé of the rich and successful Hari Grenfell.
    His gaze was drawn towards Oystermouth. It was here his heart lay. It was here that the woman he loved lived and breathed and made for herself a fine living, and the fact of it only served to highlight his own failure.
    Why was it, Will asked himself in exasperation, that the women in his life were destined to be rich and successful, and he who loved them was doomed to failure?
    But he