Doomsday by Warwick Deeping

Bean Acres lay between Rushy Bottom and Maids Croft, surrounded by old thorn hedges that were like lines of foam, and when the two were half way across the Doom Paddock the scent of the bean flower met them. Furze, walking beside and slightly behind her, kept watch upon her face, that sulkily sweet profile overshadowed by her dark hair. She had gone forth with him without a word, as though under some compulsion, looking at everything and nothing with a silent and self-conscious vagueness.

They came to the gate, and Bean Acres lay spread before them, six acres of grey green foliage glistening in the sunlight, six acres of fragrant black and white flowers. A wayward wind, coming and going, stirred the bean tops, and seemed to blow the heavy and exquisite perfume into their faces. Furze breathed it in deeply. It was the very scent of her and her presence.