by SL Beaumont
* * *
Feeling bored and a little restless later that afternoon, Stephanie threw on her workout gear and went for a run. She hated running. Actually, she hated any form of exercise, but it did seem to be the only thing that kept her weight under control.
She checked her phone when she got back to find a text message waiting, from an unknown number.
Found old photos. Pick up 7pm? James
Stephanie smiled and felt a stirring of excitement deep inside her, as she texted back.
Ok. S
Still grinning, she showered and wandered into her bedroom, wrapped in a towel – what to wear? It wasn’t exactly a date – he was just showing her some photos. She selected black leggings and a red denim mini skirt. She rolled her hair into a knot and secured it with a large clip, letting the odd curl fall around her face. She touched up her mascara and added a slick of lip gloss. Studying the effect in the mirror, she decided, no – it looks like I’m trying too hard. She unclasped her clip and shook her hair out. Better down. She slipped off the skirt and leggings and pulled on jeans. Casual, but not scruffy. Satisfied, she slipped her feet into a pair of red Converse boots and skipped downstairs for an early dinner.
It was a little after seven pm, when she heard the crunch of tyres on the gravel. She picked up her bag, slung it across her body and slipped out of the main door, calling goodbye to her grandmother. It was too soon for introductions.
A red 911 Porsche was pulled up in front of the house. Whoa! James jumped out of the car and came around to the passenger side and opened the door for her.
“Thanks,” she said. “Nice car.”
“It’s my brother’s – I use it whenever he’s out of town – which luckily for me is fairly often.” He closed her door and climbed back into the driver’s seat. “You look nice.”
Stephanie blushed. “Thanks, how was rehearsal?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.
“Great,” James was animated. “We have a couple of new songs which are coming together really well.”
The car started with a loud roar and they drove down the driveway, past the pond, through the stone gateway and onto the lane. Stephanie glanced back at the house and saw the curtains twitching in the sitting room – her grandmother didn’t miss a thing. Although, a car like this is a pretty hard thing to miss, she thought, feeling a little overwhelmed.
They chatted as James sped around the country lanes. Stephanie felt herself relaxing and was surprised to find that even though she now knew who he was, that they still had plenty to talk about and it didn’t feel at all awkward. It was just like on the train. After about ten minutes, they drove through the sturdy wrought iron gates that marked the entrance to Knox Manor. To the immediate left was an old stone gate house. It was two-storeyed and lights shone in the downstairs windows. They continued up a winding driveway edged with massive oak trees. As they rounded the corner at the top of the drive, the house itself came into view. It was an impressive sight – a beautiful two-storeyed pale brick 17th century manor house with tall chimneys rising skyward, set in lush, manicured gardens. A long sweeping lawn ran from the front of the house down to a lake.
“Wow, we sure don’t get houses like this in New Zealand. It’s gorgeous,” admired Stephanie.
James nodded. “Yeah, my family has lived here for almost one hundred years.” He slowed the car to a stop at the front entrance. Unfolding himself from the car, he ran around to open her door for her. He held out his hand. “This way, mademoiselle,” he said.
Stephanie bit her lip nervously, but let him help her from the car and continued to hold his hand as they walked under the stone porch and through a huge wooden door into a semi-circular foyer with a spectacular white marble floor and a beautiful round centre table topped with an enormous floral arrangement. A sweeping staircase led up to the first floor.
“It’s not exactly shabby inside either,” Stephanie said, taking it all in.
“Is that you, James?” a woman’s voice called. Stephanie turned as a middle-aged, grey haired woman walked through a doorway into the foyer, wiping her hands on an apron. “Oh, hello. I didn’t realise that you had company.” She smiled fondly at James.
“Stephanie, this is Grace, our housekeeper. Stephanie has just moved here from New Zealand,” James said introducing them.
“Hi,” Stephanie smiled. “Good to meet you.”
“I’ve got the photos laid out in the library – this way,” James said leading her up the stairs. He opened a door at the top with a flourish and ushered her in. It was a beautiful rectangular room lined on three sides with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A ladder rested against one of the shelves to enable the reader to reach the top shelf. Dotted around the room were several comfortable chairs, each with a side table and reading light. One end was dominated by a large oak desk in front of a fire place. Above the fireplace was a brightly coloured painting, of a man walking in the country, in a simple gilt frame.
“What a fantastic library, James. How many books?” she asked.
“Ten thousand apparently – mostly old volumes. My grandfather is the bibliophile. He spends the most time in here,” James explained.
Stephanie walked around the room slowly, trailing her hand lightly along the shelves. She stopped by a shelf of the classics, selecting A Tale of Two Cities. “I love this book – I made my father take me to Paris as soon as I had read it.”
James was watching her, smiling.
“Come and look at these photos – I’ve laid the best ones out on the desk,” he said.
Stephanie replaced the book and followed him to the desk, where twenty old sepia photographs were laid out in neat even rows. Stephanie recognised her great-uncle David and great-aunt Sophie in a couple of them.
“God – you look like your great-aunt,” James observed, stepping back to take a better look at her. “If you pulled your hair back from your face like hers,” he said as he reached over and gently rolled her hair back around his hand, “you could be sisters.” His hand accidently brushed her neck and she inhaled sharply.
“Which one is Edward?” she asked quickly, drawing the attention away from her and back to the photos. She hoped he wasn’t looking too hard at her skin – it was a little patchy today, which she put down to the stress of coming here this evening. James let her hair slide through his fingers and pointed to a man in military attire in several of the photos.
“Wow – didn’t he look dashing in his uniform?” Stephanie said.
“Really? Men in uniform? I didn’t pick you as one of those girls,” he teased.
She hit him lightly on the arm. “That’s not what I meant. So tell me about him, what’s his story? You said he was a war hero.”
“Yeah – Battle of Britain, but he was also in a special forces type group who flew top secret missions into France, dropping people behind enemy lines and picking them up when possible. Do you want to sit?” he asked, motioning towards a couple of chairs.
Stephanie sat down in one of a pair of armchairs facing the desk. She gazed up at the painting on the wall. It was stunning. From her limited art history knowledge, she guessed it was very early Impressionist in style, simpler than some of the later Impressionist works that she knew. She idly wondered who the artist was.
“Do your parents live here, James?” she asked instead.
“Not really. Dad died a few years back – heart attack. And Mum remarried last year – to a polo player half her age,” he scoffed. “So they are on the global polo circuit, spending Dad’s money.” He sounded bitter.
“I’m sorry about your dad – that must have been hard,” she sympathised. Poor guy, maybe that explained his detached, devil may care attitude.
“Yeah,” James said matter-of-factly. “Such is life. What about your family, where are they?”
“Ah, it’s a long story. Mum lives in New Zealand and Dad’s in London. They have been apart since I was about three. Mum remarried a few years ago. My stepfather is okay, but
I think I miss my four-year-old half-brother the most. He is so cool. I have been Skyping him and he kisses the screen goodbye – it’s so cute.” She finished quickly as tears welled up in her eyes. She looked down at her hands, blushing.
“So no boyfriend left behind in New Zealand?” James asked, arching an eyebrow.
She shook her head. “No, now you were telling me about Edward,” she said, bringing the conversation back to something neutral.
“Ah, yes,” he said, “he was quite a character.”
She looked up and watched him as he spoke. He was animated, warming to his subject. Stephanie found herself very drawn to him. I bet you’ve broken some hearts in your time, she mused.
“From all accounts, Edward was something of a daredevil. He was always the one to run faster, climb higher, dive deeper than his older brother. If you wanted to see sibling rivalry in action, I believe that would have been a classic example. It kind of explains my grandfather in some ways. It must have been tough getting beaten at everything by your younger brother.
“If he lived today, I reckon Edward would be one of those extreme sports junkies. So when the Air Force started recruiting more pilots in the late 1930s, he was one of the first to enlist. He took to flying like a duck to water and moved quickly through the ranks.
“Edward was part of Group 11 Fighter Command when war broke out. You know Churchill’s famous comment ‘Never was so much owed by so many to so few’? Well, Edward was one of ‘The Few’. He and his Spitfire fought against the Luftwaffe throughout August and September 1940 in the Battle of Britain,” James said.
“Wow,” Stephanie murmured, impressed.
“However, not long after your aunt’s death, he volunteered for what many considered to be a suicide mission into France to rescue a number of key Resistance men who had been captured by the Nazis. Amazingly the rescue was a success, but they were shot down leaving the coast of France. Everyone bailed except Edward, who went down with the plane. A merchant navy vessel in the area picked up the survivors and saw the plane explode as it plunged into the sea.”