The Rose Stone

by The Rose Stone (retail) (epub)

  Sophie’s steps, without conscious thought, were directed not back to the cottage, but to the tiny, cleared garden and shimmering pool. She stood for a moment, looking into the water, then dropped her tennis racquet and sat, straight and still, beside the pool. Above her the pair of martins swooped and called. The ridiculous thumping of her heart had eased a little. She sat for a long time, contemplating the still water. What on earth had happened to her? The sight of Richard Rose had hit her like a physical blow. She had acted stupidly. Made a complete fool of herself. And – oh, Lord! – she must have looked a positive sight!

  She frowned ferociously at her dim reflection. At St Hilary’s there had been a girl named Lucy Burton, whose passion for forbidden, fatuous penny romances and simpering attitude to any member of the opposite sex regardless of age or attraction had made of her a despised laughing stock amongst Sophie’s particular group of friends. The undoubtedly exaggerated – not to say completely untrue – tales of her romantic adventures during the holidays were doted upon by some girls and dismissed as ludicrous by others, including Sophie. Since Lucy had turned thirteen, it seemed that every young man she had met, from visiting cousins to butchers’ boys, she had fallen irrevocably in love with. “Oh, but I could simply have swooned!’ she was in the habit of saying, “Simply swooned when he looked at me. And when he touched my hand—” The cataclysmic event would be illustrated by dramatic gestures and upturned eyes. Sophie had always considered her and her stories to be puerile, childish and utterly silly.

  But it had happened.

  She shook her head, confused and strangely angry. It couldn’t have happened. It wasn’t reasonable – wasn’t logical – that one person should have that kind of impact on another. She had always believed firmly that such things existed only in the overactive imaginations of silly little girls like Lucy Burton.

  But – it had happened. The sight of Richard swinging lightly across the lawn towards her had all but stopped her heart. His simple presence had choked her voice in her throat. She must be going mad.

  She stood up abruptly, and brushed herself down.

  He’d certainly take Rupert from her, of course. She’d be alone again.

  She didn’t care. Why should she care?

  He was quite the most beautiful person she had ever seen. The thought came from nowhere and lodged within her, strangely, an indefinable ache.

  She snatched up her racquet. She’d stay away from him. Right away. That was the answer. How dare he make her feel as foolish as silly Lucy Burton?

  * * *

  Her resolution, however, lasted for less than five minutes. Richard, with Rupert, was at the cottage with Josef and Maria when she got back.

  “Ah – Sophie my dear – see who’s come to visit.” Josef lifted his face for her kiss.

  “Yes. We met earlier.” She felt huge. Huge and clumsy and untidy to the point of ugliness. “Excuse me. I really must change.” She turned, to find Richard’s eyes upon her. He smiled, charmingly.

  She fled.

  Changed, and at least somewhat more composed, she rejoined them in the garden some fifteen minutes later. To her own utter disgust she had taken a great deal of trouble with her appearance. Her white muslin, trimmed with green, became her well she knew, and her heavy hair was caught softly back from her face with a matching ribbon. Maria’s eyes opened wide when she saw her. Sophie studiously ignored the look. She did not notice Josef’s quiet smile.

  “I say—”

  She turned at the already-familiar, light voice. He stood behind her, and to her surprise there was a certain diffidence in his manner. Over his shoulder she could see Maria and Rupert, bending to where Josef sat, laughing with him. She waited, unsmiling, hoping that he did not suspect the uncertain hammering of her heart.

  “I say – I do hope I didn’t upset you this afternoon?”

  “Upset me?”

  “Interrupting your game the way I did. It was terribly rude of me. I really shouldn’t have just barged in like that—”

  “Nonsense. It really didn’t matter.”

  He looked unfeignedly relieved. “Oh, good. I’d hate for us to get off on the wrong foot. Rupert’s been telling me all about you.”

  “Oh?” Something warm and happy was moving in Sophie. “What’s he been saying?” She smiled brilliantly. He liked her. She did not know how she knew it, but she did. He liked her.

  He cleared his throat self-consciously. “Oh – just what good friends you’ve become. What fun you’ve been having. Quite made me feel as if I’d missed out on something—” He laughed, a little too loudly, and cleared his throat again.

  Sophie, for no apparent reason, felt suddenly as if she stood upon a rainbow. She could have sung. Shouted. Danced. She lowered her eyes. “I’m sure your cricket tour was much more exciting.”

  He did not answer. She lifted her eyes to his. He was looking at her intently, an expression in his hazel-flecked eyes that brought a slow rise of colour to her cheeks. They stood for a long, still moment, unspeaking.

  “Grandfather’s coming up to the house for dinner tonight,” he said, and his voice was faintly husky with a strange kind of excitement that she knew to be mirrored in her own face. “Would you join us? You and your sister?”

  Sophie hesitated, the sudden picture of an outraged Alice in her mind’s eye. “Well – I—”

  “Please. Oh, please come. We’d both love to have you.”

  “All right.”

  His boyish smile was bright with delight.

  “Richard!” Rupert called, “Come on and tell Grandfather about your fifty in the Varsity match—”

  That evening Sophie dressed with great care. Her simple, Grecian-style gown, the most grown-up dress that she owned, was in a soft pale green that complemented her fair hair and dark eyes. A wide chiffon scarf, long gloves and kid slippers completed the ensemble. In her hair she wore a spray of sweet-smelling hawthorn.

  “Golly,” Maria said, graphically, when this vision descended the narrow stairs.

  “My dear, you look charming.” Josef too had dressed for the occasion, formally, in dinner suit and white shirt with tiny gold and pearl buttons that had been designed by Anna. “Utterly charming!” His eyes twinkled as he surveyed her, “And so very, very grown up!”

  They paraded up the drive, a strangely assorted trio, Sophie pushing Josef’s basket chair, Maria in her best pink silk that had dimmed just a little in her own eyes since she had seen her sister’s splendour, slowing her pace to theirs. At the door of the big house the brothers met them, both handsome in their dinner suits, both solicitous for Josef as they helped him from the chair and up to the wide shallow steps.

  Sophie had never been inside the house before. As Rupert guided Josef through the tall door that led into the drawing room, followed by an unusually voluble Maria, she stopped for a moment and looked around her. The house was big but pleasantly proportioned and in no way overawing. Opposite the drawing room was an identical tall door through which she could see a high-ceilinged room, well-lit and lined with bookshelves.

  “The library.”

  She turned. Richard stood, smiling, at her elbow. “And the door over there is the dining room. The passage beyond the staircase there leads to the kitchen and servants’ quarters. That door there—” he pointed up the wide, curved staircase “—see it? On the half-landing? That’s the old school room. Pa’s had it turned into a billiard room. I wonder—” he stopped.

  “Yes?”

  “—if you might like to see over the house later? I’d love to show it to you.”

  “I’d like that very much.”

  That evening was an occasion that Sophie Anatov was never to forget. Mrs Brown outdid herself, the company was convivial, and from across the table, candle-lit as the evening light faded, Richard’s eyes were warm and bright with interest. She sparkled. She teased Rupert, flirted a little inexpertly with Richard, held sway over the table with her vivacity and laughter.

  Richard, a
shade daringly, had raided his father’s cellar. Josef shook his head, delightedly reproving. “Champagne, young man?”

  Richard laughed. “Pa wouldn’t mind. It’s a special occasion.”

  After dinner they returned to the drawing room, where Josef, comfortably ensconced in an enormous armchair, promptly nodded off.

  “I thought,” Richard said, elaborately casual, “that I might show Sophie the house.”

  “Lovely idea!” Maria bounced out of her chair, beaming. “I’ve always wanted to see it!”

  Rupert, ever observant, did not miss the faint look of disconcerted disappointment on the other two faces. “Later, poppet,” he said evenly, his own small heartache ignored. “Didn’t you say you wanted to see the guinea pigs? There’ll be no light left at all. Come on – I’ll take you out to see them first, then I’ll show you the house.”

  Richard led Sophie out into the hall. “This is the hall,” he said solemnly.

  “I rather thought it was.” The champagne had lightened both their heads. They laughed like children. “The portraits,” Richard said “are absolutely nothing to do with us. Mama got them as a job lot because she thought they looked grand.”

  “They certainly do that.”

  “And this—” he pushed open the tall door “—is still the library.”

  “What a lovely room! And what a huge fireplace! It must be marvellous in here in the winter.”

  He looked at her, pleased. “It is. It’s my very favourite room.”

  “And all these books.” She walked alongside a bookshelf, running her finger along the ranked spines. “Don’t tell me you’ve read them all.”

  “Good Lord, no! Not half, actually. They came with the portraits—” He was looking not at the books but at her.

  Self-consciously she spun gracefully upon her toes and looked out of the tall window. “And such a pretty view. You can see right down to the stables and the cottage—”

  “Yes.”

  There was a sudden silence. From the hall came the sound of Maria’s and Rupert’s voices, and a door banged. Panic suddenly and unexpectedly took Sophie. “I want to see the room half-way up the stairs,” she said, gaily, “that you said was the old school room.” She was past him and, lightly, had started up the stairs before he could move. Laughing, he followed.

  The old school room was a long, well-proportioned room with a high ceiling and tall windows. A large billiard table above which hung two long, fringe-shaded lights, took up the centre of the room, whilst several comfortable armchairs lined the walls and there was a heavy mahogany bar at the end of the room. Faintly in the air hung the smell of stale cigar smoke. “Did you and Rupert ever use it as a school room?” Sophie asked.

  “Oh, no. We had a tutor at the London house and then we went away to school.” He was looking at her again in that intent and intimate way that both excited and frightened her. “Sophie—”

  “And do you like it? School, I mean? I hated it. Absolutely hated it. I ran away, did you know? Three times. Once I got all the way back here—” She was gabbling. She pressed her lips firmly together to stop herself, her too-loud voice echoing in her own ears.

  “No. I didn’t know.”

  “Aunt Anna was here. She was very kind. I do like Aunt Anna.”

  “Yes.”

  It was almost dark now, the small lamp that Richard had lit threw long shadows on wall and ceiling. The moment stretched between them, waiting for words that neither of them could find.

  Downstairs a door banged. “Hello? Richard? Sophie? Are you there?”

  Sophie raised her voice “Up—”

  “Ssh!” Richard, his face suddenly alight with mischief had sped to the lamp and turned it out.

  “What on earth—”

  He came swiftly back to her, caught her hand and pulled her into a crouching position behind an enormous wing armchair. In the faint light he put a warning finger to his lips. She stifled a giggle. He grinned. “Ssh!”

  “Richard? Sophie?” Rupert’s puzzled voice was just outside the room. The door opened for a moment, then closed again. “No,” he called to Maria, “they don’t seem to be up here.”

  Richard waited for a moment, then caught Sophie’s hand again and crept with her through the darkness to the door. He opened it very quietly, peered out and, the coast clear, towed her at a quiet run up the stairs. On the wide landing he paused and leaned over the heavy banisters, looking down to where Maria and Rupert stood in the hall below. “Grandfather’s nose!” he hissed.

  “What was that?” Maria’s voice was startled, and clashed with Rupert’s quick call.

  “Done! Come on Maria – they’re upstairs somewhere. The attics most likely—”

  Richard, laughing almost too much to run, was however towing Sophie not towards the small flight of stairs that led to the warrened attics but along a narrow landing towards the back of the house.

  “Grandfather’s nose?” Sophie gasped, giggling as she ran.

  “That’s the target. We have to touch it before they can catch us. Come on!” He opened a door that led on to an uncarpeted corridor with plain, painted walls adorned by pictures, quite obviously the upper floor of the servants’ quarters.

  “Are we supposed to be here?” Sophie asked, a little nervously.

  “Not strictly,” he conceded with a grin. “Look out – here they come—”

  Behind them Rupert called, above Maria’s excited laughter.

  Richard opened another door. A narrow flight of steps led up and down. “Take a chance,” he said, and they clattered downwards and burst through a narrow doorway into a vast kitchen, at one end of which, in comfortable armchairs set around the kitchen range, sat Mrs Lawson and Mrs Brown nursing large, steaming mugs whilst at the other Mary, the little housemaid, tackled a veritable mountain of washing up in the deep old sink.

  “Mr Richard!” Mrs Brown raised scandalized hands, “I do declare! Whatever do you think you’re doing?”

  “Downstairs!” Rupert called from above. “They’re downstairs! Quick – run and guard the drawing room door—”

  “Dinner was topping, Mrs Brown,” Richard called gaily, “thanks a lot. One of your very best! Come on, Sophie—”

  Sophie made a small, half-embarrassed and apologetic gesture to the two women as she allowed herself to be dragged to a small door at the far end of the room. Once through it she found herself to be back in the dining room, cleared now, the polished table gleaming in lamplight. Richard stopped, put his finger to his lips, and tiptoed to the big door that led out into the hall. He peered through it, then slipped back to her side, shaking his head. “The window,” he said.

  The tall windows stood open still to the evening air. Richard flung a leg over the sill and stepped easily into the garden. Ready for anything now, Sophie with no hesitation kilted her skirt about her knees and followed him. “That’s the girl!!” The whisper from the darkness was jubilant. “Here – give me your hand. And watch your step – it’s very dark.”

  They crept through the shrubbery and round to the front of the house. The drawing room windows stood open. Lamplight flowed softly. Josef still slept in his chair. For an odd, quiet moment the two young people stood watching him, very close to each other. It seemed to Sophie as they stood there that the warmth of Richard’s body was reaching through her flesh to kindle a small fire, a core of lovely warmth, deep within her.

  Then, “Can you manage?” Richard asked. In his voice Sophie thought she heard the same trembling excitement that coursed in her own blood.

  “Of course.” She sat on the windowsill and swung her legs through the window. Richard scrambled in after her.

  “What’s that?” Maria squealed from outside the door. “Rupert – I’m sure I heard something—”

  Richard streaked across the room just as the door opened. “Home!”

  “What the—” Josef opened his eyes at the light touch on his nose, eyed the four hilarious young people in puzzlement. “What have you yo
ung scoundrels been up to, eh?”

  “They hid from us—” Maria said, almost beside herself with happy excitement at having been part of such a game “—and we chased them. And they had to touch your nose—” She went off into peals of laughter. Sophie’s attention, however, was not on her sister. As if it were the most natural thing in the world Richard had taken her hand again. She did not try to disengage it, but lifted her head and looked at him with huge, dark, suddenly serious eyes. The hand that held hers tightened and he smiled.

  “Well,” Josef said gently, his old eyes soft, “it seems that you’ve all had a very successful evening.”

  * * *

  It was perhaps predictable that Sophie should fall in love in the same headlong, open-hearted and passionate way that she did everything else. From that first day she would have died for Richard, to ensure his welfare and happiness. That he should feel the same way about her was almost incredible to her; she had not believed such happiness existed. In the enclosed, idyllic surroundings of Bissetts over the next weeks their innocent, exciting love blossomed free and unafraid. They spent every moment together, mostly in the company of others, occasionally – and how precious these occasions were to both of them – alone. Shyly, then, they would hold hands and talk of their past lives that, incredibly, had not included each other and, vaguely, of the future which surely always must. Their first sweet, hesitant kiss was exchanged beneath a tree in the little walled orchard; Richard’s lips were warm and firm, the feel of his body infinitely exciting.

  “I love you, Sophie,” he said, quietly, as he drew back from her. “Truly I do.”

  “And I you.”

  “I’ll always love you.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll wait? You don’t mind that we’re so young?”

  “Of course not.”

  “We’ll never be parted. I promise you.”

  Smiling, she lifted her lips to his again.

  Why it never occurred to them that parental opposition might be incited by more than the simple matter of their youth, Sophie never afterwards knew, but at that time it did not. They were young and in love, and the carefree, happy plans that they made for the future during those June weeks seemed totally logical and achievable. Sophie, quite simply, lived to see Richard; every moment spent out of his company, out of range of his voice, was a wasted one. She loved him more than life itself. Nothing, she was certain, could ever change that. Nothing and no one could keep them apart. It would be too cruel.