The black Hunter

by Donnelly, Jane

  The black Hunter by Jane Donnelly

  When they were children Dora had been the young lady from the Manor and Coll Sullivan the despised tinker lad. But that was long ago and Dora had not seen Coll for years. Now, however, he had come back into her life again—with a vengeance, for meanwhile Dora and her family had had to leave the Manor, and the new owner turned out to be none other than Coll—who had, to put it mildly, made good. It was all very unsettling—especially as she also began to realise that she and her fiancé Neil Hewlitt weren't suited. But why was she suddenly so sure about that?

  printed in Great Britain

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  DEAR CALIBAN

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  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the Author, and all the incidents are pure invention. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,including photocopying, recording, storage in an in-formation retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

  First published 1978

  This edition 1978

  © Jane Donnelly 1978

  ISBN 0 263 72670 3

  CHAPTER ONE

  'I HOPE you know what you're doing,' Simon Holcroft said very quietly to his sister, and she laughed,

  'I should do, shouldn't I? At my age.'

  She was twenty-six and could have passed for twenty anywhere, a long-legged girl, with a clear skin and grey-blue eyes and a mane of silky sun-streaked brown hair. In features she looked very like her brother, although at thirty there were lines on his face.

  Dora's forehead was smooth and her wide mouth curved, smiling while she asked, 'Don't you think it's time I settled down?'

  'I suppose so.'

  'Don't you like Neil?' As Neil Hewitt was just the other side of the door she had to whisper that and Simon said,

  'Yes, I like him.'

  There wasn't much to dislike about Neil, who was nice-looking, intelligent and wholly reliable. Dora had been his secretary for the last two years—he was an accountant—and dating him for ages.

  She suspected he would have proposed to her before now if his mother hadn't had doubts about Dora Holcroft as a daughter-in-law. Of course no girl would have quite satisfied Mrs Hewitt, and in the old days, before the money ran out, she would have been happier to welcome Dora.

  There was no money now, Dora was a working girl with only her salary, and Mrs Hewitt considered her

  flighty because she had been engaged twice before. Almost married once, with the wedding date fixed, and then she had developed cold feet and called the whole thing off.

  This was a small Wiltshire village and that sort of thing was remembered. But now Dora was wearing Neil's ring—his mother's, actually, to denote her seal of approval—and this time there would be no last-minute panic.

  That had been the trouble before. She had reached a stage where she had known that she couldn't marry the man. She had thought she loved each of them in their turn, and then the slow build-up of doubts had begun, and she had tried to understand what was worrying her.

  She was warm and gay and generous, she couldn't be afraid of love. It had to be marriage she was afraid of, promising until death, because at the end all she could do was hand back the engagement ring and say, 'I'm sorry, I can't go through with it. I don't know why, but I do know it wouldn't work. Please forgive me.'

  They hadn't forgiven her for a long time; nobody enjoys being jilted. But by now one of the men was married and the other had moved away, and for eighteen months Dora had been seeing Neil, out of the office as well as in it, and for the last six months he had been her sole and steady date.

  When he first took her home she got a chilly reception. His mother was a widow and Neil was the apple of her eye, everything in that neat and shining bungalow was geared to Neil. There were photographs of him everywhere, the books were his books, his hi-fi half filled the living room. Mrs Hewitt spent the whole of that first evening discussing the illnesses that had

  dogged his childhood—he seemed to have been an un-lucky as well as a delicate child, he hadn't missed much. He looked healthy enough now, but his mother still pressed herbal tablets on him when he cleared his throat once.

  Dora wondered if she was being warned that Neil could be a full-time nursing job, but he smiled good-humouredly at his mother, and apologised later that she fussed over him. He probably wouldn't expect his wife to do the same. 'You know what mothers are,' he said.

  'Oh yes,' said Dora, although her mother had died when she was a baby.

  After a few visits Mrs Hewitt brought out the photograph albums and Neil explained that that was a sign that she was beginning to take to Dora. Lately she had been quite affable, and she had accepted an invitation to tea in Dora's home, her sharp eyes inspecting the furniture and the polish on it.

  Dora had done a thorough clean and shine up be-fore she'd asked Mrs Hewitt round. The little house looked charming and Dora produced some excellent home baking, and Mrs Hewitt seemed reassured.

  Neil had proposed to Dora just a week ago. They had been out for a meal and Neil stopped the car on the way home, pulling in at the top of a hill, by daylight a venue for tourists who came to see the beaked white horse from pre-history, carved in the hillside. At night it was romantic up here, as the horse glimmered in the moonlight and the twinkling lights of villages spread out below.

  Dora liked being kissed goodnight. She liked the feel of Neil's arms around her, and his comforting un-demanding kisses. Neil never went too far, and Dora

  appreciated that; she felt they were building up a good relationship. Everything in its time.

  Tonight he said, as he looked at her in the crook of his arm with her long brown hair flowing out around her, 'I love you.'

  'I love you,' she said drowsily. Neil's kisses often made her feel drowsy. But this time that didn't seem to satisfy him, he was breathing faster and the arms around her suddenly held her tighter, and she thought —oh dear, I don't think I'm ready for this, when he said,

  'Let's get married.'

  She had been expecting it. She had already decided that life with Neil would go on much the same as now, and she could see nothing wrong with that. She enjoyed her life a
nd she loved Neil. He had a few faults,

  but who hasn't? She certainly had hers. If he was pre-

  pared to bear with her she would be very happy to be married to him.

  She said, 'All right,' and he kissed her again, a kiss that hardly differed at all from the kisses that had gone before. Then he turned on the ignition key and said, 'Let's tell Mother.'

  Mother knew. She was waiting, with three glasses and a bottle of sparkling wine on the table, and as they went into the hall she came to meet them, folding Dora in a brief embrace and kissing her cheek. 'Dora's going to marry me,' said Neil.

  His mother kissed him then, and looked at him proudly as though any girl would be lucky to get him. She actually said, 'Dora's a very lucky girl,' before she said, 'and you're a lucky boy, and I just pray you're both going to be happy.'

  They drank to their future happiness and Mrs

  Hewitt produced a ring in a ring box, and Neil said, 'Mother, are you sure?' This did seem to surprise him, although it was obvious they had discussed the proposal well ahead.

  'I want Dora to have it,' Mrs Hewitt said. 'It's an old family ring, Dora, and I always thought I'd like to hand it on to Neil's wife.'

  'It's beautiful,' said Dora, and it was, a row of rubies in an antique setting.

  Neil said, 'If it doesn't fit you I can get it altered. May I?' He put it on and it fitted very well, and Mrs Hewitt said graciously,

  'It could have been made for you. I do like the old designs. I've got several pretty things that will be coming to you one day.'

  Into Dora's mind came the memory of other 'pretty things' that had belonged to her mother. Her father had sold them, all but the string of pearls he had given her on her sixteenth birthday, and she hadn't had those for long.

  She had shivered suddenly and Mrs Hewitt, who had been holding her hand admiring the ring, had said, 'You're not cold, are you? Not catching a chill? It is draughty in that house of yours, but this is a nice warm house, we'll all be comfortable in here.'

  She was taking it for granted they would live together, and Dora knew there would be trouble if they did; but with an heirloom ring on her finger and both Neil and his mother smiling at her she couldn't spoil the euphoric moment. Later she would have to suggest to Neil that he and she lived in her house, or found themselves a flat.

  She went down to the shop next day to show Simon and his wife her ring, and tell them the news. They

  had a small antique shop, with a flat over it, and Thea said this was no surprise to her. Dora was very fond of Thea, and they hugged each other and went into a huddle over the ring.

  'That's pretty,' said Thea, with the eye of an expert on antique jewellery.

  'Where did he get it from?' Simon demanded. 'We could have sold him a very nice ring.'

  'Mrs Hewitt gave it to me,' Dora explained, and Simon gave a hoot of laughter and Thea said warningly,

  'Simon!'

  'Well, he is a bit of a mum's boy, isn't he?' Simon grinned at his wife and his sister. He had the Holcroft charm. He and Dora made a striking pair, with the same silky hair and wide-spaced eyes. He had had promise of a great career, he was going to be a bar-rister, but instead he had ended up in the little antique shop, married to Thea and with a baby at last after nearly nine years.

  Dora thought he had done well. If anyone had suggested otherwise she would have been fiercely defensive because Thea, practical and pretty, had made him a marvellous wife, and the shop gave them a comfortable living, and Clare was the prettiest baby ever.

  She was proud of Simon, she always had been. He had done all right. All their plans had had to change when their father died and they found what a fool's paradise they had been living in, but Simon and Thea were making a good life for themselves.

  Simon had cast a critical eye over all Dora's young men, and there was no reason why Neil should escape. Simon always teased her. He had teased her over her ring, and he was teasing her now, asking her if she

  knew what she was doing. Joking, because Neil had just gone into the kitchen to help Thea with the washing up.

  Dora had cooked the meal they had just eaten, because it was her afternoon off from work, and they had had a little dinner party, the four of them, in Simon and Thea's flat. It had been a good meal, steak and the trimmings followed by cheesecake and a bottle of wine. Neil had been here before, but this was the first time since the engagement was announced, and it was a celebration.

  When Thea began to clear away Dora got up too, and Thea said, `No, you've done your share.'

  Neil had agreed. 'You certainly have—it was delicious.' He'd offered, 'I'll give you a. hand with the dishes,' and went off with a pile of plates into the kitchen.

  Thea said, 'Thank you,' and Simon said,

  'Good lad,' and got a face pulled at him by Thea. She thought Neil Hewitt was eligible and anxious to please, and she hoped that Dora would be a match for Mrs Hewitt. She had a feeling that Neil was going to ask for an apron in the kitchen, and that would have convulsed Simon, so she closed the door when she carried in the tray.

  'One of the nice things about Neil,' said Dora now, 'is that he's considerate.'

  'Yes.' Simon could hardly have denied it, but he suddenly looked almost serious. 'It's just that I'm not sure you're the marrying type.'

  She hadn't been up to now, but this time she would go through with it and she would make Neil a good wife. Simon had said that before, and always she had

  hoped he wasn't talking about himself. They had so

  much in common : looks, likes and dislikes. Often she felt she knew what Simon was thinking, and he had always been her best friend as well as her brother.

  But she had never been jealous of Thea. She might have been. She had only lost her father a few months when she lost her brother to Thea, except that it hadn't been like that.

  It was after their father died that Simon brought Thea home for the first time. He had met her in Oxford, where he was studying for his law degree and she was working in an antique shop. She was wearing a Laura Ashley dress, a big kind girl, with a velvety complexion and goodness brimming over, and Dora had loved her on sight. When Simon had said they were getting married it had seemed to Dora the best thing that could possibly happen. Thea was loving and sensible and good, and Dora's early impressions of her sister-in-law had been borne out a hundred times.

  Simon couldn't have done better no matter how long he had searched for a wife, but he had married young and when he said, 'You're not the marrying type,' Dora wondered if sometimes he was imagining himself without ties.

  The shop was delightful, but running it and attending auctions was hardly a madly exciting life, and now there was the responsibility of the baby, and nobody is entirely satisfied with their lot. Dora said quietly, 'If I'm half as lucky as you in my marriage I'll thank heaven on my knees,' and Simon said,

  'You're right there,' and there was no doubt at all that he meant it. He just needed it pointing out to him occasionally.

  Thea came back with a tray of coffee cups and

  dumped it in front of Simon, smiling, -Put these around, if you've got the strength!'

  'I had a hard day,' he said.

  He had been to a sale, returning after closing time with several pieces they hoped were bargains, and Thea laughed.

  'Did I tell you about the coach party?' She had. They didn't often get coach parties, but this afternoon this coach had had a fortuitous puncture just down the road and an astonished Thea had found her shop packed to the door.

  It wasn't likely to happen again in years. She had called up to Dora, who was in the kitchen crumbling wholemeal biscuits for the cheesecake base at the time, and together the two girls had done a brisk business in small lines.

  The four of them sat down again now, drinking their coffee and chatting, when the phone rang in the little hall of the flat. Simon took it and called, 'Neil!'

  'For me?' Neil went along to take the call and Simon came back and sat down again, grinning.
/>   'It's your mother-in-law.'

  'I hope everything's all right,' said Dora.

  'Probably checking what time wandering boy will be home,' said Simon.

  'Oh, that reminds me.' Thea clapped a hand to her forehead. 'It went straight out of my mind, but there was a phone call this afternoon—about the house. It seems it's probably sold.'

  They didn't have to ask which house. The Manor, of course, and Simon and Dora exchanged glances with the same expression of wry resignation, the same small shrug and half sigh.

  They had sold the Manor and the meadow ten years

  ago. What was left had gone to buy a lease on this shop and to keep Dora through her commercial training until she began to earn a living. There hadn't been much because there had been big debts.

  It had been run as a guesthouse, but recently the owner had died and his wife had put it on the market, and Dora and Simon had played a game of let's pretend we can buy it back.

  Of course they knew they couldn't. If there was an auction of contents then they would turn up and perhaps put in a few bids. There might be something they could sell in the shop. But in hard cash they hadn't enough to buy a cottage, let alone a small manor house, and even if they had had there could have been no going back.

  That style of living was over for them. They would never again be the Holcrofts of the Manor, but it had been fun to go and look over the place. The estate agent was a friend of theirs, and he had suggested they might like to see it.

  Neither had been inside since they sold it, and the years had rolled on until the present became more important than the past, and when John Redway said did they want to see over the old place again they had been curious, no more.

  It was hardly recognisable, but they walked around saying, `Do you remember ...?' and, 'This was the old nursery,' and, 'The view's still the same from this window,' and came out, with Thea and John, in a mellow mood of nostalgia.