by Sharon Booth
'I doubt very much Castor would appreciate being told to take it easy,' Blaise said. 'He likes to be busy and to feel useful.'
'I think maybe our branch of the St Clairs don't appreciate his branch as much as we should,' I said, feeling sad and a little ashamed. 'I was just talking about ...' I trailed off, realising Blaise had no idea about Bartholomew, his own nephew, nor how much we owed to Castor's own ancestor, Titus, who'd taken the boy under his wing and raised him to be a fine young man, keeping him safe and protecting his property.
Ironically, Castor's branch of the family hadn't fared so fortunately in later years. By the time Victoria came to the throne, they'd fallen on hard times and had lost most of their own lands. John St Clair had moved to Castle Clair and had worked in the town as a tradesman.
Castor had inherited nothing, but Grandfather had put a roof over his head, and always had a lot of time for him. I suppose we'd sort of made up for it in a way, but even so. It didn't seem like much of a thank you to a branch of the family that had protected our own, all those years ago.
'What were you talking about?' Blaise asked.
'Oh, it doesn't matter. So,' I said, 'the garden. You like gardening?'
He grinned. 'I always liked watching our gardeners,' he said. 'Although, I seem to recall the garden was much larger in those days.'
'It probably was,' I mused. 'I think we sold off a lot of land over the years.'
'Such a shame,' he said. 'It was quite beautiful. I can remember —' He broke off and I tilted my head, curious.
'What can you remember?'
'Oh, it's just vague memories,' he said. 'I seem to recall ...' He blushed slightly. 'Really, it's nothing.'
'No, it is something! Anything you can remember is important.'
'I remember being with a girl,' he said reluctantly. 'I have a fleeting memory of sitting on the lawn, laughing and talking with her but ...'
'But what?'
'I think I must be getting confused,' he confessed. 'I keep seeing — well — your face. At least, that's how it seems to me.'
Jennet! He must remember Jennet at last. I swallowed. 'Right. How odd. I expect you are getting a little mixed up. So, what were you and this girl, er, doing?'
'Just talking and laughing. Bevil was there, too.' He smiled wistfully. 'He was hilarious, I'm sure of that. He had a dry sense of humour and was so witty. I miss him, even though I can't remember much about him, or about our lives together. It's so upsetting. I just want my memories to return. Do you think they ever will?'
'I think,' I said slowly, 'that you're remembering more and more, and it won't be long before they all come back.'
Aveta seemed to think they would, at any rate. She'd more-or-less decided the trauma of what happened that night and the shock of being plunged into the water, combined with the effects of time travel, had robbed him of his memory temporarily. It convinced her that, as he adjusted to his new life and settled, his memory would return. She was probably correct, which meant a bleak outlook for me. And for Blaise, come to think of it. When he remembered everything, how much greater would he feel the loss of all he'd left behind? And when he knew what happened to those people ...
'Maybe,' I suggested, 'you could take over the garden. Do you know much about gardening?'
'Not much,' he admitted. 'I suppose I could learn.'
'I don't doubt it,' I said. 'I've known no one who picks things up quicker than you.'
'I'd love to do it.' He gave up trying to pull his wellies off from a standing position and plonked himself down on the kitchen floor. 'It would give me something constructive to do and get me away from books for a time. I'm very aware I've turned into a hermit. I'm sure I didn't use to be like this, you know. Almost every memory I have is of the outdoors. I feel so much better for being out in the fresh air today.'
'You look better, too,' I agreed, noting the colour in his cheeks and the sparkle in his eyes. I laughed. 'You're not having much luck with those wellies, are you? Here, let me give you a hand.'
I grasped the heel of his wellington boot and pulled hard. Eventually, the boot loosened, and I dropped it on the floor. 'There's a knack to it,' I told Blaise.
'They're clever inventions,' he admitted, 'but you need the patience of a saint to take them off.'
I pulled the second welly off, and Blaise lay back on the kitchen floor. 'I'm exhausted now!'
'You're exhausted? I did all the hard work.' I laughed again. 'You'd better put them in the utility room while I make a start on dinner.'
'Are you sure you want to cook? You've been at work all day,' he pointed out as he struggled into a sitting position. 'It feels a bit mean, asking you to make dinner on top of all that.'
'Do you want to cook?' I teased.
He looked appalled. 'Me? No thanks. But we could get one of those takeaway things, if you prefer?'
'Honestly,' I said, 'it's no trouble. I'll whip something up in a jiffy.'
'Well, if you're sure.' Blaise looked doubtful, and I frowned.
'Don't you trust my cooking?'
He held up his hands. 'I'm not saying that. I'm sure you're a very good cook.'
'So stop protesting and let me get on with it,' I said cheerfully.
'Okay, okay.' He stood and picked up the wellies. 'I'll get rid of these then I'll take a shower.'
I couldn't help but smile and he looked sheepish.
'I know. Getting a shower without having to be asked! What's the world coming to, eh?'
'You're the king of hygiene these days,' I told him. 'We'll make a twenty-first century man of you yet.'
'Perhaps,' he said. 'I won't be long.'
He headed out of the kitchen, wellington boots in hand, and I sighed to myself.
There were some habits of twenty-first century men I was glad he'd adopted. Even so, there were distinctly seventeenth century habits he still hung on to and, if I was being honest, I hoped he would continue to do so.
His dislike of bad language or risqué talk in front of women was so charming and refreshing. I was no prude, but I loved how sweet he could be about it. He was protective towards women, too. Of course, it could be annoying when he considered some jobs to be unsuitable for us, and some unsuitable for men, but I thought, on the whole, he was surprisingly relaxed about the greater equality women had won in our part of the world.
The only thing he'd found shocking was when he realised Sky and Jethro were openly living together without being married. Even then, his concern had been for Sky's reputation, and for the security of any children they may one day have. I could understand Blaise's concern for any offspring of Jethro and Sky, and it took me a good long while to convince him their situation was perfectly normal these days, and that all children had rights. It led to a rather long and bewildering discussion on the welfare state, which had led on to a discussion about the National Health Service. Lord, that had been a very long night.
I shook my head slightly, remembering. I loved talking to Blaise. We had some brilliant conversations, and he was so eager to understand. I had to admit, I doubted very much I'd have been so accommodating if someone had placed me slap bang in the middle of the seventeenth century.
He eventually came downstairs, his hair slightly damp from the shower, freshly shaved and wearing black trousers and a white shirt. I tried my best not to stare at him, but the fact was, he looked gorgeous.
He sniffed the air, then smiled. 'That smells delicious,' he told me.
'I'm glad to hear it. It's only a basic stir-fry, but I thought we didn't have much time before the film starts, and this is tasty and filling.' I hesitated. 'You look very — smart.'
'Will I do?' He looked worried. 'I wasn't sure what people wear for the cinema and I thought this looked fairly neutral. Is it okay?'
'Oh, it's, um, definitely okay,' I assured him. 'Do you want to eat in the dining room, or would you prefer to eat in here?'
'It seems silly to eat in the dining room, when it's just the two of us,' he said. 'I'm fine
with the kitchen table if you are.'
'Great. Take a seat. Won't be a jiffy.'
He sat down, looking, it has to be said, slightly pensive. Just what was he expecting?
I plonked a bottle of wine and a glass on the table. 'Here, pour yourself a drink while I dish up,' I said, thinking alcohol might make him appreciate my cooking a little more. Fingers crossed.
He duly obliged and sat, his fingers gently stroking the stem of the wine glass, while I set the table. 'You're not drinking?'
I shook my head. 'I'm driving us to the cinema,' I reminded him. 'It's illegal to drink and drive.'
'Oh, of course. We're going in your mother's car, aren't we?'
'Don't sound so pleased about it,' I joked.
'I'm still wary of cars,' he admitted. 'They seem to have a mind of their own. Are you sure I can't help?' he added, as I placed cutlery in front of him.
'Nope. Honestly, nearly done.'
Finally, I placed two plates of food on the table and sat down.
He looked at his plate, then at me.
'What is it?' I asked, feeling a lurch of dread. 'Don't you like the look of it?'
'It looks and smells delicious.' He picked up his fork and poked about in the mixture of vegetables and noodles. 'Is that chicken?'
'It's sort of like chicken,' I said. 'It's a vegetarian alternative. Try it, I'm sure you'll enjoy it.'
'I'm not so sure,' he said, pulling a face.
I'll admit, I felt a bit disappointed in his attitude. 'Please, give it a go. If you don't like it you can leave it, but I'm sure you'll end up eating it all.'
Blaise tutted. 'Fine. If you say so.'
He forked up a portion of the stir-fry, including a piece of the meat alternative. He closed his eyes and shoved it in his mouth, chewed frantically then swallowed with a loud gulp.
'Well?'
He wrinkled his nose. 'Not for me. I'll pick those bits out.'
'Really? Wouldn't you try one more?'
'No, honestly.' He gave a martyred sigh. 'It's okay. I had a feeling I'd be getting this sort of food, so I got Castor to make me a burger before he left with Sirius.'
'Right,' I said, feeling slightly sick. 'So long as you won't starve.'
'Sirius said they eat something called popcorn at cinemas,' he said, prodding some noodles with his fork. 'I daresay if I get hungry, I can give that a go.'
'Yes,' I said. 'I daresay you can.' I stared gloomily at my plate, suddenly realising the stir-fry held no more appeal for me than it did for Blaise.
****
Blaise endured the ride in the car to Harrogate, where our nearest cinema was, and we entered the foyer with great excitement. We'd got two small buckets of popcorn, one salted and one sweet, to share, and we'd also bought coffees to drink while watching the film.
The seats were exceptionally comfortable, and having pre-booked, I'd made sure we got a double seat in a central position, so we had an excellent view of the screen. It was busy, so I guessed there must have been a lot of Austen fans in town.
Blaise had no idea what to expect and was a little alarmed when the room darkened, and music blasted from the speakers.
'I don't understand what's happening,' he whispered to me after about ten minutes.
I glanced at him and saw the confusion in his dark eyes and my longing for him almost overwhelmed me. It took me a great deal of composure to reassure him he wasn't stupid and that the film hadn't started yet; we'd just been watching a bunch of trailers for forthcoming movies. No wonder the story made little sense to him!
At last, the lights went out, and pitched us into complete darkness for a moment. Blaise reached for my hand and I felt his fingers curl around mine. My heart nearly stopped. I daren't move. I daren't even breathe. I wanted nothing to break the spell. My heart thudded with excitement and joy, and I wondered if I could risk turning my head to look at him — maybe even to kiss him.
Then the film began and as the light flickered around the room, he discreetly let go of my hand. I could have cried, but I knew I had to accept the way he thought. He found it unbecoming to hold hands in public so I could hardly blame him, but honestly!
The only thing I could do was try to relax and watch the film. Blaise seemed to pay close attention to it. I supposed the early eighteenth century was slightly more familiar to him than the twenty-first. Some protocols and the etiquette would be more like his own time. From the corner of my eye I noticed his hand dip into the bucket of popcorn, and he scooped some into his mouth.
I turned my head slightly to look at him, then quickly turned away, a smile tugging at my lips as I saw his nose wrinkle and his eyes narrow in disgust. Popcorn wasn't to his taste any more than my stir-fry had been.
'Try mine. It's sweet,' I offered, but he shook his head.
'It tastes like paper,' he whispered. 'Why would anyone eat this?'
I grinned. 'Tradition.'
'People are strange,' he murmured.
'You said it.'
We turned our attention back to the film, and the story soon absorbed me. It was so romantic it made my heart flutter with excitement. When the hero realised he was in love with the heroine I had to swallow down a sob. I could only sit there and pray Blaise would take the hint. Shyly, I turned to look at him and felt an overwhelming disappointment. He'd fallen asleep! Desperate for him to watch the rest of the film, I nudged him lightly, but he merely let out a loud snore. Embarrassed, I decided it was best to leave him be.
As the film finally finished, I shook Blaise awake. He blinked and glanced at the screen, then jumped up, clapped loudly and called 'Bravo!' Luckily the credits were rolling, and music was blaring out, and most people were already chatting as they shrugged their coats back on and collected up various cups and wrappers. If anyone heard him, they kept it to themselves, which I was grateful for.
'So, what did you think?' I asked, as we followed the crowd toward the foyer.
'I will never understand how people can eat a whole bucket of popcorn,' he complained. 'I've tasted nothing so disgusting in my life.'
I sighed inwardly. 'Never mind the popcorn,' I said. 'What did you think of the film? What you saw of it, anyway.'
'It was — interesting.'
'I thought it was beautiful,' I confessed, determined to get some opinion from him. 'So romantic. When he had tears in his eyes because he loved her so much — oh, it almost made me cry, too.'
Blaise looked at me, rather puzzled. 'You think it's all right for a man to cry like that? Personally, I think it's a sign of weakness.'
'Of course it's not!' I bit my lip. 'I think it's very romantic, actually.'
'It takes all sorts, I suppose,' he said. I could see his eyes scanning the foyer. 'Are there any toilets in here or do I need to go outside?'
'Definitely not outside,' I said hastily. 'The toilets are over there. I'll show you.'
I led him towards the toilets and said, 'I'll wait out here for you.'
'Okay. Won't be long.' He pushed open the door and I let out a big sigh and leaned against the opposite wall, feeling thoroughly deflated.
'Celeste! I thought it was you.'
I managed a weary smile as a familiar figure honed into view. 'Hector. Fancy seeing you here.'
'Oh, I come here most weeks,' he admitted. 'I love the cinema. What were you watching?'
'The new Jane Austen,' I said listlessly. 'How about you?'
'The same!' His eyes sparkled. 'Fancy that! We were both in Screen Four all the time. What did you think?'
I hesitated, then shrugged. 'If you must know, I loved it. I thought it was funny and romantic and everything I hoped it would be.'
'Me, too.'
I pushed away from the wall and stared at him. 'Did you?'
'Oh yes. I loved it.' He ran a hand through his rather wayward dark curls and blew out his cheeks in a gesture of awe. 'When the hero realised he loved the heroine! God, it was so moving. And I loved the wittiness of the script, too. Lovely balance between pathos a
nd humour, don't you think?'
'Yes,' I murmured, feeling slightly dazed. 'I do.'
He stood, smiling rather shyly at me, and I smiled back, noticing those dimples and thinking what a jolly nice man he was.
'I don't suppose you'd like to go for something to eat, would you?' he asked hopefully. 'It's just, I haven't eaten yet, and there's a superb vegetarian restaurant across the road.'
'Mappleton's,' I said enthusiastically. 'I know it well. Are you — are you a vegetarian?'
'Ever since I can remember,' he said. 'My parents were, too, so I've known nothing else. How about you?'
'My brother and I went vegetarian years ago,' I told him. 'The rest of the family eat meat, but I couldn't. Not now.'
'So — Mappleton's?' He raised his eyebrows in query, and I felt sad having to disappoint him.
'I'm sorry. I'm with someone, and he's definitely not a vegetarian.'
'Oh, my apologies. I should have realised.' He gave a self-deprecating laugh. 'Few people come to the cinema alone, and certainly not someone like you.'
'Oh, I have done before now,' I assured him. 'I see nothing wrong with it. If there's something you want to see no one else is interested in, why not?'
'Well, exactly,' he said. 'And very few of my male friends are keen on Jane Austen. You know how macho some men can be.'
As if on cue, the toilet doors opened, and Blaise strolled out. He stopped dead at the sight of Hector and gave us both suspicious looks.
'Blaise,' I said, 'you remember Hector?'
'Of course,' he said coolly. 'You're Benedict's friend, aren't you?'
'That's right.' Hector, to his credit, didn't nurse a grudge. He offered his hand to Blaise and, after a moment's hesitation, Blaise shook it, much to my relief.
'I understand you've just seen the Jane Austen film,' Hector said pleasantly. 'Did you enjoy it?'
Blaise looked at me uncertainly. 'It was — different.'