‘You think we do?’
‘I’ve never seen her take to anyone as quickly. I suppose—’ He stopped.
‘You have a terrific line in unfinished sentences.’
He looked embarrassed.
‘Did you think that the fact I was able to charm her meant I was a con man? Or con woman?’
‘I didn’t think that.’
‘But you worried that I might be.’
He didn’t precisely deny it. ‘I’m very fond of Kitty. And she is all alone.’
‘Well, up to a point, Lord Copper.’
‘Why do you say that? That’s the second time.’
‘It’s a quotation. From Evelyn Waugh.’
‘I’ve never read him.’
‘At least you knew he was a him,’ she said with a grin.
‘Thanks! I’m not a complete philistine. But what does it mean? The Lord Copper thing.’
‘He was an autocratic employer. It was his employee’s way of disagreeing with him. He couldn’t say outright to his boss “you’re wrong”, so he said he was right “up to a point”.’
‘All right – setting aside the “autocratic” insult – what was I wrong about then?’
‘You said Kitty was all alone. But she has Bill and Fatty and Mrs Phillips.’ She didn’t add Jim in case he didn’t know about that. ‘And you.’
‘It’s not the same, though,’ he said. The smile faded from his face. ‘It’s not like being married.’
‘No,’ she said, having been thinking exactly the same in the bath the day before. ‘Nothing replaces that.’ She wanted to ask him about Stephanie, but didn’t quite like to. He didn’t seem the sort of person who would like knowing that two women had been discussing his broken heart behind his back.
‘So what are you doing here?’ he asked after a moment.
‘You know that. Cataloguing for Kitty. And the longer I’m here, the more it seems the most terrible shame to think of her selling up and having to move. There must be a solution.’
‘Do you think no one but you has ever tried to think of one?’ he said, sounding cold and annoyed.
Oops! ‘Of course not, but sometimes when a problem’s under your nose it’s harder to think clearly about it.’
‘So I’m not a clear thinker?’
Oh, do stop being touchy, she begged inwardly. The stuffed shirt was back. ‘I’m not trying to insult you. I’m just concerned for Kitty.’
‘Oddly enough, so am I.’
Was there no way not to tread on this man’s toes? ‘I was wondering,’ she said, cutting to the chase, ‘about the National Trust. Couldn’t she give the house to them, on condition that she was allowed to keep living there?’
‘The National Trust doesn’t take on properties any more, unless they have a large endowment attached to them. They don’t want the expense of upkeep any more than the owners do.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Jenna. ‘Another fine idea crashes and burns.’
‘I can’t believe you don’t realize that we’ve considered all options. Do you think we’re all rustic idiots?’
‘No, I don’t think that, and can we call another truce? I was so enjoying the ride, and I’ve no wish to quarrel with you.’
He was silent a moment, his nostrils expressive, and then he said stiffly, ‘Truce is duly called. I’ve no wish to quarrel with you, either.’ He visibly sought for something neutral to say. ‘I like your hair done like that. Not everyone can wear a plait.’
‘Thank you. It needs bushy hair to give it substance, that’s all. Thin hair makes a thin plait and you end up looking like one of Nelson’s ratings.’
He managed a smile. ‘I don’t see you as a jolly tar, somehow,’ he said. ‘Caroline wears a plait sometimes, but it’s the other sort – I don’t know what you call it, but the plaiting goes inward rather than outward, if you know what I mean.’
‘Yes,’ Jenna said. One thing she didn’t want to talk about was Caroline. New subject needed. ‘You’re supposed to be showing me the countryside. Tell me about the view. What are those hills over there?’
‘Oh, they’re part of a larger range, but they’re called the Black Hills locally. We’ll go there another day, if you like – it’s a bit far for an evening ride, but there are some good tracks up there, and the view is wonderful. There’s a monument on the top – can you see it?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said, digesting the fact that he was proposing another engagement. So he couldn’t hate her entirely. More Tabitha – yippee! ‘What is it?’
‘Just a stone column. Everyone thinks it’s a war memorial or something, but it marks the place where there was a Roman beacon. Some eccentric local landlord in the eighteenth century thought it was worth marking. How he knew there was a beacon there, I’ve no idea.’
‘And what’s that cluster of roofs over there? I think I see a church spire. Is it a village?’
‘Yes, that’s Chidding. That’s where we’re heading. Are you ready for another canter? There’s a nice open stretch just along here – and a couple of jumpable logs, if you fancy it.’
‘I bet Tabitha does. She’s got jumper’s hocks if ever I saw them.’
‘You know a bit about horses, don’t you?’ he said with faint surprise.
‘Just enough,’ she said.
He was smiling again. He was like one of those spring days with sunshine, fast-moving clouds and occasional showers. He was a bit of a challenge, and no mistake; but she liked a challenge. And Kitty wanted them to be friends, so she determined to put her best foot forward and try to avoid tricky subjects for the rest of the ride. Given her normal nature, it wasn’t like her to take so much trouble. Kitty should be grateful. It could only be for love of Kitty she contemplated it.
When they reached Chidding – a nice little village of pretty stone cottages, and a tiny church with an oversized spire – she discovered the reason for the halters under the bridles. Alexander led the way to the village pub, The Hart In Hand, and rode down the side of it to a tarmacked car park, at the far end of which was a patch of grass, a few apple trees still casting the last of their blossom, and a stout wooden fence with a wooden horse-trough standing against it.
He halted and dismounted in one fluid movement, and caught Tabitha’s rein as Jenna came up beside him. ‘It’s such a nice evening I thought you might like to stop for a drink,’ he said, looking up at her. ‘They’re used to horses here – they keep this patch of grass for the purpose. Is that OK with you?’
‘Lovely,’ Jenna said. ‘What a nice idea.’
She jumped down, and they ran up the stirrups, loosened the girths, and tied the horses to the fence with the halter ropes. Then together they walked towards the back door of the crooked little inn, and ducked in to the low-beamed bar, where the light from the tiny windows bounced companionably off a large collection of brass and copper objects, and the metal bits of horse collars and the like. There were only two other customers in there, young men who looked like farm workers from their red faces and knotty forearms, who were having a game of darts.
The bartender came forward to greet them. ‘Evening, Mr Latham. Nice evening for a ride.’
‘Evening, Ted. Two tied up out the back – all right?’
‘That’s what it’s there for. What’ll it be?’
‘What will you have?’ Alexander asked Jenna.
Jenna surveyed the taps. ‘Oh, a pint of best, I think, thank you.’
‘A pint?’ Alexander said with faint surprise.
Jenna’s nostrils flared. No doubt Caroline would never do anything so unladylike as drink beer, let alone in a pint glass. But she bit down any such comment. ‘It doesn’t taste the same in a small glass,’ she said pleasantly.
Ted laughed. ‘A girl after my own heart,’ he said. ‘You’re not wrong, either. Two pints, then, is it?’
When they were pulled, Jenna took hers from the bar and said, ‘Thank you, Alexander.’
‘Oh, please,’ he said, ‘call me Xander. All my friends
do.’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’d certainly like to be numbered among your friends, so: thank you Xander.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’d like to count you among mine, too.’
And they exchanged a look which was tentative, enquiring, invested with good will; and, if it was also a little speculative, who could blame them? A ride on a gorgeous summer evening can have that effect.
Thirteen
They went and sat on a wooden bench in an alcove by one of the little crooked casements, put their pints on a round wooden table before them and leaned back against the ancient oak wainscoting. The low beams emphasized Xander’s height and size – medieval buildings like this were designed for a race of smaller beings.
Jenna said, ‘Cheers!’ supped some of her pint and remarked: ‘Nice place.’
‘Glad you like it,’ he said. ‘It’s my local, more or less. At least, there is another pub slightly closer to me, but there’s no place to tie up a horse, so The Hart wins on points. Besides, the other pub’s called The Silent Woman, and the pub sign shows a coffin, so you have to be careful who you take there.’
‘I can see that,’ Jenna said. ‘How did that get past the PC brigade? I didn’t know you lived in Chidding,’ she commented. ‘Well, I had no idea where you lived, so I don’t know why I’m sounding surprised.’
‘I’ve got a little place here – just a tiny cottage. It isn’t anything, not even especially nice, but it was all I could afford. I put all my money into the business. I don’t have any to waste on homemaking.’ There was a bleakness to his tone when he said this that warned her they were probably near Stephanie-territory.
‘I don’t think being comfortable is ever wasted,’ she said lightly.
‘Where do you live in London?’
‘Nowhere, at the moment. I was sharing a flat with a man, and we split up in painful circumstances, so in fact I’m homeless. Fortunately I was able to stay with my brother in the short term. Didn’t Kitty tell you my story?’
‘Kitty’s very discreet,’ he said – which wasn’t saying yes and wasn’t saying no. But if Kitty hadn’t explained, it was no wonder he was wary of her for turning up out of nowhere.
‘Well, it worked out nicely for both of us. I was made redundant at the same time, so I needed a temporary live-in job, and Kitty wanted a temporary helper, so we dovetailed.’
‘Hmm,’ he said, and she sensed reservations. He was frowning.
Discretion lapsed. ‘Now what have I said?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You’ve got that “she’s probably a con artist” look again.’ She stroked her chin, did a parody of his scowl, and said in a put-on gruff voice, ‘Something in her story doesn’t add up.’
He laughed, perhaps a little uncomfortably. ‘You are a strange person! I wasn’t thinking that at all. Just how unpleasant it must be not to have a place to live. My cottage is no great shakes, but at least it’s mine.’
‘Well, my flat was Patrick’s, and I ain’t livin’ there no more. But look on the bright side.’
‘There’s a bright side?’
‘Yes!’ she said with more enthusiasm than she really felt. ‘I have a whole fresh start. I can go anywhere, do anything, become anyone. How many people get to start all over at my age? Sweep away the mistakes of the past, reinvent yourself. The world is your oyster. Actually—’ she short-circuited herself – ‘I’ve never really understood that expression. I mean, an oyster shell’s a pretty tight fit, even for an oyster. It doesn’t really represent boundless freedom, does it?’
‘It is strange, now you mention it,’ he said, and thought a moment. She liked him for taking the mystery seriously. Patrick was always impatient of her ‘flights’. Then he dismissed it with a shake of the head. ‘I can’t think what it really means. But what are you going to do with your life?’
‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘Make myself open to offers, is all. Anyway, I don’t need to think about it now, thanks to darling Kitty. Tell me, has your cottage got stables attached?’
‘No, sadly. It could hardly be more basic. I keep Victor at livery, at Grey’s Farm.’
‘Ah, hence your intimate knowledge of Tabitha’s situation.’
‘Well, everyone knows everyone else,’ he said, ‘so I’d have known about Anne going to university anyway. Everyone knows everyone else’s horses, too, in a small community like this.’
‘Don’t you mind that?’ she asked, really curious. ‘Living in a goldfish bowl?’
‘Sometimes,’ he said. ‘Mostly it’s a case of “if you have nothing to hide you have nothing to fear”. And it’s nice to know people care about you.’
‘Do they?’
‘In a basic way – yes. One thing, you wouldn’t lie dead in your flat for a month until the smell gave you away, like a town dweller.’
She threw back her head with laughter. ‘Oh, make room for me at once! That’s been my overmastering fear ever since I left school!’
He smiled sheepishly. ‘I don’t say I brood about it. But it must be much lonelier living alone in the town than it is living alone in the country.’
‘Well, probably,’ she said, thinking suddenly that that would be her fate, when this country gig was over – living alone in town. ‘Although it must be tiresome having everyone feel sorry for you, and telling you so every time you meet them.’
He stiffened. ‘Why should you think anyone feels sorry for me?’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean you specifically,’ she said hastily. ‘I meant “one”. Or me, even. Having my family commiserate with me about Patrick was nice to begin with, but I wouldn’t want to hang around when they got to that stage of inviting “awfully nice men” to dinner on my behalf.’
He didn’t laugh, as she had meant him to. He said, ‘What does he do – Patrick?’
She didn’t really want to talk about him, but she thought he might open up about his ex if she did about hers, so she said, ‘He’s an architect. Very successful. And he traded me in for a newer model.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I can’t imagine why he’d want to. You seem to me—’
‘Yes?’ she urged at last. ‘You do pause in the most perplexing places.’
‘Perplexing,’ he said. ‘There’s a word you don’t hear very often.’
‘Prevarication is another,’ she said, but he wouldn’t be drawn. He didn’t open up about Stephanie, but instead changed the subject rather clunkily to ask her what books she liked reading, ‘besides Evelyn Waugh’.
So she shrugged inwardly and talked about favourite books, and then favourite old movies, since he didn’t seem to have seen any new ones – ‘Not since the Regent in Belminster closed down, and that must be – oh – five years ago.’
‘Haven’t you heard of Love Film?’ she demanded, and it turned out that he didn’t even have a DVD player.
‘When would I get time to watch one?’ he said. ‘I’m hardly ever at home, except to bathe and sleep.’
And it occurred to her that he was leading a much more fulfilling life than anyone she knew in London, and she had nothing to feel sorry for him about. But he did have a list of old movies he liked from his younger days, and the subject kept them occupied until their pints were drained.
‘I’d love to buy you another,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t bring any money with me.’
‘Thanks, but one’s enough anyway. And I ought to get you back to supper. I expect Kitty’s waiting it until you get home.’
‘I expect she is. Well, it’ll be my treat next time, then,’ Jenna said, standing up. ‘I haven’t forgotten you said you’d show me the hills.’
He stood too, and looked down at her, his dark head bent a little under the ceiling beams, too tall and big for this cramped space, his face half hidden in the shadow. ‘I’ll do that with pleasure,’ he said quietly, and a strange little thrill ran through her like a shiver as she looked up at him. Pleasure. Yes, it had been a pleasure, this time with him – most of it. When she wasn�
��t treading eggshells. Perhaps when he knew her better he wouldn’t be so reserved and difficult on certain subjects. He would learn that he could trust her.
Ha! And when was he going to get the chance to know her better? she demanded of herself derisively. In the remaining three weeks of her visit? And, naturally, it would have to be before he married Lady Caroline, Ice Queen extraordinaire. Married, remember that word? She had to break the moment. ‘I’ve heard there are a lot of Roman remains around these parts too,’ she said, pretty much at random. ‘I ought to try and see some of them before I leave.’
He seemed to cool as well, on the word ‘leave’. ‘Not suitable for visiting on horseback,’ he said. ‘Talking of which, we’d better get back to our nags before they throw a leg over the rope.’
She led the way out, calling a cheery goodbye to the landlord, who returned it with, she thought, a speculative look. It cheered her up. In a place where everyone knew everything, it would surely not be long before someone told Caroline about how chummy her fiancé had been with the Scarlet Woman in The Hart In Hand at Chidding. Eat my dust, sucker!
She had underestimated the determination of the Russells. They hadn’t long got back on to the track from the village road, and were walking side by side again, when there was a sound of trotting hoof-beats behind them. Xander looked round and said, ‘Oh, it’s Midnight.’
‘Not by my watch,’ Jenna said.
‘Midnight’s Caroline’s horse,’ he said, faintly impatient, as if she should have known.
She thought it was interesting that he had identified the horse first, rather than the rider, but forbore to say so. Instead she said, ‘What a coincidence.’
He frowned. ‘I’m sure it isn’t,’ he said shortly. ‘She’s joining us on our ride, I expect.’
They halted, and Jenna turned to look. Caroline posted towards them, looking to-a-hair perfect as though she’d been painted on the horse. Midnight was rather over-curbed and was spilling foam down his gorgeous back chest. He was a true black, with a white star so perfect Jenna would have bet Caroline had scoured the country for him; whether his performance would match his looks, she couldn’t say. ‘He dishes with his off fore,’ she commented. She probably shouldn’t have said it aloud, because it sounded like a criticism – which it was, of course.
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