‘Come and sit by the fire.’ Hettie poked it hospitably. ‘You’re just in time for a nice cup of tea. I’ve some scones new out of the oven, so we may as well have them now. And then you must tell me what’s brought you to Deeside, for I’ve the feeling,’ she added a little slyly, ‘that you didn’t come all this way just to visit your old godmother.’
She brushed the magazines from the table, laid a cloth and set out cups and saucers.
While they had tea Hettie questioned Briony about family affairs and Briony brought her up to date as well as she could without revealing the reason that had brought her to Aberdeen, simply saying that she would have liked to get a job here but had decided to pay a flying visit before making any decision.
But soon she discovered that she was losing Hettie’s attention. There was only one subject that really interested her godmother, and that was Blane Lennox and the alterations he was making at her beloved Birchfields.
Hettie’s face tightened as she asked, ‘I suppose you called at Birchfields and they directed you on here?’
‘Yes, I came across a boy there who told me you were living at the cottage now.’ Briony forbore to add how shocked she had been to see the alterations in Birchfields.
But Hettie wasn’t listening. She poked the fire, her lips pursed. ‘Not that one can call it Birchfields any longer, because it doesn’t exist now! There’s simply nothing that he hasn’t changed. I can hardly bear to pass the place now. Those horrible white railings, instead of the old walls! He bulldozed the old birchwoods and crushed the greenhouses.’
‘I suppose he would need the space if he’s running a riding school,’ Briony said consolingly. ‘The woods would probably be a hazard, especially for young pupils.’
But this was an unfortunate remark, she quickly discovered. Hettie stiffened. ‘Am I to take it, then, that you prefer Birchfields as it is now?’
‘No, of course not!’ Briony assured her hastily. ‘But if this new owner is running the place as a business he’s bound to take a practical view of things.’
‘Oh, he’s running it as a business all right,’ Hettie said dryly. ‘He’s turned Birchfields into a sort of horses’ playground. Everything must be done for their convenience and human beings count for nothing. But then the man has no real breeding. You must have seen those great vulgar signs of his pointing out the way to his school. And this is only the beginning! I’ve heard from Annie Skinner—I suppose you’ll hardly remember her, but she used to run the shop when you were here last.’
Briony smiled. ‘I remember her all right. I used to buy soor plooms in the shop. What became of it anyway? I see there’s a new shop now.’
‘Not a new shop,’ Hettie corrected. ‘Annie still runs it. She has expanded, you see. And Annie knows everything that goes on in the village. It seems it’s been arranged that some of the girls from Laureston School are to take riding lessons. Well, all I can say is I pity the poor parents. He’s sure to charge sky-high fees, because he knows that only wealthy parents can afford to send their children to Laureston.’
Briony glanced across at her godmother. How bitter Hettie had become! And she wondered for a moment if it was because Hettie saw living in the cottage as a comedown in the world. ‘After Roy died Birchwoods must have been too large for you to manage on your own,’ she urged. ‘And you seem so comfortable here, with all your own treasures about you!’ She glanced at the dainty Chippendale cabinet in its place in the corner of the room.
‘That’s all very well and good,’ Hettie replied impatiently, ‘but here am I in this poky cottage while Lennox lords it up there at Birchfields! He managed to put me out of that all right! He worked for it and succeeded!’
Briony looked at her in amazement. What on earth could she mean by that last remark? But perhaps Hettie meant nothing very special. Perhaps it was no more than the outpourings of a woman who was bitter and resentful.
As though guessing her godchild’s reaction, Hettie said quickly, ‘But there, I’m becoming quite a bore about that man! I think, for a change, we’ll do the dishes. You wash, if you like, and I’ll dry.’
Goodnaturedly Briony helped her godmother to wash the tea things. And afterwards, when she was shown to her room under the eaves she found that it contained one of Hettie’s treasures, a single fourposter hung with crisp muslin. Briony helped her make up the bed with snowy starched linen and a patchwork quilt.
Afterwards, when she had unpacked and arranged her clothes in the William and Mary tallboy, she told Hettie she would like to take a stroll through the village and catch up with some of the changes that had occurred since her last visit.
As she walked along she had time to consider what plans she should make for the future.
Instinctively she rejected the idea of returning home and having to confess that Jeremy had let her down. Let her down was putting it too mildly, she thought dryly. In fact, she had been jilted. She might be able to obtain a position in Aberdeen, of course, if she searched for it, but better still, it would be wonderful if she could find employment here in Abergour. Not that there was any possibility of that. It was a typical Highland community, of crofters, the land tapering out into glens with groves of birch and alder, with here and there little rivulets of water streaming down through the ferns and bracken and running in dark peaty streams along the sides of the road. This was not the type of place in which her particular training would find an outlet, she thought wryly.
She paused outside the general store with the double windows which she had noticed as she drove through the village. Inside she spotted a revolving stand with views of the surrounding countryside. She would send a card to her mother, she decided. She had picked out a view of the fairy-tale castle, Craigievar, when she heard a voice at her elbow, ‘You’re Briony Walton, aren’t you?’
Briony swung around to find herself being surveyed by a tall, stout woman with red, scrubbed cheeks and bright enquiring eyes.
‘You don’t remember me,’ the woman said. ‘I’m Annie Skinner. I used to come to Birchfields to help sort the fruit and vegetables for the market. And that was in between serving in the shop,’ she added with a chuckle.
‘But of course I remember you,’ Briony told her. ‘I used to buy soor plooms in the shop. I suppose you don’t have them now. They’ll be old-fashioned, I suppose.’
‘Not at all!’ Annie pointed to a glass jar containing very large boiled sweets in the shape of round green balls. ‘The people here in Abergour still ask for them. But mostly I sell them to the tourists. Some of them are Scottish from way far back and remember them from their childhood. I always keep plenty in stock.’
‘Soor plooms! That means sour plums, doesn’t it?’ Briony asked.
‘Yes. There’s no doubt they’re a bit acid,’ Annie agreed, ‘but then young stomachs make light of that.’
‘The shop’s much larger than it was,’ Briony remarked.
Annie nodded. ‘Yes. I bought up the cottage next door and had another window put in. Almost like a supermarket now, isn’t it? I’d have known you anywhere,’ Annie pursued, ‘because your hair was always that strange colour, the colour of a rowan berry, I used often say. But besides that I heard there was a stranger at Hettie’s cottage, and as soon as I saw you I put two and two together.’
So Hettie was right, Briony was thinking. There was very little escaped Annie Skinner’s eagle eye.
‘Oh yes, there have been great changes at Abergour since you were here last,’ Annie went on. ‘And I won’t deny that at times it’s been hard to manage. But the village is becoming more and more popular with tourists, even if some of them only stop off for a little while before travelling further west. Still, all in all, I haven’t done too badly, and I must admit this new Lennox Riding School has made quite a difference. You see, we all thought at first he was going to keep Birchfields on as a market garden, but when he set about tearing everything down, trees and shrubs, and to flatten the land itself and make it as smooth as a billiard table�
�well, it soon became clear to us he had other ideas. The next thing we knew there were those big notices by the roadside. Poor Hettie took it badly. I think she had the idea everything was going to go on as it had done before she sold it. But times change, and it’s not always for the worst!’
‘Yes, she seems a bit upset about it,’ Briony agreed cautiously.
‘But how are you getting along yourself?’ Annie asked. ‘Hettie was telling me you have a big job in an important firm now. She always lets me know the news when your mother writes to her at Christmas. There was some talk too that you were thinking of getting married. I think your mother wrote about that some time back. Is it true Mr. Right has come along and there’s going to be wedding bells very soon?’
Would it always be like this? Briony wondered, as she laughingly dismissed Annie Skinner’s remarks. Would she always have to make excuses, always have to disguise the truth that Jeremy had flung her over for a girl he considered more eligible? ‘You were speaking about Mr. Lennox,’ she put in quickly.
Luckily Mrs. Skinner allowed herself to be sidetracked. ‘Oh yes, some changes are for the better! Take Mr. Lennox now. His coming has brought quite a bit of business to the village. And now that the children from the school are to be taught there, it will help even more. He has bought some Shetland ponies for the younger children. But he has all sorts of ponies and horses there. By all accounts he’s a splendid horseman himself and has won all sorts of prizes at shows for jumping and for his fine horses too. All the same, things aren’t running all too smooth for him at the moment,’ she added with a tinge of satisfaction in her voice. ‘He’s looking for a suitable girl to teach the very young children—not that he’ll be able to get anyone from Abergour to do it!’
‘But why is that?’ Briony enquired.
‘Because no one can get along with that man,’ Annie Skinner replied emphatically. ‘He’s a real rough diamond, you know. His word is law up there at Birchfields. More like a dictator than anything else, that’s what Blane Lennox is! Oh, I can tell you there will be no one queueing up there for the job.’
But Briony was only half listening. So there was actually a job vacant in Abergour after all! Well, she might not be an expert horsewoman, but at least she would know how to lead children around on Shetland ponies. And as for Blane Lennox being difficult to get along with, she had worked for difficult people in her time. When it came to those who demanded the impossible she felt she had plenty of experience.
She was vaguely aware of Annie Skinner continuing her tirade.
‘Oh yes, I’ve had some experience of Blane Lennox! During the winter months when there were no tourists and he was getting the house renovated, I went up—lowered myself—to ask for a job helping in the house. Well, he took me on—on trial, as it were. And though I worked myself to the bone, I couldn’t give satisfaction. On the second day I was there I was put to fixing the attics. Well, I set to. Naturally I stopped off now and then for a sly cup of tea—to give myself a buck, as it were. And I must say the housekeeper was very good and made no objection. Well, what do you think, just as I was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup in my hand in he walks and as good as accuses me of loafing. Said he wouldn’t have any slackers around his place. Never a word of praise, mind you! Naturally I wouldn’t stand for that—and neither would the girls of Abergour. Oh yes, indeed, Blane Lennox will have to go far afield to find what he’s looking for. And I can tell you this, I pity the misfortunate girl from the bottom of my heart!’
The girls of Abergour seemed to be rather a thin-skinned lot, Briony was thinking. She had known what it was to have her work criticised. One had to measure up to a job or take the consequences, and she suspected that Annie Skinner was over-fond of the sly cup of tea. Anyway, whether Annie was exaggerating or not, there did not seem to be any other job available in the district. All she could do was to apply for the job and if she was accepted put up with it no matter how awful it might be.
So it was that when at last Annie’s flow of gossip had come to a halt, Briony turned not along the street in the direction of Amulree Cottage, but in the opposite direction, and soon found herself once more under that huge sign with its pointing hand. But arrived there, she stood for a few moments hesitating. If all she had heard about Blane Lennox was true then he was rather an ogre—not that that mattered any more, she told herself.
Her interview with Jeremy that morning had done more than open her eyes to his character. It had altered her whole attitude towards men. In future they would add a certain steeliness in her manner, she told herself. From now on she would stand up for her rights and never again give her heart wholly and unreservedly to any man.
She pushed open the gates and walked along the drive. And as she did so she was rehearsing the coming interview. It would be fatal to reveal how inexperienced she was where horses were concerned. It was clear that where Blane Lennox was concerned it did not do to be apologetic and diffident. With this arrogant man a strong, self-confident line would be necessary. To underrate herself would be a great mistake. She would have to speak up for herself if she wanted to secure this job.
She had just come to this decision as she reached the stables. She stopped a tall thin boy who was crossing the yard with a bucket of water in each hand and asked him where she could find Mr. Lennox.
‘Tack room,’ he replied shortly, jerking his head in the direction of what had formerly been the big double garage of Birchfields.
Briony went forward and stood just inside the doorway. How changed it was! The walls were whitewashed. On hooks hung bridles and various pieces of harness. On the stove a bucket of mash was heating. A man stood with his back to her speaking to the boy who had directed her to Amulree Cottage.
‘An improvement, but still not good enough!’ the man was saying. Swiftly he unfastened the buckles on the girth he was holding in his hand. ‘Every single piece of leather must be cleaned separately. And in future use more polish on the buckles. You’ll have to do better than this, you know, Johnny, if you want to stay on here.’
Some slight movement on Briony’s part, or perhaps the fact that Johnny glanced in her direction, brought to the man’s attention the fact that there was someone else present.
He swung around and Briony found herself transfixed by the gaze of a pair of extraordinary blue eyes: they were startlingly bright and penetrating against the deep tan of his skin. And what struck her immediately were the grim and deeply carved lines which marked his face. He was not handsome, she decided. His jaw seemed to jut forward, stiff and arrogant. Of medium height, he was well built, hard and sinewy. He wore a well-worn but beautifully cut hacking jacket. Immediately he gave the impression of a man who would demand instant obedience and who would expect life to conform to his wishes. And it crossed Briony’s mind that even if she had not heard so much about him she would have known instantly that this was Blane Lennox.
CHAPTER THREE
‘Yes? And who might you be?’ he enquired, the blue eyes raking her.
Instantly Briony gave up all hope of impressing him by pretending to a greater knowledge of horses than she possessed; she knew instinctively that such a course would prove fatal. Her carefully rehearsed speech fled from her mind. ‘I’ve come about—I mean, I heard in the village I’ve been told—’ To her annoyance she heard herself make stammering attempts to open the conversation.
With determination she threw her head back, drew a deep breath and began again. ‘If you’re looking for someone to assist in teaching children to ride I’d like to apply for the job.’
Well, at least, she thought, it was short and to the point—even if he did throw her out.
She heard Johnny draw in a little hissing breath as he glanced at her warningly, and for the first time she became aware that her manner was extraordinarily aggressive and defiant.
At the sound Blane Lennox had swung around. ‘Very well, Johnny, that will do. Off with you,’ he said.
With a look of relief Johnny scuttl
ed away.
Blane Lennox brushed aside a tin of saddle soap and various brushes and leaned against the rough table. ‘So that’s the latest rumour, is it?’ he remarked dryly. ‘I must admit it’s more innocuous than most of them. Perhaps if you’d heard some of the more lurid gossip you wouldn’t have had the nerve enough to venture here.’
Briony stared at him blankly. The interview was not being conducted at all upon the lines she had expected, and she felt at a complete disadvantage. There was something extraordinarily penetrating about the blue gaze, as if he could read her very mind, she thought uneasily. ‘I—I heard some talk about it in the village. Of course, if they’ve got it wrong ‘
He ignored this.
‘And what have you been doing until now?’ The raking glance went to her fingers, white and manicured. They must be a complete giveaway, she thought, and instinctively she put them behind her back.
‘Those are not the hands of someone used to working outdoors,’ he stated flatly.
No, there was no chance that she could possibly deceive this man, she told herself hopelessly.
‘I worked in a firm of accountants,’ she told him resignedly.
He raised his thick brows. ‘Ideal qualifications for a riding school!’
Her first impulse was to turn away, make a dignified retreat, but she swallowed her pride as she remembered that hideous interview with Jeremy. Anything was better than having to return home ignominiously. ‘I had a Shetland pony when I was a child,’ she began desperately, ‘and later on my father gave me a—’
‘So you can ride a Shetland pony—or could ride one when you were a child. But did you muck out, clean harness? What about grooming? I expect you did nothing but ride this animal while someone else did the dirty work!’
New Boss at Birchfields Page 3