by Sara Craven
Suddenly restive, she reached over to the fruit bowl, took an apple and bit into it. ‘I thought I might drive over to East Ledwick later,’ she went on casually. ‘Call in at that agency that used to find me work when I was on vacation.’
Her aunt turned from the sink, staring at her. ‘You said the other night that you were going to have a complete break for a while. Pursue other interests.’
Chloe shrugged. ‘That was the idea, but now I’ve started to wonder if I’ll find the other interests quite as interesting as I thought. The fact is I’m simply not used to being idle, and taking Lizbeth’s dog for a daily walk, however enjoyable, just isn’t going to do it for me.’ She smiled at her aunt. ‘After all, you don’t want me getting bored and impatient too.’
‘God forbid,’ said Aunt Libby devoutly. ‘But on the other hand, there’s surely no immediate need to go rushing off in all directions? If you want occupation, you could give me a hand with the Grange project. I’ve decided to start on the dining room next.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve never liked that wallpaper, it’s far too dark.’
‘On the other hand,’ Chloe suggested. ‘Might it not be better to leave a few things for Lloyd and his wife to decide for themselves?’
‘Lloyd and his wife?’ Mrs Jackson dried her hands. ‘What do you mean?’
Chloe dropped her apple core into the waste caddy. ‘Ian was saying something about them possibly buying the Grange.’
‘Was he really?’ Her aunt snorted. ‘Well that would entirely depend on their offer. Your uncle and I are looking to maximise an asset here, not oblige Ian and his friends.’
Chloe gasped. ‘Aunt Libby—you sound almost sharp.’
‘Do I?’ The older woman hesitated, smiling ruefully. ‘Maybe your return has pointed up just how big an upheaval this move is going to be, and I’m having belated qualms.’
‘Then don’t,’ Chloe ordained severely. ‘I think it will be wonderful for you both, and, to prove it, I’d be happy to lend a hand with the decorating.’
Even if it isn’t in the way I expected, she added silently, and suppressed a sigh.
She deliberately took Flare on a different route that morning, having no wish to encounter Darius again and have to endure any edged remarks he might make about the previous evening.
On the way back, she called into Sawley’s Garage to arrange for her petrol gauge to be fixed.
‘Heard you were back,’ Tom Sawley commented affably. ‘And a sight for sore eyes and no mistake, my dear.’ He opened the big ledger that was his version of a computer, ran a finger down the crowded page and nodded.
‘Tomorrow afternoon suit you? If I can’t fix that gauge, I reckon I can find a new one out the back.’
Chloe hid a smile. Here was something that hadn’t changed, she thought, Tom’s legendary ability to supply any kind of spare part for any kind of make and model of vehicle. If someone brought in a Model T Ford needing a new running board, he’d probably nod and say, ‘Got the very thing out the back.’
It must be like Aladdin’s cave out there, she thought as the bell above the office door tinkled to announce a new arrival. Giving a casual glance over her shoulder, she saw Lindsay Watson had come in, neat in a navy skirt and white blouse. Beside her, Flare got to her feet with a little whimper of welcome.
Chloe put a restraining hand on her head. ‘Sit, good girl.’ She smiled at Lindsay. ‘Hi, there. We were almost introduced last night. I’m Chloe Benson.’
The other flushed slightly. ‘Yes, so Mr Maynard said.’ Her voice was low and pleasant but held a note of constraint. ‘I’m Sir Gregory’s nurse, as I expect you also know.’
‘Well, yes.’ Chloe found the response curiously distancing, maybe deliberately so. Clearly the famous charm was not universally applied.
She turned back to Mr Sawley. ‘Thanks, Tom, tomorrow it is. I’ll drop the car off around two-ish.’
Heading for the door, she had to keep a tight hold on Flare who was eagerly pulling at her leash, trying to get to the newcomer, her tail wagging furiously.
‘I’m sorry about this,’ she said rather breathlessly. ‘I hope you don’t mind dogs.’
‘I haven’t had much to do with them,’ Lindsay Watson said, stepping back.
Now that, Chloe thought indignantly, really was a snub. Practising for the day when she became the new Lady Maynard, no doubt, but totally misjudging her performance.
Pity you never met your predecessor, she addressed Miss Watson silently as she left. Because she was the warmest, kindest woman.
‘While you,’ she told Flare, who was still looking back and whining at the closed office door, ‘are no judge of character.’
She felt an odd disappointment. She’d enjoyed the time she’d spent with Tanya, and having someone of her own age in Willowford to shop and socialise with occasionally would have been pleasant too. Yet it was clearly not to be.
Maybe Lindsay Watson was simply protecting her territory, Chloe thought, trying to be charitable, when, with Flare safely restored to her owner, she walked back to the Grange.
Perhaps she’d resented the threat of last night’s tête-à-tête with Darius being interrupted by other company, especially when it included another female.
Well, you’re way off track there, lady, she muttered under her breath. I made it clear that it wasn’t my idea. I’m not poaching on those preserves, even in my worst nightmare. If you can get him, you’re surely welcome to him.
And I won’t tell Aunt Libby that her idol has feet of clay.
The home-made cakes at the Tea Rooms were in a category all their own, Chloe told herself as she tried to finish the last few crumbs of her chosen coffee and walnut confection without actually scraping the pattern off the plate, with ‘spoiled for choice’ and ‘to die for’ being the phrases that came most readily to mind.
It was market day in East Ledwick and she and Aunt Libby had spent over two hours trawling the fabric stalls seeking curtain material for the newly decorated dining room.
But when Mrs Jackson decided that the design she’d seen at the first stall was the best of the bunch, Chloe had sagged visibly.
Her aunt had patted her shoulder. ‘Duty nobly done, dearest. Go and revive yourself with tea and major calories, and I’ll meet you by the War Memorial at four o’clock.’
Chloe had obeyed with a thankful heart.
Mrs Jackson was a perfectionist, so it had been a tough week, with layers of old paper to be removed, the plaster beneath restored to a smooth finish, and the paintwork scrubbed down with sugar soap. All of which had taken a mind-boggling amount of time.
But the finished effect of warm sand-coloured walls combined with the brilliant white of the ceiling and cornices made Chloe’s conviction that her pores would be permanently clogged with dust seem unimportant. It was a job well done, she realised with satisfaction.
And the new curtains, which the Jacksons would eventually take with them to their new home, were going to look magnificent too.
Work had proved a boon in other ways too, she thought as she drank the rest of her tea. It had given her the chance for some reflection, her relationship with Ian heading the list of potential topics.
She had somehow to overcome her disappointment with the way things had initially turned out between them. And, realistically, she had to shoulder much of the blame for it too.
She’d been hell-bent on earning big money in the short term, even though Ian had made it clear he didn’t share her views.
And he was right, she’d told herself soberly. My real focus should have been on the two of us. He saw that. Why the hell couldn’t I?
Instead I let the job absorb me so much that Willowford began to seem like a dream world. That I almost forgot there were real people living here who also needed my attention—and my presence.
I should have fought infinitely harder for my time off, concentrated more on maintaining my contact with my home rather than banking the Armstrongs’ bonuses for indulging their
never-ending demands.
If there was a problem, they threw money at it, and I let them. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Greedy too.
But now she had the chance to make amends. She’d seen Ian twice in the past week, each time for a quiet drink, deliberately ensuring that the atmosphere was more companionable than approaching any form of intimacy.
He hadn’t yet asked her back to the cottage, but she wasn’t pushing for it either.
Slow and steady, she thought. That’s what wins the race.
She reached for the bill, picked up her bag and headed for the cash desk. As she reached it, the street door opened and Lindsay Watson came in. She stood for a moment, her eyes restlessly scanning the busy room, then she saw Chloe and her face seemed to freeze.
What is her problem? Chloe asked herself, exasperated, as she put a tip in the saucer provided, and the rest of the change in her purse.
She forced herself to smile politely. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Watson. Looking for someone?’
‘Oh—no,’ the other girl returned quickly. ‘I just wanted some tea.’ She glanced round again. ‘I didn’t realise it would be so crowded.’
‘It usually is—especially on market day. But my table’s still free over in the corner.’
‘Thank you, but perhaps I won’t bother. I’m in rather a hurry.’ Her attempt at a smile appeared an even greater struggle than Chloe’s had been. ‘Well—goodbye.’
She whisked out, and by the time Chloe reached the street, she was nowhere to be seen.
I hope she’s a damned good nurse, Chloe muttered under her breath, because in other respects, she’s seriously weird.
She was too early for her rendezvous with her aunt, and had no shopping of her own, so she decided to spend the time usefully by calling in at the employment agency.
The manager, however, was polite but brisk. ‘We have no vacancies in your particular field at the moment, Miss Benson. People locally are tending to cut back on their higher paid domestic staff because of the economic situation.’
She paused. ‘It’s a pity you gave up your last position without checking the situation first, and I have to say it might be easier for you to find permanent work in London.’
Which was just what she didn’t want to hear, Chloe thought as she emerged, dispirited, into the sunshine.
‘Back on the job market, Miss Benson? I’m astonished.’
An all-too-familiar mocking drawl stopped her dead in her tracks. She took a deep breath and turned to see Darius Maynard coming out of the neighbouring ironmongery wearing the close-fitting denim jeans and matching shirt which seemed to have become his uniform these days.
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. ‘I fail to see why. Some of us have to toil for our crusts, Mr Maynard,’ she retorted. ‘We don’t all have an income for life dropped into our laps.’
His brows lifted. ‘I thought matrimony was about to supply that for you.’
‘Then you were wrong,’ she told him curtly. ‘It doesn’t work like that any more.’
‘Excuse me if I don’t offer my sympathy, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Because, believe it or not, I too earn my keep, and have done so for some considerable time.’
‘By gambling, I suppose,’ Chloe said scornfully. ‘As in the old days.’ And shut her mind, shuddering inwardly, to the memory of those rumours about illegal dog fights.
‘In various ways,’ he returned, apparently unperturbed. ‘For a while, I worked as a stockman in Australia. I’ve also helped to train racehorses in Kentucky, and latterly I’ve been running a vineyard in the Dordogne. All perfectly respectable occupations even by your unflinching standards,’ he added, the green eyes a challenge. ‘Would you like a copy of my CV?’
He paused, and gave a sharp sigh of irritation. ‘Or alternatively shall we stop bitching at each other in this ludicrous way and remember that we used to call each other by our given names? That at one time we were something like friends?’
She felt an odd stillness descend, as if the grumble of the passing traffic and the noise from the market had suddenly faded to a great distance. As if she was entangled in some web which would not allow her to move. To walk away as she wished to do. As she knew she must.
Instead of standing there, as if she was frozen to the spot, looking back at him …
Somewhere a vehicle backfired with a noise like a pistol shot, and with that the world returned. Including her power of speech.
‘Were we?’ she demanded tautly. ‘I really don’t remember.’
He stared at her, his eyes narrowing, then shrugged. He said expressionlessly, ‘As you wish.’ He paused again. ‘I note you haven’t been up to the stables as I suggested. Am I to take it that your dislike of me is so fixed that you even refuse to exercise my horse?’
She said, ‘I’ve been busy, helping my aunt. Why don’t you ask your girlfriend—the one you were with the other night?’
He said flatly, ‘Because she’s at the Hall to look after my father.’
‘Not this afternoon. A little while ago she was looking for you at the Tea Rooms.’
‘Was she?’ He looked past her, frowning a little. ‘Anyway, I don’t think she rides,’ he added abruptly. ‘Or certainly not well enough to handle Orion.’
‘And I do?’
He sighed. ‘You know it, Chloe. Don’t play games. And I’ll make a deal with you. Warn me in advance when you’re coming and I’ll make sure I’m at the other end of the estate. How about that?’
He looked at her rigid expression and his mouth tightened. ‘Will you at least think about it?’
‘Yes,’ she said, staring at the pavement. ‘I—I’ll think about it.’
But would she? Chloe wondered as she walked back towards the War Memorial. She’d thought about a great deal over the past days as she’d scraped, peeled, filled and painted, but Darius Maynard and the situation at the Hall had not been on her chosen list of subjects. On the contrary, she’d been careful to exclude both of them.
They did not concern her or the life she had planned for herself. They never had. So she shouldn’t consider even the most marginal of involvement.
That, she told herself, would be a serious error of judgement.
The box marked ‘Clothing’ was stacked on top of the others in the attic. Instantly accessible, Chloe thought wryly as she lifted it down. As if it was waiting for me.
The weight alone told her what it contained—her jodhpurs, boots and hard hat, along with a shirt and a couple of elderly sweaters. None of it worn for years. Yet still retained for no good reason.
In fact she’d hoped against hope that the whole lot might also have been consigned to a charity shop or jumble sale by now as part of the de-clutter, but no such luck.
No sign of moths in anything either—not on Aunt Libby’s watch.
She unfolded the jodhpurs and studied them critically. They probably won’t fit me, she thought. Not after this length of time. After all, I’m hardly some slip of a girl any more.
And I’ve no intention of splurging on new kit—so, the problem, which has no actual right to be a problem anyway, could be solved.
But the jodhpurs still hugged her slim hips and long legs as if they loved them. No valid excuse there then, she thought, biting her lip.
The blue shirt, however, strained across the increased fullness of her breasts, and she stared at her reflection with suddenly shadowed eyes, tracing the mother-of-pearl buttons with a fingertip.
This, she told herself, I should definitely not have kept.
Using both hands, she dragged open the front with one swift, almost violent gesture, tearing the buttons from the fabric and rendering the shirt completely unwearable, then dropped it into the waste basket.
And that, she whispered to herself, is the end of that.
‘You took your time,’ said Arthur. ‘Been expecting you all week.’
He led Orion, tacked up and with his ears pricked in anticipation, out of his box and into the yard.
�
��And Mr Darius said to let you know he was over to Warne Cross this morning to look at the new plantation.’ He sent Chloe a sideways look. ‘Thinking of riding over there, was you?’
‘No.’ Chloe swung herself up into the saddle and waited while Arthur adjusted her stirrups. ‘I thought I’d hack him round the park for a while, then take him up onto the hill.’
‘He’ll carry you right wherever you go and that’s a fact.’ Arthur ran an affectionate hand over the gelding’s neck. ‘Mr Darius got him in France. Had him shipped over. Great lad, aren’t you? Plenty of spirit, but good-hearted with it.’
He sniffed. ‘Unlike that other contrary devil in there,’ he added, jerking his head towards the stable. ‘God knows why Mr Andrew ever bought ‘un. Could’ve broken his neck on him any day of the week. Didn’t need to go climbing no mountain.’
‘But Andrew was a good rider.’ Chloe soothed Orion who had begun to sidle a little, impatient to be off.
‘Fair,’ Arthur said grudgingly. ‘Not a patch on his brother. Took too many damned risks. Told him so, many a time, but made no damned difference.’
He paused. ‘But I’m glad to see you round here again, Chloe gal. Good seat you always had and nice steady hands. You and this boy will get on fine, I reckon.’
‘Or he’ll come home without me,’ Chloe sent him a grin, then turned Orion towards the archway.
But that was never going to happen. Orion attempted to take a few serious liberties in their early acquaintance, but soon realised the girl on his back would not allow such behaviour and decided to settle for mutual enjoyment instead.
And when they reached the long, straight stretch on top of the hill and Chloe gave him his head at last, she could have shouted her exhilaration to the skies as Orion flew along.
She cantered him slowly home, the pair of them in total amity. She’d been out for considerably longer than she’d planned and, as she walked him back under the archway, she expected to find Arthur waiting for them and began to frame an apology, but the yard was empty.
Not that it mattered, she thought. In the old days, she’d have done her own unsaddling and seen to her horse’s comfort as a matter of course. She could do the same now.