That Would Be a Fairy Tale

by Amanda Grange

  No. It was because of the way his eyes flashed when he smiled, and the way it made her feel. Why it should make her feel that way - why indeed it should make her feel anything - she did not know, but she did not want the feeling. It made matters too confusing.

  Mr Evington as a bad-mannered man, whom she disliked, she could cope with. Mr Evington who had a sense of the ridiculous and a lively sense of humour - attributes which, in normal circumstances, Cicely both enjoyed and shared - and whose eyes flashed wickedly when he smiled, was something else.

  To say nothing of the way he made her feel when he touched her. He seemed to have the power to turn her world upside down and she was not sure she liked the feeling. It made her feel vulnerable, out of control.

  ‘And then there is the inventory,’ he said, thrusting his hands deep in his trouser pockets. ‘I mean to catalogue the contents of the Manor,’ he explained. ‘As I bought it partly furnished I would like to know exactly what there is, in case anything goes missing or there is ever a fire, and to do so I need a full inventory. And who better than you to help me make one? You know the house and its contents better than anyone else - if you could put your dislike of me aside enough to come and work for me, that is.’

  She wavered even more. On the one hand, she thought the task of making an inventory of the Manor might be a sad one for her, as her beautiful family heirlooms belonged to her no more, but on the other hand she could not bear the thought of a stranger doing it. At least if she made the inventory she would be able to treat the house and its contents with the love and respect they deserved.

  ‘Well, Miss Haringay. Will you accept the post?’

  Cicely hesitated for a minute, but the job appealed to her and besides, without any qualifications or experience she knew that it was the only offer of employment she was likely to receive. ‘I . . . ’ she said. Before asking herself if she was being wise. But wise or not it was the only way forward. ‘I will.’

  ‘A truce, then?’ he asked, his eyes warming.

  He really had the most attractive eyes when he looked at her just so, she thought. And for some reason they sent shivers coursing through her entire body . . .

  ‘At least until you have told me what is expected of me as the owner of the Manor, and helped me to make an inventory of the contents?’ he continued.

  She took a deep breath and then nodded. ‘A truce.’

  He smiled and held out his hand for her to shake.

  Cicely quavered. She was forcibly reminded of the effect it had had on her when he had taken her hand at the Manor. It had set her pulse racing and filled her stomach with the strangest tinglings. And yet she could not see any way of avoiding it.

  She took a deep breath, and then put her hand into his.

  As his strong fingers close around her own she felt a surge of energy course through her, making her shiver from head to toe. It was a good thing she was wearing gloves, she thought with a gasp, for if he had closed his fingers round her bare hand the sensation would have been overwhelming.

  Hastily, she retrieved her hand. Or tried to. But he held onto it, his eyes locked onto her own.

  ‘When . . . ’ She swallowed. For some reason she had difficulty getting her words out. Her heart was beating rapidly, and her voice was little more than a breathless gasp. ‘When would you like me to start?’

  ‘On Monday, if that is convenient,’ he said. His eyes still held her own.

  It wasn’t just the way they flashed that attracted her. It was their dark depths that fascinated her.

  ‘Very well.’ She tried to withdraw her hand again, and this time he allowed her to do so. She took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘Until Monday, then.’

  She moved to go past him. For a minute he blocked her way. Then he moved aside and allowed her to walk out of the office.

  She was trembling from head to foot as she descended the stairs. She had just agreed to become Alex Evington’s secretary, and she had the alarming feeling that she had been foolish. How would she fare, alone with him at the Manor? Would she be able to concentrate on her duties?

  She gave herself a mental shake. She must. She needed the money. She would just have to curb her feelings for Mr Evington, whatever they might be, and concentrate on being an efficient secretary instead.

  And having made this resolution she reclaimed her bicycle and set off back to the Lodge.

  ‘You’ve taken a position as Mr Evington’s secretary?’ asked Alice in astonishment the following day as the two young women tidied the garden at the Lodge.

  ‘I have.’ Cicely pulled the dead heads from the roses and took them over to the small compost heap behind the house.

  ‘I didn’t know you were so short of money,’ said Alice, her astonishment giving way to a frown.

  ‘I didn’t want you to know,’ admitted Cicely. ‘In fact, I wasn’t going to tell you about my job. But as I will be at the Manor for three mornings every week from now on I felt I had to tell you. It would be just too difficult to keep thinking up excuses as to why I was never at home.’

  ‘I should think so, too,’ said Alice.

  ‘But I don’t want anyone else to know. Everyone thinks the sale of the Manor left me well provided for and I don’t want them to think any differently. I may not have much money but I still have my pride.’

  Alice nodded. ‘Your secret’s safe with me. And as I am the only one who visits you regularly in the mornings, no one else need suspect anything. Unless they see you at the Manor?’

  ‘It isn’t likely. And if they do, well, why shouldn’t I be there? With the Sunday school picnic coming up, and after it a variety of activities which involve the Manor, they will simply think I am talking Mr Evington into behaving as the owner of the Manor should.’

  ‘You must have softened towards him, then,’ said Alice as she began to weed the rose bed. ‘For you to take a job with him, I mean. A few days ago you could not even bear to hear his name mentioned.’ She sat back on her heels. ‘I think it’s a good thing. The village is too small a place for people to take a dislike to one another.’

  ‘I dislike Mr Evington as much as I ever did, and he feels the same way about me,’ said Cicely decidedly. ‘We have, however, discovered we need each other and we have decided to call a truce.’

  Alice gave her a sideways look.

  ‘There is no need to look like that,’ said Cicely vigorously. ‘When I say we have discovered we need each other I mean we need each others help. Mr Evington needs someone to show him the ropes at the Manor, and I need a job. Fortunately he thinks I need one because I am bored, rather than realising I need one so that I can earn some money. If he knew how straitened my circumstances are it would be just too mortifying. And so we have come to an arrangement which suits us both.’

  ‘You haven’t changed your mind about him now that you’ve come to know him a little?’ asked Alice.

  ‘No. In fact, quite the opposite. Granted, he has a certain charm -’ and the most wickedly attractive eyes, she thought, but did not say so - ‘but he is still out of place in Little Oakleigh.’

  ‘Well, his brashness is not to be wondered at,’ said Alice thoughtfully. ‘Mrs Sealyham has a cousin who has a friend who knows all about Mr Evington. He has only recently made his money by clever dealings in the city, but before that he was working as a stoker on board ships.’

  ‘A stoker?’ Cicely sat up and pushed a tendril of glossy hair away from her face.

  ‘So Mrs Sealyham’s cousin’s friend says,’ said Alice.

  ‘And if Mrs Sealyham’s cousin’s friend says it, it must be true,’ Cicely joked. ‘Still,’ she went on thoughtfully. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me. When we first met he said something rather odd. On offering to help me retrieve my bike from the duck pond I told him it would make him dirty, and he said, "I’ve been dirtier".’

  Cicely recalled his face as he had said it, and the trace of bitterness in his voice. If he had indeed worked as a stoker she could at last understand it. Was
that why he resented the landed classes? Because he had had to work so hard for everything he had? That was a part of it, perhaps. And yet, somehow, Cicely felt there was more to it. His dislike of the landed classes seemed more personal.

  ‘There you are then,’ said Alice. She paused, and then a minute later said, ‘So you haven’t changed your mind about Mr Evington at all? You still don’t like him?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  Alice sighed. ‘It’s a pity.’ Then said with a far-away look in her eyes, ‘I think he’s dreamy.’

  ‘Dreamy?’ Cicely sounded surprised.

  ‘Come on, Cicely, you can’t pretend he isn’t handsome. And his eyes have the most attractive way of flashing when he smiles . . . or hadn’t you noticed?’

  ‘No,’ said Cicely, digging in the flower bed with extra vigour. ‘I hadn’t.’

  And then she wondered why she had lied.

  Chapter Five

  ‘The Harvest Supper?’ asked Alex Evington, looking at the letter in his hand.

  ‘Yes,’ said Cicely, taking it as he passed it to her. ‘It’s usually held here.’

  It was Monday morning, and they were sitting in Mr Evington’s study, going through the mail. The summer sun was shining through the window, lighting up the piles of paper on his desk.

  ‘Gibson can give you some help with arranging it if you like,’ she continued. ‘He was the butler at the Manor for twenty years. He knows how these things are done.’

  ‘That would be very helpful,’ said Alex.

  ‘I will pencil it in the diary,’ said Cicely. ‘Then you can check the date with the rector before making the final arrangements.’

  Alex nodded, before taking up the next letter.

  ‘Christmas carolling,’ he said.

  ‘Goodness, they’re getting in early,’ said Cicely, taking the letter from him. ‘The carolling isn’t usually arranged until much later in the year, but it’s true the carol singers usually meet up at the Manor after they have been round the village. After singing a rousing selection of carols they are invited in for punch.’

  ‘We had better write back, then, and say it can go ahead,’ he said.

  ‘Miss Fotherington’s wedding breakfast,’ he said, picking up the next letter.

  ‘Miss Fotherington’s wedding breakfast?’ echoed Cicely in surprise.

  ‘Yes. Dear Mr Evington,’ said Alex, reading aloud, ‘As I’m sure you’re aware it has always been the custom for the owner of the Manor to provide the wedding breakfast for any young lady who marries within the parish. The Haringays have always upheld this tradition, and I am sure -’

  ‘Of all the cheek!’ exclaimed Cicely, taking the letter out of his hand. ‘The custom for the owner of the Manor to provide the wedding breakfast indeed!’

  ‘Does that mean it isn’t?’ he asked with a wry smile.

  ‘It most certainly is not! Mrs Fotherington is the most penny-pinching woman you could ever hope to meet - or perhaps I should say, the most penny-pinching woman you could ever hope not to meet - but this is outrageous, even for her. You will not answer this letter. I will answer it for you,’ said Cicely firmly. ‘The Haringays always upheld this tradition! The woman takes my breath away!’

  ‘It’s a good thing I hired you,’ he laughed. ‘No one else would have been able to tell me that Mrs Fotherington is a fraud.’

  ‘A sharp set-down is what she needs,’ said Cicely.

  ‘Then we will give her one. Well, that is all the mail for today. But now, there is something else I need your help with. I’ve been looking for a key for the old stable block but I can’t find one. If it’s suitable, I mean to keep my Daimler there.’

  ‘The key’s in the garden room, in the top drawer of the bureau,’ she said. ‘But I’m not sure about using it for your motor car - although, of course, you must use it as you see fit,’ she said, remembering with a sudden pang that she was no longer the owner of the Manor.

  ‘Oh. And why is that? Is it already full?’

  Cicely nodded. ‘It houses my father’s collection.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Your father kept his collection in the stables?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘As the doors have been locked ever since I arrived, I suppose he did not collect horses?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’ She smiled fondly as she remembered her father. ‘Not horses. My father collected bone-shaking machines.’

  ‘Bone-shak— you mean he collected bicycles?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her smile brightened. ‘My father loved bicycles. He was fascinated by their workings and belonged to an inventors’ club whose sole purpose was to devise more of the machines. He sat me on one before I could walk and I loved it. I have been riding ever since.’ Her smile faded. ‘But they will be of no interest to you,’ she remarked, thinking that Mr Evington would want to dispose of the rickety machines in order to make room for his car.

  ‘On the contrary. I found an abandoned bicycle when I was a boy. I spent all my free time riding it. I’ll look forward to seeing your father’s collection.’

  ‘It really needs cataloguing,’ said Cicely, her interest awakened. ‘My father intended to open a museum, so that when people came to visit the Manor they could see the various machines in his possession and chart the history of the bicycle.’

  ‘I think that’s an excellent idea. When we have finished on the inventory of the house, we could move on to the bone-shakers. In fact, I suggest we go out and take a look at them now.’

  ‘Oh, yes!’

  It did not take Alex long to find the key, and before long the two of them were walking round the Manor and heading towards the old stables which lay behind it

  ‘I just hope I picked up the right one,’ he said as they approached the stables.

  He fit the key in the lock and turned it. The stable door swung wide.

  ‘Shall we?’

  He stood aside to let her pass, and Cicely went into the stable. It was cool and dark. There was a slightly musty background scent, but the overwhelming smell was of hay.

  ‘It really should be cleared out,’ said Cicely, looking at the soft piles of dried grass as her eyes accustomed themselves to the dim light. Here and there, pieces of dried clover could be seen sticking out of the mounds, adding to the sweet smell.

  Alex nodded absently, but his attention was on the bone-shakers and not on the hay.

  ‘It’s a treasure house,’ he said appreciatively, as his eyes too accustomed themselves to the dim light.

  Cicely was gratified at his interest. ‘Do you really think so?’

  He nodded. ‘I do.’

  Arranged lovingly in the stable were bicycles of every size and description. Some of the contraptions had one wheel, others had two or three. Some of them had wheels of the same size, and others had wheels of startlingly different sizes, most notable of which was a magnificent penny-farthing machine.

  ‘It must have taken your father a lifetime to assemble his collection,’ said Alex, walking amongst the machines and looking them over.

  ‘It did,’ said Cicely. ‘He began collecting them at an early age.’

  ‘Do they work?’ Alex stopped beside an odd-looking contraption.

  ‘Oh, yes. My father rode them regularly.’

  ‘How on earth do you ride this one?’ he asked, regarding a huge ball-like wheel, some six feet in diameter, that was stored at the back of the barn. It was made of two halves which were joined round the circumference but ballooned out in the centre to provide room for a seat in between.