Change of Season

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘If it weren’t for my ankle, I’d have my nose pressed against the glass.’

  ‘It is rather jolly.’ He unwound his long legs and went to lift the framed embroidery off the wall, setting it down on her lap. ‘Here. Take your time.’ He took another biscuit and leant back in his armchair, smiling as he realised she’d forgotten him completely.

  ‘This is a very fine example of raised stumpwork,’ she said at last. ‘About 1670, I’d guess, though there isn’t a date on it. The last corner, after her name, is unfinished. What a pity! Did she die? Do you know who this Araminta was?’

  ‘One of our most loved ancestors. She lived all through the Civil War, kept the Roundheads from destroying the place, then died suddenly at the age of fifty-two from a fever. My sister found this in an old chest in the attic, together with Araminta’s diary and account books. We had the embroidery framed because we both love it.’

  ‘No wonder. It’s a particularly clever use of materials and look how realistic the figures are. And the animals. You could almost stroke that little dog. I’ve seen photos of pieces like this in books, but this is the first time I’ve seen one face-to-face.’

  ‘You sound very knowledgeable.’

  She shrugged. ‘Well, I do a bit of embroidery myself.’

  ‘This sort?’

  ‘Mm-hmm.’

  ‘You’ve done actual stumpwork pictures?’

  She couldn’t help smiling at his eager tone. ‘Oh, yes. I’ve got an attic full of them at home in Australia. And I’ve brought one or two with me – just to make the rented place a bit more homelike.’

  ‘No room left on the walls at home, eh?’

  She blushed and fiddled with the edge of the frame. ‘Well, not exactly. Such things are not to everyone’s taste.’

  He looked at her, eyes narrowed. Who had criticised her work and made her so apologetic about it? The damned husband again, probably. ‘We have a colour photo of this one, for insurance purposes. Would you like me to have a copy of it made for you?’ He watched her face light up. She was lovely when she smiled.

  ‘Oh, would you really? I’d love that. And – and if I could come back with the photo and make notes on the stitches she used. She was a very skilled needlewoman, your Araminta.’

  ‘Of course you can. I’ll show you round the rest of the place too, if you like, when your ankle’s better. But for the moment, I think we ought to get you to a doctor. That ankle doesn’t seem to have gone down at all.’ He took the picture from her and brought back the crutches. ‘Just let me adjust these.’

  She looked down at her leg, the light fading from her face. ‘It is rather swollen, isn’t it?’ It was throbbing. So was her head. How far could she have crawled if he hadn’t found her? The thought made her shiver. There was no one to miss her or come looking for her. She could have been stuck overnight and died of exposure out there in the woods.

  He helped her up and measured the crutches against her. ‘That’s better. Now, I think you should see old Doc Barnes. Is there someone you want to call to pick you up?’

  Her voice was toneless. ‘No, there isn’t anyone. My daughters are in Australia and my husband will be in Hong Kong for another few weeks.’ And she had no idea where Tim was, any more than he knew she was in England.

  ‘Then I’ll drive you myself, wait till you’ve seen Doc and take you home afterwards.’

  ‘I couldn’t put you to all that trouble. If you’ll just call a taxi, I’ll get out of your way. Though I’d appreciate it if I could borrow the crutches.’

  ‘It’s no trouble. Honestly. I’ll pop in to see Harry while I’m in the village.’

  ‘Harry?’

  ‘My sister. Short for Harriet, which she hates. She’s a widow – not the merry sort, still grieving. Lung cancer, it was. Went on rather a long time and Phil was a decent chap, didn’t deserve to die like that.’ He took a deep breath and shook off those memories. ‘You stay there and I’ll bring the car round the front.’

  The doctor examined the ankle, then strapped it up tightly, speaking in curt phrases as if he didn’t have time for whole sentences. ‘Nothing broken. Bad sprain. Keep off your feet for a few days and you’ll be all right.’

  Rosalind stared at him in dismay. ‘But I can’t!’

  ‘Can’t what?’ He’d already opened the door and gestured to Jonathon, who was sitting outside, to come and help her out.

  ‘Can’t stay off my feet. There’s only me. What am I going to do?’

  Jonathon tried not to say it, but the words were out before he could stop them. ‘Harry and I will look after you.’

  She turned to him, ‘But I can’t ask you to – we’d never even met until today—’

  He shrugged. ‘We’re blocking the doorway. Come on. We’ll discuss it on the way to Harry’s.’

  People were staring at them, so she tucked the crutches under her arms and swung painfully and slowly after him. The receptionist wanted her to sign some papers and by the time she got to the car, she felt as if her armpits were on fire.

  When he climbed in beside her, she said faintly, ‘I think I’d rather go straight home, if you don’t mind.’

  He looked sideways at her as he started the car. Hell, she was as pale as a ghost. ‘All right. I’ll phone Harry and ask her to come over to your house for a council of war, if that’s all right with you. She’ll find a way to help you.’

  ‘You’re being so kind, and to a complete stranger.’ Rosalind leant her head back against the car seat with a sigh.

  Jonathon drove as smoothly as he could, very conscious that she was in pain. There was something about her that touched him. She was so soft and vulnerable, with that swollen trembling mouth and those gentle blue eyes. And anyway, if you couldn’t help someone in trouble, you weren’t worth much as a human being. Why was she here alone in England when her home was in Australia? And why was that damned husband of hers living in Hong Kong if they’d come to spend the summer here? It didn’t make sense.

  What was he doing getting involved? That made even less sense. Jonathon smiled ruefully as he parked in front of her house and went to open the gates. Well, if nothing else she’d taken his mind from his own worries and made him feel pleasantly philanthropic. And actually, he liked her. He really did. Such a transparently honest face. There didn’t seem to be many people like that around nowadays.

  Harry would like her, too, he decided hastily, not letting himself linger on his own reaction to her, though it was the first time since his highly acrimonious divorce that he’d been attracted to a woman in any way at all. Which was probably a good sign. Well, it would have been if the woman in question hadn’t been married.

  He got her settled on the couch and then said, ‘Won’t be a jiffy. I’ll just phone Harry.’ He took out a mobile phone and vanished into the hall.

  Chapter Seven

  Harriet Larcombe was so intrigued by her brother’s call she agreed to join an immediate emergency conference about how they could help this Rosalind Stevenson cope for the next few days. As she put the phone down, she wondered what Jonathon was doing getting involved with a complete stranger? This female must be gorgeous to make him break his vow of abjuring all womankind except his sister.

  Only Rosalind wasn’t gorgeous, Harry saw instantly. She was a gentle person, the sort others often took advantage of. There was nothing striking about her as there had been about Isabel, who had so ravaged poor Jonathon’s life. Nor was this woman trying to attract a man, for she spoke openly of being married.

  So it was just Jonathon, who had a chivalrous soul, rescuing a damsel in distress. But perhaps this little adventure would stop him brooding so much on the past and put him into a more positive frame of mind about the future. He hadn’t been truly happy since the boys left and she knew he still missed them dreadfully, even two years after the divorce.

  ‘Why don’t you move in with me for a few days, Rosalind?’ she offered when she saw the two of them looking at her for guidance, as people oft
en did. ‘I’ve got plenty of room.’

  Rosalind shook her head, smiling at her visitor, who was a mere six foot tall compared to her brother’s six foot three, but equally thin and with the same bony, aristocratic face. ‘It’s very kind of you, but no. My family will want to contact me and – and my husband prefers to ring me, since he’s such a busy person.’

  ‘Why, if he’s in Hong Kong and you normally live in Australia, are you here in England on your own, if I may ask?’ Harry had been puzzling over this.

  ‘Paul thought he’d be settled in England for the summer on a special project, so he insisted – I mean, he asked me to come over here, too.’ Rosalind blushed at her slip, but neither of the others seemed to notice. ‘Then the man in charge of the Hong Kong office died suddenly, so Paul’s had to fill in until they can appoint a replacement.’

  ‘Bit rough on you.’ Harry decided they couldn’t be short of money if the husband had that sort of job and mentally revised her plans for helping Rosalind to include paid assistance that would benefit another of her protégées. ‘We could ask Alice Tuffin to come in each morning for an hour or two until you’re functioning again, if you like. Her services are very reasonable and she’ll do your shopping for you as well as your housework. I’ve always found her extremely reliable, if rather outspoken.’

  ‘What a lovely name! It sounds like something out of Beatrix Potter.’

  ‘It’s a local surname. She was a Bugg before she married and that’s a Dorset name, too.’ She shared a conspiratorial smile with her brother and confided, ‘The Buggs insist they’ve been in the area for much longer than the Destans and they may be right. There’s a reference to a Thomas Bugg in Araminta’s diary.’

  ‘He was put in the stocks several times for drunkenness,’ Jonathon added with a grin, ‘but we haven’t mentioned that to Alice.’

  Harry glanced at her watch. ‘Look, I have to go soon, but I can pop across here for the next afternoon or two to get your evening meal. The more you rest that ankle, the quicker you’ll be walking on it again.’

  Rosalind leant back with a sigh of relief. ‘I can’t believe how kind you’re both being to a complete stranger!’

  ‘Oh, it makes us feel nice and virtuous. Christian duty and all that. Now, do you want me to bring anything downstairs for you before I leave?’

  ‘My embroidery, if you wouldn’t mind.’ She had to explain what she was doing to Harry and Jonathon, who then inspected the embroideries hanging on the wall.

  ‘I say, you are good,’ Jonathon said instantly. ‘As good as Araminta.’

  Harry looked at the pieces, head on one side. ‘When you’ve recovered, I’m going to coax you into donating one of these to the fête. We raise funds once a year for the old folks’ centre.’

  ‘Oh, I’d be happy to donate one – if you think someone will want to buy it. They’re not to everyone’s taste.’

  She’d said that before, Jonathon thought, frowning. How could she possibly have doubts about such gorgeous work?

  They settled Rosalind in the living room with the gas fire bubbling away in the grate and her embroidery to hand.

  ‘I’ve got a committee meeting at three for the fête,’ Harry tossed over her shoulder as she strode out, ‘but that’ll be over by five at the latest. See you then.’

  Jonathon lingered for a moment or two longer.

  ‘You’ve both been so kind,’ Rosalind said.

  ‘Oh, Harry enjoys playing lady of the manor now that I haven’t a wife to fill that role.’

  ‘Is such a thing still needed?’

  ‘Well, not really, but she’s convinced everyone in the village that things would go to pot without her help, and she does do a lot of good for the village and for charity, so who am I to deny her these little pleasures? Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own?’

  ‘Yes, of course I will.’

  ‘Right-ho, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Rosalind listened to the front door close, then picked up her embroidery. But the weeping and fall had exhausted her. She put her bits and pieces down and let her head fall back on the soft pillow Harry had found for her.

  When she awoke the afternoon light was dimming gently outside and Harry had just returned to prepare her evening meal. ‘I’ll take the sandwiches you didn’t eat for my dogs, if you don’t mind. You won’t want them as well as an evening meal.’ She bustled round, making an omelette and salad, clearly not keen to linger, but she did stop to study the pictures on the wall again. ‘These are truly lovely. Are you sure you can bear to part with one for our fête?’

  ‘Oh yes. I’ve got plenty of them at home. I won’t give you one of these because they’re my favourites, but I’ll send for one of the others.’

  ‘Well, we’d be very grateful.’ If it didn’t fetch too high a price, Harriet might even bid for it herself. She didn’t know why those embroideries attracted her, but they did. Each seemed to tell a story, as well as being a work of art.

  It occurred to Rosalind as she lay in bed that it had been a good day in a strange sort of way. The burst of weeping had been very cathartic and best of all, she’d made some friends here.

  And that embroidery at Destan Hall was glorious, simply glorious. Fancy getting the chance to study a rare old piece like that! She was looking forward to going round the house, too, when she was better. Who knew what other treasures were hidden away there?

  Yawning, she snuggled down, feeling better than she had since her arrival in England.

  The Hong Kong office was organised so efficiently that it was easy for Paul to keep things on an even keel with minimum input. This looked like being one of the easiest assignments he’d ever had, boring even.

  ‘What have you got planned for tomorrow?’ he asked Liz that evening as they ate dinner together. If it was a coach tour, he wasn’t going to get involved. He was not the sort to be driven round in a herd of sheep-like tourists and told what to look at.

  ‘I thought I’d wander round the shops, stopping for a coffee or a meal, you know the sort of thing. Why?’ She hoped he had a better suggestion because she was finding it hard to fill the days, couldn’t afford to buy anything else and was sick to death of coach tours. All day she’d been looking forward to seeing Paul and having someone to talk to.

  He smiled at her. ‘I’m at a loose end too. We could catch the Star Ferry over to Kowloon and then wander round the place together, if you want.’

  ‘Are you sure you can spare the time? I thought you were here because of an emergency?’

  ‘Well, it turned out that my late colleague had good staff and ran things efficiently. So long as I go into the office each day at some stage, I can easily take time off. It’s not part of my brief to interfere with something that’s running well. The chairman trusts me absolutely to judge that sort of thing.’

  He glanced sideways at her. ‘If you want some company, that is? You said you had another week here. But perhaps you’ve made other plans?’

  She stared at him across the dinner table. She almost asked why he was suddenly seeking her out, when they’d been disagreeing about everything under the sun for years, but bit back the words. She’d always enjoyed the sparring, now she came to think of it, been exhilarated by it. Perhaps he’d felt the same.

  She was glad he hadn’t taken her dancing again tonight, though. His lean, muscular body pressed closely against hers had affected her far too much. He really was a splendid specimen of manhood. That hadn’t occurred to her before, but it did now – rather too much for her peace of mind.

  If she hadn’t had such a big row with Bill, made such a point of getting away to think about where their marriage was going, she’d have returned to Australia early and avoided temptation altogether, but she’d shocked Bill rigid and wanted him to stay shocked. Why the hell had she booked such a long holiday in one place, though?

  Paul reached out and brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen over her forehead, a small, intimate gesture that made a s
hiver of awareness run through her. ‘You have lovely hair, Liz. Always so dark and glossy. And no grey in sight.’

  The shiver did another lap of her body and settled in her belly. For a moment she couldn’t breathe.

  ‘Shall we not share a few days?’ he asked.

  Did she take that at face value, or was he offering her more? She looked sideways at him and he smiled, a lazy, sexy smile. He was offering more, definitely. For a long moment she hesitated, tempted, so very tempted, but trying to think of Rosalind. Then she sighed and gave in to the urges that had been humming through her all evening. ‘Why not? I’d really welcome the company of a close friend.’

  He raised her hand and pressed a gentle kiss into the palm, a kiss which seared her skin.

  ‘Why not, indeed?’ he echoed, still holding her hand, eyes gleaming. ‘We’ll keep our encounter to ourselves, though, shall we? We don’t want to hurt other people.’

  She’d always wondered if Paul was faithful to his wife during those long absences and now she’d found out. Oh, Rosalind, I’m sorry, but I can’t resist this. After all, what her friend didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her and Liz could certainly trust Paul to keep quiet, just as she would herself. She would still tell Bill about the affair, of course, but not the name of the man.

  Oh, hell, she needed an affair for so many reasons, not just to get back at Bill, but to reaffirm that she was still an attractive woman. You had to wonder if there was something wrong with you when your husband kept being unfaithful.

  She smiled as Paul led the way out of the restaurant.

  From then on, neither of them mentioned their spouses.

  It took Rosalind a long time to wash and dress the morning after her accident, and she had to sit down on the bed afterwards for a rest. When she could face the ordeal, she eased herself slowly down the stairs on her backside, one tread at a time, then pushed herself upright on the crutches.