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The Tender Glory

Page 18

by Jean S. MacLeod


  “To prove I loved you?” She smiled gently, tracing the lines on his forehead with a gentle finger. “I can still have my music, Huntley, even though I never make a career of it.”

  His arms tightened about her.

  “You’re different,” he said roughly. “I suppose I realised that, too, when I first met you—the day I came to Craigie Hill while you were wrestling with the stove! There was a smudge on your forehead and your hair was awry and you were angry. You didn’t appreciate me any more than I appreciated you.”

  “I couldn’t understand you, living up there at Sterne the way you did,” she confessed.

  “Sterne was part of my protective armour,” he answered slowly. “I couldn’t afford to be hurt a second time. I lived up there like a hermit, I suppose, playing Leone’s music to remind me of a woman’s perfidy. Leone’s whole life was a treachery of pretence. She was incapable of love or loyalty. That’s why I tried to stop Robin following her to New York. She didn’t want him or any man, but when she was bored she was prepared to play at love.”

  She reached up to kiss his cheek.

  “I don’t want to talk about Leone,” she whispered. “I can feel sorry for her now.”

  “She almost wrecked all our lives,” he said harshly. “But for you, Craigie Hill would have gone, too.”

  “You can’t imagine how bitter I felt about having to come,” she confessed. “I thought my world—my happy, successful, lovely world—had crashed about my ears.”

  He turned her to face the light.

  “You’re sure, Alison?” he asked. “You’re not making a mistake?”

  “I’ve known for a long, long time.” Her eyes were steady on his. “But I never dreamed you would love me. I never thought life could be as perfect as this.”

  They sat for a long time in the firelight, happy just to be together, not speaking very much, their fingers entwined in a warm, understanding grasp. Huntley seemed content. All the disillusionment and pain he had suffered at Leone’s hands was draining away, like an ebbing tide, and a whole new world of hope and fulfilment was taking its place.

  By the time Tessa and Robin arrived they were ready to tell them their news. Alison changed into the dry clothes Robin had brought from Craigie Hill and when she returned to the sitting-room Tessa was standing with her arm linked in Huntley’s without embarrassment.

  “Calders looks different,” she said. “It’s so full of happiness now. What a lot of mistakes we nearly made!”

  “So long as we corrected them in time.” Huntley smiled down at her with genuine affection.

  “When are you two planning to be married?” Tessa glanced at Robin. Her eyes were shining, deep and dark and lustrous.

  “That might depend on you.” Robin turned to Huntley. “We’d like to arrange things for the spring.”

  “How do you think your mother will feel?” Huntley asked, putting an arm about Alison’s shoulders. “It’s rather a tall order, two wedding in three months.”

  “She’ll love it,” Alison told him without hesitation. “She’ll be well enough by the spring to cope with us all!” Robin came to stand beside them, drawing Tessa with him.

  “All things work out for good,” he misquoted, “even for the most undeserving!”

  Alison knew how serious he was underneath the surface cynicism, how nearly he had spoiled his life by not coming home. She put her arm about him and they stood, a smiling, happy quartet, looking into the fire, seeing in its warm glow all the brightness and hope for the future which they cherished in their individual hearts.

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