A Connoisseur of Beauty

by Coleridge, Daphne

  And somehow that was how the evening unfolded; with Amy getting the opportunity to take in details of groups like a series of tableaux, and circling first closer to Hunter, then further away, then so close that their eyes kept meeting although they were engaged in different conversations. Amy was introduced to prominent members of the art world including renowned academics alongside the brightest talents she had previously only read about. She caught sight of at least one model she recognised from the pages of magazines, long limbed and lovely. More interesting to her, however, was the man she immediately recognised at Hunter’s brother, Cole. After all, no two men could otherwise be so alike, although it was the differences between them that chiefly intrigued her. Cole was a narrower version of his younger brother, both facially and physically. Whilst not unattractive, he was less impressive in stature and also lacking in Hunter’s intense physical presence. However, the individual who attracted ever greater scrutiny, both from Amy and others in the company, was the woman accompanying Cole. She was, Amy immediately thought, the most spectacularly beautiful woman she had ever laid eyes upon. Tall, slim but curvaceous, her luscious figure displayed to the fullest of advantage in an emerald green dress with only enough bodice to preserve the decencies, she had tumbling auburn hair and eyes so green that Amy wondered if she was wearing contact lenses. Observing the couple, Amy noticed how frequently Cole put an instinctively possessive hand out, now brushing her elbow, now placing his hand briefly against her back. Perhaps these unconscious, proprietorial movements were related to the fact that, however ravishing she looked in her revealing dress, not only did the woman reveal the most stunning décolletage, but also the fact she was a good few months pregnant.

  And then, at last, Hunter was by her side, ready to whisper a few conspiratorial words to her. “You are the loveliest woman in the room. Will you promise to dance with me?” His grey eyes were suddenly filled with a warmth that seemed to encompass her.

  “Of course.”

  “At midnight. No excuses. And no slipping away shedding only a glass slipper!”

  Amy laughed. “I promise.”

  “Have you spoken to Cole?” There was a tinge of anxiety in his eyes.

  “No. But who is the lady he is with? She is lovely.” As Amy said this the strangest of looks clouded Hunter’s eyes. Was it embarrassment? Nervousness?

  “Loretta? Yes, she does look beautiful.” Again, that strange closed look. But before they could talk any more, Hunter was swept away by a ruddy faced man who seized his arm and proceeded to talk to him loudly and exclusively.

  After they had eaten there was a fireworks display. The threatening rain had held off and even Amy gasped and clapped as volleys of rockets lit the sky with starbursts and showers of green and gold sparkles. She was so swept up by the excitement and with the pleasure of anticipating her dance with Hunter – and hopefully a few more intimate moments after – that she felt the happiest she had in a long time. She wandered back in with everyone else as the fireworks ended, wondering if she could chance a second glass of Champagne. She glanced around, but was intercepted by Cole Lewis.

  “Another glass of Champagne? My brother supplies the best,” he said. Amy nodded her thanks. Cole returned promptly. He had brought her Champagne, but she noticed that he was drinking whisky. “Quite a spread. Hunter’s quite the Lord of the Manor. But I gather that you are no stranger to this house.” Amy nodded mutely. There was something brittle and hostile in his tone that made her uneasy. He did not give the impression of being drunk but she could somehow tell that he had drunk quite enough to make a normal man inebriated.

  “Maybe you fancy being Lady of the Manor again? That would provide an interesting twist. Think you can pull it off?”

  There was no suitable reply to this, so Amy said nothing. Obviously her family and her past had been widely talked of. She wished she hadn’t come. For some reason she glanced around for Hunter as if in hope that he would come and rescue her from this embarrassing encounter. As it happened he was standing not far away, apparently deep in conversation with Loretta. With a strange lurch in her stomach she noticed that Loretta had linked her arm through Hunter’s.

  “Ah, yes, the beautiful Loretta. She’s a scheming witch really, can you tell? But what man wouldn’t forgive a woman of such beauty. And Hunter’s is accustomed to acquiring objects of beauty. It’s how he made his personal fortune, although he’s going to inherit another one. Did you know that? I’ve got to play Esau to his Jacob. But like Jacob, he’s not satisfied with stealing my birthright. He wants more. Do I sound bitter? Actually I love my little brother. Can you tell?”

  Still Amy was mute. She wasn’t sure what she was being told, but she felt deeply uncomfortable. Again she glanced towards Hunter, and this time she saw that his eyes were fixed on her and Cole. Loretta was still talking animatedly to him, but he suddenly took her elbow and steered her towards Cole and Amy. Suddenly Loretta’s eyes were on them too, shrewdly assessing them. She stopped addressing Hunter and smiled sweetly at them all.

  “Hunter and I were just discussing how we will do up this old place, weren’t we?” said Loretta brightly. “It’s got promise. Of course the place has been neglected. I gather the old man who owned it was a drunkard and a bankrupt. Sad really, but I know Hunter is the one to really bring the best out of the place.”

  Although her facts were a bit muddled – Amy’s father had sold the house as a young man and James Wilson, whose death had put it on the market, had been sober and solvent – Amy knew that the insult had been intended for her father and that Loretta knew quite well who she was and what her association was with the house.

  “Actually we were debating the matter,” Hunter responded diplomatically. Amy noticed that a mask had come down and he was detached from the moment – carrying it off as best he could, his own feelings as absent as was the usual light from his eyes. “I’m more inclined to appreciate the place as it is. Cole, have you seen the pictures in the gallery upstairs? I know you have quite as good an eye for fine art as I do, when it comes to it. Shall we?” He ushered them up the oak staircase talking to Cole as they went. Amy knew he was trying to defuse some situation, but she hardly cared. She already knew from the way the Loretta clung to Hunter’s arm that they were an item. And that must mean the child she carried was his. Anger was already bubbling up under the hammer blow of hurt she felt. He had allowed her to believe that there was the possibility of something between them. What had he been playing at?

  “And this is a sketch by Turner,” he was saying, “not his best work, but it catches something of his transition from traditional to a more impressionist style.”

  “You want to move this one down to the entrance hall,” Cole replied, looking at a still life of the Dutch school. “It’s just the thing to catch the eye as people enter.”

  “Yes,” replied Hunter thoughtfully, “I believe you are right. And it is a little out of keeping with all the portraits.” And despite all the discomfort of the moment Amy saw for a second the real rapport there was between the brothers.

  “Well I think they are all gloomy,” insisted Loretta. “And why do we want paintings of someone else’s tedious ancestors? This should go.” And, inevitably, they were up against the portrait of Elizabeth Montford. With Amy standing there in the grey dress the likeness could hardly have been more striking. Glancing at Hunter, Amy realised that he had forgotten the implications of this painting when he had tried to divert them by bringing them up here. But with his eyes still clouded and in a voice which expressed very little emotion he said, decisively,

  “No. That one stays. She is, without question, the loveliest woman I have ever seen.”

  Somehow they dispersed again and Amy found herself alone and reached, uncharacteristically, for a third glass of wine. It was now raining outside and, hurt, bewildered, insulted and confused, she would have been happy to run out into the cleansing rain and all the way home. But she had promised to be there at midnight to dance with Hunt
er. Not that she had any desire to any more. It would be a cold, empty gesture, but somehow she had to carry it through. She would unravel her feelings tomorrow. But tonight, she would hold her head high and have that dance even if it killed any glimmer of warmth and sensibility in her. And as she walked across the room to the dance floor to make that rendezvous, she caught sight of herself in a mirror. She looked starkly, hauntingly, beautiful, but frostier than a winter that expected no spring and harder than ice that would never feel a touch of warmth to thaw it.

  ***

  Chapter Four

  The rain that had arrived on the night of the ball persisted for the following week. Amy couldn’t have cared less – somehow the grey weather suited her mood. In fact she was content to tramp through the woods in raincoat and hat and try to unravel the feelings and thoughts that fought within her in the hope of finally burying them and moving on with her life. What she couldn’t quite quash were the memories which kept floating uninvited into the front of her mind of moments when Hunter had seemed to show signs of interest – even passion toward her. And even at the last, his statement about the painting of Elizabeth Montford could have been interpreted as a declaration of his feelings about her. And yet it now seemed clear to her that he was already deeply embroiled in a relationship with another woman. Even if his feeling for her had been genuine it was disingenuous of him, to say the least, to lead her on when he was committed elsewhere. Or had it just been a bit of a game on the side? But what had he meant when he said that things were not what they seemed? Was there an explanation which would make the fact that he hadn’t mentioned the existence of a pregnant girlfriend acceptable to her in some way – but how could there be? Amy’s thoughts went round and round in her head day and night until she began to feel quite ill and knew that she had to get a grip on herself.

  On the third day she walked across the fern-covered hillside just above Montford Village. Despite the soft rain, the air was warm and pleasant. The ferns carried their own refreshing fragrance. She could see below that the guests at Wolfston Hall had finally started to depart. She didn’t know whether she hoped Hunter was leaving with them or not. But perhaps Loretta was staying too, ready to oversee those changes to the Elizabethan house which she had discussed with Hunter. Amy turned her back abruptly on the view and breathed in the cleansing air. Well, she had almost made up her mind that she would leave Montford anyway. She didn’t want to stick around and see her ancestral home taken over, with everyone hinting at how she had tried to make a move on the new owner, but failed. She would put her cottage up for sale and use the money to rent a place in London and perhaps finish her studies. She glanced at her watch. She had, rather reluctantly, succumbed to Judy’s insistence that they meet for lunch at the Five Bells. She had been studiously avoiding Judy since she had left the ball immediately after that dance with Hunter. It made Amy’s stomach clench up unpleasantly even now to remember how the evening had ended. For most of the dance they hadn’t spoken, perhaps each hoping the other would be the first to say something. Finally Hunter had asked in a low, earnest voice if he she would let him explain the situation with Loretta. She could almost hear her own cold voice sounding rather superior, even judgemental, despite the pain it concealed: “I have no interest in any of your affairs, or your brother’s,” she had said. Minutes later and she was walking home, the cold façade replaced by warm tears.

  Amy made her way down to the pub, steeling herself for the meeting with Judy. Naturally Judy was a shrewd observer as well as a good listener who would have picked up any hint, innuendo or gossip that had done the rounds that evening. She knew that Judy would want to analyse everything that had happened, and would be watching her closely for her reactions. Amy took a deep, sustaining breath and pushed open the door to the pub. It was quite busy within and her heart sank as she saw Jason serving at the bar. She hadn’t forgotten what Judy had said about his being in love with her – nor the suggestion that he had been behind the fact that she had a reputation as an “ice queen”. Amy looked around and observed that Judy was not yet there, so resigned herself to going to the bar and ordering a drink. Jason greeted her with a bright smile. He was an attractive young man with dark blond hair and a slightly freckled face. The two had known each other since childhood and had always been friendly although never close. Amy felt less comfortable than usual in his presence as she found herself wondering if he really was in love with her – she had certainly never been aware of the fact. Maybe Judy had just been being mischievous.

  “What can I do for you?” Jason asked.

  “Just a gin and tonic, please, Jason,” she said – and then added, “...with extra ice!”

  “Heard the chap that bought your family’s house is going back to America,” said Jason as he opened the bottle of tonic water.

  “Really,” said Amy, trying to ignore the little lurch her stomach seemed to make when she heard this news.

  “Probably bored already – you know what these magnates are like.”

  “Probably,” she agreed, noticing with some relief that Judy had arrived, looking smart but flustered in her office clothes. “Make that a glass of house white too, please, Jason,” she added. Once she had the two drinks she joined Judy at a table in the corner.

  “You’re looking good,” observed Judy.

  “Am I? I feel wrecked,” said Amy, pushing her hair, which was still damp from the rain, back from her face.

  “You looked amazing on Saturday – Hunter couldn’t take his eyes off you. Did you enjoy your evening? – fascinating bunch of people.”

  “I’m sure you could tell me how much I enjoyed the evening,” muttered Amy, “it’s not like you miss much.”

  Judy laughed. “Well, you enjoyed some of it – but I could tell you weren’t happy to be dancing with our handsome Mr Lewis.”

  “Well, he isn’t “our” Mr Lewis – his girlfriend was there. Apparently he is Loretta’s Mr Lewis.”

  “Curious that,” said Judy, casting a cursory glance down the menu, “because anyone observing her throughout the evening might have thought that she was more attached to his brother.”

  “Yes, I couldn’t quite work out the dynamics,” admitted Amy. “But the brother – Cole – said something about Hunter getting everything. I wondered if Hunter had pinched his brother’s girlfriend just because he could. Maybe he is one of those men who just has to keep proving that he can have any woman he wants and then loses interest once he’s got them.”

  “Hunter by name and hunter by nature, you mean?”

  “Except that it seems that Loretta has outsmarted him because he’ll have to marry her if she is carrying his child. Cole indicated that she was something of a scheming woman.”

  “Maybe,” replied Judy, “but the story I was picking up was that Loretta was originally Hunter’s girlfriend and the liaison with the brother came second – and that the child might be his rather than Hunter’s, whatever she might say to the contrary.”

  “Really! – that might explain...” Amy trailed off. She was about to mention what he had said about things not being what they seemed.

  “Might explain what?” questioned Judy with a piercing look at Amy.

  “Just that he said something about his relationship with his brother being complicated.”

  “Very complicated, I should imagine, if they were both sleeping with the same woman. But whatever the story is there, he is head-over-heels in love with you.”

  “Oh really, Judy – you think everyone is in love with me. And yet, apparently, here I am all on my lonesome.”

  “Not on your lonesome, but here with me. The queue of men can wait until I have ordered us both the curry.”

  “But seriously,” said Amy when Judy had returned from the bar, “whatever is going on in Hunter Lewis’s private life I’m not likely to feature in it. Apparently he is flying back home.”

  “Yes, I was told about that. I think his father wants him to take over Lewis Eames – his father is heavily
into politics. I think Hunter has gone back to sort things out.”

  “And he’s got his art galleries to run. So all in all he’s not likely to spend much time in our little village. Anyway, I’ve decided that it’s time for me to put the cottage up for sale and move off. This place holds too many memories for me, and I’ve got to start building a life for myself now my father has gone.”

  “Oh, you can’t move!” exclaimed Judy. “You belong here.”

  “Actually I haven’t got much choice,” admitted Amy. “I’ve no job and only the money from my exhibition and the commission Hunter gave me. I’ll be lucky to last out the next couple of months. I may have to set the price of my cottage low just to shift it in a hurry.”

  “But can’t you just do more paintings?” asked Judy.

  “Not unless I get a steady stream of commissions – it’s just not a sustainable career for me. And I’m not even qualified.”

  “What have qualifications got to do with art,” snorted Judy. “Your paintings are brilliant – I’ll commission you to paint the church.”

  “That’s very sweet of you, but I can’t rely on the kindness of friends either. Anyway, I think I’d like a fresh start and there are more jobs to choose from in London than there are in Montford.”

  Their discussion was disrupted by the arrival of lunch, and then Judy continued,

  “Oh well, you can’t go until you have sold your cottage, so I’ll just have to make the most of your company whilst I can. And I will be most offended if you refuse to accept a commission from me – I want to be able to say that the painting over my mantelpiece is by the same artist that the famous art connoisseur Hunter Lewis collects!”