by SL Beaumont
She was just coming out of the Post Office, when she almost collided with James.
“Sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was I going,” she said, as he caught her arm, steadying her.
“That’s ok. I was hoping to run into you,” he said smiling. “Well, maybe not literally,” he added.
“Yeah? Why was that?” she asked blushing slightly as her skin tingled from where his hand had been.
“Well, I was thinking about you and I realised that I actually have no idea why our families don’t speak. So I asked a few questions at home. I got a very chilly reception, but apparently something happened during the war,” he said.
“Funny, you should say that,” Stephanie replied, and relayed her conversation with her grandmother about the photograph which included his Great Uncle. “She did say that we have nothing to do with your family, either.”
“Huh – maybe, I’ll have a look through our old photos at home and see what I can find,” James mused.
“James,” a voice called. They both turned to find Victoria crossing the road towards them, a scowl on her face.
“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Stephanie stage whispered to him.
The corners of James’ mouth turned up slightly.
“Hi Victoria. Bye Victoria,” she said, turning and walking slowly up the road to continue her errands.
Half an hour later, shopping completed, she rewarded herself with coffee. She was surprised to find the café to be a hive of activity. The tables were filled with young mothers and slightly older women in sports gear. Classical music was playing quietly. She wandered up to the counter and perched on a bar stool. Andy was busy behind the espresso machine.
“What’s this – Country Women’s Institute?” she whispered across to him.
“I left some flyers at the Community Hall for coffee after yoga and hey presto,” he said. He frowned and peered at her. “Everything ok? You don’t look your usual bubbly self.”
“Nothing one of your machiatos can‘t fix,” she gave him a small smile. “Mind if I hang out here for a while?”
“Be my guest – you’re always welcome,” he said.
Stephanie selected an unoccupied armchair in one corner and picked up a magazine off the coffee table to read.
When Andy put her coffee down on the little table beside her chair, she was engrossed in an article on Michelle Obama.
He crouched down beside her and looked into her face. “Missing home?” he asked gently.
She gave a small smile. “It’s nothing. Just finding my feet,” she said.
“Don’t let Victoria get to you. She can be such a bitch. She doesn’t want James, but doesn’t want anyone else to have him either,” he whispered as he stood up and squeezed her shoulder.
“Thanks Andy,” she said and smiled gratefully at him, wondering how on earth he had guessed what was bothering her. She didn’t think that she was that transparent. She was going to have to work on her ‘game face’ - first Matt and now Andy hitting the mark.
* * *
Feeling bored and a little restless later that afternoon, Stephanie threw on her workout gear and went for a run. She hated running. Actually, she hated any form of exercise, but it did seem to be the only thing that kept her weight under control.
She checked her phone when she got back to find a text message waiting, from an unknown number.
Found old photos. Pick up 7pm? James
Stephanie smiled and felt a stirring of excitement deep inside her, as she text back.
Ok. S
Still grinning, she showered and wandered into her bedroom, wrapped in a towel – what to wear? It wasn’t exactly a date – he was just showing her some photos. She selected black leggings and a red denim mini skirt. She rolled her hair into a knot and secured it with a large clip, letting the odd curl fall around her face. She touched up her mascara and added a slick of lip gloss. Studying the effect in the mirror, she decided, no - it looks like I’m trying too hard. She unclasped her clip and shook her hair out. Better down. She slipped off the skirt and leggings and pulled on jeans. Casual, but not scruffy. Satisfied, she slipped her feet into a pair of red Converse boots and skipped downstairs for an early dinner.
It was a little after 7pm, when she heard the crunch of tyres on the gravel. She picked up her bag, slung it across her body and slipped out of the main door, calling goodbye to her grandmother. It was too soon for introductions.
A red 911 Porsche was pulled up in front of the house. Whoa! James jumped out of the car and came around to the passenger side and opened the door for her.
“Thanks,” she said. “Nice car.”
“It’s my brother’s – I use it whenever he’s out of town – which luckily for me is fairly often.” He closed her door and climbed back into the driver’s seat. “You look nice.”
Stephanie blushed. “Thanks, how was rehearsal?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.
“Great,” James was animated. “We have a couple of new songs which are coming together really well.”
The car started with a loud roar and they drove down the driveway, past the pond, through the stone gateway and onto the lane. Stephanie glanced back at the house and saw the curtains twitching in the sitting room – her grandmother didn’t miss a thing. Although, a car like this is a pretty hard thing to miss, she thought feeling a little overwhelmed.
They chatted as James sped around the country lanes. Stephanie felt herself relaxing and was surprised to find that even though she now knew who he was, that they still had plenty to talk about and it didn’t feel at all awkward. It was just like on the train. After about ten minutes, they drove through the sturdy wrought iron gates that marked the entrance to Knox Manor. To the immediate left was an old stone gate house. It was two storied and lights shone in the downstairs windows. They continued up a winding driveway edged with massive oak trees. As they rounded the corner at the top of the drive, the house itself came into view. It was an impressive sight – a beautiful two storied pale brick 17th Manor house with tall chimneys rising skyward, set in lush, manicured gardens. A long sweeping lawn ran from the front of the house down to a lake.
“Wow, we sure don’t get houses like this in New Zealand. It’s gorgeous,” admired Stephanie.
James nodded. “Yeah, my family has lived here for almost one hundred years.” He slowed the car to a stop at the front entrance. Unfolding himself from the car, he ran around to open her door for her. He held out his hand. “This way, mademoiselle,” he said.
Stephanie bit her lip nervously, but let him help her from the car and continued to hold his hand as they walked under the stone porch and through a huge wooden door into a semi-circular foyer with a spectacular white marble floor and a beautiful round centre table topped with an enormous floral arrangement. A sweeping staircase led up to the first floor.
“It’s not exactly shabby inside either,” Stephanie said taking it all in.
“Is that you, James?” a woman’s voice called. Stephanie turned as a middle aged, grey haired woman walked through a doorway into the foyer, wiping her hands on an apron. “Oh, hello. I didn’t realise that you had company.” She smiled fondly at James.
“Stephanie, this is Grace, our housekeeper. Stephanie has just moved here from New Zealand,” James said introducing them.
“Hi,” Stephanie smiled. “Good to meet you.”
“I’ve got the photos laid out in the library - this way,” James said leading her up the stairs. He opened a door at the top with a flourish and ushered her in. It was a beautiful rectangular room lined on three sides with floor to ceiling bookshelves. A ladder rested against one of the shelves to enable the reader to reach the top shelf. Dotted around the room were several comfortable chairs, each with a side table and reading light. One end was dominated by a large oak desk in front of a fire place. Above the fireplace was a brightly coloured painting, of a man walking in the country, in a simple gilt frame.
“What a fantastic librar
y, James. How many books?” she asked.
“Ten thousand apparently - mostly old volumes. My grandfather is the bibliophile. He spends the most time in here,” James explained.
Stephanie walked around the room slowly, trailing her hand lightly along the shelves. She stopped by a shelf of the Classics, selecting A Tale of Two Cities. “I love this book – I made my father take me to Paris as soon as I had read it.”
James was watching her, smiling.
“Come and look at these photos – I’ve laid the best ones out on the desk,” he said.
Stephanie replaced the book and followed him to the desk, where 20 old sepia photographs were laid out in neat even rows. Stephanie recognised her great uncle David and great aunt Sophie in a couple of them.
“God – you look like your great aunt,” James observed stepping back to take a better look at her. “If you pulled your hair back from your face like hers,” he said as he reached over and gently rolled her hair back around his hand, “you could be sisters.” His hand accidently brushed her neck and she inhaled sharply.
“Which one is Edward?” she asked quickly drawing the attention away from her and back to the photos. She hoped he wasn’t looking too hard at her skin – it was a little patchy today, which she put down to the stress of coming here this evening. James let her hair slide through his fingers and pointed to a man in military attire in several of the photos.
“Wow – didn’t he look dashing in his uniform?” Stephanie said.
“Really? Men in uniform? I didn’t pick you as one of those girls,” he teased.
She hit him lightly on the arm. “That’s not what I meant. So tell me about him, what’s his story? You said he was a war hero.”
“Yeah – Battle of Britain, but he was also in a special forces type group who flew top secret missions into France, dropping people behind enemy lines and picking them up when possible. Do you want to sit?” he asked, motioning towards a couple of chairs.
Stephanie sat down in one of a pair of armchairs facing the desk. She gazed up at the painting on the wall. It was stunning. From her limited art history knowledge, it was very early Impressionist in style, simpler than some of the later Impressionist works that she knew. She idly wondered who the artist was.
“Do your parents live here James?” she asked instead.
“Not really. Dad died a few years back – heart attack. And Mum remarried last year – to a polo player half her age,” he scoffed. “So they are on the global polo circuit, spending Dad’s money.” He sounded bitter.
“I’m sorry about your Dad – that must have been hard,” she sympathised. Poor guy, maybe that explained his detached, devil may care attitude.
“Yeah,” James said matter-of-factly. “Such is life. What about your family, where are they?”
“Ah, it’s a long story. Mum lives in New Zealand and Dad’s in London. They have been apart since I was about three. Mum remarried a few years ago. My step father is ok, but I think I miss my 4 year old half-brother the most. He is so cool. I have been Skyping him and he kisses the screen goodbye – it’s so cute.” She finished quickly as tears welled up in her eyes. She looked down at her hands blushing.
“So no boyfriend left behind in New Zealand?” James asked, arching an eyebrow.
She shook her head. “No, now you were telling me about Edward,” she said, bringing the conversation back to something neutral.
“Ah, yes,” he said, “he was quite a character.”
She looked up and watched him as he spoke. He was animated, warming to his subject. Stephanie found herself very drawn to him. I bet you’ve broken some hearts in your time, she mused.
“From all accounts, Edward was something of a daredevil. He was always the one to run faster, climb higher, dive deeper than his older brother. If you wanted to see sibling rivalry in action, I believe that would have been a classic example. It kind of explains my grandfather in some ways. It must have been tough getting beaten at everything by your younger brother.
If he lived today, I reckon Edward would be one of those extreme sports junkies. So when the Air Force started recruiting more pilots in the late 1930s, he was one of the first to enlist. He took to flying like a duck to water and moved quickly through the ranks.
Edward was part of Group 11 Fighter Command when war broke out. You know Churchill’s famous comment ‘Never was so much owed by so many to so few’? Well, Edward was one of ‘The Few’. He and his spitfire fought against the Luftwaffe throughout August and September 1940 in the Battle of Britain,” James said.
“Wow,” Stephanie murmured, impressed.
“However, not long after your aunt’s death, he volunteered for what many considered to be a suicide mission into France to rescue a number of key resistance men who had been captured by the Nazis. Amazingly the rescue was a success, but they were shot down leaving the coast of France. Everyone bailed, except Edward, who went down with the plane. A merchant navy vessel in the area picked up the survivors and saw the plane explode as it plunged into the sea.”
Chapter 7
“So you don’t really know anything about Sophie or her relationship with Edward or what happened between them to cause a feud that has lasted this long?” Stephanie asked.
“Just that she was a dreaded Wakefield,” James grimaced, faking horror. “Our two families had some feud running before they met and would have nothing to do with one another. The fact that Edward and Sophie were having an affair scandalised both families. And then she died. A car accident, I believe.”
Stephanie nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Hey, are you free tomorrow? We could ask my grandmother about her. She was her sister after all,” she suggested.
“Yeah, ok. You’ve been courageous enough to come on to Knox land. I have to be brave enough to venture into Wakefield territory,” he said, grinning.
“I love that painting behind the desk. Who is it by?” Stephanie asked looking up at it again.
“I’m not sure, someone famous apparently. It was given to grandfather by a business acquaintance just before the war. I think it has hung here ever since,” James replied glancing at it.
They chatted a little longer on university, the band and their plans for the summer.
“What are you studying at Oxford?” James asked.
“History and economics,” she replied.
James looked surprised. “You are full of surprises. I didn’t have you down as the business type,” he said.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, James,” she smiled at him.
“Well it’s good that I have the summer to find out then isn’t it?” he smiled back at her holding her eyes.
Stephanie looked away first and glanced at her watch; 9:30pm.
“Is it time for me to take you home?” She wasn’t sure if she imagined the disappointment in his voice or whether she was simply hoping it was there. Stop it, she told herself sternly.
“Yeah, I think so. This has been really interesting. Thanks for showing me the photos,” she said.
“My pleasure,” he smiled at her, his gaze lingering on her eyes and dropping to her lips.
Ok, so maybe I didn’t imagine that, she thought, her heart beginning to beat faster.
He leaned towards her, just as the library door swung open and a man burst into the room. His resemblance to James was striking, except that he was taller and broader across the chest. His dark hair was cropped and neatly parted and he was wearing an expensive looking dark blue suit. Even more surprising was the fact that he was the younger of the two men with whom her father had exchanged angry words in the village a few days earlier. Of course, the Knox-Wakefield feud. How didn’t I see the resemblance to James, then? She thought, amazed at her lack of observation.
“Little brother – Grace said I’d find you here. You know we don’t like you entertaining your girlfriends in the library,” he said condescendingly. James rolled his eyes as he pulled back from Stephanie and stood up.
“Alex – you’re back,” he said, his voice flat.
“Mmm, just drove down from London,” Alex said rather pompously. “And you are?” He held his hand out to Stephanie who had also risen. He didn’t seem to have recognised her.
“Stephanie,” she said shaking his hand uncertainly. Probably best if I don’t mention my surname, she thought, before adding, “Ah, pleased to meet you.”
“We were just leaving Alex. I’m going to drop Stephanie home,” James said.
“Mmm. What are these?” Alex looked at the photos spread out on the desk.
“Just looking at some old photos. Stephanie is studying History at Oxford and I thought she might be interested in our famous ancestor,” James said.
“Mmm mmm,” Alex replied sounding knowledgeable, “our war hero.”
“See ya Alex.” James grabbed Stephanie’s hand and pulled her towards the door.
“Bye,” she said as she stepped through it, pulling the strap of her bag over her head and across her body.
“Stupid bastard,” James muttered pulling the door closed behind her. Stephanie raised her eyebrows, surprised. Clearly there is no love lost between the Knox brothers.
“What does he do, James?” she asked following him down the sweeping flight of stairs to the main entrance.
“He’s a ‘fine art and antiques dealer’,” he said mimicking his brother’s voice. He curled his lip in disgust. “Enough about him - are you up for a slightly more open air ride home?” he grinned at her.
“Sure?” she said, not at all sure.
“Wait here.” He returned a minute later carrying two leather jackets and two motorbike helmets.
Stephanie grinned. “Ah, that sort of open air ride.”
James opened the front door for her and they were about to go through, when a deep voice called. “James?”
“Yes, Grandfather. Just dropping my friend home. I’ll be back shortly,” James answered politely.
Footsteps echoed across the marble floor of the foyer. Stephanie turned to see a tall, elegant, white haired man walking towards them. He was dressed in a formal shirt and trousers, with a deep blue smoking jacket buttoned up over them. He looked as though he had stepped straight out of a 1950s photo shoot. He was also the companion of the man who had confronted her father in the village.
