She just didn’t understand it. She’d been sure she’d been in love with Jack for all of her life, but never had her mind and her body reacted like this to a man. Julius wasn’t even her type – she’d always found blonds far more attractive, whereas he was dark, almost Mediterranean-looking. Never mind his easy attitude towards her . . . She definitely did not approve of his innuendo, especially given the fact that they’d only met this evening. It was as if he hadn’t a care for what anyone thought of him . . .
Why should he? And more to the point, why should I?
Eventually, Cecily dozed fitfully, her dreams full of women wielding huge silver sewing needles against spear-holding natives, and Julius being mauled by a lion . . .
Cecily woke with a jump and sat upright. Getting straight out of bed, she ran to pull back the curtains to see if it was foggy. With a clench in her stomach, she saw that it was a glorious, crisp morning. The vast parkland that ran as far as the eye could see was still white with frost, which was sure to melt soon judging by the perfect rosy sunrise that peeked out above the endless rows of chestnut trees that bounded the formal gardens.
‘Someone should write an opera about this view,’ she murmured as there was a knock on the door and Doris arrived with a tea tray.
‘Did you sleep well, miss?’
‘Oh yes, perfectly, thank you, Doris.’
‘Shall I pour for you?’
‘No, I can do it myself.’
‘Right you are. Will you be going out riding? I’ve picked out a habit and boots that I think will fit you. You’ve a lovely petite figure, Miss Cecily.’
‘Thank you. I . . . yes, I think I might go for a ride.’
‘Why not on such a beautiful morning?’ Doris smiled at her. ‘I’ll be back in a tick with your outfit.’
Cecily sipped her tea, which was far more watery than she was used to, and suddenly remembered that she had not yet contacted her parents to let them know she was safe and well in England. She thought about what her mother would say if she told her she was about to go riding with Audrey and Edgar’s nephew . . .
‘She’d probably start organising the engagement party before I even got back,’ Cecily chuckled to herself.
‘What was that, miss?’ asked Doris.
‘Oh, I was just reminding myself that I must telephone my parents to let them know of my safe arrival.’
‘No need to worry about that, Miss Cecily. The butler telephoned them last night to let them know. Now then, let’s get you into your riding habit, shall we?’
Julius was already astride a magnificent black stallion when Cecily arrived at the stables.
‘Hello there, wondered if you’d show up,’ Julius said, casting a glance at her from his great height. ‘Jump aboard, will you?’ He indicated the pretty chestnut mare one of the grooms was leading out into the yard.
Cecily allowed the groom to help her up into the saddle. The mare whinnied and threw her head back, almost unseating her rider.
‘Bonnie’s a lively one, Cecily. Think you can cope?’
It wasn’t so much a question as a challenge.
‘I’ll sure do my best,’ she said as she took the reins from the groom and steadied the horse.
‘Right then, let’s be off.’
The two of them clopped out of the yard and Cecily followed Julius along the narrow path that then led through the trees to open parkland. He waited a few seconds for her to catch up with him.
‘Comfortable?’ he asked.
‘I guess so, but I’d prefer to go slow for a while, if that’s all right with you?’
‘Of course. We’ll take a gentle canter across the park and see if you’re up for the wide-open spaces of the Downs.’ Julius pointed to a vague expanse on the horizon. ‘The views are simply stunning from there.’
The two of them took off at a gentle trot, which gave Cecily time to find her seat and her confidence, then Julius broke into a canter and she followed. Bonnie’s hooves kicked up the rich smell of earth, and Cecily could see the frost shimmering and melting, while occasional snowdrops – the harbingers of spring – poked their heads out of the long grass beneath the chestnut trees. Despite the cold, birds called to each other, and Cecily finally felt very much as if she was in the Jane Austen novel she’d imagined.
‘Let me know if you need to go slower,’ Julius called to her as the stallion’s tail swished from side to side in front of her. ‘Can’t have Aunt Audrey’s guest of honour breaking her neck under my watch!’
With the biting wind blowing in her face, Cecily’s eyes began to stream and her nose to run, but she doggedly followed Julius’s horse. Just as she was about to pull Bonnie up as she could no longer see clearly, Julius slowed in front of her and twisted round in the saddle.
‘All tickety-boo?’ he asked her.
‘I haven’t the vaguest idea what “tickety-boo” means, but I sure am in need of a handkerchief,’ Cecily panted.
‘Of course.’ Julius turned his mount and steered back towards her until they were facing each other. He then produced a clean square of white linen from the top pocket of his tweed jacket, leant over and proceeded to dab her eyes.
‘Really, I can do it,’ she said, trying to grab the handkerchief from him.
‘It’s no trouble at all, though I won’t suggest I help you blow your nose,’ he quipped as he handed it to her, and she blew as delicately as she possibly could. ‘You have such very pretty eyes.’
‘Thank you for the compliment, but I hardly think I do at present. They’re streaming.’
‘Perhaps we might go up onto the Downs tomorrow morning, although the wind this time of year can be quite fierce. And I suppose you’re used to warmer weather in America.’
‘No, it’s far colder in New York than it is here. I just . . . perhaps I’m getting a chill.’
‘That would hardly surprise me. Dear Uncle Edgar does like to watch the pennies and you can imagine that heating a house like Woodhead Hall is costly. Rather ridiculous when one thinks of the fact that one could live in a hut in the tropics and require the minimum of necessities. Now then, we’ll head back to the house and have Doris put you in front of a roaring fire with a hot cup of tea.’
‘Please, if you want to go off to enjoy the Downs I can easily find my way back.’
‘Not at all. I can see them any day of the week,’ he said as he smiled at her. ‘But you’re only here for a short time, so I’d prefer to look at you.’
Cecily turned her face away from him so he wouldn’t see the blush spreading up from her neck. She gripped the reins tightly as the two of them headed back towards the hall side by side at a trot.
‘So,’ she said, clearing her throat, ‘how do you spend your days here at the hall? Writing your poetry, I suppose?’
‘Would that was the reality,’ Julius sighed. ‘Perhaps one day I shall run away to Paris and live in an attic garret somewhere in Montmartre. Sadly, most of my time is taken up helping Uncle Edgar on the estate. He’s grooming me to take over one day but, like a recalcitrant horse, I find it hard to stand still as he does so. Especially the ledgers. Oh God, the ledgers! You know what a ledger is, I presume?’
‘I do, yes. My father spends a lot of his life poring over his ledgers too.’
‘A life without ledgers is sublime, if only one day that life could be mine,’ Julius pronounced with a chuckle. ‘I think dear Uncle Edgar has realised that my maths and business acumen are non-existent, but as I’m all he’s got in terms of an heir, he has no choice but to hope for the best and believe that one day I will suddenly learn to add up. The problem is, I’m simply not interested.’
‘Oh, I rather like sums,’ Cecily smiled.
‘How extraordinary! Goodness, Miss Huntley-Morgan, you become more perfect with every word that falls out of your pretty mouth. I’ve never met a woman who confesses to enjoying mathematics.’
‘Well, even if I sound crazy, I do,’ she said defensively.
‘Please, what I said was
certainly not meant as criticism. Rather more a wish that I could find a woman like you to marry. And rather than plighting my troth to her, whatever a troth actually is, I’d hand over the ledgers. Well now,’ he said, pointing to the buildings they were approaching, ‘we’re here and I suggest you go directly to the house, rather than walking back from the stables with me.’
Cecily was about to protest, because any further precious seconds she could spend with her new companion were ones that she would treasure forever, but Julius was already off his horse and looking up at her expectantly. As he helped her to dismount, his hands remained firmly round her waist as her feet touched the floor.
‘You’re such a slender little thing, aren’t you? Can’t feel an ounce of spare flesh around those hips of yours. Now then, hurry back to the house and I’ll be in to check how you’re feeling later on.’
‘Oh, I’m fine really . . .’
But Julius was already back on his horse and catching up the reins of her mare. He gave Cecily a small salute and trotted off with both animals in the direction of the stables.
Cecily was disappointed to find that Julius was not present for luncheon; she and Audrey were alone at the table. As Audrey asked after Dorothea, Cecily’s sisters, plus the friends and acquaintances whom Cecily vaguely knew from her mother’s circle, she could barely swallow the soup that claimed to be vegetable but tasted like warmed-up dishwater.
‘My dear, you’ve hardly touched your lamb,’ Audrey commented as the maid cleared away their plates after the main course. ‘Perhaps you are catching a cold.’
‘Maybe I am,’ Cecily agreed, a piece of fatty, inedible meat still tucked inside her cheek. ‘I’ll go upstairs and have a rest. I can’t understand why I’d be sick; it’s so much colder in Manhattan.’
‘That it may be, but here it’s the damp that gets one, you see,’ Audrey replied in her odd part-American, part-English accent. ‘Julius said you might be sickening for something earlier. I’ll send Doris up with a hot water bottle and some aspirin, and if you prefer a tray in your room tonight, that can easily be arranged. Unfortunately I must attend a meeting at six – I am on the local parish council and those meetings always drag on. As I told you, Edgar is in London and I’ve no idea where Julius is spending the evening . . .’ Audrey raised her eyebrows. ‘Not that that’s unusual. Anyway, I want you fit and well for Sunday – I’m throwing a little cocktail party for your last night. Now then, off you go to rest.’
Upstairs in her room and tucked up in bed, Cecily watched the flames of the fire dance in front of her. She was definitely not sick – at worst, she had a slight chill – but there was something else that had put her off her food. She closed her eyes, desperate to sleep, but all she saw was Julius’s face as he had tenderly mopped her eyes this morning . . .
She opened her palm and breathed in the smell of the handkerchief she was clutching – and the scent of him within it.
Cecily, you sure are being ridiculous! For a start, you know nothing about him, and apart from recovering from a broken heart, you’re off to Africa in five days’ time and will never see him again, she told herself firmly as she replaced the handkerchief in her bedside drawer. Tonight you will have a tray in your room and you will not give him a second thought . . .
Eventually, she dozed off and awoke to a dimming sky, heralding the arrival of night. Doris appeared with yet more tea.
‘If you’re not feeling quite right, can I suggest you don’t take a bath tonight?’ she added. ‘It’s bleedin’ freezing in there. What time would you like your tray? I’d say seven o’clock, so as it gives you time for the food to digest,’ Doris chattered on as she re-stoked the fire.
‘I’m sure that will all be just fine, thank you.’
‘Well, it’s me night off, see, so Ellen the parlour maid will be seeing to you after that. Just ring the bell if you need ’er.’
‘I will. So, there’s no one here for dinner tonight?’ Cecily probed.
‘Not that I know of, miss. Mister Julius comes and goes as he pleases, so I couldn’t be sure of him.’ Doris echoed Audrey’s words from earlier.
‘Is there much to do around here? I mean, is there a town close by?’
‘Yeah, though I’m not sure I’d call it a town. Haslemere has shops and the flicks, which is where me and Betty are off to tonight. We’re seeing The Adventures of Robin Hood with Errol Flynn. Now, if you don’t need anything else, I’ll tell Ellen to fetch up your supper at seven.’
‘Have a nice evening, Doris.’
‘Oh, I will, miss, and you get better soon.’
Once Doris had left, Cecily took The Great Gatsby – which, with her head being everywhere these past few weeks, she had still not managed to finish – and sat down to read by the fire. She would not think about Julius somewhere close by in the house, she would not . . .
At seven o’clock prompt, there was a knock on her door and Ellen appeared with the promised tray. There was more soup, a boiled egg and thin slices of buttered bread. Even if she’d had an appetite, the food looked uninviting. She tapped the egg suspiciously. It felt as solid as a rock. She was just taking a mouthful of lukewarm soup when there was another knock at her door. Before she could say enter, it was opened.
‘Good evening, Cecily. I heard you were eating in your room and as I was about to do the same, I thought we should join forces to moan about Cook’s lack of prowess in the kitchen.’
And there was Julius, holding a tray identical to hers.
‘Do you mind awfully if I join you?’
‘I . . . no, of course not.’
‘Good-oh,’ he said as he placed his tray on the small table in front of the fire and sat down opposite her. ‘Now then, having heard you have a chill and seeing as our supper is almost certainly inedible, I’ve brought a little something to warm the cockles of our hearts.’
With that, Julius produced a bottle of what looked like bourbon from one pocket and a tooth mug from the other.
‘We’ll have to share, but life’s all about improvisation, isn’t it?’ he smiled at her as he poured a hefty amount of liquor into the mug before offering it to her. ‘Ladies first. For medicinal purposes only, of course.’
‘Really, I—’
‘Right, I’ll go first then,’ he said, then took a deep gulp. ‘Ah, that’s better. Nothing like a dash of whisky to keep out the cold.’
Cecily’s heart was fluttering all over the place and she needed something to calm her. ‘Maybe a small sip won’t do me any harm.’
‘No, it won’t, and a larger one may actually do you good,’ Julius encouraged her as she tipped the mug tentatively between her lips.
‘Right, now for the egg,’ he said. Cecily watched him take his teaspoon, tap the top thoroughly, then slice it off with a knife. ‘Hardboiled as always,’ he sighed. ‘I have spoken to my aunt about the standard of fare in the house and the dubious qualifications of the woman who provides it, but it seems to fall on deaf ears.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘Inedible. So, all that is left to do is drink. Cheers.’ He picked up the tooth mug and drained the rest of the contents. ‘So, tell me about your life in New York,’ he said as he refilled the mug and handed it back to her. ‘I’ve never been myself, but everyone tells me it’s a wonderful city.’
‘It is. The skyscrapers go up and up towards the heavens, yet there are big wide-open spaces so you never feel claustrophobic. Our house overlooks Central Park and you can walk for what feels like miles and rarely see another human being. It’s the best of both worlds, I guess. It’s my home,’ she shrugged, ‘and I love it.’
‘Pray tell me, if you love it so much, why are you scuttling off into the African Bush in a few days’ time?’
‘Because . . . my godmother invited me.’
‘Did she now?’ Julius’s piercing brown eyes bored into hers. ‘Given the fact that Europe is currently in such a muddle and Kenya may well be drawn into any coming war, I’d surmise there’s more to the story than that.’
‘I . . . was going to get married and, well, it didn’t work out.’
‘I see. So,’ Julius said, having taken a further swig from the shared tooth mug, ‘in short, you’re running away.’
‘I rather hope I’m running to something actually. It’s a wonderful chance to be somewhere completely different and I decided to take it.’
‘Good for you, and I like your positive frame of mind. Anywhere has to be better than Woodhead Hall in the depths of winter,’ Julius sighed. ‘But that is my lot. Unless of course there is war in Europe, then I shall without a doubt be travelling to distant lands in a uniform to face certain death. So, one must seize the moment, mustn’t one?’ he added as he refilled the tooth mug again. ‘Perhaps I can become the Rupert Brooke of the new war, though I rather hope I don’t end my days on a battlefield in Gallipoli.’
‘I’m real sorry, but I don’t know who you’re talking about.’
‘Good grief, Miss Huntley-Morgan, did you receive an education?’
‘Why yes, I went to Vassar, one of the best women’s colleges in America!’ she replied, wounded.
‘Then your English Literature professor has failed you miserably. Rupert Brooke was a genius and the most famous war poet of all time. I shall furnish you with a book of his poems forthwith.’
‘Literature wasn’t ever my thing, although I enjoy reading for pleasure.’ Cecily shrugged, feeling much more relaxed after the whisky. ‘As I told you, I’m far better at arithmetic.’
‘Then you have a logical rather than an aesthetic brain. So let’s test it out: right now, how quickly can you work out, uh . . . let’s see, nine hundred and seven minus two hundred and fourteen.’
‘Seven hundred and eighty-three,’ Cecily said after a few seconds.
‘One hundred and seventy-two divided by six?’
‘Twenty-eight point six recurring.’
‘Five hundred and sixty multiplied by thirty-nine.’
‘Twenty-one thousand, eight hundred and forty.’ Cecily giggled. ‘That was positively easy, quiz me on some algebra or logarithms.’
The Sun Sister Page 16
