To My Dear Niece

by Hilda Nickson

  The men came about ten o’clock. Vanessa had to admit they certainly could dig. Miles arrived just in time for coffee, but Vanessa had made a start on the painting herself and was halfway up a stepladder.

  “Good lord,” he exclaimed. “What in the name of goodness are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “It looks like you’re doing something you shouldn’t.”

  She hid a smile. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving me a hand. I’m not doing all the way up to the roof, just taking a line from floor level to the tops of the windows.”

  The white-painted bricks were looking most attractive, but a second coat was going to be needed for a good clear finish. She popped the brush into a tin containing water and climbed down as Nancy called out that coffee was ready.

  Miles gave her a helping hand and gazed all around, a frown on his face.

  “It’s going to take an age to cover all this. I know a good man who—”

  “Sorry, Miles.” she cut in. “I simply can’t afford to pay for any more labor. If you don’t want to help me, I shall just have to do it myself.”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course I want to help you. I don’t like to see you doing these jobs, that’s all.”

  She gave his hand a squeeze. “Thank you. Miles,” she said mischievously. “I knew you would. Nancy—” she called out as they went out into the open. “Isn’t it wonderful? Miles is going to paint the barn for me.”

  “Very wonderful.” agreed Nancy in a tone which said it was too good to be true.

  Miles gave a large sigh. “Well, it’s not a job I’m too keen on, but for you I’d do practically anything.”

  Later, when Miles was up the stepladder applying paint to the wall. Vanessa whispered a triumphant “I told you so”, in Nancy’s ear. But Nancy sniffed.

  “He isn’t doing it for nothing, you mark my words.”

  But suddenly the joke was over. “As for that, Nancy, he hasn’t any more an ulterior motive for being helpful than, say, Ian Hamilton. They both have their eyes on Puck’s Hill—or had. And in actual fact. Miles is being far more helpful in my business enterprise than either Ian or Freda. Don’t get me wrong. I like Freda; she’s being very friendly and helpful, but both she and Ian have discouraged me from launching out. If Miles still wanted me to sell Puck’s Hill, he wouldn’t be at all anxious for me to succeed in business, would he? Quite the reverse.”

  And having explained everything to her own satisfaction, at least, she found another paintbrush, opened a second can of paint and started on the opposite wall from Miles. This way, using large brushes and not stinting the paint, the whole bam was covered by evening. Vanessa was quite staggered at the amount of weed the two men had dealt with.

  They left at five o’clock, promising to come the following day. Vanessa invited Miles to stay for dinner.

  “It’s absolutely wonderful,” she exclaimed enthusiastically, surveying the large area of uprooted weed, after they had eaten. “Miles, you’re a genius!”

  He grinned. “Of course. Come over here and show me how much you appreciate me.”

  Lounging on the roomy, old-fashioned sofa, he held out his arm to her. She felt there was little else she could do, in all conscience, except go to him. She sat down beside him, and his arm encircled her shoulders.

  “I do appreciate all you’ve done, Miles,” she told him again. “More than I can say. If we can do the same tomorrow, it will all be finished—at least most of it. I shall be able to set out my ‘shop’.”

  At the mention of tomorrow Miles sat up startled. “Did you say the same tomorrow? I’m absolutely worn out after today’s effort!”

  She couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not. She laughed lightly. “Well, the men are coming tomorrow, anyway. And I’ve made up my mind to a weekend of work. A second coat of paint on the barn won’t take long. Of course, I don’t expect you to—”

  He silenced her effectively by covering her lips with his. “What are you talking about?” he murmured, kissing her again and yet again. “If you want me to help you, of course I will.” He grinned sheepishly. “Only trouble is, I’m likely to oversleep on Sundays.” He gave her a long, questioning look, a smile of amusement around his mouth. It was obvious that he was giving her a very strong hint to invite him to stay the night. It seemed to her a very good idea. Why should he go back to an empty apartment to fend for himself when he had worked so hard and would undoubtedly be coming again tomorrow?

  “Well, there are plenty of spare bedrooms. After all. I am chaperoned, so why not sleep here’’ That way, I can make sure you get up in good time in the morning,” she finished with a mischievous smile.

  “You scheming little so’n’so,” he said, pulling her toward him. “But I’ll accept your offer with the greatest of pleasure.”

  It was rather nice having Miles stay the night. Vanessa realized how lonely she had been, in spite of having Nancy living with her. There was something very, very satisfying, she thought, in “having a man about the house “

  Oddly enough, considering her hard day’s work the previous day, Vanessa awakened fairly early on Sunday morning. At about the time Nancy usually rose, Vanessa took her her breakfast upstairs.

  “A Sunday morning treat for you, Nancy,” she said. “And one you richly deserve.”

  Nancy sat up and looked at the clock guiltily. “Oh dear! Thanks, Vanessa. But what got you up so early?” She smiled. “Got work on my mind. I expect.”

  “What about your visitor? Not up yet?”

  “Not a sound from him so far.”

  “What are you going to do? Wait until he awakens?”

  Vanessa considered for a moment. “I think I’ll open his door and take a peep in. Then if he’s respectable, go and shake him. If I don’t, he’s liable to sleep half the day away.”

  Nancy tut-tutted. “Well, at least you’ve saved me having to sit down to breakfast with him.”

  A cup of tea in her hand, Vanessa pounded on Miles’s door, but there was no response. She opened it and looked in. Miles was still fast asleep, his head under the bedclothes. She put the cup of tea on the bedtable, gave him a good shake, and removed the sheet from his face.

  “Hey, Miles, wake up! It’s ten o’clock and the sun’s shining fit to burst. I’ve brought you a cup of tea.”

  With a great deal of grunting and moaning, he half opened his eyes and looked at her.

  “Good lord, is it really you, or am I still dreaming?”

  “It’s really me. Drink that cup of tea, and then rise and shine. Breakfast will be in ten minutes.”

  When she went downstairs again, the laborers had already arrived. Vanessa cooked a breakfast of bacon and eggs and toast. She and Miles ate it in the kitchen. They were in the middle of the meal when suddenly Ian Hamilton walked in to stand in the open doorway.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ian looked at Miles in astonishment.

  “You’re here early, aren’t you?”

  Miles eyed him with amusement. “I stayed the night, old boy. Any more questions?”

  “No. I’m sorry I asked that one.” He turned to Vanessa, his face like stone. “I’ve brought Freda’s wagon around for you. You can settle up with her when it suits you.”

  He turned and walked out again. Vanessa pushed back her chair and ran to the door.

  “Ian—” She caught him and put a detaining hand on his arm. “Ian, thank you.”

  He gave her a look of contempt and deliberately removed her hand from his arm. What came over her, she didn’t know, but it seemed imperative that he should understand.

  “Ian, what’s the matter? I only asked Miles to stay the night because he—”

  But the scorn in his eyes still remained. “You don’t owe me any explanations, Vanessa. It’s no concern of mine what you do, either now or at any other time.”

  He strode off. As she stood and watched him, Vanessa’s anxiety to be understood and not judged wrongly turned to a consuming an
ger.

  “If it wasn’t for hurting Freda’s feelings I’d fling the wretched station wagon back at him!” she declared to Miles when she stormed back into the kitchen.

  “What’s up?” he asked. “Hamilton been his usual charming self?”

  “Yes.” Vanessa took a deep breath.

  “Sit down and I’ll pour you another cup of coffee. How much are they asking for the station wagon, anyway?”

  Miles poured out the coffee and sweetened it for her. When Vanessa told him the figure Freda had mentioned he grimaced. “Sounds like a bargain, but you can never tell. Anyway, if it’s what you want, I should just ignore him—which is all he deserves. Accept it as from his sister. No use cutting off your nose to spite your face.”

  “I suppose not.”

  She was tremendously grateful for Miles throughout the whole of that Sunday. Ian’s attitude niggled her all day, on and off, but Miles was charming, understanding and helpful. By the time evening came, there was not another piece of hogweed which was not uprooted. The interior walls of the barn had had their second coat of paint. Miles had even helped her to put up trestle tables for plants and other items, and had carried in some of the heavier goods like bags of seeds and potting compost.

  “Miles, I’m never going to be able to thank you enough,” she told him at the end of the day as they sat side by side on the sofa with their after-dinner coffee.

  “Darling girl, don’t try,” he said softly. He put down his empty coffee cup and relieved her of hers, then took her in his arms. He kissed her, then flicked his gaze over her face, running his finger lightly down her straight nose. “You know, I’ve learned quite a lot this weekend.”

  “Really? How to paint a wall in two easy lessons?” she jested.

  But he shook his head seriously. “I know now what I’ve suspected for some time. I’m in love with you.”

  She caught her breath and something within her contracted sharply. “Miles! Oh—oh, Miles!”

  Suddenly he crushed her to him. “Darling girl, I want to marry you.”

  Vanessa felt tears prick her eyes. “Oh, Miles, I—I don’t know what to say.”

  “Why not just say yes?” He kissed the lobe of her ear and her smooth cheek.

  It would be easy, so easy, she thought, in an odd sort of panic. This weekend with Miles in the house, the way they had worked together, had shown her how much she needed the companionship that only a happy marriage could give. And yet she hesitated.

  “Miles, I’d rather—think about it for a little while, if you don’t mind. You see. I’m—not sure.”

  “I expect I’ve rushed you. You’re so sweet. Anyway, you haven’t said no, have you?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “Bless you! It means a lot to me. More than you’ll ever know.”

  He kissed her again “We could be so happy together, you and I. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my whole life as to spend the rest of my days with you.”

  Vanessa closed her eyes. The idea sounded wonderful, wonderful; except that, somehow there was the echo of a pain somewhere deep inside her. Later, when Miles had gone, she realized she was still affected by Ian’s visit of that morning.

  Why did she let him bother her so much? she asked herself as she lay awake in bed. But of course, this must be the influence he had on everyone. This way he had of showing his disapproval, for instance. You wanted to please him, you sought for his approval, and you were worried when you did not have it. Yes, that was it, she decided. The same way he had of wanting to rule everyone’s life. It made people defer to him. There was evidence of this in the way Freda looked to him and expected others to also do so. He made you feel you owed him something; that he had certain rights.

  Impatient with herself, she turned over and tried to shut him out of her mind. She didn’t care if she never saw him again.

  Her posters arrived from the printers the following morning. Vanessa drove the station wagon into the village and called at the various stores asking them to display one for her. All promised to do so and wished her well. The butcher went a step farther. As well as nailing one of them on a tree in a very prominent position outside his shop which would catch the eye of passing motorists, he asked for a second one to stick on his delivery van.

  In the post office she met Freda, whose manner was noticeably cooler, but she managed to smile and say hello.

  “Thanks for the wagon—and for transferring the tax and insurance for me,” Vanessa said. “It was very kind of you.”

  “That’s all right, though thanks are due to Ian, really. He attended to everything.”

  Vanessa sighed. “I tried to thank Ian yesterday morning when he brought it around, but he didn’t seem to want my thanks—or anything else.”

  A worried look settled on Freda’s face. “Well, it’s rather difficult for Ian. You know how he feels about Miles Kendal—and he has good reason. It isn’t just uncharitableness. He—didn’t expect to find Miles having breakfast with you.”

  “But there was nothing wrong in that!” Vanessa protested warmly. “Miles was tired. He’d been painting the interior of the barn for me all day and was coming the following day too, so I asked him to stay the night, that’s all. I’m afraid I can’t choose my friends just to please Ian.”

  “He doesn’t expect you to,” Freda answered quietly. “It’s just that he’s—concerned about you. He knows Miles Kendal far better than you do. Almost certain to.”

  “But—but why should he be so concerned?” demanded Vanessa exasperatedly.

  Freda looked rather disconcerted. “Well, for one thing, because of knowing your aunt, I suppose. For another, we’re neighbors and—I hope—friends. And apart from that, I think Ian would be concerned for any woman he knew under similar circumstances.”

  Vanessa still thought he had a highly exaggerated sense of responsibility which in effect meant that he liked to dominate. But she liked Freda and did not want to lose her friendship, if it could be avoided. So she said, without a great deal of conviction: “I think I understand, but one can only take people as one finds them, and Miles has been a help.”

  But the troubled look did not leave Freda’s face. “Is it true you’re going to marry him, Vanessa?” she asked.

  Vanessa looked at her in astonishment. “How could you possibly know anything about that? He only asked me last night.”

  “Then it’s true?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind yet. But how—”

  Freda evaded the unspoken and spoken question. “Look. Vanessa, I must fly. Shall we see you at the Foresters’ Club meeting next week?”

  “Yes. I think so.”

  “Good. See you then.”

  She hurried away. Vanessa looked after her with a sigh. If only she and Ian were not so dead set against Miles. People could be business rivals without disliking each other, surely?

  During the ensuing week. Miles called to see her every day. Sometimes, not until late evening, at others during the day. On the Monday evening he brought her flowers. When he took her in his arms, he asked. “Made up your mind yet, darling?”

  She shook her head and gave an apologetic smile. “I’ve been too busy to think about it very much. I’m sorry.”

  He kissed her. “Not to worry. And I won’t keep on badgering you. It isn’t ‘no’, anyway, is it?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, that’s something.”

  It wasn’t until he had gone that she remembered what Freda had said in the post office. She had intended asking Miles how Ian and Freda knew he had asked her to marry him. But she became so busy with her new business, the matter went out of her head except at the wrong times.

  She had a very good response to her posters. Some of the people, she suspected, came more out of curiosity. They strolled around that part of the garden which was already cultivated, had a pot of tea and some of Nancy’s homemade cakes, browsed among the plants and other goods, and in the majority of cases ended up by buying
either a pot plant or something for the garden. When she was not busy attending to customers, she helped Joe to heap the uprooted giant hogweed in one place for burning. The next step would be to hire a bulldozer to level the ground for the laying of sod.

  She saw nothing of Ian Hamilton at all, and when Freda dropped in one evening, she did not even mention his name. Perversely, Vanessa itched to ask about him, but it somehow did not occur to her to ask simply, “How is Ian?”

  Miles said he would like to go to the meeting of the Foresters’ Club. As members were allowed to take a guest, Vanessa naturally invited him to be hers. He called for her on the night, but before they set out he put his arm about her and produced a small box from his pocket. It contained an engagement ring.

  “Like it?” he asked, opening the box to show it to her.

  “It’s—beautiful, Miles. Really beautiful,” she told him rather worriedly, as the big diamond solitaire ring set in platinum winked up at her.

  “Are you going to let me put it on for you?”

  She shook her head swiftly. “No—please, Miles. Not yet. I—I think I’d rather get this business of mine going before I think of getting married.”

  He smiled. “Darling girl, I’m not suggesting you should pack it in. You can still carry on with that if you want to. I’d be quite willing to move in here with you. I can soon let my apartment. What do you say?”

  She wanted to say yes. Miles had shown her without any shadow of doubt that he loved her, and the warmth of feeling she had for him was equal to anything she had felt for any man. Yet somehow she felt she still wanted more time.

  “Miles. I’m reasonably sure. But give me to the end of the week, will you? Come to lunch on Sunday and we’ll talk about it then.”