A Cotswolds Legacy

by Nancy Buckingham

  It was gone one a.m. when I banged the big book shut and tucked the paper in my handbag. I climbed the stairs wearily, with none of my usual bounce.

  I was wondering if I had made a prize idiot of myself. I was wondering if Ian Hamilton had tried to play me for a sucker. And succeeded!

  Chapter Six

  My cinnamon-and-white jersey suit would have to do. It was not at all my idea of correct wear for cricket on an English village green in blazing June. But apart from the silk cocktail dress, and a skirt and blouse, it was the extent of my wardrobe at the moment.

  So far, my first Sunday at Malverton had worked out well. Mrs. Cass had sallied forth soon after nine, her beflowered hat a-bobbing, en route to Janet’s. I explored the house in a pleasantly relaxed, unwatched way, getting to like its peaceful mood of meditation.

  I’d had a feet-up coffee session with myself at eleven, contemplating the cedar tree, listening to the silence. At one o’clock I enjoyed the sumptuous cold meal Mrs. Cass had laid out for me. At two I was dressed and ready to go.

  When I heard the sound of a car I threw open the front door and ran out, ready and eager to get going. But it wasn’t Max. Sitting in the little red coupe, looking sour, was Valerie Carstairs.

  I stared at her in surprise. ‘Hello there. Where’s Max?’

  Her sourness increased. ‘He’s just phoned to say he can’t make it.’

  ‘Too bad. What’s up, then?’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. Business of some sort or other—Max is never one to explain. I don’t know why he suggested this outing in the first place. He’s always tied up on Sundays.’

  She eyed me with a marked lack of fondness as I stood hesitating by the car. ‘Well, get in. We’d better be moving if we’re to see the start.’

  ‘Perhaps we should call it off,’ I suggested tentatively. Valerie sounded fed up, and I couldn’t say I was exactly thrilled by the idea of spending the afternoon with her.

  But she disposed of my suggestion at once. I got the idea that she didn’t relish crossing Max. He’d said to take me, so take me she would. ‘Anyway,’ she added, ‘he’ll be joining us later on. He told me to keep a place for him.’

  I slammed the front door and jumped in beside her. Valerie trod on the gas so that the tyres spat gravel before they gripped. She drove fast without speaking, her temper showing.

  It was surprising to me that a woman so apparently self-sufficient should let herself be dominated by a man. I’d gathered from Max that she ran a very successful riding stable nearby. Seeing her now, dressed in a slick and sexy coral-pink outfit that made her skin glow, I had a job visualizing her in jodhpurs, smelling horsey.

  From what I’d seen in Cheltenham the other day, I didn’t have to be a genius to guess that she was totally committed to Max bedwise. But it looked as if he didn’t take the liaison quite as seriously. I wondered who Valerie’s Sunday rival was.

  Tactfully, I tried to fill the awkward hole in the conversation by asking about the cricket match.

  ‘It’s a charity “do” for disabled children,’ she told me sulkily.

  I’d been disappointed to find the match was not to be on a village green, but Upper Lissington Hall restored my romantic faith in English rural life. It was a gorgeous Tudor mansion with mellow gables and tall decorative chimneys, surrounded by clipped yew hedges probably as old as the house itself.

  The scene was everything the American side of me could desire. The wide lawns glowed with the greenness of centuries of care, and the wooded parkland stretched away as far as I could see.

  A big white marquee had been put up, and when we had parked, Valerie and I walked towards it. Several hundred people had beaten us to it, but even so we were soon spotted. A tall vivacious girl in yellow waved gaily. ‘Over here, Val darling,’ she cried.

  Valerie’s crowd had commandeered a couple of long benches, and they made room for us. Everyone wanted to know where Max was, and I felt a certain sympathy with Valerie in her efforts to appear casual. ‘Poor darling,’ she said. ‘He got held up at the last minute, but he’ll be along later.’

  She introduced me to her friends with minimum grace, and I soon became absorbed into the group. The men drooped elegantly as the girls stridently competed for attention. I realized that I was among the smart unmarried set of the neighbourhood.

  A bunch of white-clad men ambled on to the pitch, and lazily the match began. One of the batsmen looked familiar.

  ‘Isn’t that Ian Hamilton?’ I asked the girl sitting next to me.

  ‘Mmmm! Isn’t he dreamy? He’s one of the star attractions.’

  It occurred to me that I might get an opportunity to speak to him later on, and give him the details I had copied from the stock book. I’d intended handing them over the day before, but I hadn’t had an opportunity. Max had been in the office all morning, and I certainly didn’t want him to see me deliberately seeking out Ian Hamilton—not after his rudeness to us the day I arrived. In the afternoon, of course, being Saturday, the laboratory was closed down.

  The crowd gave a tremendous roar of pleasure. I came to, aware that the ball was rolling far out across the field.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked in alarm. ‘Is he out already?’

  They laughed at my ignorance. ‘Out? No, of course not. He’s scored a boundary—that’s four runs.’

  Several batsmen returned defeated while Ian was still at the wicket. Even to my inexpert eye he hit the ball with a smooth certainty, his body following through gracefully. One ball he hit so hard that it swung out beyond the boundary line without bouncing at all. That means six runs, they told me exultantly.

  Even Ian was out in the end, though.

  There was a tea-break, and everyone strolled in to the marquee to find refreshments. A languid young man named Peter something-or-other made it his duty to fix me up with tea and a rather rocky rock cake. ‘Awfully sorry, dear girl,’ he murmured, ‘but that’s all that was left.’

  I gave him a smile of non-encouragement.

  ‘Has anyone ever told you what a fabulous figure you’ve got?’

  I intensified the smile, making it positively baleful.

  Several people holding cups of tea came over to offer me sympathy about my father, though I got the impression that none of them had known him very well. There was a rather false air of gaiety about the whole occasion. Everyone was talking about everything but cricket. It was clear that most of them, like Valerie, had come because it was the thing to do. I guess that was fair enough though, if the objective was to raise money for charity.

  In spite of being drawn into such chatter, I didn’t miss an entr’acte a little way off. Ian Hamilton wandered into the big tent and looked around him uncertainly, as if searching for someone. A very pretty, dark girl at one of the tables waved to him, and as he saw her he smiled warmly and hurried over. She had obviously been keeping a chair for him.

  It simply hadn’t occurred to me that he might have a girlfriend. He sure enough had the looks to attract women, but not, I’d have thought, the temperament. Still, I had to admit that this girl had all the signs of being very interested in him, as he did in her. He was leaning over the table towards her, talking and laughing in a bright, bantering sort of way.

  Somehow I sensed Ian’s eyes turning in my direction, and felt an absurd panic. I gathered up the astonished Peter in a sudden flood of talk, remembering vaguely he had said something about being an architect.

  ‘Do tell me,’ I said urgently. ‘Isn’t your job quite fascinating?’

  Yes, Ian Hamilton was definitely looking towards me.

  ‘I mean, designing houses for families to live in, and all kinds of other things. It must be quite marvellous. Do tell me about it.’

  Peter’s mouth opened and closed gently. He didn’t seem quite able to keep up with me, so I had to make the running. ‘I’ve always thought architecture must be one of the most satisfying profession there is,’ I lied.

  By now Pete
r had switched-on to the new me. He stammered, not able to believe his good luck, ‘I ... I say, shall we talk about it later? C ... c ... come and have some dinner with me?’ Surreptitiously he took my hand under the table.

  Fortunately the second innings was about to begin, and the intimate little scene at the nearby table broke up. It was time for the intimate little scene at my table to break up too, before Peter got the wrong idea about me.

  ‘Nix on that,’ I warned the thoroughly bewildered young man, ‘if you please.’

  Ian’s girlfriend strolled idly over to us. I had to admire the way she got herself introduced to me pronto, without making a big point of it.

  ‘So,’ she cried, clasping her hands together in a transport of delight. ‘You’re the famous Dulcie Royle.’

  There was mockery behind the saccharin smile. I’d been told she was Gillian Hayes, daughter of the Rector over at Lechford. And Ian had rooms at the Rectory.

  What a cosy set-up. Wedding bells couldn’t be far off, not in face of the determination I could see in back of those big blue eyes. Ice blue.

  ‘And what,’ I asked cautiously, ‘makes you think I’m famous?’

  ‘Oh, it’s just a family joke. Something Ian Hamilton once said....’

  I had to know. I dispatched Peter for an ice-cream I didn’t want.

  ‘Come on then,’ I said. ‘You might as well tell me.’

  Her laugh rippled merrily. ‘Well, one evening a few weeks ago Ian asked if he could watch a play on our TV. His own set was in for repairs but he particularly wanted to see you. So naturally we all had to watch it too, to find out what the big attraction was. ’

  ‘And..?’

  ‘Well, when we pressed him to tell us why on earth he’d wanted to see such a very trivial play, he blushingly admitted it was because you were in it. We’ve not let him live that down, I can promise you.’

  It didn’t take me terribly long to work it out. Father must have mentioned about my being in the play, and Ian had wanted to see what his boss’s daughter looked like.

  I wondered what he had made of me. My part had been the heroine’s American cousin—maybe six minutes on the screen out of the sixty the play had run. It had been a more glamorous part than I usually played, and I seemed to have put it over. At least, pretty little Gillian’s heart had been stirred to jealousy.

  She made me feel bitchy, which it wasn’t in my nature to be. ‘Dear Ian....’ I murmured tantalizingly.

  We joined the others outside, where another brilliant performance was beginning. Ian Hamilton was showing his versatility. Even while I was licking my way through Peter’s ice-cream, he bowled two men out, and caught another.

  The match was nearly over before Max showed up. Valerie, poor thing, had been looking round for him for the past hour, trying not to make it obvious. But as it happened, everyone was concentrating on a tense moment in the game when he arrived. He stood behind us, where we were sitting side by side on the long bench, and clapped his hands on our shoulders.

  ‘Hello girls. Enjoying yourselves?’

  Valerie tried to sound cool. ‘So you’ve got here at last, then.’ But her actions gave her away. Her hand covered his, and she twisted her neck to gaze up at him.

  We squeezed along on either side, making room for him between us. Being Max, of course, he had to put an arm round both of us. It wasn’t a bit comfortable, and I was glad when the match ended in a few minutes and everybody got up. There was a lot of shuffling about, complicated goodbyes, and sorting out of car loads.

  I took advantage of the slight confusion to slip away from Valerie and Max. I thought I’d be tactful and leave her alone with him for a bit.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Royle,’ said a voice behind me.

  I swung round and found myself looking at the lapels of a smart blue blazer. I tilted my gaze slightly upwards to Ian Hamilton’s politely smiling face.

  ‘Oh... howdy.’ Off guard, I stammered. ‘I ... I’ve been watching the game. I had no idea you were a cricketer.’

  ‘Why should you?’ he asked, looking amused. ‘You know next to nothing about me.’

  Was it a snub?

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ I said, ‘I looked out for you in the laboratory yesterday, but I couldn’t get a chance to speak to you alone.’

  He raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘What was it you wanted, Miss Royle?’

  ‘I’ve taken some notes that might interest you.’

  ‘Notes?’

  ‘It’s details of the stock position—the ins and outs over the past two years.’

  His dark eyes sparked with interest. ‘When can I see them?’

  ‘Any time you like. They’re in my bag. Do you want me to give them to you right now?’

  ‘Yes please, the sooner the better.’

  While I rummaged, he asked me, ‘How did you get them? Does anybody know?’

  I handed him the folded sheet of paper, and explained how it had happened. ‘It occurred to me that while I was looking through the company books, I might as well extract these figures for you.’

  He read through the list hurriedly. ‘Thank you, these are exactly what I need. I’ll study them and compare them with my own estimates.’

  Max had spotted us and came over. He nodded ungraciously to Ian. ‘Afternoon, Hamilton. Come along, Dulcie, we wondered where you’d got to.’

  Valerie and the rest of the gang were getting ready to leave when we rejoined them. I wondered how much Max had seen of my encounter with Ian, and what he’d made of it.

  With about ten of us altogether there was a bit of good-humoured argument about who was to go with who. Max tried to manoeuvre me into his car, but I didn’t want to upset Valerie any more than I could help. My guess was that she’d much rather I travelled with her, where she could keep an eye on me.

  It was a good evening. I enjoyed myself. The first stop was at a country pub quaintly called the “Silent Woman”. It was pleasant to sit on the rustic benches outside, overlooking the rolling countryside, as we sipped cool lager beer. Then we were off again, stopping for supper at a country club—obviously a resort for the smart set. Our entry caused a small bustle. Tables were hastily pushed together to accommodate all of us.

  The conversation buzzed in a general sort of way, and Valerie began talking horses to a flash young farmer.

  Max turned to me. ‘Aren’t you getting bored with all this local gossip?’

  ‘Not one bit.’ I smiled. ‘If I’m going to settle down here, the more I know about this part of the world the better.’

  ‘You’ve decided to stay, then?’ he said quickly. ‘Are you really sure it’s what you want?’

  I laughed. ‘I was jumping a step, actually. I’m still not certain.’

  Max offered me another drink, but I refused. He got himself another lager. Then said, ‘So we’d better get you properly initiated, in case you do decide to stay with us here. Have you ever done any riding?’

  ‘Well, not very much. But I once spent a holiday on a dude ranch, and got quite keen.’

  Max seemed pleased. ‘I’ll fix with Val to lay-on a gee-gee up at her place. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Perhaps later on,’ I hedged cautiously. I had a picture of the expert Valerie being vastly amused by my relative inexperience on a horse.

  But Max persisted. ‘Why delay?’

  ‘Well, for one thing, I’ve nothing suitable to wear.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about that. Val will fix you up, won’t you darling?’

  ‘Will I do what?’ She broke off her conversation with the farmer.

  ‘I was just saying you could lend Dulcie some riding clobber.’

  He should have guessed she wouldn’t like it, and she clearly didn’t.

  ‘Will a twenty-two-inch waist be all right for you?’ she asked, smiling sweetly.

  That did it. If Valerie had a twenty-two-inch waist, then by golly so did I!

  ‘Perfect,’ I said, smiling back every bit a
s sweetly. Finally it was fixed that Max and I should see her up at the stables the following evening.

  Chapter Seven

  Greatfield Farm was over Westabere way. Valerie lived there with her parents, running the stables as an entirely separate enterprise from the big farm owned by her father.

  In his casual way Max had first suggested going in the daytime, but I refused. If I was going to stay on at Malverton, I meant to be serious about the business—even if he wasn’t. I’d already seen enough to realize that a firm guiding hand was needed, plus some reorganization to bring things up to date.

  I was determined not to change my father’s policy of keeping the selling price of MJ71 down to a minimum. I applauded the humanity behind the ruling. But that didn’t mean we couldn’t increase profits quite legitimately by reducing our overheads and improving efficiency.

  I had established myself in my father’s old office, and spent the whole of Monday closetted in there with Doris Fenders, going through the books together. Max came and went, marvelling at our industry. I made several suggestions for short-cutting the laborious routines; for dispensing with a whole lot of form-filling. Luckily the plodding Miss Fenders seemed to welcome the interest I was taking, and greeted my ideas with enthusiasm.

  By five-thirty I thought we deserved to quit.

  I found Max on the drive outside, the bonnet of his Jaguar up. He wasn’t doing more than tinkering—his hands were much too clean. He straightened up when he heard me.

  ‘And about time too,’ he said with a grin. ‘You’re overdoing it, you know.’

  ‘I enjoy it.’

  ‘That’s the amazing thing about you,’ he said. ‘All that glam, and you like messing about in an office. What a waste!’

  We reached the farm about six. I could see Max was at home in the place. He banged on the front door and walked in, calling: ‘Anybody around?’

  Valerie appeared from the back of the house at the same moment as an older woman came out of a room to one side of the hall.