Country Cousin

by Jacqueline Gilbert

  ‘I don’t advertise my movements,’ was the repressive reply, and she bit her lip in annoyance. Drat the man, she thought crossly, surely he doesn’t think I’m interested in whether he comes or not? Moving in front of her, Edward opened the passenger door of the Jensen.

  ‘The back seat’s rather cluttered, I’m afraid, but I think we can squeeze you in.’

  ‘Oh, no, really,’ protested Eleanor, ‘I came out for a walk.’

  ‘Then Hugh will walk with you,’ he replied, ‘it’s too late for you to be out alone ... next time, take one of the dogs with you. Hugh, this is Eleanor Ferrers who is staying with us for a while. She likes to commune with nature.’

  ‘And a pleasant occupation it is, too,’ agreed his friend, emerging from the car.

  ‘There’s really no need, I assure you...’ Eleanor began feebly, and as her hand was warmly taken, she was cut off by an amused voice.

  ‘When Edward commands, we obey, Miss Ferrers. How do you do? I’m Hugh Latimer. If I may whisper the truth in your ear, I’m very glad to be able to walk the rest of the way with you, as that brute of a dog resents anyone sitting on his seat. Look, he’s established his right of tenure before the upholstery is even cold!’

  Eleanor laughed with him, quickly liking his easy manner, and her eyes were drawn to the car window, where the brindle face of Sykes was staring, silent and immobile, through the glass.

  ‘In that case, thank you,’ she capitulated with a smile, and took his offered arm. ‘Are you down for the weekend?’ she asked, when the tail-lights of the Jensen had disappeared from sight down the road.

  ‘For the whole week, and the thought gives me comfort. I can forget the office desk and relax in these beautiful surroundings. I’m lucky to have such an hospitable friend as Edward.’

  ‘You’ve known each other long, Mr. Latimer?’

  ‘From prep-school days ... and if we’re to be fellow guests, perhaps you will allow me to call you Eleanor?’ He paused. ‘But only if you feel you can reciprocate.’

  Eleanor responded with a smile and said shyly: ‘I think I can manage to do that.’

  ‘Good.’

  She studied her companion as well as she could in the light available. He was not tall, little taller than herself, and looked the bookish type. Hair fine and slightly receding, he wore rimless glasses and had a thin, clever face and a gentle manner.

  ‘What conclusions have you come to?’ Hugh asked, his voice teasing.

  ‘Oh, dear, was I that obvious?’ exclaimed Eleanor, giving him an apologetic grimace. ‘To be truthful, I was thinking what an unlikely pair you made, you and Edward—not that I know either of you, of course.’

  Hugh grinned. ‘The suave, sartorial Edward and the comfortable, creased Hugh, do you mean? Ah, well, attraction of the opposites, I suppose.’ He looked at her consideringly. ‘What were you thinking of when you were communing with nature?’

  Somehow Eleanor didn’t mind Hugh Latimer knowing. ‘I was homesick,’ she confessed ruefully. ‘Silly, isn’t it? I was wishing I was standing on a similar bridge on my own Yorkshire soil. I don’t transplant very easily, I’m afraid.’

  ‘And where is your own soil? I know parts of Yorkshire very well.’

  ‘Do you?’ replied Eleanor. ‘Do you know Rye Dale, where I live?’ she asked eagerly, and for a few minutes they found common ground to discuss, and from there it was natural for Eleanor to go on to her family. ‘My father is the rector of a rural parish, four villages as well as our own.’

  ‘A happy family home is difficult to leave behind, but necessary if one is to find one’s own identity, especially in a family of—three girls, did you say?’

  ‘Yes. Poor father is sadly outnumbered, I’m afraid. I’m the eldest, then comes Katharine, she’s eighteen, and then Dorothea who’s fourteen.’ They had reached the gates of the house by now and Eleanor turned to him in dismay. ‘You shouldn’t have let me go on so! I’ve monopolised the conversation!’ She passed through the gate which he was holding open. ‘I’ve given you no chance to speak of your own family,’ she added, smiling her thanks.

  ‘There’s little to tell,’ Hugh admitted, closing the gate behind them. ‘The Latimers are rather thin on the ground, only a frail grandmother in Devon and me, so I latch on to Priory Lodge like grim death.’

  ‘It’s inevitable, I know,’ Eleanor reflected, only wondering later how easy he was to talk to, ‘but things are changing. Kate will soon be married and I shall have to be looking around for a job, and then we’ll be split up.’

  ‘But the fundamental unity will remain,’ Hugh said firmly. ‘What job will you do?

  Eleanor shrugged. ‘I’m not trained for anything, that’s the trouble. I went to art college for a year and then my mother became seriously ill and I came home. It wasn’t a sacrifice on my part... I wanted to be part of the family during that time. My sisters, being younger, were still at school and it would have been dreadful anyway at college, I wouldn’t have been able to work.’

  ‘And your mother?’

  ‘She’s made a remarkable recovery, thank goodness, and now they’ve insisted I have a breathing space before deciding what to do.’

  ‘Can you resume your art studies? Are you good?’ Hugh’s brown eyes were turned on her consideringly.

  ‘There are one or two whose judgment I respect, who think I may perhaps have something,’ she admitted shyly. ‘I’ve never given up studying and one of my professors insisted on seeing my work regularly which has been an added incentive to keep going.’ She made the same little shrugging movement, trying for whimsical nonchalance. ‘So I have a small talent, but is that enough in such a competitive field? I find I’ve acquired cold feet over going back to college. I’m not the same person I was two years ago.’

  ‘There’s plenty of time, don’t rush things,’ advised Hugh, bringing their slow pace to a halt. ‘Ah, we will pause and allow Sykes to inspect us. I trust he satisfies himself that we are his friends. I’m a cat-man myself, and I rather think Sykes knows.’

  Eleanor grinned at the pained expression on Hugh’s face. ‘He’s beautiful, isn’t he? but so aloof. There’s an aristocratic look in his eye that I find daunting,’ she confided.

  ‘Hum ... there are some people who affect me the same way,’ observed her companion dryly.

  ‘We have a cross labrador back home who loves to be cuddled. How could you possibly cuddle Sykes?’ Eleanor demanded.

  Hugh smiled and pushed open the door. ‘I’m all for mongrels in any set of circumstances. Too fine a strain can only be strengthened by an additive ... and talking of additives—we will proceed in the hope that Edward, as the true host he usually is, has liquid refreshment awaiting us,’ and they entered the room, laughing together.

  ‘Hugh! My dear boy, there you are!’ Eve Mansel moved gracefully towards them and embraced Hugh warmly. After giving him a critical inspection, she said briskly: ‘You’re looking pale. You should have come to see us in the summer, you’ve neglected us dreadfully.’

  Hugh kissed her on both cheeks. ‘And you, my dear Eve, are looking as beautiful as ever.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve just been reminiscing with Eleanor and suddenly it all came back to me, that first day I came to stay ... what a thin, timid boy I was, and what a vision you appeared to my youthful eye.’ He turned to Eleanor. ‘She hasn’t altered.’

  ‘I adore Hugh,’ Eve said with satisfaction. ‘He’s such a comfort to me in my old age.’ She put an arm round Eleanor’s shoulder. ‘You’ve met each other, I see. Come over to the fire, both of you.’

  The door burst open behind them and Vanessa erupted into the room.

  ‘Hugh! I thought it was your voice! Edward didn’t tell me you were coming down ... do come and see what I’ve found for you.’

  ‘Give the poor man time for a drink, Van,’ interrupted Edward mildly, following her in.

  ‘You haven’t told him, Mother, have you?’ Vanessa demanded imperiously.

  ‘I’ve hardly had time, dar
ling. Do sit down, Hugh dear, and shake that ridiculous child off your arm. Vanessa, if you’re determined to have no patience then you may go and bring it in—but be careful, it’s very fragile.’

  ‘I know that,’ replied Vanessa, with impatient emphasis. ‘It will ruin everything if I have to bring it in, Mother! I’ve set it to its best advantage on the Louis Quinze.’

  ‘By all means, let us see it to its best advantage,’ said Hugh, adding teasingly: ‘You don’t think it would ruin everything if my glass came with me?’ Vanessa grinned, moving quickly to the drinks table and pouring him a generous measure. ‘All the better. You’ll be mellowed sufficiently to want to buy it!’ and handing him the glass, she tucked an arm firmly through his.

  ‘Hussy!’ was the affectionate rejoinder as they left the room together.

  Eve sighed. ‘Really, Vanessa is so demanding at times, what must Hugh think of her?’

  Eleanor supposed the question to be-purely rhetorical, as she herself was in no position to answer, and Edward, immersed in the paper, made no attempt to do so.

  ‘Oh, well, he’s known her long enough to understand,’ Eve continued, answering herself quite adequately. ‘I’d better organise his room. Let me take your coat, my dear. Edward, Eleanor hasn’t a drink,’ and with a smile at her guest, Eve left the room.

  The newspaper was lowered and a brow raised enquiringly. ‘I’m sorry, what would you like?’ He rose and strolled to the drinks table. ‘There’s all the usual stuff, or would you prefer a fruit juice?’

  ‘In general a clergyman’s daughter is expected to be abstemious regarding alcohol,’ Eleanor reflected gravely. ‘I always take a delight in correcting that view.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Edward said dryly. ‘And so?’

  ‘Sherry, please, not sweet.’ She watched him pour and added: ‘In fact, my father is quite a connoisseur in his own small way.’ She accepted the glass, murmured, ‘Thank you’ and picked up her book to indicate that she did not need entertaining. Her point was not taken, however, for Edward crossed to his chair and ignoring the paper, asked:

  ‘What are you reading?’

  ‘Middlemarch.’ She hesitated and hurried on to say: ‘It’s your own copy ... I’m sorry, I ought to have asked if I could borrow it.’

  ‘My dear girl, take what you wish. I’m quite sure my books will be treated with the utmost respect,’ Edward said carelessly, pausing to take a drink and adding: ‘Have you settled here, Eleanor?’

  She looked at him warily. ‘Yes, thank you, Edward.’

  ‘Happy?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘It was an odd time to be out walking, and alone.’

  ‘I’d gone to post a letter home,’ she replied, feeling slightly defensive.

  ‘You seemed to be getting on well with Hugh.’

  ‘Yes, but then he’s easy to talk to, isn’t he?’ and as the following silence implied the unspoken—and you aren’t—she added quickly: ‘Am I allowed to ask what it is that Vanessa’s anxious to show him?’

  Edward frowned. ‘I thought you were with her when she found it? Didn’t you go to the Haxted sale with her last Tuesday?’

  ‘Er—no ... I must have had something else planned.’ Eleanor had no intention of saying that she hadn’t been invited.

  Edward regarded her thoughtfully. ‘I see.’ He crossed to the table and replenished his glass. ‘Hugh collects snuffboxes, and Van came across this one unexpectedly and snapped it up—hence her proprietorial manner. She’s not often so lucky and is rather proud of herself.’

  Eleanor smiled. ‘I can imagine your friend surrounded by his snuffboxes,’ and as Edward rested an elegant arm along the mantel and contemplated the liquid in his glass, she thought: And you I can see as the Beau, the eligible bachelor, leader of fashion, looking down your aristocratic nose at all the simpering, giggling girls making eyes behind their fluttering fans. Her thoughts evoked such a vivid picture that it was some time before she became aware that Edward was regarding her quizzically, the Technicolor splendour of the eighteenth century rapidly giving way to the twentieth, and the superbly cut, dark grey suit that he was wearing.

  ‘Er—sorry ... did you say something?’ she began in some confusion.

  ‘I merely asked if you were interested in history?’

  ‘Average interest, I think.’ She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. ‘The romantic image is grossly overrated, don’t you think? I’m more than grateful to be living in this century.’

  He half smiled. ‘Somehow I hadn’t expected such a practical view to come from you. There’s a seamy side to every age, and dealing, as I do, with material things from the past, it’s a constant reminder that beautiful and intricate workmanship is often the result of sweat, blood and tears. But that’s life, and only a fool expects life to be fair.’

  ‘Is the snuffbox rare?’

  ‘Comparatively so.’ Edward bent forward, offering her a cigarette, which she refused, and lighting one for himself, he sat down, relaxing back and stretching out his long legs. ‘It depends on how they’re made as to value and rarity,’ he continued. ‘The ones of gold and silver, especially those decorated with precious stones, are obviously valuable, although horn, tortoiseshell and porcelain are all good collectors’ pieces. Pewter and wood aren’t so rare, being durable. The one Van’s picked up is enamel with gold mounting, very fragile, hence its rarity.’ He drew deeply on the cigarette and watched the exhaled smoke spiral and then dissipate. ‘So ... you’re happy here,’ he stated, after a few moments of silence. ‘Why, then, were you crying tonight?’ and he stared across at her with eyes more than usually hooded, the subdued lighting allowing the flickering flames of the fire to highlight the severe planes of his face, making it look more than usually austere.

  Eleanor stared back, shocked surprise on her face, her mind a jumble of excuses.

  ‘No man’s worth crying over, you know,’ he asserted calmly.

  She flushed vividly and rose, putting her glass down with exceptional care. ‘Why do you say that?’

  He gave a cynical smile. ‘My dear girl, it usually is the case when a young woman is found having a good cry all by herself in the moonlight. No man’s worth it.’ He downed his drink in one swift movement and added brusquely: ‘Or woman, for that matter.’

  ‘I’m sure you have a wealth of experience to draw upon,’ Eleanor answered with tolerable composure, ‘and I thank you for your advice. If ever I need to, I’ll try and remember it,’ and she walked to the door.

  ‘Running away, Eleanor?’

  ‘I don’t care for the conversation.’

  ‘Then we’ll change it.’ He rose and crossed to the desk. With a stab of dismay Eleanor saw that he was holding her art folio.

  ‘That’s my...’

  ‘Drawings and paintings—yes, I know. I hope you don’t mind, but I started to look through them just before you came in this evening.’ Edward flipped open the cover and began to sift through the sheets which he examined carefully, one by one. ‘These are good. Do you only do wild flowers?’

  ‘No, but they give me pleasure,’ she answered abruptly, and forced herself to go over and rescue her precious folio. His hands were still searching the pages and she caught her breath as he came to the charcoal section. ‘I’m no good at portraits,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ he replied, holding up a sketch of Duffy. ‘Admittedly it’s more of a caricature, but you’ve caught her expression. And this...’ his voice trailed. Eleanor gave an inward groan. Why, oh, why hadn’t she destroyed that wretched drawing! She nearly had done so, but it had pleased her, and now Edward was studying it with keen interest.

  ‘Well, well ... talk of the devil!’ he said softly. ‘So that’s how you see me, Eleanor!’

  ‘Edward, I...’

  ‘Are my eyebrows really like that?’

  ‘Of course not! You said yourself that I’m a caricaturist, and everything has to be exaggerated!’ she replied, cheeks bright
red.

  ‘How reassuring,’ was the sardonic answer. ‘And the horns?

  ‘Oh, give it to me,’ began Eleanor desperately, snatching at the drawing, only succeeding in making Edward spill the rest out of the folio. Dropping to her knees, she began to collect them together. Conscious of his sudden stillness, she looked up, and her heart sank even further.

  ‘Now this one is interesting...’

  She rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘Please, Edward, may I have...’

  ‘Now I wonder who this is—so lovingly drawn. No caricature, this.’

  ‘... my drawings back?’

  She waited, hand outstretched, and after a long moment Edward flipped the cover over and gave it to her.

  ‘I’m sorry about the one of you ... it was extremely rude of me,’ she said stiffly, meeting his mocking eyes.

  ‘Don’t apologise, my dear. I now know in what light you see me ... a dark one, obviously. And the other?’ He watched her walk swiftly to the door. ‘Is he the one you’re crying over, Eleanor?’

  Eleanor didn’t reply, and left the room, taking with her a brief glimpse of eyes no longer sleepy, but surprisingly clear and calculating. When she gained her room, she took out the drawing of Guy and ripped it into tiny pieces.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘There is a certain relief in change.’

  Washington Irving

  Hugh was passing the foot of the stairs when Eleanor came down to breakfast the next morning, and he stopped, smiling up at her.

  ‘Good morning, Eleanor. You disappeared last night before I could show you my new treasure. Do come now and see it.’

  ‘Hullo, Hugh ... thank you, I should love to,’ she replied, running down the last few steps to join him. As they walked along the hall to the study, she added: ‘You’ve decided to buy it?’