‘What do you say?’ Sharply, Owen glanced up from his methodical dissection of a borage leaf. He stared his uncle full in the face. ‘Oh,’ he muttered. ‘You mean the ironworks. No, everything's fine there. In fact, these days the place seems to run itself.’
‘Leaving you with time on your hands, and a void in your heart?’
‘Perhaps.’ Owen shrugged. ‘Maybe I need a new direction.’
‘I see. So what might you try next?’
‘I could go into partnership with Thomas Taliesin, perhaps. He wishes to buy some land near Bridgend, and build a domestic goods manufactory there. Perhaps I could — ’
‘Do you fret for her still?’ interrupted David. But carefully.
‘Fret for whom?’
‘Come, child.’ Frowning, David shook his head. ‘Don't play the idiot with me! Well?’
‘I miss her, certainly. But — ’
‘It's almost two years now.’ David met his nephew's eyes. ‘Isabel is your wife,’ he said. ‘She's become a good one, too. She cares for you, and for your home, and for your child. What more could a man ask? My dear John Owen, be circumspect. Don't destroy your own happiness wilfully!’
* * * *
Stepping down from the coach, Rayner and Jane gazed all around. They were enchanted. This, surely, was the Garden of Eden. The Promised Land.
Their drive down from Swansea had been one uninterrupted delight. They'd bowled across the greenest of commons, through leafy woods decked out in their freshest summer finery, and along the most picturesque coastline art or nature could ever have devised.
But here at Oxwich, where the bay curved in a perfect arc, where hanging woods tumbled down steep, romantic cliffs, and where blues and greens and golds combined to produce the most cooling, restful, soothing effect imaginable for the weariest of travellers, here was the most spellbinding of journey's ends.
Mr Atkins stood on the steps of a large, elaborately turreted and gabled manor house. Recognising him immediately, Blanchette squirmed out of her mistress's embrace and ran to greet him, barking with joy.
‘My dear Miss Darrow!’ Rumpling the puppy's ears, Mr Atkins beamed in welcome. ‘Look at this creature! You're feeding far her too heartily.’
‘Indeed?’ Jane beamed back at him. ‘But she's always so hungry! She — ’
‘She's greedy. Like her mother.’ Indulgently, Michael Atkins shook his head. ‘Well, no matter. She'll run off her fat on the beach. So, Miss Darrow — Mr Darrow — will you please to step inside?’
But it was Blanchette who went in first. Grinning in delight, her tongue lolling and her jaws dripping, she scrabbled and nosed and sniffed all over the entrance hall, only occasionally glancing round to make sure her mistress was still within sight.
The house was old, but well–maintained and solid. Over the centuries, numerous additions had been made to its original Norman core, so from deep, commodious cellars rose light, airy drawing rooms, sitting rooms and servants’ halls, which themselves gave way to spacious bedchambers and quiet, private day rooms which were fitted up in the latest of modern styles.
The smell of fresh, lavender–scented beeswax was all–pervasive, for the ancient, Welsh oak settles and chairs and tables were polished and polished again to gleaming ebony. But, instead of the rushes on which they might have stood in days gone by, these heavy, antique pieces were placed squarely on the finest of deep–piled Turkey carpets, which cushioned even the heaviest tread.
Having been positively assured that his own servants would be delighted to wait upon them, Rayner and Jane had left his valet and her lady's maid in lodgings in Newport, to be collected when their master and mistress came back that way, to continue their travels in the West Country. So now, Mr Atkins's servants were drawn up in line, to welcome the guests.
The housekeeper and distant cousin, who proved to be a stocky matron in widow's black, was succeeded by some two or three modest girls in white caps and twill gowns. These stood next to an older woman clad in the red flannel and black homespun of Welsh women throughout the land.
These females were casually introduced as Polly, Betty, Sarah and so on — in short, they answered to the generic names of servants everywhere. But two men of about Mr Atkins's own years were formally presented. ‘Miss Darrow – Mr Darrow — here are Robin and Henry Corder.’ Mr Atkins looked from guests to servants, then back again. ‘If there is anything you need, any service you require, and I myself am not by, speak to either of these fellows. Your word will be their command.’
‘Splendid.’ Rayner nodded his appreciation.
‘Yes, indeed.’ Jane smiled.
But the two heavily–made, jowly creatures who were to do their every bidding did not smile back. In fact, they met the visitors’ gaze so steadfastly that Jane and Rayner were most definitely the first to look away...
As the guests were soon to discover, however, all the servants were anxious to please. All were deferential. Gliding in and out like silent shadows, they attended to their master and his visitors so assiduously that Jane found a dropped handkerchief was restored with a curtsey even before she realised she'd lost it. As for Mr Atkins himself — he had only to look or nod for his will to be done.
Admiringly, Jane took note. Her own domestics at home at Easton Hall, whom she had always thought well– managed indeed, were saucy and skittish when compared with these respectful creatures, who never even opened their mouths unless positively invited to speak.
* * * *
Dinner was taken early, at two in the afternoon. Invited to indulge himself, Rayner made hearty inroads into both the roasts and the desserts, and drank rather more claret than was habitual even for him. So, when Mr Atkins proposed a walk, he staggered to his feet most unwillingly.
‘My dear Rayner, why not stay here, and take a nap?’ Shaking her curls, Jane smiled at him. ‘The journey down here has tired you. You need a rest, I'm sure.’
‘I do not.’ Squaring his shoulders, Rayner gritted his teeth. He was his sister's guardian! Her protector, too. Not to mention her dearest friend. So, if she had a fancy to go scampering along a beach, he must scamper too. ‘A walk would be most delightful,’ he said, firmly. ‘Exercise is exactly what I need.’
So the three of them, host and guests together, set off down the cliff path. The intention was, to stroll across the bay.
Soon, the wind had blown a beautiful colour into Jane's pale cheeks. Exercise brightened her eyes, and interest made her step quick and light. Living in the English Midlands, seaside holidays were a rare treat for her, and she meant to enjoy this one to the full.
So, she picked up shells, she paused to examine flotsam and jetsam, and she made mental notes on where it would be best to set up her easel the following day.
Mr Atkins strode rather than walked, but every so often he stopped, to give his visitors a chance to catch up with him. Jane always did. But Rayner lagged behind, on pretence of watching out for Blanchette, who was as delighted as her mistress to have discovered such a wonderfully fascinating place. Running into the foam, she shot out of it again. Then she hurtled back in, barking and yelping her pleasure for all the world to hear.
Waiting once more for Jane to catch up with him, Mr Atkins smiled. ‘My dear Miss Darrow,’ he began, ‘I observe your step has grown slow. I fear you must be tired.’
‘No, indeed! I stop so often because I wish to gaze, and admire.’ Smiling too, Jane narrowed her eyes, against the afternoon light. ‘You, of course, are well accustomed to — nay, you are most probably fatigued by — this magnificent view!’
‘On the contrary. There is always something of interest to see — and there is an element in the view today, of which I could never tire!’ Mr Atkins offered Jane his arm. ‘Will you walk to the end of the bay?’ he enquired.
‘I should love to,’ she replied.
For a moment or two, they strolled along in silence. Then, Mr Atkins spoke. ‘My dear Miss Darrow,’ he began, ‘we have been acquainted for a very sh
ort time, I admit. But nevertheless, I feel I know you well. I suspect you may feel that you also know me.’
Jane blushed. ‘Indeed, Mr Atkins,’ she murmured, ‘I am sure you have always been open–hearted. You are also hospitality itself. In fact, my brother and I were remarking just now on your kindness. Your generosity, and your goodness in — ’
‘It is not of your brother I wish to speak.’ Mr Atkins covered Jane's hand with his. ‘Miss Darrow, would you permit me to call you Jane?’
Jane's cheeks were scarlet. ‘Well,’ she whispered, ‘I'm not sure — ’
‘No matter! If the idea distresses you, we will stay with Miss Darrow.’ Complacently, Michael Atkins smiled. ‘For the present, anyway.’
The tide was well out, so they walked on smooth, flat sand, which made the going pleasant and easy. As they came into sight of Three Cliffs Bay, Michael Atkins sighed. ‘I've known so much sorrow in my life,’ he murmured. ‘But on a day like this, I can forget I ever had any cares.’
‘So can I.’ Jane smiled up at him. ‘Just watching the waves dance in the sunshine cheers me. At this moment, I feel sure that even the heaviest of burdens could be lightened here.’
‘Maybe.’ But Mr Atkins would not smile back. Instead, he sighed again. His sigh came from the heart.
* * * *
By this time, Rayner was completely out of sight. Jane was not concerned, reasoning that he was probably fast asleep against a rock. Glancing round, to see how far they'd come, she saw the house was in the furthest distance now. A solid, reassuring pile, viewed from the beach it seemed a veritable fortress. Which indeed it was, for it was surrounded by wooded slopes on three sides, and a sheer cliff on the fourth.
But it did not look forbidding. Rather, it seemed welcoming. Comforting. Today, its glazed red pantiles glowed in the sunshine, its rosy brickwork gleamed softly, and its window panes sparkled like diamonds reflecting the light. Jane did not wonder that Mr Atkins had kept it for a holiday retreat.
Then, at long last, she admitted it to herself. She liked this man. Liked him enormously, in fact. As she had already remarked to his face, he was kind, he was generous, he was good. Blushing a little, she also admitted — but still to herself, of course — that he was very attractive, too.
Tiring now, for her little nankeen boots with their elegant pointed toes were not really designed for long rambles, Jane leaned against him. She let herself positively enjoy having this large, strong, solid man at her side, to help and guide her along.
‘I hope you intend your stay here to be of some duration?’ he was saying now as, sensing she was tired, he moderated his long stride to fit her short, tripping step.
‘I — we would be most unwilling to take unfair advantage of your hospitality,’ she replied. ‘We would not wish to — ’
‘Impose?’ He laughed. ‘That would be impossible! How could a creature who brings such sweetness and delight into my dull life even be imagined to get in the way?’
Jane looked away, too embarrassed to reply.
‘Will you let me tell you something about myself?’ he asked, then.
‘I — ’
‘Don't be alarmed. It's just a short life history. Very much abbreviated, in fact. But I should so like you to hear it.’
‘Should you?’ Feeling bolder, Jane glanced up at him. ‘Then of course I shall be happy to listen.’
‘Thank you. Well, then — I was born and bred on Gower. In fact, I was a farmer here in Oxwich until I was well past thirty. Then, my father died, leaving me some cash which I decided to invest in industry. I bought a share in a copper–smelting concern, in Swansea.
‘I married quite late in life. I was thirty five. My bride, however, was but twenty. Reasonably expecting that she would survive me, all the plans I made now were based on the foundation of a wish that she and any children would not suffer after I was dead.
‘But soon after our wedding, my wife became ill. We called in all manner of physicians. Each to no avail. All we could do was make sure she was rested, spared every anxiety, and kept very quiet. But all the same, she lost her baby.
‘Two days later, she died in my arms. My daughter was buried by her mother's side.’
‘I'm so sorry.’ Looking up at him, Jane's blue eyes filled with tears. ‘So very sorry for you!’
‘Are you, my dear?’ Michael Atkins shook his head. ‘But of course, you understand. You have suffered, too.’
‘Not as much as you! Oh! It must have been so hard!’
‘It was, at first. Very hard. But it's true, you know. Time does dull the pain.’ Mr Atkins looked deep into Jane's eyes. ‘You have a secret sorrow,’ he murmured. ‘Will you tell me what happened?’
‘I was engaged to be married. The gentleman decided he preferred someone else.’
‘The scoundrel!’ Michael Atkins's blue eyes flashed. ‘How dared he?’
‘It was not a question of daring.’ Remembering, Jane bit her lip. ‘Looking back, I do not imagine he could help it.’
‘Nonsense.’ Still, Michael Atkins glared. ‘Miss Darrow,’ he said firmly, ‘I have lived much longer than you. I have by far the greater experience of the world. So I can tell you quite impartially, but also with a sincerity which comes from the heart, that the man who could see you and prefer another woman must be a fool or a blackguard. Probably both.’
Jane winced. ‘He was a good man,’ she faltered. ‘I loved him dearly. What is more, I believe he loved me. There were reasons why he behaved as he did.’
‘Honourable reasons?’
‘I can't answer that.’
‘You say you loved this creature dearly. Do you still?’
‘I —
‘Is your heart still bleeding?’
Jane considered. A week ago, she would have said yes. If she had consented to reply at all. But now, as she looked up at Michael Atkins, into his candid blue eyes which shone with what she could only assume was admiration of herself, she was not so sure.
It was immodest in the extreme to stare boldly at a man. She knew that very well. But now, she found she could not help but gaze! She saw that her companion's lips were parted in a half smile. His fair hair was ruffled and disordered by the wind into gleaming, golden swathes. He looked like a Viking chieftain. A Norseman, whose hair and eyes were coloured by the sun and the sea. So, was her heart still bleeding? ‘I don't think so,’ she replied.
‘That's excellent,’ he said.
‘Is it?’
‘Of course. It means your heart might one day be open to me.’
As a respectable, modest woman schooled from the cradle in manners and demeanour, Jane knew that she should look away. She should do so now! But, in spite of herself, she continued to gaze up at Michael Atkins. What was more, he gazed frankly back at her. In fact, he devoured her with his eyes...
There was a strong sea breeze that day. As she walked into the wind, Jane's light silk gown was blown so close against her body that every curve, every contour was sharply defined. Her scarf had long since blown back from her bosom, and she knew she should have caught it, pinned it, and covered herself again.
But she had not. Could not! For, she wanted Michael Atkins to look at her. Now, her colour rising, she realised she wanted something more shameful still. She wanted him to touch her. To embrace her, and kiss her on the lips.
Mortified, she hung her head.
He took her in his arms.
For a long minute, he held her close, his heart beating against her shoulder. His kissed the top of her head. ‘I am a very old man,’ he began, his voice light and humourous. ‘Fifty years old this All Hallows Eve, a great age to someone like you. But Miss Darrow — my dearest Jane — I hope to live many years yet. I do not wish to pass these years in solitude.
‘I loved my wife dearly. Until I met you, I never even saw the woman with whom I thought I might be once again content. But now I have seen her. Spoken with her, too. My darling Jane, will you make me happy again? Will you be my wife?’
<
br /> Jane's heart thumped painfully against her chest. Could she marry this man? Did she want to? For two years she had carried her misery like a burden, and by now she had grown used to its weight. She was almost afraid to lay it down.
But then, as her lover stroked her hair, as he held her in his warm embrace, it was as if something cracked open deep inside her. As if a seed began to germinate, promising the growth of hope and happiness anew.
‘Will you marry me?’ he demanded, rather more urgently now.
Jane made up her mind. ‘Yes, dear Michael,’ she replied. ‘I will.’
‘Good. Excellent.’ He raised her face to his. He kissed her once, twice, a third time. Meeting no resistance, he opened her mouth with his. He explored it deep inside.
As he'd suspected, she was hungry for a man. Greedy, even. Experimentally, he stroked one breast.
She drew breath sharply. But she did not pull away.
He kissed her again.
* * * *
Leaving her dazed but far from satisfied, five minutes later he let her go. He took her hand in his. ‘Will you walk on a little?’ he invited. ‘Along here, by the cliff?’
For a while, they strolled in silence. But then, Michael Atkins spoke. ‘May I come to your room this evening?’ he asked carefully, calmly, as if he asked for the time of day.
‘Yes,’ Jane replied.
Chapter 17
Jane was so happy. So contented, so sated, so warmly relaxed, so comforted. Now, there were so many things she understood...
After sending a message by her maid, asking if he might wait on her, Michael Atkins had come to her room at nine that same evening. Sitting down on a chintz–covered chair, he remarked on the beauty of the dusk, then made a few general observations on the fine summer weather that year.
All the same, a fleeting glance from the master had sent the maidservant scurrying to the dressing table, where she quickly set out her mistress's brushes, combs and other requisites for the night. Then, another sharp stare sent her scuttling away.
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