by Georgia Hill
‘My, Richard looks magnificent, does he not, Hetty?’
I stared at Hester open-mouthed and then looked at Richard. How did he do it? Just how did he manage to worm his way out of anything and get precisely what he wanted?
Richard caught my eye and touched his whip to his top hat with a wicked grin. His face was flushed with cold and, even from this distance, I could see his eyes glint vividly blue in the January air. This morning he had a hint of the man he would grow into: good-looking, energetic, lethally charming and reckless.
Something stirred deep within me, a mysterious and unknown force. I knew it had to do with the changes overtaking me. A feeling of uneasiness overwhelmed me and it wasn’t simply because Lucifer was skittish and skidding slightly, his legs trembling with the need for speed. Richard had the same need – and an iron will. Horse and rider were perfectly matched.
I did not say this to Hester, however. ‘Aunt, should he really be riding that horse? It looks awfully lively.’
Richard reigned in the gelding hard and smoothed a hand down the animal’s neck. He sent another wicked look my way and the odd feeling inside spread and warmed me. It flushed a heat throughout my stomach and down to between my legs.
‘I am sure he will be perfectly fine.’ Aunt Hester gave me a sideways look and whispered, ‘And it might run off some of that dreadful energy Richard has. I’m sure that is why he gets into these awful scrapes; he simply hasn’t enough to do, cooped up with us.’ She put an arm through mine. ‘Come along, Hetty, shall we find your Papa and have breakfast? Cook has made kedgeree as a special treat.’
I gave one last, longing, look at the gathered hunt, now being served their stirrup cup by a nimble-footed Sam and turned to follow my aunt.
Diary, I had no real desire to join them. Horses hold no fascination for me – smelly, recalcitrant beasts that they are – but how I longed to be Flora Parker. Just for an hour or so. To be looked at like that, by Richard. To be flirted with. As I entered the house, I heard her tinkling, pretty laugh ring out. She would be at the centre of attention, as always.
Breakfast was a somewhat dull and stilted affair. With no Richard to enliven proceedings and my father and I hardly conversing. We ate without interest, each sunk in our own thoughts.
I left the table as soon as it was possible. I wanted to get away from the stultifying atmosphere and, besides, I needed time to think about Richard and the peculiar way he had made me feel and to record it all in here. Diary, I sometimes feel that you are my only true friend.
Chapter 13
‘Sweet pea?’
Rachel answered the phone and immediately recognised Tim’s voice.
‘Tim, how lovely to hear from you! You haven’t rung for ages. How are you?’ She hadn’t spoken to Tim or Jyoti for weeks and was afraid they’d lost touch.
‘Darling heart! Been in New York. Having a fantastic time. The men, wonderling, the men are to die for!’
‘What, working?’ Rachel frowned. Tim was a lecturer in English at an HE college. She couldn’t see how he’d wangled a work trip to New York.
‘I wish.’ The sigh coming down the line was heartfelt. ‘I’d work there like a shot. I loved it. No, it was just shopping and some shows, bit of clubbing. Justin took me.’
‘Oh, so it’s back on with Justin again, is it?’ Tim’s relationship with his on-off boyfriend was very much more off than on. They were a volatile couple. Rachel suspected they both liked it that way.
‘Well, you know how it is. We muddle along, like an old married couple.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Not that anyone’ll let us actually get married, of course.’
Rachel thought of her parents, who never argued but then rarely spoke enough to each other to do so. Her father seemed happy at his golf club and her mother made a career out of sunbathing and going out to lunch. And nagging the latest cleaner. They lived very separate lives while maintaining the illusion of a perfectly happily married couple. It was a cold existence, though, and not one Rachel wanted to replicate.
The cosy domestic scene she’d witnessed in Gabe’s kitchen came back to her. That was more the sort of marriage she’d like. The solid companionship and affection evident between Mike and Sheila. Not that she was thinking of marriage, of course, she added, hastily.
‘Rach? You still there? Don’t the phones work out there in that god-forsaken corner of the unknown universe?’
Rachel giggled. ‘Yes, they work. Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘Aha! Already losing your edge, that’s what it’ll be. Stuck in that rural backwater, braiding your hair and wearing smocks.’
Rachel laughed again. ‘You’ve got a perverse and very peculiar idea of what goes on in the country, Tim.’
‘Take my word for it, you’ll be knitting yoghurt any day now.’
Before he got distracted, Rachel butted in, ‘Lovely though it is to swap insults, did you ring for a reason? Some of us have work to do, you know.’
‘Ooh, excuse me. I had no idea life was so terribly hectic. Flowery watercolours begging for your attention?’
Rachel settled on the arm of the sofa and stared out at the view. As ever, it drew her gaze. ‘Actually, I’ve had an idea, or rather someone else gave me the idea. Although I think it might have been in my mind before he mentioned it and I’ve been thinking about it, sort of, ever since. A book, maybe, of illustrations. You see I’ve found this …’
‘Told you, you’re losing your edge,’ Tim interrupted. ‘A book indeed! Wonderling, you’re waffling in a way I’ve never known you to. Think I need to get myself down there and sort you out. Been meaning to visit for ages, but you keep putting me off.’
‘Tim, the house is hardly fit to live in!’ Rachel exclaimed, thinking of the extra scaffolding about to go up so that Gabe could really get cracking on the roof. The rain had, after all, caused more damage and it had become a priority. Mike had also mentioned someone called Kevin to her, to help install the central heating. He still hadn’t begun the work; the Halliday job having been delayed by the redoubtable Mrs Sutherland-Harvey. What with Stan too, the place would be overrun with workmen. She said as much to Tim.
‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more,’ he declared. ‘I’ll sort out trains – you do have public transport in the sticks, don’t you?’
Rachel ignored his sarcasm. ‘Yes, Tim, we’re not completely uncivilised.’ Resigned to her fate she added, ‘I’ll pick you up from the station, then. Let me know which train you’re on.’ She knew, once Tim had made up his mind, that there was no changing it. His stubbornness was legendary, one of the many flashpoints between him and Justin.
Her heart sank. She loved Tim, she really did, but she worried about him in her little village. He was outrageously camp and he’d often gone out of his way to shock people. Rachel had stepped in time and again to smooth things over and steer her friend away from situations that threatened to get violent. Tim never learned. And – her village? Since when had she begun to think like that? Catching sight of the thick layer of dust on the windowsill she realised there was another problem. It was impossible to keep the house clean while all the work went on. She had so wanted the cottage to be at its best for her first visitor. Or, for the building work to be finished, at least.
With an effort, she tuned back in to what Tim was saying.
‘I’ll have to pop into Selfridges to get myself all togged out. Ooh, I just don’t know what to bring. I mean, what does one wear in Hertfordshire?’
‘I’ve no idea, I live in Herefordshire,’ she corrected. It wasn’t the first time Tim had mixed up the two counties. ‘And, if you can survive the New York gay social scene without any problems, I don’t think Stoke St Mary will faze you.’
‘Mee-ow! Claws out, pussycat. Perhaps I was wrong about you losing your edge! Can’t wait, darling heart. I’ll let you know when I’m free.’
‘But what about when I’m free?’ Rachel began to protest, but got the blank dialling tone. Tim had put the phone down.
‘Well, he’ll just have to lump it.’ Rachel looked around the sitting room. ‘At least this room’s not too bad, apart from the dust.’
Her eyes were drawn again to the view beyond her worktable; it was yet another lovely day. ‘And, if I’ve begun talking to myself, perhaps it’s about time I had company.’
Gazing up at the tin holding Hetty’s life story, sitting on its shelf, she said, ‘Did you start talking to yourself, Hetty? Is that why you began the journal?’
Rachel was getting used to Hetty’s presence. She found herself talking more and more to her, even sometimes asking advice. Occasionally, if she was really lost in Hetty’s world, as she had been the other day, she would sense meaning coming through the strange atmosphere that swirled and misted around the room. Today, however, the sitting room remained silent. Shaking her head and forcing a laugh, she jumped a foot into the air as the phone began to ring again.
Thinking it was Tim calling back, she was startled to find it was Neil Fitch, from the estate agents. She was even more taken aback when she found herself accepting his invitation to dinner that night.
Neil took her to the Pheasant in Flight, a gastro pub on the top of a hill overlooking the village. He’d picked her up in his Freelander and was looking smart in a dark suit. Rachel was glad she’d fished out a half-decent skirt and silk shirt. She sensed the pub wouldn’t be the sticky-carpeted type.
It wasn’t.
Traditional on the outside, it was all leather seats and scrubbed pine tables inside. There were no locals having a drink at the bar and all the tables were set for dining. It was far more restaurant than pub. Rachel wasn’t sure she liked it. Then, remembering Hetty’s lust for life and her enjoyment of a small tea party, she forced herself to be more open-minded. Don’t be like your mother, she vowed to herself, do not get into the habit of pre-judging everything and finding it at fault.
A young blonde girl greeted Neil enthusiastically and showed them to a table in the window. It was a lovely evening, but not quite warm enough to eat outside. Rachel loved this time of year when there was still light in the sky until late. She gazed, enraptured, at the setting sun.
‘There are the most wonderful evening skies in this part of the world, don’t you think? So open and vast. And the colours of the sunsets are incredible,’ she murmured, almost to herself.
Neil had been busy studying his menu. He looked up and smiled, but she could see he didn’t really understand what she meant and felt foolish. With a pang, she realised Gabe would have known instantly.
‘That must be the artist in you, Rachel. I’m afraid I’ve never really noticed. Now what would you like to drink? Wine?’
‘Thank you,’ Rachel murmured and shifted her concentration back to the menu. It was a brief list, but everything was described in florid detail, with many mentions of ‘jus’ and ‘pan-fried’. There was a lot of offal on it, at which she repressed a shudder. She decided on the sea bass.
The waitress returned and had a lively conversation with Neil; they obviously knew each other.
‘Stacey,’ he explained, once she’d gone with their order. ‘I sold her parents’ house.’ He smiled. ‘The curse of the estate agent in a rural area. You get to know everyone!’ He didn’t quite keep the smugness out of his voice.
And she likes you a lot, Rachel thought. Looking at Neil, she could see why; he was an astonishingly good-looking man. Her mother would love him. Attractive, well-mannered, promising career; he had all the attributes she had always wanted for her daughter. She didn’t approve of Tim and had made clear her opinion of Rachel’s boyfriends. None of them had passed muster. Neil would – and with flying colours.
He had all the makings of a perfect man. So why was being with him proving so awkward? When the wine had been opened, with Neil making a show of tasting it before it was poured, a silence descended.
‘Do you …?’
‘Have you …?’
They spoke at the same time and both laughed nervously. Another silence landed, during which they watched as other diners began to come in.
Neil took a sip of wine and sighed.
‘I thought you liked it?’ Rachel asked.
‘Oh yes, it’s wonderful, but I’ll have to make the one glass last.’
‘Of course, you’re driving.’
Neil nodded. ‘There is that. I’m also training for a triathlon. Alcohol plays havoc with the training schedule.’
‘A triathlon! What does that involve?’
While they waited for their food to arrive, Neil filled Rachel in on what was expected. He went into so much detail about the three events: the cycling, the swimming and the ten- kilometre run, that Rachel wished their food would arrive. She’d tried to be interested, but had heard enough about the differences between on- and off-road running and the trials of open-water swimming to last a lifetime. Neil was obviously a very keen athlete.
Stacey returned to unfold the napkins and place them on their laps – Rachel was amused to see she took a long time to get Neil’s just right – and then served their starters.
It had seemed a long wait and Rachel was starving. Ashamed at herself for not enjoying the evening more, she vowed to be more positive. ‘This is delicious,’ she said, forking up her cheese soufflé.
Neil nodded. ‘I’ve heard the food is good here but haven’t really had the excuse to try it out. My soup’s good too.’ He broke some bread, then changed his mind and put it back onto his plate. ‘You know, I’m really glad you agreed to come out. I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while … well, to be honest, ever since you came into the office, but Roger can be a bit old-fashioned about staff dating clients.’
Rachel didn’t really know how to respond. She’d been single for so long she’d got out of the habit of this kind of conversation.
‘Well, thank you.’ Embarrassed, she stared out at the now-dark sky. ‘Roger must be good to work for,’ she settled on eventually, after another long pause. Roger seemed a safer topic.
Neil sat back and smiled. ‘He is. Not sure how long I’ll stay there, though. I want to broaden my horizons a bit.’
‘What, go to a city branch? Hereford?’ She’d been right, then, he was ambitious. Another point in his favour, in her mother’s eyes at least.
‘Maybe, or maybe get into land management. There are quite a few large estates round here. I like being outdoors and it seems a good life to me.’ Without finishing, he set his soup bowl aside.
Rachel had no idea what land management would entail, but she had no doubts that Neil, if asked, would tell her. He was the sort of man who liked the sound of his own voice. Their starters had been cleared and there was the danger of another awkward gap in the conversation, so Rachel asked the question, ‘What does a land manager do?’
‘Well, it’s quite complex. It can involve property law, valuing, selling and managing rural assets. You know, machinery, crops and livestock.’ And Neil was off again, seemingly not requiring any answer other than the occasional nod from his dining companion.
Rachel took refuge in finishing the bottle of wine.
Having shown no interest in asking Rachel anything about herself and hogging the conversation entirely, when their puddings came Neil asked her about Hetty’s journal. Although Rachel was keen to discuss it, at this stage in the meal she was exhausted from the effort of appearing interested in subjects she knew little of and cared even less about. Neil seemed to pick up on this but it meant that the meal ended in another series of awkward silences.
The Freelander made it up the track to the cottage without any of the wheezing and rattling that Rachel’s Fiat usually made.
‘That’s why Roger insists we all have four-by-fours,’ Neil said, a little pompously. ‘You really need four-wheel drive to get to some of the properties we have to visit.’ Having gained his second wind, he began to elaborate, telling her all about the hair-raising places he’d nearly got stuck in, the perils of snow and mud and landslides. ‘It can be a trick
y county to navigate in the winter. You’ll find out all about that later in the year, though, of course,’ he finished, with an unspoken criticism of her choice of vehicle.
With an old-fashioned courtesy, he came round to open the passenger door and walked Rachel up the path. He stood with her while she unlocked the front door, but didn’t seem to expect to go in.
‘I’ll be off now, then. We athletes need our beauty sleep.’
‘Well, thank you for a lovely evening, Neil.’ Rachel pushed open the door, desperate to get inside.
‘No, thank you, Rachel. I’ve really enjoyed talking to you.’ He took her hand and bent closer.
Don’t kiss me. Don’t kiss me! Worried she’d said it out loud, Rachel backed away against the door jamb.
But Neil was merely demonstrating his impeccable manners. ‘I’ve thoroughly enjoyed this evening,’ he said. ‘You’re such a good listener. Can we repeat it sometime? And of course, I’d love to see Hetty’s journal one day. I really would.’
Relieved she hadn’t had to rebuff an advance, Rachel smiled and said, a little more warmly than she meant to, ‘Come and see it anytime. And yes, thank you, I’ve enjoyed tonight too.’
She waved as he strode back to the car. Neil sounded the horn once, then reversed the car neatly and disappeared down the track.
Shutting the door against the night, she let out a long breath. He was nice, she tried to convince herself. Attentive, with excellent manners, not at all pushy, a gentleman and, of course, very good-looking. And he seemed to like her. Her mother would be ecstatic. In fact, she’d start planning the wedding straight away. She’d always been critical of her daughter’s steadfast singledom.
But something was missing. Rachel frowned. Apart from Neil’s tendency to talk too much – it wasn’t that he was boring, exactly, he just went into too much detail and didn’t expect a reply – he was perfect. Wasn’t he?
So, why was she not standing in the hall with her heart pumping, hormones fizzing? And why, though she wouldn’t mind if she saw him again, was she not that bothered if it didn’t happen too soon?
