From that time forward Briony found that she had almost more to do than she could fit into the working hours of the day. Gradually the grooming and general care of the ponies ridden by the children had fallen to her lot, especially the Shetlands, and in these Briony took a special interest. She soon found too that Blane had been speaking the truth when he had warned her that there was a great deal of work involved in the organising of the treasure hunt. And, what with special lessons to be given to Sandra, it was not surprising that at the end of the day she was glad to hurry back to the cottage and tuck into the meal which Hettie had prepared for her.
All in all Briony was delighted when the day of the show-jumping competition arrived to make a break in the usual routine. Briony did not have to give lessons because her pupils had all set off in a specially hired mini-bus to watch their games mistress compete. Blane of course attended, while Johnny drove Golden Sovereign in a motorised horse-box.
As soon as all was quiet in the stable-yard Briony took advantage of the lull to run an eagle eye over the tack under her care, with a sharp lookout for weak patches or loose stitches. This done, there were plenty more tasks to be attended to, and the day flew.
She was still hard at it when that evening Johnny drove the horse-box into the yard. He stepped out, a pleased grin on his face. ‘Guess how Senga did in the competition?’ he asked.
‘I can see from the expression on your face that she did well,’ Briony told him.
‘She did! Took first place. And you should have seen the competition she was up against! There were some very experienced riders there.’
‘I’m glad she did well,’ Briony told him sincerely. ‘You’re not half as pleased as the boss is!’ Johnny returned. ‘He’s tickled pink. And why shouldn’t he be? It’s a great advert for the Lennox Riding School. He’s rewarding Senga with a champagne dinner tonight—-just the two of them.’
‘Well, Senga has earned it,’ Briony told him, busily taking hold of the wheelbarrow she had been pushing, as she saw Johnny glance at her slyly out of the corner of his eye. ‘I’m delighted for her.’
‘Are you?’ he teased. ‘Something tells me that at this very moment you’re wishing it was you who was going out this evening for dinner with the boss.’
‘Now you’re being silly, Johnny,’ she told him loftily. ‘Am I? Do you think I don’t notice that “certain something” in the air when you’re together?’
‘Really, Johnny!’ Briony tried to sound condescending. ‘You’re too young to know what you’re talking about. If there’s anything “in the air”, as you call it, it’s probably the dreadful smell of the bean mash you keep boiling on the stove.’
But Johnny wasn’t to be sidetracked. An impudent grin split his boyish face as he turned away bawling ‘Love in Bloom’ at the top of his voice and with marked emphasis.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As Briony turned away she caught sight of a small figure cycling along the drive in a rather wobbly fashion. ‘Sandra!’ she cried, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come for my lesson,’ Sandra replied rather breathlessly, as she propped the bicycle against the wall of one of the loose-boxes. ‘Remember, you promised to show me how to trot properly.’
‘Yes, so I did!’ Briony agreed ‘But I thought you’d be at the show-jumping today.’
‘Oh, I went all right,’ Sandra assured her. ‘And Miss MacNeil was simply wonderful. She looked just beautiful flying over the jumps on Golden Sovereign and ‘
Briony sighed. Sandra’s arrival had put paid to her hope of catching up with her chores before Blane’s return. ‘Very well, now that you’re here, you may as well have your lesson,’ she broke in.
The lesson that afternoon was difficult—as usual—and Briony had to remind herself that, as Sandra made heavy weather even out of the simplest movements in riding, it was not surprising that she found the trot a stumbling block. Sandra was inclined to drop heavily into the saddle after the rise and to push herself up from the stirrups. Patiently Briony repeated her instructions over and over again, giving her plenty of practice, but, as so often happened with untalented riders, Sandra was rather worse at the end of the lesson than she had been at the beginning.
As Briony led the pony back towards the stable-yard, Sandra walked by her side, looking very solemn. Unexpectedly she asked, ‘Do you like Miss MacNeil?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Briony replied, wondering where this question was leading.
‘I didn’t like her myself—not at first,’ Sandra confessed. ‘You see, she was always saying I was a terrible show-off and a notice-box, and that wasn’t a nice thing to say, you know.’
‘Well you must admit, Sandra,’ Briony told her, ‘you were a bit of a notice-box.’
Sandra thought this over for a moment or two. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘But I’m better than I was, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, indeed you are,’ Briony told her warmly. ‘You’re quite different now.’
‘I’m glad of that,’ Sandra said solemnly, ‘because I want Miss MacNeil to like me. When I saw her jumping on Golden Sovereign today I felt so glad and proud. I only wish I were prettier, and then she might let me be one of her bridesmaids, and—’
‘Bridesmaids?’ queried Briony. ‘Is she getting married?’
‘But of course.’ Sandra lowered her voice confidentially. ‘Everyone says they’re going to announce their engagement at any moment.’
‘And who is she getting engaged to?’ asked Briony, although she guessed what the answer would be.
Sandra looked surprised. ‘To Blane Lennox, of course! She’s madly in love with him. Everyone knows that! Maybe he’ll give her the ring this very evening. Wouldn’t it be lovely and romantic?’ she added dreamily. ‘Perhaps he’ll gently slip it on to her finger over a candlelit table with music softly playing in the background.’ She sighed ecstatically.
So Sandra had caught wind of the celebration dinner! ‘They’re going out together because she did so well at the competition and made him so proud of her,’ Sandra told her rapturously. ‘He’s madly in love with her—just as she is with him. Of course she’s not beautiful—not strictly beautiful, that is, but she’s so elegant and soignée—and that’s more important, I think. Don’t you?’
But by this time they had reached the stable-yard. ‘Now how about getting you back to the school, Sandra,’ Briony broke in briskly. ‘I’d better drive you back. You’ve had just about enough exercise for one day.’
But Sandra protested vehemently. ‘Oh no, I’m going to cycle back again. Daddy got it for me specially. It folds up, you see, and you can fit it into the trunk of a car, it’s so very small. But at the same time, it goes like the wind.’
‘Do be sensible!’ Briony urged. ‘It’s quite a long way and the road through the moors is so very lonely.’
‘But I’m not tired, not really,’ Sandra said as she took her cycle from the stable wall. ‘And I shan’t be the smallest bit lonely. You can see the school when you’re a long way off, so you feel you’re nearly there, even when you’ve still got a distance to go. And don’t worry, I shan’t get lost, because I know that part of the country like the back of my hand. You see, we often go out on paperchases and I can find my way across the moors like a bloodhound.’
Afterwards Briony was to blame herself for not insisting on driving the child home, but at that moment Sandra looked so eager and so proud of her new toy that she yielded.
‘I suppose you’ll be all right,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Just keep on the road and you’ll get there in the end.’
Sandra took off her riding hat and, putting it in the neat white box behind her saddle, mounted her cycle and rode off.
She had hardly gone when Blane’s car drove into the yard. ‘Was that Sandra I saw going past on a very diminutive cycle?’ he asked, as he got out.
‘Yes, it’s a new toy of hers,’ Briony smiled. ‘She’s really been very good. She cycled all the way from th
e school for her lesson. She’s very keen.’
‘And is she going to cycle back? Isn’t she rather young for so much exercise in one day?’
‘I did offer to drive her back,’ Briony said quickly. ‘But she insisted and—’
‘And you gave way!’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have—but she seemed so pleased, and there’s so little Sandra is really good at, and—’
‘Oh well, she’ll probably arrive in one piece, although it may take her a while. After all, it’s a straight road. She can’t lose her way. And now tell me how you’ve got on since I saw you last.’
‘I had a look through the tack for the Shetlands,’ Briony told him. ‘There are a few pieces which are pretty badly worn, and—’
But it was clear he was hardly listening. ‘I suppose you have heard the news?’ he asked. ‘Senga came first. Johnny probably told you.’
‘Yes, it must have been wonderful,’ she said enthusiastically.
‘She’s not experienced in competition conditions, and perhaps it was a bit of a fluke, but she has plenty of courage and that carried her through. To take first place against the riders she had to compete with was a real triumph. Oh yes, all in all I think we can say we’ve had quite a successful day.’
He took a few restless steps about the stable-yard. ‘But now it’s over and we must push on to the next thing—and that’s the treasure hunt. We must make a success of that too. By the way, we haven’t fixed on a spot in which the prizes could be hidden. Has anything struck you?’
‘What about the hollow in the oak tree by the burn?’ Briony suggested. He looked at her enquiringly, and she went on, ‘You may not have noticed it, but there’s a hollow in the bark on the far side of the trunk. There’s a nook inside in which one can hide things. I used to do it myself when I was a child.’
‘Sounds just what we need!’ he agreed. ‘But perhaps you’d better show it to me. Could you possibly come back after tea and we’ll take a look at it?’
When Briony entered the cottage she found Hettie dressed to go out. ‘You’re a bit late this evening,’ she commented, as she pulled on her gloves, ‘but there’s a casserole in the oven and I’ve baked an apple tart. It’s cooling on the table by the window and there’s a jug of cream to go with it.’
When Hettie had gone off to the dressmaking lessons which were held in the Church Hall Briony went through the living-room and into the bathroom at the back of the cottage. It was too tiny to house a full-length bath, but had an excellent shower. Briony wore no shower cap, but allowed the water to pour over her hair, then towelled it dry and rapidly set it into a smooth cap-like style with her fingertips. She put on a fresh white blouse and pullover and clean jeans, then went into the kitchen to take the casserole out of the oven.
But the care Hettie had put into her cooking was wasted on Briony. As she ate she was in a rebellious mood. Thanks to Senga, this had been a successful day for Blane. But already in his restless mind the triumph was moving into the past. Let’s push on to the next thing! That was his attitude. It was just a chance that the next thing happened to be the treasure hunt. Hurry home, have your tea quickly and then hurry back so that we can get on with the organising of the hunt—that was what he wanted. And suddenly she felt she could not endure another moment of it.
She glanced down at her clothes. Tidy and clean, yes—but the same rig in which he always saw her! What if she were to look different for a change? If she were to put on something attractive—something utterly feminine, perhaps Blane would think of her as a human being for once. She was tired of being accepted as part of the background at Birchfields; always there, almost invisible in her practical gear.
She put down her knife and fork and ran upstairs. In her own room she slipped off her workaday clothes and put on a pretty dress in a synthetic material. It was nothing very special, just a light summer dress, but the pattern of bright discs of emerald green and blue and yellow made it attractive. With it went fine hose and smart sandals. Quickly she ran a comb through her hair and fluffed up the tips with her fingers. A touch of lipstick completed a very light swift make-up.
She glanced at her watch. She had been as quick as possible, but still she knew, being well aware of how Blane hated to be kept waiting, that she would have to hurry.
When she arrived she found him standing in the doorway of the house. This made her last few steps rather a self-conscious matter, and as she approached she was expecting with a rather prickly tenseness some comment on her appearance.
But all he said was, ‘You brought no coat, I see. The evening has turned chilly.’
Briony could have told him she hadn’t noticed any chill in the air because she had been hurrying, but decided to keep this to herself.
He opened the door of a cupboard in the hall, pulled out a duffle coat and throwing it about her shoulders, cape-fashion, fastened the top peg under her chin. ‘There! A bit too big perhaps, but at least it will keep you from getting your death of cold.’
As he moved away from the house she found herself hurrying to keep up with him, the long sleeves of the duffle coat dangling by her sides. What a complex person Blane Lennox was, she was thinking. He could be so harsh and demanding at times, asking of people almost more than they could give, then unexpectedly could show a rough consideration that made one forget his past offences.
He turned along by the burn into which Sandra had fallen during that very first lesson that Briony had ever given at Birchfields, and as they came level with a solitary oak-tree on the opposite bank, he paused. ‘Is this the tree? A hollow on the far side, I think you said. Better stay here while I have a look. If you paddle across the bum in those shoes they’ll never be the same again!’ He leaped across the narrow stream, thrust aside some shrubs that grew behind the tree and began to feel along the bark. ‘Yes, here it is. And this should be ideal. The bushes conceal the hole, even after the tree is discovered, and that’s all to the good.’
As he returned to her side of the stream he said, ‘We could have a little of the wood carved out, because the hole inside is rather small. But, apart from that, it’s the very thing we need. None of the children are aware of its existence, I suppose?’
‘Not that I know of,’ she replied. ‘In fact it had completely slipped my own mind. It was just by chance that I thought of it.’
‘You used to hide things in it when you were a child. What sort of things?’
‘Oh, half-sucked soor plooms, and bits of chocolate and toffee bars. You see, when Uncle Roy gave me pocket-mopey I used to spend it right away in Annie Skinner’s shop. But Hettie didn’t like me to spoil my appetite by eating between meals, so I had to hide away the goodies.’
‘You know, when you said you used to hide things in the hollow I pictured them as being something else,’ commented Blane.
She looked at him enquiringly.
‘I wondered if you had had a childish love affair with some little fellow in Abergour—someone you used to exchange love-letters with, using the hollow as a postbox! Someone you might have wanted to come back and see again.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’ Briony asked in surprise.
‘I mean, just in case he still carried the torch for you.’
Briony laughed. ‘Oh, nothing like that! I’m afraid sweets were my main preoccupation in those days.’
‘So you didn’t even have a crush on someone in a childish way? I see. So if you were to fall in love with someone here in Abergour it would be for the first time?’
For a moment Briony felt herself overcome by self-consciousness. She glanced away hastily in case unintentionally she might reveal how his words had struck home.
But when she didn’t answer he quickly changed the subject.
And just as well, she thought, because she might inadvertently have given away that she had indeed fallen in love—but with him.
‘I don’t think you’ve seen the flat,’ he was saying.
‘Flat?�
� she asked in surprise.
‘Did you not know that part of the agreement when your godmother sold the house was that she should retain the upper storey?’
Briony looked at him in bewilderment. ‘No. She never mentioned it.’
Blane gave a wry smile. ‘No, I suppose not! As I’m not her favourite person she’s hardly likely to include that little detail in the history of my life! But come along, and I’ll show it to you. It was all done up before she took over. As the house was sold with its contents I agreed that she should pick out her favourite pieces and furnish her flat with them.’
As they walked towards the side of the house he went on, ‘It has two bedrooms and all the usual appointments, as they say in the advertisements.’
Feeling bewildered by this unexpected piece of news, Briony went with him to a spot where outside stairs guarded by silver-painted iron railings led upwards to a small balcony. And now she realised that while she had often noticed these stairs she had vaguely accepted them as part of the alterations he had made to the house.
Now, as they ascended the stairs to the balcony surrounded by lace-like ironwork, she realised that this reminded her of pictures she had often seen of houses in New Orleans.
When Blane had opened the door that led off the balcony she found herself in a long white passageway, and immediately she got an impression of light and cleanliness. From the long skylight which ran the length of the corridor light flooded down on to an amber carpet.
‘Mrs. McPhee sees this place is kept tidy and clean all the time just in case your godmother might some time wish to return,’ he told her, as he opened one of the doors on the right of the corridor. ‘This is the sitting-room.’
Briony gazed around in wonderment. The room wasn’t very big, but it was beautifully furnished with wall-to-wall carpeting. The walls were silver-white and the furniture was a mixture of good modern and antique so that nothing seemed to clash.
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