A Connoisseur of Beauty (4 page)

“Maybe I’m too used to keeping myself bottled up,” she confessed.

“Maybe I can be the one to uncork that bottle. But for now, let us enjoy the Champagne and the beautiful weather. And I hope you will come to my May Ball. Come on; tell me how I should lay things out in the garden?”

And for half an hour they sat idly discussing how he could arrange his May Ball, sipping the Champagne and basking in the sun. Being with Hunter that a
fternoon seemed to Amy like an island of calm in a storm-driven sea, a moment to seize and enjoy. It was as well she saw it like this, because their fragile moments of pleasure would soon be shattered again.

***

Chapter Three

In fact the week began gently enough. The fine May weather was holding with every hope of it lasting until the following Saturday. Amy continued with her painting in the mornings and Hunter brought up a picnic to share with her each day; so they stretched out in the sun, chatted companionably, and discussed the ball. He was more relaxed and less intense than he had been on that first Saturday, but he did gradually unfold details of his family, schooldays, likes and dislikes. Amy learnt that he loved the peace of country walks, but also the thrill of piloting his helicopter over the Grand Canyon. That he respected his parents, but loved his grandmother. That handling big business both thrilled and appalled him; he loved the rush that negotiating a successful deal brought, but
disliked some of the worst character traits it brought out in the participants. He liked white wine, shell-fish, black slope skiing and, it seemed, Amy’s company. In those three days he made no attempt to kiss or romance her, but Amy could feel the tentative beginnings of affection and trust growing between them. On the Tuesday she had completed her painting and knew the next day she had to travel up to London to fulfil a long held promise to visit a friend from her brief student days. She was going to be sorry to be away from Hunter but glad of the opportunity to shop for the perfect dress for Saturday.  She had tried to convince herself that there were actually more important things for her to spend her small amount of money on but decided, no, there really weren’t. The thought of turning up in a dress to dazzle and disarm Hunter seemed paramount.

As they were sitting together they could watch the men starting to erect a huge marquee beside the house.

“I didn’t give them the go ahead until I knew your painting was finished,” Hunter was saying. “I suppose there is no chance of it being dry and framed by Saturday? I’d love to see the reaction it gets.”

Amy shook her head. “No. I
mixed with linseed oil and used a palette knife pretty freely. Honestly, it could be Christmas before it’s dry!”

Hunter smiled. He was laid out in the warm grass, his dark hair pushed casually back from his eyes, his long limbs stretched out languidly as he propped himself on one elbow and looked at Amy. Although there had been no attempt on his part to initiate any physical contact with her, she was acutely conscious of how close his lean, hard, sun-warmed body was to hers and was not unaware of how his eyes took in the way the flimsy material of her cotton dress clung to her curves.

“It’s going to be a bit of a mixed bunch on Saturday,” he was saying. “Lots of London clients, who may bore you a bit; some artists you may like to meet, one or two people I’d actually call friends. None of my family, except Cole, who is flying over tonight.”

Amy nodded. She was charmed by the fact that he was actually giving consideration to how much she would enjoy Saturday’s gathering. She was simply looking forward to seeing
Wolfston en fête again and having the opportunity to spend at least some of the evening with him.

“Cole isn’t coming over alone,” Hunter continued, “I don’t quite know what you’ll make of him. We have a complicated relationship and, well,” he hesitated, “some things are not quite what they seem.”

Amy wasn’t sure what he meant but asked, “Complicated as in “bad” or just complicated? You’ve always seemed quite affectionate when you talk about Cole.”

“Oh, I love him right enough. That’s the easy bit. I don’t like him much, though, and at the moment he may mean more trouble than he’s worth.  I look after him like he’s my irresponsible kid brother, which is pretty topsy-turvy as he’s actually two years older than me. It’s just, at the moment I’d have liked to keep things quiet and simple.” The way his eyes lingered on her as he spoke made her feel that she was the reason why he wanted to keep things quiet, and it was true that part of her was aggravated by the prospect of a whole bevy of people breaking into the intimacy they seemed to be
beginning to enjoy. On the other hand she was fascinated to meet some of the people he had talked to her about.

“Oh, I’m sure it will all work out all right,” she replied, wanting to reassure and comfort him and take the worried look from his eyes and not really knowing what it was that was worrying him. “My family has a history of complexity dating back to medieval times, but now I seem to be all that is left of it, any problems seem better than being alone.”

Hunter leant over suddenly and cupped her chin gently in his hands. The kiss he gave her was all about tenderness, but she knew that if he hadn’t withdrawn from it when he did, their passion would have been fired up. And the smouldering look she saw in his eyes as she glanced at him told her that he was being both careful and caring.

“Perhaps you are right. I’m lucky to have what I have, however complex. But just remember,”
he reiterated, “things are not always what they seem.”

Over the next few days Amy had very little time to wonder about what
Hunter had meant by his cryptic parting comment. On the Wednesday morning she took the train up to London. She didn’t tell Lucy anything about her relationship with Hunter, but did mention that he had bought Wolfston Hall. This in itself was enough to excite Lucy who, as an art graduate, was in the difficult phase of having to put a cap on her ambitions and accept a clerical post whilst trying, in the face of fierce competition, to find a job which utilized her artistic ability. At least the mention of his name and the fact that Amy was going to his party made her a willing accomplice in the hunt for the perfect dress. Amy had it in mind to wear something similar to, but not a replica of, the dress that Elizabeth Montford wore in the painting. One quite straight-forward reason for this was that, with the same willowy figure, forget-me-not blue eyes and rich, dark hair, it would probably look as spectacular on her as on the original. And they did eventually – footsore, weary and after many sustaining stops for coffee – find the dress. Amy had at home a sapphire necklace which her father had given her mother as a wedding present and was the only treasure which he had somehow managed to retain. It had been equally unthinkable for Amy to sell it, and there was no reason not to wear it. When she returned on the Friday evening and tried it on together with the dress, she honestly felt that she could shine at the party even amongst the glitterati of Hunter’s friends and family. The grey silk of the dress clung like a light mist about her figure, the neckline hinting at her full but pert breasts, whilst the sapphires shone like stars against her gleaming white skin. She could ask no more.

Neither on the Friday night nor the Saturday did Amy hear from Hunter. She was disappointed but not wholly surprised as she knew that his brother and other guests would already be there. However, it might have calmed her jangling nerves if he had sent her just a small message to suggest that he was looking forward to seeing her. Worse still, because Judy had a small emergency with one of her grandchildren, she was going to turn up late and Amy was going to have to make her entrance alone.

It was a sultry evening with a hint of thunder in the air as Amy walked the short distance from her cottage to Wolfston Hall. A waxing moon did something to help light her way, although flitting clouds harried along by a warm but strengthening wind obscured it from time to time. The silk of her dress caught the sheen of moonlight and the breeze ruffled it, giving her the look of a ghostly but beautiful apparition. She had piled her dark hair on her head and held it with two silver, pearly combs, with just a few soft strands breaking free to gently frame her face. She held a luxurious, antique, faded blue velvet stole around her, and she wore kitten-heeled blue velvet court shoes on her feet. Like the stole they had history and she had twice had them carefully repaired so they were as comfortable as gloves. Wolfston Hall blazed ahead of her, a fleet of cars in the wide driveway at the front and the marquee visible at the back where the garden was lit by glittering lights strung in the trees and lanterns along the pathways. There was the scent of a hog roast in the garden and the promise of fireworks later. It was hard not to feel exhilarated at the spectacle, although some of the butterflies in her stomach were nervousness, not at the prospect of meeting so many new people, but at the prospect of renewing her acquaintance with Hunter in such a public forum. She hardly knew how she expected him to greet her – warmly, with a smile, or with formal correctness along with his other guests?

She was fortunate on first entering through the open doors to catch sight of the vicar and her husband standing in the softly lit entrance hall and clasping champagne flutes. Amy was r
easonably well acquainted with Jean, the vicar, although an infrequent churchgoer herself. It was Jean who had presided at her father’s funeral. He husband, Geoff, who was an accountant, she knew mostly by sight. In any case they smiled at her so she felt able to go over and speak to them whilst giving herself a chance to take in the transformation of the house and gain an impression of the guests who now filled it.

“Looks lovely,” comm
ented Jean, casting her eyes about her. “We talked briefly to a sculptor who offered to do something for the church. I fancy he’s rather modern for St John’s, but didn’t like to say no. Something depicting the passion, he said. I hope we were talking about the same concept as he came over as distinctly avant-garde, rather than theological, in his stand point.”

“Give him a free rein and see what he comes up with. It will at least form a starting point for your Easter sermon,” commented Amy, most of her mind taking in her surroundings. Geoff snorted into his Champagne.

“My thoughts exactly. There are some beautiful women here tonight,” continued Jean, following Amy’s eyes. “You amongst them, of course.  A bit at the glamorous end of the scale for us.”

Amy was ready to agree with the observation that this was an event more glamorous than
Montford Village had seen in a long while, although Wolfston Hall could lay claim to entertaining royalty and hosting many a society ball in previous centuries. Not that Hunter Lewis had failed to rise to that challenge. Amy could see that he had carried through all the ideas that they had discussed. She could see through the house to the marquee and knew that it would be decked with trails of flowers and tiny sparkling lights and that an orchestra would be playing. She could see an elegant buffet set out in the Great Hall and wondered if Hunter had arranged for a string quartet to play there when they officially stopped for dinner, although there was also barbequed food available continuously in the garden until the small hours. Champagne was being offered on silver trays and Amy helped herself to one with a word of thanks and marvelled at the quality of the cut glass in which it was served. She stayed chatting with Jean and Geoff for a short while before excusing herself and wandering into the other rooms.

Inevitably Amy was casting round in the hope of catching sight of Hunter. When she did so, it was to see him standing by the open French windows surrounded by a small circle of people who were talking and laughing. He was at an angle to her, so did not immediately see her. Her first response
was a jolt in her stomach when she realised how impossibly handsome he was in evening dress, his hair swept back with just that one roguish lock falling over his eyes. It was a now familiar face with its intense grey eyes currently twinkling with humour; but seeing him so at ease, surrounded by friends and family whilst she was feeling slightly lost and overwhelmed made her feel a million miles away from him. She suddenly felt a strong urge to run away through the garden into the warm, friendly woods where she knew she belonged, before he saw that she was there at all. And then it was too late. He turned slightly whilst addressing one of his entourage and she saw him suddenly catch sight of her. He didn’t stop his flow of speech, but just tilted his glass towards her in an almost imperceptible gesture which no one but her noticed. She thought he might have broken away at some point and come over to her, but she herself was suddenly swept up by an excited Judy, who had just arrived, swathed in red satin, and was wanting to tell her about the ups and downs of her day, the mishap to her granddaughter, and how she managed to get away in time for the ball.

And somehow that was how the evening unfolded; with Amy getting the opportunity to take in details of groups like a series of tableaux, and circling first closer to Hunter, then further away, then so close that their eyes kept meeting although they were engaged in different conversations. Amy was introduced to prominent members of the art world including renowned academics alongside the brightest talents she had previously only read about. She caught sight of at least one model she recognised from the pages of magazines, long limbed and lovely.  More interesting to her, however, was the man she immediately recognised at Hunter’s brother, Cole. After all, no two men could otherwise be so alike, although it was the differences between them that chiefly intrigued her. Cole was a narrower version of his younger brother, both facially and physically. Whilst not unattractive, he was less impressive in stature and also lacking in Hunter’s intense physical presence. However, the individual who attracted ever greater scrutiny, both from Amy and others in the
company, was the woman accompanying Cole. She was, Amy immediately thought, the most spectacularly beautiful woman she had ever laid eyes upon. Tall, slim but curvaceous, her luscious figure displayed to the fullest of advantage in an emerald green dress with only enough bodice to preserve the decencies, she had tumbling auburn hair and eyes so green that Amy wondered if she was wearing contact lenses. Observing the couple, Amy noticed how frequently Cole put an instinctively possessive hand out, now brushing her elbow, now placing his hand briefly against her back. Perhaps these unconscious, proprietorial movements were related to the fact that, however ravishing she looked in her revealing dress, not only did the woman reveal the most stunning décolletage, but also the fact she was a good few months pregnant.