Into the Blue (15 page)

‘I could love you, Hester, if I allowed myself that great privilege.' The words were quiet, his voice very deep.

She watched the generous mouth tighten, saw a shadow creep over his face, and knew the moment had gone; now he was closing the barrier, and her heart jumped a beat.

‘Love?' Her breathing quickened and he smiled, stroking her cheek, saying, almost whimsically, ‘Love. Something I never thought to find. And here it is, whenever I see you, think of you, long for you... .'

If only the dreaming moment could go on for ever. Being loved, being admired, being wanted. But there was a sound in the garden, voices, Ruby calling to Hoskins, his gravelly, irate reply, and she knew the dream had flown. Carefully she pushed away his hand, rose and slipped past him into the sunny entrance of the summerhouse. ‘I think
we had better go.' But she wanted to stay.

He was beside her, his smile polite and ordinary as he said, ‘Of course. Please forgive me. I took a liberty. Summer scents, and a lovely woman – all too much for any man to contend with.' His voice was amused, self-mocking.

She winced. ‘No, Nicholas, you didn't take a liberty. I was to blame, bringing you here.' It was all spoilt. She stepped away, walking up the grass path towards the house, he following behind her. By the front door she turned; he would go now. What could she say?

Nicholas resolved the problem. ‘Forgive me,' he said, almost casually now, ‘but you told me this morning that you were to spend the night at The Globe Hotel and I suppose you have left some luggage there. Am I right?'

She had quite forgotten. ‘Yes. A valise.'

‘Have I your permission to collect it? It would be no trouble.'

Her heart pounded. He sounded as if nothing had happened in the summerhouse. He was just a servant offering to do something beyond the expected duty. He looked at her as if she were anyone, not the Hester he admired, could love... .

‘Thank you, that would be very kind.' She kept her eyes down.

‘Not at all. And also – about the painting.'

‘Yes?' She had to look at him again. The painting, the commission, Mr Hayward's book. The old passion had a greater hold on her now, thundering through her veins, followed by the bleak truth that it had all come to an end.

Perhaps he saw her thoughts revealing all this. He took her hands in his and the impersonal expression softened as he said, ‘Stop worrying, Hester. I'll bring your painting things back and perhaps you can continue here, in your home. I'll arrange it with my father. And another thing—'

‘Yes?'

He smiled, and his voiced lightened as if, she thought, he intended the next words to be unimportant and easy, yet knew they could never be. ‘Please forget what I said – in the summerhouse.' His eyes were dark.

For a couple of seconds they looked at each other, until Hester despairingly nodded, accepting his unexpected wisdom. ‘Yes,' she said
again. ‘If that's what you want, Nicholas.' She stopped, swallowed, and tried to find words to bring this painful moment to its end. ‘You've been... .' Inside her the knot tightened. She added lamely, ‘So helpful.'

He nodded. ‘If I can do anything more, send a message. I will leave your valise and your painting things with Mrs Hirst.' His voice lowered. ‘I won't come here again.'

No, he was right. They mustn't meet again unless it was in the company of someone else, and anyway he obviously didn't want to see her. But if they did happen to meet – she caught her breath – at Aunt Jacks', they would be merely polite to each other. No more personal, extraordinary exchanges of words and feelings. Just a warm feeling of friendship. It was the most she could hope for. She nodded.

‘Goodbye, Hester.' He held out his hand and she took it, knowing that this was goodbye. ‘I hope to hear good news of your father's recovery before too long.'

‘Thank you. Goodbye, Nicholas.' She forced herself to let the hard fingers slip away, then watched him reach for the haversack, and then walk away down the drive. He strode out of the entrance and round the corner. He was gone.

Hester went into the house and returned to the reality of life. Luncheon, she thought numbly. Would there be any today? How was Stepmother feeling? And she must return to Father's side. This afternoon Aunt Jacks was coming and she would mention a possible visit from Nicholas with her luggage.

It was all a bad dream, but even in this wilderness of desperation, she kept the promise of one gleaming star. Nicholas had said he could love her.

Leaving madam dozing, Ruby had spied it all from Hester's bedroom window. Away from the kitchen for a while, she was spending the afternoon sitting beside poor Master and then peeping into Madam's bedroom to make sure she was sleeping. But she had heard the doorbell, and voices, and couldn't stop herself running into Hester's room, hiding behind the curtain and watching the big man and Hester walking down the garden.

Where were they going? she wondered, with a grin. But suddenly Madam was awake, calling, sitting up in bed with her grey hair awry and her hands clasped as if in prayer and Ruby had come running.

‘Ruby! We must let Mr Marchant know about the Master. Tell Hoskins to take a message that we need to see Mr Marchant as soon as possible. Miss Hester needs someone to help her take charge of the house – can you remember that? Oh dear, and Mrs Hirst will be here soon – go and tell Hoskins and then come back. I must get dressed. And tell Cook we shall need tea when Jacks is here... .'

Ruby offered her a drink of lemon barley water, a clean wrapper, and then seated her by the window in the comfy buttoned chair. ‘I'll be back in a minute, Madam. Don't worry, everything's gonna be all right.'

In the garden she ordered Hoskins to convey the message to the Marchant household. ‘And bring back an answer, else Madam'll be going on about it... .' She watched him grumpily walk towards the coach house and then stayed for a moment in the garden. It was lovely here, warm and full of green things and butterflies and some bees in the herb bed. She wondered again about Miss Hester and that big
man who were now in the summerhouse. What was going on between them?

Back indoors, telling Cook that a cake would be needed and then going upstairs to Madam again, Ruby hoped that the meeting in the summerhouse was a happy one. Miss Hester had looked as if she needed cheering up, so terribly unhappy when Ruby saw her in Master's room. A queer feeling made Ruby's head spin; she wanted to do something to show Miss Hester how sorry she felt for her. Suddenly, climbing the stairs to go and help Madam dress, she stopped. Was this the time to tell Hester the secret? To offer her—

On the staircase, with the Redding portraits staring down at her, Ruby took a long, breath, and let the next word come out from where it had been hiding all along.

To offer Hester her
love
?

 

After an awkward luncheon which helped neither her nor her stepmother, Hester went to see how her father was. He slept and his expression was peaceful. She knew that until Dr Winters called tomorrow little could be done, except for watching, feeding, keeping him clean, quiet and as cheerful as possible. Ruby had been helpful, and Aunt Jacks would be here this afternoon. Perhaps there would be a moment when she could escape to her bedroom; her studio; the garden ... somewhere.

When the time came, with Aunt Jacks sitting upstairs and Stepmother dozing in the drawing room, Hester found sanctuary in the garden. Now she could relive that strange and wonderful time in the summerhouse when Nicholas had said he admired, could love her. When he had awoken new, amazing feelings which she would never forget. But he had apologized for those words and had left with never a backward look.

She knew that he would not come again to Oak House. Her valise and painting equipment would go to Brook Cottage, and she would probably never see him again. She walked the length of the border and then stopped at the scree garden. The gentian flowers were still open and she remembered the blue of his eyes.

Reality shadowed her once-happy thoughts. She picked a single bloom of the trumpet shaped flower, held it for a moment, and then
carefully picked it to pieces. Petals, sepals, anthers, stigma, stem, leaves. These tiny organs would never now become part of her painting. Their deaths were reflected in her own inner thoughts. Joy, ambition, hope, delight and amusement – all gone, along with that overwhelming excitement at hearing Nicholas talk about his love for her.

She dropped the gentian parts and knew that, like her dreams, they must be forgotten. She would not become a botanical artist now, for Father would need her for the rest of his life, and she could never leave him again. The world turned dark, despite the brilliant sunshine, and the garden fragrance was merely a haunting reminder of the summerhouse's smell of mustiness and the earthy scent on Nicholas's dun-coloured jacket. The flaunting palette of colours held no more importance. Flowers were merely an inconsequential part of a tragic summer day, which would be forever engraved on her memory.

Turning back to the house, she was appalled at her sad thoughts. Was there nothing good to find in this challenging disaster? Nicholas had suggested she continue painting at home. Well, there might be the odd hour when she could leave her two invalid parents and think about flowers, colours and paints, but the joy at the heart of that idea was coldly listless and quite unreal.

Knowing she must awaken Stepmother for tea, and call Aunt Jacks down to the drawing room, Hester returned to the house. Routine. Duty. Going on for ever. She shivered and tried to stop thinking.

When Ruby came up from the kitchen with a smile on her face, saying, ‘Good news, Miss, Hoskins brought back a message—' Hester looked at her blindly.

‘Where has Hoskins been? What message?'

Ruby put down the tray and looked warily at her. ‘Madam told him to go to the Marchants' and ask Mr Hugh to come as soon as he could.'

‘
What
?' Hester felt her legs suddenly weaken.

Ruby said over her shoulder, ‘An' Hoskins said as how Mrs Marchant was sorry 'bout the Master, and she'd ask Mr Hugh to come later today.'

Hester's head spun. She sat down, trying to put these muddling
thoughts into an understandable whole. She certainly didn't want to see Hugh Marchant today – or tomorrow. Anger grew. Why had Stepmother taken it upon herself to inform him? To ask him to come? As if she needed him!

Aunt Jacks came into the room. ‘Hester, what's the matter? You look worried.' Her voice, calm as ever, brought sense into Hester's raging thoughts.

‘Stepmother sent a message to the Marchants, Aunt – and Hugh is coming here this evening. I wish she hadn't done so.'

They looked at each other. Then Jacks said quietly, ‘No doubt Emma thought she was being helpful. And perhaps you do need a man at this difficult time, child.'

‘I don't. I just want to help Father to recover and I don't want Hugh or anyone coming to tell me what to do!' Hester heard her voice grow shrill and knew she was behaving in just the way Hugh might expect, like a hysterical child in need of masculine authority and assistance. And then, the words echoing in her mind, she saw in her aunt's astute eyes a hint of amusement and was able to laugh.

‘Sorry, Aunt. I'm sure Hugh will have helpful suggestions which I will politely turn aside. I won't shout at him. And I won't blame Stepmother—'

‘Of course you won't. Put the bad things behind you, Hester, and concentrate on what is happening now.'

Calmness spread through Hester's mind. She held out her hand. ‘You're the only help I want, Aunt Jacks. And what is happening now is that it's teatime. Come in and let's cheer up poor Stepmother.'

 

Hugh Marchant arrived in the early evening. Stocky, well dressed, almost but not quite handsome, with pale sandy lashes above observant eyes, Hester thought he was no longer a welcome friend but the villain of the piece, sent to stir up her already overwhelming emotions.

‘My dear Hester, Mrs Redding, I'm so sorry – you must let me do all I can to help in this sad situation.' He bowed to Hester, crossed the drawing room, kissed Emma's hand and then took up an authoritative stance in front of the empty fireplace. Hester thought crossly that he seemed to think he was the master of the house.

But Emma was grateful. ‘So good of you, Hugh – but I knew poor Arthur would want you to know and to come and help us to deal with this tragedy.'

‘Of course, Mrs Redding. After all, I'm almost one of the family, aren't I?'

Such arrogance. Hester sat up very straight, staring at him. ‘Not quite, Hugh.'

Quickly he came to her chair, bending down, taking her hands and holding them in his own. ‘My dear Hester, you're upset, of course, you are.'

How dare he treat her like a child? She frowned but he continued in the same soothing voice. ‘I suggest that we sit down together and have a chat and see what can be done to help you and your stepmother to weather this unhappy storm.'

She pulled her hands away. ‘Stop talking like a bad novelist, Hugh. It isn't a storm, it's an illness, and already Father is recovering. Stepmother and I can manage perfectly well, thank you. Everything is running smoothly. In fact, I think you have rushed over to see us quite unnecessarily.'

‘Oh, Hester, – how unkind! Hugh is only doing what any newly affianced man would do.' Emma was pink with emotion, waving her hands and shaking her head.

‘Affianced?' The word erupted like a thunderclap. ‘He's not we're not – really, Stepmother, I think Father's illness has affected your memory.' Hester was on her feet. ‘I told you both that I am not going to marry Hugh. As I also told him.' She turned sharply, finding herself close to him, staring into his face, seeing the frowning brows grow deeper and darker, knowing she was handling it all very badly, but not caring.

His hand was on her shoulder and she shook it off, pushing back her rage. ‘I'm sorry, Hugh, but you know my feelings. And certainly let's sit down – we'll have a glass of sherry. And will you stay for dinner? Yes? Excuse me while I go and tell Cook.'

She left the room in a whirlwind of annoyance, but in the kitchen common sense returned and she smiled weakly at Mrs Caunter and Ruby, busily filling trays for dinner.

‘Ruby, please bring three glasses and the sherry decanter to the
drawing room, and Mrs Caunter, can you stretch the meal to include another place? Mr Marchant will join us for dinner.'

 

The meal was a tedious period of trivial chatter and Hester was thankful when it was over. As soon as Emma was settled in the drawing room, Hugh said forcefully, ‘You and I must talk, Hester. Somewhere private – in the garden?'

She knew it was inevitable, and might help clear the air. ‘All right. But I can't be long – I must make Father comfortable for the night.'

She led him out of the French windows onto the terrace and then down towards the orchard. The fresh air was a respite from the overheated house and she felt herself growing calmer. When he offered his arm, she slipped her own into the crook of his elbow and smiled. ‘Sorry, Hugh, I know I've been rude and unpleasant. Forgive me. Everything is ... difficult.' But it was the wrong word. Difficult would give him the chance to lay out his plans. And at once he did so.

‘Hester, I understand how you feel. Such a shock, and it's all too much for you. No, don't argue – just listen. I know exactly what we must do.'

We
was his mistake. Hester stopped in mid-step and stared at him. She must explain. ‘Since we last talked, Hugh, something momentous has happened.' His eyes narrowed. ‘After an argument with Father I decided to leave home. I had received a painting commission and there was no other way of taking it on other than living on my own. I left him a note saying I was going and then he had this seizure – and so I came back.' Her voice trailed away into the quiet country night sounds. ‘And now I'm here again.'

He snatched his breath and his arm tightened about hers. ‘You did what? My God, Hester, you really are impossible. How could you possibly live on your own? And where? What rubbish! Thank heavens Mrs Redding sent for me. Of course you'll do no such thing – in fact, I can see that your father's illness, shocking as it is, has come at the right time to stop all this nonsense.'

Hester pulled away, turned and faced him. She was shaking with renewed anger but her voice remained steady. ‘It's not nonsense. I still want to leave, to go out into the world, and earn my living as a painter. I know I must wait until Father has recovered, but then—'

He stepped closer, pulled her into his arms, and held her. His voice was rougher, unrecognizable. Instinct made her try and free herself, but she was unable to do so. ‘Hester, my dear, stupid girl, you're quite a rebel! I had no idea you had such passion! Let's sample it, shall we?'

She struggled again, but he held her tighter still. She felt the heat of his body, smelt the pomade on his hair, and knew with all her being that she hated every moment of this embrace.

He said, very low, into her ear, ‘Come to your senses, Hester. We must plan to marry as soon as possible. I need you – I want you.' His voice became firmer. ‘I have my eye on a suitable house just outside Bovey, not too far from the business, and we will install a nurse here to look after your father. Of course you will visit him and Mrs Redding quite often – you could come by trap or landau – and no doubt you will find time, once the house is furnished and everything is comfortable, for some painting. A hobby is a good thing that every woman should apply herself to.'

Shocked, Hester could only stare into his eyes. He must be mad to make such plans without even asking her! Her thoughts circled and she was totally unprepared for the tightening of his arms and his voice suddenly quietening, deepening. ‘But until then, my darling, let's seal our agreement, shall we?'

At first his lips were warm and soft and she was so taken aback that she didn't demur. But then they hardened, and she felt her anger swell until she found the strength to push him away. ‘Stop it! Leave me alone, Hugh. You just don't understand. I don't want your kisses or your selfish plans – I can manage my life without your interference.
How dare you
!' She pulled herself away from him, seeing in his eyes an anger that surely matched her own.