New Boss at Birchfields (14 page)

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Authors: Henrietta Reid

Tags: #Harlequin Romance 1983

BOOK: New Boss at Birchfields
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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 B
l
ane Lennox was, she was thinking. He could be so harsh and demand
ing at times, asking of people
a
lmost 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 fee
l
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.

As he showed her one room after another, Briony found her wonderment growing. How on earth could Hettie have turned her back on such an exquisite little jewel of a flat!

The kitchen too was perfect in every detail. It gleamed with pristine cleanliness and contained the most up-to
-
date equipment.


This cost a pretty penny, I can tell you,

Blane told her, as Briony moved about the kitchen examining the micro-wave cooker, the electric mixer and other electric gadgets, all to hand upon spotless pale green work surfaces.

She shook her head in bewilderment when at last they returned to the balcony.

I can

t imagine why Hettie should have given up such a wonderful flat. The cottage, of course, is quaint, but—well, give me
modern
conveniences every time.


From what I gather your godmother is not very keen on her present quarters, is she?

Briony shook her head.

No, she grumbles a bit, I must admit. It all sounds so mysterious. Did she give any reason why she left?

Why was it Hettie had abandoned this convenient flat and gone to Amulree Cottage? What was behind it all? Briony was asking herself uneasily.


She gave no reason. Your guess is as good as mine,

Blane told her as they reached the ground once more.

But I can assure you that as far as the flat is concerned there are no strings attached. It was part of the agreement. I had no intention of throwing your godmother on the scrapheap, just because I

d bought her home.


All the same, not many people would have gone to such trouble to see that everything was right for her,

Briony told him.

After all, you owed her nothing. You

d bought a property that was going downhill anyway. Even when I was a child I realised that things at Birchfields were very neglected.


Well, that

s the way things are! But I thought you might like to see it anyway, because I had the feeling you hadn

t been told about it. And anyway, I don

t want one more nail in my coffin,

he ended wryly.

As they reached the front of the house they paused and after a moment Briony said rather awkwardly,

Thank you for showing me the flat. I must say I was worried about Hettie, but now—well, I feel so much better about everything.


As long as you

re content that

s all that matters,

Blane replied.


Well, I

d better be getting back,

she said.

Hettie will be wondering what

s become of me. I

ll let you have your coat.

As she spoke she was unfastening the toggle at her throat.


Just a moment,

he said.

It

s growing dusk. I

m wondering if I ought to drive you home. I wouldn

t have two thoughts about it, but as it happens I have an appointment this evening
—’
he looked at his watch.


But it

s still quite bright,

she protested,

and somehow I never feel the smallest bit afraid here in Abergour.

But as she was about to turn away, he detained her.

By the way, do you think you

ll have trouble thinking of a clue leading to the treasure?


It struck me that King Charles the Second hid in the hollow trunk of an oak tree when he was fleeing from his enemies,

Briony said,

and I thought this might be used in the clue. It will make it more difficult, but after all that would be quite fair, because this will be the last clue.

Rather apologetically she went on,

I don

t know if anything like this would do, but here it is:


Look where King Charles hid when from his enemies
he did flee.

You may find an acorn, or the treasure you may see.

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