That Would Be a Fairy Tale (10 page)

She gratefully retreated to the safety of the Lodge, where she hoped to forget all about Alex Evington. But even as she thought it, she knew the hope was vain.

Alex cursed himself as he strode back to the Manor, his clothes dripping wet. What on earth had he been thinking of, chasing Miss Haringay like that? He had had a warning of the effect she had on him when he had shaken her hand in Mr Peterson’s office, and he should have been on his guard.

Instead of which he had behaved like a green boy, careering round on a bicycle and plunging into the horse trough, and then giving in to an urge to pay her back for laughing at him by making her as wet as he was.

If he had been sensible he would have done nothing of the kind. He would have excused himself and returned to the Manor to change his clothes, and no harm would have been done. But had he done it?

No. He had chased her into the stables, and when she had tripped on her skirt he had not been able to hold her upright but had instead tumbled on top of her, unleashing the chemistry that existed between them.

He felt again the raw sensations that had gripped him when he had fallen on top of her. Her soft flesh yielding beneath him had sent an electrical charge through him that had been stronger and more powerful than anything he had ever felt before, and despite all his experience he had been taken aback by its sheer force.

Even now, he could hardly believe its intensity. He had experienced physical attraction before, but never on that scale. It had been so overwhelming that he had almost given into it and kissed her fully where she had fallen in the warm, fragrant hay.

And more than kissed her . . .

As he thought again of her soft hair, deep-set eyes and beautiful lips he felt his body stir. She had looked so right beneath him that he had felt that was where she was meant to be, and he had not been able to prevent himself taking her face in his hands and running his fingers over her smooth and delicate skin. He remembered the soft silkiness of it beneath his fingers, and remembered how it had made him long to run his hands over her entire body.

He made an effort to turn his thoughts into different channels. He loosened his tie as he strode towards the house, glad of the cold water that had drenched him, as it went some way towards cooling the passionate flames that still gripped him, even now Cicely had gone.

Still, there was one bright side to the situation, he thought. At least he had managed to stop himself before things had gone too far.

He had Roddy to thank for that. The sound of his brother’s voice had recalled him to reality just in time, for it would have been madness to have given in to the urges that had overtaken him and made him their plaything in the barn. To even
think
of kissing Cicely Haringay on the lips had been pure insanity. Cicely Haringay, of all people, who looked down on him and regarded him with contempt! If he had had to experience an attraction so strongly, why could it not have been for a nice young woman who was fun to be with, instead of one of the landed gentry.

But Cicely is fun to be with
.

The unwelcome thought pushed itself into his mind.

How else would he have been able to forget himself and behave like a boy, if she had not been fun? He did not want to face the fact, but he had not enjoyed himself so much in years.

He had had the responsibilities of a man put on his shoulders at an early age. With a dead father and a sickly mother he had become the man of the household at the age of twelve and had done what he could to provide for the family. He had taken any job that had offered, and had worked long hours so that Roddy could get the necessary schooling to take up a white-collar job. He had found Katie a place in service, and then, having done what he could for his brother and sister, he had set about making his fortune.

And when he had made it he had rescued Katie from service and Roddy from the life of a pettifogging clerk. It had been work, work, work. Not that he resented any of it. He had done well and he had helped his family, and he was proud of that fact. But there had not been much time for anything else.

And then, out of the blue, he had found himself having fun with Miss Cicely Haringay. She might have been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but she was lively and intelligent and, contrary to what he had at first supposed, she had a sense of humour.

No matter how difficult it was, he had to acknowledge that her company had given him very real enjoyment. Her knowledge had proved invaluable, and her daring in riding the bone-shaking machines had proved impressive. The love she had obviously borne her father had made him admire her, for loyalty was important to him, and it was clear Miss Haringay knew the meaning of it, and her laughter when he had fallen in the horse-trough had proved she had a sense of the ridiculous that was every well bit as developed as his own.

But she was still a Haringay. Still from a long line of landowners who thought that ordinary people were beneath them. Still the kind of person who would have dismissed Katie for something she didn’t do.

The thought sobered him.

Yes, Cicely came from a different world and he would do well to remember it.

He turned the corner of the stable yard and almost bumped into Roddy coming in search of him.

‘There you are!’ said Roddy. Before stopping and looking at him in amazement. His face broke into a grin. ‘What happened to you?’

‘Don’t ask,’ said Alex in exasperation.

Roddy laughed. ‘Fell in a duck pond?’ he enquired humorously.

Alex laughed, too. ‘If you must know, I fell in the horse trough.’

‘The horse trough! What on earth were you doing falling in the horse trough?’

‘I was riding a bone-shaker and the brakes didn’t work. It pitched me off, head first.’

‘That explains it. Or at least, it explains why you’re so wet. But why are you covered in dried grass?’

Alex brushed the hay off his jacket. ‘It’s a long story,’ he said. Adding to himself,
And one I am not going to tell you
.

‘It’s a good thing Miss Haringay didn’t see you, otherwise she would have been able to get her own back on you.’

‘Miss Haringay did see me,’ said Alex, ‘and I assure you she paid me back in full.’

Roddy laughed even louder. ‘Good for her!’

‘And now I have to get out of these wet things - which are probably ruined,’ said Alex, looking ruefully at his suit. ‘What was it you wanted me for?’ he asked as the two of them returned to the Manor.

Roddy’s eyes took on a bright gleam. ‘I wanted to tell you the news. Our plan has worked - or, at least, the first part of it. The Honourable Martin Goss has replied to your invitation to the house-warming ball.’

Alex’s eyes became alert. He stopped and faced Roddy. ‘And?’ he demanded.

‘He thanks you for your kind invitation, and expresses himself delighted to be able to attend.’

‘Hah!’ Alex’s eyes lit up. ‘We’ve tempted him, Roddy. And once tempted I have no doubt we’ll catch him.’ His face became more thoughtful. ‘Now all we have to do is make sure we have a sufficiently attractive bait.’

Shall I or shan’t I? thought Cicely, as she prepared to go to the Manor on Wednesday morning. Shall I or shan’t I wear my gloves?

Long gloves formed a part of the fashionable outfit customarily worn by young ladies, but for her job at the Manor they were hardly practical, which was why she had not worn them on the previous Monday. She could not write easily whilst wearing them, nor could she operate the typewriter. On the other hand, they would protect her from any more electrical sensations if she should accidentally come into contact with Mr Evington.

She put her gloves back on her dressing table at last, deciding that she could not wear them, but she would take care she did not touch Mr Evington again.

Fortunately, he seemed to have the same idea, for when she joined him at the Manor half an hour later he sat determinedly on the opposite side of his desk and adopted a coolly formal manner, treating her very much as a secretary and not as a young woman he had nearly kissed on the sweetly-scented hay.

Slowly they settled into a polite way of dealing with each other, and the immense tension which had filled the room when Cicely had entered it began to return to more manageable levels.

‘I want to complete the arrangements for the housewarming ball,’ said Mr Evington, when they had dealt with the most pressing letters. ‘As you know, I’m holding it towards the end of July. My guests from
London
will be coming down on the Saturday beforehand. They will spend the week at the Manor, attending the ball on the Friday before leaving again on the following - Saturday - afternoon.’

‘Good,’ she said briskly, trying her best to behave like a perfect secretary.

‘I am going to need some more help around the house when my guests arrive. I’ve brought enough servants from
London
with me to cope with the day-to-day running of the Manor, but they won’t be able to manage a house full of guests. Do you know of anyone in the village who might be prepared to come in for a few days and help?’

‘I’m sure there are a lot of people,’ said Cicely. ‘Most of the young men and women from the village would be glad to help out, and then for the ball itself I think you will find most of the local landowners will be happy to lend their own staff. We usually help each other out for big events. Would you like me to deal with it for you?’

‘Yes. If you would.’

‘I should have it arranged by the end of the week,’ she said.

‘Now. As to the matter of the cricket match . . . ’

One by one they dealt with the matters that needed seeing to, and by the end of the day Cicely went back to the Lodge with the feeling of a day well spent, for she could not hide from herself the fact that she was enjoying helping out at the Manor.

Although Cicely still missed living there, she had worked hard to make the Lodge comfortable and welcoming and it was becoming more homely every day. She had cleaned it thoroughly before she had moved in, and whilst she had not been able to afford to redecorate, she had managed to cover up the worst patches of flaking paint with pictures and mirrors, and to disguise the worn sections of flooring with faded, yet good quality rugs.

She removed her hat as she entered the Lodge, then went through to the sitting-room. She had just thrown open the French windows when Lord Chuffington was announced. Feeling relieved that he had not called half an hour earlier, as she would then have had to invent an excuse as to where she had been, she welcomed him with pleasure.

‘What ho! Cicely,’ he said, as he ambled into the room in his usual diffident fashion, his hands buried in the pockets of his trousers and his light jacket bunched up behind him.

‘Hello, Chuff Chuff.’

Cicely greeted him warmly and invited him to sit down.

He took a seat on one of the faded sofas. ‘Thought I’d just pop over and see if you were ready for Evington’s ball.’

‘Not nearly!’ exclaimed Cicely, thinking of all the staffing arrangements she had to make. ‘There is so much to be done! I have to -’ She broke off as she noticed the surprised look on Lord Chuffington’s face, and realized that she had almost given away her involvement in the organisation of the ball, and therefore her position as Mr Evington’s secretary. She realized she would have to be more careful in future, in particular she must remember to sound casual when she asked the local landowners to lend their servants, so they did not guess that she was acting as Mr Evington’s secretary. ‘I have to sort out all my clothes,’ she corrected herself.

‘Ah! Yes, What!’ said Lord Chuffington amiably. He raised and lowered his eyebrows a couple of times and gave her a lackadaisical smile.

Cicely smiled back.

He raised his eyebrows again and Cicely realized that if she wanted the conversation to proceed she would have to provide something to talk about. ‘Would you like to see what I’ve been doing with the garden?’ she asked.

‘Oh, yes. Rather,’ Chuff Chuff beamed.

She led Chuff Chuff out through the French doors and into the pretty garden.

‘I’m trying to plant it in line with Gertrude Jekyll’s ideas,’ she said. ‘The garden’s rather small to let me put them into practice fully, but I want to use her idea of grouping shrubs and flowers so that I have colour in the garden all year round.’

‘Jolly good idea,’ said Chuff Chuff. He stopped suddenly and turned towards her. With unusual decision - for him! - he said, ‘Look here, Cicely old thing, what I mean is, don’t you know - that is to say, how about it?’

‘How about what?’ she asked, as she noticed a dead head on the roses and thought she must remember to cut it off.

‘You know, this marriage lark?’ He looked at her with hope in his eyes. ‘Can’t sit on the shelf for ever, you know. Got to get off it some time, Good Lord, yes! Parmiston’s not such a bad old place. And you’d have Antoine.’ Antoine was the Chuffingtons’ French chef. ‘Makes a marvellous kedgeree. And —
‘

‘Chuff Chuff, we’ve been through this before,’ said Cicely with a sigh. ‘I —
’

‘And soufflé
,’ went on Chuff Chuff, without taking any notice of her. He thrust his hands deeper into his trouser pockets. ‘Antoine makes a dashed fine
soufflé
.’ He rocked backwards and forwards on his heels. ‘Cheese, and chocolate - not together, you understand - and -’