That Would Be a Fairy Tale (8 page)

Cicely felt a feeling of frustration wash over her. He had got it all wrong. But how could she tell him so without confessing that she needed money? Which she had no intention of doing. Her pride simply would not let her.

‘ I know you don’t like me, Miss Haringay,’ he went on harshly, ‘but is it really necessary to make it so obvious every time we meet?’

By this time Cicely had recovered somewhat from her shock, and the injustice of this last remark stung her. ‘I hardly think you are in a position to lecture me on my behaviour,’ she returned. ‘Your own behaviour is hardly a model of decorum.’ Gaining confidence, she raised her chin and looked him in the eye. ‘You delight in laughing at me every time we meet, and when you are not laughing at me you are making it clear what you think of the landed classes. Can you really say you would have employed me, even if I had applied for the post?’

‘I — ‘ He broke off.

‘There. You see. You don’t like me any more than I like you,’ she retorted. ‘We can both of us congratulate ourselves on having had a lucky escape. And that being the case I will bid you good day.’

She turned towards the door, but he surprised her by saying, ‘Yes. I would.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ she asked, turning round.

‘You’re right.’ His mouth was grim. ‘I don’t like you any more than you like me. But I would still have offered you the post, because you are the one person in all the country who would be able to give me exactly what I need.’

‘Oh? And what is that?’ she demanded, wanting to maintain her anger, because anger made it easier for her to deal with him, but intrigued despite herself.

He ran his hand through his dark hair. ‘An intimate knowledge of the local people and the customs of the Manor. It isn’t only the Sunday school picnic.’ He shook his head, as though bewildered. ‘It’s everything else. The Manor seems to be the hub of the village and everyone seems to be looking to me as the owner to carry on all the traditions. But I have no idea what they are.

‘You, however, do know. I thought at first I could simply declare that the Manor was a private house and have done with it, but you’re right, I can’t. Not if I want to be accepted here. Which means I need someone to help me. And the only way of finding someone seemed to be to advertise. But the candidates I’ve seen so far know less about running a Manor than I do. Not the day to day running, of course, but making it work as a part of village life.’

Cicely wavered. The job he was outlining was tempting. Even so, working for Mr Evington . . . no, it did not bear thinking about. It was not just that she resented him for having bought the Manor, and it was not just the way he laughed at her almost every time they met. Nor was it the fact that she did not like city dwellers, who came into the country with their noise and their pollution and their flashy way of living, making themselves a nuisance to everybody else.

No. It was because of the way his eyes flashed when he smiled, and the way it made her feel. Why it should make her feel that way - why indeed it should make her feel anything - she did not know,  but she did not want the feeling. It made matters too confusing.

Mr Evington as a bad-mannered man, whom she disliked, she could cope with. Mr Evington who had a sense of the ridiculous and a lively sense of humour - attributes which, in normal circumstances, Cicely both enjoyed and shared - and whose eyes flashed wickedly when he smiled, was something else.

To say nothing of the way he made her feel when he touched her. He seemed to have the power to turn her world upside down and she was not sure she liked the feeling. It made her feel vulnerable, out of control.

‘And then there is the inventory,’ he said, thrusting his hands deep in his trouser pockets. ‘I mean to catalogue the contents of the Manor,’ he explained. ‘As I bought it partly furnished I would like to know exactly what there is, in case anything goes missing or there is ever a fire, and to do so I need a full inventory. And who better than you to help me make one? You know the house and its contents better than anyone else - if you could put your dislike of me aside enough to come and work for me, that is.’

She wavered even more. On the one hand, she thought the task of making an inventory of the Manor might be a sad one for her, as her beautiful family heirlooms belonged to her no more, but on the other hand she could not bear the thought of a stranger doing it. At least if she made the inventory she would be able to treat the house and its contents with the love and respect they deserved.

‘Well, Miss Haringay. Will you accept the post?’

Cicely hesitated for a minute, but the job appealed to her and besides, without any qualifications or experience she knew that it was the only offer of employment she was likely to receive. ‘I . . . ’ she said. Before asking herself if she was being wise. But wise or not it was the only way forward. ‘I will.’

‘A truce, then?’ he asked, his eyes warming.

He really had the most attractive eyes when he looked at her just so, she thought. And for some reason they sent shivers coursing through her entire body . . .

‘At least until you have told me what is expected of me as the owner of the Manor, and helped me to make an inventory of the contents?’ he continued.

She took a deep breath and then nodded. ‘A truce.’

He smiled and held out his hand for her to shake.

Cicely quavered. She was forcibly reminded of the effect it had had on her when he had taken her hand at the Manor. It had set her pulse racing and filled her stomach with the strangest tinglings. And yet she could not see any way of avoiding it.

She took a deep breath, and then put her hand into his.

As his strong fingers close around her own she felt a surge of energy course through her, making her shiver from head to toe. It was a good thing she was wearing gloves, she thought with a gasp, for if he had closed his fingers round her bare hand the sensation would have been overwhelming.

Hastily, she retrieved her hand. Or tried to. But he held onto it, his eyes locked onto her own.

‘When . . . ’ She swallowed. For some reason she had difficulty getting her words out. Her heart was beating rapidly, and her voice was little more than a breathless gasp. ‘When would you like me to start?’

‘On Monday, if that is convenient,’ he said. His eyes still held her own.

It wasn’t just the way they flashed that attracted her. It was their dark depths that fascinated her.

‘Very well.’ She tried to withdraw her hand again, and this time he allowed her to do so. She took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘Until Monday, then.’

She moved to go past him. For a minute he blocked her way. Then he moved aside and allowed her to walk out of the office.

She was trembling from head to foot as she descended the stairs. She had just agreed to become Alex Evington’s secretary, and she had the alarming feeling that she had been foolish. How would she fare, alone with him at the Manor? Would she be able to concentrate on her duties?

She gave herself a mental shake. She must. She needed the money. She would just have to curb her feelings for Mr Evington, whatever they might be, and concentrate on being an efficient secretary instead.

And having made this resolution she reclaimed her bicycle and set off back to the Lodge.

‘You’ve taken a position as Mr Evington’s secretary?’ asked
Alice
in astonishment the following day as the two young women tidied the garden at the Lodge.

‘I have.’ Cicely pulled the dead heads from the roses and took them over to the small compost heap behind the house.

‘I didn’t know you were so short of money,’ said
Alice
, her astonishment giving way to a frown.

‘I didn’t want you to know,’ admitted Cicely. ‘In fact, I wasn’t going to tell you about my job. But as I will be at the Manor for three mornings every week from now on I felt I had to tell you.  It would be just too difficult to keep thinking up excuses as to why I was never at home.’

‘I should think so, too,’ said
Alice
.

‘But I don’t want anyone else to know. Everyone thinks the sale of the Manor left me well provided for and I don’t want them to think any differently. I may not have much money but I still have my pride.’

Alice
nodded. ‘Your secret’s safe with me. And as I am the only one who visits you regularly in the mornings, no one else need suspect anything. Unless they see you at the Manor?’

‘It isn’t likely. And if they do, well, why shouldn’t I be there? With the Sunday school picnic coming up, and after it a variety of activities which involve the Manor, they will simply think I am talking Mr Evington into behaving as the owner of the Manor should.’

‘You must have softened towards him, then,’ said
Alice
as she began to weed the rose bed. ‘For you to take a job with him, I mean. A few days ago you could not even bear to hear his name mentioned.’ She sat back on her heels. ‘I think it’s a good thing. The village is too small a place for people to take a dislike to one another.’

‘I dislike Mr Evington as much as I ever did, and he feels the same way about me,’ said Cicely decidedly. ‘We have, however, discovered we need each other and we have decided to call a truce.’

Alice
gave her a sideways look.

‘There is no need to look like that,’ said Cicely vigorously. ‘When I say we have discovered we need each other I mean we need each others help. Mr Evington needs someone to show him the ropes at the Manor, and I need a job. Fortunately he thinks I need one because I am bored, rather than realising I need one so that I can earn some money. If he knew how straitened my circumstances are it would be just too mortifying. And so we have come to an arrangement which suits us both.’

‘You haven’t changed your mind about him now that you’ve come to know him a little?’ asked
Alice
.

‘No. In fact, quite the opposite. Granted, he has a certain charm -’ and the most wickedly attractive eyes, she thought, but did not say so - ‘but he is still out of place in Little Oakleigh.’

‘Well, his brashness is not to be wondered at,’ said
Alice
thoughtfully. ‘Mrs Sealyham has a cousin who has a friend who knows all about Mr Evington. He has only recently made his money by clever dealings in the city, but before that he was working as a stoker on board ships.’

‘A stoker?’ Cicely sat up and pushed a tendril of glossy hair away from her face.

‘So Mrs Sealyham’s cousin’s friend says,’ said
Alice
.

‘And if Mrs Sealyham’s cousin’s friend says it, it must be true,’ Cicely joked. ‘Still,’ she went on thoughtfully. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me. When we first met he said something rather odd. On offering to help me retrieve my bike from the duck pond I told him it would make him dirty, and he said, "I’ve been dirtier".’

Cicely recalled his face as he had said it, and the trace of bitterness in his voice. If he had indeed worked as a stoker she could at last understand it. Was that why he resented the landed classes? Because he had had to work so hard for everything he had? That was a part of it, perhaps. And yet, somehow, Cicely felt there was more to it. His dislike of the landed classes seemed more personal.

‘There you are then,’ said
Alice
. She paused, and then a minute later said, ‘So you haven’t changed your mind about Mr Evington at all? You still don’t like him?’

‘No, I don’t.’

Alice
sighed. ‘It’s a pity.’ Then said with a far-away look in her eyes, ‘I think he’s dreamy.’

‘Dreamy?’ Cicely sounded surprised.

‘Come on, Cicely, you can’t pretend he isn’t handsome. And his eyes have the most attractive way of flashing when he smiles . . . or hadn’t you noticed?’

‘No,’ said Cicely, digging in the flower bed with extra vigour. ‘I hadn’t.’

And then she wondered why she had lied.

‘The Harvest Supper?’ asked Alex Evington, looking at the letter in his hand.

‘Yes,’ said Cicely, taking it as he passed it to her. ‘It’s usually held here.’

It was Monday morning, and they were sitting in Mr Evington’s study, going through the mail. The summer sun was shining through the window, lighting up the piles of paper on his desk.

‘Gibson can give you some help with arranging it if you like,’ she continued. ‘He was the butler at the Manor for twenty years. He knows how these things are done.’

‘That would be very helpful,’ said Alex.

‘I will pencil it in the diary,’ said Cicely. ‘Then you can check the date with the rector before making the final arrangements.’

Alex nodded, before taking up the next letter.

‘Christmas carolling,’ he said.

‘Goodness, they’re getting in early,’ said Cicely, taking the letter from him. ‘The carolling isn’t usually arranged until much later in the year, but it’s true the carol singers usually meet up at the Manor after they have been round the village. After singing a rousing selection of carols they are invited in for punch.’

‘We had better write back, then, and say it can go ahead,’ he said.