The Digger's Rest (18 page)

As a woman, Neville allowed her the freedom
she craved, not for other men because she was never once ever
considered being unfaithful to him. She never had to, but he
allowed her the kind of freedom that she valued more. He taught her
how to fly a plane and how to sail. He taught her how to climb the
mountains that she’d dreamed of when she was a girl and how to
become a great English lady, and in over thirty-five years of
marriage to the man, Madeline had never once regretted her
decision. Jack Edgeworth may have been the passion of her youth,
but Neville Cotswold was the love of her life.

Then five years earlier, when Neville had his
stroke at age sixty-three, she gave up all of her professional
activities, and most of her personal ones, to take care of him
herself. By then she was already forty-eight years old and
virtually a household name in the archaeological community and
society columns, so it was not like there were many more rivers to
sail or mountains to climb.

After the first year of taking care of
Neville herself, he recovered nicely, but he would always be
confined to a wheelchair. It was when he saw that the strain of it
all was starting to age her, wearing on the appearance of her that
he loved so much, that he insisted that they hire a combination
secretary/companion to help her run her affairs.

It was Neville’s idea that they bring in a
recent graduate student of archaeology to help them begin writing
his memoirs, thinking that if Madeline had someone who could share
her interests, she might not feel so lonely. It weighed on him that
they’d never taken the time to have children and worried that, now
that he had been incapacitated in most regards, she might regret
that decision. He didn’t want that for her. That was when they got
Sandrine.

Sandrine Boucher came to Cotswold Manor
having just turned twenty-one and graduated from Oxford. Born in
Paris, the daughter of a middle-level diplomat assigned to the
French Embassy in London when she was fifteen, her English was
nearly perfect, retaining only the slightest accent which became
more pronounced whenever she got frustrated, annoyed or upset.

It was only by chance that she heard about
the position open with the Cotswolds. She never really worried
about finding a job after graduation since her grades were very
good, she had diplomatic status in England and, failing a suitable
position there, could always go back to Paris and get a job. It was
only when she accompanied one of her friends to the University
placement office and was standing there, rather bored, waiting for
her friend to complete an interview, that she saw the notice on a
tack board.

It caught her attention immediately because
everybody who was anybody in the field knew that Lord and Lady
Cotswold were like the Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor of
English archaeology in their day, and the idea that they were
looking for a recent graduate to help coordinate and compile
information for a memoir they were writing fascinated her.

Of course, she never really thought she’d
have a chance, given the fact that, although she was good, there
were so many others who were better and more qualified for the
position. But still, she figured it couldn’t hurt to apply and see
what happened, so she did.

When she got a return letter two weeks later
on very fine parchment paper, embossed with the name and crest of
Cotswolds, she was sure it was a rejection, and was shocked to find
out that it wasn’t. She had been invited to an interview with Lady
Cotswold ten days later at the manor in Kent.

She was beside herself with the prospect,
peerage, and a manor house. She ran immediately to her closet to
see if she had anything suitable to wear, and finding that she
didn’t, ran out to start combing the shops for just the right
outfit, finally settling on a demure but professional aubergine
suit with matching shoes and purse and an open-collared white
blouse. She also decided to wear only a simple strand of pearls,
matching pearl earrings and one of her very best opera pins, the
pale pink Victorian cameo with the figure of a Roman soldier’s
head, perfect for the occasion.

When the cab pulled up to the front of
Cotswold Manor on the day of the interview, Sandrine could hardly
believe the stately grandeur of it, feeling dwarfed by its
immenseness. Her heart started pumping with excitement so that when
she looked in her compact mirror to check her makeup, she realized
that the flush of color in her usually pale complexion gave her a
glow so real that she found that she didn’t need a touch-up at all.
Then, having asked the cab driver to wait the half hour or so it
would take to conduct the interview, she walked slowly up to the
door, feeling a sense of vertigo as she looked up to see the
towering structure she was about to enter.

She struck the door twice with the ring in
the lion’s head knocker. A moment later, the door opened and a man
in his mid-forties was standing before her dressed in a butler’s
suit like he’d just stepped out of a film from the 1930s. “Miss
Boucher?” he asked stiffly.

“
Yes, I have a three o’clock
appointment with Lady Cotswold,” Sandrine said
breathlessly.

“
If you’ll follow me please, Miss,” the
butler said and turned with a refined wave of his hand. She
followed him through the ornately designed and originally decorated
Georgian entry hall until he stopped before a deeply but delicately
carved oak door on the right side of the hall.

The butler stopped and knocked twice. A
woman’s voice came through the door. “Yes, George.”

George opened the door slowly and stepped in.
“Miss Boucher to see you, your Ladyship,” he said in the practiced
monotone voice of a professional.

“
Thank you, George. Please show the
young lady in.” Sandrine heard the woman’s voice coming through the
doorway.

“
Yes, Milady,” George replied and came
back through the doorway, bowing from the waist and motioning with
his hand for her to enter.

Sandrine went in nervously and stood before
the striking auburn-haired woman dressed in a finely tailored tweed
suit and seated in a great armchair, a small table before her with
a smaller chair next to it. Lady Cotswold stood to greet her,
smiling, her hand outstretched. Sandrine took her hand and gave a
light curtsy as she had been taught by her mother as a child. She
couldn’t help but notice the sparkle of the enormous diamond
engagement ring next to the quieter wedding band on the woman’s
hand.

“
Very nice to meet you, Miss Boucher,”
the woman said the tone of her voice quiet and gentile, which went
a long way in taking the edge off of Sandrine’s nerves.

“
Thank you, your Ladyship and thank you
for the invitation,” Sandrine said.

“
You can serve the tea now, George,
please,” Lady Madeline said to the butler standing in attendance
just inside the door.

“
Very good, Milady,” he said, turning
to go and closing the door behind him.

“
Please make yourself comfortable,”
Lady Madeline said to the girl, motioning effortlessly with her
hand to the smaller chair.

“
Thank you, your Ladyship,” Sandrine
said as she took the seat, her mind focused on maintaining her own
ladylike manner.

Before she could start the interview, there
was a knock at the door. “Yes, George, please come in,” she said
without raising her voice. The door opened and George came in with
a silver tea tray fitted with a silver tea service on a cart. He
took the tray from the cart and placed it on the small table in
front of the two women.

Only a few seconds later, Madeline heard the
movement of wheels on the hardwood floor and shifted her attention
behind George.

As George stepped aside and turned to leave,
Sandrine saw a frail old man with active gray eyes in a wheelchair
rolling up to her. Madeline spoke. “Miss Boucher, this is my
husband, Lord Neville Cotswold.” Sandrine stood up again
immediately and made another curtsy, stretching out her hand. The
old man took it and shook it lightly saying, “Please, my dear. Sit
down.”

From there the interview went on for well
over an hour, but it was more than a professional interview. Lady
Cotswold made it clear that they were more than satisfied with
Sandrine’s educational qualifications. What they wanted to know was
more along the lines of who she was as a person, her goals and
aspirations.

Lady Cotswold served the tea and asked about
Sandrine’s family. Lord Cotswold seemed interested in knowing how
she liked living in England as compared to living in France. They
were both very kind and made her feel at ease so she didn’t
hesitate to be free with her answers.

They asked her how she felt about acting as
both secretary and assistant to Lady Cotswold and her thoughts on
providing social companionship to both of them when not officially
on duty, or whether she would prefer to spend her free time off the
Estate grounds. Of course, should she accept the position, she
would be expected to live in the manor house and to become part of
the household.

In exchange, all her living expenses would be
paid and she would be given a generous stipend to save or squander
as she pleased, although Madeline had already drawn the conclusion
that this girl was not a squanderer.

They talked about how she felt about marriage
and children and why such a pretty young girl would be so
interested in such a dry life as archaeology would offer her.

When the interview concluded, Lady Madeline
stood and pressed a button under her desk while informing Sandrine
that they would be making their decision shortly…within a
fortnight…and that she would be notified by mail.

A moment later George reappeared in the room
and escorted Sandrine back to the door where her cab was waiting.
When she got in and they had gone through the gates back to the
main road, the cab driver told her that he had already been
generously paid by the butler the cost of the entire fare.

***

“
So, what do you think, my dear?”
Madeline asked her husband once they were alone again. Lord Neville
thought about the girl for a moment, her shoulder-length dark hair
worn simple and straight, her pretty heart-shaped face housing
large intelligent dark eyes.

“
She reminds me of you, Maddie,” he
said. “…a girl of some metal under a delicate façade longing to be
part of a very indelicate business.”

Madeline took that as a very high compliment
from the man who knew her so well, and had the same feeling,
although from a woman’s perspective. She could tell from their
discussion that, although Sandrine Boucher was indeed a pretty girl
with a face like a Flemish Renaissance painting, inside she was not
a flighty girl taken to whims of romance like other girls her age.
She was a serious girl who took her work seriously. She wasn’t
looking for a husband; she was looking for a life. “…and she has
very good taste, Neville…that was a beautiful cameo she was
wearing, early Victorian…and real. I think she’s real, too. She’s
didn’t come here because she smelled money, she came because she
smelled knowledge,” Madeline said, pulling back the faux Greek bas
relief panel on the wall behind them to reveal a bar service and
pouring herself a glass of sherry. “Cocktail, dear?”

“
My usual, if you don’t mind, Maddie,”
Neville replied as he lit his pipe, signaling that they’d both had
enough Lording and Ladying for the day.

The letter offering Sandrine Boucher the
position went out the next morning.

***

Sandrine moved into Cotswold Manor two weeks
later. The room she was given was something out of a fairytale.
Lady Cotswold chose it for her particularly because, as when they
first met, Sandrine reminded her of a Flemish Renaissance
painting.

The overall room was done in red and gold
with the canopy over the four-poster bed matching the curtains made
of red velvet with gold appointments and was decorated in an
earlier period than the Georgian first floor. The walls were dotted
with large gilt-framed lithographs and mirrors and the furniture
Sandrine knew was Queen Anne, including a mirrored dressing table
that she would look in almost every morning for the next four
years.

Lord and Lady Cotswold couldn’t have been
better to her or for her, and she worked hard for them in return,
although it hardly seemed like work. It was more like stepping into
a life she had only read about.

By the time she’d finished her first year
with them, they’d completed the first draft of Lord Cotswold’s
memoirs, a great deal of which was recorded as he spoke and she
listened and ran the recorder. Then after every session she would
go through his correspondence and photographs to coordinate them
with the day’s remembrances.

It didn’t take long for her to find that she
genuinely liked the old man. He treated her in an almost
grandfatherly fashion and often asked her if she found herself
lonely for the company of people her own age. But she didn’t,
truly. Every time she sat with Lord Cotswold she was instantly
transported to China or Egypt, to Greece or India, learning things
from him that she was sure even her professors didn’t know.

Her time with him became very special to her
and after the work on his memoirs was completed, she found herself
looking for excuses to spend time with him. She enjoyed taking him
out for strolls on the Estate in good weather, and in exchange for
her kindnesses, he taught her how to appreciate fine wines and
delicacies that she could never have experienced otherwise;
pheasant under glass made with fresh pheasant from the Estate
hunting grounds and caviar, oh how she came to love his taste in
caviar.