These Delights (3 page)

He looked at her leaning against the pillar, her tall, well-made body taut with her unreasoning reluctance to give in, and he asked with gentle surprise:

“Don’t you like children, Diana?”

She saw that for him his question held importance, that he was one of those men who probably took it for granted that all women liked children, but she had never dissembled with him.

“No,” she said clearly, “I don’t I think they are opinionated and tiresome, and I don’t understand them.”

His clean-shaven lips twitched slightly.

“Well, that’s honest, anyway.”

“Oh, I suppose one’s own are different—at least everyone tells me that,” she said hastily, not wishing to give him a wrong impression. She had every intention of doing her duty by Luke within reason.

He smiled then.

“You’re a queer girl,” he said. “I wonder if
I’
ll ever understand you.”

She made a small, apologetic movement towards him.

“I’m quite easy to understand, Luke,” she said, “if you’ll only see things my way.”

“Aren’t we all?” he retorted with humor.

She smiled reluctantly.

“Yes, I suppose so. And your mind’s quite made up about the
Jordan
children?”

“Quite.” He looked surprised
.
“I thought you understood.”

“Yes,” she said, and sighed. “Yes, I suppose I do
—
Luke”—she bent and kissed him, a rare demonstration from her—
“
you won’t let them make any difference, will you?”

He caught her hand and held it.

“Of course not, you silly goose. But it’s nice to know that rather alarming armour of yours isn’t foolproof, all the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“It makes you more vulnerable and like the rest of us,” he teased, and got to his feet, knocking out his pipe on the flags. “Come and have a
lo
ok
at those heifers I bought at Tavistock the other day. They’re looking much better.”

As they walked round the farm together, she recovered her usual cool assurance. She was keenly interested in everything to do with livestock, talking knowledgeably to Tom Bowden about feeding, market prices, and the
all-important
question of breeding, while Luke listened, admiring her ready grasp of such matters. She got her efficiency and drive from her mother, but, he hoped, not all that indefatigable matron’s urge for organisation.
L
ady Sale, having at length failed to push her kindly husband out of his pleasant rut, bent her energies on everyone and everything which came within her grasp.

Diana said she must be going, and the foreman watched them walk towards the stables in the sunlight. A fine couple, he thought, viewing Diana’s straight back as she linked an arm in Luke’s, but she’ll wear the trousers in his house if she can. Shaking his head, he went away to feed the pigs.

Mounted again, Diana bent from her saddle and gently touched Luke’s cheek with her whip.

“Thank you for my nice lunch,” she said.

Luke observed Diana’s black gelding with an appreciative eye. “Comet looks well. Are you going to show
him
this year?”

“I hope so,” she said. “He ought to do well in hack classes if I can teach him some ring manners.”

“You will,” he assured her, and indeed he knew she would, and win with the horse as well. She rode superbly and was as good a show-woman as he had seen in the west country. “I always think of you on a horse,” he told her. “Your name suits you well—Diana the huntress.”

That pleased her, for she was proud of her horsemanship. “I’m going back by the moor,” she said. “Why don’t you saddle Goldfinch and ride with me?”

“I’ve got work to do.” He laughed.

“Nonsense!” Her voice was imperious at first, then as suddenly charming and coaxing. “Please. It will do you good, and we so seldom ride together.”

“All right,” he replied, touched that she should plead with him for so small a favour.

She waited, circling the yard, while he went into the stable and saddled his hunter. It was true, he thought, adjusting buckles and tightening girths with nimble fingers; he could spare
little
time for the things which meant so much to her; the long rides, the shows, and, in the winter,
hunting
three days a week. She should have chosen someone like Frank Tregenna on the other side of the moor, who farmed for a hobby and spent his leisure and his not inconsiderable income on fine bloodstock.

He mounted old Goldfinch, and smiled, comparing him with Diana’s black; sound, serviceable, and no beauty, but he could still gallop.

“It’s
time
you bought yourself another horse.” Diana remarked as they moved together out of the yard. “Tregenna has one or two promising youngsters. Why don’t you go over and see them?”

“
Tregenna’s prices are beyond me,” said Luke good-naturedly. “In any case, Goldfinch suits my job better than a thoroughbred would.”

She frowned and was silent; it was an old argument between them. He was a good horseman, better, far, than
Tregenna for all his fine horseflesh, and he should be better mounted. He saw the frown and smiled indulgently. Diana had always loved display. His knee touched hers as their horses pushed together through an open gate on to the moor, and he said with a twinkle:

“I’m afraid you’re poorly matched, darling, both in mount and rider.”

Her frown deepened. There were times when she was never quite sure whether he was serious or gently teasing her, but he should not be so indifferent to appearances.

“You say the silliest things,” she said, then Comet began to fidget and dance as he felt the turf beneath his feet, and the frown vanished as she lifted her face to the moorland breeze. “Let’s have a burst,” she said.

They breasted the long rise to Monkstor side by side, the wind singing in their ears, over the brow of the hill, and along the level grassy stretch to Scaw Down, where they pulled up.

“Oh, that was good,” cried Diana, flushed and exhilarated. “And I will say, Luke, your old hunter holds the pace.”

“The old chap’s good for a few more years yet,” Luke said, patting the chestnut’s neck.

They sat relaxed in their saddles, enjoying the afterglow of that swift gallop. Luke thought how good a place was the west country, with the freedom of its moorland stretches, the little rivers which interlaced the moor, and so much simple pleasure there for the taking. Here on Scaw Down, he and Hester had picnicked each summer amongst the Druid Stones; there in the small river Scaw, he had caught trout, and behind them, unseen now in a fold of the moor, lay the house with its books and its ready welcome awaiting his return at evening.

Diana, her gaze roving the countryside, thought how beautifully Comet moved, speculated as to his chances in the showring this season,
and resolved to persuade Luke into pensioning old Goldfinch and
buying something more worthy of his mettle. When they were married
things would be very different. Luke would hunt regularly and leave the
farm to a competent bailiff, and if he could not afford good horse-flesh,
then she could.

“Look!” she exclaimed suddenly, pointing with her whip. “I’ve never seen that before all the years we’ve been here.” Below them where they stood on Scaw Down, a herd of moorland ponies were gathered in the scrub, and, a little apart, two stallions did battle. They circled and reared, squealing and striking at one another with their forefeet, then circled again.

“Aren’t they grand?” Diana said.

Luke glanced at her curiously. Her lips were parted and her eyes were bright with exultation. Just so had he wanted to see her when he took her into his arms.

“Brute force appeals to you, then?” he said, watching her.

“Anything that fights appeals to me,” she tossed back at him recklessly. “Wouldn’t you fight for the thing that’s dearest to you?”

His eyes were amused.

“I don’t know. I’m a peaceable man.”

She did not trouble to look for the twinkle this time. Her eyes went intent on the fighting stallions.

“Even peaceable men have been known to be roused,” she said.

“True,
”
he replied. “Would I appeal to you more, Diana, if I was a mere brute male?”

She made no answer except to say:

“Let’s go nearer and watch them.”

She urged her horse down the rough slope, and Luke followed her. The two stallions paused in battle, their heads thrown back, their tails high, then they started again, one black, one brown, the sunlight glancing on their hot flanks as they plunged and twisted. The mares stood huddled together, watching mildly. Every now and again one shied away as the fight converged upon them and they lifted
their
heads expectantly, ready to make off at the victor’s command.

“Aren’t they magnificent!” said Diana softly, and Comet started to quiver.

“Don’t go too
cl
ose, you’ll upset him,” warned Luke, and almost immediately the horse began to plunge and squeal
. T
he whole herd of ponies threw up
startled
heads, and the two stallions paused, squealed back, then, united in the attack of a common foe, charged towards them, the mares, like sheep, following in a wild stampede
.

“Get out of the way!” shouted Luke. “Make for the tor and home.”

But she could not turn her horse. Rearing and plunging, he answered to none of the aids and simply revolved in small circles straight in the path of the oncoming herd.

“Get off!” Luke cried. Get off and let him go.” And when she made no move to obey him, he brought his own horse alongside hers for a brief moment, and encircling her waist with one arm pulled her out of the saddle.

“Drop behind that bush and stay still,” he ordered, and gave Comet a whack on the quarters which sent him kicking through the heather as the herd thundered by.

To Diana, crouching behind a gorse bush, it seemed that they must sweep Luke with them, but it was all over very quickly. Goldfinch, that wise old veteran, stood firm, and Luke caught the black stallion a blow on the head with his stick, which snapped in two. For a moment the forefeet were raised to strike, but Goldfinch lashed out with his near hind, and the herd turned.

He watched them gallop away out of sight, then dismounted and went to meet Diana. She waited for
him,
seeing for the first time the strength in his face and the coolness in his grey eyes.

“You were magnificent,” she said, her eyes brilliant with excitement.

“Like those figh
t
ing stallions?” His crooked smile was a little grim. “Don’t you know that the only thing to do in a tight place is to obey orders instantly?”

She said nothing, but her lips were parted with the same expectancy they had shown when she was watching the stallions. He took her by the shoulders with a certain roughness, and kissed her as he had many times wanted to. For the first and only time she responded without reluctance, and his expression was a little ironical as he released her.

“Now I’ll go and catch your horse for you,” he said, and swinging himself into his saddle, rode quickly away.

CHAPTER TWO

For
a week no more was heard of the
Jordan
s, and Diana had begun to hope the plan would fall through, then Luke had another letter. Dennis was extravagantly grateful, the children mad with delight. They would arrive in two days.

Monk’s Farm fell into a fever of preparation. Beds were aired, rooms allotted and
c
hanged a dozen times and Corky planned endless menus of apple pudding, plum duff, treacle roll and all the most filling things he could think of.

“I must say it’s a pretty short notice,” Diana remarked, helping Luke move an extra chest-of-drawers into one of the bedrooms.

“Oh, well,
”
said Luke, “I imagine Dennis wants to get them off his hands as quick as he can if he’s due at a sanatorium.”

“
What’s wrong with him—T.B.?”

“I imagine so. He doesn’t say.”

“What are the children called?”

“Let me think—what did they call the one I saw? Paula, Paulette, n
o
,
Pauline, I
think
. I’ve no idea what names the others have got. I suppose
I
did know, once.”

“But doesn’t your cousin mention them in his letters?”

“He doesn’t say. He just refers to them as the children.”

“It doesn’t seem to me your cousin tells you much about anything,” said Diana rather tartly. “Corky says they probably won’t speak a word of English, then where will you be?”