CHAPTER TWO

Connor had been unable to keep thoughts of Nigella Patchford out of his head since that first encounter, tormented by those viridian eyes beneath the thick fringe of dark lashes. There was something special about this woman, not just her amazing beauty. That demureness of attitude as she had smiled her thanks had intrigued and captured him. He never saw this in the Babes he usually spent time with and was fascinated. Ever since then, he had been trying to come up with some excuse to take him out to Driftwood Acres.

Connor had been engaged for over a year now. They had decided to wait on the nuptials until their finances were solid and they could afford a more prestigious address. Their lives had slipped into a comfortable routine. Miley Earles was a sweet girl, but then had come Nigella Patchford. What a handsome meal-ticket!

Miley was used to his working long hours; being needed at meetings and quite often she had work commitments of her own. They were both ambitious which was one of the reasons they had clicked so well. He reckoned he could carry the two of them until he had achieved what he wanted. Anyway, he would be helping Nigella enjoy her money – an association of mutual self-interest?

That apart, she was obsessing him. It was as though she drew him from another time when manners, etiquette perhaps, meant there was more to a relationship than a quick bonk in the back room at a bash. His confidence and easy manner had given him lots of those, but he craved something more, or thought he did; why else this fixation over and above mere ambition? You wouldn’t go as far as marriage would you Con, he deliberated.

Tying up these last loose ends had been the perfect pretext, but on phoning to make the appointment he had cogitated on how to navigate the circumstance that Mallory Mason might answer. Check the file: Miss Mason worked at the hospital Monday to Wednesday. He had phoned that day and made it for the following Monday morning.

As Connor pulled into the driveway he noticed signs of a recent clean-up. Great piles of dead plants; large mounds of dried leaves and lopped branches were scattered about, waiting for burning. The tall trees, thick with age, surrounding the lawns were magnificent. As the sun intensified its shimmer, he saw wisps of white smoke from the chimney trailing leisurely upwards into a cobalt sky, drifting with the breeze to vanish behind a line of distant trees. The place looked idyllic. Perfect for a sylvan nymph, he romanticised.

Walking the short distance to the wide front door, the staccato sounds of a labouring chain-saw reached him clearly through the brittle morning air. He yanked on the bell-pull and was rewarded with an echoing chime resonating through the house. Some time elapsed before the door opened and there she stood, breathless in her haste, cheeks glowing from the nippy air.

“Good morning Connor. Sorry to keep you waiting, I was in the laundry. Do come in.” Opening the door wider, she took a step back. She looked so different in worn cords and a few extra layers for warmth. This time her hair was tied loosely out of the way, but a few strands had escaped into a charming unruliness, temptingly seductive in their casual innocence. She smiled self-consciously enough to melt his heart.

“No problem. It didn’t take me as long as I thought.” He stepped over the threshold into an open room, awash with morning light streaming through a set of three casement windows. It was now furnished with large, easy chairs with plump, cream linen cushions, soft enough to lose yourself. The seating was arranged around a low, wooden table covered in an assortment of horse and country magazines. A log fire behind a brass-rimmed fender was dying down to embers, but the heat was still powerful.

“What a lovely room. It feels so leisurely,” he exclaimed, looking up at the wide, heavy beams forming the ceiling. He removed his overcoat to throw it over the back of a chair. Today he wore his dark, business attire which gave him a practised and competent air. It could have caused distance, but his warmth and friendly charm made him effortlessly informal.

“Please sit.” She hesitated uncertain, unused to a man in her private space. She felt off kilter. “Err…r can I get you something to drink, a cup of tea perhaps?” She sat stiffly on the edge of her seat as she spoke.

“No. I’m fine thanks. Look, this won’t take long and I’m sorry to be bothering you.”

“No bother I assure you. My days are not hectic.”

Yes that voice, as soft as I remember. She’s not from around here. “It appears you’ve settled in well,” he observed, giving her his most winning smile.

“Yes. Of course, this is really a quiet time as far as the stables go. We only have two horses. They’re here with us while their owners are wintering overseas. This way they could close up their house until their return.” She realised how unskilled she was at making small talk, but knew well enough what was expected.

“Oh yes. It’s great if you can escape England in winter,” he nodded.

She had not really meant that. She liked England in winter, especially the frosty morning rides, so crisp and invigorating. Mal liked them too, before she had to get ready for work. She even thought it was better than going to the gym.

“You needed to see me?” she enquired, politely.

Oh yes, I did! He admired the ebony sheen of her hair as a sliver of light from the bay window moved quickly across her body, like a hand-held spot-light. “No drama. I just need you to look over these papers; to agree that everything’s in order.” Shifting slightly to the couch’s edge, he reached for his briefcase to set it on his lap before unlocking: “Just to confirm the rental arrangements for Miss Mason. This is to run to the end of the financial year. That’s correct?”

Jellie was not sure how long it was meant to go, but she did know Mal had insisted on this rental business – as if it mattered.

“I don’t know. If you say so,” she demurred.

“Oh, you’re not sure this is what you want?” he observed sharply pen poised, momentarily suspended in mid-air.

“Oh yes. She has to pay rent,” she agreed readily as a hot wave of embarrassment washed over her. She didn’t want to be responsible for making changes. He indicated where her signature was required and watched her hands, small boned and graceful; the writing so precise. The business was being conducted too soon. He was not ready to leave, so while she signed next to the little flags, he asked if he could take her up on the offer of a cup of tea, before his journey back to the city. His smile deepened. One thing about Connor, he harboured no uncertainties as to his ability to seduce.

“Of course I’ll see to it.” She hastened from the room and while she was away, he took the time to let his eyes wander and take in some of her essence. He wanted to know more and yes, it was important. On her return, bearing a tray with everything they needed, including a plate of shortbread cookies, she found him studying a picture on the far wall. He swung round at her entry.

“What a lovely place. They certainly don’t build houses like this anymore,” he observed, then returned to his examination of the delicate tones of the water-colour. The style was almost impressionist in a manner he had not seen before, obscure and faint and yet creating a feeling of lightness. Jellie followed his gaze, but made no response, conscious of the disinclination to speak of her home, her past or herself. She was in another life now. It was a life where she had changed, not only from a girl to a woman, but from one person to an entirely different one; a person with new designs and with totally new visions. Instead she asked how he liked his tea.

“Clear thank you, one sugar.” He came back to his seat and accepted the fine china.

“I wonder if the artist painted that from life … I mean if it’s authentic.” His astute eyes were questioning.

Jellie tried to ignore the trenchant feeling of unease. She felt cornered. Not exactly caught in a trap, but lacking the verbal skills for extrication. “It is a real house.” She buried her face in her cup, but she couldn’t stay like this. When she emerged he was studying her with alert curiosity. He decided to drop this line of inquiry, seeing how she had become so keyed up. Wishing to achieve an easy camaraderie he asked instead how she was enjoying the country.

“You don’t find it too quiet?” His eyes crinkled at the corners, in that way she remembered. Her breathing settled and she began to expand on her life in this time. It was a good one and she was getting used to new routines. But privately, his presence brought home to her that the days could be too quiet and sometimes overly long. Now the moment of panic had passed she was able to feel comfortable, relaxed even, in this young man’s company. She had warmed to him before and now she liked him even better. It was like having Ambrose back and she enjoyed it. Time flew until the moment he looked at his watch and he declared his surprise.

“This has been such a lovely visit Nigella. I didn’t mean to use up so much of your morning.”

“That’s all right. Time is what I have lots of.” As they both stood, she bestowed one of those smiles on him, like an exclusive gift he was beginning to look forward to. Tentatively, with appealing reticence he asked if he could come visit again, soon – even if there were no papers to sign. Jellie agreed that would be nice.

“I’m always here, so it will be very pleasant to have someone to talk to, but you must be a busy man.” For a moment he saw an exceptional, quixotic worry in her eyes as she frowned in concern. How innocently she revealed her feelings. He was beginning to appreciate her lack of pert cheekiness which he so often encountered in the bars. The thought fleetingly crossed his mind: Give up the night clubs for a while? No, he didn’t need to go that far. Room for both!

“I’m kept on my toes, but Armstrong and Walsh don’t work only in the city. From time to time I do have to see clients, out this way.” He looked steadfastly into the depths of those now settled eyes and added: “So you would be happy for me to drop in?”

“Very happy,” she admitted, as her face flushed an eager and very inviting shade of pink. She walked with him to his SUV hatchback, a Mitsubishi Outlander. She admired its sleek yet powerful appearance, squinting against the sun, now high in the sky.

“Yes she’s a beauty, but not only in looks,” he observed proudly and went on to list some of the features: a trip computer, cruise and traction control, ABS brakes with EBD and climate control aircon, to name a few. She did her best to follow, hoping to nod in the right places. She didn’t want to appear a total ignoramus in front of her new friend. By now a chilly wind was scattering about playfully, blowing leaves every which way. As she lifted her hand to her eyes to shut out the sky, the better to see, it caught the ends of her long pony tail and whipped them around to make them stick to her moist lips. Laughing, he stopped talking to untangle them from her face then made the suggestion: “I’ll have to take you out for a spin in her next time. Maybe lunch?” This accompanied by a swift smile.

She watched him peel away, his tires scattering gravel in a low arc as the engine roared to life, then she walked out back to continue with the laundry. While her hands moved mechanically, her mind relived the last hour. It had been quite intoxicating. She realised she had thoroughly enjoyed herself, recalling the magic of the moment when his bark of laughter had echoed off the rafters; it had been so full of energy. With his feet stretched out toward the hearth, leaning back against the cushions, he had been so like Patchy. He used to lengthen himself out like that when he was in one of his expansive moods. Sighing, she shook her head. She was learning to live in harmony with these fragments of memory, but it was imperative she move on. Still, it truly would be nice if he called again – in fact she looked forward to it. She liked the way amusement danced in his golden brown eyes. It was his face had captured her attention this visit. It showed such confidence in every bold line; the lopsided quirk of the arched eyebrows, the long sharp ridge of his nose to the flaring nostrils. There was an arroganceto the angular features, not injected with scorn so much as expressing a carefree breeziness. His wide mouth was straight, but curved at the corners as if ready to break into laughter at the slightest excuse. The young men of her girl-hood had had this style, as though the game of life would never end. In his company, for a while, she felt re-vitalised and yes, carefree too.

Now it was time to move on to prepare the feeds for later, so with a light heart she tripped over to the barn to begin sorting the grains. When Mal came home she found her involved in cooking dinner. They had slipped into a comfortable routine of exchanging news while Mal enjoyed a beer. No alcohol for her, but she did like tonic water in a wine glass. This evening she felt she had real news to impart and gleefully recounted all about Connor’s visit. Mal was pleased to see what a positive effect this had had on her and recognised the long way Jellie had come. Their move to Driftwood had been the best thing.

For herself, getting outdoors, being absorbed in manual labour, there was so much to do around the place, was a perfect anodyne to the stress of her counselling hours. She knew she had chosen the right profession, but the work was intense, the resolution to each case requiring its own singular and specific solution. There were no standard formulae to be trotted out. Also, as a public sector agency, the emphasis on accountability was heavy; paperwork was mountainous and the need for exhaustive application paramount. Her days at home allowed her to recover; recharge her batteries she would say.

For some reason, Jellie did not understand the logic, she didn’t go on to tell Mal of the possibility that Connor might come calling again. There was no time for her to dwell on this since Mal had news of her own and anyway, they were almost ready to eat.

* * *

It was as soon as Wednesday that she received the call. Connor had picked his timing carefully. Jellie was in high spirits, thrilled at the prospect of going out somewhere smart for lunch. She felt the warmth of anticipation as Connor ‘T’d it up for the following Tuesday.

A week later her excitement was extreme. That morning she spent considerable time trying to get just the right note for a special outing. In the end she felt she couldn’t go wrong with her brown flecked, tweed suit. The jacket was formal, but the skirt was feminine; neat pleats opening out from the hips. She had her pick of credit cards and used them selectively. She also had a wide selection of finely tooled, leather footwear for shopping trips with Mal. Her final decision went with her two-tone, brown boots. They were high-topped and shiny, starting from the hem of her skirt all the way to their pointy toes. She had wanted to buy a patent leather handbag to match, but Mal persuaded her that young women her age would rather be seen with something slung casually over the shoulder. She topped the outfit off with a silk scarf and soft leather beret, both buttercup yellow, letting her hair hang free. When it was loose it waved gently to well past her shoulders. As soon as the chimes sounded her heart gave an extra lurch as she raced to the door, snatching up her matching gloves on the way.

“Oh! Pretty as a picture,” Connor exclaimed in delighted pleasure. In the reflected light from the window, her eyelashes stood out against the pallor of her skin, emphasising the colour of her eyes, complemented by the beret. He had spent his morning clearing his desk to make time for this.

Jellie locked the door, thinking how handsome he looked in his broad-shouldered overcoat; the dashing scarf slung loosely about his neck. Together they walked the blowy distance to the car, each head inclined against the weather. The skies were leaden with heavy clouds and a slight flurry of soft snow flakes swirled boisterously about them, adding to the fun of the trip. As Connor wheeled into the lane that took them to Knowle Jellie settled herself back to enjoy the luxury of the ride, asking politely how he had been, followed by the inquiry as to where they were going.

“I know this really cool spot. In the old days it was a hostelry … it’s a restaurant now.”

“In the village?” she exclaimed in surprise. She had never noticed one.

“No. We’re going to Kenilworth. Have you been there?”

“A long time ago when I was a little girl, I …” She stopped abruptly.

Connor threw back his head and let out his shout of laughter, full-throated, as he expostulated: “Not so long ago Lovey, I know your age.” He gave her an appraising glance. Really she became more beautiful every time he saw her – if that were possible.

The chance slip alerted her to be careful. She was so used to Mal knowing everything about her – so unused to strangers. She must remember to guard her tongue. To move on she asked him to tell her more.

“I hope you’ll like it. It’s been done up in the period and I believe rumour has it Guy Fawkes met there once with his co-conspirators. Anyway, we’ll find out all the history when we get there. That apart, they do a very good roast duck.”

The drive became quite magical. The snow continued to fall, landing so softly that as they drove across country, everything became delicately outlined in white. What had been an ordinary rustic scene was transformed into an enchanted grotto. She was content to watch the unfolding conversion while Connor concentrated on the driving. He had needed to turn on the lights and the wipers by this stage, but now they were almost there. He could just see the sign up ahead: The Hare And Hounds.

Jellie was happy, he’d been right – the restaurant was charming, the sense of history was not only in the building with its bubble glassed muntins, but in all the furnishings too. Dark, heavy timber tables and chairs on highly polished flagstones; burgundy coloured, velvet drapes with gold tasselled tie-backs. A plaque, prominently displayed at the entrance, through which they had had to stoop, blazoned its claim to fame. Looking about, they saw there were already a good number of patrons comfortably ensconced, enjoying a pre-prandial drink in the congenial surroundings; patrons for whom each day is an unhurried experience. There would have been a few on a business lunch perhaps, but most looked to be well settled for the afternoon.

“Mr. Mitchell …? Right this way, Sir.”

They followed the Maitre d’ to a table for two, on the far side of the room, almost opposite a crackling fire in the massive stone hearth. Connor watched her take it in. “Yes, I thought you’d like that.” They settled themselves then he asked what she would like to drink.

“A glass of apple juice would be lovely, thank you.” She leaned on her elbows, chin in hand, observing the other people, like them out for a pleasant lunch.

“You’re not serious Nigella,” a curt note definite in his voice. One could carry the jejune too far.

Her eyes swung back to him: “What was that?” not sure if she had heard disapproval just then. It hung in the air, incomplete and left her slightly shocked. Connor took control of his temper, although his face reflected his mockery as he tried to soften his tone. “Join me in a glass of wine, surely,” and added his boyish grin for good measure. Nigella had looked unexpectedly vulnerable, almost crushed.

“No really, I don’t drink alcohol,” she replied her face tight, devoid of animation. Ah – ah, that’s it! She’s in recovery. Fair enough. He had her number. He suppressed a slight smile.

They both enjoyed the roast duck with jus d’orange and al denté vegetables. Jellie followed her main with a Raspberry Compote and whipped cream. Connor decided on the sticky date pudding and custard. His disposition remained convivial throughout the meal and their conversation flowed as easily as before. Jellie found herself responding even more positively. Today he brought recollections of Lionel Shoebridge to mind. He had a sense of humour like his, but the unpredictable mood swings were more like Ambrose. She laughingly told Connor at one stage how like her brother he was. This did not go over too well, but he swallowed his irritation. He wanted to ferret out more personal details and showing impatience was not the way to go. There had been no mention of siblings; in fact no reference to family at all. Now a brother in the mix…. “What does he think of Driftwood Acres?” he asked, narrowing his smile.

Jellie’s face fell with her mournful response. “He won’t ever see it,” she said slowly. He chose not to pursue this tack. No point in upsetting her if he’s out of the picture … or dead. No cause for concern there. He knew from her dossier she was an heiress, but under Miss Mason’s guardianship. There had been no information as to the circumstances, but he guessed it had to do with drug and/or alcohol issues. Perhaps this was what made her seem so different from the others. Could she have been left with some brain-damage? Not slow exactly, but no ‘valley’ girl. Quite shy really and easily manipulated. But man she sure is pretty enough; and perfect for my needs.

As the afternoon wore on he did uncover some significant facts. She was interested in learning more about mobile phone technologies. If she could, she would like to develop her computer skills. He was happy to be of service in any way he could. Ha! More excuses to be in touch.

“No problem. I can set you up on face-book and twitter too, if you like. Look, give me your E-mail address and here’s mine.” He pulled out a small note pad and wrote quickly. “Next time you’re at your desk and you have a problem, let me know. There’ll be times when I can drop by and we can do some ‘hands on’. He smirked to himself at his joke, but she didn’t pick it up. By the time Connor thought to make a move the restaurant was almost empty. Staff were re-laying tables for dinner guests, the sconce lamps, strategically placed around the walls, had been lit. The previously overcast sky had darkened to an ominous shade of grey, intimating a serious threat of ugly weather. Quickly, scraping back the legs of his chair he rose to pay the bill and that taken care of, retrieved their belongings from the Maitre d’.

Outside, they were shocked by an unexpected sharpness to the air. A thick blanket of snow wrapped them in silence. He took her arm and guided her past the drifts. The wind had picked up, whistling through the trees and swirling about them with a bite that cut like a scythe. The impending storm had become a reality.

“No drama. This is what four-wheel-drives are all about,” he declared confidently as he unlocked for her. He then took out his scraper and went thoroughly over the front and rear windows, with an extra touch to the mirrors. Once inside, he started the heater and demister and soon they were barrelling along. She had no misgivings about the journey itself, but concern did begin to close in when she realised how late in the day it had become. She had not wanted to be away when Mal arrived home.

“Do you think we’ll be long getting back, Connor?” Her normally composed features were distorted with alarm.

“No. We’ll be fine. There’s extra traction in these tires.”

She had to control a rising disquiet and try not to worry, but it seemed to be getting darker and visibility poorer by the minute. If they had been on a major highway, perhaps conditions would not have been so bad, but as it was they were out in the country, on narrow lanes and the snow piling up. Trying to ease the clenched tangle developing inside her, she let out a long breath.

“Don’t worry, Nigella. I’ve driven through a lot worse than this. Take it slow and steady is the secret.” It was not until they reached the outskirts of Knowle that Jellie felt the vibration of her phone and heard the Christmas music, which she hadn’t yet changed for the New Year. She opened up, her expression of anxiety deepening. Mal was home: “Hello!”

“Thank God!” She caught her breath, her voice rough. “I’ve been trying to reach you for an hour. Where are you? Are you all right?” She was barely holding on.

“Yes. I’ll be home soon. We’re only about fifteen minutes away.” She looked over to

Connor for verification and he nodded. “Don’t worry,” she resumed, following a sudden awareness of how much anxiety she had caused. She had heard it in her voice. “We’re fine. Just this weather has made us a bit slow, that’s all.”

“All right, I’ll see you then,” she concluded as jerkily she broke off, the loop of tension within her making her hands stiff. She had been frantic. With the weather closing in and the forecast predicting this to be the first serious snow storm of the year, it had been decided at the hospital that everyone should get safely to their homes before major roads became choked and minor ones cut off. Consequently, she had arrived home early with Jellie nowhere to be found. The central heating was on low, but no fire had been laid in the grate. When a search had been fruitless she had tried phoning, then texting. Still nothing! Then the neighbours, but they were sorry, they couldn’t help. She had just been about to contact the police, when she thought she would try Jells one more time and she had struck it lucky.

The whole while, with her stomach knotted enough to make her sick she had tried to think what on earth could have happened. In her agitation she had tramped out to the horse paddocks, eyes stinging with unshed tears; circled the perimeter, heart thumping in her ears her adrenalin level so high. Had she fallen somewhere? Her mind envisioned a broken and bleeding body, sprawled at the bottom of a ravine. She had been close to melt down. The chimes rang and she whipped open the door. Jellie and Connor Mitchell stood under the porch. Connor!

“Oh Jells! I’ve been that worried.” She drew her in and hugged her close. Jellie returned the embrace with feeling, knowing how distraught she would have been. Connor followed them.

“Oh darling, thank God you’re safe,” she murmured through choking breaths. Her emotions had been overwhelmed by fear and now it was relief, but she looked across at Connor, a question in her strained eyes.

He was concerned at the turn of events, but believed in ‘all’s well that ends well’, so tried to downplay the seriousness and said, a little too off-hand: “The storm wasn’t that bad. My Pathfinder’ll get through anything. She lives up to her name all right.”

Mal knew she shouldn’t take it out on him and tried to push her affronted feelings down, but what she had just gone through had wrung her out. She guided Jellie to a seat and asked why she hadn’t let her know she was going out?

She looked up and saw the dark shadows of fatigue around her disturbed eyes and a convulsive tremor ran through her. “I’m so sorry Mal” she said subdued, solemn in the acknowledgment of her fault.

“You could’ve told me or sent an SMS.” She tried to keep the reproach out of her voice, but couldn’t hide it from her eyes. Jellie could only look back woefully, through an internal disorder of self-reproof. It had come to her that this episode, taking off on her own, well almost on her own, had made her feel un-caged; liberated. It had felt so good, like how she remembered she used to be. It had been a long time since she had experienced the lightness of heart of that young girl. At last she was doing something independently; making her own decisions. But she had not wanted to upset Mal. She had thought she would tell her all about the adventure afterwards. She had not expected anything like this.

Connor could see this developing into a ‘woman thing’ and thought it timely to make his exit. In an overly hearty voice he declared: “No harm done. Package returned safe and sound, eh?” Jellie turned to him and in a rather small voice expressed her thanks for lunch … and everything.

“No problem. I enjoyed it too. Shall we do it again sometime, perhaps somewhere closer to home?” His beaming smile took in both of them; anxious to leave on good terms.

Mal had no desire to clip Jellie’s wings. It was the not knowing that had caused so much apprehension. But she knew her nerves could not stand more of this. “I’m sure she would enjoy that … and thank you for taking her out.” She stood and turned her body toward the window. “Are you sure the conditions are fit for driving?”

“Oh yes. The maintainers will be out in force by now. I’m sure the major routes will be clear. It was doing the cross-country thing that slowed us down.”

Jellie stood too and they both saw him off. Quickly, they closed the heavy door against his receding back and the ranting storm’s gathering charge and clamour.

“You find something comfortable Jells. I’ll get us drinks and stir up the fire.”

On her return, wearing cosy track pants and her favourite Fair Isle sweater, just like Mal’s only in green to match her eyes, she joined her in front of the fire which now burned with a brilliant glow. She noticed how the flames highlighted the corn-coloured strand of hair which had fallen free and as she turned her head, the cobalt eyes, with their irresistible power. All this disruption and emotional upheaval had brought home to her how precious this woman was. Others may not see it, but to her she was like the unblemished drop of dew, at the moment of illumination, by the sun’s morning rays. “Will you forgive me for being so thoughtless?” She coloured as she accepted the glass, feeling once more how she had let her down.

“I’m just so relieved you’re home safe and not hurt. My imagination ran away with me there for a while.” Her eyes misted briefly as she gave her a big hug, then pulled back, charged with a too intense reaction only smiling the love in her heart.

Side by side on the rug, Jellie leaned her body against Mal, but she was aware of a curious, unaccountable and incomplete atmosphere in the room, as if something had been left unsaid. She shook the notion away and asked what she wanted for dinner adding: “I’m not really hungry, but I’ll get you whatever you like.”

“That’s OK. I’ll pull something out of the freezer,” then she hesitated, trying to make a decision. She turned toward the girl. “Jells, I must say this.” Her face was drawn and weary, the eyes too bright. “I know everything turned out all right, but at the end of the day I’m the one responsible for your welfare.” Jellie’s large eyes regarded her gravely; this was it, but she said nothing. “I’m not angry, but I do need you to let me know your whereabouts, if you’re not going to be at home.” Jellie saw her face twist with embitterment, only for an instant, but it gave the lie to the words. “You know what I mean, I’m not saying ‘no’, but I must be kept informed.”

“Yes, yes of course,” she responded fervently. “I’m truly sorry to have caused you so much worry. I promise I won’t do that again.” Jellie’s contrition was burning her up inside. She would never knowingly have put her darling Mal through such an ordeal. She felt so unworthy. Her eyes filled, but she wiped them quickly.

“It’s over now love. We have a better understanding.” She flicked her a sympathetic glance as she got up to make her way to the kitchen, but Jellie stopped her in her tracks.

“Mal, I do have to say something.” She waited, almost holding her breath, a chill spreading inside her. She came back, a deep crease across her brow. “I get very lonely here sometimes. It’s like being at Lychette’s all over again only this time it’s a house, not a room.”

“I thought you liked it here; that you were happy here.” Her voice cracked like broken crystal as the words erupted from her mouth. She strode closer to search the face for meaning.

“I do! I am!” She could feel fiery colour ascending from her neck to sting her cheeks. “I just wanted to tell you some of my problem,” she whispered, then struggled to fill her lungs, but she needed to say this. To preserve her mental stability she would rather be bruised by telling the truth, than soothe her feelings with convenient deception. Now she had discovered there would be no lasting peace if she hid anything from Mal. “Connor made me feel not so alone – he made me laugh. It was fun being with him and …” She closed her lips tightly, in the end unable to say more.

“Of course, that’s only natural …” she tried to mask the spasm of fear that had leaped into her face: “… he’s a very likeable young man and I’m happy he’s good company for you.” She resumed her track to the kitchen, but felt she had had a knife thrust deep into her heart. An icy shiver zigzagged down to her stomach and her features became sharp with dread. Could he be the one … if not the one, the start?

Her heart was heavy, her feet dragged. She had known she would have to face this one day, but not this soon. She had felt so positive about their move to Driftwood. If they had stayed in town, would it have been different? She couldn’t keep her to herself forever. She replayed Jellie’s last words in her head. She was growing up, becoming her own person. This was all good. As she continued to search through the packages, she was steadily losing her appetite and the tears she had tried to deny earlier, began to smart her eyes. She had told herself it was what she wanted for Jells – was it really? With a loving commitment it is. You have no right to possess … only to care-for and nurture.

She stood at the doorway to the living room locked in the moment, as overwhelming desire engulfed her and kept her rooted to the spot, the bowl of noodles forgotten in her hand. She took in the scene; the girl leaning on one arm, looking into the flickering flames that danced around the logs, lost in thought. She was so innocently alluring, her appeal so seductive. Her heart ached all over again as she felt torn apart by the thought of what could be her imminent loss. With the piercing finality of the last blare of the hunter’s horn, she knew the threat to her future had arrived.

Stendhal had said: ‘Beauty is the promise of happiness’, and now she was about to lose that promise; lose the beauty in this girl who awaited her return. She removed the bowl from the microwave, deep in introspection, but smiled into the beloved face as Jellie looked up at her approach, then she joined her before the fire’s glow. In her heart she knew there were no choices. She could not press the ‘reset’ button. She had to let her go – but oh, how it hurt.

“You know what, Jells? I think it’s time you learned to drive.” She swirled a forkful of noodles and looked across inquiringly.

Jellie’s face lit up. “Do you think I could Mal?”

“I’m sure of it. There’s a good driving school in town and you can get lots of practise runs round here, in the Festiva.”

“You could teach me?” Her eager face told the story.

“Better to have proper lessons Pumpkin, then you can try out what you’ve learned on me.” Mal knew the pitfalls that lay down that road. “Do you remember when you had a go before? You finished up not very happy at all.”

“Oh yes I do. But that was a totally different time.” She laughed at the recollection. “I was a disdainful and probably arrogant, thorn in your side.” Her enthusiastic face beamed into hers. “All right, lessons it is.”

“There will be one problem. You have to have a birth certificate and I’m not sure how we get around that, but I’ll check with the Tribunal. Once we’re over that hurdle you can start. When you have your license, then we can look for your very own set of wheels. How does that sound?”

“Oh Mal, that would be perfect. Then I could come and go as I please. Don’t get me wrong. I do love it here, but to be able to pop into the village when I need something … oh, that will be tremendous.”

They continued their lively speculations until it was time for bed. By then Mal had been able to reconcile herself to the inevitable and undeniably, Jellie was feeling positively elated about her future.