Chapter 41
41
That evening, before she returned to the tower for the night, Cynthia told her that Tanner had accepted the job offer. Whether this was down to her outburst, or he would have accepted anyway, she wasn’t sure. He would start work at Merriford Manor the following week, just as soon as he’d settled his affairs in Cambridgeshire.
It would take time to win him over, and she wasn’t even sure that was what she wanted. She had feelings for him, undeniably, but he wasn’t a joy to be around, did not make her laugh, or feel wanted. But then Rome, she concluded, was certainly not built in a day.
Olivia still hadn’t told her Seth anything about the horrific discovery of Annie’s remains. Initially, she’d kept silent because she could not even be sure the missing girl was in one of the pits. And when the bones had been found and her identity confirmed, it seemed a cruel thing to do. Why should he have to grieve his first love when he believed she was alive? Her Seth had moved on and fallen in love. Nothing would be gained by telling him to have the shrieking pits trawled in his world. Ernest was dead. He could not be made to pay for his crime. And perhaps it was kinder for Mrs Taylor to believe her daughter was still alive.
As if to prove the contrast in personality of the two versions of the same man, Seth was full of beans and good humour that night. She heard the springs creak as he bounced onto the bed the other side of the wall.
‘I’ve paid off my debt, saved the train fare, and researched the route. My next free half-day off is a week Wednesday and I shall travel down to Suffolk and pay the enchanting Miss Davenport a visit. It will be interesting to set eyes on you… her again. I’ll present her with a cutting of lonicera japonica – the vanilla-scented honeysuckle that you tell me you so love, at which point, she’ll fall into my arms and declare undying love.’
Olivia gave a tiny snort. ‘I admire your optimism but suspect it will take more than a little green-leafed twig in a flowerpot.’
‘Then I’ll keep trying. You, young lady, are not made of wood. There’s no doubt in my mind you will succumb to my working-class charm eventually, much as I’m sure Tanner is already flattered by the attentions of the newly wealthy Miss Davenport.’ He paused. ‘How are relations with the Cambridgeshire version of me?’
‘Proceeding slowly.’
She told him that Tanner had accepted the job, if not the circumstances surrounding it.
‘You are a work in progress – a half-finished Hadrian’s Wall.’ She deliberately picked a construction of colossal proportions, knowing the task ahead was not easy, and then she considered the implications if she could win him round.
‘It won’t be the same, will it? If we find love with the others?’
‘It won’t be better or worse,’ he reassured her. ‘It’ll be different – an adventure. And adventures, as you’ve always said, are there waiting to be had.’
* * *
Tanner started work at the manor and Olivia decided to give him a wide berth to begin with. It wouldn’t be wise to overwhelm the poor fellow or scare him off. She made no special enquiries with either Sir Hugo or Mr Rowe as to how he was getting on, but occasionally watched him surreptitiously from the tower windows, pleased to see that he was coping admirably. He may not be able to use shears or push a wheelbarrow, but he could deadhead, weed, rake gravel and, most importantly, read. She politely but briefly acknowledged him if she came across him in the gardens, and realised he had a sizeable stump that he was able to manipulate to pick up objects, like flowerpots. It had not been obvious how much of his arm had been lost when he was wearing a jacket but the amputation had taken place just below the elbow.
She did, however, make sure she always looked her best when she was out and about in the grounds and knew, because Tanner had to turn his whole head to the left to see anything, that there were occasions when, equally, he was watching her. Schooled by her Seth as to what he found attractive, she wore a lot of pink because, surprisingly, it was his favourite colour. She would hum ‘The Rose of Allendale’, because he confided it was something his father had sung to him in his childhood. She wore a heavy rose-scented perfume because, coincidentally or otherwise, they were his favourite flowers.
Meanwhile, Olivia received a letter back from the editor she had sent her novel to, and rushed up to the tower to read it, launching herself across the bed in her excitement. But it was not the opening paragraph she’d hoped for; he was sorry but he was not interested in publishing her book. Her heart slid out through the soles of her buckled shoes. She twisted her body to lie on her back and stared at the ceiling. All that work, all that emotion…
She was downhearted but read the letter to the end and was mollified when he said that her writing was surprisingly rich for one so young. Perhaps it was a kindness, perhaps he really meant it, but his last sentences said there were traces of Jasper Davenport in her style and she shouldn’t give up; she could tell a story, but she was not telling the story he wanted to publish. People had lived through the war and it was still too raw, he said. They wanted to escape.
Right , she thought, swinging her legs to the floor and striding over to her desk. She sat down and rolled up her sleeves, scrunching up her eyes and letting her mind wander down unexplored and hidden paths, before grabbing a clean sheet of paper and lifting the glass stopper from her ink bottle. Flashes of the young girl she had once been began to resurface. If you want escape, I’ll give you escape…