either, just a hard-working Scot with ambition, who had risen perhaps as far as he could in the Royal Navy. They were really two of a kind, two ordinary people. With enough time, something might happen, but there was no time.
She also thought that he would never make another move towards her. After all, she had kissed him, not the other, more logical way round. He knew the clock ticked. Maybe he had forgotten that for a second when he kissed back, but he was a careful man, not likely to forget again.
‘You’re looking far too serious,’ he said, as they came in sight of Mandy’s Rose.
She took a deep breath, then let it out. What could she say? There would be no happy ending to this Christmas encounter because of Ben’s vile mistresses—war and time. They were gruesome harpies she could not fight.
‘I’ll probably recover,’ she told him. She gave his arm a squeeze, let go and hurried into the restaurant, late enough for Aunt Sal to scold.
He followed her inside, then walked up the stairs to his room. He didn’t come down for dinner, but she heard him walking back and forth, back and forth. She worked quietly, distressed to her very core, uncertain, angry because until Ben Muir came into her life, she had known nothing would ever change. She and Sal would work and provide for themselves, and live a comfortable life, one better than so many could hope for.
Everything and nothing had changed. She would lie in bed a few more weeks, wondering what she would do if he tapped on her door long after Sal slept. When Master Muir left, all would return to normal, except down in that deepest recess of her heart. She would never be the same again, but how could that matter to anyone except her?
In growing discomfort, she listened to his footsteps overhead. He walked slower now and paused often, perhaps looking out the window into darkness.
‘What is the matter?’
Guilty for just standing still when there were tables to clear, Mandy turned around to face her aunt. She shook her head, tried to swallow down tears and failed miserably. She bowed her head, pressed her apron to her eyes and cried.
Tears in her own eyes, her aunt put her arm around Mandy’s waist and walked her into the kitchen. She sat her down and poured tea.
I can’t tell her how I feel about Ben, she thought, mortified. Thank God her father had given her an excuse that might brush past a careful aunt’s suspicion. ‘I told you about Ben finding that piece of paper in Lord Kelso’s library.’
Sal nodded. ‘I know he went with you to the vicar’s, but you were gone so long.’
Careful here, Mandy told herself and sipped her tea. She told her aunt about the codicil that her grandfather had written the day before he died and which the vicar witnessed. ‘He wanted to give me one thousand pounds, but Reverend Winslow said that would only frighten me. He settled on one hundred pounds and the vicar witnessed it. I am to receive one hundred pounds I don’t want.’
Sal laughed and poured herself some tea. ‘It’s not the end of the world! You looked as though you’d lost your best friend and the world was passing you by!’
Exactly, Mandy thought.
‘Into the counting house the legacy should go, until you need it,’ Aunt Sal said. She started to clear the tables, then stopped. ‘This will make you laugh, but I was afraid you…’ she pointed over her head ‘…were starting to fall in love.’
‘Heavens, Auntie! How can you imagine such a thing?’ Mandy asked, as her insides writhed. Head down, she stacked the dinner plates.
‘Silly of me,’ her aunt confessed. ‘I can’t imagine a less likely match.’ She set down her dishes and rubbed her arms. ‘They seem like marked men, almost, working in wooden ships and facing enemy fire. What does that do to someone?’
What does that do to someone? Mandy asked herself as she washed dishes later. It’s killing me.
To her relief, Sal had taken a bowl of soup and basket of bread upstairs. Mandy stopped washing when she heard laughter overhead, then washed harder, grateful that the sailing master wasn’t mourning over something that wasn’t there. It remained for Mandy to chalk this up to experience, a wonderful experience, yes, but only that.
Sal came downstairs a few minutes later, a smile on her face. ‘Such a droll fellow,’ she said. ‘He told me how your eyes widened at the idea of one hundred pounds and how you protested.’
‘I suppose I did,’ she said and made herself give an elaborate shiver that made her aunt’s smile grow. ‘I reckon I will have to make an appearance at Walthan Manor, unless Mr Cooper can arrange this in his office.’
‘We can hope, my dear.’ Sal kissed her cheek, while Mandy prayed she wouldn’t pick up the scent of lemon soap from someone else’s cheek.
Nothing. Obviously the fragrance had worn off, if it was ever there in the first place.
Sal started drying the dishes. ‘It’s odd, though,’ she mused. ‘Remember how he said he wanted peace and quiet to read that dread book of mathematics? Well, there it was still on his bedside table, still un-slit. And after I left the food and we chatted, he went to the window when I left the room. I wonder what he is thinking?’
‘Maybe that he really should be in Scotland for Christmas to see his father,’ Mandy said. She nudged her aunt. ‘Not everyone has a father like mine!’
Life resumed its normal course in the next few days, as normal as anything was before Christmas. Aunt Sal spent more time sitting with clients in the dining room when the meals were done, planning Christmas catering, and one party at Mandy’s Rose itself.
Mandy continued fixing extra sandwiches for the sailing master to take to Walthan Manor and let him tease her about her legacy, still not forthcoming. Perhaps her father had changed his mind. Ben didn’t linger over dinner any more and spent time on solitary walks. She was usually in bed before he returned, but never asleep. Her heart sad, she heard him pace back and forth in his room. She wondered if he was trying to wear himself out so sleep would come. She convinced herself that he was wishing for Scotland and his father. ‘I would want to be with my father, if I had a good one,’ she whispered into her pillow, trying to drown the sound of pacing on boards that squeaked.
In the next week, a solemn-faced fellow in livery delivered a note to Amanda Mathison, requesting her presence at Walthan Manor at eleven of the clock. She nodded her acceptance to the servant, then hurried into the kitchen.
‘Here it is,’ her aunt said, after she read the note.
‘I would rather go to Mr Cooper’s office,’ Mandy said, then tried to make a joke of it. ‘I doubt my father will invite me to luncheon with him.’ She sat down, struck by a sudden thought. ‘I have never seen him up close. Aunt, did he ever lay eyes on me?’
‘I can’t recall a time,’ Aunt Sal replied. She fixed a critical eye on Mandy. ‘I wouldn’t wear Sunday best, but perhaps your deep-green wool and my lace collar will do.’
Mandy changed clothes, her
