have a great time purchasing some new stuff—towels and tea towels, and maybe replacing some of her china as well. All to blend in. She felt the definite need to inject something new, something original, something to kick-start the new year.
She’d been welcomed back to work with open arms by her colleagues, who’d all said how well she looked and teased her that she’d put on weight, and soon it felt to Fleur that Pengarroth Hall and her time there was becoming a distant memory. But lives were built on memories, she thought now, and she had so many locked away into hers…things she would never, ever forget.
Bending to dip her brush carefully into the paint pot, her thoughts were of Sebastian—as they seemed so often to be—and she was glad she’d not heard anything from him since his phone call. Time was already passing so rapidly, and it was only time which would help her to push him further and further away from her, so that he stopped being the first thing on her mind each morning when she woke and the last thought each night before going to sleep. But it wasn’t just him, Sebastian Conway, she tried to convince herself. It was Pengarroth Hall and its atmosphere, it was Pat and Beryl’s friendship, and the clear, melting Cornish air. As her thoughts ran on, she grimaced slightly as she remembered Rudolph Malone’s visit. His appearance on the scene had been the one thing—apart from Sebastian’s reaction to it—to mar the perfect holiday. Then she shrugged. Who cared, anyway? She’d never come face to face with that silly man again.
She was about three-quarters of the way through the area to be painted when the doorbell sounded, and its unexpected intrusion almost made Fleur drop the brush. She paused, frowning. Who would call on her without ringing first? she asked herself. And at nearly nine o’clock on a Saturday night? She put down the brush and began to climb down from the ladder cautiously but, before she could get to the door, the bell rang again—twice in quick succession.
‘OK, OK, hang on a minute…’ she called. ‘I’m just coming.’
As she went into the hall, she glanced at herself in the long mirror—heavens, what a sight she looked! She was wearing the oversized and stained decorator’s apron—an old one of her father’s—which she always used, and had tied her hair up in a knot with a tatty scarf to keep it in place and to protect her hair from any white splashes. The only make-up she had on was a big smudge of ceiling white on one cheek—which was also on her hands, she noticed, rubbing them down the apron hurriedly.
Going forward quickly, she peered into the security peephole—and gasped in surprise and a certain degree of horror. Sebastian, she thought—what on earth?
She opened the door and they both stood there for a moment without saying a word, Sebastian looking at her up and down, a curious expression on his face.
‘Oh—I’ve obviously come at a bad time,’ he began, and Fleur cut in at once, standing aside. Well, how could she be offhand or unwelcoming—even if she was in no fit state to receive guests?
‘It’s all right, Sebastian, come in,’ she said quickly. ‘Though you’ll have to take me as you find me,’ she added.
He entered, but stood there, just taking in her appearance for several seconds and there was absolutely nothing Fleur could do to make herself look anything other than grubby and unattractive. But, as he stared down at her, Sebastian’s only thought was how utterly seductive she looked…There was something so appealing in the hastily drawn-back hair, the untidy scarf, the careless dabs of white on her skin. He could as easily have swept her up into his arms and covered her mouth with kisses as on those other times when, immaculately turned out, she had stirred his desire. He couldn’t help fleetingly remembering the time she’d stood at the top of the staircase looking like a society darling—he knew which picture he would want to keep close to his heart.
‘I won’t ask you what you’re up to, because I can see for myself,’ he said casually, following her into the sitting room. ‘I didn’t realize you were a painter and decorator.’
‘It’s my kitchen,’ she explained. ‘I decided that it was some time since it had had a makeover—and a new year seems appropriate to change things a bit, don’t you think?’
He was wearing well-cut trousers, a purple shirt, open at the neck, and an expensive long dark coat—and, not for the first time, Fleur found herself admiring the casual elegance which seemed to personify the man. But she was also aware of the tiny flecks of grey beginning to show a little more in his hair. Today he did look the seven years older than her, she thought impulsively.
There was a distinct sense of awkwardness between them—they both felt it—and Fleur went on hurriedly, ‘So…you’re obviously back in London now, Sebastian…When do you expect to return to Pengarroth Hall? And do sit down,’ she added, indicating one of the armchairs. ‘Can I offer you a drink—something to eat?’ Help, she thought, what have I said? It wouldn’t be easy to produce anything in her kitchen at the moment.
He didn’t sit, but came towards her slowly and for a moment Fleur thought he was going to take her in his arms…then…
‘Fleur…’ The word was almost choked out, and involuntarily she put out a hand.
‘What…what is it, Sebastian?’
There was a long pause while he struggled to utter the words. ‘It’s Benson…he died two days ago.’ He waited before going on. ‘ We…we buried him in the grounds yesterday.’
‘Oh, no—Benson!’ Fleur covered her face in her hands, hot tears springing to her eyes. ‘What…?’
‘Of course, none of us should have been surprised,’ Sebastian said quietly. ‘He was a very old dog, but I can barely remember a time when he wasn’t there. He…he seemed to be his usual self in the morning,’ he went on, ‘then suddenly he couldn’t get up from the floor and just looked at us as if he was trying to tell us what was the matter. But, before we could even call the vet, he lay his head down on my knees and…and was gone. In a couple of minutes. At least we were all there to say goodbye.’ Sebastian swallowed hard before going on. ‘But it’s hit us all badly—Pat’s been in tears ever since, and Frank’s going around with a perpetual scowl on his face.’
It was obvious that Sebastian was terribly upset—and trying hard not to sound too sentimental—and, without thinking what she was doing, Fleur went across and put her arms around his neck, burying her head in his shoulder.
‘Poor, dear Benson,’ she whispered. ‘I wish I’d been there as well, I wish I’d been there to hold him.’
‘Yes, I wish you had,’ Sebastian said. ‘Benson loved you, Fleur, we could all tell. That was why he wouldn’t come back home with you on that walk. He wanted you to stay out there with him in the woods.’
A stifled sob left Fleur’s lips at his words, and she looked up into Sebastian’s face. ‘That dog would never have known anything but love and comfort,’ she said, ‘and, from what you say, he didn’t suffer, did he? Not even at the end?’
‘No. We don’t think so,’ Sebastian replied.
‘So…he was lucky, wasn’t he—lucky to have all of you for his whole life. There are many animals who don’t have that kind of luck.’
They stood there still locked together, and Sebastian said, ‘I’m sorry to have intruded on you like this, but I just couldn’t bring myself to ring you with the news…I wanted to tell you, face to face…because I knew you’d be upset, too.’
Fleur
