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By the time David took Hester home she felt weary, too, and utterly lacking in enthusiasm for the following day, which was Saturday, and, in summer-season Chastlecombe, likely to be busy.
She was proved right. After a satisfying busy morning, Hester sent Iris and Sheila off to an early lunch, volunteering to hold the fort with only Mark for company until they got back.
‘If necessary I’ll lure Peter from the workshop,’ she assured David, who wanted to go home for a while.
‘I need to do some shopping on the way,’ he told her. ‘But if you get mobbed, ring me.’
There was usually a lull at this time on a Saturday, while shoppers went off in search of lunch in the many and various eating places in the town. Hester had no problem in coping with a group of polite Japanese tourists who spent a gratifying amount of money. Afterwards there were a few people looking rather than buying, then for a time the shop was empty. Mark kept watch while Hester brushed her hair and reapplied lipstick, then popped his head round the office door and told her someone was asking for her. Hester was prey to mixed feelings when she found the Barclay twins’ father looking at dining room furniture.
He turned, smiling, as she went towards him. ‘Good afternoon. I wondered if you could help me?’
She returned the smile politely. ‘Of course, if I can.’
‘I’m in need of a gift for my sister—a belated house-warming present. And while I’m here I’d like a desk. For myself,’ he added. ‘I have it on the best authority that I won’t do better anywhere in the Cotswolds.’
‘How gratifying. May I ask who told you that?’
‘Mrs Cowper, at the wine-tasting last night. It was very good of her to invite us. And very informative,’ he added, smiling. ‘I learned a lot about the inhabitants of Chastlecombe.’
The day was hot and he was dressed for it, in pale chinos and a thin cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The shirt, Hester couldn’t help noticing, was the exact silvery green of the eyes which were so arresting in his lean, sun-browned face.
‘I must remember to thank Mrs Cowper,’ she said pleasantly, glad she’d tidied herself up before he arrived. Nor was she in any position to criticise him for vanity—her own amber linen dress had been chosen to match the eyes she looked on as her best feature.
Hester looked at him enquiringly. ‘What kind of gift do you have in mind?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ He gazed about him. ‘The gilt-framed mirror over there. Surely that’s old?’
‘That’s a commission piece; I occasionally provide a selling-on service for people who don’t wish to advertise their valuables.’ Hester took the mirror down carefully. The frame was old, the gilt almost greenish and the mirror itself quite murky. ‘It came from a Venetian church. A friend at Sotheby’s confirmed it as fifteenth century and suggested the price.’
He examined the discreet tag and raised an eyebrow, considered for a moment then nodded briskly. ‘Right. A bit steep, but exactly what I want. Now I need a desk.’
Sheila reappeared at that point, leaving Hester free to take her customer upstairs to the showroom, where several desks were displayed in a corner decorated to suggest a study.
‘Shall I leave you to browse?’ she asked. ‘All the desks are priced. You’ll know best what you need.’
He eyed the array of desks with respect. ‘I was informed that a David Conway piece would be an investment.’
‘I agree, of course.’
He examined the ticket on a beautiful, simple desk crafted from yew. ‘I see what you mean. This is obviously his work.’
‘It is. And the two beyond are by other local craftsmen. The ones on this side are the usual reproduction type. Very good reproductions,’ she added, ‘but all alike. Each one of David’s is unique. It depends on what you’re prepared to spend. But please don’t feel embarrassed if nothing here suits you.’
‘I admit I hadn’t intended being quite so extravagant,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘but, having met with a David Conway original, I realise what Mrs Cowper meant. It puts the others in the shade. Can you arrange to have it delivered?’
‘Certainly. Monday morning, if you like.’
‘Perfect. At the moment I’m managing with the kitchen table, which gets inconvenient at meal times.’ He smiled again, his teeth white in his tanned face.
She attached a ‘sold’ label to the desk, and waved a hand towards the stairs. ‘If you’ll come down to the office I’ll make a note of your address.’
‘And take my money,’ he said, following her.
‘A necessary evil,’ she agreed, and turned to him as they reached the shop floor. ‘By the way, if your sister doesn’t like the mirror we’ll exchange it for something else, or refund the money.’
‘Lydia will love it,’ he said with assurance. ‘But if by any chance she doesn’t I’ll keep it myself.’
And put it in the study with desk? thought Hester, surprised, and showed him into the office. ‘I’ll just get the mirror packed for you. Would you like it giftwrapped?’
‘I would, indeed. Thank you.’
When Hester returned he accepted a chair, then sat, watching her, as she recorded details of the mirror’s provenance and the pedigree of David’s desk.
‘I didn’t recognise you at first last night,’ he said suddenly.
Hester looked up. ‘Oh? Why not?’
‘It took me some time to realise that the siren in pink with her hair loose was the lady magistrate I’d encountered in the morning.’ He eyed her judiciously. ‘And today you look different again.’
Hester very deliberately made no response. ‘How would you like to pay?’ she said crisply.
‘By cheque.’
‘Of course.’ She held out the bill for him, and he bent to write in his chequebook. ‘Where shall I send the articles?’ she asked, refusing to admit she knew where he lived. ‘We deliver anywhere within a thirtymile radius, but after that we charge so much a mile.’
‘Then I’m in luck. I’ll write my address on the back.’
‘Thank you, Mr Barclay.’
He looked blank for a moment, then smiled a little. ‘I suppose we never were formally introduced, Mrs Conway. My name’s actually Hazard—Patrick Hazard. The twins are my nephews, and Lydia—their mother—is my sister.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘OH—I beg your pardon.’ Taken aback, Hester busied herself with taking down his address. Patrick Hazard, it seemed, lived in the depths of the Gloucestershire countryside in a house called Long Wivutts near the village of Avecote, several miles from Chastlecombe.
‘I moved in a couple of days ago,’ he explained. ‘I’m more or less camping out with the bare necessities, but a desk is my first priority.’
‘If you’re really urgently in need of it we could get it to you this evening,’ offered Hester.
‘It seems a bit much on a Saturday evening...’ he began, but the idea so obviously appealed to him that Hester shook her head.
‘No trouble, Mr Hazard. If someone brings it round about seven—will you be in, then?’
‘Yes. My brother-in-law came home this morning, so I’m free to get back to my own place. In confidence, Ms Conway, he flatly refused to let Lydia go to court with the twins in her present condition, so I volunteered for the job and took the boys back to school afterwards.’ His face hardened. ‘Which is probably a good thing—gives their father time to simmer down before he fetches them home for the summer.’
Hester made no comment. She got up and handed him the detailed provenances. ‘Thank you, Mr Hazard. I hope you’re happy with the desk.’
‘I can hardly fail to be. It’s exactly what I had in mind,’ he assured her, rising quickly. He held out his hand. ‘Thank you for your help, Mrs Conway.’
‘Not at all. Thank you for your custom.’ She shook the hand briefly, then preceded him out into the shop. ‘Are you taking the mirror now, or shall we deliver it with the desk?’
‘Now, please.’ He complimented Sheila on her artistic skill, then took the large, beribboned box and with a smile of farewell at Hester went out into the sunlit square, where the bright afternoon light glinted on strands of silver in his thatch of blond hair.
‘Very nice,’ said Sheila softly, and Hester grinned.
‘He spent a nice lot of money, too. Where’s Mark?’
‘It’s his afternoon off, remember? Playing cricket.’
‘Oh, bother, so he is.’
‘Can I do something?’ asked Sheila.
‘No, thanks. I’ll wait until David gets back. If you’ll take over for a bit with Iris I’ll shut myself up in the office with a sandwich and a cup of coffee.’
Hester often brought a packed lunch on summer Saturdays. Sometimes she went for a walk down to the river and ate it there. At other times, like today, half an hour with a novel was more to her taste. But the encounter with the intriguing Mr Hazard had left her feeling curious, and instead of reading she couldn’t help wondering why he needed a desk so urgently—and if there was a Mrs Hazard helping him with the move. Perhaps the need for the desk was due to the lady’s sovereignty over her kitchen table.
Hester turned back to her book. Her interest in Patrick Hazard was due solely to the possibility that he might be lacking other furniture that Conway’s could provide. Otherwise, whether he had a wife or not was really none of her business.
When David got back Hester asked him if he could possibly deliver a desk out to Avecote that evening. He looked at her in utter dismay.
‘Tonight? I’ve planned an intimate dinner for two, remember? Which I am cooking with my own fair hands. And I rather wanted my evening uninterrupted by thoughts of business, or anything else—other than of bed at the end of it!’
Hester flushed, and gave him an unladylike shove. ‘All right, all right, you get on with your cooking and I’ll deliver the desk.’
‘It is one of my efforts, I hope?’
‘It certainly is. And I sold that Venetian mirror old Mrs Lawson passed on to us. She’ll be thrilled.’
‘You have been busy. Who bought my desk?’
‘A man by the name of Hazard—he bought the mirror, too.’
‘Can’t Mark deliver them?’
Hester shook her head. ‘Cricket match. But don’t worry; if you can heave the desk in the car this end, I imagine Mr Hazard can help heave it out at Avecote. He’s in a hurry for it, apparently.’
‘You’re an angel. Thanks, love.’ David stooped to kiss her cheek, then went off, whistling, to his workshop, leaving Hester and her attendants with the slowing-off business of Saturday afternoon.
Later, after David and Peter had loaded the muslinswathed desk into her estate car, Hester drove home and spent some time in the shower. Afterwards, comfortable in old jeans and a white cotton shirt, her newly washed hair gleaming loose on her shoulders, she set off for Avecote, not at all averse to driving through the sunlit summer evening along winding minor roads to avoid the holiday traffic.
Avecote was a typical Cotswold village, nestling in a hollow, with steep-pitched roofs pointing through trees fluttering with the tender green leaves of early summer. She drove slowly along the road which skirted the village, then stopped in a layby a mile or so beyond and consulted a large-scale local map to track down the narrow road Patrick Hazard had mentioned.
Eventually, after careful progress between high hedges along a road with only occasional passing places, she spotted a rutted, unadopted lane which finally led her to the home of Patrick Hazard. Halfhidden at the end of a long drive edged with limes, the familiar Cotswold limestone of the walls glowed like honey in the evening light. The house was typical of the region, with prominent gables, moulded dripcourses round the tops of the window and a beautiful roof of Cotswold stone tiles with the familiar, purpose-built dip to prevent the tiles from shifting.
Long Wivutts was certainly beautiful, but it was also in the middle of nowhere. Hester couldn’t help wondering what had attracted Patrick Hazard to such isolation. The garden was wildly overgrown and the house looked strangely somnolent, as though it had been sleeping, undisturbed by tenants, for centuries.
She brought the car to a halt on the gravel in front of the aged oak front door set in an arched stone frame, and almost at once Patrick Hazard emerged, hair wet from a recent shower, his eyebrows raised in astonishment as he saw Hester.
‘Mrs Conway! If I’d realised I was putting you to such trouble the desk could have waited until Monday—or later.’
Hester shook her head, smiling as she got out. ‘It’s only a few miles, and a beautiful evening. It was no trouble at all, other than a bit in finding you. Oddly enough I’ve never been anywhere near your home patch before, Mr Hazard.’
‘My lack of neighbours was the big selling point, other than something which drew me to Long Wivutts the moment I laid eyes on it.’
‘I can understand that. It’s a beautiful house.’ Hester smiled at him apologetically. ‘But the main drawback to making the delivery alone is that you’re obliged to give me a hand to get the desk inside.’
Patrick Hazard, who was dressed in much the same way as herself, eyed Hester doubtfully. ‘Are you sure you can manage that, Mrs Conway? Forgive me for mentioning it, but you’re not very big.’
‘But well used to heaving furniture around,’ she assured him briskly. ‘The desk is wrapped in muslin to avoid any knocks, and if we remove the drawers out here it won’t be much of a problem—unless your study’s in the attic, of course.’
‘No, just inside the front door.’ He ushered her inside. ‘If you take a look, perhaps we can plan a campaign to do the least damage to you or the desk. Or perhaps we could just leave it in the hall and I’ll get Wilf Robbins to give me a hand on Monday.’ He looked at her face, then said smoothly, ‘But that, of course, would cancel your good deed in getting the desk to me tonight.’
The shadowy panelled hall was square, with several wide oak doors opening off it. The first opened into the study, which contained two comfortable chairs flanking a stone fireplace, a couple of small tables, a television, a fax machine and a pile of cardboard boxes.
‘Do you want your desk under the window?’ asked Hester, sizing up the room.
He sighed. ‘Alas, no. If I do I’ll keep looking out on the garden and never get down to any work. I thought of putting it on the blank wall over there behind the door.’
‘It shouldn’t be a problem,’ she said briskly. ‘These old doors are wide, which is a help. The desk should come in easily enough.’
And, despite Patrick Hazard’s doubts about her physical capabilities, fifteen minutes later the beautiful desk was installed, unharmed, against the panelling on the inner wall, with enough space alongside it for one of the tables.
‘Which I shall need for my computer,’ he said, breathing hard. ‘It’s a crime to pile a stack of soulless technology on a work of art like your husband’s desk.’
Hester, also breathing hard, looked at him sharply. ‘This isn’t one of my husband’s pieces, Mr Hazard. I hope you didn’t buy it under that impression. The provenance states very clearly that it’s a David Conway original.’
Narrowed green eyes met hers. ‘I’m sorry—wires crossed somewhere,’ he said, after a pause. ‘You’re not David Conway’s wife?’
‘No. I was married to his elder brother.’
‘Divorced?’
‘No. I’m a widow.’
There was embarrassment, coupled with something less identifiable, in the rueful look he gave her. ‘I’m sorry. You were pointed out as the Conways last night—as a couple. I took it for granted you were married. To each other.’
Hester shook her head. ‘David’s wife has been away visiting her parents this week. Tally’s due back about now, which is why David didn’t deliver the desk himself. And Mark, who works for us and would have been happy to help normally, is playing cricket. So I volunteered.’
‘It’s extraordinarily noble of you on a Saturday night.’
‘Not at all. I wasn’t doing anything.’
‘Which is hard to believe,’ he said swiftly, then bit his lip. ‘I’m sorry. That was probably tactless. How recently were you widowed?’
‘Several years ago, Mr Hazard.’ She smiled a little.
‘And I do have a reasonably busy social life. I just don’t happen to have anything planned for tonight.’
