Time for Trust

Discreetly she waited until Daniel had left before pouncing on Jessica and demanding to know, ‘Where did you find him, you lucky thing?’

Tersely Jessica explained what had happened. It shocked her that she should feel this reluctance to discuss it with her friend.

She had met Laura shortly after she moved to the village, and liked her very much indeed. If pressed, she would have admitted that she was as close to Laura as she was ever likely to allow herself to get to anyone. She admired the other girl’s business flair and respected and valued her judgement, and yet now, with Laura discussing Daniel’s good looks with such obvious relish and sexual curiosity, she was conscious of a sharp pang of resentment coloured with a strong desire to let Laura know in no uncertain terms that Daniel was out of bounds, both as a subject of conversation and as a man.

Uncomfortable with her own feelings, she cut across Laura’s flow of enthusiasm and said almost sharply, ‘I only came in to see if you’d received the Thomson order safely.’

Laura paused, eyed her thoughtfully, and then said calmly, ‘Yes. It came this morning. It’s lovely, and I know the Thomsons will be thrilled with it. I’m taking it out to them tomorrow.’ She paused, and then said frankly, ‘You can tell me to mind my own business if you wish, Jess, but am I to take it that Daniel Hayward is someone special?’

Someone special… Jessica felt her heart race with a mixture of panic and happiness.

Half of her, the old cautious, protective half, was strongly inclined to deny the suggestion, but the other half, the new, feminine, joyful side of her personality that had suddenly flowered inside her, said recklessly, ‘Yes…Yes, he is.’

Laura chuckled and then teased, ‘There now, that wasn’t so difficult to say, was it? I must say I’m impressed. All this time we’ve known one another there’s never been a man in your life, and you’ve made it plain that that’s the way you wanted things, and now you turn up with Daniel in tow, with such an obvious metamorphosis having taken place.’ She laughed, her eyes twinkling. ‘Mind you, I can’t say I’m surprised. He is rather gorgeous. What was he doing in Little Parvham, anyway? Just passing through?’

‘No. He’s bought a house there.’ Briefly Jessica explained the situation, and added generously, ‘I don’t know what he intends to do with the interior of the house once all the renovations have been completed, but if he does want an interior designer I’ll recommend you to him.’

‘He won’t need me,’ Laura told her, equally generously. ‘You know far more about houses of that period than I do, Jess.You’re an expert in the fabrics of that era—crewelwork, tapestries…’

‘Not all of the rooms are true to the original period of the house,’ Jessica told her. ‘And I’ve no idea whether Daniel intends to restore the whole of the house to its original state. The drawing-room, sitting-room and dining-room have all been remodelled several times; the last remodelling evidently took place during the fifties,’ she added ruefully, ‘and involved the most deplorable modernisation of the windows, and a hideously unsuitable lowering of the ceiling height which has totally ruined the proportions of the rooms. All the original fireplaces have gone. There’s some serious damp damage upstairs.’ She gave a brief shrug. ‘Daniel has an appointment with the builder who worked on the cottage for me. He’s hoping he’ll agree to undertake the restoration work.’

‘Mmm…speaking of which, I was visiting a potential client today and she showed me the most marvellous old tapestry which has been in her family for umpteen generations. It’s very badly worn in places, and I told her I’d have a word with you, and perhaps make an appointment for you to see it, to see whether you can repair it. I’ve sold nearly all the cushions you did, by the way, and if you could see your way to letting me have a fresh supply for Christmas…

‘I also think it’s time you were thinking about putting up your prices. Your stuff is ridiculously cheap, you know. I was in London last week, looking at things nowhere near the quality of your work, and the price—’

‘Bath isn’t London,’ Jessica pointed out.

‘Maybe not, but with the influx of people from the city…’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Jessica promised her, and they were arguing amiably over the matter when the shop bell rang and Daniel walked in.

Her heart lifted at the sight of him as Jessica turned round and saw him. He was smiling at her, looking at her, as though he wanted to draw into himself the sight of her, his glance lingering for a moment on her mouth before he turned to make polite conversation with Laura, who was asking what progress he had made with the salvage company.

‘Excellent. They think they may be able to match the panelling in the library, and provide fireplaces for most of the rooms. I fell in love with a staircase they’ve got there. It’s after the school of Grinling Gibbons,’he told Jessica, ‘but I’d like you to see it before I commit myself.’

The staircase in the house was badly damaged and abominable anyway, but it wasn’t the thought of replacing it with something far more suitable that was making her pulse race so ecstatically, it was the look Daniel was giving her, the way he was consulting her, including her, making an open statement about her place in his life, and so naturally, so easily that she might always have been there. As easily and naturally as he slipped his arm around her as they left the shop, drawing her against his side, solicitous about her bruised arm, eager to hear how she had got on with Laura, and genuinely pleased for her when she passed on Laura’s flattering comments about the standard and appeal of her work.

‘Perhaps I ought to commission you now for a tapestry for the library,’ he teased her. I might not be able to afford you once you put up your prices and your work becomes the “in” thing.’

Jessica shook her head. ‘I won’t allow that to happen,’ she told him firmly. ‘I love my work, and it’s always a pleasure to work for people who share my love of it. The last thing I want is for my tapestries to become a fashion fad. Shown off today, like a new designer frock, and then thrown to the bottom of a cupboard tomorrow, because it’s no longer the “in” thing. Just as long as I can earn a reasonable living, I’m content.’

He had stopped walking and she, perforce, had to stop as well. He turned to look at her, a grave, searching look that made her quiver inwardly.

‘I love you, Jessica,’ he told her quietly.

The middle of a windy, busy Bath thoroughfare was the very last place she had ever imagined receiving a declaration of love, but as she stood gazing back at him Jessica discovered that it wasn’t the place that mattered, but the words and the man who said them.

A fervent response trembled on her lips, but she was too shy to make it, too unsure still—not of her feelings, or even really of his, but of trusting that this happiness could last, as though in some way she doubted her worthiness to be the recipient of such pleasure, like a child receiving the munificence of a longed-for and wholly unexpected Christmas gift of such magnitude that it feared the gift had really been in

tended for someone else.

‘The builder,’ she said shakily. ‘We’re going to be late.’

Was it disappointment that darkened his eyes, or irritation? His arm was still around her, but she couldn’t be sure.

She heard him sigh, and then he said quietly, ‘You’re right. Come on, then. Can you direct me there?’ he asked her as he opened the car door for her.

‘Yes,’ Jessica assured him. ‘It isn’t very far. Just a couple of miles outside the city centre.’

* * *

The builder ran his business from a small yard with an office attached to it. The building had originally been part of the stable block attached to a large Georgian house, and the sympathetic way the restoration work had been carried out was an excellent advertisement for his skills.

Jessica waited patiently as Daniel paused to inspect the stonework. The yard was a fascinating place. The builder was also involved in a small way in architectural salvage, though nowhere near as large or as well known as the company Daniel had visited earlier, and her eye was caught by some iron railings which she paused to admire as she waited for Daniel.

‘These windows are very much the sort of thing I want for the house,’ Daniel told her, pointing out the stone-mullioned windows to the building.

‘They’re new ones,’ Jessica informed him. ‘Alan Pierce employs a stonemason.’

She had offered to wait in the car while Daniel saw the builder, but to her pleasure he had insisted on her joining them.

He had talked of loving her, and, for her, love—real love—went hand in hand with permanency, marriage, children…but did loving someone mean the same thing to him? He had indicated that it did, but caution warned her not to take too much for granted. Life had made her wary, reluctant to trust her own emotions and judgements.

Daniel said he loved her; she certainly knew that she loved him, but somewhere deep down inside there were shadows…doubts. Was it because she had never considered herself to be the kind of person to look at a stranger and know instantly and irrevocably that she loved him? Was it because she had always had the vague idea at the back of her mind that love, when and if it ever came into her life, would grow from a relationship which was already well established, and not be this sudden, lightning thing, striking into her between one heartbeat and the next? Or was it because the feelings Daniel caused within her were so alien to her normal wary, controlled approach to life that she was half resentful of them—resentful and just a little afraid?