Page 17 of Beyond Her Manner
Not as much as Gillian had thought; she’d assumed the woman was in her thirties. Her youthful appearance certainly suggested it.
“Well, you know what these city types are like at any age. They have no understanding or appreciation for the countryside. Arriving by helicopter says everything you need to know.”
“How do you know she’s from the city?”
Gillian bit her lip before sheepishly answering. “I tracked her flight path; she came from Battersea.”
“Stalking her now, are we?” Bridget replied with a hint of amusement.
“I’m simply keeping myself abreast of any newcomers to the village and the threat they could pose.”
“Viola seems very pleasant and down to earth.”
Overlooking the fact Bridget was on first-name terms with her replacement, Gillian turned her attention and binoculars back on the manor. She could make out Viola striding through the front door. She flicked her long, auburn hair to one side, giving a hint of a tingle in Gillian’s stomach. Ignoring it, she watched as a man jumped down from the lorry and approached Viola, who pointed to an area of the drive and then disappeared back inside.
“She needs a cook and housekeeper,” Bridget continued, “so I gave her Mrs Johnson’s phone number.”
“But she’s mine!” Gillian cried, as a feeling of betrayal stabbed at her. “Why would you give that woman her number?”
“She’s not yours anymore, is she?” said Bridget, with a hint of challenge in her voice. “What reason would I have not to?”
“There’s another truck pulling up now. It’s Metcalfe’s,” Gillian snarled, ignoring Bridget’s question. “Damn woman is stealing my gardeners now!”
“You never used Metcalfe’s; you had your own gardeners.”
“And where do you think they went when I sold the manor?” The last three words stuck in her throat.
“Surely, it’s good if some of the locals can be re-employed. You wouldn’t want them to be unemployed?” Bridget asked, joining Gillian by the window.
“Of course not.” She just didn’t want Viola Berkley to have another thing of hers. “Are you stopping for tea?”
“No, best not. I’d better head off soon. I promised Viola I’d lend her a vase.”
“A vase?”
“Yes. It seems Elouise and Louisa dropped off some flowers as a housewarming gift.”
“They haven’t dropped any to me,” Gillian grumbled, lowering the binoculars.
“You’re hardly new to the village, are you?”
Gillian pursed her lips in reply. “Has everyone in the village visited her this morning?”
Bridget nodded at the binoculars. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.”
“As if I have nothing better to do,” Gillian exclaimed, cursing herself for allowing housework to distract her from all the action.
“The postman’s wife put it on the village WhatsUp group last night. I guess it was inevitable she would have a few visitors.”
“WhatsApp, Bridget. WhatsApp.”
Bridget pinked. “Oh yes! Of course, silly me. I know the major was there before me. I think he was asking about using the bottom field for the classic car show. He even asked her to open it.”
“The damn cheek of it. I’ve opened it since it began. It’s my job.” Did that blasted woman want everything of hers? “Did you know she hasn’t donated anything towards the restoration of the cricket pavilion? The lads are doing a sponsored run and came round for sponsorship last night. Her name wasn’t on the form, and they said they’d come from the manor.”
“I’m sure she would have contributed something; she’s ever so nice.”
“You’d better be off,” Gillian replied sharply, having heard quite enough about Viola Berkley. “You don’t want to keep the lady of the manor waiting.”
