Page 27 of Beyond Her Manner
“It’s on your land and therefore your property. If she wanted it, she should have taken it when she moved out.”
Caroline made a good point. Why hadn’t Gillian done that? There would be room enough in her small garden for it.
“Perhaps it wasn’t only the bench that meant something to her, but also its position,” Viola pondered.
“Yes. Not satisfied with crossing your property, she wanted to sit down and enjoy the view.” Viola hummed in thought as Caroline continued, “Sounds to me like she’s trying to get your attention.”
“What?” Viola’s forehead furrowed. “Why on earth would she want my attention?”
“Maybe she fancies you.” Caroline chuckled.
Viola spat out a laugh. “Gillian Carmichael is as straight as they come. In every respect. The only reason she’d want my attention is to tell me everything I’m doing wrong as lady of the manor.”
Her gaze landed on the enormous box of expensive chocolates from the major. Even after she’d agreed to let him use her field for the classic car show, he was still bestowing her with gifts, eager to persuade her to open the event. Her latest and most emphatic refusal must have done the trick; he hadn’t bothered her since. At least Gillian talked to her straight; she wasn’t a suck-up. It was refreshing. She didn’t care who Viola was; she treated her like anyone else—maybe even worse than anyone else.
“You know, of all the people I’ve met since I’ve been here, Gillian is the only one who hasn’t sucked up to me,” she observed. “In fact, she’s been actively hostile.”
“I fear you will have to get along if you’re neighbours,” Caroline stated. “I’m sorry, I must fly; I have a meeting with a rising pop star in an hour. I’ll impatiently await my invite to your new digs.”
“Oh, yes, of course, you must come,” Viola urged, realising it was remiss of her not to have invited her to the manor already. “Let me know some dates; it’s not like I’m busy here.”
“I’ll put my assistant right on it. Perhaps you can invite Gillian to dine with us. I find it’s always better to dine with the enemy.”
Viola let out an agreeable hum, even she wasn’t entirely sure anymore that Gillian was the enemy.
Having put Caroline’s mind at ease that she was okay and more or less keeping herself distracted, her eyes fell back tothe bench. Gillian was still there and still didn’t appear to have moved. Curiosity got the better of Viola,enough to pull on a jumper and head outside.
As she approached the bench, she noticed that Gillian was now seated almost sideways, with one leg resting on the seat and her elbow propped on the back. A flutter of something stirred in Viola’s stomach at the sight of the woman. She took a deep breath to steady herself as she arrived.
“Mind if I sit?” she enquired, her tone polite.
“Be my guest,” Gillian replied, gesturing to the space beside her. “Even though it’s your property.”
Viola hesitated, then replied, “I feel this bench might belong to you, though.” Noticing Gillian’s glance at the shiny, gold plaque screwed to it, she asked, “Who was Henrietta, if you don’t mind me asking?”
It took a moment for Gillian to answer, and when she did, a deep breath was behind it. “A friend.”
Viola recognised the distant gaze in Gillian’s eye, the subtle tremble in her voice, and the flicker of tenderness on her face as a smile curved the edges of her lips. She sensed that Henrietta had been something more — yet that couldn’t be true.
“I’m sorry if I suggested the other day that you didn’t know grief. I can see now that you do.”
Gillian looked down and placed her hands together in her lap.
“I may not grieve for my husband… but I have grieved for others. I’ve learned enough to know that if you let it, grief will eat you alive.”
“It doesn’t always come for us when someone close dies, does it? You can be sure the guilt at the lack of it follows, though.”
A simple nod was all Gillian offered.
Viola decided to continue, hoping that sharing something personal might make her open up a bit. “When my dad diedsome years ago, I couldn’t mourn his loss. It was no loss, only relief. He was an alcoholic. He’d turn up at concerts where I was performing and demand access to my dressing room. I let him in. At least he was contained there; otherwise he would make more of a nuisance of himself elsewhere. Most of the time he would pass out on the sofa. Other times he could get violent, demanding money. I always refused. I wasn’t going to be party to his problem. I offered to pay for clinics where he could get himself sober; he showed no interest.”
“And where was your mother during this?” Gillian demanded, speaking up at last.
Viola blinked, surprised by the sharp edge in her voice.
“My parents split up when I was in my late teens. I’d left home at that point anyway. They only stayed together that long for me.” Viola let out a sigh. “I wish they hadn’t bothered. Mum met someone and remarried; Dad sank into a hole of self-pity, lost his job, and started drinking. I don’t think she realised how far he had fallen, even though I tried to tell her.”
“Sometimes we can only see the truth with our own eyes,” Gillian said, her earlier sharpness replaced with a calm, reflective tone.
