Page 29 of Beyond Her Manner
Viola laughed out loud at Gillian’s suggestion. “No, I thought it might be nice to continue this conversation; that’s all.”
“Possibly,” Gillian replied, her hardened face softening again, almost into a smile. “I may be washing my hair.”
Viola couldn’t refrain a smirk as Gillian headed down the path to the church. She also couldn’t stop herself admiring her backside as she went.
CHAPTER 9
Gillian opened the front door of the lodge to discover the major on the doorstep with his fist clenched as if he was about to knock.
“Ah, Gilly, there you are.” A bunch of flowers appeared from behind his back.
“Major,” Gillian replied with an annoyed sigh. Ignoring the flowers she stepped out and closed the door firmly behind her.
The major took a step back. “You’re looking lovely. Off anywhere nice?”
“No,” she replied flatly, not wishing to elaborate.
The major was always overly friendly. Even when Jonathon had been alive, he would sniff around her like a dog on heat. Jonathon found it amusing, probably because he could see how uncomfortable it made her.
“Can I help you with something, Major?”
“Yes. That bloody Berkley woman! She’s refusing to open the car show. Isn’t that exactly what these celebrities are for?” Not waiting for an answer, he continued. “She hasn’t done anything for the village, not like you do, Gilly,” he said, voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.
Rolling her eyes, Gillian set off down the path, the major at her heels.
“Although,” he called after her, “she put up the money for the new cricket pavilion.”
Stopping abruptly, Gillian turned to him. “Pardon?”
“She… put up the money… for the… cricket pavilion,” the major hollered slowly in her direction.
Gillian glared at his audacity to assume she was deaf. “The whole restoration?”
He nodded. “Will you do it?” His thick, white brows and crinkled eyes twitched with anticipation.
“What?” Her mind was elsewhere, thinking of Viola and the fact that she had done something remarkable for the village — something more than she could offer it now.
“Open the car show. You always did a wonder—”
Not wishing to hear him grovel further, for fear it may make her vomit, she answered swiftly. “I’ll do it on two conditions. One, stop calling me Gilly, and two, never bring me flowers again.”
He stiffened. “Oh, of course, Gilly — I mean Gillian. See you Saturday then.”
The man was of his time. Sadly, he didn’t realise that time had long passed. As he bumbled off through the estate gates, she smiled, pleased to have her job back.
Viola’s words, “It would be nice to continue this conversation,” played over in Gillian’s head as she made her way through the garden of Kingsford Manor. Armed with what was essentially an invitation from Viola, she didn’t think she would mind if she crossed through the garden, rather than taking her usual route past the church.
A red kite circled above her head as she sat in her usual spot on the bench. She’d installed it shortly after arriving at Kingsford, to mark a brief chapter of her life that, despite herdesire to move on, deserved to be remembered. It became her sanctuary, a place to unburden herself from the thoughts that weighed her down — memories of the past, reflections on the present, and fleeting hopes for the future. Anything she needed to unload, she brought to the bench, and it absorbed it all. It was her space to breathe away from the often-hectic pace of life inside the manor house.
There was no way she was going to move it when she left. It belonged there, and with it being on the public footpath she knew she would be able to sit on it whenever she wished with little issue.
Jonathon didn’t even ask who it was dedicated to when the bench was installed. She was grateful in a way, not to have to lie. The bench had seen better days. Although it was made of oak and kept well maintained over the years, it was still a few decades old and had weathered many harsh winters in its time.
Making herself more comfortable, she stretched out her legs and wondered if Viola would appear at some point. Her gaze wandered frequently along the path to the house as she sat looking out over the fields. The changing seasons always brought a new perspective, unveiling new growth and subtle changes, altering the landscape before her eyes. It had served as a reminder over the years to soldier on in difficult moments. She needed that reassurance now more than ever as she floundered in the unknown.
After thirty-five years of a stale marriage and now into her autumn years, she couldn’t help wondering what the future held for her. Was she destined to live in the lodge until death rang the doorbell? She certainly felt too old for any more changes in her life. Change in nature was generally a positive thing, showing growth and maturity. Losing her home, however, left her broken-hearted and put her right back where she had started out.
Recalling her words to Viola the previous day, she hoped this was the last time she would lose everything; not that there was much left to lose, apart from her health. The only person she had ever loved had departed this world long ago, and with her, she had lost her identity. Clawing her way back to civilisation, she had formed a new one only to lose it all over again. She needed to get it back; it suited her, and she liked it. Life just wouldn’t be the same without the manor.
