Page 41 of Beyond Her Manner
“Oh, yes,” Gillian replied curtly, frustrated that at times her mind allowed her to believe nothing had changed. Each time the realisation left her with a cold emptiness in the pit of her stomach.
“I’ll leave you here today, Bridget. I’m going to walk back through the estate and sit for a while.”
“Good idea. You deserve a rest after the last few days we’ve had. I’ll pour myself a glass of wine and finish reading my book.”
“You do that; you’ve earned it, too,” Gillian said, tapping Bridget on the arm as she headed to the gate which led to the Kingsford Estate footpath.
Gillian didn’t have much time to read fiction. Her younger self wouldn’t recognise her today; her head had always been in a book, usually a classic like a Brontë or Austen. Although they were good books, she found over time that she wasn’t comfortable with them. She stopped reading romance entirely after meeting Hen, to then fall into an Austen book, only to realise it more resembled the Forsyte Saga.
Heterosexual romance left a bad taste in her mouth. The gendered power imbalance was inescapable, and the objectification of women didn’t sit right with her. The inequality was plain uncomfortable. Jonathon had persuaded her to try Agatha Christie’s books, which she found surprisingly enjoyable. They were also a good talking point when they ran out of anything else to discuss, which was frequent.
The air was warm and moist as she made her way up the hill to the bench. A distant rumble of thunder told her she wouldn’t be enjoying some peace on it for long. She would take what she could get; if she’d learnt anything in recent months, it was to take nothing for granted.
Stopping near the bench, she watched the once–bright blue sky darken as thick, grey clouds edged closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement. Viola was striding towards her, dressed in her new tweed trousers, white shirt, and matching waistcoat. The sudden pounding in her chest made Gillian wonder if it wasn’t only the woman’s voice that sent pleasant shivers through her.
Viola’s shirtsleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and her auburn hair was tied in a ponytail. It induced the same weakfeeling in Gillian’s legs that she had felt in the outfitters, followed by the same thought: What did Viola look like… underneath it all? She pushed the thought away again, as she had done in the shop. It wasn’t appropriate, and she wasn’t that person anymore. She needed to uphold her image in the village. Getting weak over a beautiful mezzo-soprano was not on the cards.
It wasn’t like beautiful women hadn’t caught her eye over the years; she’d just learned to ignore herself and suppress everything. She was good at it, and the aged population of Kingsford with its lack of temptations had helped — until now anyway.
Swallowing hard, she recollected Viola standing in her doorway earlier that week, wearing a short summer dress with one too many cardigan buttons open. A wave of nausea followed as she recalled Viola hearing her voice resounding through the lodge and catching a glimpse inside. Finding out later that Viola came from a poor background at least made her less self-conscious about her current living conditions.
Exasperated that, yet again, she had failed to keep the thoughts at bay, Gillian let out an audible sigh, only to realise Viola was beside her already.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, just a little out of breath,” Gillian lied, looking back down the embarrassingly small incline.
“Have you come from church?”
“Yes. The front pew specifically,” Gillian said with a hint of mischief as she took her usual seat on the bench.
“Excellent.”
“You’ll be pleased to know I only gloated a small amount.”
Viola grinned as she took the seat beside Gillian. “Good. You know the reverend offered me a committee place. I politelydeclined. Should I send you as my representative for that too? I assume it was yours once?”
“No, thank you. I find I’m quite content without the pettiness of it. Leave them to it, I say.”
Viola nudged her. “Well done, you.”
It caught Gillian off guard, but knowing Viola felt comfortable enough to do that filled her with delight. A wet spot of something landed on her hand. Large drops of rain began to fall, thick and heavy.
“Shall we finish this conversation back at mine?” Gillian asked.
Not waiting for an answer, she got up and strode up the footpath. She wasn’t ready to be parted from Viola quite yet. As she reached the back door of Kingsford Manor, she stopped to check if Viola was following, finding her right behind.
“You know this is my house,” Viola said, lips tight in a smirk.
Gillian looked around. “Oh. Yes. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You strike me as a creature of habit. I’ll give you a period of grace. Are a few years enough, do you think?” Viola flashed her a cheeky grin as she opened the door and stepped into the back hall.
Gillian’s lips tightened as her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t sure that would be enough time, but she wasn’t about to voice it.
She hesitated a moment before crossing the threshold. It was her first time entering the manor since losing it. When she searched for a feeling, she found that only numbness remained. She couldn’t be angry at Viola for having the manor now, and being angry at Jonathon was pointless. It didn’t stop her from wanting it back, though.
Viola disappeared into the cloakroom, emerging with a towel in hand. “You’re soaked,” she said, reaching out and dabbing Gillian’s chest with the towel.
