Garlands of Gold by Rosalind Laker Page B

gown, her apron as white as the Nordland lace cap that she wore on her neatly dressed, wheat-bronze hair. He knew of a very tranquil painting by a Delft artist, named Vermeer, which was of a young woman standing in rays of sunshine pouring in through a window. Now he thought how perfectly that artist’s brush would have captured the similar scene of beauty with the girl who sat on a chair ahead of him now, her lace-capped head bowed over her task.
    He dismounted and began to lead his horse the rest of the way towards her. She was so absorbed in her task that she was taken by surprise when his shadow fell across her work.
    Startled, she looked up. Even though he was standing against the sun she knew him instantly, every nerve becoming tense. His masculine presence seemed to overwhelm her as it had that day in the library.
    ‘Master Harting,’ she said almost inaudibly.
    ‘Good day to you, Juffrouw Saskia,’ he said in Dutch, doffing his hat as he bowed to her. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you again.’
    She answered firmly in English. ‘I’m instructed to speak only the language of this kingdom while I am here.’
    He thought her Dutch accent charming and, as he looked down into her lovely, upturned face as he had done once before, he knew she still had that extraordinary power to dazzle him with her unusual beauty.
    ‘Grinling told me you would be coming here to make some sketches for his mother,’ he said, speaking in English as she had directed. ‘May I see what you have done?’
    But Grinling had sighted him and came to the door to wave them in. ‘It’s time the artist has a rest from work,’ he called out, ‘and I’ve an excellent bottle of wine here that we can share.’
    But it was too late. The Rushmere coach had come into view along the road. In any case, Saskia thought, she would have not dared to risk even a sip of wine in case it lingered on her breath, for then his mother would most surely have barred her from coming to the cottage again. So she put her drawing materials back in the basket and went to stand ready at the roadside.
    ‘It is Robert, I do declare!’ Mistress Gibbons exclaimed as the coach drew up and he forestalled the coachman by opening the door. They did not alight, but when greetings had been exchanged Mistress Henrietta issued an invitation for him to join Grinling in dining with them that evening. He accepted at once, often being invited with Grinling to what was always a pleasant evening with plenty of intellectual and stimulating conversation, for Mistress Henrietta was an excellent hostess and knew how to gather guests that would enjoy one another’s company.
    Saskia had taken her seat in the coach and did not look in Robert’s direction. As the equipage rolled forward on its way the two ladies returned Grinling’s wave as he collected Saskia’s chair and went back indoors with it, Robert following him.
    ‘Let me see what you have drawn this afternoon, Saskia,’ Mistress Gibbons said, holding out her hand.
    ‘It’s not finished yet,’ Saskia said as she produced her sketch pad.
    The drawing was carefully studied by both women and Mistress Gibbons gave an approving nod. ‘You have captured the cottage’s dilapidated state most accurately.’ She turned to look at her cousin. ‘This sketch alone should shame James into the realization that he must buy a fine house that Grinling could use until such time as he and I come home again.’
    Cousin Henrietta made no reply. She believed that if there should be such a house Grinling would still prefer his cottage workshop and wish to be left alone to make his own way in the world.
    That evening quite a number of guests came to dine and Saskia judged by the laughter and lively buzz of conversation that the evening was a success. Yet when Mistress Gibbons came to bed she was in a dangerous mood. Not a word was said, but Saskia guessed that she had spoken to Robert about the overmantel and had failed to persuade him that it