sounded strange on his lips.
He turned and walked back with her, the dogs scurrying before them in the wet undergrowth, and presently they came out into the open parkland. Nicky sat on a gate screwing up her eyes in the winter sunshine as she looked away to the gracious facade of Nye rising from the brilliant green of its rolling lawns.
“You hated me for encroaching on your land, didn’t you?” Simon said.
“Yes.” She turned to look at him. “Sometimes I think I could hate you again.”
“For taking you away from Nye?”
“Perhaps—and other things. I can’t explain. Only I feel inside that we’re really antagonistic. When Michael and I were children we used to play a silly game called Common Enemy. When we met people we didn’t like we had a secret sign and then we baited them. It gave us a queer warm feeling inside of being united. I’ve never felt it with anyone else.”
He was silent for a moment, then he said:
“Would it make you happy to live at Nye when we’re married?”
“Live at Nye?” She didn’t understand, and he went on, watching her curiously:
“I’ve been to see your father, Nicky. I know he finds the place rather a burden, and I had thoughts of buying it and giving it to you as a wedding present. I understand he can’t sell, but he’s quite willing to lease me the house and allow me to make any improvements to the estate that I think fit. Would you like that?”
For a moment she sat very still on the gate, looking down at him, while her face went very white. Then the tears filled her eyes, and ran down her cheeks, and she sat staring at him speechlessly.
“Why, Nicky!” he exclaimed, both touched and distressed. “Does it mean so much to you?”
She slipped down from the gate and for the first time flung her arms round him and held him close. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ll ever do for me, Simon,” she said and raised her wet face to kiss him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
T he arrangement suited Charles admirably. Long ago he had found Nye a heavy burden. The money that for years should have gone to the support of the estate and the tenants had been poured into his stables, his cellar, and his doubtful speculations. Simon proposed paying him a nominal rent and putting the entire place in order again providing he was given a free hand. Charles, knowing very well the expenditure this would cover, was thankful enough to receive any rent at all. The work was to start straight away, so that the house would be in order when Nicky and Simon returned from their honeymoon, and Charles made plans to go abroad immediately after the wedding.
They were to be married early in April. Nicky, in spite of protests, refused to have the conventional white wedding, but insisted that they be married quietly in the village church with only their most intimate friends and relations present. In this she was thankfully seconded by Charles and Simon, but Mary Shand was frankly disappointed.
“I love a big wedding,” she said regretfully, “and Nye would be such a beautiful setting. But you modern young people don’t seem to mind about these things any more. I suppose I’m just a silly romantic old woman.”
Nicky liked Simon’s mother. With her she lost that feeling of aggressiveness and antagonism that John Shand always roused in her. For the first time she wondered what difference it would have made to her life if her own mother had lived, and she envied Simon that close, harmonious relationship she had never known herself.
Mary was wise. There were several things about this affair that puzzled her, and sometimes worried her a little, but she never interfered. She knew that Nicky wasn’t in love with her son in the conventional meaning of the word, and that didn’t very much concern her. She had not been in love with her own husband when she married him, but things had worked out very well, and she had never thought regretfully of any other man. But Nicky was not naturally adaptable.
He turned and walked back with her, the dogs scurrying before them in the wet undergrowth, and presently they came out into the open parkland. Nicky sat on a gate screwing up her eyes in the winter sunshine as she looked away to the gracious facade of Nye rising from the brilliant green of its rolling lawns.
“You hated me for encroaching on your land, didn’t you?” Simon said.
“Yes.” She turned to look at him. “Sometimes I think I could hate you again.”
“For taking you away from Nye?”
“Perhaps—and other things. I can’t explain. Only I feel inside that we’re really antagonistic. When Michael and I were children we used to play a silly game called Common Enemy. When we met people we didn’t like we had a secret sign and then we baited them. It gave us a queer warm feeling inside of being united. I’ve never felt it with anyone else.”
He was silent for a moment, then he said:
“Would it make you happy to live at Nye when we’re married?”
“Live at Nye?” She didn’t understand, and he went on, watching her curiously:
“I’ve been to see your father, Nicky. I know he finds the place rather a burden, and I had thoughts of buying it and giving it to you as a wedding present. I understand he can’t sell, but he’s quite willing to lease me the house and allow me to make any improvements to the estate that I think fit. Would you like that?”
For a moment she sat very still on the gate, looking down at him, while her face went very white. Then the tears filled her eyes, and ran down her cheeks, and she sat staring at him speechlessly.
“Why, Nicky!” he exclaimed, both touched and distressed. “Does it mean so much to you?”
She slipped down from the gate and for the first time flung her arms round him and held him close. “That’s the sweetest thing you’ll ever do for me, Simon,” she said and raised her wet face to kiss him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
T he arrangement suited Charles admirably. Long ago he had found Nye a heavy burden. The money that for years should have gone to the support of the estate and the tenants had been poured into his stables, his cellar, and his doubtful speculations. Simon proposed paying him a nominal rent and putting the entire place in order again providing he was given a free hand. Charles, knowing very well the expenditure this would cover, was thankful enough to receive any rent at all. The work was to start straight away, so that the house would be in order when Nicky and Simon returned from their honeymoon, and Charles made plans to go abroad immediately after the wedding.
They were to be married early in April. Nicky, in spite of protests, refused to have the conventional white wedding, but insisted that they be married quietly in the village church with only their most intimate friends and relations present. In this she was thankfully seconded by Charles and Simon, but Mary Shand was frankly disappointed.
“I love a big wedding,” she said regretfully, “and Nye would be such a beautiful setting. But you modern young people don’t seem to mind about these things any more. I suppose I’m just a silly romantic old woman.”
Nicky liked Simon’s mother. With her she lost that feeling of aggressiveness and antagonism that John Shand always roused in her. For the first time she wondered what difference it would have made to her life if her own mother had lived, and she envied Simon that close, harmonious relationship she had never known herself.
Mary was wise. There were several things about this affair that puzzled her, and sometimes worried her a little, but she never interfered. She knew that Nicky wasn’t in love with her son in the conventional meaning of the word, and that didn’t very much concern her. She had not been in love with her own husband when she married him, but things had worked out very well, and she had never thought regretfully of any other man. But Nicky was not naturally adaptable.
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