‘Yes, it probably is. It’s good to see people’s faces light up when they like what they see.’ Megan hadn’t had much time to invest in her painting as originally planned but she’d shown Finula her portfolio one evening. Impressed, Finula had offered to display some pictures in The Templar. A few pieces had been sold, which encouraged Megan to concentrate more on her art work. Drinking the cold cider, she closed her eyes, letting the cool liquid hit the back of her dried throat, glad that not only had her shift in the pub finished for the day, but she was taking the next few days off, too. Perhaps now was the best time to set up the easel and start mixing colours again.
‘Before you go, would you mind delivering this to the Hall?’ Finula dug into her apron pocket and pulled out a piece of paper containing a long list of vegetables and fruit. ‘Just pop round the back to the gardens. There’s usually someone about in the greenhouses. Tell them I’ve sent you from The Templar.’
‘Oh, right.’ Megan had never set foot in Treweham Hall and was a touch apprehensive about ‘just popping round the back’. Taking the list, she asked, ‘Are you sure? I mean, won’t they mind a stranger strolling through their grounds?’
Finula laughed. ‘You’re not a stranger strolling through their grounds, you’re a local, working in the village pub, delivering our fresh vegetable requirements. Seriously, Megan, you need to change your attitude towards the Cavendish-Blakes. They don’t lord it up like you seem to think.’
‘I don’t think that. I’m sure they are nice people, even though their son’s a maniac driver,’ she added flatly.
‘And,’ Finula pointed her finger accusingly, ‘you’ve got that wrong, too.’
Megan walked down the stone-walled pathways, over the little hump-backed bridge covering the babbling brook, through the village green with its cricket pavilion and past the old church with its ancient graveyard. Next to it stood Treweham Hall.
Taking a deep breath, she checked her back pocket for the list and made her way through the enormous iron gates. The Hall really was magnificent with its sandstone edifice, large mullion windows, stone columns and decorative cornice. The gardens were well manicured, arrayed with daffodils and fresh spring foliage. Megan followed the gravel path to the side of the Hall, which led round the back to the grounds. She was still a little uneasy and half expected to be held at gun point by some gamekeeper in tweeds. Typically, despite Finula’s assurances, there was no one in sight. Hesitating she decided to look into the greenhouses, hoping to see someone pottering about, but no, they were closed shut and empty of any gardeners. What now? The list definitely had to be delivered as the pub had completely run out of vegetables. There was only one thing for it: she’d have to call at the Hall. Slowly, she walked towards the rose archway, and through that she could see the huge wooden back door of the main building. Hammering on the door with its rustic fox-head knocker, she waited with baited breath. After a few seconds she hammered again. Still no response. Then, just as she was about to leave, she heard a slam and the hinges creaked as the door swung open. Those green eyes flecked with amber stared into hers again.
Recognising her immediately, Tobias smiled lazily. ‘Hello again.’
