Page 53 of One More Christmas at the Castle
Sabine
When I so unexpectedly found Dido in the study with Xan, I felt a mixture of shock and an icy rage sweep over me: that she and Xan should be working there together, as Asa and I had once done …
It felt as if they were replacing us: Dido, tall, dusty, but looking happier than I’d seen her before; Xan, his handsome face serious as he looked up from a bundle of letters.
Knowing that Dido was also Faye’s granddaughter – insinuating her presence into that sacred space – only stoked my fury the more.
I could see Xan was shocked by my reaction, but at first I barely took in his explanations and apology, though later, when I had calmed down, I did.
I know him so well that I must accept his assurances that Dido wouldn’t dream of prying into what didn’t concern her.
After all, she has no idea of any connection between us – indeed, since Faye was small, slight and chestnut-haired, I sometimes briefly forget it myself – or that I brought her here for my own amusement.
Xan was so contrite that in the end I said that she could continue to help, but still … I do not like it.
After tea, I recorded another little session with Xan and, although the study had already taken on a slightly alien air, with the long tables in the middle and papers everywhere, once I began to talk about my undergraduate days at Oxford, I soon lost myself in memories.
I’d been such a bitter, angry young woman, very serious and focused on a career in archaeology, which would take me far away from my beloved home, now tainted by the presence of my father’s second wife and the ghastly spoilt moppet that was Faye.
But I found I enjoyed life in Oxford, especially since in my very first term I made friends with Nancy, an unlikely attraction of opposites: she was small and wiry, with flyaway, light brown hair, and blue-grey eyes that always saw the best in people, even me. Her warmth thawed out my frozen heart.
I liked Nancy’s boyfriend, Stephen, who was destined to be a vicar, but I didn’t want to be side-tracked from my ambitions by any man.
Then, just after our final exams, one of the dons had thrown an end-of-term party, which Nancy and Stephen had persuaded me to attend … and there, the centre of attention, was old-student-turned-minor-celebrity Asa Powys, who had just given a talk on his recent archaeological discoveries beneath the Aegean Sea.
At that time, marine archaeology wasn’t really something I’d given much thought to …
So there I stood, drink in hand and slightly bored, taller than most of the men and certainly all the women.
But Asa, the centre of a lively group on the other side of theroom, was head and shoulders taller than anyone there. He was tanned and his thick mane of hair bleached almost white by the sun, and though he was a generation older than most of the students, he was so alive that I had the impression the air crackled around him.
He seemed to feel my gaze, for he turned his head and our eyes met – and held.
I’ve always truly believed that in that moment, our souls joined, so that nothing that ever happened afterwards could tear us apart.
15
Waxing and Waning
Next morning when I carried up her breakfast tray, I found Mrs Powys in bed, as usual, though not reading. Instead, she was leaning back against her pillows, crinkle-crepe eyelids closed. They snapped open at my entrance, the eyes behind them as clear, bright and alive as usual while the rest of her remained still.
I’ve never liked old-fashioned dolls for this very reason. Give me teddy bears every time.
Of course, Mrs Powyswasalive, it was just disconcerting that her youthful eyes made it look as if a young Sabine Powys was trapped inside an old body – which I suppose she was.
It threw me off balance for a moment, anyway, though I don’t suppose it showed on my face. According to Henry, not a lotdoesunless I’m with friends.
I think I’m like a swan – serene on the surface and paddling like mad underneath.
‘Good morning, Mrs Powys,’ I said, laying the tray across her knees, then I stepped back and launched into my prepared apology for yesterday’s offence. I still felt bad about it, eventhough Xan had assured me it was all ironed out now. I didn’t feel ironed: my conscience was still wrinkly.
‘Mrs Powys, I’d like to offer you an apology for my thoughtless and insensitive behaviour yesterday. I should have obtained your permission before helping Xan. I don’t know what I was thinking of!’
She stared hard at me for a long moment, then said, coolly, ‘It was a shock to find you there, but once Xan had explained your very minor role in the proceedings, I realized I’d overreacted. You may continue, if you wish, so long as it doesn’t impinge on any of the duties I’m paying you for.’
‘Of course not – my work always comes first,’ I assured her. ‘And … may I also sort out the journals and periodicals into title and date order, too? There are rather a lot of them.’
‘I see no reason why not, if you really want to spend your free time in that way.’
