That Would Be a Fairy Tale - By Amanda Grange Page 0,33

tired of taking lukewarm baths.’

‘There’ll be plenty of hot water by tonight,’ said Tom confidently.

‘Thank you, Tom,’ said Cicely.

‘Right, well, I’ll be off then,’ said Tom, who had already stayed beyond his hours, and he went off, whistling.

It was not long before Gibson returned from the shops and Cicely looked over the food items as he took them out of the basket. There were sausages and bacon, fruit and vegetables, eggs and cheese, as well as a loaf of bread - everything they needed to see them through the next few days.

‘That will do very well, Gibson,’ said Cicely.

The door bell rang. Cicely was annoyed as she really did not want to see anyone else at the moment, she had too much to do.

‘See who it is, Gibson, and if at all possible get them to come back later. I shall never get anything done today at this rate.’

‘Very good, miss.’

Gibson slipped on his frock coat and went to answer the door whilst Cicely washed her hands at the sink. A moment later, Gibson returned. ‘Mr Evington, miss,’ he said.

Suspecting he had a last-minute problem with the arrangements for the party, she knew she could not refuse to see him and so she said, ‘Show him into —’

But at that moment, he walked into the kitchen.

‘I showed myself in,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to take up too much of your time.’

‘Thank you, Gibson,’ said Cicely. ‘You may carry on.’

Gibson went out into the garden to pick some herbs for dinner.

Cicely looked at Mr Evington.

‘I just wanted — ‘ He broke off as the range began making an ominous banging noise.

Cicely gave an exclamation of vexation, turning to look at it. ‘The range is such a nuisance,’ she began. ‘If it isn’t one thing, it’s — ‘ But got no further, for Mr Evington had seized hold of her arm.

‘Get out of here,’ he said. ‘Now.’

‘But -’

There was time for no more. He opened the back door and pushed her out.

‘What -?’ asked Cicely, as the banging grew louder, but the rest of her sentence was drowned out by the noise.

Mr Evington did not falter. He steered her down the path, and pushed her unceremoniously out of the gate. He had just done so when there came the most almighty explosion from within the house. Cicely turned round in shock. The kitchen window had been blown out and the air was full of the tinkling sound of breaking glass.

She turned to Mr Evington, eyes wide and questioning.

‘The back boiler,’ he said tersely. ‘It’s exploded.’

‘The back boiler exploded?’ asked Cicely, still feeling stunned. It had all happened so quickly. The explosion had been terribly loud and the breaking glass had momentarily frightened her; and Mr Evington’s man-handling, necessary though it had been, had shaken her nerves.

‘The fire was built up way too high,’ he said. ‘By the look of it the range was an old one. It was inevitable this would happen.’

‘If you hadn’t come in when you did . . . ’ said Cicely, turning to him, her face white.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ he said.

No, Cicely thought. Better not.

‘You’re shivering,’ he said.

He was right. The shock had taken its toll. She felt suddenly cold.

He took off his coat and wrapped it round her shoulders.

‘I’m perfectly all right,’ she said. She felt foolish for having given way to shock and did not want him to think her a coward.

‘Of course you are,’ he said, leading her over to the grass verge. ‘But keep this on anyway.’

Cicely realized it would be useless to protest. And besides, the extra warmth was comforting. It wrapped her round, and so did the scent of Alex Evington. Faint but unmistakeable it clung to his jacket, a mixture of cedar after-shave and expensive cologne.

At that minute Gibson, looking considerably shaken, emerged from behind the house.

‘Ah. Gibson,’ said Mr Evington, taking charge of the situation. ‘I need you to go and get help. There’s going to be a lot of cleaning up to do. Not to mention the risk from the fire.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Gibson.

Cicely, about to object to Mr Evington giving Gibson orders, suddenly realized that he had done it in order to settle Gibson’s nerves. By giving him something useful to do, Mr Evington had taken his thoughts from the explosion and directed them into more useful channels.

‘Right away, sir,’ said Gibson, disappearing down the lane.

‘Are you all right?’ Alex asked, taking her hands and chafing them.

‘Yes. Just a little shaken, that’s all.’

‘It’s not surprising.’

What