That Would Be a Fairy Tale - By Amanda Grange Page 0,6

but fortunately I managed to get back here without seeing a soul.’

‘That’s a relief! If the village boys had seen you, you would never have heard the end of it. But now, tell me, how did the rest of your afternoon go?’

Cicely sank down on the bed. She felt deflated suddenly, as though the events of the early afternoon had finally caught up with her. Rousing herself, she said at last, ‘As well as can be expected. I cycled over to Oakleigh and signed the final document as arranged, and then I cycled back again.’

‘It was very brave of you to sell the Manor,’ said Alice. She put her hand consolingly on Cicely’s arm. ‘I don’t think I could have done it.’

Cicely sighed. ‘I had no choice, in the end. The debts were too large. Selling the Manor was the only way to pay them. Father was a dear, but he was very absent-minded. I always knew it, but I didn’t realize at the time just quite how bad he was. I’d always assumed he paid the bills, at least, but when he died I realized he hadn’t paid anything for years. He always meant to, I’m sure, but he simply forgot about them five minutes after they’d arrived.’

‘His head was always full of some enthusiasm or other - usually bicycles,’ said Alice.

Cicely smiled. ‘Yes, his beloved bicycles. Not that I was ever allowed to call them that, I had to call them “velocipedes”, although "boneshakers" is a better description, if you ask me. He loved riding them, collecting them, inventing them . . .’ She gave a sigh as she thought of her dearly loved but completely impractical father. Then she rallied herself. ‘But it’s done now. The Manor is sold and the papers are signed. Never mind, at least I have a few weeks to adjust to the idea of the Manor having a new owner before Mr Evington takes possession.’

There was a pause in the conversation. Alice stood up and strolled round the room. She stopped in front of Cicely’s dressing table. She picked up Cicely’s silver-backed hairbrush, before putting it down and picking up the hand mirror, then putting that down and picking up the hairbrush once more. Without looking at Cicely she asked nonchalantly, ‘How would you feel if the new owner arrived earlier than expected?’

‘Earlier?’ Cicely’s eyebrows rose. ‘How much earlier?’

‘Oh . . . ’ Alice hesitated. Then she put down the hairbrush with a clatter. ‘The thing is, Cicely,’ she said in a rush, ‘it turns out he’s already here.’

‘Mr Evington? Here? Oh, no. He can’t be,’ she said in dismay. Suddenly, losing the Manor was even more real. But one look at Alice’s face convinced her it was true. ‘Are you sure?’ she demanded, wondering suddenly whether Alice could be mistaken. ‘He’s not meant to be here until the start of next month.’

Alice nodded. ‘Quite sure. He changed his mind about waiting, that’s all. But he’s definitely here. Mrs Sealyham’s seen him, and she told me all about him.’ She added nonchalantly, ‘He’s young, handsome, and charming, she says.’

‘Mrs Sealyham thinks every bachelor is young, handsome and charming,’ said Cicely.

‘Even so.’ Alice paused. ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he really is?’

‘Why?’ asked Cicely.

‘Because . . . because then you could marry him, and you could go back to the Manor and raise your children there, as you always wanted to,’ said Alice with a sigh.

‘That wouldn’t be real life, that would be a fairy tale. And besides, he is the last man in the world I would want to marry. He isn’t like us, you know, he doesn’t have a heart and soul. He’s a brash businessman who sees everything in terms of profit, loss and investment. He didn’t even bother to look at the Manor before he bought it.’

‘You might change your mind once you meet him,’ said Alice.

‘And pigs might fly!’

Chapter Two

‘Ready to face the Gorgon in her lair?’ asked Roddy with a twinkle in his eye.

It was the following morning, and he and Alex were talking over the breakfast table.

The dining-room in which they were eating was an elegantly-proportioned room with high ceilings and elaborate plaster mouldings, giving evidence of its Georgian origins. It was painted in a pale shade of biscuit which, despite its shabbiness, gave the room a pleasant feel.

Tall windows flooded the room with light. Long fawn curtains, topped with shaped pelmets, were swept back to reveal the splendid view. The gravel path beneath the window