Heaven Here On Earth. Кэрол Мортимер

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СКАЧАТЬ that two weeks later Ryan found herself on a train bound for Yorkshire, her case in one hand, her empty canvases in the other.

      As the train neared the station for Sleaton her trepidation grew. Mark swore he had made all the arrangements, that he had told his family she would be arriving today, that his brother and sister didn’t mind her visit in the least. But Mark wasn’t known for his reliability. What if she should arrive at Montgomery Hall only to be turned away?

      Montgomery Hall—just the name of it was enough to make her feel nervous, and it wasn’t an emotion she usually admitted to. But Mark’s family sounded a little out of her league, despite Mark’s claim of how hard his brother worked on the estate, and how glad of her company Mandy would be.

      Yes, Montgomery Hall sounded very daunting. And what would the Montgomerys make of Ryan Shelton?

      She was wearing her newest denims, the ones with no paint splashed over them, and a light blue fluffy jumper that hugged her body and just touched the top of her denims, riding up a little if she should raise her arms. Despite it being April, and the sun shining brightly in a blue sky, there was a nip in the air, and although the jumper had shrunk a little in the wash, it was a pretty colour, and made her hair look like gold. It also emphasised the dark blue of her eyes.

      The train drew slowly into the station of Sleaton, and she stepped down on to the platform, dragging her case off behind her, scratching it in the process. Not that it mattered, the case was battered enough already.

      A couple of other people got off the train too, although they seemed surer of their destination, hurrying from the platform to disappear from the station building.

      After dragging her case and canvases through the busy London station, with no chance of getting a porter, and Mark conveniently unavailable until the last minute, she had had no choice. But as the only person on this tiny station platform she should have been able to get help with her luggage now.

      An old man leant on a broom a short distance away, bent over with age, looking as if he would fall down if someone were to remove the broom.

      Ryan staggered over to him. ‘Is there a porter?’ she enquired politely.

      ‘Yes,’ he nodded, looking at her over the top of his gold-rimmed glasses, his hair and moustache a light grey colour.

      She bit her tongue to stop her sharp retort. ‘Could you tell me where he is, please?’ She kept her voice light.

      ‘I’m the porter, miss,’ he told her in an important voice, as if daring her to challenge his claim.

      She wouldn’t dare! ‘Would you mind carrying my case?’ she persisted brightly.

      He looked down at the battered brown case at her feet. ‘It looks on the heavy side.’

      ‘It is,’ she nodded.

      ‘I’ve got a bad back, you know,’ he began to shake his head. ‘The doctor told me to lay off heavy lifting.’

      Again Ryan bit her tongue, deciding silence would be better than any criticism she would care to make about a porter who couldn’t lift heavy objects. By the look of Sleaton it was a small community, and this man could be related to half the population! Upsetting the village people would be a great start with the Montgomery family.

      She gave a resigned shrug and moved to the lady taking the tickets. She looked as if she could be the porter’s wife!

      ‘You mustn’t mind Jack,’ the woman confided. ‘He retires next month.’

      Not before time, by the look of him! And that didn’t exactly help her now. She could see she would have to become used to a slower and less efficient way of life the next few weeks.

      Still, as Mark had claimed, Yorkshire was looking very beautiful; the gorse was in full bloom, everywhere a deep rich green after the early April showers. Flowers were in bloom along the neat garden at the side of the station—although Ryan doubted if Jack kept it in that neat state. Too much bending!

      She thought of the next three weeks, three weeks of peace and quiet, three weeks of sketching and painting as much as she wanted to. Heaven on earth!

      Once she got outside the station she looked around for possible transport to Montgomery Hall. There wasn’t any! She doubted this sleepy little village, with its homes all grey-brick thatched cottages, sported a local taxi. And Mark didn’t seem to have taken into account the fact that she had to get from the station to the house. The idea of a holiday in this remote part of Yorkshire suddenly began to lose its magic, the white-painted cottage that had the look of a picture-postcard beauty seeming perhaps too much of a drastic change from London. Well, it was too late to change her mind now!

      She went back to the ticket-collector, who also seemed to double as the ticket-seller!

      ‘Going straight back, are you, love?’ she quipped. ‘The shortest stay on record,’ she smiled at her own joke. ‘We usually keep our visitors a little longer.’

      Ryan smiled back, beginning to feel weary now. ‘I was wondering if there’s a local taxi …?’ She hardly dared voice the question.

      The woman frowned. ‘Bert Jenkins from the village used to do a bit of driving, but he’s got a funny leg.’

      ‘Funny leg …?’ Ryan returned resignedly, beginning to think the whole village had one medical complaint or another.

      ‘Arthritis, I think,’ the woman nodded.

      ‘So there’s no taxi?’

      ‘Not any more.’ The woman shook her head.

      Ryan pursed her lips and straightened her shoulders determinedly. ‘In that case, could you direct me to Montgomery Hall?’

      The woman’s interest deepened. ‘Friend of the family, are you?’

      ‘Er—yes.’ She was taken aback at this open questioning, being used to the surliness of London transport workers.

      ‘Would you be the friend of Mr Mark’s they’re expecting?’

      Her eyes widened even more. ‘Er—yes, I would. How did you know?’

      The woman laughed. ‘Not much is a secret in Sleaton! Besides, my sister-in-law helps out in the house.’

      ‘I see,’ Ryan nodded. ‘The directions?’ she prompted.

      ‘Oh—of course.’ The woman looked disappointed that she didn’t want to stay and chat. ‘Turn right out of the station, it’s about three miles down that road—–’

       ‘Three miles?’

      ‘Mm,’ the woman nodded. ‘You can’t miss it. A big old manor house on the right-hand side of the road, set behind high iron gates.’

      Ryan thanked the woman and moved off a little way down the road. Three miles! She couldn’t remember the last time she had walked that far—and certainly not with a heavy case and half a dozen canvases.

      It looked a very long winding road, with a stone wall either side, the same grey stone the cottages and farmhouses were built from, СКАЧАТЬ