Witchstone. Anne Mather

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      Ashley had friends of her own at school, of both sexes, but no one special. She wasn’t interested in the casual physical relationships indulged in by most of the girls she knew, and found more enjoyment in books and music than petting on some street corner.

      In the bedroom she stripped off the navy skirt and cardigan, the white blouse and navy and red striped tie which formed the uniform of Bewford Grammar School before rummaging through a drawer and pulling out a pair of shabby jeans and a scarlet sweater. The jeans accentuated the slenderness of her body, the curving length of her legs, while the ribbed sweater drew attention to the rounded swell of her breasts.

      As she brushed her hair, she pulled a face at her reflection in the dressing table mirror. She was used to her appearance and saw no particular virtue in long, slightly slanted green eyes or a warm, beautiful mouth with a full lower lip. She secured the heavy swathe of hair with two elastic bands so that a coil fell over either shoulder and then with a shrug turned towards the door.

      Her aunt was in the dining room laying the table for their evening meal, and Ashley automatically took the cutlery from her and began setting the places. Her aunt smiled and took the opportunity to relax for a moment, lighting one of the infrequent cigarettes she smoked throughout the day. She was throwing the match into the grate when her husband came through from the bar.

      ‘Well, well,’ he remarked mockingly. ‘Is this all you’ve got to do?’

      David Sutton was a man in his early fifties, tall and spare-framed, with thinning fair hair and twinkling blue eyes. He was the exact opposite of Mona, in fact, who was inclined to plumpness like her daughter, and whose hair and colouring were definitely dark.

      Now Mona regarded her husband with impatience. ‘You’ve got to be joking!’ she retorted, casting a resigned look in Ashley’s direction. ‘You see! I can’t even have a cigarette without being caught out!’

      Ashley smiled. This good-natured badinage was something she had not experienced before coming to live with her aunt and uncle. Her father had taken life much more seriously, and when she had first come to Bewford she had been concerned at the apparent constant state of conflict between these two. But as time went by her concern gave way to amusement as she realised that their relationship was based on warmth and understanding and nothing they ever said to one another during these petty little arguments penetrated the strength of their real feelings.

      David Sutton turned to Ashley then, saying: ‘Do you think you could come and put some bottles out for me later on? We’re running short on ginger ales and tonics, and I could do with a few bottles of stout in the bar.’

      Ashley nodded eagerly. From time to time she re-stocked the shelves when her uncle was busy, although he wouldn’t permit her to serve behind the bar. ‘Of course. Do you want me to do it now?’

      ‘No, later on will do,’ replied her uncle, reaching for his pipe from his jacket pocket.

      ‘I should think so, too,’ exclaimed Mona. ‘The lass has just got home from school. She’s hungry, aren’t you, love?’

      Ashley wrinkled her nose doubtfully. Obviously her aunt had chosen to forget that not too long ago she had been chiding her for eating too much. Changing the subject completely, she turned to her uncle and said: ‘I’ve decided to take that job at the library after Easter—if they’ll have me.’

      David looked up from filling his pipe. ‘Have you?’ He looked pleased. ‘I’m glad.’

      ‘Are you?’ Ashley felt all warm inside. She lifted her shoulders and let them fall again, spreading her hands in an encompassing gesture. ‘Well, so am I.’

      Karen didn’t finish work until five-thirty and by the time she got home Ashley and her aunt had usually finished the main washing up of the evening and the Golden Lion had opened its doors to its patrons. David had a couple of women who helped in the bar in the evenings and they arrived about six. They were two young married women, supplementing their husbands’ income by working in the evenings when their husbands could look after their children. Ashley didn’t know them very well yet, but Mark had told her that the husband of one of them worked for the Setons, too.

      Ashley looked forward to Mark coming home. They got along well together. Although he was twenty-eight he had not as yet shown any inclination towards marriage and seemed to find his young cousin quite adequate company. He had taken her to the pictures a couple of times, and once to a horse sale at a nearby estate. But mostly he seemed to find the horses more absorbing, and Ashley, with her own love of solitude and the fascination of academic things, could appreciate this. Perhaps that was why they got along so well – because they each had other interests.

      Ashley was coming along the hall later than evening, her arms filled with the small bottles of soda water, dry ginger and tonic her uncle needed, when Mark came through the door which led from the cobbled yard at the side of the hotel. It had begun to snow earlier on and flakes glinted on his fair hair. Ashley started to say: ‘Are you frozen——’ when she saw that her cousin was not alone. Another man had followed him into the hotel, a man as dark as Mark was fair, with the kind of tan impossible to achieve in these northern climes.

      Mark grinned. ‘What’s this?’ he queried, indicating the bottles. ‘Secret drinking?’

      Ashley’s lips twitched. ‘Hardly. Your father needs them. Excuse me——’

      ‘Wait!’ Mark glanced round at his companion. ‘This is my cousin, Jake. Ashley, I’d like you to meet Jake Seton.’

      Ashley could have wished that Mark had waited until she had shed the load of bottles before introducing her to his friend, but it was too late now to do anything about it. Instead, she was forced to stand there and offer a greeting, her face almost as red as her sweater.

      ‘Hello, Ashley!’

      Jake Seton’s voice was low and deep, his eyes disturbingly intent between the longest lashes she had ever seen on a man. But if his lashes were unusual, they were the only effeminate thing about him. He was tall, taller even than Mark who stood a good five feet eleven in his socks, with a lean, yet powerful body. He was not handsome in the accepted sense of the word, but Ashley thought, even with her small knowledge, that there was little doubt that some women would find the deep-set eyes, the harsh planes of his cheekbones and the somewhat thin lips attractive. Sideburns grew lower than his earlobes, while dark hair lay thick and smooth against his head, brushing the collar of his suede jacket. He appeared to use no hair dressing and consequently it looked glossily healthy. She thought he looked about Mark’s age, but she couldn’t be sure. Either way, it was nothing to do with her.

      Realising that she had been staring, she turned away in embarrassment, making some comment about her uncle waiting for the bottles, and she sensed, rather than saw, Mark and his companion go down the hall and enter the private lounge at the back. In the bar, David Sutton regarded her flushed cheeks with some amusement.

      ‘What’s happened to you?’ he asked, putting the back of his hand against her forehead. ‘You running a fever or something?’

      Ashley unloaded the bottles on to the floor behind the bar and began stacking them on the shelves. ‘Of course not,’ she denied swiftly.

      David looked down at her bent head. ‘Well, someone’s responsible for that or I’m a Dutchman!’ he declared.

      Sighing, Ashley rose to her feet. ‘Mark’s just come home.’

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