The Velvet Glove by Mary Williams Page A

half-tumbled shape over the lane of a ruined cottage entangled in briars, elderberry and thorn, fifty yards or so away. ‘That was once part of a priory, then something tragic happened. Later an old woman lived there who had strange powers, and she—’
    ‘ Oh, I know. I know , ’ Kate interrupted impatiently. ‘There are lots of stories and legends about this district, but they shouldn’t be taken as fact. True history’s often a very different matter.’
    ‘ Yes. I suppose so.’
    ‘ Anyway – have you been sketching it?’
    ‘ Not today. Just thinking.’
    ‘ About the wedding?’
    ‘ Partly. You and Rick are coming, aren’t you?’
    ‘ Naturally. But I don’t suppose we shall stay long at the reception. There’s going to be one, I suppose?’
    ‘ Just for relations – that’s what Jon said, and the servants.’
    ‘ And Aunt Blacksley, of course, with my parents?’
    Cassandra sighed. ‘Why are you asking all these questions, Kate? You must have seen the invitation, or haven’t you?’
    Kate shrugged. ‘Oh, I just glanced. But I do find celebrations – of any kind – rather boring. Of course’ – she tried to simulate interest and warmth into her voice – ‘it’ll be different with you , Cass – being my – sort of cousin. And getting married too – to Jon.’
    Cass smiled, and the smile gave her sudden radiance. ‘Yes. And if it hadn’t been for you, and that wonderful dance we’d probably never have met at all.’
    No, Kat e thought, with a sudden desperate feeling of loss and anger, you wouldn’t. I was an idiot ever to agree taking you to that wretched birthday ball. It was Isobel’s fault – I’ll never forgive her, or you for the secret way you acted in stealing Jon.
    Through this unexpected fresh spurt of jealousy it didn ’t occur to her that she herself had known Jonathan so very slightly, in fact hardly at all. Her expression had suddenly become hard and cold. But Cassandra didn’t notice.
    The tracery of dancing shadows from the trees dimmed bitterness into a mere blue of a face under a shining mane of russet hair.
    ‘Would you like to see my latest paintings?’ Kate heard Cassandra saying in her light voice.
    ‘ Where are they?’
    ‘ Over there – in that little place – the ruin. I’ve sort of made it into a kind of studio. Jon helped me, of course. We call it the Tree Studio, because it’s half made of branches now, and there’s a beech tree at the back.’
    Kate agreed automatically, and together they made their way across the path to the green thicket enclosing the tumbled building.
    From the first it appeared to be no more than an overgrown tumbled hovel – a retreat for a wandering tramp perhaps and wild creatures seeking refuge from the elements. But a ray of light zig-zagged from inside, and when they’d pushed through the opening that had probably once been a door, a stream of early sunshine from a gothic-shaped window at the far end revealed an interior with a boarded floor – obviously recently installed – granite walls partially mended that had been thatched and were enclosed on the outside by the groping branches of sycamores and the spreading arms of the old beech tree. The remains of a fireplace were clearly in a state of being restored, and the holes in one rough wall were already filled in. A large tin of household paint stood in a corner facing a wooden bench and a cane chair. There was an oil stove and a stack of Cassandra’s paintings pushed into an alcove.
    ‘ It will be quite different when it’s finished,’ Kate, in a daze, heard Cass saying. ‘There’s going to be a proper door, and that old stove won’t be here, because Jon says oil is dangerous. He doesn’t really like me coming alone here yet. I’m supposed to bring the dog with me anyway. But I just had a sudden longing, somehow, to be here quite alone for once. Funny, isn’t it, that you should appear? But I’m glad now, because I wanted you to know.’
    ‘ Why