The Velvet Glove by Mary Williams Page B

?’ Kate’s voice was sharp.
    ‘ Well, we’re cousins, aren’t we? Oh, I know you’re not really interested in painting – not mine anyway. But we’ve done things together, and if ever you want to share it you can.’
    ‘ As I don’t paint there wouldn’t be much point, would there? Still, I’m glad you’ve got your own retreat at last.’
    ‘ Jon doesn’t call it that,’ Cassandra said with a shy half-smile. ‘Our Tree Studio –that’s what he’s named it.’
    ‘ Quite apt,’ Kate remarked shortly. She felt Cassandra’s eyes on her questioningly, and wondered if she’d sensed – even slightly – the sudden sharp pain she felt – the quite irrational envy, because after all she was Mrs Ferris now – of picturing Jon making love to Cassie in that romantic, somehow unreal, setting.
    ‘ Isn’t it rather a long way from Charnbrook to have a studio?’ she asked mechanically.
    ‘ That won’t matter. And it’s not so far if you take the shortest cut. Anyhow, I’m learning to ride now, side saddle of course – I’ve a mare of my own in the stable at Charnbrook; and there’s always my bicycle.’
    ‘ You ? On a horse? But you never used to like them. They frightened you.’
    ‘ This one’s different. Gentle, not much more than a foal – and quite white. Her name’s Snowfire.’
    Snowfire! Snowfire? the word echoed through Kate ’s brain tormentingly. And a gift from Jon. The picture evoked a fairytale quality about it of Cassandra riding through the forest like some legendary princess on a white palfrey to meet her lover.
    Yet her voice was calm when she said, ‘You’re lucky, Cass. I hope you’ll be happy.’
    And in a way this was true. Bitterness had died in Kate as quickly as it had flamed up; there was no point in fretting for something that never, now, could be hers. In any case she wasn ’t the fairytale type. But then, was Jon?
    Brushing the question aside, she said abruptly, ‘I must get back. Rick’s returning from a London visit this morning, he may already be back at Woodgate. I want to be there when he arrives.’
    ‘ But can’t you just have a proper look at my paintings?’
    ‘ Another time. I know about your hideout now.’
    Minutes later she was cantering back towards the village. She was unaware of the unshed tears brimming to her eyes until the brushes of cool wind whipped their dampness to her cheeks. One hand rubbed them quickly away. Her lower lip tightened with resolve, and when she reached the red-brick mansion of her home her smile was brilliant as Rick came to meet her. His kiss was firm and warm on her mouth. She closed her eyes, briefly willing herself to forgetfulness through the dark tide of his rising passion.
    ‘ I’ve missed you,’ she replied.
    It was true. Only through him could she di spel the longing sense of loss – and of an emotion to which she could give no name.
    *
    The wedding at Charnbrook passed quietly as the Wentworths had intended it should, with only a small crowd of onlookers at the gates of the estate, to watch the comparatively small number of cars and guest carriages drive through to the family chapel.
    As Rick and Kate passed in their carriage and pair, Kate was aware of faces peering admiringly from the sides of the lane. She knew she looked ravishing, and the knowledge combined with Rick’s pride in her added to her self-confidence and beauty.
    Cassandra, to the contrary, appeared a shy and rather fragile bride as she walked up the aisle for the ceremony on her uncle ’s – William Barrington’s – arm. Kate wondered once or twice during the ceremony what Jon could ever have seen in her. During their brief accidental meeting at the Tree Studio she had almost understood; amongst the mysterious shadowed background of the forest Cassie had possessed an elusive, almost elfin, quality – the background of trees and undergrowth had suited her. But the conventional white bridal dress had dimmed what character she possessed