Part 9 (1/2)

There were history books and geography books, an English grammar and a book of mathematical problems. The corresponding exercise books were with them, and while Anya stretched herself rather moodily in a chair beside the fire, Joanna studied her written work. Most of it was not good. There were too many errors, as well as an abundance of smudges and ink blots which gave the books an untidy appearance. What was surprising was that her spelling was excellent, as too was her attention to detail, and while other subjects merited only the briefest of essays, her English spread generously over pages and pages.

Unfortunately, someone-the last governess?-had scrawled all over the work, indicating her opinion of Anya's apparent apt.i.tude for literacy. There were comments like 'Too long-winded' and 'Try to avoid over-dramatising' and 'What has this to do with the essay?', and as Joanna read the pages of smeared handwriting she began to see why those comments had been made. The tides of the essays bore little resemblance to what came after. Anya seemed to use the tides only as ideas to elaborate, and it was obvious that a vivid imagination supplied the rest. What previous governesses had not seemed to notice, or if they had, they had not considered it praiseworthy, was that Anya possessed a remarkable talent for storytelling, and her essays were really wonderful fairy stories, wrapped around with all the folklore she had read and learned about throughout her young life. Joanna sat back amazed at the discovery she had made, and her eyes turned to the girl staring broodingly into the fire.

'What exactly did-the other governesses say about your work, Anya?' she asked, choosing her words with caution. 'It's obvious that you didn't enjoy history or maths, but why did you say they thought you were backward?'

Anya regarded her silently for a moment, as if gauging her reactions to what she had just read, and then she shrugged. 'I'm no good at lessons any more,' she mumbled, cupping her chin on one hand, and before Joanna could ask what she meant by 'any more' she went on: 'I used to like school once, in London. The teachers there didn't think I was stupid.' She paused. 'But that was a long time ago.'

Joanna hesitated. 'But what did these governesses you've had say to you? I mean, they must have had some opinion of your work.'

Anya thought for a minute, then she said: 'Miss Towers who came first-she was the best. She used to let me write during her lessons, and I liked that. I like writing. But Daddy sacked her because I wasn't learning anything, and the other two were horrible!'

Joanna sighed. 'How were they horrible?'

Anya frowned. 'Miss Latimer used to shout. She used to get angry because I couldn't do her rotten sums, and in the end I put a rat in her bedroom and she left.'

Joanna hid her reaction to this, and said faintly: 'And the other?'

'Miss Gering?' Anya hunched her shoulders. 'She was German, not a lot older than you are, but very strict. She used to put her hair in a plait and she always wore long skirts and flat shoes. She was the worst of all. Daddy made me pay attention to her, and if I didn't, she used to tell on me.' Her mouth jutted. 'Just like you did yesterday.'

Joanna gasped. 'I didn't tell on you!' She made a helpless gesture.

'You brought what happened on yourself!'

'You told Daddy I'd taken you down to the stream,' retorted Anya hotly.

'I did not,' Joanna objected indignantly. 'He already knew.'

Anya stared at her. 'I don't believe you.'

'That's up to you.' Joanna refused to be browbeaten.

'Nevertheless, it's true. One thing I don't do is lie.'

Anya's lashes-came to veil her eyes. 'Why did you ask me about the other governesses?' she asked. 'Why do you want to know?'

Joanna took the olive branch willingly. 'I was curious, that's all. I wondered who had scribbled all over your work.'

'Oh, that was Miss Gering,' said Anya, getting up to take a look. 'She said I was too fanciful. She told Daddy I still believed in fairies.'

Joanna gave her a wry look. 'And do you?'

Anya seemed to consider her answer. 'If I said yes, would you think I was backward?'

'No.' Joanna shook her head. 'Unlike Miss Gering, I think it's necessary to keep our dreams as long as we can. So long as we don't mix up fact with fantasy. Your work -' she indicated the open book on the desk, 'your work is imaginative, but I think that's because you enjoy writing. I liked reading your stories. I'm not saying you shouldn't pay more attention to your other lessons, these other books show a pretty poor standard, but you're not backward, only under-educated.'

Anya straightened her spine and looked down at her doubtfully.

'What if I said I didn't mind being under- educated, so long as I could write my stories? Why should I have to learn geography and history? I shan't need them if I'm going to be a writer.'

Joanna shrugged. 'I should have thought, if you were going to be a writer, you'd need all sorts of information.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, it's all right brus.h.i.+ng aside geography and history if you're going to spend your life writing about elves and fairies.

But as you get older, your writing will mature. You might like to write about other lands and other people. That's where geography comes in. Or about other times -'

'And that's history,' said Anya gloomily.

'Yes.'

The girl shook her head. 'I've never thought of that.' A faint smile touched her lips. 'And I don't think you did, until now.'

Joanna had to smile in return. 'You must admit, it is original,'

she agreed, without conceit. 'So-what do you say? If I persuade your father that what you're writing is not fanciful rubbish, will you do your best to improve your other work?'

'How do you know I'll work for you, any better than for Miss Latimer or Miss Gering?'

'Because I'm more like Miss Towers,' declared Joanna firmly.

'Except that I will expect you to work, and shall expect you to make progress.'

Anya giggled. It was the first time she had relaxed so far and Joanna felt almost weak with success. 'Miss Towers was at least fifty,' she declared, 'and she wore thick hornrimmed spectacles.'

Joanna shrugged, not at all put out. 'Well, I can find some spectacles, if I have to,' she said, with a grimace, and with a little more enthusiasm, Anya pulled a chair to the desk.

Jake had not returned home by five o'clock and Joanna checked the ca.s.serole she had made earlier before making herself and Anya some tea. Anya had finished hers and disappeared about some business of her own when Joanna heard the sound of the Range Rover, and she unconsciously straightened her spine as Jake came into the kitchen where she was sitting. He noticed at once the tray of tea on the table in front of her, but she guessed it was the appetising aroma from the oven that caused the instinctive tightening of his lips. However, he made no immediate comment, merely closed the outer door behind him and strode rather wearily towards the glowing eye of the Aga.

Joanna watched him warm his hands for a moment, and then she got up from the table. 'Would you like some tea?' she offered, and when he turned to look at her over his shoulder: 'Don't refuse. There's plenty left, and you look as though you could do with a cup.'

Jake turned fully to face her, hands behind his back, parting the tweed hacking jacket, exposing the taut expanse of brown silk straining across his chest. It was the first time she had seen him wearing anything other than the cotton s.h.i.+rts and cords he wore around the farm, and she could not help admiring the way his dark brown suede pants moulded the powerful contours of his thighs. He was all muscle and bone, and Joanna's reactions to him frightened her a little. This was a contingency she had never expected, believing as her mother had done, that Jake was so much older, but although she knew that he must be nearly forty, he possessed a latent s.e.xuality that defied age or circ.u.mstance.

There was an awful moment when she realised she had been staring, and his grim face mirrored his reactions to her fixation. It was obvious that he had got an entirely wrong impression of her numbed fascination, and in a harsh voice he said: 'What's the matter? Am I putting you off your tea? If you just leave the things, I can pour myself a cup, and then I suggest you go and pack your belongings.'

'Pack my belongings?' Joanna's gaze was unwavering now.

'Why should I pack my belongings? I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not leaving!'

He came towards the table, long brown fingers beating an erratic tattoo on its surface. 'I think you should,' he declared steadily. 'I think it would be the best thing for all of us. Apart from Anya's obstructive behaviour, I've been unable to find anyone willing to come and work at Ravengarth, and as you pointed out, it's not suitable for an unmarried man and woman- girl-to share the same house unchaperoned.'

Joanna's eyes widened. 'You said this morning that I was young enough to be your daughter!' she reminded him.

'That it didn't matter -'

'I've had second thoughts about the matter.'