Above Rubies Read Free

about a year—not long after your last holiday. Though, of course, he’s no stranger, like the rest. He was supposed to be here on holiday, but he just stayed. Och, but he’s a one, I must say.” There was a faint softening in Mrs. Cameron’s manner. “He once stopped by and asked if he could have my hands for a wee while.” She spread out the strong, roughened fingers. “I was just to keep peeling my vegetables, and he’d sketch them. Dear knows how it turned out, for he never thocht to let me see. He’s a funny one, but there’s a gentleness to him, too, for I’ve seen him calm a frightened dog, and he even risked his hands, once, to help his wee cat when it got stuck after Kilpatrick’s dog chased it up a tree. His hands are very sensitive, you see, so that he can use his brush skilfully. He used to have to get Joe Weir to chop wood for him in case he got blisters.”
    “Really?” commented Merry, interested.
    “Aye, your Aunt Ellen was fond of him, and he was often over here at Beau Ness. I’ve had the job of cooking for him many a time.”
    Now Merry craned her neck as she came within sight of the Cot House. She’d have liked to ask Mrs. Cameron if she had any message for Mr. Brendan, but she knew better. She mustn’t appear a forward young lady, or she’d be falling in Mrs. Cameron’s estimation!
    The Cot House looked like a tea-cosy with a riotous but colourful garden, and a warmth and friendliness which was very appealing. Merry’s steps slowed and she stood on tip-toes to peer over the hedge.
    “You’ll see a lot more from this side,” an amused voice informed her.
    “Oh!”
    Merry flushed scarlet as a tall and rather untidy-looking man rose from a rustic seat in the garden and regarded her with steady dark eyes. He wore stained blue jeans and a rust-coloured jersey with a hole in the front. His hair was slightly ruffled, but had been well cut, and the traditional bearded artist appearance was missing. Merry judged him to be around thirty, and felt taken aback because he looked so ordinary. She had been much too influenced by Mrs. Cameron’s description of him as a “funny” one, though she should have known better. Mrs. Cameron used “funny” to describe as many things as she used “bonny”.
    Yet now she was finding herself the object of his scrutiny, and a flush stained her cheeks.
    “Miss Merry Saunders,” he said, “new owner of Beau Ness and goddaughter to Miss Ellen Blayne who was one of the sweetest ladies I ever knew. Good bones and colouring, and quite good expression if you like a shy fawn coining out of the woods. Won’t you step into my parlour for a moment, and we’ll introduce ourselves properly over a brew-up?”
    “No, thank you,” said Merry primly. “I really haven’t time. I... ”
    “Haven’t time? In Kilbraggan? What could you be doing which can’t spare fifteen minutes? We’ve got to meet each other some time.”
    Merry felt his gaze mocking her, and bit her lip. Benjamin Brendan made her feel like a gauche schoolgirl caught stealing apples. Swiftly her chin rose.
    “Very well, Mr. Brendan, I shall be pleased to drink tea with you.”
    With quiet dignity she opened the gate and he showed her into a living-room which made her eyes widen with interest. It seemed as though the room had been divided into two distinct sections. At one end he had a long table drawn up so that the long low window was directly behind it. Bookcases full of reference books lined the walls, and in a corner stood a large filing cabinet. The remainder of the room was furnished with comfortable armchairs, lovely old rugs and well-polished furniture.
    “It’s very ... tidy ,” she said, a frank note of surprise in her voice. “One thinks of an artist as ... well...”
    “A dirty, untidy creature who throws paint on the floor and wipes his brush on the cat,” suggested Benjamin, his dark eyes glittering with amusement. “Let’s hope all your ideas aren’t so firmly fixed,