Bulbury Knap by Sheila Spencer-Smith

Zillah, leaping to her feet and scattering tubes of acrylic paint in an untidy heap at her feet.
    â€˜No,’ said Kathryn, surprising herself at her sudden feeling of calm determination. ‘Why should you, Zillah? You’re here at Sir Edwin’s invitation. Stay right where you are.’
    The four of them froze, listening. Except for a blackbird’s warning call and some twittering in the trees behind the cottage no sound disturbed the cold air. Zillah let out a long breath. ‘Phew,’ she said. ‘Fighting talk, Kathryn.’
    â€˜And why not?’ Kathryn said with spirit. Too long had she been afraid of Andrew’s reactions to anything that happened at Bulbury Knap. Instead of this jittery feeling she should be confident that Sir Edwin would deal with his nephew as he thought best.
    Both boys scrabbled to pick up the scattered tubes of paint and then thrust them at Zillah who held out an empty box for them. As the tubes clattered into it Neville grinned at his brother. Tom gave him a look of such sternness that Zillah laughed. ‘Peace before the storm,’ she said. ‘You two boys had better clear off home before anything happens.’
    â€˜Oh, no,’ said Neville in disappointment.
    â€˜Come on,’ said Tom, taking charge. ‘We’re supposed to be at home anyway.’
    Kathryn brushed her loose hair away from her face, wondering what to do next … rush to see if any visitor needed welcoming or stay here to support Zillah? The sound of the arrival of a second vehicle made her mind up for her. ‘I’ll have to go, Zillah,’ she said.
    The car had stopped now, somewhere out of sight.
    â€˜Best of luck,’ Zillah called after her. Kathryn walked through the archway to see if she was needed and found Lady Hewson being helped from a Honda Civic that had drawn alongside Andrew’s red Ferrari.
    â€˜Ah there you are, dear,’ her employer said when she saw Kathryn. ‘I’ve been given a lift home. So kind.’
    Kathryn smiled at the grey-haired woman in the driving seat. Lady Hewson waved as the car moved off and then turned to Kathryn. ‘I see Andrew is already here,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘I’ll just go and tidy up.
    Kathryn took her employer’s heavy-looking bag from her and together they went indoors. A murmur of voices came from the den and Kathryn felt a stir of anxiety.
    â€˜I’ll make tea and bring it through,’ she said.
    In the kitchen she started the preparations automatically, her mind on Zillah making herself at home in the cottage, helped by Michael’s two boys. Tom and Neville seemed to have attached themselves to her in the short time her friend had been here. She wondered if Michael knew where they were.
    She carried the tray through to the den, pushing the half-open door fully open with her shoulder. Andrew took the tray from her in silence and placed it on the table. He had removed the jacket of his dark suit and placed it on the back of a chair as if he had some Herculean task ahead and meant soon to get down to business. She glanced at Sir Edwin standing with his back to the window and saw that his expression was thoughtful.
    â€˜Perhaps you’d pour for us, Kathryn my dear,’ Sir Edwin said.
    â€˜One minute,’ said Andrew, looking hard at her. ‘I believe you have a lot to do with this?’
    Kathryn was not to be ruffled by his aggressive tone. ‘With what?’
    Sir Edwin cleared his throat. ‘I have been telling Andrew about the unfortunate fire, my dear, and our offer to your friend to store her belongings in one of the old cottages.’
    â€˜And not only her belongings it seems.’ Andrew threw back his dark head and glared at his uncle.
    â€˜And that is a problem for you?’ Kathryn asked.
    He gave her a look of such fierceness she took a step back.
    â€˜Of course not,’ Sir Edwin said. ‘The poor young lady