Chapter Two

Salema awoke with a feeling of excitement.

She knew this morning she would see Charles again. It was a change from the monotony of riding alone or with her father. She was aware that her mother would consider it very reprehensible for her to be meeting a stranger. But, she told herself, if it had not been for him, she would have been in tears because of Rufus.

‘He is kind and he is very strong,’ she thought.

Her mother always had breakfast in bed, and Salema breakfasted alone. There were various things she always did in the morning. She arranged the flowers and made sure those she had put in vases yesterday had plenty of water. Then at last she could run upstairs and put on her riding-habit.

On her dressing table, just as she expected, was the handkerchief belonging to Charles. Her maid had washed and ironed it. It was clean, white, and, she realised, made of fine, expensive linen.

She wondered again who he could be and what he was doing in Little Bemberry? Strangers were few and far between unless they were calling to see her father or the Duke. Then they were usually elderly men. Where the Duke was concerned, his visitors were statesmen, politicians, or noblemen, and were recognised by the villagers. This was always an excitement and gave them something to talk about.

It was half-past-ten when she mounted Flash. She set off across the fields, thinking perhaps she would be early. At the same time, she was aware that she was excited and eager to see Charles again. He was so interesting about his travels, she thought. She wished she could tell her mother the things he had told her.

She reached Monk’s Wood and, as usual, there seemed to be more birds and rabbits there than anywhere else. She rode through the dilapidated hedge that no-one had bothered to repair. A mossy patch curved and twisted amongst the fir trees. Turning towards the ruined chapel, she saw Charles’s horse and felt her heart turn a somersault. He was there!

He was waiting for her and she had been half-afraid that he would have forgotten. He might have had to leave wherever he was staying and return to London.

But he was there!

She rode into the clearing and saw him sitting on the fallen tree-trunk, waiting for her. She slid down from the saddle before he could reach her.

“You have come!” he exclaimed. “I was beginning to think I had imagined you, or that you had slipped away into the pool and all I would see would be your reflection in the water!”

Salema laughed.

“I am here,” she said, “and I have brought you your handkerchief, white and clean as it was before you used it to wipe the mud from my face,”

She took the handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to hint

“Thank you,” he said, “and may I say how lovely you look this morning without that mud on your cheek.”

Because he spoke in a deep voice and not jokingly, Salema felt herself blush. They walked slowly towards the tree-trunk, leaving the horses to crop the grass beside the pool. Because she had ridden so fast in her eagerness to get to Monk’s Wood, Salema felt hot. She took off her jacket and laid it beside her on the trunk. She saw that Charles was looking at her white blouse with its insets of lace and hoped he admired her. She had taken extra pains at arranging her hair this morning. The blouse she was wearing was her best and had been purchased in Bond Street.

Then, as she glanced at Charles, she realised that he was looking at her in a manner that was somehow different from the way he had done so yesterday.

“What is it?” she asked. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” he replied, “except that I have been awake most of the night thinking about you and wondering if it was possible that you could be as beautiful as I remembered.”

Salema blushed again. Looking away from him, she said in a shy little voice,

“I-I do not think you should talk to me like that!”

“Why not?” Charles enquired.

“Because you are a stranger and I know nothing about you.”

He smiled.

“Surely that is what makes it so interesting. We know a great deal about each other, but not the dull, banal things which we would know if we had met in somebody’s drawing room, or perhaps at a ball where the chaperons were sitting on the dais, looking disapprovingly at everything we did.”

Salema thought that he was quite right. Of course it was more exciting that they had met when he had saved Rufus. They had talked by the magic pool in Monk’s Wood with no-one to disapprove of them except the birds.

Charles read her thoughts.

“We think the same things,” he said, “and we understand each other, so whatever happens we must not spoil that.”

“No, of course not,” Salema agreed.

“I wanted to come here this morning,” Charles said, “because you are different and because the most exciting thing that has happened to me for a long time, was meeting you.”

Salema knew that she felt the same. She felt a little quiver go through her body because of the way he was speaking.

“You are right,” he said, “this is like a fairy story and we must not spoil it. That is why I wanted you to meet me here alone and talk to you about the things that matter to both of us that have nothing to do with the troubles and difficulties of the world outside.”

“I am glad you think it is a very special place,” Salema said.

“And you are a very special person,” Charles said, “and because this is where you belong, you must not let anyone spoil Monk’s Wood – or you!”

Because he was speaking in such a serious voice, Salema turned to look at him. Then, as their eyes met, it was impossible for either of them to look away. For a moment, or it might have been a century, they just looked into each other’s eyes. The rest of the world had vanished. Then Charles said in a very strange voice,

“Oh, my dear, I am afraid of my own feelings, and it is impossible to put them into words.”

Because he spoke, it broke the spell and Salema was able to look away from him. Staring at the horses, although she did not really see them, she said after a moment,

“I-I cannot stay for long. My father is coming home this morning and he will be angry if I am not there to greet him when he arrives.”

“I have to see you again,” Charles said. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

“I expect I shall be with Papa. He may have some important things to do, or people to see.”

“Then I shall wait here,” Charles said.

“It might be impossible for me to get away.”

“Then what about tomorrow morning?”

“I always ride with Papa in the mornings.”

Unexpectedly, Charles reached out and took her hand.

“Listen,” he said, “I know there are a thousand reasons why you cannot do something, but there is one reason that is more important than all the rest, and it is that we have to see each other.”

As he touched her, Salema felt again that strange little quiver. He looked down at her hand, then very gently took it in both of his and turned it over. He looked at the lines on the softness of her palm and asked,

“Shall I tell you your future?”

“Can you do that? I thought you were a genie, not a magician.”

“I think your future is very easy to read,” Charles said. “You will have to make a choice between the conventional and the unconventional, and it is hard to predict which you will choose.”

It was difficult for Salema to understand what he was saying simply because both his hands were touching hers.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, “that you may be offered a throne, or it may be something very simple like a cave in the mountains.”

He traced the lines on her hand with his fingers, and Salema felt as if he mesmerised her. In a very small voice that seemed to come from a long way away she said,

“I think the choice will rest on who sits on the throne beside me, and who is ... in the cave.”

“That is just the answer you ought to make,” Charles said. “But what is important is, whichever you choose, it should bring you happiness and of course – love.”

As he spoke the last word, he raised her hand in both of his and kissed the palm very gently. It was something that had never happened to Salema before. As his lips touched her skin she felt as if the sunshine streaked through her body. It gave her an ecstasy she had never known. Then, because she was shy, she took away her hand and rose to her feet.

“I must go ... I really must go,” she said.

For a moment Charles did not rise, but just sat looking at her. The sunshine was turning her hair to gold. Because he had aroused strange emotions within her, her lips trembled a little and there was a flush of colour on both her cheeks.

“Must you leave me?” he asked.

“I-I have to.”

“But you would like to stay? Tell me you would like to stay.”

“I would like to talk to you,” she said. “I was thinking last night of all the exciting things you told me which were different from anything I have ever heard before.”

“Then somehow we must meet,” Charles said.

“I will try. I really will try – but I do not want you to wait in case I cannot come to you.”

“I will wait!” he said.

He rose to his feet. He seemed very tall and overwhelming silhouetted around the trees. She looked up at him. Very slowly, as if he savoured the moment, he put his arms around her. It was not what she had expected him to do. Yet, as he drew her close, it seemed inevitable and something which had been planned since the beginning...