Beyond Compare

‘Holly!’

Both of them smiled, tentative, wry smiles that acknowledged their mutual surprise and recognition.

‘You’ve come up for the party, of course,’ Drew commented matter-of-factly. ‘Looks like you’ve run into a bit of trouble, though.’

‘Over it, actually,’ Holly told him with a sigh. ‘I was miles away and never even saw the glass.’

‘Mmm… I noticed it earlier. That’s why I’m here. I thought I’d drive down and clear it up. Looks as if I’m a bit too late.’

Thoughtful, kind Drew—he hadn’t changed at all. Well, not much, Holly amended, looking at him. He was certainly a lot larger than she remembered: taller and broader, although it was difficult to be too sure with the ancient Barbour and baggy cords he was wearing. Typical farmers’ gear with which she was quite familiar, but oh, so very different from Howard’s immaculate suits and crisply laundered shirts. She heaved a faint sigh. No wonder Rosamund had preferred Howard to Drew.

Drew was all very well in his way. He had a strong male face, well shaped with good bones, and an aquiline nose that could in profile give him an oddly autocratic look. Oddly, because everyone knew that Drew was the least autocratic person there was. As a teenager, he had unworriedly allowed the other boys to put him down, accepting their sometimes jeering comments about his clothes and lifestyle.

Drew’s parents had never been well off, and when his father died when Drew himself was barely sixteen, he had been forced to leave school and take over the running of the farm.

There had never been money to spare for the kind of things enjoyed by his peers, and Holly had always felt rather sorry for him, especially when the others teased him.

His dark brown hair looked thick and untidy, ruffled into slightly curling strands by the breeze. She contrasted it mentally with Howard’s expensive Knightsbridge haircut and sighed again.

Drew’s face and hands were brown; not the brown of a Mediterranean tan, but the ruddy brown of a countryman. Poor Drew! He wouldn’t have stood a chance against Howard…

What was she thinking? Rosamund had been the one to pursue Howard, not the other way round. She must have been, otherwise Howard would never have left her.

‘Both offside tyres are punctured, are they?’ Drew commented, squatting on his haunches to examine the damage. ‘Not much point in changing to the spare, then.’

‘No. I was going to walk to the village and ask them to come and pick it up at the garage.’

‘No need for that. I’ll run you back to the farm. You can call them from there. Get them to bring out another spare and fix it. Is this your only luggage?’ he asked, reaching into the boot and removing her case before Holly could make any objection.

Rather stunned, she followed him docilely to his Land Rover.

The Drew she remembered had surely never been as commanding as this; although, come to think about it, he had always had an air of calm dependability about him.

Howard was useless in a crisis. He lost his temper and put people’s backs up by criticising them. In fact, on more than one occasion he had severely embarrassed Holly with his attitude, something which she had chosen to forget.

In addition to her case there was a carefully wrapped parcel in the car, which she retrieved herself. Drew looked at it with raised eyebrows and a funny glint in his eyes.

‘Ah, a present for the happy couple. What is it?’ he asked her. ‘A time bomb?’

‘That’s not funny,’ Holly told him with dignity, softening a little to add compassionately, ‘I know how you must be feeling, Drew. I feel exactly the same way myself. But I’m sure it won’t last. The engagement, I mean,’ she added hurriedly, conscious of the fact that he was staring at her with a very odd expression. ‘I’m sure Rosamund will come back to you. After all, you’ve been together for so long. Since school, really, just like me and Howard. You mustn’t give up hope. I shan’t…’

When he didn’t say anything, she rushed on desperately, ‘I don’t suppose you like me mentioning it. Men hate talking about their feelings, don’t they? But… I thought it would help to know that—that I do understand. It can’t be easy for you—living here as well.’

Howard had already told her that he intended to give up his job and work for his new father-in-law to be. Rosamund didn’t like London, he had told her, and Holly knew why. Rosamund preferred to be a large fish in a very small pond than risk swimming in the much deeper and more anonymous seas of London.

Drew had his back to her. He was putting her case in the Land Rover. His voice muffled, he responded briefly, ‘That’s thoughtful of you, Holly, to think of me. You must be going through a bad time yourself at the moment…’

‘Well, yes, I can’t pretend it didn’t come as a shock,’ she admitted frankly. ‘Not that I’d tell anyone else that,’ she added with firm pride. As far as the rest of their friends were concerned, she was going to give the appearance of quite happily accepting the engagement. After all, she did have her pride. ‘But I know it won’t last. They’re so totally wrong for one another. Rosamund is so hard and grasping, while Howard—’ She broke off and flushed in embarrassment, all too conscious of the fact that she had just been less than kind about the woman Drew loved, but apart from lifting one thick and surprisingly well-shaped eyebrow, as though inviting her to continue, Drew made no comment.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ she mumbled, still embarrassed. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’

‘Why not, if that’s the way you feel?’ Drew responded with commendable tolerance. ‘I’ll have to lift you into the Land Rover. You’ll never make it in that skirt.’

It was true, she wouldn’t. The skirt was brand new, and very short and straight, in line with the new autumn fashions. It curved very pleasingly along the feminine lines of Holly’s neat little waist and hips, stopping just half-way down to her pretty knees, and the only way she could have climbed into the Land Rover in it would have been either by ripping the seams or by removing it completely, neither of which she wanted to do.

‘I’m afraid I’m rather heavy,’ she apologised self-consciously as she walked towards him.

Howard liked slim girls. He had often commented on her own hearty appetite and curving figure, and Holly was all too well aware that she did not have the sylph-like figure of Rosamund.

‘You think so?’ Drew asked, lifting her effortlessly. ‘Believe me, after heaving sheep and bags of feed into this thing, lifting you is nothing.’

Holly wondered doubtfully if he was trying to pay her a compliment. If he was, she was even less surprised at Rosamund’s defection.

Even so, there was something comfortingly reassuring about the strength in Drew’s arms as he carefully lifted her into the passenger seat. As she bent forward slightly to tuck her head under the top of the door, one dark wing of hair brushed his face.

He tensed instantly and so did Holly, not sure what was wrong, until she realised that holding her had probably brought home to him that he had lost Rosamund, and she looked at him compassionately and said earnestly, ‘Oh, Drew, it’s awful, isn’t it? I miss Howard so much, and you must feel the same way about Rosamund.’

The tears she had fought valiantly to control all week weren’t far away, but she couldn’t cry all over Drew. It just wasn’t fair.

‘There’s no one else in London then, who might take his place?’ he asked casually.

She shook her head, horrified by the suggestion. ‘No. No… There never has been. It’s always been Howard. Just as it’s always been Rosamund for you. I remember how you used to wait for her coming out of school, after you’d left… Do you? You used to be there when we got off the bus.’

‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’ he agreed blandly, and as he moved his head slightly Holly thought she caught that same odd glint in his eyes again, as though something both amused and infuriated him at the same time.

Once he was sure she was safely in her seat, he went back to the car, found the triangle, put it up and then came back, swinging himself into the driver’s seat and slamming the door shut.

‘Sorry about the state of this,’ he apologised above the noise of the engine, ‘but I wasn’t expecting to rescue a damsel in distress.’

Holly giggled. Howard would never have said anything like that. He was thoroughly modern in every way, and never even opened the covers of a book unless it was a brilliant exposé on some unfortunate personality and very much in vogue. She doubted if he had ever read a fairy story in his life, and if he had he certainly wouldn’t admit to it. It struck her that it was a long time since Howard had made her laugh, much less shared that laughter, but she banished the disloyal thought firmly.

‘Here we are,’ Drew announced, turning into a cobbled farmyard.

Holly had visited the farm occasionally. To her, it had always been an exciting, fascinating place, but once they had all reached their late teens, Rosamund, Howard and one or two of the others had expressed disdain for such bucolic pursuits, and Holly had loyally said nothing rather than criticise Howard’s views.

Now, though, she felt the familiar frisson of pleasure she had felt as a girl as the Land Rover stopped and the yard was busy with a flurry of dogs, hens and geese, all of them making a considerable amount of noise.

A terrifyingly loud bellow far too near at hand made her jump, and Drew chuckled. ‘It’s all right, that’s just Ben.’

‘Ben?’

‘Benjamin Leonard Brahmin the Tenth. My prize bull,’ he informed her with a grin. ‘He’s tied up in one of the cattle sheds, and very resentful about it, too.’

‘Tied up? Oh, Drew, you haven’t gone in for all that intensive farming, have you?’

Her disappointment showed in her face. Drew’s father had grown mainly crops and kept a small dairy herd, and Holly had fond memories of the chickens who had scratched round the yard, and the goats kept by Drew’s mother. She hated the thought of the farm being converted into high-intensity units, with battery hens and tethered goats.

‘No, but Ben has fulfilled his duties for the summer, so I’ve brought him in to give him and the cows a rest.’