Cuckoo in the Night

by Pamela Kent

  The only thing she said to Janine before she left was:

  “I never want to go back to Sandals. Sell it for me!”

  And then, having attended her sister’s wedding reception in a small but exclusive London hotel, she set sail for Madeira.

  It was to be Madeira first, North Africa for a short while after that, and then the Bahamas. Lady Hannaford was of the opinion that the Bahamas would be excellent for her own rheumatism, and if the hotel where she had booked rooms didn’t produce a few comfortable, attentive, kindly, doting rich Americans in search of attractive little English wives who needed much care and consolation she would eat her hat.

  “And most of my hats are such top-heavy affairs I’d hate to have to do that,” she admitted.

  Chapter XIV

  IT was two months after her marriage to Tim that Janine returned to Sandals and was carried over the threshold of her first permanent home.

  Tim had re-bought Sandals, the house where he had been born, and in which he had grown up and been reasonably happy and contented most of the time. He had always had a great affection for it, apparently, and despite Lady Hannaford’s expressed opinion it was an ideal family house, and far less difficult to maintain than Tor Park, which was of institution-like dimensions. When Tor Park became his property he would probably sell it, and until then he promised to keep an eye on it in his aunt’s absence and make certain her retainers were earning the salary she paid them.

  Sandals, despite the brief unhappy period during which Chris was mistress there, had always appealed to Janine, and when she knew she was going to be mistress of it her cup of happiness was filled. She and Tim went all over it once they had moved in and decided how much, or how little, of Chris’s furniture they would keep, and the bedroom in which Chris had slept they decided to make over as a guest-room, with the secret panel securely sealed, and no danger of any outside entrant alarming the first unfortunate guest who slept there.

  Tim had decided to take up farming, and he was buying in large parcels of land adjoining Sandals. When his whole impressive scheme was under way it would be a most attractive and valuable holding.

  But before he got as far as deciding he would farm he and Janine moved in, and as they had only been married a couple of months there was still a great deal of novelty attached to the knowledge that they were man and wife. Their honeymoon in Venice was something that Janine would never forget—the beauty of Venice, the brilliance of its sunsets and its dawns, long days on the Lido acquiring a remarkable tan that suited Janine so much that Tim described her as his “golden girl” when he brought her back.

  And certainly marriage suited her as nothing in life had ever suited her before. When he first met her he had offended her secretly by describing her to her face as the pretty sister, and Chris the beauty. But after two months as Mrs. Timothy Hannaford that no longer applied. Janine had acquired a radiance that Chris, for all her delicate classical loveliness, would quite likely never be blessed with, and although she had also acquired a lot of expensive new clothes, since Tim appeared to have a great deal of money to burn and was delighted to encourage his wife to burn it—especially in Paris, which they visited on their homeward journey—it didn’t matter whether she was wearing a simple housecoat, slacks, jeans or an enchanting evening gown, she succeeded in putting over her radiance so that it was the first thing about her that strangers noted and commented on, and Tim was never tired of approving.

  As for Miranda, whether she missed Chris or not no one could tell, but she attached herself very firmly to Janine, and the old friendship that had grown up between them blossomed into a dog-mistress relationship that was almost bound to improve still more as time went on. They no longer went for long, lonely walks on the moor because Tim wouldn’t allow it, but they enjoyed plenty of exercise together just the same.

  Lady Hannaford’s wedding present to Janine had been a small cream coupé, and she drove it whenever she was unaccompanied by Tim. With Miranda on the back seat and the wind singing past the windscreen, that bright, gleaming gold wedding ring on the third finger of her left hand, she sometimes wondered whether she was awake or dreaming … and then glowed with the recollection that she was Mrs. Tim Hannaford, and her husband no longer talked about setting off on expeditions but seemed perfectly content to remain at Sandals with her. But if ever the day did dawn when he became restless she knew that she would uproot herself without a moment’s thought in order to be with him.

  She would never make the mistake that Stephen’s wife had made.

  Occasionally she visited Stephen’s grave and left a few flowers there as a tribute from Chris … absent even now, when, if she had really loved him, she would at least have provided herself with the consolation of visiting his grave.

  Tim was quite touched by his wife’s determination that Stephen—who had once treated her so badly—should not be quite forgotten.

  When she took roses from the garden and laid them on the grave he understood perfectly why she was doing it. But for her he might not have married Chris, and he might—it was just possible—have been really happy with someone else. One day in the late autumn when she was placing a vase of glorious, tangy chrysanthemums—also from the garden at Sandals—on the grave, she saw a tall, slim, elegant, fair-haired figure approach it as soon as she had left.

  The woman did not have any floral tributes in her hands, but she simply stood there, with bowed, shapely head and a small white cambric handkerchief tightly clenched in one of her black-gloved hands. Janine recognised her at once, and she thought of the day in Exeter when she and Tim had had lunch there … and Stephen and Mrs. Philip Hay had shared a bottle of champagne and enjoyed an expensive lunch together.

  Janine’s instinct to go up to her and speak to her was overcome when she realised it could do no good. The golden-haired widow had a strange look of being inconsolable, and she also looked very lonely and aloof and lovely. She stood there for about ten minutes, and then without making a single gesture she turned and walked away from the grave.

  Janine heard a car start up on the road, and she realised that Stephen’s visitor had really gone. Stephen was alone once more.

  When she reached home she was looking so sombre that Tim was concerned. But when he heard what had happened he understood.

  “Perhaps Stephen wasn’t so much to be pitied after all,” he observed. “Perhaps he did find someone.”

  Two days later they heard that Chris was to be married again. Tim tore the telegram that informed them of what was happening in half, and regardless of Lady Hannaford’s undoubted delight he cast the pieces into the glowing heart of a huge log fire.

  “Well, at least I’m glad I met the right Scott sister,” he remarked, and reached for Janine and held her close to him. He smiled at her a little twistedly. “If anything happens to me you won’t marry again within six months, will you?”

  “Oh, don’t, Tim!” Janine exclaimed, and the look on her face was more than enough for him.

  About Cuckoo in the Night

  When Janine Scott was summoned by her sister Chris to visit her home in Devonshire, she knew that something was wrong. Indeed, strange things were happening. A man was visiting her sister’s room at night, terrifying her to the core. Janine, on the other hand, met a charming local man called Tim Hannaford, who also made unexpected visits and appeared altogether intriguing… The alluring 20th-century love tale mixing mystery with romance was written by Pamela Kent, a pseudonym of Ida Pollock.

  A must-read for fans of literary romance and surprising twists of fate.

 

 

 
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