by Sara Craven
'Are there generally a lot of visitors in the summer?' asked Rowan.
'Quite enough,' Grace admitted. 'The local pub specialises in bar snacks and has got itself into a couple of the eating guides on the strength of it, so we benefit indirectly from that. But we don't just sell to passing trade. We also supply gift shops in Keswick and Windermere with a range of ceramic plaques, souvenir mugs-that kind of thing.' She sighed. 'Never a dull moment!'
She waited for a moment, then said, 'Well, what about it, Rowan? Do you think you'll be able to cope? You're rather younger than any of the other assistants we've had Lynne, for instance, was nearly twenty.'
Rowan felt a dull flush rise in her cheeks. Antonia's deception was reaching beyond the select little group at Raven's Crag, she thought bitterly, and wished she could tell this friendly woman the truth. Yet how could she? To do so would involve an explanation of Antonia's motives, and Grace Lister was a friend of Carne's. Besides, to a stranger, Antonia's plotting and planning would sound totally incredible, she thought unhappily.
'I've always been used to responsibility---since my father died,' she said at last, rather awkwardly, and Grace's brows drew together in a swift, sympathetic frown.
'You poor kid! What a sad way to have to learn to grow up,' she said softly. 'Come with me now, and I'll show you the overalls-you'll have to shout up if you'd rather die than wear them-and also where that other essential process, the coffee making, takes place. It's no one's particular job, by the way-just whoever is least busy and most parched.'
The overalls were delightful, Rowan thought, fashioned on the style of a Victorian pinafore in a small flower print on a brown background. She wandered round the showroom, examining the pots with care and trying to familiarise herself with the prices, just in case she suddenly had to cope with an influx of tourists. Not that it seemed likely, she thought. It was still a little early in the season, and it was raining harder than ever.
She had had a look round the workroom and received a cheerful wave from Clive who was working away at his wheel, swathed in a voluminous, clay-spattered smock. She had drunk some excellent coffee out of a creamy mug, speckled with brown like a thrush's breast. She had dusted the display tables, holding her breath as she did so. Now she needed a customer-her first, she thought, as she perched on the stool beside the cash register.
Nevertheless when the shop bell tinkled, she started violently, and had to slide one foot to the floor to steady herself. The newcomer looked at her and grinned, and involuntarily she found herself returning his smile. He was tall, with dark curly hair and rather cherubic brown eyes.
'Hi,' he said, looking round. 'And where's Lumpy Lynne, the Pregnant Potter's Mate?'
'If you're a friend of hers, perhaps Mrs Lister might know.' Rowan moved to descend from her stool, but the young man-he was little more than a boy, she now realised-halted her with an upraised hand.
'Forget it. Just idle curiosity on my part, and as Mum will no doubt tell you, more idle than curious at that. I'm David Lister, returned to do my duty and study for blasted exams, even though something tells me that two years' work into six weeks won't go.' '
'I shouldn't think it will,' said Rowan, smiling faintly. 'I'm Rowan Winslow, and I'm the new shop assistant.'
He bowed gallantly, clicking his heels together. 'And a great improvement on the old one, if I may say so. May I say so? For one thing, you're neither married nor pregnant--or at least I hope not. Who knows what grisly secrets those shrouds of Mum's conceal?'
'The usual standard equipment, I hope,' Rowan retorted, tongue in cheek. 'But neither of the fates you've mentioned have befallen me yet.'
'Then this is 'clearly my lucky day, and Thursdays are usually hell on wheels.' He swung the rucksack he was carrying to the ground, narrowly missing a display of tall pottery vases, and Rowan gave a cry of alarm,
'For heaven's sake, watch out! You'll smash something.' 'That's genuine Lumpy Lynne terminology if ever I heard it,' he said, grinning. 'Did she leave you her phrase book', by any chance?' ,
The bead curtain which separated the showroom from the other part of the cottage swung aside and Grace Lister appeared.
'Oh, my God,' she said in a tone of deep suffering. 'No wonder it's raining! I thought you were still halfway up some frightful mountain. Rowan, this is my younger child, whom I do not recommend. I heard you yell out. I suppose he was doing his normal mass destruction bit.'
'Mother, you wrong me.' David put an arm round her and kissed her resoundingly on the cheek. 'Is there any lunch? Mountaineering is hungry work, you know.'
'And naturally you've been starved all the time you've been at the Masons', his mother scoffed. 'Lunch will be in an hour, and if you can't hold out until then I suggest you go and concoct yourself a sandwich, and stop bothering our new assistant. I don't want Rowan handing her notice in as soon as she's begun.'
'Nor do I.' David's face assumed an expression of mock horror. 'Where did you find her, by the way-if it's not a secret?'
'None at all,' Grace said blandly. 'She's a distant relation of Carne Maitland's, staying at Raven's Crag for the summer, and she needed a job.'
'Oh-so Carne's back is he?' David's tone held indifference, and something more, and Rowan saw Grace give him a sharp look. He bent and picked up his rucksack. ‘Right, I'll go and make that sandwich, and have a bath, I think.' He smiled at Rowan, a cheerful grin lifting the corners of his mouth. 'See you later, Rowan, I hope. Things are looking up round here at last!'
'I apologise for my embryo Casanova,' Grace said drily when he had gone. 'Don't hesitate to slap him down if he steps out ofline in any way. As you've probably found out for yourself, there aren't a great many young people in the immediate vicinity, and David's a social animal, if ever there was one.' She sighed. 'That's why I agreed to let him go on this rock-climbing course with some of his school friends, when I suppose he really should be buckling down. Fortunately, he's reasonably bright-one of these lucky people who can skim through with the minimum effort. What about you, Rowan? Didn't you want to continue your education, and perhaps go on to university or art college?'
Rowan smiled rather tightly. 'That's a sore point at the moment,' she said after a pause. 'I-I haven't decided what I want to do with my life yet. But it certainly wouldn't be art college,' she added hastily.
'No?' Grace's brows rose. 'Yet why should you? 1 suppose it's just because my mind always tends that way, and knowing you're related to Carne . . .'
'But I'm not. Not in any way,' Rowan said hastily. 'My stepmother is his distant cousin, that's all.'
'I see.' By her tone, Grace obviously saw nothing at all. 'I'm sorry, dear. I got the impression last night that it was Carne who was responsible far you, and I assumed . . .' She broke off. 'My family will tell you I'm always jumping to the wrong conclusions,' she added ruefully. 'I'd better get back to my pot before I drop any more bricks!' She gave Rowan another, rather uncertain smile and vanished.
Rowan sat dawn on her stool again, with a little sigh. Grace, she thought, must be mistaken. The last thing Carne Maitland wanted was the kind of responsibility that she represented. He had made that mare than clear already, she told herself, wincing.
And David's arrival could present a fresh complication. Rowan had little doubt that he would ask her to go out with him, and refusal would be difficult without hurting his feelings, yet he was too young for her in every way, and not merely in years.
And besides, she thought, staring out through the rainwashed windows at the deserted street, even if David happened to be a mare than eligible bachelor, it would still make no difference when there was only one man in the world that she wanted - and he was totally out of reach.
CHAPTER SIX
IN spite of Rowan's forebadings, the next few weeks passed mare swiftly and peacefully than she had dared hope. April gave way to May, and warmer weather, bringing the arrival .of the tourists in increasing numbers.
She found
she was enjoying her work at the pottery, even though it was hardly intellectually demanding. She liked sharing the customers’ obvious pleasure in their purchases, and the craftmanship they represented. She had even made a tentative attempt at throwing a pat herself, warmly encouraged by Grace, and when business in the showroom permitted she watched, fascinated, the practical afternoon demonstrations they staged.
And David was too busy making up far last time with his studies to provide any real embarrassment, even though he made a point of coming down to the ,showroom for a brief chat on most days when he returned from school. It disturbed Rowan a little to realise that Clive and Grace were prepared quite benevolently for David to start dating her once his exams were over in June. From remarks Grace had made Rowan gathered that David had at one time been paying a lot of attention to the girl in the village shop, Beth Wainwright, but this had not pleased his parents.
'They're a strange family,' she had commented frankly one day when she and Rowan were having coffee together during a quiet spell in the shop. 'They seem to have an ill built chip on their shoulders which goes back generations according to the locals. Beth's a nice enough girl in her way, but her brother Jeff is a nasty piece of work. Never has a steady job, but always seems to have plenty of money. I was afraid that David's friendship with Beth might bring him into rather too much contact with Jeff, who's a couple of years older and has all a ne'er-do-well's questionable glamour.'
'There's a funny atmosphere when you go into the shop,' Rowan said slowly. 'Not the busy, gossipy one you'd expect from a small village store, but rather secretive and withdrawn. They're never friendly.'
'Well, there could be a reason for that,' Grace said briskly. 'Jeff persuaded your-Carne to give him a part time gardening job at Raven's Crag, but it didn't work out for some reason, and Jeff was fired. And Mr Wainwright's sister Maggie used to help Sybilla with the housework until your stepmother's arrival--so there would be a little overspill of bad feeling as there've been two jobs lost at the house.'
'Oh, lord!' Rowan was dismayed. 'I had no idea. And yet the day we arrived they were odd.'
Grace laughed. 'Well, it could be that, or it could be just the Wainwrights. They're fools to themselves. They could have a marvellous business if their attitude was just a little more congenial.'
Reflecting on this conversation later, Rowan thought it was too easy when she was chatting to Grace to forget that she was only supposed to be sixteen.
Grace had already commented more than once that Rowan had an old head on young shoulders, and Rowan herself almost gave the game away by practically volunteering to drive the van to Windermere with a rush order of plaques which no one really had time to deliver.
As the point was being argued over by Grace and Clive, she had said eagerly and unthinkingly, 'But I'd love to go . . .' and then seeing their surprised looks, she had hastily corrected herself, 'If only I were old enough to drive.'
'Even if you were, you'd have to have a qualified driver sitting with you,' Grace said kindly. 'We went through all that with David. Fortunately, he passed first time-God knows how. We reckoned the examiner was so amazed to find he was still alive at the end of it that he passed him in gratitude.'
Rowan was furious with herself for the near-slip, and even angrier over the situation which had provoked it. She arrived back at the house that evening in no very good temper. Even the lush beauty of the rhododendrons towering above her on both sides of the drive failed to soothe her, and the sight of Antonia sitting at the kitchen table reading a magazine with not a sign or a smell of dinner anywhere brought her to simmering point.
'Aren't we going to eat this evening?' she demanded, dumping her shoulder bag down on the table.
Antonia yawned. 'Carne's taking me out. I'm absolutely exhausted! I've been working all day.'
Rowan looked caustically around her before she moved to the freezer to find something for herself. Antonia was constantly complaining of being dog-tired and overworked, but however she occupied herself during the day, there were few signs of her activities in the house. Raven's Crag was losing that pristine quality it had enjoyed when they arrived. The gloss was noticeably wearing off, because preserving it took more time and energy than Antonia was prepared to devote to it.
I suppose she'll let it deteriorate to a certain point and then present Carne with an ultimatum that she must have help, Rowan thought.
'Did you get paid today?' Antonia asked, as Rowan filled a saucepan with water and put it on the hob to boil.
'Pay-day is tomorrow. Why do you ask?' Rowan checked in the fridge that there was still some of yesterday's lemon cheesecake left.
Antonia shrugged. 'It occurred to me that it was about time you started contributing something to your keep,' she said gently.
Rowan swung round. 'My keep?' she exclaimed. 'Good God, Antonia, look around you! There's a list of menus for the week pinned up on the wall, and the freezer is full to bursting. I thought that was my keep.'
'As you wish, of course,' Antonia shrugged again, and turned the page of her magazine. 'I thought you might be getting a conscience over living here at Carne's expense when you were earning yourself. How much do they pay you, by the way? I don't think you've ever mentioned it.'
'No, I don't think I have,' Rowan retorted coolly. 'Because I don't think it's any of your business. Has Carne suggested I should start contributing to the household budget?'
'Not in so many words,' Antonia said softly. 'But I imagine he's a little--surprised, shall we say, that you haven't even offered to do so. I can't imagine what you do with your wages. You never go anywhere or buy anything.'
'I save it,' Rowan said pleasantly. 'In a bank account in Keswick, which Clive very kindly drove me in there to open when I started work. He was a little--surprised, shall we say, that you hadn't already done so.'
A slight flush rose in Antonia's face. 'Perhaps you'd like to inform him that I'm not your keeper.'
'But that's exactly what you've made yourself-remember?' Rowan flashed. 'I'm 'sixteen, stepmother dear, according to your little fabrication, so you can't complain when people treat me as if I was really that age, and expect you to do the same. Why, I can't even use my driving licence, and Clive and Grace needed a driver badly today. I could have helped out, but because of your stupid lie I had to keep quiet.'
'Well, three cheers for the little friend of all the world!' The line of Antonia's mouth was suddenly ugly under her make-up. 'You needn't be so bloody sanctimonious about my fib. Lying should be second nature to you. Your father did enough of it towards the end of his career. He even made me believe he was a rich man.'
Rowan said, her voice shaking, 'You-unutterable bitch!' and started round the table towards her. She had some crazy idea of taking Antonia by the shoulders and shaking her until her teeth rattled, and she was almost choking with grief and rage.
Antonia leapt up with a squeal of alarm, dropping her magazine. 'Keep away from me, Rowan! Carne--oh, darling, help me! Keep her off me. I think she's gone mad!' Rowan felt a hand grip her shoulder. She swung round arid glared up at him through eyes hazed with tears.
He demanded coldly and furiously, 'What the hell do you think you're playing at?'
Antonia said hysterically, 'I mentioned poor darling Vic, and she suddenly went berserk. She hates my talking about him. She's never been able to accept what we were to each other.'
Rowan said in weary disgust, 'Oh, my God!' and sank down on the bench.
Carne's voice was level. 'I think you'd better go up to your room until you can control yourself. It's time you began to grow up, Rowan, and learned that there's some behaviour that just isn't acceptable. I think making jealous scenes over your father's widow comes into that category, don't you?'
She didn't look at him. In the same weary tone she said, 'You don't really expect me to answer that.'
'I don't expect very much of you at all, Rowan, and yet I'm constantly disappointed just the same.' His voice bi
t. 'When are you going to start behaving like a normal human being?'
'Probably when I get away from here,' she said quietly. 'Would someone please turn off that pan before it boils dry? I was intending to heat up my supper, but I suddenly seem to have lost my appetite.' She picked up her bag and walked out of the kitchen.
She was shaking inside when she reached her room, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her immediate impulse was to go into Keswick somehow first thing in the morning and withdraw all her money from the bank and return to London, but calmer reflection told her that if she did this she would be letting the Listers down badly because they were counting on her to work in the shop until the end of the season. She wondered if they would be willing to accommodate her in their spare room, but had to dismiss that. Carne was their friend, and she was living under his roof. If she wanted to leave, they would want to know why-and what could she say?
Looking back, she had to admit Carne's interruption had been a timely one for all sorts of reasons, even though it had ended to her disadvantage. But she could imagine what the Listers would think if the story was repeated to them, and she also had to admit that Antonia had been pretty convincing.
Beware Antonia and her spur-of-the-moment lies, she thought bitterly. She could see now how easily the initial untruth about her age had come into being. She found herself recalling long-forgotten incidents in her childhood, when Antonia's word had been accepted above her own, and remembered her miserable bewilderment when her father rather brusquely waved aside her stumbling explanations. But she had been too young then to recognise that Antonia was lying. She had thought her stepmother was genuinely mistaken.
