Chateau Despair

by Red Rose Publishig

  She looked disappointed as Christine stood up, prepared to leave. “Won’t you stay and have a cup of tea?”

  “Perhaps another time,” Christine apologised. “I think I ought to try to make it home before it rains.”

  A rumble of thunder confirmed a storm was brewing.

  “Oh, yes indeed. I mustn’t keep you. You get home as quickly as you can. Don’t stand under any trees. It can be dangerous.”

  “Thank you, I shan’t dawdle.”

  Christine peddled off down the street as hard as she could. There were a couple of vans delivering goods, but otherwise the village was as quiet and sleepy as usual. After she left the small cluster of houses behind, the wind began to rise. The thunder grew louder and more frequent. A flash of lightning streaked across the sky.

  Christine rode with her head down as the rain started to fall. She wasn’t aware of the car until it suddenly came round the bend, travelling faster than traffic usually did on this road. The shock made her swerve crazily into the verge. She overturned the bike but luckily came away from the accident with only a bump and a scrape on her leg on the pedal.

  A moment later car screeched to a halt. The next minute he was standing over her and shouting at her.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing riding in the middle of the road?”

  Christine blinked up at him, for a moment unsure why he was yelling at her. Once she realized what he was yelling at her about, she tried to move but found herself trapped under the bike. Shame flooded her when she saw her bare legs exposed to the thighs.

  “Give me a hand will you,” she asked. “I don’t seem to be able to move.”

  “Are you hurt?” His inquiry was a bit late but she saw concern on his face. He was rather good looking if you liked the angry young men type. His eyes were deep blue, his hair black and cut quite short.

  “Other than a scraped leg and bruised pride, I’m just a bit shocked.” Christine crawled out from beneath the bike when he’d lifted it off of her. “I didn’t expect a car to come round that bend so fast. No one does because they all know it’s a blind spot.”

  “That’s damned ridiculous!” He helped her to her feet. “If you hadn’t been in the middle of the road it wouldn’t have mattered how fast I was driving.”

  “Yes, I suppose it was my fault, but so few cars use this road, and I wasn’t thinking. I was in a hurry to get home before the rain starts.”

  “You gave me a hell of a fright.” He scowled at her. “I might have killed you.”

  “It would have been my fault,” Christine’s eyes sparkled with humour. “You didn’t, so it doesn’t matter does it?”

  An answering smile flickered in his eyes.

  “Very true, but your leg is bleeding and the front wheel of your bike looks a bit twisted. You won’t be able to ride it home. Where do you live?”

  “At Penhallows. I’m Christine Kavanagh.”

  “I’ve just come from there. I’ve been talking to Mrs. Kavanagh.” He looked at her thoughtfully, then handed her a clean white handkerchief taken from his pocket. “Here, use this for your leg. I’ll strap your bike on the back and take you home.”

  Christine hesitated for a moment, but the rain was falling heavily now. It left her little choice but to accept his offer. “All right. It’s very good of you.”

  “The least I can do I should say.”

  He carried the bike to the rear of his car and strapped it to the luggage rack before climbing into the driver’s seat. After Christine settled in herself, she watched him shut the door and start the car.

  “I haven’t seen you before. Are you new in the area?”

  “At the moment I’m just visiting,” he replied. “I’m Matthew Crane’s uncle Paul. I had to…see someone about some work. I knew Matthew had written to Mrs. Kavanagh so I thought I would call on her while I was here.”

  “Oh, that was nice of you,” Christine remembered the young evacuee. “Matthew wants to come and stay doesn’t he?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know he’d written until yesterday. I thought he might be making a nuisance of himself, but Mrs. Kavanagh told me she would be pleased to have him.”

  “Yes, of course we shall.” Christine’s curiosity was aroused. “Does Matthew live with you?”

  “Yes, ever since his parents were killed.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realise. Poor Matthew! Was it the war?”

  “A direct hit.” Paul Crane’ eyes shadowed with grief. “Almost the whole street was destroyed that night. Matthew had been taken to stay with cousins until I came home. He’s one of the reasons I’ve been looking into the possibilities of work in the area. He loved it here after he’d been evacuated. He says he would rather live in the country than the town.”

  Christine was curious. “You said until you came back. Were you in the army?”

  “Airforce, actually. I was a navigator when we went down in the sea. Luckily, we’d been just off the south coast. I was in hospital for several months. After I’d gotten out, they assigned me a desk job. I’ve been offered a temporary posting near here. I might settle somewhere in the area after the war is over. It can’t be long now. I’m due for an honourable discharge soon so they tell me. I’m not a hundred percent fit yet, at least not for active service anyway.”

  “I’m sorry you’ve been ill. You must have had an awful time.”

  “No worse than a lot of others. I came out of it in reasonable shape, which is more than a lot of my friends did. The pilot of my crew was killed and those who’d survive were more seriously injured that I was.”

  “It must be hard to live with that. I didn’t suffer at all. I was at boarding school the whole time. I’m perfectly useless.”

  He chuckled. “I wouldn’t say that, Miss Kavanagh. I am sure you are useful for something.”

  “Running errands,” Christine noticed that he had lovely blue eyes. She was disappointed when he drew up in front of the house. He got out of the car walked round to open her door. He leaned her bike against the wall before offering his hand. “Won’t you come in for a moment?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m sorry I made you fall off your bike, Miss Kavanagh. I hope your leg isn’t badly cut.”

  “I expect it’s just a scratch. I suppose it was partly my fault.”

  “Yes, but I was going faster than I ought on roads like these. I also shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

  “I’ll forgive you,” Christine offered and they shook hands. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Crane.”

  “Oh, I should think we’ll meet again, when I bring Matthew down,” he said giving her a rather odd look. “Goodbye then, Miss Kavanagh.”

  “Goodbye,” Christine stared after him as he got in his car and drove off.

  He was rather nice, she thought. A pity about the damage to Harry’s bike, but she would ask one of the gardeners to look at it for her; they never minded doing odd jobs, especially when she asked.

  “Where have you been all day, Miss?” Henry asked as he took his seat by the fire for their afternoon tea. After the storm, the fire gave a pleasant warmth to the big, slightly old-fashioned room. “Have you hurt your leg?”

  “A silly little accident with a bike. It’s nothing. Shall I get you some tea?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Henry accepted the cup. He raised his brows at Beth as she handed him a letter. “What’s this?”

  “It’s from the County Council,” Beth frowned. “It’s about the new housing estate they are planning to build on that tract of open land beyond the village. They’ve discovered I own a piece of land next to the site and they want to buy it.”

  “Tell them they can’t have it,” Henry said. “You had plans for that yourself, didn’t you?”

  “Alex wanted to build a recreational hall for the village there.” An expression of grief passed across her face. “He always said the village needed something like that, but when he died, it slipped my mind. Then there was the war…”

  “If they buil
d that wretched estate I suppose there will be an even bigger need for a facility like that. We can’t do anything to stop them building I imagine?”

  “No, they put their plans for expansion back during the war, but I’m sure it will go ahead soon. And I expect there is a need for more housing.”

  “I should’ve thought there was plenty of rebuilding needed in the towns without spoiling good countryside,” Henry muttered. “Maybe the council will go back to sleep and forget it again for another ten years.”

  “Yes, perhaps,” Beth was amused. ”I’ll ask Jack’s advice this weekend.”

  “Yes, I dare say he’ll advise you,” Henry agreed. “If it was me I’d hold on for a while, but see what your brother thinks.”

  Christine was daydreaming, listening to them with half an ear. She didn’t think that an expansion to the village in the proposed situation would make much difference to them here at Penhallows. Things would change once the war was finally over, although hopefully those changes would be an improvement.

  The one sure thing that would be better was that Simon was coming home.

  The last time Simon was at Penhallows he’d promised to teach her to drive. At least if she knew how to drive she wouldn’t fall off bikes. Her leg was a bit sore, despite that she’d bathed it with warm water and put a sticking plaster on.

  She thought about the man who had shouted at her, then brought her home. His smile was quite pleasant, but didn’t make her heart beat faster the way Simon’s did.

  The pale sun filtered through pale green leaves, making a pattern of light on the well-trodden track. Christine often walked in the woods alone, in the evenings sometimes, enjoying the stillness that fell with dusk and the scents of night, which were different from those of the day.

  Her mother wasn’t fond of the woods, but Christine loved them. She liked to see the tiny, scuttling creatures she glimpsed in the undergrowth.

  It was Saturday afternoon and the wonderful weather that had started after that storm had tempted her out even though she was eagerly anticipating Jack’s arrival.

  As a child she had been his spoiled darling and learned to expect gifts whenever he visited, but it was not for the dolls or the pretty trinkets that she loved him. It was Jack who taught her to ride her first bike; Jack who had shown her how to build sand castles on the beach at Weston Super Mare; Jack who had gone swimming with her in the lake during the long hazy days of her summer holidays.

  Christine watched a squirrel make a death-defying leap from one tree to another. What amazing creatures they were! She glanced at her watch. It was past four. She would be late for tea and she was hungry again.

  She wished that she could go without food for a week so that she could be as slim as Caro, but her good intentions fled at the sight of a plate filled with cakes and buns.

  She turned homeward. In the pale sun the house was lovely with its yellow stone walls and the creepers that clung so lovingly to them. Penhallows was three hundred years old, generations of Winthropes growing up under its sloping roof. Christine believed that there had once been a monastery on the site of the house, but she had never seen any ghosts – though sometimes late at night the house seemed to whisper. How many secrets would it tell if it could really talk?

  The house was filled with old and much loved furniture, some of it antique and valuable, some of it simply battered and comfortable, a hotchpotch of items collected over the years by generations.

  She could hear laughter as she approached the back parlour. It was a young woman’s laughter, high and clear with an unusual timbre. She paused to listen – that was Jack’s voice, deep and approving, and her mother’s, brighter and more animated than of late. She must like their guest.

  Christine walked into the room, her eyes immediately seeking out the newcomer. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but felt surprise.

  Helene Picard was wearing a plain grey dress cut short in the utility style with a squared neckline, cuffed sleeves and a neat leather belt. Her hair was shoulder-length, a glossy brown and straight; it framed her face like a curtain of silk strands.

  She was the most beautiful girl Christine had ever seen. No, it would be wrong to call her a girl! She was a woman. She had seen and done things that Christine had not even dreamed of, and her suffering was in those smoky eyes…even when she laughed.

  She had a haunting stillness about her, an elegance that denied the cheapness of her clothes and something else, an indefinable quality that Christine could not name, though any man could have told her instantly. Christine felt distinctly uncomfortable.

  “Christine darling,” Beth said. “Come and say hello to our guest. Helene, this is my daughter Christine.”

  “Jack has told me so much about you,” Helene said in perfect English. Her voice was husky, her French accent fascinating. “I feel as if I already know you.”

  Christine hesitated. Her instincts told her to beware of this woman. Instinctively she disliked her, but realising that everyone was looking at her expectantly, she blushed and forced a smile.

  “You are very welcome at Penhallows. Did you have a good journey down?”

  “We were late starting,” Jack replied. “My fault I’m afraid. I had a spot of business at the workshops.”

  He was frowning slightly, as if he sensed her hostility and was disturbed by it. Christine gave him a fleeting smile, but did not go at once to hug him, feeling that this new person in his life had put a barrier between them. Instead, she moved away to sit beside Caro on the sofa. She sensed that Caro was the only one who had not instantly fallen under Helen’s spell.

  “I was saying to Beth that you could come and stay with me for a couple of days, before I go up to join Rupert. I should love to have you, and Simon might be home by the time I leave for Scotland.”

  “I’m not sure…” Christine glanced at her mother.

  “Perhaps in a week or two, when Caro gets back from Scotland,” Beth said. “You can’t run away the minute Helene arrives. It would be rude.”

  “But of course it would not,” Helene said; her manner seemed to imply that she thought Christine a sulky child. “I should hate to spoil Christine’s plans. I don’t want to be a bother to anyone. It is so kind of you to let me stay here for a while.”

  “It is the least we can do,” Beth said. “After all you have been through. It must have been terrible for you…”

  “Please, do not.” Helene stopped her with a shake of the head. “We shall not speak of that if you do not mind.”

  “Why don’t you take Helene upstairs?” Jack suggested. He looked directly at Christine. “Show her a bit of the house, get to know one another.”

  “That would be kind,” Helene said. “If Christine doesn’t object?”

  Christine did object, but of course she couldn’t say any such thing. Everyone would be shocked if she threw a tantrum. Clearly they all thought Helene was wonderful – though Caro might be reserving judgement for the moment.

  “Of course,” she said, trying not to sound sulky. “I’ll show you where all our bedrooms are, Helene – that will be a start.”

  She led the way through the hall, pointing out the various reception rooms as they headed for the stairs.

  “That’s Henry’s study. He doesn’t often use it these days; my mother has taken it over but we still call it his. The library is down there and to the left; I spend a lot of my time there on wet afternoons. The dining room is through there and the breakfast room is behind it. We use that just for the family; then there’s the small back parlour, the music room and of course the drawing room which you’ve already seen. We’ve got ten bedrooms and there’s the staff wing, of course.”

  They climbed the wide, curving staircase and walked along the hall. The carpet was a rich Persian blue and still good, though it had been there for as long as Christine could recall. When she arrived at the best guest room, she led the way inside; her eyes moved over the heavy blue brocade drapes at the windows to the fluffy candlew
ick bedspread. A bowl of spring flowers stood on the dressing table and had scattered yellow pollen on the polished surface of the wood.

  “I hope you will be comfortable here. If there’s anything you need just ask Millie or me. Mummy has so much to do that its best not to bother her with little things.”

  “I’ll remember.” Helene’s eyes were brighter now, less sad and faintly hostile. “I hope we shall be friends, Christine. It was not my wish to intrude on your family. Jack insisted.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “I went to the workshops in London to ask for a job.”

  “Are you a jeweller then?” Christine’s voice was so full of suspicion that it was impossible for Helene to miss it.

  “They were advertising for someone to clean the offices. Jack interviewed me himself because they have to be careful whom they employ for security reasons. When he heard my name he asked questions. He realized who I was and insisted that I stay at his house until he could bring me down and introduce me to your family. I had no money and nowhere to stay.”

  “Did he give you the job?” Christine’s eyes narrowed in dislike.

  “He said I deserved something better from the family.”

  “What do you want to do? If you don’t clean offices?”

  “I’m not sure…” Helens gaze slid away to the window. “What a beautiful view. You are so lucky to live here.”

  “But the house you lived in, in France was beautiful too – wasn’t it?”

  “Yes…” Helene took a moment to answer. “Yes, of course it was – until the Germans came. They took it over, and then the Allies bombed it and it was almost completely destroyed by fire.”

  “Oh…” Christine felt guilty suddenly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it was as bad as that.”

  “Why should you?” Helene turned, her eyes contemptuous as they swept over Christine. “You’ve never known what it is like to live in fear…to hide in a cold wet wood and wait for the enemy to hunt you down. You’ve never been cold or hungry…”

  “No, no, I haven’t,” Christine admitted, ashamed. “I’ve been safe and spoiled all my life. It was wrong of me to question you like that. I did hear that you were almost arrested by the Germans but managed to escape.”