Love Without Lies

by Lee Wilkinson

  ‘Miss Knight… I’m Mary Boyce, the housekeeper… Do come in out of the cold…’

  Returning her smile, Madeleine followed her into a large wood-panelled hall with polished oak floorboards and dark antique furniture that glowed with the patina of age.

  The huge fireplace was full of pine logs, and above the stone mantel there were green spruce boughs and spectacular swags of ivy and scarlet-berried holly. A bunch of mistletoe hung from a fine old chandelier, and a tall, beautifully decorated Christmas tree filled one corner.

  Cheerful and garrulous, Mrs Boyce went on, ‘You must be weary. Goodness knows jet lag’s bad enough, but when there’s a long delay on top of that…!

  ‘Mr and Mrs Rampling send their sincere apologies that they weren’t able to greet you in person. They’ve gone to Scotland to spend the holiday with their son and daughter and their family.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Rampling did explain.’

  ‘Well, now, if you’d like to come through to the living room…’

  The living room was white-walled and spacious, with oak beams and casement windows that looked over a pleasant garden.

  It was furnished with an eclectic mix of old and new—some beautiful antiques, a modern suite upholstered in soft natural leather, an Oriental carpet that made Madeleine catch her breath, and several paintings by Jonathan Cass. The sight of which gave her a pang. Rafe had owned several of Cass’s snow scenes.

  When she was ensconced in a deep armchair in front of a blazing log fire, Mrs Boyce said, ‘I’ll get you something to eat while Jack takes your luggage up.’

  Feeling too tired to eat, Madeleine said, ‘Thanks, but I’m not at all hungry. Though a cup of tea would be lovely.’

  ‘Then a cup of tea it is.’

  By the time she came back with a tray of tea and homemade cake, made even more soporific by the warmth of the fire, Madeleine was having a serious struggle to stay awake.

  Watching her stifle a yawn, Mrs Boyce put the tray down on a small oval table and, proceeding to pour the tea, said sympathetically, ‘You must be more than ready to get some sleep.’

  ‘I am tired,’ Madeleine admitted.

  ‘Well, as soon as you’ve finished your tea you can get your head down.’ Adding, ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes to show you round the flat,’ the housekeeper bustled away.

  Madeleine was just finishing her second cup of tea when Mrs Boyce returned and queried, ‘If you’re ready?’ Then, in concern, ‘I’m not rushing you, am I?’

  ‘No, not at all, I’m quite ready.’

  As she followed the housekeeper across the hall and up a graceful curving staircase with a griffin head as its newel post, she looked around her.

  It was a beautiful old house, she thought, utterly charming and unpretentious, with its simple white walls and black beams, its polished oak floorboards and linenfold panelling.

  At the top of the stairs Mrs Boyce turned left down a short, wide corridor, and opened a door at the end.

  ‘Here we are.’

  The living room was warm and cosy with an old, gently faded rose-pink carpet, matching curtains and a comfortable-looking suite. On the mantel was a small chiming clock.

  Though there was discreet central heating, a log fire burnt in a delightful little fireplace with a tiled surround and an elaborately carved fender. To one side, a basket was filled with pine logs and cones that gave off an aromatic scent.

  ‘What a lovely room!’ Madeleine exclaimed.

  Mrs Boyce looked worried. ‘There’s just one thing; I discovered earlier that the phone up here isn’t working. I really don’t know what’s wrong with it.

  ‘Of course, you could always use one of the downstairs phones.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Madeleine assured her. ‘I have a mobile.’

  Looking pleased that the problem had been solved so easily, the housekeeper led the way into a pretty, feminine bedroom with an en suite bathroom.

  Having turned back the duvet on the double bed, she indicated the cases which had been placed on an oak linen chest next to a cheval-glass. ‘If you want any help with your unpacking, I’m sure Annie will give you a hand…

  ‘And this is the kitchen…’

  Madeleine glanced around the well-equipped kitchen, which was bright and airy, with a natural pine table and chairs, primrose tiles and muslin curtains at the casement windows.

  ‘I hope it meets with your approval?’

  ‘It certainly does,’ Madeleine assured her. ‘The whole flat is really lovely.’

  The housekeeper beamed. ‘Mrs Rampling will be pleased. She was anxious that you should like it.

  ‘Now, you’ll find plenty of food in the fridge and cupboards,’ she opened the relevant doors to prove it, ‘but if there’s anything else you want, Annie will no doubt be shopping in the morning. She’s taking over the household duties until after the Christmas holiday.

  ‘There, now,’ she said as, the short tour over, they went back to the living room, ‘I’ll leave you to get some sleep.’

  At the door she turned. ‘Oh, I almost forgot; as it’s your first night here, the master is hoping you’ll join him for an evening meal…’

  There had been no mention made of either a wife or a family, Madeleine realised, though presumably there was a Mrs Rampling junior.

  She was just about to ask, when the housekeeper added, ‘Pre-dinner drinks are served at seven in the study, which is directly across the hall from the bottom of the stairs.’

  A second later she had closed the door behind her and departed.

  Though the invitation to dinner had been carefully phrased, it held an underlying hint of command that for some reason Madeleine found vaguely disturbing.

  She was a free agent, Mrs Rampling had made that clear, and if ‘the master’ had any ideas to the contrary…Well, he wasn’t employing her, she reminded herself, and, if the worst came to the worst, she could always leave.

  Irritated with herself, she sighed. She’d only just got here. Why was she thinking of leaving before she’d even met the man?

  It wasn’t like her.

  Deciding that it was simply because she was so tired, she pushed her irritability aside and glanced around the living room once more.

  On the far wall, a door with irregular panels of old glass gave access to an outside stone stairway guarded by a wrought-iron rail.

  The doors to the bedroom and kitchen were plain oak, while the door to the main part of the house was handsomely carved. As she admired it she noticed there was no key in the ornate lock, and felt a faint stirring of unease.

  Be sensible, she scolded herself; as the flat was part of the house, there should be no need to lock the door. Yet still that slight feeling of unease persisted, refusing to be banished.

  A closer inspection showed that, though the door leading to the stone stairway was securely locked and bolted, neither it, nor any of the internal doors, boasted a key. Not even the bathroom.

  But if the lack of keys became a problem she could always talk to Mrs Boyce about it, she decided as she went through to the bedroom.

  Much too weary to do all her unpacking, she dug out a change of clothing for the evening, her night things, her sponge bag, her cosmetic purse and her alarm clock.

  As she stripped off her clothes and donned her nightdress she saw with delight that it had started to snow, big flakes that drifted down like feathers from an angel’s wing.

  From being a child, she had always loved snow, and for a short time she watched the magical sight before closing the curtains.

  To make certain she didn’t sleep too long, she set the alarm for six-thirty, then climbed thankfully into bed.

  Madeleine had been asleep for some time when she began to dream. She heard a noise in the outer room, the faint click of a latch as a door was opened and closed quietly. That was followed by the stealthy brush of footsteps crossing a carpet, and in the way that dreamers did she knew that something menacing was standing just outside her
bedroom door.

  She got out of bed, but couldn’t bring herself to open the door and confront whoever or whatever stood there. Instead, she went through a door on the far wall and found herself in a dark, narrow corridor. Almost immediately she heard the footsteps behind her and fear clutched at her heart…

  She began to run blindly, down endless pitch-black corridors, the thing at her heels getting closer…gaining on her… She could hear whatever it was breathing now…

  Abruptly the corridor came to a dead end. She was feeling frantically for a door, or some other way out, when a cold hand reached out of the darkness to touch her…

  With a half-stifled scream she woke up, shuddering and panting, her heart thudding against her ribcage.

  As consciousness kicked in the nightmare faded, and just briefly she was disorientated until she remembered where she was.

  Reaching for the light switch, she flooded the room with light, blinking a little as her eyes adjusted to the brightness.

  A glance at the clock showed it was just turned six. Thankfully she realised that there was ample time to shower and change before she had to go down to dinner.

  She would have much preferred to stay in the flat and have a snack in front of the living-room fire rather than dining with the family, but as she would be living in their house it would make sense to start off on the right foot.

  In spite of the abrupt awakening she felt rested and refreshed, and, turning off the alarm, she stretched luxuriously before climbing out of bed and heading for the bathroom.

  Through the frosted glass she could make out that everywhere was covered with a white blanket and it was still snowing heavily. It looked as though Noel had been right when he’d forecast a white Christmas.

  By half-past six she was showered and dressed in a simple dinner dress in a silky grey material, her make-up in place and her blonde hair taken up into a gleaming coil.

  Intending to make a quick phone call to Eve, she went through to the living room, which was still comfortably warm though the fire had burnt out, and looked around for her handbag.

  Her flight bag was there but not her handbag. Where on earth had she put it?

  A brief search revealed no sign of it. Neither did a more thorough one.

  She could almost have sworn that she’d brought both bags up, but she’d been so dazed with tiredness, she couldn’t be absolutely sure.

  Had she left it in the car?

  No, she thought with certainty, she could definitely remember having the two bags with her in the living room. She had put them down between the side of the chair and the coffee-table, so she must have only picked up her flight bag and left her handbag behind.

  But there was plenty of time to fetch it and still have a word with Eve before dinner.

  Everywhere was still and silent, not a soul in sight, as she descended the stairs. Through the diamond-leaded panes of the landing window she could see that the snow was coming down even faster and a rising wind was whipping it along.

  As she crossed the hall she paused for a moment to admire the Christmas tree with its gleaming star on top and all its candlelights glowing. For anyone to have gone to so much trouble, there must be children in the house.

  Unwilling to burst in on the family unexpectedly, when she reached the living room she knocked.

  There was no answer, and she opened the door to find that the room was deserted. Crossing to the chair she’d sat in earlier that day, she bent to pick up her bag.

  It was no longer there.

  For a moment she was nonplussed.

  But of course the housekeeper must have found it and, unwilling to disturb her, taken charge of it.

  Oh, well, she thought philosophically, she could always ring Eve after dinner.

  When she reached the study she found that too was deserted. It was a comfortable, homely room. Built-in bookcases flanked the fireplace, and in the corner a grandfather clock ticked sonorously. Next to it, an octagonal table held a phone and a silver-framed photograph of a gentle-faced woman with greying hair.

  Several standard lamps cast pools of golden light, and a log fire blazed and crackled on the wide stone hearth. Below the mantel were bright garlands of holly and mistletoe and ivy.

  On the far left, through a partly open door, Madeleine glimpsed an adjoining office with an imposing desk that held a computer and an array of state-of-the-art equipment.

  She glanced at the clock and, finding it was still only ten minutes to seven, sat down in one of the deep leather arm-chairs drawn up to the fire.

  As she gazed into the flames, her thoughts went back to an old pub near Rye that Rafe had taken her to more than a year ago. It had been a chilly September day and they had lunched in front of a blazing fire.

  She could see his face with the firelight flickering on it. Visualise the tiny crescent-shaped scar at the corner of his mouth, the way he tilted his head, the quick, sidelong smile, the tough male beauty that never failed to make her heart beat faster…

  Though she hadn’t heard anyone come in, some instinct made her lift her head and look up.

  A tall, dark-haired man stood only a couple of feet away, his eyes fixed on her face.

  Shock hit her in the chest like a clenched fist. But it couldn’t be Rafe. It couldn’t.

  Convinced she was seeing things, she squeezed her eyes shut.

  When she opened them again he was still standing there, his green eyes cool, his face shuttered, silently watching her.

  Her heart began to pound like a trip-hammer, her head went dizzy and the blood roared in her ears, while darkness swooped, threatening to engulf her and drag her down into the depths.

  Somehow she fought against it and won.

  But still she could neither move nor speak, and for what seemed an age she simply sat and gaped at him.

  Wearing charcoal-grey trousers and a fine black sweater that pulled taut across his wide shoulders, he looked both disturbing and dangerous.

  He was the first to break the silence. ‘You’re even lovelier than I remember.’ His tone was as cool and biting as his gaze, so that the remark sounded more like condemnation than a compliment.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Her voice shook so badly that the words were barely intelligible.

  He smiled thinly. ‘This is my house.’

  She made a movement of denial. ‘Mrs Rampling said her son owned Hethersage Hall.’

  ‘I’m Harriet’s son. Or, rather, her godson.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Madeleine said jerkily. ‘I thought your godparents were called Charn…’

  ‘Yes, they were. However, when Harriet had been a widow for almost two years, she met and married George Rampling, a middle-aged widower with three grown-up children and a couple of grandchildren…’

  But Madeleine was no longer listening. Her thoughts skittering about like mad things, she realised that, as Rafe and Fiona must be married by now, this was Fiona’s house.

  Oh, dear God. She might walk in at any minute! Panic-stricken at the thought, Madeleine jumped to her feet. She must get away.

  She had only taken a couple of steps when Rafe’s fingers closed around her wrist like a steel manacle.

  ‘Don’t rush off.’

  ‘Please let me go…’ For a moment or two she tried to pull free.

  When, finding it was useless, she stopped he loosened his grip a little and, leading her back to the chair, pressed her into it.

  ‘I want to leave,’ she whispered.

  He shook his head. ‘Harriet was so pleased you were coming, so you really must stay. Otherwise I’ll get the blame for driving you away.’

  ‘What about your wife?’ Madeleine blurted out. He raised dark brows.

  ‘She won’t want me here.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’ he asked interestedly.

  For a moment she almost admitted the truth, then better sense prevailed and she began carefully, ‘As Mrs Rampling isn’t here and your wife is—’

  Once agai
n he shook his head. ‘She isn’t.’

  For a moment all Madeleine could feel was relief that Fiona wouldn’t walk in and find her there.

  ‘But I’m neglecting my duties as a host,’ Rafe went on smoothly. ‘What can I get you to drink?’

  ‘I don’t want anything to drink, thank you.’ Then, more firmly, ‘I’ve no intention of staying. I’m going back to London. Now.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t ask Jack to turn out again on a night like this.’

  ‘I’ll phone for a taxi.’

  ‘And do you think you’ll get one?’

  ‘Surely the conditions can’t be that bad?’ she protested hoarsely.

  ‘When I came home some time ago it was all I could do to get up the drive, and it’s been blowing a blizzard ever since.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘If necessary I’ll walk down to the main road and wait for it there.’

  ‘Do you know how long the drive is?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted.

  He smiled mirthlessly. ‘I thought not. It’s the best part of a mile, and because it’s in a dip the snow is collecting there. And even if you could struggle to the end of the drive, in weather like this I doubt if they’ve managed to keep even the main road open. In any event, you haven’t a hope in hell of getting a taxi, so you may as well sit down and relax.’

  ‘I’d prefer to go back up to the flat.’ She got to her feet and started for the door on trembling legs.

  Rafe easily reached it first and stood with his back to the panels, barring her way. ‘And I’d much prefer you to stay here.’

  She wanted desperately to push past him, but he looked so tall and dark and menacing that she hadn’t the nerve to try.

  When she hesitated, he added silkily, ‘I’ve been looking forward to having a talk with you.’

  ‘Then you already knew it was me your godmother had engaged?’

  ‘Oh, yes. When Harriet mentioned your name I was able to tell her I knew you, that you’d been Katie’s physiotherapist. She could hardly believe her luck.

  ‘I would have been at the airport to meet you, but I didn’t want you to change your mind about coming to Hethersage.’

  Firmly, she said, ‘Well, I’ve no intention of staying. If I can’t go tonight, I’ll leave first thing in the morning.’