by Anne Mather
The meal progressed through roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, followed by a fruit salad, to the coffee stage, and refusing cheese and crackers, as she had done the night before, Alix carried her coffee into the library. She was less conscious of her solitary confinement in here, and she curled up on the couch and gazed into the fire.
It had been a curiously unsatisfying day, although she couldn’t altogether blame Melissa for that. Nevertheless, when she returned from her walk, it had been rather galling to find the child upstairs in her sitting room, taking tea with Makoto, with obviously no intention of attending any more lessons that day. That had been another of the reasons she had wanted to speak to Oliver Morgan, and she wondered whether the following day would follow the same pattern. Without his intervention, she didn’t see how she could alter it.
But it wasn’t just that which was making her restless. Her walk this afternoon had demonstrated to her how cut off from the outside world she was, and she still had no idea how she was going to make contact with Willie. What could she do? The only telephone she had seen was in the hall, with audible access to anyone passing through, and she wouldn’t trust either Mrs Brandon or her daughter not to listen in to any call she might make. She had no car, no transport of any kind; and she couldn’t even walk to the gates without first having Giles call off the dogs. Besides, the nearest village was almost three miles away, and her footwear had not been bought for hiking. She wondered if Oliver Morgan ever left the premises when he was in residence, or would that constitute a betrayal of his anonymity? If he had wanted to create a fortress here, he could not have done so with more success.
Surprisingly, Alix slept well that night. Her walk in the grounds must have been more tiring than she had thought, and not even the wind, which stirred in the early morning hours and tossed the shadows of skeletal branches across her windows, disturbed her.
She awakened soon after seven, and not willing to relax again and possibly oversleep, she got up and took a long, leisurely bath. Deciding her style of apparel was not important, she wore her favourite denim jeans and a red and white striped sweater, hesitating briefly over whether or not she ought to wear a bra. The ribbed lines of the sweater were very revealing, but as only Melissa was likely to see her, she gave in to her preference not to do so.
It was a little after eight when she went downstairs, and when she went into the dining room, she found the table had not yet been laid. Obviously Mrs Brandon had had no faith in her determination not to oversleep, and wanting to show that she was indeed up and waiting for her breakfast, Alix crossed to the door which led to the kitchens at the back of the house. A short passage ended in a baize-covered swing door, which gave with the lightest pressure of her fingers into the stone-flagged kitchen. It might have been a cold room had it not been for the enormous Aga stove pulsing out heat in the corner, but Alix was less concerned with her surroundings than with the man seated carelessly at the scrubbed wooden table, eating a plate of ham and eggs. She had not expected to find Oliver Morgan here, of all places, and she was immediately conscious of her intrusion, and the casualness of her attire.
He looked up at her entrance, and his eyes registered his surprise at her appearance. Perhaps he had expected Myra, as neither she nor her mother was in the room, or perhaps it was simply irritation that caused the sudden flare of anger that tightened his lips.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said when he made no move to get up and greet her, ‘I was looking for Mrs Brandon.’
‘She’s putting some laundry in the machine,’ Oliver Morgan told her shortly, taking a gulp of tea from the mug beside him. ‘She won’t be long. Do you want breakfast?’
‘I—’ Alix hovered by the half-open door. ‘Not what you’re having.’
‘No?’ His eyes were coldly mocking. ‘I thought you enjoyed your food.’
Alix stiffened. ‘Aren’t you being rather personal, Mr Morgan?’
‘I don’t see how I can be anything else, in the circumstances,’ he retorted dryly, his eyes frankly assessing. ‘You’re a big girl, Mrs Thornton. You can take it, I’m sure.’
Alix’s fists clenched. ‘Will you tell Mrs Brandon I’ll have some toast and coffee when she’s ready—’
‘Just a minute.’ Oliver Morgan pushed his plate aside and rose to his feet, tall and powerful in hip-hugging cream cords, stained with paint and what might be plaster, and a denim shirt that gaped across his chest. ‘There’s plenty of toast here, if you want it, and the percolator’s bubbling on the stove. That is unless the kitchen’s not good enough for you.’
‘The kitchen has nothing to do with it,’ retorted Alix coldly. ‘But I prefer not to indulge your sarcastic sense of humour any longer!’
He eyed her narrowly, moving his head in a gesture of indifference. ‘As you will.’
Alix sighed, and half turned away, but as he was subsiding into his seat again, she asked tentatively: ‘Will you be in to lunch or dinner today?’
He stretched his long legs beneath the table. ‘Is it essential that I should be?’
Alix wished she could tell him no. But she had to make the effort to speak to him.
‘I—er—I’d like to discuss Melissa’s timetable with you.’ she replied stiffly. ‘And—and what hours off I’m to be given.’
He rested his elbows on the table, and ran his hands round the back of his neck, under the untidy length of his hair. ‘I see.’ He looked her way. ‘I thought we dealt with all that.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Your time’s your own after four o’clock, Mrs Thornton. And naturally you won’t work weekends, I appreciate that. What more do you want?’
Alix sighed. ‘It’s not just that, Mr Morgan.’
‘Then goddammit, what is it?’ He got up from the table again, and for an awful moment she thought he was going to strike her. ‘Look, Mrs Thornton, I meant it yesterday when I said I had work to do. I have a piece I have to get finished before Christmas, and I thought that by bringing you here I was getting someone who could cope!’
‘I can cope,’ she exclaimed indignantly, stung by his tone. ‘At least, when I know what it is I have to cope with!’
He glared at her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Alix unconsciously squared her shoulders. ‘There are—complications I have to discuss with you, Mr Morgan. If we could arrange an appointment—’
‘To hell with appointments! I don’t make appointments, Mrs Thornton. If you have something to say come right out and say it, for God’s sake!’
Alix hesitated. ‘I—I’d prefer to speak to you privately,’ she insisted.
He shook his head irritably, flinging out a hand to indicate the chair across the table from his. ‘Why can’t you come and sit down and have some breakfast and talk to me now? I promise I won’t indulge my sarcastic sense of humour!’
‘Mrs Brandon will be back at any minute. You said so.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘It’s that private, eh?’
Alix wished he hadn’t the power to embarrass her so easily. With a little shrug she turned away, saying tautly: ‘I’ll speak to you when you have more time, Mr Morgan,’ and the door swung to behind her.
He came after her as she had half expected he would. But she refused to stay in the room and listen to more of his scarcely-veiled insults, and she was crossing the hall to the stairs when his voice halted her.
‘You’d better come into my study, Mrs Thornton,’ he commanded harshly, and she looked round to find him opening a door to the right of the stairs. It was a room which hitherto Alix had not entered, but like the library opposite, it possessed a similar intimacy, enhanced by mellow panelled walls and the smell of leather. It was obvious that fires were burned here, too, although at present the grate was screened, and only the adequate heating system took away the chill. A leather-topped desk stood by the windows which overlooked the drive, faced on either side by soft, hide-covered chairs, but Oliver Morgan ignored these and merely draped his leg over a corne
r of the desk. Folding his arms, he waited for her to close the door, and then said grimly: ‘Well?’
Alix faced him reluctantly. ‘You’re making this very difficult for me,’ she said.
‘Why?’ He was unmoved by her diffidence. ‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it?’
Alix sighed. ‘Hardly.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet,’ she protested.
‘You were offered one.’
Alix’s temper came to her rescue. ‘Does it give you some kind of sadistic pleasure to bait people?’ she asked, and his lips thinned.
‘Is that what you wanted to ask me?’
‘No. No, of course not.’
‘Then I suggest you get to the point.’
‘You have a strange way of inspiring confidence in your employees, don’t you, Mr Morgan?’ she demanded.
His legs came down off the desk with a thud, and he straightened. ‘What is your problem, Mrs Thornton? I do not have the time or the inclination to stand here arguing my hang-ups. Do you or do you not have something you wish to say to me?’
Alix shifted her weight from one foot to the other: ‘Yes.’
‘Go on.’
She waited a moment, and then she said: ‘What can I do when Makoto insists that Melissa rests every afternoon?’
He was silent for several seconds, and then he nodded his head slowly. ‘It’s true, Melissa always has rested in the afternoon.’
‘And is she to go on doing so?’
He shook his head impatiently. ‘I haven’t thought about it.’
‘Then perhaps you should. She’s not a baby, Mr Morgan, and England is not Japan.’
‘I know that.’ He looked frustrated, and he paced restlessly across to the hearth and back before speaking again. ‘Of course, this interferes with your time for lessons.’
‘Yes.’
He paused. ‘How did Melissa react to you after I’d left yesterday?’
Alix shrugged. ‘Socially, very well. Academically, not so enthusiastically. I don’t think she’s used to—to—’
‘Discipline?’ Alix agreed, and he nodded his head. ‘She’s not. Much as I liked Miss Stanwick, I was always aware of her limitations: that was one of the reasons why I wanted to bring Melissa back to England.’ He halted then as though regretting he had said so much, and when he spoke again, it was much less openly. ‘I will speak to Makoto—and Melissa.’
‘If you explain that when she goes to school she won’t be able to rest in the afternoons—’ began Alix, only to be silenced again by his sardonic stare.
‘I know how to phrase the matter,’ he retorted shortly. ‘I am not without tact where my daughter is concerned.’
Alix flushed. ‘I never said you were.’
‘The implication was there.’ He hesitated. ‘Was there something else?’
‘Yes.’ Alix hated having to bring anything else up with him in this mood. ‘The problem of my free time.’
‘That’s a problem?’
She sighed. ‘Leaving the Hall is.’
‘The grounds, you mean?’ His eyes narrowed speculatively. ‘You want to leave the grounds?’
‘Is that so unreasonable?’
He shrugged. ‘Where would you go? The village—Bridleburn—is a quiet community. There’s only one store, and even the children are taken some distance to school. Newcastle, as you know, is more than thirty miles away.’
‘There are buses,’ she told him quickly, and he inclined his head.
‘Yes, there are. But I shouldn’t rely on them when the weather gets bad.’
‘Are you suggesting that I don’t leave the Hall?’ she demanded, aware of an increasing feeling of chill.
‘I’m suggesting that you make use of the facilities we have here in your spare time,’ he told her evenly. ‘The grounds are extensive. You can go for walks, you can ride; there are books and television—’
‘It sounds suspiciously like a prison to me!’ she retorted, hiding her unease.
He frowned. ‘I am sure the conditions here were explained to you before you left London. Grizelda—Lady Morgan—had strict orders that she must stress the point of the isolation.’
‘She did. But—’
He made an irritated gesture. ‘I go into Newcastle myself approximately once a month. If you’re so desperate for activity, you may accompany me.’
Alix trembled. A concession, at last. The prisoner was accompanied by an escort! ‘I—is there some reason why I shouldn’t make my own way there?’ she queried carefully. ‘Providing I’m prepared to risk the uncertainty of the buses?’
Oliver’s frown deepened. ‘You seem uncommonly eager to show your independence, Mrs Thornton. I’m beginning to suspect your relationship with your husband may not be as distant as you would have me believe.’
‘That has nothing to do with it,’ she said sharply.
‘Then what has?’
‘I—I just think I ought to be able to come and go as I please.’
‘I see.’ His grey eyes narrowed between thick lashes, ‘And what guarantee would I have that you might not go rushing to the nearest telephone to contact some newspaper in London?’
Alix swallowed the gasp that almost escaped her. ‘I—contact some newspaper in London!’ she echoed faintly. ‘Wh—why would I do that?’
His sigh was an angry expellation of his breath. ‘I do not believe you’re that naïve, Mrs Thornton,’ he snapped. ‘You know damn well why it could be in your interests to do so. I explained the situation when you came here, and you must know what the gutter press would pay to learn of Melissa’s existence!’
It was worse than she had imagined, and she had to thrust her hands into the pockets of her jeans to prevent him from seeing how they were trembling. ‘And—and you think I would do that?’ she stammered.
‘I don’t know, Mrs Thornton. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and say that I don’t know you well enough yet to gauge what you might do. But since I married Joanne—and God knows what a disaster that turned out to be—I have become somewhat of a pariah in press circles. I admit, I don’t suffer fools gladly, and in spite of the fact that I put up with a good deal of inconvenience, I don’t honestly see why being a sculptor pre-empts my right to live my life as I want it. But I accept…and you may even have noticed…’ his lips twisted wryly, ‘…that I am not the most patient of men, and in consequence I have made enemies. Some of them in Fleet Street. That’s why I have to make these conditions. Melissa’s happiness must always come first.’
Alix digested this with difficulty. ‘But—I have to write to—to my family…’
He inclined his head sardonically. ‘Naturally, you’ll tell them that you’re getting on well with the cataloguing of the library.’
‘And if I refuse to lie about it?’
‘I hope you won’t.’
‘Oh, but this is archaic!’ she exclaimed.
‘On the contrary, this situation would not have existed even a hundred years ago.’
Alix clenched her fists. ‘And—and what if I choose to leave? What if I resign?’
He turned to look out of the windows. ‘Why would you want to do that, Mrs Thornton? The salary is more than generous, I do know that, and your working conditions are hardly arduous. What possible reason could you have for wanting to leave?’
Alix shook her head helplessly. ‘It—it’s just the—the feeling of being cut off.’
‘Hardly that. There’s a telephone.’ His eyes grew lazily mocking. ‘You miss the company of—men, perhaps?’
‘I didn’t say that!’
‘No,’ he agreed, ‘but all this indignation—there has to be a reason.’
‘My reasons are as I’ve stated. I—if that’s all, Mr Morgan, I’d like some breakfast.’
He left the windows to come and stand in front of her, and it took all her determination not to flee before the penetration of that speculative stare.
‘I wo
nder why Grizelda sent you here,’ he murmured, half to himself, and she didn’t need the quickening of her own breathing to know that his earlier irritation had given way to an equally disturbing curiosity.
‘Not—not everyone wanted to come and live so far away from London,’ she stammered in reply, and his eyes darkened to the colour of wet slate.
‘But you did!’ he observed softly. ‘Why? Have I got it all wrong? Are you running away from that husband of yours?’
‘No!’ Alix didn’t know how long she could sustain this conversation. ‘Well, thank you for giving me—’
‘Seth tells me you went walking yesterday,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, and she wondered if anything happened here without his being aware of it. But she nodded her head, and he looked thoughtful. ‘You won’t get lost, will you?’ he probed. ‘Darkwater covers a deal of ground, and I should hate you to fall into the pool.’
‘The pool?’ Alix frowned, curious in spite of herself…
‘Darkwater Pool, from which the Hall derives its name. It’s been here for a great number of years, and nobody seems to know how deep it is. I should imagine it’s known its share of secrets in its time.’
Alix had been listening intently, but when she looked up and encountered his mocking gaze, resentment stirred inside her. ‘What you’re really saying is—don’t stray off the reservation, aren’t you, Mr Morgan?’ she exclaimed bitterly.
‘No. You couldn’t do that, Mrs Thornton,’ he retorted pleasantly. ‘And my concern was genuine. The pool used to have quite a notorious reputation before the land was fenced off, and I should hate to think of you struggling out of your depth with no one there to save you.’
‘Where is the pool?’ she asked reluctantly.
‘I’ll show you some time. When you’ve learned not to mistrust everything I say.’
Alix took a step backward. ‘I don’t mistrust everything you say,’ she protested. ‘Just because I was curious about my confinement here…’
‘You’re a contradiction, Mrs Thornton!’ he told her wryly. ‘You’re not like any married woman I’ve ever known. What went wrong between you two? Was he impotent?’
