by Anne Mather
The door opened without too much effort on her part, and she could hardly believe her luck when she stepped out into the frosty night air. The door closed silently behind her, but she had to face the fact that if the boot of the Mercedes was locked, she might well find it difficult to explain why she had been outside once more if she had to go back indoors again.
The boot wasn’t locked. Oliver had finished unpacking its contents while Alix had been pleading with him earlier, and he had simply closed it before following her and Willie into the Hall. With a feeling of intense apprehension, Alix lifted the lid and climbed inside, breathing a sigh of relief as the darkness closed about her. The lid dropped easily into position, and she wedged her scarf in the gap so that it could not close completely and trap her inside.
She seemed to lie there for hours before anything happened. The cramped position she was forced to maintain made her feel sick, or perhaps it was simply the awareness of what she was doing and the risks she was taking to escape from this unfunny charade that caused her stomach to react so violently. She was a coward, she acknowledged that silently in the darkness, but even cowards had some contribution to make.
At last, when she was seriously contemplating the possibility of getting out to stretch her aching body, she heard the sound of a door opening and the murmur of voices coming nearer. She breathed a sigh of relief as she recognised Willie’s Irish burr, and the deeper tones she knew to be Oliver’s. Then, when she was waiting in anticipation for them to get into the car, she heard the sound of another vehicle coming swiftly up the drive, and anxiety took the place of expectation. It was the Landrover, she guessed, before she heard the door slam and Giles’ respectful tones, but when her spirits sank in anticipation of Giles escorting Willie and Linsey off the premises, the Mercedes door was opened, and its springs absorbed the weight of someone getting inside. She breathed another sigh of relief. Oliver must have sent for Giles to drive the Mercedes, which would certainly make things easier for her at the other end—wherever that was.
The door was slammed and the engine started, drowning all other sounds in Alix’s ears. It was infinitely less agreeable riding in the boot than on the comfortable leather upholstery, and her already aching limbs protested vigorously at this unwelcome jostling. It was difficult, too, to keep the lid of the boot from flying up as the wind got inside and tried to snatch it out of her cold hands.
After only a short distance the car stopped, and Alix listened intently for some indication of why this should be so. Then she remembered the gates and breathed again. Of course, if Giles was driving the car he would have to open the gates as well.
As if to confirm this point, she heard the metallic click as the gates swung wide, and then Giles came back and drove the car through, stopping a few yards further on to close the gates again.
She waited impatiently for him to get back into the car again. Soon now she would be on her way to Bridleburn, or even Newcastle, and from there it should not be too difficult to find her own way back to London. If Willie and Linsey Morris happened to catch the same train, that was just too bad. She would face their anger when she came to it.
She sighed. Giles was taking an awful long time closing those gates, she thought anxiously. A thought struck her. Could he possibly have noticed the end of her scarf protruding from the boot? Was he even at this moment considering it, and its implications? She winced as her shoulders moved in an involuntary shrug and dug into the metal base of her hiding place. No one would notice a trailing shred of wool in the dark.
After another few moments she could bear the suspense no longer. She determined to take a look, albeit a surreptitious one. With painful caution, she managed to lever the lid slightly so that she could peer over the rim, but blackness met her horrified gaze. And not the blackness of darkness either. She was not out on the open road, but locked inside some dark prison where the only smells were those of oil and exhaust fumes. A garage, in fact.
Gasping in dismay, Alix thrust the lid wide and clambered out, uncaring that she might ladder her tights in the process, intent only on gaining escape from this horrible place. Dear God, she would be missed, she thought in agony, and how on earth would she explain her absence?
But there was worse to come. When she eventually found the doors which she had foolishly imagined were the gates to the Hall, she found they were locked, and nothing she could do would open them.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
OLIVER entered the dining room at seven-thirty that evening to find only his aunt seated at the table. His dark gaze went broodingly over the chair which Alix usually occupied, and then settled on his aunt’s anticipatory features. Lady Morgan smiled, but received no answering salutation, asked, ‘Have they gone?’ in surprisingly tactless tones.
Oliver pushed his thumbs into the waistband of his denim pants, and rocking back on his heels, countered: ‘Where’s Alix?’
Lady Morgan frowned. ‘Alix? But—didn’t she leave with her husband?’
‘William Faulkner is not her husband!’ declared Oliver tersely. ‘He’s the editor of a magazine that isn’t known for its discretion in people’s private affairs! Alix isn’t married.’
‘What?’ Lady Morgan gasped. ‘You don’t mean that—that she—’
‘—worked for the same magazine?’ Oliver’s voice was bored. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.’
‘But, Oliver…’ His aunt was nonplussed. ‘Oh, that deceitful girl! How—how could she?’
Oliver’s nostrils flared. ‘The point is, she didn’t,’ he stated flatly. ‘That’s why Faulkner came here.’
Lady Morgan shook her head confusedly. ‘Even so, when I think of the way I confided in her…’
Oliver sighed. ‘Save the dramatics, Grizelda. Where is she?’
‘Well, how should I know?’ cried his aunt, taking out her handkerchief and blowing her nose. ‘I haven’t spoken to her since we got back from Newcastle.’
‘You haven’t?’
‘No.’ His aunt regarded him indignantly. ‘When I came indoors she was with you.’
‘But didn’t she have tea with you and Melly?’
‘No, she did not. Melissa told me she’d gone to her room, and I assumed it was to pack. Melissa said she was thinking of leaving—’
‘Melissa said what?’ Oliver looked positively furious. ‘When was this? What did Alix say?’
‘Oh, what does it matter?’ exclaimed his aunt impatiently. ‘The girl was an impostor. I, for one, am glad to see the back of her.’
‘Well, I’m not!’ retorted Oliver coldly. ‘And you’d better get used to that idea.’
‘Whatever do you mean?’ Lady Morgan looked astounded.
‘I mean that if I can persuade Alix to stay, I shall.’
His aunt looked pale. ‘But… Melissa…’
‘What about Melissa?’
‘You—you were going to adopt her.’
Oliver uttered an oath. ‘What does that have to do with anything? I still intend to adopt her. Don’t worry, Grizelda, I’ve already set the machinery in motion. Melissa shall have what is right and properly hers.’
‘But—but what if Alix—’
‘Leave Alix to me,’ said Oliver quietly, and then paced up and down the room. ‘Where the devil is she? She’s always down to dinner on time.’
‘Perhaps she’s not hungry,’ remarked Lady Morgan shortly, and looking at his aunt’s affronted features, Oliver heaved a sigh.
‘Look,’ he said, halting by her chair, ‘I knew Alix wasn’t the librarian she claimed to be.’
‘What?’ Lady Morgan was astounded. ‘But how?’
Oliver shrugged. ‘Her lack of interest in the books in the library, to begin with. There are some valuable first editions there, books a librarian would recognise instantly. Alix never even gave them a second glance.’
‘And you let her stay?’ deplored his aunt.
‘Yes.’ Oliver was abrupt.
‘Might one ask why?’
Ol
iver raked a hand through his hair. ‘In the beginning, she intrigued me. Then, when I guessed what might be happening, I wanted to change her opinion of me.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t plan what came after.’
‘You became attracted to her?’
Oliver’s lips twisted. ‘That’s a mild way of putting it.’
Lady Morgan got up from her chair, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers. ‘So you’re letting her stay?’
He nodded. ‘If she will.’
Lady Morgan chewed anxiously at her lower lip. ‘I see.’
‘Why?’ Oliver frowned suddenly, struck by his aunt’s apparent distress. ‘What is it?’ He hesitated. ‘What have you been saying to her?’
‘Me?’ Lady Morgan turned innocent eyes in his direction. ‘What could I have been saying to her?’
‘You could have told her about—about Melissa.’ He stared at her intently, noticing the way her teeth dug deeper into her lip. ‘You did, didn’t you? You told Alix about Melissa. Why? When?’
Lady Morgan sighed, sinking down into her chair again. ‘I—well, this afternoon, if you must know.’
‘When you had tea?’ Oliver scowled.
‘Yes.’
He uttered an oath. ‘Why did you consider it your duty to tell Alix a thing like that? I intended to tell her myself.’
His aunt moved her shoulders in a dismissing gesture. ‘I felt she ought to know.’
‘Really?’ He looked sceptical. ‘Was that all you told her?’
‘What else is there?’
‘There’s Uncle Andrew’s will, isn’t there?’ he reminded her dryly. ‘But you wouldn’t mention that, would you?’
Lady Morgan’s breathing was quick and shallow. ‘Oliver, what I told that girl was said with the best of intentions—’
‘For whom? For me? For you? Or for Melissa?’
‘Oliver, Melissa is my granddaughter!’ she protested imploringly.
‘I know that. Who better?’ He heaved a deep sigh. ‘Grizelda, I’ve told you, Melissa’s future is secure.’
His aunt blew her nose once more. ‘Do you—do you intend to marry Alix?’
‘If she’ll have me.’
‘Oh, she’ll have you, all right,’ muttered Lady Morgan bitterly. ‘I knew she would. That was why—’
She broke off, but not before Oliver had heard those few damning words. ‘That was why—what?’ he demanded. ‘Grizelda, what else did you tell her? What else did you say?’
His aunt looked up at him appealingly. ‘Oliver, you’re a virile man. There may be children—’
‘I hope so,’ he confirmed grimly.
‘And—and then Melissa—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ he swore violently. ‘Money isn’t everything, Grizelda, although you and your family have made it seem so. Melissa will be far happier growing up with other children than in some rarefied adult atmosphere!’
‘Joanne never wanted her, Oliver. When you did, I—I was so happy.’
‘Oh, Grizelda! How can I convince you? My feelings for Alix don’t affect my love for Melissa!’
‘If only Joanne could have had other children…’
‘Grizelda, Joanne and I were washed up long before Melly was born. I guess I was too dedicated to my work. Joanne needed constant—companionship.’
‘But if you’d had children!’
‘Joanne didn’t want children to begin with, and by the time she’d decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea, I’d changed my mind. I didn’t think it was fair to bring kids into our kind of relationship.’
‘And yet Suomo—’
‘Grizelda, that trip to Japan was supposed to be a kind of trial period. We were going to try to make the marriage work. As you know, it didn’t turn out like that.’
His aunt looked down at her hands. ‘And yet—and yet Joanne told me that—that Melissa could have been your child.’
Oliver uttered a bitter laugh. ‘Yes, I guess she could, at that,’ he agreed dryly. ‘Except that she’s not—is she?’
Lady Morgan shook her head. ‘And you never knew…’
‘How could I? I went to the States later that year. By the time I got back it was all over, wasn’t it?’
‘Joanne would have aborted the child if she could.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
Lady Morgan bit her lip. ‘I—I wouldn’t let her.’
‘You!’ Now it was Oliver’s turn to look stunned. ‘But I thought—she said—’
‘—that the doctors wouldn’t allow it. I know. But that wasn’t true, Oliver. When she told me that she—that you and she had—well, I persuaded her that it might be your child!’
‘My God!’ Oliver closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again. ‘My God, so that’s why…’
‘Why I feel so responsible for Melissa? Yes. I feel as though I brought her into the world. The fact that she was lame as well seemed like the final humiliation to Joanne.’
‘It would!’ Oliver shook his head. ‘Grizelda, how could you live with this and not tell me?’
‘I wouldn’t have if—if—’
‘—if I wasn’t in love with someone else?’
‘Yes.’
He sighed. ‘Well, you’ve told me now, and as it happens, it makes not the slightest bit of difference.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘If Alix could care about me, believing that Melissa was my child, surely the fact that she’s not can only strengthen our relationship.’
Lady Morgan gave a defeated sigh. ‘Then you’d better tell her, hadn’t you?’
Oliver gave her a crooked smile. ‘And sort out another of the problems you created?’ he asked. ‘Didn’t your experience with Joanne teach you anything?’
‘Apparently not,’ his aunt replied quietly. ‘I think I’ll go to my room. Mrs Brandon can bring me up a tray—’
‘No!’ declared her nephew definitely. ‘No, Grizelda, you can stay here and apologise to Alix.’
‘But, Oliver…’
‘I insist,’ he said, and with a grim smile, he left her.
He mounted the stairs two at a time, and strode along the corridor to Alix’s apartments. He was impatient to see her again, and he could feel the stirring excitement of his body as he contemplated making love to her later.
He knocked sharply at her door, and waited for her to answer. When she didn’t, he knocked again, accompanying the action by calling her name, and turning the handle of the door when again she did not answer.
The room beyond was in darkness, and the lack of light puzzled him. Surely she couldn’t be in bed, and if she was, he was still determined to speak to her. He turned the switch and lamps flooded the room with light. There was no indication of her occupation here, but this was only a sitting room after all, and after a moment’s hesitation, he went through it to the bedroom beyond.
The lamps beside the bed illuminated its lack of occupation, but Oliver’s eyes alighted on her suitcases with sudden apprehension. Another look about him convinced him that she was no longer in the apartments, and with an angry exclamation he strode back through the lounge and out on to the landing.
The first person he saw was Makoto, hovering nervously at the head of the stairs. She looked questioningly at him as he brushed past her to descend, and on impulse, he said: ‘Have you seen Mrs Thornton?’
‘Thornton san gone,’ she stated, with a bow.
Oliver, who had been continuing on his way, expecting a negative answer, turned and came striding back to her. ‘What did you say?’ he demanded.
Makoto’s enigmatism had never annoyed him as much as it did at that moment. ‘Thornton san gone, Morgan san,’ she repeated politely, and Oliver clenched his fists.
‘Yes, yes, I heard you. What do you mean, she’s gone?’
Makoto bowed again. ‘Makoto see Thornton san going away this evening,’ she intoned. ‘Thornton san go in Landrover with man and woman.’
‘Faulkner and his assistant?’ demanded Oliver an
grily. ‘She didn’t go with them, Makoto!’ he snapped impatiently. ‘Giles took them back to Newcastle, to catch the train.’ He shook his head. ‘She didn’t go with them.’
‘Oh, yes, Morgan, san,’ insisted Makoto primly. ‘Makoto go outside and see Thornton san hiding in the back of Landrover.’
‘What?’ Oliver couldn’t believe it. ‘You mean when Giles brought the Landrover and the others were getting in front—’
‘—Thornton san get in back,’ agreed Makoto demurely. ‘Thornton san unhappy here. She want to leave. Makoto know.’
‘How do you know?’
‘My Missy say so. My Missy say Thornton san want to go back to London.’
‘Oh, God!’
With an oath, Oliver descended the stairs again, crossing the hall to the dining room with scarcely concealed fury. His aunt saw his expression and trembled before it.
‘Wh—what is it, Oliver?’ she stammered. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Alix has gone!’ declared Oliver grimly. ‘She hid in the back of the Landrover that took Faulkner and the other girl to Newcastle. She’s probably on her way to London by now.’
‘Oh, Oliver!’ Not for the first time his aunt felt a terrible sense of responsibility for what she had done. ‘Oliver—I’m sorry.’
‘Yes, so am I.’
Oliver flung himself into his chair, and when Mrs Brandon appeared to ask whether they were ready for dinner, he refused any food. Lady Morgan didn’t feel like eating either, and the housekeeper had to suppress her disappointment as she went back to the kitchen. Her roast beef was going to be spoiled, but even she sensed that something more serious had occurred.
‘My guess is it’s that Mrs Thornton,’ she told her daughter sagely. ‘Always said Mr Morgan had a fondness for her. And what with her husband arriving and all, there was bound to be trouble.’
‘He wasn’t her husband,’ muttered Myra reluctantly. ‘I heard her telling Morgan. Should have seen Makoto’s face when I told her!’
In the dining room, Oliver dragged himself up out of his chair with difficulty, and his aunt looked at him anxiously. ‘Where are you going?’
