Rachel Lindsay - Love and Lucy Granger

by Rachel Lindsay

  He crossed the floor towards her, pushing a lock of dark hair off his forehead. ' You're very silent.'

  ' Your remark took me by surprise. I assume it was a compliment?'

  ' Certainly. I don't like fat women!'

  His look was so appraising that she blushed and changed the subject.

  ' I thought I was the only guest here.'

  ' So you are. I'm not a guest, I'm a neighbour.' He perched on the arm of a chair. ' You, I take it, are Lucy Granger, the girl who saved Cindy's life?'

  ' Oh dear,' Lucy said. ' Will people always describe me like that?'

  'Not always. But for some rime to come!' He looked at the tea-trolley. 'Do I see an empty cup there?' She nodded and poured him a cup of tea. He gulped it down with enjoyment and then disposed of the rest of the toast and cake. He ate with such gusto that she wondered whether he had eaten any food at all that day, and seeing her watch him he gave a disarming grin.

  ' Sometimes I think I just come here for the food! There's one thing about Paul—he certainly does himself well.' The young man slid off the arm of the chair and bunged comfortably back in it, legs stretched out towards the fire.

  'You're Professor Granger's daughter, aren't you?' he said. ' I've read all his books and I attended some of his lectures at one time. He knew more about Greek drama than anyone I'd ever met.'

  Instantly she warmed.to him. 'Are you interested in it?'

  ' I was at one time. It's amazing the insight it gives you into human relationships. You don't need to read Freud or Jung to know what makes people tick. Just go back to Sophocles or Euripides. You'll find all the problems and all the answers there. As a matter of fact, wrote to your father about it and he sent me a most entertaining reply.'

  It was.the first time since her father's death that Lucy had heard anyone talk about him, and for the next half hour they discussed the last book he had written, arguing amicably over some of the interpretations. Though she did not agree with much of what he said, he was none the less good company, and she was laughing at one of his remarks when the door opened and Cindy came in.

  ' Lucy darling, how lovely to see you here. I'm sorry I wasn't at home to welcome you.'

  ' Don't worry about it. A neighbour of yours has been entertaining me,' Lucy said.

  'A neighbour?' For the first time she noticed the black-haired young man in front of the fire. The colour drained from her face and she stood motionless in the centre of the room.

  ' You!' she gasped. ' What are you doing here?'

  ' I've rented a cottage in the village.'

  ' But I promised Paul I wouldn't see you for a month and now you've made me break my word.'

  ' You haven't broken your word at all, darling,' the young man replied. ' You said you wouldn't see me, but I didn't say I wouldn't see you. And short of throwing me out, which would be very inhospitable, I don't see what you can do.'

  ' Oh, darling,' Cindy said, ' you're confusing me with words.'

  ' I'd confuse you with kisses if I could, but I think Lucy might be embarrassed.'

  Looking from one to the other, Lucy was conscious of a sense of shock. When the man had first come into the room, she had noticed his lack of introduction and had assumed the omission to be one of forgetfulness. Now she realized it had been deliberate and that she had been played for a fool. Anger rose in her, made all the more intense by the knowledge that she had liked this man and that he had used her father's name to make this happen.

  ' Introduce your friend, Cindy,' she said in a cold voice.

  Cindy's face was frightened and at the same time defiant.

  ' It's Murray,' she said. ' Murray Phillips.'

  Lucy sighed. So she had been right after all. This was the man who wanted to marry Cindy; the man who, in. Paul Harlow's estimation, was a scoundrel and an opportunist. With an effort she kept her face expression blank, for she had made up her mind not to tell Cindy that her brother had asked her to stay at Charters in order to keep an eye on her: to have done so would have been to alienate the girl completely. But what an invidious position she was now in herself. When she had agreed to come here she had hoped to serve as a bait to keep Cindy's mind occupied and so help the girl to keep the promise she had made not to see Murray Phillips during her brother's absence. But no one, not even the omnipotent Paul Harlow, had dreamed that the man would install himself on the doorstep.

  ' Would you mind if. I went to my room?' she said quickly. ' I'd like a little rest before dinner.'

  ' Of course. How thoughtless of me. You must be absolutely dead.' Cindy glanced quickly at Murray. ' I'll be up to see you in a minute.'

  ' Don't bother,' Lucy said quickly. ' I would like to fay and have a sleep.'

  ' Very well, I'll see you later.' Relief was undisguised in Cindy's voice, and Lucy knew that the . minute she closed the door behind her the girl would be in Murray's arms. Still, there was nothing she could do about it, and with as much grace as she could muster—for she was still smarting at being so gullible over Murray—she went out.

  Lucy did not see Cindy again until dinner time, when they met in the vast tapestry dining room that led off from the main hall. Beatrice Harlow, looking even more old-fashioned in an ancient velvet dinner dress, monopolized the conversation with small talk, obviously believing that the serious task of eating precluded any serious conversation; Although so frail-looking she was a good trencherwoman and applied herself to each delicious dish that arrived on the table with an appetite that an energetic man half her age might have envied.

  For her part Lucy was too worried by the latest development in Cindy's romance to pay more than perfunctory attention to the food, but fortunately the old lady attributed her lack of appetite to tiredness.

  'A few days at Charters,' she asserted confidently, ' and you'll be feeling heaps better.'

  Lucy was glad when dinner finally came to an end and pleading fatigue again she went to her room.

  But even when in bed she was unable to forget Murray Phillips and she tossed and turned restlessly. The clock chimed one and realizing the futility of trying to court sleep, she switched on her bedside lamp and sat up.' It was difficult to analyse what her real feelings were towards Murray Phillips, for her main emotion at the moment was guilt at what Paul Harlow would say if he knew that her first action at Charters had been to make friends with the one man in the world whom he disliked most.

  Not that she was to blame. Murray Phillips, profiting by Cindy's absence, had deliberately inveigled her into liking him. Yes, she might as well admit it, that she did like him and could easily see why Cindy had fallen in love with him. Even the knowledge that he was astute enough to guess her purpose in being at Charters, and had played her for a fool, did not make her like him any the less; for analysing his behaviour she was forced to admit that most men in his position, loving a girl yet knowing himself despised because of his poverty, would have behaved in the same way.

  She frowned; even though she had only spoken with him for less than an hour she was already disagreeing with Paul Harlow's estimation of him. Or was it because, still resenting Paul Harlow, she was biased against him not only in everything he did but in everything he thought?

  She thumped the pillows higher and settled back against them. She must try and analyse the situation as clearly as she could, to see it from both points of view and to make up her own mind.

  Cindy herself was not to blame that Murray had rented a cottage in the village the moment Paul's back was turned. Harlow would say it was the action of a scoundrel, yet did Murray's refusal to be parted from the girl he loved make him a rotter? And just because Cindy was an heiress, did it mean that no man could fall genuinely in love with her? It was not surprising Paul Harlow believed Murray was only interested in her money, for Harlow was a man whose own main interest was money and he would find it difficult to believe that other people were not the same. But Murray was an artist, not a business man. He dressed unconventionally and most likely thought unconventionall
y too. Money as such would have little meaning for him.

  She sighed at the prospect of trying to make Paul Harlow see things from this point of view. Her father would have understood, for not being interested in worldly possessions himself, he found it difficult to believe in the other type of man. Still, in asking her to stay at Charters, Paul Harlow had not invited her opinion. He had asked her to do a specific job: keep Cindy sufficiently amused so that she would not elope. The fact that Murray had installed himself nearby in no way altered the position—except to make it more difficult. Indeed, the difficulty of it was frightening and she wished with all her heart that she had never agreed to come here.

  She yawned and her hand was on the bedside lamp when there was a tap at the door, and Cindy came in. In her pink chiffon negligee—central heating made anything warmer unnecessary even in January—and her cheeks flushed from tiredness she looked far younger than her nineteen years.

  ' I'm sorry to barge in on you, Lucy, but I couldn't sleep. I've got to speak to you about Murray. He's certain Paul told you about him—that we're in love and that I promised not to see him while Paul, was abroad.'

  Lucy hesitated and Cindy half smiled. ' Don't bother denying it. I know my brother well enough to know how his mind works. He asked you here to keep an eye on me, didn't he?'

  ' He wanted me to keep you company,' Lucy replied.

  ' It amounts to the same thing,' Cindy said. ' Anyway, what I actually came in to tell you was that I had no idea Murray was coming to stay in the village. I gave my promise not to see him while Paul was away, and I don't want you to think I've gone back on my word.'

  ' Would it worry you very much if I did think that?'

  ' Yes, it would,' Cindy said. ' I feel you're my friend, the only friend I've got and I—I couldn't bear you to think I'd do anything underhand. I know I'm impulsive and headstrong, but I'm not a sneak or a liar. I gave Paul my promise and I'd every intention of keeping it.'

  ' You could still refuse to see him,' Lucy pointed out.

  ' How? By giving orders that he's to be thrown out if he comes here? By keeping away from the village? Honestly, Lucy, you've met Murray for yourself. Do you think he's going to let himself be imprisoned by conventional behaviour?'

  ' Aren't you being too dramatic?' Lucy said gently. ' After all, your brother isn't going to be away long and it wouldn't matter if you and Murray didn't see each other for a few weeks.'

  ' You don't know Murray,' Cindy said. ' He depends on me. He—don't laugh, Lucy, but he says he can't paint on the days when he doesn't see me.'

  More than ever Lucy realized the difficulty of her position. Cindy wanted permission to break her word to her brother. ' And if I give it,' Lucy thought, ' I can just imagine what Paul Harlow will say to me when he comes home.' Yet if she withheld permission Cindy would merely see Murray secretly. It would be too much to expect her not to do so now that Murray had installed himself so close.

  ' I must say I think your young man's behaved very badly,' Lucy said tartly. ' If he's hoping to get round your brother he's going about it in quite the wrong way.'

  ' Murray isn't trying to get round anybody,' Cindy exclaimed. ' He doesn't give a darn about Paul or his money 1 He's begged me to run away with him, but I've been the one to hold back. Sometimes I think it would be the best thing if I did go. It would at least show Paul that a man can love me whether I'm an heiress or not.'

  Lucy's anger. evaporated. Here was the crux of Cindy's problem—her belief that she was not the sort of girl a man could love for herself. Looking at the dainty little figure in front of her, she marvelled that Cindy could be so blind not to realize her own loveliness. But here again Paul Harlow was to blame, for his over- solicitous chaperoning, his continual warnings about fortune-hunters served to rob his sister of all her self- confidence.

  Maybe it would be better for Cindy if she did elope after all. Even as Lucy thought this she remembered one of Paul Harlow's remarks: that Murray was banking on the fact that once he was married to Cindy, her brother would not let her live in artistic poverty.

  There were so many ways of looking at this situation that Lucy's head began to throb. She was not well enough to cope with such emotional problems.. She needed rest and quiet: she sat up straight and made her voice as firm as she could.

  ' I know how unhappy you are, Cindy, but please, if you want to marry Murray and remain friends with your brother, then eloping isn't going to help.'

  ' But what will help? Paul refuses to believe Murray loves me. He's convinced every woman he meets is after his precious money and thinks every man is after mine!'

  ' Perhaps your brother will change his mind when he gets to know Murray? I'm not promising anything, Cindy, but I'll talk to him when he comes back and see if I can make him more reasonable.' Even as she uttered the words Lucy knew how hopeless her task was, but it seemed to do the trick as far as Cindy was concerned, for she wiped away her tears and beamed happily.

  ' If Paul will listen to anyone, he'll listen to you. I told you when you were in the Nursing Home that he thought you were an absolute heroine.'

  Lucy made no reply; as long as Cindy believed what she had just said, she would at least not do anything silly as far as Murray was concerned.

  ' Do go to bed,' she yawned. ' Don't forget I'm still an invalid.'

  ' Poor sweet, you really are in. the middle of things now I But I'll try not to cause you any more problems.'

  Cindy went off tranquilly to her room, and alone again, Lucy's misgivings returned so strongly that she thought seriously of returning to London next morning. To stay at Charters and countenance Cindy's meetings with Murray was to do exactly the opposite of what Paul Harlow wanted.- Yet if she left, Cindy might very well elope.

  She switched off the light. No matter how hard it was to remain, how dishonourable it looked on the surface, the only decent thing to do was to sit it out and hope her presence would prevent a tricky situation from growing worse.

  When she awoke, bright sunlight was streaming through the windows. For a moment she was confused by her surroundings, then memory returned and with it the thought of the problem she was up against. But like most problems it was less oppresisive in daylight, and she was able to push it to one side and enjoy the unaccustomed luxury of breakfast in bed and of having a warm scented bath drawn for her after years of coping with a temperamental geyser. How nice it was to be a pretending millionaire, she mused as, wrapping herself in one of the fluffy bath coats set out for her, she padded into the dressing room to look at her few dresses swinging in the vast empty cupboards.

  Dressed in a dark blue skirt and matching twin set, its colour heightening her silver-gilt hair, she hurried down the corridor. Cindy was not in her room and she traversed a maze of intersecting galleries in an effort to reach the ground floor. At last, when she had almost given up hope, she came out on to the main staircase and made her way down to the music room where they had sat the previous evening after dinner.

  To her relief Beatrice Harlow was sitting in front of the fire, at her feet a pile of seed catalogues.

  ' Good morning, my dear.' She peered at Lucy over her glasses. ' I thought you'd stay in bed until lunch- time.'

  ' I'm not an invalid,' Lucy protested. ' I was hoping Cindy and I might go for a walk.'

  ' She's out riding. My nephew keeps fine stables. Do you ride?'

  ' I'm afraid not.'

  ' Are you interested in gardening?'

  Again Lucy shook her head. 'My gardening is restricted to window boxes.'

  ' What a pity. I think working in a garden is the most rewarding thing in the world. My nephew is always teasing me that plants are my children.' She rose, scattering papers and hairpins. ' It's much too cold to show you the grounds, but perhaps you'd like to see the house?'

  ' I'd love to, Miss Harlow.'

  'You mustn't call me that. In this household I'm Aunt to everyone and if you called me anything else I expect I'd forget to answer you!'

&nb
sp; Lucy laughed and followed her out of the room. She spent an enchanted few hours being shown the treasures of the house and her senses reeled under the impact of Sevres china, gold plate, Meissen dinner services for fifty, hand-painted ceilings, Adam fireplaces, Italian carving and seemingly hundreds of chandeliers and ormolu clocks. As they reached the. doorway of the long picture gallery, she swayed slightly and reached out to the back of a chair to steady herself.

  Immediately Aunt Beatrice looked at her in concern. 'Now I've over-tired you. How silly of me! We'll leave the pictures for another day.'

  ' I'll be all right in a minute.'

  ' No, my dear. My nephew has one of the finest collections in the world and you must be fresh when you come to look at it.'

  Realizing the sense of this, Lucy allowed herself to be led back to the music room and settled in a chair with a glass of Madeira.

  'I hate standing for a long time,' she admitted. '

  ' That's why I've never liked going round museums the way some people do.'

  Aunt Beatrice looked amused. 'Are you calling Charters a. museum?'

  Lucy sipped her drink and laughed. ' I've never known a museum where one sits in antique chairs and drinks a pre-lunch aperitif .in two-hundred-year-old goblets. I think that's why everything has made such an impression on me. It's so unusual to see so many beautiful things in daily use. I suppose I half expected rope barriers and forbidding little notices saying " Please do not touch ".'

  It was the old lady's turn to laugh. ' Paul believes in using everything he has. If it weren't for the insurance company I don't think he'd keep anything under lock and key.'

  Lucy toot another sip of her drink and watched the firelight reflected in its surface. Only now was she beginning to apprehend the pride a man could have in ownership. It was understandable that Paul Harlow, precluded by his wealth from believing that people could love him, had given over his emotions to inanimate objects. How the original owners of Charters must have hated selling this place, she thought, and felt a flash of anger against the man whose wealth was able to purchase with one stroke of the pen treasures that had taken others generations to accumulate.