' What happened to the original owners of Charters?' she asked.
' What owners?' Aunt Beatrice said, taking a piece of embroidery from a petit-point bag at her feet.
' The family who lived here before Mr Harlow bought it.'
' We are the family.'
Embarrassed colour flooded Lucy's face. 'I'm sorry. I had no idea.'
Aunt Beatrice, happy to have the opportunity of digging back into family history, did not appear to mind. 'There have been Harlows living in Winter-bourne since the sixteenth century. In the gallery you'll find a Holbein portrait of the first Paul Har- low, and he looks exactly like my nephew does today.'
Lucy's preconception of Charters as the typical millionaire's prestige investment disappeared. ' It's unusual to find such an old-established family without a title,' she murmured.
' Blame it on my grandfather ten times removed,' a gay voice said from the doorway, and Cindy danced into the room, a dashing figure in an exquisitely tailored black habit, sparkling white stock and veiled bowler. ' He quarrelled with the King and refused a dukedom. Since then we've kept his portrait in a very dark corner of the gallery.' Throwing down her gloves and crop, she poured herself a liberal drink.
Aunt Beatrice raised a disapproving eyebrow, and it occurred to Lucy that this might not be Cindy's first drink of the day. Her eyes were sparkling and she seemed far more gay than an innocent morning's hacking might account for. Could she have met Murray… With an effort Lucy pushed the suspicion away.
' In that outfit, Cindy, you look as if you've stepped out from one of your own family portraits.'
Cindy swung round so quickly that some of the liquid from her glass spilled on the carpet, and she rubbed it carelessly with her foot.
' I bet that's where Paul wishes he could keep me. In the gallery with a tight frame around my neck to keep me in position!'
'Cindy!' Aunt Beatrice said sharply. 'Don't talk about your brother like that. You're a most ungrateful girl.'
Her niece stared at her. Then without a word she drained her drink, set down her glass with a sharp crack on a nearby table and stalked out.
' Sometimes she's so wild,' Aunt Beatrice said apologetically. ' It would be the best thing for her to many and settle down.'
All at once Lucy felt a glimmer of understanding at Paul Harlow's fears for his sister. She certainly needed a tight rein over her, and she was not at all sure that
Murray, with his charm and insouciance, was the right man to hold it.
With Cindy gone, Aunt Beatrice returned to the subject of the house, which became almost a paean of praise for her nephew. He had been determined to restore Charters to its original beauty—after a period of family impoverishment had robbed it of much of its treasures, and the bigger his fortune the more lavishly he had spent it on his home, installing central heating, modem plumbing—having agents buy back as many family heirlooms as they could, and bringing tenant farms into such a state of repair that he now owned one of the most thriving estates in the country. Listening to all this, Lucy wondered whether the man ever spent money on anything else. She thought of the hunger and sickness in Africa and India, but knew that to mention this would imply criticism about Paul Harlow; and Aunt Beatrice was so obviously devoted to him that she wisely held her tongue.
Cindy put in an appearance for lunch, which they had in the breakfast room, its hand-painted Florentine furniture merging with the hot-house flowers that bloomed in the heated loggia behind it. She seemed to have recovered her temper and at the end of the meal offered to take Lucy for a drive and show her some of the countryside.
'I'd love to go Out,' Lucy said, 'and walking to a car is as much exercise as I want to do!'
' You might change your mind when you see the way I drive,' Cindy grinned, and putting her arm affectionately round Lucy's shoulder, went upstairs with her to collect their coats.
To Lucy's surprise Cindy drove well, and she settled back to enjoy toe scenery. Even in the winter the countryside was still beautiful, giving promise of a greater beauty to come, while Winterbourne itself was like a story-book village with its gaily painted cottages and thatched roofs.
' Most of the restoration was done by Paul,' Cindy said, breaking into her thoughts. 'Every person for miles around treats him as if he were God.'
They drove through the winding High Street and down a narrow lane that twisted and turned its way towards a belt of trees standing beside a lake. To one side was a small house, and as Cindy stopped the car in front of the unweeded garden, Lucy knew that this was where Murray was living. .
' Why didn't you tell me you were bringing me here?' she asked, trying to control her irritation.
' I knew you wouldn't come. You're still determined to walk the middle path—and I just have to have you on my side.'
'You won't have me on your side if you behave childishly. I thought I'd made myself clear last night.'
' You've never been in love,' Cindy said rebelliously, and stepped out of the car.
The Words hit Lucy with unexpected force. How true they were! Never had she longed for any man the way Cindy now longed for Murray. Never had she known the yearning to be touched and kissed, to share her thoughts as well as her body with someone else. Not that she did not want to get married; she often thought of having a husband and a home and children, but it had always been something that would happen in the future with a man who still remained a misty figure. Was Cindy right in her accusation? Would she be less critical in her judgment if she had experienced passion and desire?
Crossly she pushed open the car door and walked up the path to the house. Cindy had already gone inside and Lucy followed, finding herself in a small shabbily furnished living room. Murray, in the same dark clothes he had worn yesterday, was sitting cross-legged on .the floor while Cindy and another woman in her early forties were perched on a rexine sofa. As Lucy came in, Murray stood up and came .towards her with hands outstretched.
'I hope you're not still cross with me over my behaviour yesterday?'
Lucy decided to be diplomatic. 'I'm staying at Charters because I'm a friend of Cindy's.'
' Well, any friend of Cindy's is a friend of mine. And now let me introduce you to my sister Beryl.'
Beryl smiled, the lightening of her expression only serving to accentuate its normal sullenness. She was completely unlike her brother, with mouse-brown hair and a pallid complexion. Only when she spoke was it possible to find a family resemblance, for her voice had the same attractive husky quality as her brother's.
' Cindy's spoken so much about you that I feel I know you already,' she said. ' Come and sit by the fire. It's terribly cold in here.'
Lucy sat down and Murray added another log to the fire.
' What about making some tea Beryl? That's the best way to warm us.'
Beryl stood up and looked at Lucy and Cindy. ' I hope you don't mind drinking it out of mugs. We left the bone china at home with the butler.'
' Never apologize for poverty,' her brother said, and though his words were mocking, Lucy saw his mouth tighten and a quick look of pain flash into his eyes as he glanced at Cindy. No matter what he said, she thought to herself, he was not as uncaring as he pretended. Poor boy, it must be difficult to be in love with a girl whose dress allowance was more than he earned in a year.
Beryl disappeared into the kitchen and determined to show Cindy that she trusted her, Lucy went after her to see if she could help. The woman was bustling about the room, setting out thick white mugs on a tin tray and rummaging in a chipped tin for some biscuits.
' It's empty,' she said with an exclamation of annoyance, and climbing on a kitchen chair reached up for a packet on a shelf that stood above the oven.
Only then did Lucy see that the skin on one of her legs was puckered and discoloured.
An exclamation escaped her lips, and Beryl turned. Lucy quickly averted her eyes, but it was too late.
'A car accident ten years ago,' Beryl said briefly. ' When I go ou
t I put pancake make-up on. It helps to hide the redness. I'd have done something about it this afternoon if I'd known we were having visitors.'
' I'm sorry,' Lucy said. ' I didn't mean to stare. But
I was injured in a fire myself recently and I thought perhaps the same thing had happened to you.'
Beryl shook her head and jumped down from the chair. She opened the packet of biscuits and set them out on a plate.
' Take the tray inside if you like,' she said in a kind but brief tone. ' I'll bring in the teapot.'
During tea Murray entertained them with many stories. He was as good a raconteur as Barry Davis, and Lucy wondered what the photographer would think, of Cindy's young man. If Paul Harlow were away a long time, she would telephone Barry and ask him to come down. As a friend of the family he might be able to advise her what to do.
' Why don't you show Lucy your paintings?' Cindy said suddenly.
Murray shook his head. ' I've left most of my canvases in London.'
' You brought a few with you,' Beryl intervened, and looked at Lucy. ' He could just as easily go away without his clothes as he could without his paintings!'
' Do show them to me,' Lucy said.
' On your own head be it,' he replied, and led the way up to a small, cheerless bedroom. The window faced north, but it was so small that it made no difference to the light which filtered in and poorly illuminated the peeling wallpaper and gimcrack furniture. A dozen unframed canvases were ranged around the walls, and Murray, arms akimbo, expression careless, watched her as she looked at them. Lucy's heart sank as she stared at the bright splodges of colour, the arcs and angles and odd lines that bespoke abstract.
'Don't worry if you hate them,' he said. ' You'll be in good company.'
' I'm not very knowledgeable about painting,' she replied. ' Particularly this kind.'
' No one's knowledgeable about this,' he retorted. ' It's too advanced. I'm not following a school, Lucy, I'm trying to establish one of my own.' He stabbed at a lurid mass of colour. ' Oh, I've got the talent— everyone says that—but I won't conform. I won't paint the rotten pictures the public wants. That's why galleries refuse to show me. " We couldn't sell your work, Mr Phillips. It demands too much of the customer." And do you know something, Lucy, the customer doesn't want to have demands made on him. He wants a painting that'll go with his furniture, that'll match the decor in his nasty little suburban villa!'
Appalled by such a savage display of emotion, Lucy did not know what to say. Murray could be a genius or a poseur; she had no means of knowing, for her lack of knowledge made it impossible for her to judge. All she did know was that he was capable of caring about his work, and a man who cared in this way could not be the sort of man Paul Harlow said he was.
' It's always difficult to establish yourself if you're an original,' she said haltingly. ' It's so much easier to follow in an accepted pattern.'
' I know.' He walked over to the window and stared moodily out of it. ' Sometimes I've thought I'll give the people what they want; make a packet of dough and then say "To hell with them!" But I can't. I daren't take the chance.'
' What chance?'
' That if I sell myself for money I won't know when to stop.' He swung round. ' That's why I go on painting what I want to paint.'
' Sartre put it a better way,' she said. ' " Talent does what it can. Genius does what it must!" '
Murray's face was no longer mocking. ' That's the nicest thing you could have said to me.' He came over and put his hand on her shoulders. ' Thank you.'
It was dark when Lucy and Cindy returned to Charters, and not until they were walking upstairs to change for dinner did Cindy ask the question that had been in her mind since they had gone to the cottage.
' Well, what do you think of Murray now that you've had a chance to see him properly?'
Lucy hesitated. She could hedge or she could tell the truth. But once she told the truth there was no stepping back. She would have taken sides: ranged herself irrevocably with Paul Harlow or his sister. She drew a deep breath.
' I like him,' she said firmly. ' I like him.'
CHAPTER IV
The next few days were wet and windy and there was no inducement for going out. Murray developed 'flu and a restless Cindy pestered Lucy to keep her amused. On the fourth successive day of rain she gave her own conducted tour of the house, ending up in the playrooms that adjoined the stables. Expecting to find a bam-like structure with table tennis and billiards, Lucy was taken aback at the magnificence confronting her. This was a playroom that came straight from Hollywood. Indeed playroom was the wrong word to use, for it comprised a heated swimming pool, a squash court, a miniature gymnasium, a cine projector with a well-stocked library of films, a perfectly equipped bar and an intricate hi-fi system with stacks of records.
' I wondered where the ballroom was,' Lucy said drily, and now I know.'
' You're wrong,' Cindy giggled. ' We've got a proper ballroom in the house. This is just for summer parties. If it weren't raining, I'd press a button and show you the way the roof slides back.' She giggled again at Lucy's expression. ' Fabulous, isn't it? I bet you never thought my brother liked this sort of thing, did you?'
' No,' Lucy admitted. ' I can't imagine him dancing unless he has to do so as a duty.'
Cindy twiddled a knob and the lilting voice of Frank Sinatra filtered into the room.
' Paul used to be very gay at one time, but a few years ago he had a love affair that soured him. Since then he hasn't had any time for romance.'
' No person can live without love.'
' He doesn't,' Cindy said. ' He has expensive mistresses! I suppose he finds that sort of arrangement less demanding.' She began to dance dreamily around the room. ' I can understand it too. When he gets bored with one he can take another. He never talks to me about it, though. But I sometimes pick up a bit of gossip.'
Lucy felt a stab of pity for a man for whom money could bring everything except happiness, and for Cindy with her pathetic mixture of warmth and cynicism. How desperately both the brother and sister needed love.
As the days passed, Lucy found herself becoming subtly adjusted to luxury. There was a great deal to be said for gracious living and she found herself smiling tolerantly at the naive girl who had despised something she had never known. Good food tasted all the better for being served on fine china and accompanied by vintage wines, and there was certainly no real virtue in making one's own bed and washing one's own clothes.
'What a pity Meg can't be here,,too,' she thought on more than one occasion' She'd wallow in all this.'
Lucy had been at Charters nearly three weeks when Barry Davis arrived. He had been asked to photograph the exterior of Paul's home for one of the glossy magazines and used the opportunity to stay the night. Watching the way he played Dutch uncle to Cindy and teased Aunt Beatrice, she realized how close a friend of the family he was. He seemed too easy-going a sort of person for Paul Harlow to have as a friend, and she wondered at the bond that kept the two men together.
During Barry's stay Murray did not put in an appearance, and she guessed he. had decided it would be more diplomatic to stay away. ' He knows he can trust me,' she thought whimsically, 'but he's obviously not so sure about Barry.' Remembering her earlier dilemma, she longed to tell him all that had happened since she had last seen him in the Nursing Home, and hoped they would have some time alone together before he returned to London.
In this she seemed thwarted by Cindy and Aunt Beatrice, for Barry was such a favourite with them that they followed him around the whole time. Immeately dinner was over Cindy suggested dancing, but Barry, winking at Aunt Beatrice, announced that he was too tired and suggested a game of cards instead.
The four of them played gin rummy till midnight, and as the clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour, Lucy decided she could not sit it out any longer. If she wanted to talk alone to Barry she would have to arrange to see him in London.
' I'm going to bed,' she
announced. ' It's already past the witching hour.'
' But it's early,' Cindy protested.
' No, it isn't,' Barry intervened. ' I'm tired too. Don't forget, young lady, I've been traipsing around taking pictures all day while you've been doing nothing.'
He stacked the cards together and standing up put his arm affectionately around Aunt Beatrice. ' Come on, Aunt B., I'll escort you to your room.'
Lucy was already undressed and brushing her hair before the dressing-table mirror when the pink house telephone standing on the writing bureau rang. It was Barry.
' I'm alone at last,' he said conspiratorially. ' How about joining me downstairs for a nightcap?'
' I'd love to,' she said, and quickly putting on her dress again, sped down the stairs.
He was waiting for her in the hall, and tucking her arm under his, led her into the music room. He had already replenished the fire and the logs crackled in the grate. Without asking, he brought her over a brandy, and when she protested that she did not like the taste, ordered her to drink it.
' It'll do you good. You're still too thin and pale.'
' You can't expect me to have a Riviera tan,' she protested.
' I don't see why not. I can't think what Paul was about in asking you to stay here. He should have packed you and Cindy off on a cruise.'
She said nothing, and. he sprawled on the settee beside her. ' I suppose he was afraid Cindy would be less controllable away from Charters. Or maybe that Murray would install himself as ship's steward!'
' You know about Murray, then?'
' Sure. That's why you're here, aren't you? Paul's hoping you'll have a good effect on Cindy.'
' Do you also know that Murray's rented a house in the village?'
Barry whistled in surprise. ' He certainly goes after what he wants.'
Rachel Lindsay - Love and Lucy Granger Page 6
