'Not if I can help it. I'm a good portrait painter even if I say so myself—and I've no intentions of wasting my energies on work I'd hate. Luckily Margaret believes in me too, and she's come down to keep house for me for a few months.'
'Does she paint as well?'
'She's a nurse. Matron in charge of an orphanage up North. She had a bit of a breakdown from overwork and she's been ordered a rest.'
'I was a nurse at an orphanage in Canada,' Carolyn said.
'Then you must meet my sister. You'll have lots to talk about.'
'I'd like that.'
He drew the car to a stop outside Miss Talbot's house. 'I'll wait and run you back if you like.'
'Please don't bother.'
'It would be a pleasure.'
He was still waiting for her when she came out with Piotr, and the little boy insisted on sitting in the front and asking questions about the engine, all of which Derek de Mancy answered with patience and simplicity.
'Can the man have tea with us, Caro?' Piotr asked as they drew up at the front door of the Manor.
'Not today, darling. I'm sure Mr. de Mancy has lots to do.'
Carolyn looked at the man and smiled. 'Piotr's at an age where he hasn't learned discretion.'
'Rather embarrassing from your point of view.' He stepped out of the car and Carolyn had to look a long way up to see his face.
'Thanks again for bringing me home.'
'A pleasure. May I hold you to what you said earlier about coming over for tea and meeting Margaret?'
'Of course.'
'Let's make it some time this week. We're home every afternoon. We've rented the last cottage on the shore road.' He replaced the battered cap on his head, vaulted into his seat without opening the door, and drove off with a sharp change of gears.
Carolyn let herself into the house and Piotr made straight for the drawing-room where Mrs. Nichols was presiding over the tea trolley.
'We came home in a car,' he shouted. 'A car with no hood!'
'It was a Mr. de Mancy,' Carolyn explained. 'He knocked me over in the post office and insisted on bringing me home.'
'Oh, really? I've never heard of him.'
'He's an artist. He has a cottage on the shore road.'
'Permanently?'
'I don't know.'
'He looks different,' Piotr interrupted.
'He has a beard,' Carolyn explained.
Mrs. Nichols laughed and touched Piotr's cheek. 'Run along to Cook, child, or you'll be late for tea.'
Carolyn helped herself to a scone. 'Even I'm getting into the tea habit!'
'Don't eat too much—Alvin and Ella are dining with us and we're having braised duck.'
'Good.' Carolyn bit into her scone. 'It's a pity they've got to bring the food all the way from the kitchen—it's cold by the time it gets here. Perhaps we could buy an electric trolley.'
Mrs. Nichols set down her cup sharply. 'You may do as you please. You are in charge of Royston.'
Carolyn looked into the stern face and sighed, realising that further conversation was impossible.
During dinner that night Carolyn learned that Jeffrey and Ella's engagement party was to be held in two weeks' time.
'Alvin's going to Sweden in a few days,' his sister explained, 'and we want to hold it as soon as he returns.'
'Not soon enough for me,' Jeffrey responded gallantly. 'We've waited long enough already!'
Carolyn looked at him surreptitiously, but his expression was innocent, as though he meant every word.
'We can't undo the past, Jeffrey,' Alvin said precisely. 'I would have been quite happy for Ella to marry you without wasting time on an engagement. But you know what women are—they like to spin out the romance!'
'An engagement's fun,' Ella said. 'I won't be done out of it! Anyway, by the end of January, I'll be Mrs. Nichols junior.'
Jeffrey laughed. 'Can you imagine what my life will be like with two women to boss me?'
'I'll never boss you,' Ella protested. 'You'll be the one to make a doormat of me!'
Carolyn silently echoed the words and looked affectionately at the girl opposite. Plain she might be, but the gentleness of her character gave her a charm that was as endearing as beauty. If only Jeffrey could realise it!
Looking at the tall, good-looking man opposite her, she wondered how far his love was influenced by the Tyssen money, and whether Ella suspected it.
Mrs. Nichols stood up. 'We'll have coffee in the drawing- room and discuss the plans for the party.'
'There's nothing to discuss,' Alvin Tyssen said. 'I've already made all the arrangements. All you need do is give me your guest list.'
Carolyn marvelled at the way Mrs. Nichols hid her disconcer-tion. 'How kind of you, Alvin. I'll give it to you before you go.'
Coffee in the drawing-room could, by no stretch of the imagination, have been called a social affair. Mrs. Nichols played the gracious hostess, but Jeffrey and Ella sat together on the settee talking in undertones, and Alvin took his usual place in an armchair and smoked in silence. Carolyn shivered with cold and drew a small pouffe as close to the fireplace as she could get.
'You'll set yourself alight one day,' Alvin said unexpectedly. 'Is it the fashion to wear such flimsy clothes in Canada?'
'I haven't any warmer ones. At home I mostly wore uniform.'
'There's no reason why you can't buy what you want,' Mrs. Nichols said coldly. 'You have the money to do so.'
There was an awkward silence, broken by Ella who glanced nervously at Mrs. Nichols before speaking.
'Did you wear a proper nurse's uniform in the orphanage?'
'Yes.'
'Where were you born?' Alvin Tyssen asked abruptly, the tone of his voice making Carolyn feel she was at an inquisition.
'In Toronto. But my parents were English. They were killed in a plane crash and I lived with an uncle until he put me in an orphanage.'
'You didn't have much of a life,' Ella said sympathetically.
'I was very happy,' Carolyn replied. 'Miss Williams—the Warden—was like a mother to me.'
'Is that why you decided to return there after you finished your training in hospital?'
'I guess so.'
'Surely you could have earned more doing another job, Mrs. Kolsky,' Alvin Tyssen said.
'For heaven's sake, Alvin!' Ella exclaimed, 'why don't you call her Carolyn? Every time you say Mrs. Kolsky I think of Rosemary and Peter!'
'Don't be tactless, darling,' Jeffrey said, 'it's not like you.'
A faint smile lifted the corners of Alvin's mouth. 'My sister's never tactless—only deliberate. I'm sorry I make you think of Rosemary and Peter, my dear, but I can assure you it doesn't worry me any more. The past is finished.'
'Rosemary was my daughter,' Mrs. Nichols said in an unexpectedly harsh voice. 'The past is never dead for a mother.'
For the first time Carolyn saw Alvin look disconcerted. He made a placatory movement towards Mrs. Nichols, and when he spoke his voice was unexpectedly gentle. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you.' He looked at Carolyn and used her to change the conversation. 'You must call me Alvin.'
'Of course,' she replied, 'I never think of you as anything else.'
That night in bed she remembered Jeffrey's remark about her clothes and accepted the fact that his sarcasm had been justified. She could not go on without adding to her wardrobe. Living in Royston Manor as Piotr's guardian brought its own particular responsibilities, and though she did not consider she had the right to spend any of the money on herself, she nonetheless had to look as well as act the part. She herself might find her position incongruous, but she was still treated as the Lady of the Manor by everyone in the village.
All correspondence from local tradesmen was now addressed to her and, after a few bitter remarks from Mrs. Nichols, it had been accepted. Carolyn had tried not to cross swords with the woman in the past few weeks and had managed to obtain—more for Piotr's sake than anyone—a surface relationship with her. But the
dislike was still there: Jeffrey's remark tonight proved it. However, she would use it to advantage. The income from the trust was available to spend, and not to do so was stupid and childish.
Having made up her mind, Carolyn acted quickly, and the following morning asked Mrs. Nichols where to go to buy some clothes.
'To Darien,' came the prompt reply. 'He's the best man in London.'
'Wouldn't that make him pricey?'
'You can afford it!'
'Yes,' Carolyn said gently, 'so I can. Thanks for reminding me.'
Determined not to waste time—as though fearing that to linger might cause her dutch courage to ebb—Carolyn went to see Darien in London the following day. His salon was in Grosvenor Street, in a tall, narrow house fronted by elegantly spiked railings, its silver-gilt door guarded by a grey-liveried commissionaire who showed her into a marble-floored hall, empty except for urns of flowers grouped round the walls. To one side a flight of stairs curved up to the first floor and at the top a girl sat at a silver-gilt desk.
'Can I help you, madam?'
'I'd like to see Mr. Darien.'
'Monsieur Darien is very busy. Do you have an appointment?'
'No. But I have been sent here by Mrs. Nichols.'
'Mrs. Nichols?' 'Yes. And Miss Tyssen.'
Respectful recognition dawned. 'I'll tell Mr. Darien you're here. Please wait a moment.'
Within a moment she reappeared in front of Carolyn again, all charm and friendliness. 'Please go straight through to the salon. Mr. Darien will be with you right away.'
Carolyn walked into a large room, close carpeted in silver- grey, with a large silver candelabrum hanging from the ceiling.
'I'm so sorry to keep you waiting.' A grey satin curtain at the far end was drawn back and a man stepped from behind it. 'I am Darien,' he said, 'and you are———————————— ?'
'Mrs. Kolsky.'
'I understand you are a friend of Miss Tyssen?'
'It was really Mrs. Nichols of Royston Manor who sent me here.'
Darien nodded. 'How can I be of help?'
'That must be obvious,' Carolyn said candidly.
'It is.' He dropped his effusive manner. 'Sit down and we will have a little talk.' He watched as she perched gingerly on a silver-gilt chair. 'I like to study my customers carefully. The type, you understand, is of infinite importance. I will consider you. Do not take any notice of me.'
He appeared to go into a trance and Carolyn, trying to hide her amusement, studied him in turn. He looked more like an athlete than one who had made his name and fortune as a brilliant designer. He was so tall and broad that he dwarfed the spindly furniture not only with his bulk, but with his personality. His dark hair was streaked with grey, but his skin had a shiny, unlined look and his hands, long and pale with delicate thin fingers were those of an artist.
'I have it!' he exclaimed. 'Excuse me while I speak to the models.'
He disappeared and several minutes elapsed before he returned.
'I am showing you the clothes which I consider your type. But naturally, if you have anything else in mind we will be delighted to make it for you.'
'I'd rather rely on your taste,' Carolyn replied. 'That's why I'm here.'
'Excellent. I wish all my clients said the same!' A curtain swished back and he moved aside. 'The first ones are for the afternoon,' he explained. 'After that, you will see suits, coats and evening dresses.'
For the next hour Carolyn was shown so many outfits that she lost count, and by the time the final dress appeared her memory was a blur of magnificent colour allied to exquisite cut.
'Well, Mrs. Kolsky,' Darien asked as the last model disappeared, 'have you seen anything you like?'
'I like everything!' she answered. 'That's the trouble!'
'On the contrary. Now I know you agree with my taste there will be no trouble!' He caught her arm and propelled her through the curtained alcove to a row of cubicles. 'Madame Angele will bring some things for you to try. You are the same size as one of our models, so there'll be no problem. If you do not like anything when it is on you, say so.'
He stepped out, and the perfumed vacuum left by his disappearance was filled by the arrival of a middle-aged woman with grey hair and a delicate pink complexion. She carried a leaf green cashmere dress over her arm and helped Carolyn take off her navy one as reverently as though she were removing coronation robes. Silently she watched as Carolyn swung round to look at herself in the mirror, half smiling as she heard the exclamation of pleasure.
'It is beautiful, no?' she enquired in accented English.
'It is beautiful, yes!' Caroline laughed. 'The most beautiful dress I've ever worn.' She moved slowly, delighted by the way the skirt rippled and the bodice clung lightly yet revealingly to her breasts.
'It's called Simply Sophisticated,' Madame Angele added. 'An apt name, don't you think?'
'It sure is. I'd never have thought I could look like this. What is there about it?'
'Cut. It makes the dress. You must have it: it is exactly you. I will call Monsieur Darien.'
The couturier came in and he and the vendeuse conversed in rapid French. Carolyn followed the conversation perfectly, and in the middle of the discussion interposed a remark which made Darien stare at her in delight.
'There was a French-Canadian nurse at the orphanage where I lived,' she explained.
'So?' He smiled. 'We will have to be careful what we say in front of you, otherwise you will learn all our secrets!'
'All I'm interested in is the price,' she said bluntly.
'We are expensive,' came the answer. 'But worth every pound! If you are not satisfied with the clothes we make for you, we will take them all back.'
'All?' Carolyn hedged.
'You need an entire wardrobe, naturellement.'
'I'm not sure I can afford it.'
'Women who are recommended here are not poor. Otherwise Mrs. Nichols would not have sent you.'
Carolyn conceded the point. 'Very well, send me a selection of the things you feel I need. A few afternoon dresses and some evening ones—suitable for dining in the country—and two suits and a coat.'
'A perfect choice,' he agreed. 'As your measurements are exactly like those of our top model, we will be able to have some things ready within a few days. And the one you're wearing, you can take with you—it only needs a little tightening in the waist.'
'Do I get the models at a discount?'
'Of course! But only because I have a feeling you will be one of my best customers.' He stepped back through the curtain. 'The fitter will be with you as soon as she's finished with another client.'
Left alone, Carolyn sat on a chair to wait. There was a swish of curtains and voices were audible from the adjoining cubicle. Madame Angele was obviously with the client and Carolyn made herself comfortable to wait. With only a heavy satin drape separating the fitting rooms it was impossible not to hear the conversation. Besides, it was amusing to listen to Madame Angele murmur appreciatively as the client stepped in and out of various dresses. After the fourth one Carolyn lost count. She had now been waiting over half an hour and decided not to wait any longer. She took off the green dress and put on her own.
'Enfin!' Madame Angele said triumphantly next door. 'It is finished.'
The curtain swished again and Monsieur Darien's voice was heard.'Bonjour, Mrs. Anderson. You are satisfied, I hope?'
'Very much,' came the answer, 'but I was well recommended to you. I usually go only to Balenciaga, but at the moment I particularly want to stay in London.'
'I hope you will be equally satisfied here. If you come in for another fitting at the end of the week these can all be ready by the end of the month.'
'I must have the red evening dress in two weeks. I need it for something special.' The soft voice was husky with its own pleasure. 'Something very special.'
'Then it will be ready,' Darien said. 'When a woman says "something special" we will always try to assist.'
&nb
sp; 'How wise,' came the answer.
'If Madame could let us have a reference ..
Madame Angele intervened. 'It is the custom, you understand?'
'I understand,' the woman drawled. 'My account is to be sent to Mr. Alvin Tyssen—at his Park Lane address.'
Carolyn waited to hear no more. Hastily putting on her coat, she went through the Salon to where the receptionist sat in the hall. 'Tell Monsieur Darien I couldn't wait any longer. Send the green dress by post and let me know when I should come up for my other fittings.'
'I'm sure the green dress will be ready in a moment,' the receptionist said hurriedly. 'If you'd wait for just——- '
'No, I can't!' Not pausing for an answer, Caroline sped down the stairs to the street. She was trembling with unaccountable anger and chided herself for being a fool. Surely she knew enough about the world not to have expected a normal, unmarried man to live a life of celibacy? Rosemary had run away from Alvin Tyssen seven years ago and it was obvious that love—no matter how deep—could not last for such a length of time. Yet what had he put in its place? she thought angrily. A liaison with the sort of woman who saw no shame in flaunting the fact that she was being kept!
The sound of the soft drawling voice was so loud in her ears that she did not hear the honking of a hooter, and had to jump smartly back on to the pavement to avoid being hit by a taxi. The shock brought her to her senses and when she started to walk again she was able to laugh at herself for being upset by other people's moral code. It was no business of hers what Alvin chose to do with his life, nor with whom he chose to spend it. She wished she had managed to catch a glimpse of Mrs. Anderson and wondered what sort of person would agree to be mistress to a man who, though free to marry her, had not chose to do so. Yet though it was comparatively easy to fit a picture to the self confident, purring voice, it was impossible to imagine Alvin Tyssen as anyone's lover. How could that cold, precise voice whisper words of passion, or the blank, pale face warm to any feeling of emotion? But he was rich: fabulously so, and that would no doubt make up for lack of many other things.
'Hey there, look where you're going!'
Carolyn stopped and stared into the bearded face of Derek de Mancy. 'I'm sorry, I didn't see you.'
Rachel Lindsay - Mask of Gold Page 7
