CHAPTER SEVEN
At the breakfast table the next morning there was a white envelope on Carolyn's plate containing two invitations for the party, and a note from Jeffrey saying that if she wanted any more she should let him know.
'What are those white cards?' Piotr asked.
'Invitations to a party.'
'Can I go?'
'No, darling. It'll be too late for you.'
Betty came in with a pot of coffee. 'What about letting me take Master Piotr to school for you? There's a squalling wind and you'll be blown off your feet.'
'It'll do me good to get a breath of air.'
'You ought to learn to drive, ma'am. Miss Agatha used a carriage and pair—more like a stagecoach it was.'
'What happened to it?'
'Mrs. Nichols sold it to a film company a week after she died.'
'And the horses?'
'Sold to a farmer. They don't work, though. Live a lovely, lazy life.'
'I'd like a pony,' Piotr said.
'Mr. Tyssen's got some wonderful horses.' Betty poured out the coffee and passed it across the table. 'If you did want to get a pony for Piotr he'd be the best one to advise you.'
'I should have thought his eyes were too bad for riding.'
'Lordy, he doesn't ride himself! Bertie Rivers is his jockey. Cook and I often listen to the radio when one of Mr. Tyssen's horses is running. That's the only time we have a bet.'
'You mean he has a racing stable?'
'The biggest in the country. In Surrey somewhere. Nothing like his house here, though. That's really something.'
Piotr slid down from his chair. 'Shall I wear my Wellingtons, Caro?'
'More likely a bathing suit if this rain keeps up!' She waited till the door closed behind him. 'How does he behave when he's in the kitchen with you and Cook?'
'Perfectly, madam. A bit serious for his years, of course, but I expect that's because he's half Polish. Not that Mr. Kolsky was like that when he first came here. Always laughing at the top of his voice he was—until he fell in love with Miss Rosemary.
Then he walked round with a face like a tombstone.' Betty put her hand to her mouth. 'There I go putting my foot in it again!'
'That's O.K.' Carolyn stood up. 'I'd better help Piotr or we'll never get him to school.'
Carolyn deposited Piotr at Miss Talbot's cottage and decided to take a short cut back to the house. But the path had been cut through bracken and was more overgrown than she had anticipated, and by the time she entered the house her skirt and mackintosh were so wet that she decided it would be safe to soak away the chill in a hot bath. As she lay in the water she thought of all the disused rooms around her, and wondered at the cost of maintaining such an establishment. It might have been feasible for Aunt Agatha to live in such feudal splendour, knowing her days were numbered, but she herself was appalled at the idea of living here until Piotr was old enough to decide what to do for himself. The house might be called Royston Manor, but it was more in the nature of a rambling Victorian barn, and in the past two months she had been confronted with bills which she considered enormous. The solicitor had been right when he had said the annual income from Peter's inheritance would be swallowed up in the normal cost of living in Royston Manor.
'Not that anyone could call this normal,' she thought, as she stepped out of the bath and towelled herself vigorously. 'I must either have a word with Mr. Arnold or tackle Mrs. Nichols.'
She slipped into a pair of slacks and blouse, brushed back her long blonde hair—still damp at the ends—and hurried downstairs. She opened the door of the drawing-room and found Mrs. Nichols and Derek sitting in front of the fire.
'Hello, Carolyn!' He stood up and beamed at her. 'I was just passing and dropped in to have a word with you. I hope you don't mind.'
'Not at all.'
She moved over to the fireplace and sat cross-legged on the rug, resting her back against an armchair.
Mrs. Nichols expression was as condemnatory as a verbal admonition, and Carolyn was forced into a semi-apology.
'I've always loved sitting on the floor—especially in front of an open fire.'
'Being relaxed suits you,' Derek commented. 'I'll paint you in an informal way. You haven't forgotten you've promised to sit for me?'
'Of course not. I'm looking forward to it.'
'I'm ready to start the minute you are.' 'How many sittings will I need—two or three?'
'Heavens above! Far more than that. You won't be an easy subject.'
'You're joking. I bet I'm the simplest-looking model you've ever had.'
'Deceptively simple. You have the features of a child and the unawakened look of a woman.'
Carolyn coloured at such frankness and Derek smiled. 'Forgive the bluntness, but I'm not talking personally. I see you with an artist's eye.'
'Eyewash, you mean!' She grinned, and an imp of mischief prompted her to add: 'I wonder how Mrs. Nichols sees me?'
Mrs. Nichols put down a magazine she had been glancing at. 'I wouldn't use Mr. de Mancy's terms, but you certainly have a childlike quality.'
'It's the way her hair springs from her head and the beautiful curve of her neck and shoulders.' Derek bent forward and turned Carolyn's face with his hand. 'You've a child's mouth too, and the same sort of colouring.' He dropped his hand and sat back in his seat. 'The only thing that alters the concept are your eyes; they're not childlike at all. That green is far too seductive.'
'Then paint them another colour!'
'On the contrary. It's the child look plus the sex appeal that'll make this portrait outstanding. Let's fix a date to begin. Will you come to the cottage for the first sitting? The morning light's best and then perhaps you'll stay to lunch? Margaret would be delighted.'
It was difficult to envisage Derek's gaunt-faced sister being delighted at anything, and she shook her head.
'Why don't you come here instead? There are lots of empty rooms we could use.'
'Suits me. Can we start tomorrow?'
'All right.'
'And then every morning for a week,' he went on. 'After that I'll be able to work on it on my own for a bit.'
Soon afterwards Derek left, promising to return early the next morning to start work.
'I'm rather looking forward to it,' she said to Mrs. Nichols when they were alone. 'The paintings I saw at his house were remarkable.'
'If he's a good artist he might be able to get some commissions from Alvin's friends.'
Carolyn reddened and the older woman smiled in an unexpectedly friendly manner. 'You do give yourself away, my dear. There's nothing to be ashamed of in trying to help your friends meet people who can bring them work. And I certainly don't blame him for asking for help. I only wish Jeffrey were more of an opportunist.' Mrs. Nichols sighed and stood up. 'I'm going in to Chichester. Would you like to come?'
It was the first sign of hospitality shown her since she had arrived from Canada and Carolyn accepted with alacrity.
'Can you hang on while I change into something more respectable?'
Mrs. Nichols nodded and Carolyn raced upstairs and put on one of Darien's outfits: a French navy dress with a white Peter Pan collar and a matching coat.
'You look like a schoolgirl,' Mrs. Nichols remarked as they entered the car.
'Do you think it's too young for me?' Carolyn asked anxiously.
'Not at all. I was paying you a compliment. Most women of twenty-four would like to be mistaken for teenagers.'
'But treated like women.'
'Naturally!' Mrs. Nichols changed gear smoothly and they moved down the drive.
Even after so many months in England Carolyn was still uncomfortable in a small British car, but as they reached the narrow, crowded streets of Chichester and successfully parked in one of the narrow turnings, she saw the reason for not having a large unwieldy car.
'If you've anything particular to buy we can go separate ways and meet here in an hour.'
'I don't need anything, thanks. I'd jus
t as soon go along with you.'
'I've some things to get for Cook and a few odds and ends for myself.'
Mrs. Nichols shopped quickly and competently, and most of the storekeepers knew her by name and hurried to serve her.
'Agatha always left the purchases to me,' she explained as they returned, arms laden, to the car. 'But if you'd prefer to do them yourself, just say so.'
'No, thanks,' Carolyn said hastily. 'I'm a sucker when it comes to shopping. I can be talked into buying anything!'
'Agatha was the same.' Mrs. Nichols skilfully backed out into the main stream of traffic. 'She believed it was cheaper to buy by the dozen, and she once came back with twelve loaves of bread!'
Carolyn laughed. 'She sounds as if she were nuts!'
'That's what we thought when we learned about the will.'
Once again the atmosphere was electric with antagonism, and quickly Carolyn changed the subject.
'Are we going anywhere else from here?'
'I promised to call for Jeffrey. It'll also give you a chance to see the Tyssen factory. They produce more than a third of the drugs sold in the world today.' She pointed with her hand. 'The buildings are beginning now. Look on your left.'
Carolyn turned her head and saw a long brick wall that merged into the distant horizon. They drove beside it for some three-quarters of a mile and stopped at a barrier guarded by a uniformed officer. As he recognised Mrs. Nichols he saluted and stepped back, allowing them to move forward along a wide road that stretched between a towering complex of steel and glass buildings.
'It looks like some space-age city,' Carolyn murmured.
'It's the most modern factory site in the world,' Mrs. Nichols replied. 'Alvin commissioned a Swedish architect to design it for him.'
'How long has he been in control?'
'Since he was twenty-six. Ten years ago.'
'He seems older than thirty-six,' Carolyn remarked. 'I can't imagine him as a gay young blade!'
Mrs. Nichols smiled. 'Don't let his calmness fool you. Alvin can be quite a different person when he wants to be.'
Remembering the sound of the drawling, self-satisfied voice of the woman she had heard in Darien's salon, Carolyn conceded the point, and at the same time found herself wondering what sort of a man he would have been had Rosemary not run away with Peter. Would he still have needed the additional satisfaction of an illicit love affair, or was he the type of man— all too rare—who would have found complete happiness with one woman only? It was a question made all the more intriguing by virtue of its being so difficult to answer, and she was annoyed with herself for even thinking of it. With an effort she concentrated her gaze at the large building that loomed ahead of them, amused to see a dark blue pennant with the gold embroidered words 'Tyssen's Chemicals' fluttering from a flagpole above the mosaic and glass entrance.
'He's fond of his name, isn't he?' she could not help remarking.
'For propaganda purposes only. An enormous number of people from all over the world come here to study his methods. During the war, of course, the whole place was turned over to making munitions.'
'I know. Peter said it caused the death of his mother and sister.'
'That's just the sort of histrionic remark he would have made. All munitions factories were targets for bombing. You can't blame Alvin for that. He was under Government orders and he obeyed them.'
It was so logical a statement that it brooked no argument, and Carolyn was saddened at the knowledge that Peter had never been able to realise it for himself. At least it would have mitigated his brooding grievance against a man whom he himself had wronged. Or perhaps that had been the very reason for his inability to see that Alvin was blameless; perhaps Peter—out of his own sense of guilt in running away with another man's fiancee—had needed to justify his action by building up an artificial resentment against Alvin. It was an interesting supposition which she had no time to consider further, for at this point they entered the marble lobby and went up in a lift to the top of the building. The doors opened to disclose a carpeted corridor with executive offices ranged on either side and they entered the first one and were ushered by a male secretary into a luxuriously appointed office with panelled walls and black carpet.
Jeffrey came forward from behind a large sycamore desk and kissed his mother on the cheek.
'You've brought Carolyn! What a pleasant surprise. Has she come to apply for a job as resident nurse?'
'If you need one,' Carolyn retorted.
'That's for Alvin to decide—but we already have four!' As he spoke he collected some papers and stuffed them into a briefcase.
'Are you sure it's all right for you to leave so early?' his mother asked.
'Perfectly, Alvin gave me permission himself.' He turned to Carolyn. 'I'm arranging a surprise musical for the engagement party. There'll be some top names in the show business world there, and Bobby Martell, the producer, is coming to the house this afternoon to show me some preliminary set designs.'
'A ridiculous waste of money,' Mrs. Nichols sniffed. 'I can't understand Alvin agreeing to it. It's most unlike him.'
'Perhaps he believes I've got talent,' Jeffrey said lightly. 'If you had a bit more faith in me yourself you'd '
A buzzer on his desk interrupted his words and a metallic voice echoed in the room. 'Mr. Tyssen is on his way to see you, Mr. Nichols. Please wait for him.'
"Whenever he leaves his office,' Jeffrey explained, 'his secretary notifies the office he's going to so that they can lay out the red carpet.'
Mrs. Nichols gave her son a glance of irritation, but anything she might have said was curtailed by the door opening to show Alvin on the threshold.
It was the first time that Carolyn had seen him in a lounge suit, and though it made him look younger, it in no way decreased his air of austerity.
'Good afternoon.' He inclined his head towards them and then looked at Jeffrey. 'I wanted to catch you before you left. You know Biggley's arriving in an hour?'
'Oh, lord! I'd completely forgotten.'
'Since he owns twelve hundred retail chemist shops he's a difficult man to overlook. You must wait and see him.'
'Of course. I'm sorry I forgot about it.'
Alvin nodded acceptance of the apology and spoke to Mrs. Nichols. 'If you'd like to wait in reception, Jeffrey won't be long. I'm sorry to inconvenience you.'
'That's perfectly all right, Alvin. We're in no particular hurry.'
'We have to collect Piotr,' Caroline murmured.
'I'll have my secretary telephone your home and arrange it,' Alvin said. 'Anyway, you should have a nurse for him.'
'I'm the nurse.'
'That wasn't what I meant.'
She did not reply but silently followed Mrs. Nichols out to the corridor. Alvin led them into a room a few doors away and waited until they had sat down.
'Can I get you something to drink?' he asked. Mrs. Nichols shook her head and he looked at Carolyn. 'What about you?'
'No, thanks.' She hesitated and then said: 'I'd much rather take a look round if I could.'
'No one's permitted into the laboratories,' Mrs. Nichols intervened.
'I think we can make an exception with Carolyn,' Alvin's voice was cool. 'I can spare twenty minutes to take you round myself.'
Carolyn longed to refuse the cold invitation, but he was already walking over to the door and she had no choice but to follow.
For the next half-hour she was given a glimpse of some of the work that went on in this small universe. The innumerable laboratories, with white-coated men and women, the research department with its intricate apparatus and strange-coloured mixtures that occasionally bubbled with such fierceness she was afraid they would explode, and the dispensing rooms, hospital unit and spotless canteen. They they climbed on to a small trolley car and were whisked down a long corridor to a pair of bronze doors. Alvin pressed a knob and the doors slid back to disclose a lift. He motioned Carolyn to enter, and as she did so, the doors closed and they ros
e swiftly upwards. 'I thought English elevators were slow,' she gasped.
'This one is American.'
The doors opened to reveal a large room furnished with a delicate Regency table—which served as a desk—and matching chairs which were grouped in twos and threes along walls adorned by a blaze of colour that, even to Carolyn's inexpert eye, spoke of French Impressionism.
'My office,' Alvin said casually. 'What do you think of it?'
'It's out of character.'
'With me or the factory?'
'Both!'
He smiled. 'What did you expect my office to look like?'
'Antiseptic and clinical.'
'You're a poor judge of character, Carolyn. I like strong colours—and women with similar personalities!'
Silently she walked over to the window. 'I never realised your factory was so enormous. Do you only make drugs?'
'Oh no. Plastics, paint, synthetic fibres, dyes, cosmetics, scent——- '
'No more!' She swung round. 'You're practically a monopoly.'
'Not quite.'
As he spoke he took out his cigarette case and offered it to her, and only then did she realise he was using his left hand, and that he was keeping his right one religiously in his pocket.
'Your hand,' she said quickly. 'Let me see it.'
'It's better. Don't make a fuss.'
'Then why is it in your pocket?'
He shrugged. 'Can't you forget you're a nurse?'
'Not when you behave like a child! Show me your hand.'
Silently he did as she asked and she found herself staring at a mass of white bandage. For a moment she was speechless. 'You must have been in agony last night,' she said. 'Why didn't you let me see to it right away?'
'It was just a slight burn.'
'Slight?' Her anguish gave way to temper. 'Of all the damn stupid ways to behave, your action takes the cake! Don't you know you made it worse not having it treated at once?'
He leaned against the edge of the table. 'How inconsistent you are,' he drawled. 'One minute you're melting with sympathy and the next you're yelling at me like a shrike!'
'Because you're such a fool,' she stormed. 'You must have been in agony last night, and there was no need for it.' She glared at him, but his glasses made it difficult for her to see his expression, and she gave an exclamation of anger. 'For heaven's sake take them off!'
Rachel Lindsay - Mask of Gold Page 10
