by Susan Barrie
She shrugged.
‘I was already half packed up. I’ve told you, it didn’t matter.’ ‘Before you made a martyr of yourself and moved into the room that had already been prepared for Mrs. Larsen wouldn’t it have been better to come to me and ask me to adjudicate on the matter?’
Her wide eyes clearly indicated to him that she had never even thought of it
‘Oh, but I couldn’t have troubled you, Sir Luke,’ she said. ‘Why not?’
She shrugged again.
‘At that stage you didn’t even know who I was.’
‘That was your fault!’
‘And it was such a small matter. It didn’t seem important.’
‘Were you going to let me know today that you had a right -a certain amount of right! - to your room?’
‘I don’t honestly know,’ she admitted. ‘I might have done so, if it had struck me that you should know. But, on the other hand, it might have struck me even more forcibly that there was little point in your knowing.’
He took his seat, scowling slightly, behind his desk. ‘There’s one other aspect of this matter that I must take up with you, Miss Grainger,’ he told her. ‘Miss Larsen seems to think you were rude to her ... in fact, she says you were quite insufferably rude! She was not unnaturally surprised to find you occupying one of the best rooms in the house, without any apparent right, and when she tried to find out who you were and what you were supposed to be doing here you declined to give her any information whatsoever. She says you were insolent, and her mother bears out that you were reticent ... extraordinarily reticent considering all the circumstances. There was no reason at all why you shouldn’t immediately have divulged the true facts.’
‘She had taken over my room, and I don’t think she was interested in listening to facts,’ Melanie replied.
His frown grew very black.
‘Miss Larsen was no doubt tired after driving her own car all the way from London, and there was no reason why she should be forced to listen to a long stream of facts so soon after arriving at a house where she had been invited to stay as a guest,’ the new owner of Wroxford Priory pointed out forcefully. ‘And I must say I was astonished to hear for the very first time that my uncle had had some sort of a ward ... not one to be acknowledged openly, apparently, otherwise you yourself would have had no hesitation in stating to Miss Larsen that you were the late Sir James Wroxford’s ward! But a somewhat embarrassing addition to this household at the present time.’
Melanie flushed scarlet.
‘I’ll leave today, Sir Luke,’ she promised him, in a slightly muffled voice. ‘I’m afraid it didn’t occur to me that I should leave the moment you arrived, and in any case we didn’t expect you until the end of the week. If you have no objection to my using your telephone I’ll get in touch with the inn and ask them if they can let me have a room. I’m sure they can, because they’re not particularly busy.’ She stood up. ‘I’m afraid I won’t be able to shift my things until tomorrow,
or the day after—’
‘Sit down,’ he ordered tersely. ‘I don’t expect you to leave until it’s convenient for you to do so.’
But her colour was still high, and for the first time in her life she knew exactly what it was like to feel like an interloper.
‘Oh, but of course it’s convenient. I’ll make it convenient!’ What a hard outline there was to his face, she thought, and how deceptively his eyes could smile occasionally when everything was going smoothly and he was feeling very well satisfied with life. Last night, for instance, when he had arrived with the woman he intended to marry, and was tasting to the full the pleasure of taking over as its master the house which he had visited as a child! But this morning, after a sharp complaint from his wife-to-be, he was in far from a good humour!
‘I’m not turning you out ... I simply wanted to make it clear to you that you could have shown a little more consideration and been less secretive about the reason why you were here! And I wish that confounded lawyer of mine had been more explicit about my late uncle’s will ... the details, I mean. Apparently you are about to rob the drawingroom of an important part of its furnishing—’
‘The piano, you mean?’
‘Yes; the piano.’ He frowned up at her, for she had declined to resume her seat. ‘Is it really yours?’
‘Sir James said I was to have it. I think it’s mentioned in the will,’ her voice still slightly choked, for she had never thought she would have to fight for her piano.
‘Well, if it is I shall not dispute the bequest,’ although he sounded as if he would do so if there should be the smallest loophole. ‘But naturally I shall go into the matter, and I can’t allow you to have it removed until the situation is perfectly clear. I shall be going to London for a few days next week, and I’ll see Harkness, of Rawlinson, Harkness & Delafield.’ His dark eyes glared at her. ‘Then there is the question of your cottage. Is that also a bequest, or was it made over to you during my uncle’s lifetime? I don’t suppose you hold the deeds?’
‘Oh, yes, I do.’ Her small mouth tightened, and her blue eyes glinted down at him. ‘There will be no necessity,’ she assured him, ‘for you to consult Mr. Harkness about my cottage, but if you do he will be able to convince you that I have the right to occupy it. As to the deeds, I can get those from the bank at any time if you would like to study them.’
‘Thank you, but I prefer to accept your word about that.’ He folded the map they had both been studying a short while before. ‘But the piano is a different matter . . .’ reverting to the subject. ‘I have, only just arrived to take over here and I resent the idea of certain items of furniture being removed from the house. You may say it’s only a piano, but the piano in question is a very fine instrument, and I remember my aunt used to play it remarkably well, and it looks well in the drawing-room ... In fact, a serious gap would be created if it were removed. I could, of course, replace it, but that would take time, and at the moment I am entertaining a party of my friends. I should hate to see the drawing-room denuded while they are still here. You will have to curb your impatience — if you do feel impatience about the piano - until they are no longer here, and I’ve had a chance to provide a replacement.’
‘Of course.’ She was anxious, now, to leave the library, to get away from the house as quickly and expeditiously as it could be arranged. She would never have believed the day would dawn when a burning desire to be safely on the other side of the encompassing stone wall of Wroxford Priory would be the paramount desire of which she was conscious; but the day had dawned, and the knowledge that she could barely wait to get the rest of her packing done, her car out of the garage and herself on the way to the local inn shook her like a gale of wind.
‘So far as I am concerned, Sir Luke,’ she told him, endeavouring to sound as if she was feeling completely composed and rational, ‘you can take as much time as you wish before parting with the piano.’
‘Would there be any point in my offering to buy it?’ She gazed at him with surprise, and then with very evident distaste. She swung away from the desk and walked rapidly over to the door, but she had to fumble with the handle before she succeeded in opening it. Her voice was a little husky as she assured him:
‘I’ll be out of the house just as quickly as I can get my things together. I - it - it shouldn’t take long!’
CHAPTER FOUR
The first thing she did was make her way to the stables and arrange for the temporary transference of Lady to Martin Vidal’s stables. They were hardly in the same class as the air-conditioned, immaculate, special block at Wroxford; but she knew he wouldn’t mind, and at least Lady wouldn’t lack for good fodder and adequate attention while in the care of Martin.
The next thing she did was seek out Dickson, who had agreed to place one of the estate cars at her disposal and lend her his assistance with the removal of her personal effects when the time came. He was lying underneath one of the visitors’ cars when she finally ran him to earth in the new
garage extension, and he emerged from it with a smear of grease decorating one side of his face and a look of awed appreciation in his eyes because the car in question was a very fast Italian car, and it was the first time Dickson had had the opportunity to handle that particular model.
‘I’ll do my best, Miss Melanie,’ he promised, her, when she asked him whether he was willing to stand by his previous offer. But she thought he looked a little doubtful as he scratched his chin and glanced at the row of cars all, apparently, awaiting some sort of attention from him. ‘But with all these people staying here, and me without anyone at the moment to give me a hand—’
‘Of course, Dickson,’ Melanie said soothingly, implying immediate understanding of his problem. ‘I wouldn’t dream of troubling you,’ she assured him. ‘But if you could just help me down with my cases, and my various oddments, and perhaps store them here until I can find someone to help me take them over to my cottage....’
But he held up a hand.
‘I won’t let you down, Miss Melanie,’ he said firmly. ‘I gave you my word, and I’ll keep it ... but it’ll have to be later in the day, when I’ve finished with this little lot here.’ He ran a loving hand over the bonnet of a silver-grey Rolls. ‘Beauty, isn’t she?’ he demanded almost reverently. ‘Sir James never went in for this type of car. I could never understand it, with his money. I was always on at him to get rid of the Austin, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Obstinate old boy, he was ... and the Austin’s still here! Don’t suppose Sir Luke will be making much use of it.’
‘Does this Rolls-Royce belong to Sir Luke?’ Melanie inquired.
‘Yes. And at least she’ll be in my charge,’ Dickson added, as if a rare treat had come his way at last.
Melanie walked up to a pale blue convertible and touched it lightly.
‘And this?’ she asked.
‘Belongs to the lady Sir Luke brought with him — the young lady,’ Dickson amplified.
Melanie smiled slightly.
‘The old order really has given place to the new, hasn’t it, Dickson?’ she murmured. ‘After a despised Austin and my Mini—’ driving it out into the sunshine— ‘you’ll begin to feel that a clean wind has swept through your spanking new garage accommodation that is now only housing really suitable cars!’
She drove herself round to the front of the house, and left her Mini standing on the drive while she slipped inside and made her way up to her room without encountering any of the guests. She realized that if she had really wished, to escape attention she would have driven her car into the kitchen courtyard and loaded it there. But she had lived so long at the Priory that she did not wish to depart from it by means of a back door.
It was a kind of gesture, and she was making it . because of Sir James, and all he had stood for in her life, perhaps.
But on her way downstairs with a suitcase she ran full-tilt into the long-haired young man who had given chase after her the night before.
‘Ah!’ he exclaimed, and instead of giving way to her like a gentleman he effectively blocked her way.
She had changed out of her riding things and was wearing a smart little suit that she had bought in Paris, and everything else about her looked neat and exceptionally attractive. Her shoes went perfectly with her suit, and she was even wearing gloves for this final moment which she would probably remember all her life. Her hair was smooth and shining, and its shape was entirely suited to her delicate, heart-shaped face. She had taken great pains with her makeup - for the same reason, undoubtedly, that she had left her car standing right in the middle of the drive - and she was descending the stairs in a leisurely way when her progress was interfered with.
‘So you’re not just a figment of my imagination!’ The fairhaired young man looked triumphant, and Melanie regarded him with distaste. He was wearing very tight trousers of cavalry twill, and a sweater that was much too bright for one with his rather pallid complexion ... but whether naturally pallid or the result of several late nights in a row Melanie was not in a position to know. He had traces of tan and a certain wiriness and leanness that enabled her to picture him on surfing beaches and in winter sports resorts, but apart from that he was not her type at all. And she was afraid that her expression revealed it.
‘I’m in a hurry,’ she said patiently. ‘Do you mind if I continue on my way downstairs?’
‘Oh, yes, I mind very much.’ He had an engaging grin, and very good teeth. ‘You see, I couldn’t get any satisfaction last night as to who you are, and what you’re doing here ... and Inga seemed to think you’re an ex- governess, or something. But you don’t look like an ex-governess to me. And there aren’t any children here for anyone to be governess to, are there, and haven’t been for a decade or so, I’d say!’
‘You’re perfectly right,’ she returned quite sweetly, ‘there aren’t any children here.’
He relieved her of the case she was carrying before she could prevent him, and he carried it down into the hall for her and bowed to her ironically when she stopped him within a few feet of the open front door.
‘Thank you, Mr. - er—?’
‘Winslow,’ he told her, ‘Christopher Winslow.’
‘Well, thank you very much indeed, Mr. Winslow, but I can
manage now.’
‘And you’re not going to return the compliment?’
She shook her head.
‘There isn’t really any point, is there?’
‘Then you are leaving ...?’
She thought she heard voices on the far side of the hall, and she picked up her suitcase and darted out into the sunshine, only to run straight into a group of people who were congregated within a few paces of her unostentatious car. The two ladies in impractical but highly expensive country clothes she recognized immediately, and she exchanged a smile with Mrs. Larsen before the younger Miss Larsen had an opportunity to pretend not to know her and turning aside addressed a very pointed remark to the elderly gentleman who was standing near to her, and who was quite obviously curious because an unknown young woman had arrived suddenly in their midst and appeared to be thinking of making an exit without anyone even bothering to introduce her.
But the host - very much more urbane and apparently by this time in an extremely amiable humour - stepped forward quickly and prevented the girl from slipping nimbly into her car and driving off without uttering a word. He accosted her as if he had known her for a long time instead of a matter of hours, and proceeded to make her known to his friends.
‘Oh, Melanie,’ he said, ‘you can’t slip off without being introduced. I know you’ve met Mrs. and Miss Larsen, but they hadn’t the least idea who you were. Inga, this is my late uncle’s ward, Miss Melanie Grainger. . . .’ Inga smiled frigidly. ‘Colonel Anstruther, I’m surprised you two haven’t already met, for you were a close friend of Sir James. . . .’ The colonel’s military moustache bristled with interest as he shook hands gallantly and declared he simply couldn’t understand it, either, and what a pity it was he had been deprived. And then Melanie’s small gloved hand was caught and held by a lean-faced man in his early fifties, who had the air of being some sort of a tycoon, but was a very charming one, Melanie decided, and she managed to remember after it was all over that he was Richard Culdrose, and because of the quality of his manners was almost certainly the ‘unmistakable gentleman’ Mrs. Edgerley had enthused about.
But, having hoped to escape without running into anyone, Melanie felt herself at a disadvantage, and in any case she was in no mood to stand chatting idly, to the bosom acquaintances of Sir Luke Charnock. Side-stepping questions on the part of the two no-longer-young men as to where she was going she threw her suitcase into her car and, with a certain amount of difficulty in view of their obvious disappointment, scrambled in after it and managed to start up her engine while Sir Luke stood looking at her as if he couldn’t quite take in what was happening before his eyes.
Then, apparently suddenly realizing that she meant business and was actually depa
rting from a house that she had always looked upon as home, he moved forward quickly again and forced her to let down her window and listen to him.
‘You’re not really leaving, are you?’ he said curtly. ‘You’re not doing anything as childish as that just because—’
She smiled at him sweetly.
‘I’ve merely speeded things up and am taking my departure a day or so earlier because it’s much more convenient for everyone concerned,’ she told him with the same kind of deceptive sugary sweetness in her voice. ‘I’m afraid, however, that quite a large number of my personal possessions will be cluttering up your garage space until they can be removed ... at the latest by tomorrow night!’
‘You are being childish,’ he said coldly and decisively, for her ear alone, as he bent his sleek dark head inside her window and she caught the fragrance of his aftershave lotion while his dark eyes sparkled ominously within a few inches of her own. ‘You chose to take offence because of that confounded piano—’
‘I’ve forgotten all about the piano,’ she assured him, her bland blue eyes a smiling and vaguely tantalizing mask. ‘As a matter of fact, I may refuse to accept it after all, so do please encourage Miss Larsen to play on it while she is here!’
‘Where are you going?’ he asked, in a still, cold voice.
‘The Bell Inn. The food’s very good there, and you ought to try it some time.’ She slid in her gears, and for an instant her smile faded. ‘Thank you so much for your hospitality, Sir Luke,’ she said.
‘I ought to insist that you try more of it.’
‘The quality is hardly up to standard.’ She glanced at him sideways, a little mockingly. ‘Particularly the bed in the room that was prepared for Mrs. Larsen!’
Just before she slid away down the drive - not really for the last time, she thought, for she would probably have to come back and see about certain of her possessions - she was aware out of the tail of her eye that Miss Larsen in her pale oatmeal suit of irreproachable cut and shapeliness stepped forward and slipped a hand possessively inside Sir Luke’s arm, and hung on to it. And behind them Mrs. Larsen smiled contentedly, like a cat that had discovered a lot of cream very much to her taste.
