Parking her car in the drive of Brook House she saw
Rupert's car was parked beside the big oak front door of the many-windowed Georgian house, and raced inside to find her brother, anxious to tell him her news.
She met Rupert coming along the hall obviously on his way out. How did the bunfight go?' he paused to ask.
`I saw my ring,' Lucy came back, too pent up to answer his question, and followed on in a rush, unable to see her brother's expression in the dim light of the hall. 'There was this girl there and she was wearing it, Rupe—she was wearing my ring! She ...'
`Your ring?' Rupert interrupted her slowly when she would have galloped on. 'You say you saw a girl wearing your ring?' he questioned, then to her utter amazement discounted what she had just told him. 'You must have made a mistake.'
`I didn't,' Lucy said quickly, not comprehending that Rupert didn't believe her, and went on to tell him what had happened.
`It was probably very similar—but I doubt it was the one I lost,' her brother said when he had heard her out. She wished he would come into the sitting room with her where they could discuss it in relative comfort, but Rupert hadn't moved towards the sitting room but seemed to be edging nearer to the front door if. anything.
`It was the same ring,' Lucy told him flatly. 'I'd know it anywhere.'
Rupert peered at his watch. 'Look, Lucy, I know you're in a lather, but I'm supposed to be seeing Archie Proctor in ten minutes—leave it until I come home, we'll talk about it then.'
Mention of Archie Proctor successfully took her mind off the ring for a moment. Archie Proctor was one of the few friends of her brother's whom she didn't like; he was too fond of the good life without thought for the consequences for her peace of mind—there was that girl over at Bishops Waking who claimed openly that the father of her daughter
was Archie Proctor, for all he denied it.
`What are you seeing him for?' She knew she shouldn't question Rupert like this, but she was never happy when he was out with Archie Proctor. Rupert had only taken up with him since their parents had died, and she fervently hoped he would drop him as quickly.
`I am three years older than you, remember,' Rupert came back, not liking to have his movements questioned. 'At twenty-five I think I'm entitled to make friends without having to ask your permission.'
She had upset him. She didn't need to hear the front door slam behind him to know he had taken exception to her question. Disconsolately she pushed her way into the sitting room and stared with unseeing eyes out of the window. The gardens were a picture this time of the year, but it could have been a dung heap out there for all the beauty she saw.
There was no knowing what time Rupert would be back. More than likely he and Archie would go into the nearby town of Dinton and live it up till the small hours. Once or twice lately Rupert had come back the worse for drink, though Lucy didn't know where he was getting the money from; his allowance wasn't due for some weeks yet, but that wasn't her main concern just then. All she hoped was when he came home it would be in one piece, having caused no harm to himself or anybody else.
Telling herself that worrying over Rupert wouldn't bring him home any sooner or any more sober than he would be if she didn't worry about him, Lucy went to her room and changed her jump suit for jeans and a sweater, while niggling worries of Rupert kept intruding. She had no idea what time he would be home and she so wanted to have her ring in her possession tonight. He had said they would discuss it when he came home, but as far as she could see there was nothing to discuss, even supposing Rupert was sober enough to discuss anything very sensibly.
He had been so loving and caring when their parents had been alive, immediately afterwards too, she recalled, and although grieving their parents' loss himself, had gone out of his way to help her with her pain. She brushed a tear from her eyes as she recalled the day he had seen her sitting holding her mother's ring—she had no idea of its worth, but treasured it because it had belonged to her mother; it had in fact been in the family for generations. Rupert had taken the ring from her; there had been no need to ask if she loved it, he knew that already. `I'll take it into Dinton tomorrow and have it cleaned up for you,' he had told her gently. 'I don't suppose Mother's had it cleaned in all the years she's had it.' That he had spoken of their mother in the present tense had gone unnoticed by both of them; at that point they were still referring to their parents as if they were still with them.
True to his word Rupert had taken the ring into Dinton. But it was not until three weeks later had he confessed he had lost it, and by that time they were acquainted with, and trying to adjust to, the news that the fortune they had expected to inherit was non-existent, were adjusting to the fact that the lands to the north, east and south of Brook House had been sold off some months before to pay for their father's gambling debts, debts they had been in total ignorance about—that they still had the house was a miracle. Seeing how bitter Rupert had become at the news that his inheritance had been gambled away from him, Lucy had bottled down her anguish over the loss of her ring, and had asked her brother quietly if he had informed the police.
`Of course I've informed them,' he had snapped, none of his earlier gentleness - in evidence then. 'What do you take me for—an idiot?'
`I'm sorry,' she had apologised, and kept the sorrow of her feeling to herself.
After that Rupert had shaken off the bitterness of his feel-
ings and had replaced it with a wildness that was so out of character she began to wonder if she had ever truly known her brother at all.
Knowing she would not be able to sit quietly waiting for her brother's return, Lucy thought briefly of ringing the police and letting them handle the investigation into how Carol Stanfield came to be wearing her ring, but after some time spent in thinking the matter over, she decided against the idea. If this Jud person had just come to live in the area it was hardly fair, knowing how quickly gossip could spread in the community, to have speculation spreading about him or his guests being the receivers of stolen property—that sort of talk would take years to live down in the close community of Priors Channing, and while she held no brief for him, in all fairness she knew she couldn't do it. No, there was only one way to handle this—she would go to the Hall herself.
Once her mind was made up Lucy found it difficult to wait until she judged lunch at the Hall would be over, then at two o'clock, she went to her room and exchanged her jeans and sweater for a lightweight trouser suit in mid-brown that went well with her dark brown hair and eyes; the whole effect was lifted by the cream silk blouse she donned beneath her jacket. She could have gone up to the Hall in her jeans, but the knowledge of what would almost certainly turn out to be a sticky interview ruled that no matter how she was feeling inside, she should arrive at the Hall looking cool, neat and confident, and she doubted that jeans and sweater would help her achieve that effect.
On previous visits Lucy had made to Rockford Hall, the journey from Brook House had always seemed longer, but within a very short space the Mini was turning through the wrought iron gates at the bottom of the long drive. Rockford Hall had previously been owned by Colonel Broughton, a friend of her father's. Lucy remembered trying to keep her mind away from the interview in front of her
which she just knew wasn't going to be easy. When Colonel Broughton had died two years ago the whole property, including the tenanted farms that stretched as far as Bishops Waking, had been left to the Colonel's nephew Selwyn. Selwyn had never shown an interest in the Hall and when he had learned the amount of death duties he had to pay had lost no time in putting the Hall and its farms up for sale. The grounds of the Hall, neglected since the property had been empty, showed signs of someone having made a start on getting them back into shape—a mammoth task for anyone, so more than likely an army of gardeners had been taken on, Lucy reasoned, as she turned the wheel of the Mini and pulled the car to a halt by the large imposing front door.
Attempting a cool façade just in case an
yone was watching from one of the windows, she left her car and sauntered up to the stone steps. That her hands felt clammy and her insides trembly she put down to the fact that if Carol Stanfield was engaged to this Jud, then she was bound to be upset at having to give up her engagement ring, and Lucy had never intentionally hurt anyone's feelings, besides which she had taken to the friendly girl who had introduced herself and then disappeared.
Lucy thought to have a few more moments in which to compose herself while waiting for her knock to be answered, but while she was still taking a deep and steadying breath the door swung inwards, and she found herself face to face with the man she had come to see. At once she recognised that expressionless face. If he was surprised to see her then his surprise wasn't showing, and she only hoped the nervousness she was suddenly feeling was not in evidence for him to witness.
`May I see you for a moment?' The words sounded remarkably cool in her own ears, and she was glad that whatever he had made of her in those first seconds, there was no hint of hesitation in her voice to betray her true feelings.
Though when he made no move to stand back and allow her to enter, she thought she was going to have to state the nature of her errand on his doorstep. 'My business won't take long,' she found herself saying into the stifling silence.
The door was opened, and without saying a word, the man she had come to see stood back to allow her over his threshold. The light in the hall was much better than at the hall of Brook House, and vaguely Lucy noted the different set of furniture from the last time she had been here when the Colonel had been in occupation, though it was not so very different in that the hall was still tastefully furnished with a smattering of antiques.
Carol Stanfield was standing at the foot of the stairs with every appearance of making for one of the upstairs rooms. Lucy calculated that she and Jud—she wished she had discovered his other name, since she could hardly call him by his first name—they must have been crossing the hall when her knock at the door had sounded and without waiting for one of his staff to answer the door he had performed that service himself That in itself told her he was no snob.
`Hello,' said Carol Stanfield, still in the same friendly tones she had used only that morning—Lucy regretted that Carol wouldn't be feeling so friendly towards her at the end of her visit. 'How nice of you to come to see us.'
`This isn't a social call,' Jud put in at the side of Lucy, causing her to glance at him and quickly away. His expression was inscrutable, telling her nothing other than that she had definitely, but definitely, imagined that 'your place or mine' look at the village hall this morning.
`Not a social call?' Carol was obviously having a hard time wondering what on earth his visitor could want to discuss with him that wasn't social.
Lucy was now hating the reason for her call as she watched Carol's puzzled face.
`I'll see you later, Carol,' said Jud, indicating that Lucy
should follow him into the room she knew used to be the drawing room.
`You mean I can't come with you?' Carol queried.
That was the last thing Lucy wanted. She was going to have a hard enough time convincing this sombre man at her side that the ring was hers without the added disquiet of trying to convince him while the girl she was sure now was his fiancée was present.
`I'd rather see Mr ...' Oh God, she wished she knew his name, wished it was over. 'I'd rather see him alone.' She didn't look at him to see what he was making of it.
`Don't be long, then, Jud—you promised to teach me to play billiards, remember,' said Carol, having to accept that her presence wasn't wanted.
`This shouldn't take long.'
Lucy silently echoed his words with the fervent hope that inside ten minutes she would be driving away from Rockford Hall with her mother's ring in her possession.
The man she knew as Jud closed the door of the drawing room behind them, and looking directly at her indicated that she should take a seat on one of the several giant-sized settees the room housed. Lucy didn't want to sit down, she felt too uncomfortable in this man's presence—this man who by his very silence wasn't making it any easier for her to begin. But she felt compelled, as he stood silently waiting, to sit down, if only to give herself some small thing to do. Straight away she wished she hadn't, as he remained standing, and as she looked at him, taking in that he was taller than she remembered with him towering over her, she saw he looked ten or fifteen years older than herself, had dark hair the same as she had, but that his eyes were a hard grey-green. In fact it was not only his eyes that-were hard—the whole appearance of the man was hard : hard mouth, hard muscular body.
`The name is Judson Hemming.'
His voice was just as hard as the rest of him, she thought,
as he reminded her that she had called to see him on a business matter without even knowing his name.
`I'm sorry.' She wished she hadn't apologised, it gave him the advantage straightaway. 'We never got round to being introduced this morning, did we?' That was better, her voice was sounding quite cool again. `I'm Lucy Carey—I live at Brook House.'
He received this information without comment, and she wondered if he already knew who she was. Anyone could have told him at the village hall, though he didn't look as though he was sufficiently interested enough to enquire. She wasn't used to this sort of treatment from a man. It jolted her a little to know how indifferent this man was to her.
`You said you wanted to see me on a business matter,' he reminded her darkly, as though to suggest that if she didn't soon spit it out he would very shortly be showing her the door. `I'll warn you now, Miss Carey, guessing games aren't much in my line.'
His sarcasm stung, making her head come up sharply, putting starch into her wilting backbone, making her so angry that sparks flew to her eyes. Judson Hemming was just about the most impossible man she had ever come into contact with. He had known from the very beginning that she was uneasy and had done absolutely nothing to spare her feelings, so why should she consider his? She had right on her side after all. She stood up and felt better that although he still topped her by a head, she was more on a level with him
`Neither do I go in for guessing games Mr Hemming,' she retorted, striving to keep cool. 'But I thought because you're new to the district it would be better to see you first rather than follow my first inclination and go to the police.'
Again that inscrutable look was on his face—would nothing shake him? He hadn't so much as batted an eyelid at her mention of the word police, but just waited silently and watchfully for her to continue. If his face was showing
anything at all, it was utter boredom.
Lucy had never been aware of boring anyone, indeed had found herself more than popular right back through her schooldays, and she wasn't going to stand for it. Her business was stated flatly and with complete disregard for any feelings he might have, since she was beginning to doubt he had any whatsoever.
`The ring your fiancée is wearing is mine,' she stated baldly, and expected another sarcastic comment as the blunt statement left her, but was shaken to see he was completely unmoved, even to the extent of ignoring her claim.
`You're engaged to be married, Miss Carey?' he queried. Not to the young man I saw you talking with this morning, I trust? There didn't seem 'to be very much joy on your part from what I could see.'
Completely taken out of her stride, Lucy looked straight into cold, hard grey-green eyes. 'I'm not engaged,' she snapped. 'Donald reminded me of something ...' she broke off abruptly. It was nothing to this man that Donald had brought everything crashing in on her memory—the sad thoughts he had unintentionally triggered off.
`Something ...?' Jud Hemming questioned. 'If the look on your face was anything to go by your memories would appear to be very sad ones, Miss Carey.'
`I'm surprised you noticed the look on my face,' she said stonily, then wished she hadn't because now he would know she had noted his indifference to her.
`I probably wouldn't h
ave done,' he came back, unperturbed, 'other than that a solemn face stuck out like a sore thumb among so many happy smiling faces. What, I wonder, were you thinking about to make you look so sad?'
Had there been any sign of sympathy in his tone she might have clammed up, for everyone had been kind and sympathetic to her and Rupert when they had lost their parents, and the sympathy of people had made it hard for her to hold back the tears which in private had flowed
unendingly. But with this man's abrasive attitude she knew she would never ever be at risk of breaking down in his company.
`My parents were drowned in a sailing accident some months ago—it was the first time I'd seen Donald for him to offer his condolences.'
Lucy looked away from her interrogator as the words left her lips. She knew what she had told him wouldn't affect him one way or the other— how could it? He hadn't known her parents, hadn't known the sweetness of her mother, or the devil-may-care man who had been her father. All the same, she was not as tough as she thought she was, and having made her revelations she felt the tug of tears behind her eyes, until Jud Hemming's abrasive tones hit her ears.
`So this Donald fellow is not a regular boy-friend?'
She answered him purely because she needed a moment or two to pull herself together. 'No—no, he isn't—nor likely to be.'
`Should one say "Poor Donald", I wonder?'
`What do you mean?' Tears were very far away suddenly as she snapped back. The way he had voiced his question led her to believe he considered any boy-friend of hers would deserve a medal.
`It's obvious the chap is keen on you. Equally obvious is the fact that you aren't too keen on him—why, I wonder?'
Hostile engagement Page 2
