Hell Or High Water. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ you blame her?’ Helen turned from the window to spread her hands expressively. ‘Honestly, Mummy, can you see either of the Hetheringtons working for some—some artist, in whatever category?’

      ‘Mr Manning is a writer, not an artist.’

      ‘Writers, artists, they’re all the same,’ declared Helen airily, dismissing the fact that she had never actually met a writer before. ‘Besides, the Hetheringtons are old, Mummy. And you know what they say about old retainers!’

      Mrs Chase smoked her cigarette with more aggression than enjoyment. ‘Oh, but I wouldn’t like to think the Hetheringtons were in danger of being dismissed. I mean,Hetherington has looked after the grounds for years! The trees and flowers—they’re his domain. I never interfere, you know that. The greenhouses …’ She paced nervously across to the window and looked her daughter squarely in the face. ‘I shall have to make it a condition of the sale, that the Hetheringtons retain their jobs.’

      ‘I don’t think you can do that, Mummy,’ retorted Helen bluntly, sustaining her mother’s piercing scrutiny. ‘After all, this isn’t a small business you’re selling, it’s a house. An estate. And for all we know, Jarret Manning may have his own staff of servants.’

      ‘You don’t really believe that, do you, dear?’

      Her mother looked really worried now, and with a sigh Helen moved away from her. There were times when Mrs Chase was just a little too intense, and this was one of them. How could she be expected to know what Jarret Manning’s reactions to the Hetherington’s might be, and in any case, he hadn’t definitely decided to buy the house yet, had he?

      ‘Oughtn’t we to wait and see what he thinks first?’ she asked now, and to her relief her mother accepted the reprieve.

      ‘Of course, of course.’ Mrs Chase’s face cleared. ‘He may not like the house at all, and Margot did say he was doubtful about the amount of land …’

      ‘There you are, then.’ Helen forced a smile and crossed the room to pour two glasses of sherry from the decanter standing on a table near the door. ‘Here, drink this. I think we can both use it.’

      ‘Mmmm, thank you.’ But Mrs Chase took the glass her daughter offered rather absently, before focussing doubtfully on Helen’s jean-clad figure. ‘Aren’t you going to change, darling? I do think we should represent a certain standard of—breeding, and those jeans are practically indecent.’

      ‘Now who’s being snobbish?’ enquired Helen dryly, tasting her sherry. Then she looked down at her cotton shirt and matching pants. ‘What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? You look elegant enough for both of us.’

      Her mother accepted the back-handed compliment with a wry smile, but she did permit herself a moment’s self-appraisal before acknowledging that it was true. Her pleateddress of soft blue wool disguised the fuller lines of her figure, and the pearls that circled her throat were a gift from her grandmother, and consequently valuable. She looked at home in her surroundings, she thought, fashionable, but not flashy, refined, but not understated.

      Helen, for her part, hid her own anxiety, the long lashes drooping over eyes that might reveal her uncertainty. Perhaps she ought to change, she thought, but she rebelled against doing anything which implied an acceptance of Margot’s protégé as the prospective owner of King’s Green.

      The sound of a powerful engine approaching the house stilled all other activity, and Mrs Chase looked at her daughter with something resembling panic. ‘It must be them!’ she almost whispered the words, and with a feeling of irritation overcoming her apprehension Helen set down her glass.

      ‘Who else?’ she agreed tautly. ‘Unless Charles has chosen this moment to put in an appearance.’

      ‘Do you think he might?’

      Her mother looked almost hopeful, but Helen shook her head. ‘Charles is in Cheltenham, as you very well know,’ she retorted, looping her hair behind her ears in a businesslike way. ‘Do you want me to let them in? Then you can greet them here like the gracious hostess you are.’

      Mrs Chase looked doubtful, but Helen was already leaving the room, casting a reassuring glance over her shoulder, trying to feel as confident as she looked.

      The doorbell pealed as she started across the hall, echoing around the mellow panelling and bringing an increasing awareness of their own vulnerability. She glanced up at the trembling prisms of a chandelier, at the polished carving of the staircase, and realised how much she would miss all this if she had to leave. Marrying Charles somehow had always seemed such a distant thing, and if she had thought of King’s Green at all, it was in terms of her coming here, with her children, bringing them to see their grandmother, and showing them the places where she had played when she was young. She had never pictured the house belonging to anyone else, and even the home Charles was buying for them, beautiful though it was, could nevermean as much to her as King’s Green.

      With these thoughts for company she opened the doors to the porch, her unusually pale features remote and uncompromising. To the man and woman awaiting her reception she appeared cold and indifferent, her casual appearance belying the cold hauteur in her face.

      In contrast, Margot Urquart seemed warm and animated, her green silk suit complementing the sunflower brightness of her scarf. Careful make-up had taken years from her finely-drawn features, and Helen could quite see that in the right light she might be taken for thirty-five or younger. The stark sunlight of morning was less sympathetic, but nevertheless Margot had a certain feminine appeal that was ageless.

      However, it was the man standing slightly behind her who drew Helen’s eyes. She had known what to expect, of course, she had seen his picture on the back of her mother’s book, but even so, she was totally unprepared for the man himself. A photograph was flat, two-dimensional, limited by the demands of black and white, whereas the man who was accompanying Margot was flesh and blood, and infinitely more disturbing than any clever likeness. The picture, for instance, had shown him to have fair hair, but not that silvery fairness that lay smoothly against his scalp, without requiring any unsightly hairdressing. Also, he was darker-skinned than she had expected, absurdly so, considering the lightness of his hair, with blue eyes shaded by long gold-tipped lashes. He was not handsome, his appeal was much more subtle than that, and the faintly mocking twist to his mouth convinced her that he knew that as well as she did. In consequence, Helen stiffened still further, and it was left to Margot to say, rather doubtfully:

      ‘Mrs Chase is expecting us. Will you tell her we’re here, Miss—er——’

      Helen’s reserve broke into unwilling explanation. ‘I’m Helen,’ she said, half believing Margot knew that already, but the other woman’s astonishment seemed genuine enough.

      ‘Helen!’ she exclaimed. ‘Good heavens!’ A certain trace of waspishness entered her tones now. ‘But you wereonly a schoolgirl the last time I saw you.’

      ‘That was three years ago, Aunt Margot,’ Helen replied politely, steeling herself not to respond with the implied immaturity. ‘I’m twenty-one.’

      Aunt Margot clearly didn’t like the designation, but she was forced to ignore it for the time being. ‘I thought you must be an au pair Alice had employed,’ she explained, glancing half apologetically at her escort. ‘Darling, this is Alice’s daughter Helen. Helen, I’d like you to met Mr Jarret Manning.’

      ‘How do you do?’ Jarret Manning held out his hand, and Helen was forced to take СКАЧАТЬ