Charade In Winter. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ was at the front of the house, and beyond the sweep of courtyard acres of rolling parkland stretched away in all directions. The grass still shimmered with the heavy dew left by the mist, and there was a clean, drenched freshness about everything that made even the bare branches of the trees project a tracery of beauty. Some of the trees still clung to their leaves, and colours of yellow, bronze and amber mingled with the heavy greens of pine and spruce. It was a world away from the urban surroundings she was used to, and Alix wondered at her own capacity to adapt to it without constraint.

      But enchanting though the prospect from her window was, cold reality began to intrude. This was her first day at Darkwater Hall, and she had overslept. Hardly the way to begin, she thought ruefully, going into the bathroom, and turning on the shower. No matter how intriguing her surroundings might be, she was here to do a job, and not just the task Oliver Morgan had set her. Melissa’s presence could well turn out to be the key to the whole mystery surrounding Joanne Morgan’s death. What if Mrs Morgan had been kept in ignorance of the child’s existence, and had suddenly found out? What if she had threatened to expose him? He was a man of uncertain temper, everyone knew that. To what lengths might he have been prepared to go to stop her?

      Alix shook her head impatiently, stepping out from under the invigorating spray and towelling herself dry. This was all pure speculation! Joanne Morgan had died as the result of a car crash. It had been an accident. The coroner had recorded a verdict of accidental death. Just because her husband had inherited a vast amount of money from her estate it did not mean he had had a hand in loosening the brakes or the steering wheel, or had crippled the car in some other way so that she wrapped it round a tree only half a mile from their house in Sussex.

      Nevertheless, people were talking, and if it was ever revealed that he had had a Japanese mistress tucked away somewhere… Alix brought herself up short. What did she mean—if? Of course it would be revealed. This was her story, the one which would make her famous. She must not let sentimentality for the child undermine her determination. She would stay here just as long as it took to get to know Oliver Morgan, to find out what made him tick, and if possible to hear his version of his wife’s accident. Melissa’s mother was another story, and some other sensation-minded reporter could dig up those sordid details.

      She dressed in slim-fitting orange pants and a shirt in an attractive shade of olive green. Make-up she limited to eye-liner and lipstick, and feeling the familiar pangs of hunger she hurriedly made her bed before making her way downstairs.

      A grey-haired, middle-aged woman was working in the hall, polishing the carved chest Alix had admired the previous evening, and she looked up with evident curiosity when Alix came down the stairs.

      ‘Good morning,’ she replied in answer to Alix’s greeting. ‘Mrs Thornton, isn’t it?’

      Alix’s thumb went self-consciously to the plain gold band she could feel on her third finger, but she nodded quickly. ‘That’s right. You must be Mrs Brandon. I’m sorry I’m so late, I overslept.’

      The woman was taller than she had appeared from above, and they were almost on eye-level terms when Alix reached the hall. ‘Mr Morgan had breakfast a couple of hours ago,’ she added half-accusingly. ‘Will you be wanting a meal?’

      Alix hesitated. But she couldn’t go all morning without food. ‘Perhaps some toast—and coffee?’ she ventured, and Mrs Brandon sniffed.

      ‘Very well, I’ll get it.’

      ‘Oh, please…’ Alix didn’t want to be a nuisance. ‘I can look after myself. If you’ll show me the way to the kitchen—’

      Mrs Brandon shook her head, folding her arms across her flowered overall. ‘I said I’d get it, Mrs Thornton. The kitchen is no place for governesses!’

      The way she said that word made Alix stare at her with troubled eyes. What was wrong with being a governess, for heaven’s sake? And in any case, surely Mrs Brandon must know she had been hired as a librarian.

      The older woman gave her another contemptuous look, and then walked briskly across the hall to a door set beneath the curve of the staircase. Alix watched her go with misgivings, and then, shrugging her slim shoulders, she glanced round. She recognised the door to the library, with its distinctive leather soundproofing, and the door to the dining room stood wide, but there were several other doors and she decided to explore.

      The first room she entered was a drawing room, high-ceilinged and magnificent, with a genuine Adam fireplace and an enormous grand piano. Long couches, upholstered in dusty pink velvet, were standing on a fine cream carpet, the pattern of which was obviously Chinese, and there were tall cabinets flanking the fireplace filled with a collection of ivory and jade.

      Alix closed the door again rather reverently, and started guiltily when a hand tugged at her arm. It was Mrs Brandon’s daughter Myra, and she was pointing rather angrily towards the dining room.

      ‘You come,’ she insisted, half pulling the other girl across the hall, and Alix offered no resistance.

      A place had been set for her at the table, and although she would have preferred a tray to take up to her sitting room, she had to admit that Mrs Brandon had gone to a great deal of trouble on her behalf. There was some freshly-squeezed orange juice, warm rolls as well as a rack of toast, a selection of conserves and marmalades on a silver dish, and a jug of steaming aromatic coffee all to herself. Myra saw her into her seat, and then stood looking at her rather unnervingly.

      ‘This is delightful, Myra.’ Alix endeavoured to show her appreciation. ‘I promise tomorrow morning I’ll be down as soon as Mr Morgan.’

      The girl hunched her shoulders. ‘Morgan—he said you were tired.’

      Alix smiled. ‘Well, he was right,’ she exclaimed, rolling her eyes expressively. ‘That was some journey yesterday.’

      Myra looked no less hostile. ‘You sleep with Morgan?’ she demanded aggressively, and Alix dropped the knife she had been using to butter her toast.

      ‘No!’ she denied hotly, endeavouring to remember that Myra was not quite normal. ‘I mean—of course not.’

      Myra frowned. ‘Morgan brought you here,’ she stated, as if that was enough.

      Alix sighed. ‘To—to teach Melissa. His daughter!’

      Myra was obviously trying to absorb this. ‘You’re a teacher?’ she asked suspiciously, and Alix sighed again. How did she answer that?

      ‘I—yes,’ she said at last. ‘Yes, I’m a teacher.’

      ‘I thought you was a librarian, Mrs Thornton.’

      Unknown to Alix, Mrs Brandon had come through the door from the kitchen, and was standing regarding the two girls with her hands on her hips.

      Alix put down her knife again. ‘I am. But I was just trying to explain to your daughter—’

      ‘I heard what you was saying to Myra,’ retorted Mrs Brandon, repressively, ‘and she doesn’t have time to stand around gossiping to the likes of you.’ Before Alix could protest, she gestured to the girl to get about her business, and then disappeared herself back into the kitchen.

      Alix retrieved her knife again, but her appetite had gone. Between them, Mrs Brandon and her daughter had succeeded in making her feel little better than a call-girl brought here in the guise of a librarian to keep their employer happy. СКАЧАТЬ