The Strength Of Desire. Alison Fraser

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СКАЧАТЬ It was the fact that the lady also happened to be brother Guy’s mother. Did this mean she might have regular contact with him?

      She had not seen Guy Delacroix since their first meeting. He had been as good as his word and not attended their wedding, although his mother had.

      In her late fifties, Caroline Delacroix had seemed younger. Her hair was silvery-blonde and her face, despite signs of aging, still had an English-rose bloom to it. She was a sharp, intelligent woman, without being an intellectual, and she spoke her mind.

      ‘I don’t suppose you’re going to listen to me, but I think you’re probably too young and certainly too good for my son,’ she’d finally announced, after they’d taken tea together.

      Already liking the woman, Hope hadn’t been too upset by her comments. ‘Your other son’s already said the same. Well, the too young part, anyway.’

      ‘Yes, I understand Guy tried to warn you,’ Caroline had confirmed, ‘and that you and he didn’t exactly hit it off.’

      ‘Not so you’d notice.’ Hope had made a slight face. ‘What did he say?’

      ‘Nothing much. Just that you were “bloody impossible”,’ his mother had confided, but with an amused air that softened any offence. ‘With Guy, that could be a compliment. He doesn’t like women who fall over themselves to please him. Unfortunately, most do.’

      ‘Well, this one won’t,’ Hope had vowed then to Caroline Delacroix, and vowed now, as she travelled down to the Delacroix family home in Cornwall.

      It was actually her first visit. Jack’s mother had come to London to meet her before the wedding, and, almost straight after it, had disappeared on a two-month tour of China. On her return, she’d stopped over briefly in London, issuing an invitation for Hope to come down to Cornwall any time she liked. But Jack’s work schedule had precluded even a weekend trip, and Hope’s only recent contact with her mother-in-law had been over the telephone. The older woman had been pleased at the prospect of being a grandmother, and had willingly agreed to her spending the final months of her pregnancy in Cornwall, but Hope still felt she was intruding when they finally drove up to the Delacroix family home.

      It was called Heron’s View, and Hope could immediately see why. It sat on a clifftop overlooking the Atlantic and was the most wonderful house she had ever seen. It was a house from a fairy-story, with turrets and towers, walled gardens and secret places. It was large and imposing without being grandiose or ostentatious. It suggested a bygone era, of the years before the First World War, when large families were the norm, and Hope could imagine voices of children echoing through the twists and turns of the many stone passages.

      ‘It belonged to my father’s family. There were seven of them, and he inherited as the eldest,’ Caroline relayed as they stood in the hall which was at the centre of the house, with rooms leading off and a wide staircase leading up. ‘He, in turn, gave it to my eldest sister who never married. She died a couple of years ago.’

      ‘Is that when you moved in?’ Hope quizzed.

      ‘Oh, no, I’ve always lived here—’ Caroline smiled round the shabby hall with pleasure ‘—apart from the ten years I spent in France. I returned with the boys here. My father gave it to Hetty because he felt I was secure financially, but it was always a family house. Hetty helped me bring the boys up, too, although she was rather more interested in her dogs.’

      ‘She had six,’ Jack put in. ‘Red setters. She dedicated her life to breeding a Cruft’s champion.’

      ‘Did she manage?’ Hope asked, interested.

      ‘Not exactly,’ Caroline replied, ‘but one of her dogs was the grandfather of a supreme champion…Anyway, I hope you like dogs.’

      Hope nodded. ‘We had a retriever when I was little.’ ‘Good,’ Caroline nodded, ‘because Guy seems to have inherited some of Hetty’s fanaticism. He keeps three setters, and each is as mad as the other. I insisted he lock them away until you were settled.’

      ‘Guy keeps his dogs here.’ Hope trusted that was all she meant.

      But a deep, drawling voice answered her. ‘Guy keeps himself here, too,’ and, as Hope’s eyes were drawn, horrified, to the back of the hall, Guy Delacroix emerged from the shadows.

      ‘There you are,’ Caroline greeted her son with fond exasperation. ‘I called to you that they’d arrived but you seemed to have disappeared.’

      ‘I was locking up the hounds, as requested,’ he answered his mother, but his eyes slid to Hope, acknowledging the difference in her.

      When they had first met, she had been as slim as a reed and in the best of health, her long blonde hair silky, her complexion soft and clear. In a maternity dress, with hair escaping from a hastily tied ribbon and her skin with a bluey-white tinge, she looked like the drudge she felt.

      ‘You’ve changed,’ he said bluntly, and Hope could have cried.

      But she was tougher than that. She asked herself if she cared what he thought, and, lying to herself, decided she didn’t.

      ‘You haven’t,’ she answered him, and her tone said it was a pity.

      Jack recognised the enmity between them, and, if anything, was amused. But a frown lined Caroline’s forehead, as it occurred to her that life at Heron’s View might be less than smooth in the coming months.

      Guy was unruffled, continuing, ‘I assume no one informed you I was in residence.’

      Before Hope could answer, Jack slipped in, ‘I didn’t want to scare her off, little brother.’

      ‘No, I don’t imagine you did,’ Guy echoed drily, and clearly meant more than his words said.

      Jack appeared to understand. He gave his brother a conspiratorial smile. It was not returned by Guy, however. He was stony-faced.

      Hope wondered how these two men could be brothers. Jack was charm itself; Guy was charmless.

      Their mother decided it was time to move things on. ‘Would you like to see your room? Guy suggested you might prefer some privacy, so we’ve rearranged things to give you most of the west wing.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Hope acknowledged in a small voice, but didn’t look at Guy. She wasn’t fooled. It was the family that was to have privacy from her.

      Caroline led the way upstairs while Guy and Jack went to take in her cases. The west wing, as the name suggested, was almost a separate part of the house. It was reached by a long corridor off the main stairway. As well as a large double bedroom, it boasted an adjoining bathroom and dressing-room. The most interesting feature, however, was a perfectly circular room inset in one of the turrets. It had been turned into a small sitting-room, with a wonderful view over the cliffs and the Atlantic beyond. From it led a staircase that wound down to the back courtyard.

      Hope loved the room, and didn’t hide her enthusiasm from Caroline. The older woman smiled in relief, saying, ‘Oh, I am glad you like it. I thought Guy’s taste might be a little functional for a young girl.’

      ‘These are Guy’s rooms?’ Hope repeated, her face falling.

      Caroline realised her mistake and quickly reassured her. СКАЧАТЬ