Читать книгу Lure Of Eagles - Anne Mather - Страница 6

HE really was the most disturbing man she had ever met, Domine reflected broodingly. It was not that he was good-looking, though she had to admit his dark-skinned features were not unpleasing. But no one could call that aggressive nose and those hooded eyes handsome, or compliment the thin-lipped cruelty of his mouth. His eyes, too, were a contradiction of the melting Latin eyes she had expected. Dark, so as to appear almost black at times, and without any conceivable warmth that she could see. He wore his clothes well, of course, and the dark suits he favoured accentuated the lean strength of his body, the long legs so casually crossed as he spoke politely to her brother.

Yet it was something more than that which prompted Domine’s conclusion. Perhaps it was inherent in the man himself, she considered. A combination of the charm he could wield when he chose, the air of indolence which they had learned could be so quickly discarded, and the ruthlessness of purpose he could exhibit when he spoke of his reasons for being in England. When he spoke, Domine always seemed to find herself listening, which was disconcerting to someone accustomed to finding the opposite sex somewhat boring and immature. But then what else could she expect, when from her earliest years she had been cosseted and admired by every male she came into contact with?

Was that it? she pondered, her thoughts fastening to this possibility. Was his lack of apparent interest responsible for the strange fascination he had for her? It was possible, she supposed, but hardly likely. He was not the kind of man she would have expected herself to be attracted to. She was a modern girl, with modern ideals, while he came from one of the most ancient civilisations of the Western World, with all its conventionality and taboos, and it was obvious to her, if not to her brother, that he had no intention of relaxing his rigid control of the situation.

He was an alien being in that very English room, she thought, her nerves tightening a little when she contemplated the uncertainty of their future. When Grandpa was alive, everything had seemed so safe and secure, their lives stretching ahead of them smoothly, without any sign of difficulty or upheaval. Of course, Grandpa and Mark had rowed a lot, particularly when Mark went on one of his gambling sprees and lost a month’s allowance in one night, but Domine had never seriously believed that Grandpa would deprive her brother of the cotton mills from which he had made his fortune. It was all a little unreal—Grandpa’s will had been unreal, the existence of their cousin seemed unreal, and the presence here in their drawing room of Señor Luis Delgado Aguilar was the most unreal of all.

Trying not to listen too blatantly to what Mark was saying, Domine forced her attention back to the room. It was a nice room, a pleasant room, the room she remembered from that awful morning when she was six years old, and Grandpa broke the news that her father’s yacht had capsized in the South Atlantic. Then it had not seemed at all a pleasant room, but Grandpa had held her close in his arms and told her that from now on she and Mark must consider Griffons their home, and the terror had receded. She had never known her mother. She had died a few weeks after Domine was born, and although her father had recovered from the blow, he had not married again. Consequently, Grandpa had become the pivot, the focal point of their whole world, and only Mark’s excesses had served to create trouble between them.

When Domine was younger, she had not understood all that Grandpa accused Mark of. Mark was ten years older than she was, and had already seemed grown up when their father was drowned. She had not known who ‘Edward’ was, or why Mark should so continually be identified with him. Later, she had learned that Edward was, or had been, their uncle, Grandpa’s eldest son, who he had disinherited when he ran away and married some flibbertigibbet showgirl, or at least, that was how Grandpa had described her. Apparently he had given up his studies at the university, and taken to painting birds and wild flowers, encouraged, it appeared, by his feckless wife.

Of course, Grandpa never had any time for artistic things. Brains and brass, he used to say, they were all that mattered, and naturally Mark’s penchant for the good things of life had given birth to the friction between them. Perhaps Mark was more like his uncle than his father. Certainly, James Temple had never disappointed his father. His only weakness had been sailing, and the holiday he had taken when his yacht capsized had been his first for many years.

It was strange that they had never heard what had happened to Edward and his wife, but then why should they? They had never imagined Grandpa would relent. In his considered opinion, Mark was as irresponsible as Edward used to be, therefore any change of heart was highly unlikely. What they had not known, but which Grandpa had, apparently, was that Edward and his wife had been killed some eight years ago in an earthquake in Peru, and their only child, a daughter, Lisel, had been put in the care of the nuns at the convent of the Holy Sceptre in Puerto Limas. What Edward and his wife had been doing in Peru had not been explained, but obviously their grandfather had kept in touch with the Sisters at the convent, and assured himself regularly of the girl’s welfare.

Why he had left the mills and their considerable income to Edward’s daughter was not so easy to understand, or forgive, but Domine still felt too stunned to nourish any resentment. Only Griffons remained, as a bulwark against the future, given to herself and Mark jointly, to live in or sell as they wished. Mark had been left an income, but knowing his extravagant life-style, it would hardly be sufficient to keep him in pocket money, and although Domine’s own allowance was to be increased to one thousand pounds a year, it would hardly be enough to pay the rates on Griffons, let alone support and feed her. Grandpa had left her a message, something about expecting her to use the education he had given her, and not to let Mark sponge upon her, as he had done frequently in the past. She guessed, rather wryly, that even if her grandfather had been tempted to leave the mills to her, he would never have done so. He distrusted Mark, and he distrusted his influence over her. He would never believe that she had a will of her own, strong enough to stand up to Mark, when she chose to do so. The trouble was, she had seldom felt inclined to oppose him, and no doubt that had been her downfall.

She sighed, somewhat cynically. Well, it was too late now. Their cousin Lisel was the heiress, and in a curious way Domine was relieved she had not been burdened with the responsibility for so many lives. There were three thousand men and women who relied on the Temple Mills for employment, and in her more generous moments she sympathised with Mark in his rebellion against such responsibility. Their grandfather had never understood why Mark had felt that way. He had thrived on work, and responsibility, and up until the day he died he had been ordering the day-to-day life of the mill offices.

Even so, that did not alter the fact that things were bound to change now, and not necessarily for the better. Her education had been sound, as Grandpa had pointed out in his last words to her, but an ability to write good English and understand half a dozen other languages was not in itself a qualification. She had never considered going to university. She had been a bright and willing pupil, but when at seventeen she had succeeded in passing her ‘A’ level examinations, she had happily left the schoolroom behind, and devoted herself to enjoyment.

Last summer she and Aunt Barbara, her great-aunt really, on her mother’s side, had toured Italy, and the countries of the Mediterranean, and at Christmas she and Mark had joined a group of other young people at a ski resort in the Bavarian Alps. This summer she was hoping to persuade her aunt to chaperon herself and a friend on a camper holiday from the east to the west coast of North America, but somehow that no longer appealed. It wasn’t just that now that Grandpa was dead there was no one to demand she take a chaperon along. It was simply that she felt too uncertain of her future to contemplate a holiday, and her longed-for independence seemed curiously flat now that it had been realised.

She could see Mark’s face getting redder and redder, and wondered what Señor Aguilar was saying to him. This morning in the solicitor’s office she thought Mark had handled himself remarkably calmly, considering the predicament he was in, but in private he was furious, and seething with resentment, an emotion he was trying hard to hide in the face of such implacable opposition.

Would it have been easier if Lisel had come herself? Domine frowned, adjusting the folds of her long velvet skirt. Of course it would. But equally, it would not have been so easy for Lisel. For one thing, she had been living with the nuns for more than eight years, since she was eleven or twelve, and naturally she was rather unworldly—or at least, that was Señor Aguilar’s description. She was, in his words, a shy retiring sort of person, a charming personality, much admired by the Peruvian Indians she served. The convent where she had been living was also a small hospital, catering to the needs of the villages around Puerto Limas, and she had recently completed her training as a nurse. Her visits away from the convent had been few and far between, except to visit the villages, and the small town of Aguilas close by, and the idea of travelling to England to meet the lawyers who presently controlled her inheritance, was naturally a terrifying proposition. That was why Señor Aguilar had come in her stead. To attend to the outstanding business on her behalf, and to meet the relatives from whom Lisel would have to learn so much.

Personally, Mark had been infuriated when they first received Aguilar’s cable. ‘Damned cheek!’ he had fumed, stamping around the house for days, and threatening to walk out before the man even arrived. ‘What the hell does he mean by interfering? Inquisitive old so-and-so! I bet he wants to see what’s in it for him, before he gives her his advice about what to do next! What in heaven’s name will he know about running a mill, or the price of wool, or where the next pay rise is coming from?’

Well, Señor Luis Delgado Aguilar was not old, at least not by Mark’s standards. He was probably thirty-five or thirty-six, at the most, and contrary to their beliefs, he knew a lot about wool and its value. He had staggered Mark by explaining that wool was in fact one of the most important exports of Peru, and continued to add that if he didn’t know that, he knew less about the wool industry than he claimed. Of course, Mark had blustered, and said that he had had better things to do than worry where the wool was coming from, and Señor Aguilar had countered this by remarking that it was just as well his grandfather had not felt the same way.

That had been at dinner. Since then, Mark had calmed down a lot. Domine guessed it had occurred to him that by incurring Señor Aguilar’s antipathy, he might also incur the antipathy of their cousin, before he had even met her, and Domine also knew that Mark was not going to walk away from a small fortune without making a fight of it. How he intended to proceed she was not quite sure, but she was convinced it must have occurred to him, as it had to her, that if Lisel was young and unmarried, she might well look with favour on a sympathetic and handsome cousin who wanted to help her.

Pressing her lips together, Domine returned her attention to the tall Peruvian, lounging with evident ease in the armchair opposite Mark. What was his interest in all this? Why had he come all this way on Lisel’s behalf? Was it merely philanthropy, or had he other motives for his generosity? Obviously Lisel had complete confidence in him, but she could hardly be experienced in the ways of the world.

Domine frowned, subjecting their guest to another puzzled appraisal. He was obviously an educated man—he spoke English with only the faintest trace of an accent—and his clothes were tailor-made and expensive. Yet for all that he was not like any man of her acquaintance. There was a single-mindedness of purpose about him that belied his studied courtesy, and although he exhibited all the refinements of Western society, Domine wondered what lay beneath the veneer. He exuded a powerful aura of cold strength and hostility, that no amount of charm or politeness could hide, and she doubted Mark’s ability to fool him about anything. He had all the contempt of the conquistadors for their victims, and recalling the little she had learned of the Spanish conquest, she knew she ought not to imagine his courteous façade was anything more than that.

Chiding herself for being so imaginative, she looked up then and found his eyes upon her. It was a disconcerting experience, particularly after her thoughts of a few moments ago, but she managed to return his stare without flinching, determined not to be intimidated by his scrutiny. He would not reduce her to the stammering wreck he had made of Mark. She had done nothing to be ashamed of, and just because he was different from the men she usually met, it did not mean he was any the less susceptible to her beauty. The conceit of her thoughts did not occur to her. She was so used to admiration, it never crossed her mind that the Peruvian might not find eyes the colour of violets appealing, or be enchanted by the coil of silvery hair that was presently confined at the nape of her slender neck.

‘Can I get you another brandy, señor?’ she suggested, meeting his gaze with enquiry, but Señor Aguilar was already rising to his feet.

‘I regret I must be leaving, Miss Temple,’ he refused politely, the faint smile that played about his thin lips belying the bland courtesy. ‘I have a long day tomorrow. There are matters which must be attended to, before I return to Peru. But perhaps you will both …’ he glanced at her brother,’ dine with me at my hotel tomorrow evening.’

Domine badly wanted to refuse. Not because she had any objection to dining with him, or indeed because she had made other arrangements, but simply to thwart him in some way. However, Mark was already accepting on their behalf, and she inclined her head with reluctant grace to signify her own acceptance of the invitation.

‘Good.’ The Peruvian walked across the room, and Mark hastened after him to open the double-panelled doors. ‘I shall look forward to it.’

His glance licked Domine like an abrasive tongue, but she was obliged to accompany them into the hall, and waited while Bayliss produced Señor Aguilar’s overcoat. His choice of dark colours accentuated the dark cast of his skin, the thick dark hair that lay smoothly over his forehead and brushed the collar of his overcoat. A kind of Mephistophelean character, she thought, giving in to her imagination again, and then stiffened when those dark eyes swept her from head to toe in a look that was as contemptuous as it was devastating. Immediately she was conscious of the off-the-shoulder neckline of her smock, and of how the belt she had tightened round her waist drew attention to the swelling fullness of her breasts. Only the long velvet skirt seemed acceptable, hiding the long slender length of her legs.

‘Until tomorrow, then.’

Señor Aguilar was already descending the flight of steps which led up to the heavy oak door with its iron facings, and Mark was acting the perfect host. She heard the sound of the hire car’s engine, and presently Mark’s words of farewell, and then, as she endeavoured to recover from the state of frozen immobility that scornful appraisal had induced, her brother came back into the hall and slammed the door with unconcealed fury. He scarcely looked at Domine. He passed her, muttering to himself, and presently she heard the sound of the decanter rattling against the rim of his glass.

Bayliss, who had been at Griffons almost as long as her grandfather and was equally old, was waiting for her instructions, and after reassuring him that there was nothing else they would need that night, Domine turned back into the drawing room. As she had anticipated, Mark had poured himself a generous measure of brandy and had thrown himself down on to the couch where she had been sitting, one leg draped carelessly over the arm. He looked up at her entrance, then swallowed the remainder of the spirit in the glass and held it out to Domine to be refilled.

‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ she asked shortly, in no mood to suffer his self-pitying recriminations, and he pulled an angry face.

‘Don’t try to organise me,’ he directed, ‘just fill the glass!’ but she ignored him and went to sit in the armchair which earlier their guest had occupied.

Muttering once more, Mark levered himself up from the couch and refilled his own glass, swallowing another generous portion before returning to his previous position. Then he looked moodily at Domine across the rim, the tightness of his lips belied by the anxiety in his eyes.

‘What the hell are we going to do?’ he demanded, and it was more of an appeal than a question. ‘Dom, tell me what we’re going to do!’

Domine shrugged, running her palms over the arms of the chair, flinching a little as they encountered a trace of warmth left by its last occupant. It was odd why she had chosen to sit in this particular chair, but thoughts like those were not acceptable, and she tried instead to concentrate on what her brother was saying.

‘You could get a job,’ she pointed out now, trying to be practical, but Mark only snorted with impatience.

‘A job!’ he echoed. ‘What kind of job? At the mill, you mean? If you think I’m going to work in my own mills——’

‘They’re not your mills,’ retorted Domine firmly. ‘They belong to Lisel——’

‘To hell with Lisel!’

‘That’s not going to get you very far.’ She sighed. ‘Mark, you had a good education …’

‘A good education!’

‘Well, you did. We both did. We should be able to find some kind of work.’

‘Where? In Manchester? What on earth is there to do in Manchester? You know the job situation.’

Domine shook her head. ‘You’re just being obstructive.’

‘If it was London, now …’

‘But it’s not. This is our home, Mark. If you went to London, we would have to sell Griffons.’

Mark grimaced. ‘Well, I expect we will anyway.’

‘No!’

‘Yes, Domine. Be reasonable. How can we afford to keep a place like this going? Heavens, we can’t even afford Mrs Radcliffe’s wages any more.’

‘We could do without Mrs Radcliffe,’ exclaimed Domine, her heart plummeting at the thought of selling their home. ‘We could manage …’

‘Oh, yes?’ Mark was sceptical. ‘And who will do the housework? You? You’ve never picked up a duster in your life.’

‘That’s not true.’ Domine pursed her lips. ‘I’ve looked after my own room for years.’

‘Big deal.’ Mark hunched his shoulders. ‘That means you only have half a dozen other bedrooms to look after. Oh, and three reception rooms, of course, and the dining room, and the kitchen——’

‘All right,’ Domine broke in on him then. ‘All right, so we need some help in the house. Why shouldn’t we be able to afford it, if we both had jobs?’

Mark sniffed. ‘I do not intend taking some grubby little job, just to keep this place in cleaning fluid!’

‘Mark!’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m not.’ He was adamant. ‘All the same, something has to be done.’ He frowned. ‘I wonder what Lisel is like. Really like, I mean. Not this sainted creature Aguilar talks about.’

Domine moved her shoulders uncertainly. ‘She can’t be like Uncle Edward, or Grandpa wouldn’t have had a good word for her.’

‘She can’t be like me, you mean?’

Domine half smiled. ‘No one could be like you.’

‘Thanks!’

‘Oh, Mark …’ She got up from the chair and moved slowly across the room. ‘Couldn’t you try——’

‘Don’t say it,’ he interposed quickly. ‘Accept it. Griffons is going to have to be sold.’

‘No!’

‘Yes. Unless I can work something out.’

‘Like what?’ Domine was sceptical now.

‘I don’t know.’ Mark looked thoughtful. ‘If only I could get to meet Lisel! If only I could talk to her. I bet she’s not as virginal as Aguilar makes her out to be.’

‘Mark!’ Domine stared at him impatiently. ‘Can’t you ever consider practical solutions? It doesn’t really matter what Lisel is like, so far as I’m concerned. I have no intention of asking her for money.’

‘Not for money, no,’ remarked Mark slowly. ‘But a job, perhaps. A legal adviser. How’s that? A sort of—right-hand man.’

‘Señor Aguilar will never allow that.’

‘But Señor Aguilar won’t be here, will he? Lisel will.’

‘Did Señor Aguilar say that?’

‘Well—no.’ Mark was evasive. ‘But she’s got to come to England, hasn’t she? I mean, how else is she going to run the business?’

Domine raised her dark eyebrows. ‘I suppose she could appoint a—legal adviser, as you say.’

Mark jack-knifed off the couch, a white line appearing round his lips. ‘You don’t think—no! She couldn’t.’

‘Couldn’t what?’

‘Appoint Aguilar as—her legal adviser?’

Domine hesitated. ‘Well, I shouldn’t think so. I mean, he probably has an occupation of his own. In Lima, or where-ever he lives.’

‘Then why has she sent him over here?’

‘Mark, don’t ask me, ask him! I don’t know, do I? He says he came because Lisel was too shocked by the news to make the journey, that naturally, for someone like her, making a trip to England needed to be thought about, considered——’

‘I know what he said,’ snapped Mark irritably. ‘But is anybody that unworldly? In this day and age?’

‘I expect so,’ said Domine. ‘After all, she does live in a rural area. Why shouldn’t she be shy and retiring?’

‘Because, if she’s Uncle Edward’s daughter, she would be more like him!’

‘Why? You’re not at all like Daddy.’

‘No. But you are.’

‘Oh, Mark …’ Domine was tired. ‘I don’t want to talk about this any more tonight. I want to go to bed.’ She walked towards the door. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Shortly,’ replied Mark, resuming his position on the couch. ‘You go on up. See you in the morning.’

‘Yes.’ Domine was reluctant to leave him, but she really had no choice. When Mark was in this mood, he was better left alone. ‘Goodnight, then.’

‘Goodnight.’

With the doors closed behind him, Domine mounted the stairs slowly, absorbing the peace and beauty of the building. The staircase had been hand-carved by a master of his craft, and the chandelier which illuminated the square hall below was a brilliant example of cut glass. The portrait at the head of the stairs was Grandpa’s with a smaller one of Grandmama and her two sons further along the gallery, but Domine’s favourite was the painting of her horse, Minstrel, that Grandpa had bought her for her fourteenth birthday. She supposed he would have to be sold, too, and she made a mental note to speak to Mrs Grant at the riding school, to see if she would take him. He was a gentle creature, and she would rather he was sold to someone she knew so that she might see him again from time to time. And then she remembered what Mark had said about selling Griffons, and a lump came unbidden to her throat. If the house was sold, she didn’t think she would be able to bear living in the neighbourhood, so it didn’t really matter who bought Minstrel.

Her bedroom was a quiet sanctuary, and she closed the door wearily, leaning back against it as she surveyed her domain. It was a spacious room, made the more so by the use of light colours and pale wood. Her bed was wide and comfortable, its sprigged coverlet a hangover from the days of her childhood. The old-fashioned wardrobes she had once had had been replaced by a modern vanity unit, and there was a walnut desk where she used to do her homework, and a stereo music centre, with speakers set up near the ceiling. She had always been given everything she wanted, but she realised, too, how much she had taken for granted.

Moving away from the door, she tugged off her belt and then, on impulse, surveyed herself in the long mirrors. Her outfit was not so outrageous. At least the smock was not transparent, and she had worn a strapless bra. She dreaded to think what he might have thought of her in tight jeans and a skinny-knit sweater, and then decided she would like the opportunity to find out. It might be quite amusing to shock a man like him, to show him exactly how far she dared go. What had she to lose, after all? After tomorrow she might never see him again. No, tomorrow evening she would wear the black satin cat-suit she had been saving for a suitable occasion. Then let him look at her with that supercilious, holier-than-thou expression!

Of course, by the next day her indignation had waned. The cold light of a February morning was sobering, and the more immediate anxiety of deciding her future dispelled her aggression of the night before. Mr Holland, her grandfather’s solicitor, had asked her to come and see him at ten o’clock, and in the activity of preparing for the appointment she had little time to think of childish retaliations. She dressed in a brown suede pants suit, with leather fringing at the cuffs and hem, and was gathering up her handbag preparatory to leaving the house when the telephone rang.

As she was right beside it, she answered it, picking up the receiver automatically and giving their number.

‘I would like to speak to Miss Temple, please,’ said the deep accented tones which had haunted her dreams, and she was tempted to drop the receiver there and then, and get Mrs Radcliffe to tell him that she had already left. But before she could formulate any defence, he added: ‘That is Miss Temple, is it not? How fortunate that I caught you.’

‘Caught me?’ Domine spoke faintly. ‘I—don’t understand …’

‘You have an appointment with Holland this morning, do you not?’ he suggested. ‘I hoped to reach you before you left for his office.’

‘Oh?’ Domine was gathering herself with difficulty, holding the phone with both hands to disguise the tremor of her wrist. ‘Why?’

‘Because I wanted to invite you to have lunch with me,’ he replied smoothly. ‘And because I also wanted to ask you not to make any decisions about your future until you have spoken to me.’

Domine was aghast. ‘But we’re having dinner together——’

‘With your brother, yes, I know,’ he interrupted flatly. ‘However, what I wish to discuss with you I would prefer to discuss in private, therefore I am requesting you join me here, at the hotel, at one o’clock.’

‘I’m afraid——’ Domine was beginning coldly, when she became aware of a movement behind her, and glancing round she found her brother coming stealthily down the stairs, still in his pyjamas.

‘Aguilar?’ he mouthed silently, and half impatiently, she nodded.

‘Are you still there, Miss Temple?’

The Peruvian’s voice was coldly demanding, but Mark was gesticulating urgently. Obviously he had heard her responses to what was being said, and had guessed what Señor Aguilar wanted.

‘Go!’ he mouthed, gesturing positively. ‘Find out what he wants.’

Domine sighed, and shaking her head uneasily, she said: ‘I’m still here, señor.’

‘Well?’ He was impatient now. ‘Will you join me for lunch?’

Mark was nodding vigorously, and much against her better judgment Domine found herself agreeing. The appointment was made, but when the receiver was replaced, she turned on Mark with angry resentment.

‘Don’t you ever do that to me again!’ she exclaimed, aware that her palms were still moist and her heart was beating twice as fast as it should have done. ‘I didn’t want to have lunch with him, as it happens. I’d promised to meet Susie at half past twelve in Lewis’s.’

‘I’ll meet her, if you like,’ declared Mark laconically, sinking down on to a stair about a third of the way up, but Domine repudiated his offer.

‘Thanks, but that won’t be necessary,’ she retorted, looping the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. ‘I’ll phone her—later.’

‘What you mean is, you don’t really have an arrangement at all,’ Mark commented, with wry humour. ‘Anyway, what did he say?’

‘Don’t you know?’ Domine moved towards the door.

‘I heard the phone ring, that was all,’ Mark replied. ‘Then as I came downstairs I heard what you were saying.’

‘Mmm!’ Domine was still infuriated at her own submission. ‘Well, I’m late. I have to go …’

‘Do you think he fancies you?’

Mark could be infuriatingly sensitive at times, and Domine was glad she could turn away and swing open the door to cool her heated cheeks. ‘I think that’s the last thing he’s aware of,’ she remarked, stepping out into the damp, misty air, and the annoying thing was, she was almost certain she was right.