Читать книгу Edge Of Temptation - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 8

THE bar of the Bay Horse was half empty at this hour of a Friday evening, and Catherine led the way to a table in the corner, near the crackling log fire. Seating herself on the banquette, she accepted Robert’s offer of a Scotch and soda, and warmed her hands at the blaze as he went to get their drinks. It was an attractive room, and her eyes strayed over the hunting trophies and horse brasses that decorated the walls. There had been a hostelry on these premises almost as long as there had been a manor at Penwyth, and she couldn’t help thinking that Josh Evans would not complain at the increase in trade a development in the valley might bring.

Robert came back, carrying two glasses, and she transferred her attention to him. A little over medium height and stocky, with a fair complexion and drooping moustache, he was an amusing companion, and she forced a smile to her lips as he seated himself on the banquette beside her.

‘Cheers,’ he said, swallowing a mouthful of his lager, and she took a mouthful of her own drink as he added: ‘Nice place.’ He waved his glass expansively. ‘Can we get a meal here?’

‘We can. A bar meal, at least,’ she conceded. ‘But we won’t. Aunt Margaret would never forgive me if I didn’t bring you over for supper.’

Robert laughed goodnaturedly. It was an amiable sound, and Catherine thought how good it was to hear it. Robert was unfailingly cheerful, and right now he was exactly what she needed.

‘Aunt Margaret,’ he said, swallowing more of his lager. ‘And Uncle Mervyn, is that right? You see—–’ He held up a knowing finger. ‘I don’t forget these things.’

Catherine’s smile was less tense. ‘It’s good to see you, Robert. But you should have warned me you were coming. I promised to have supper at the farm last week, and I didn’t make it. I daren’t let them down again.’

‘That’s okay,’ Robert shrugged. ‘I like meeting your family. It makes me feel that I’m getting somewhere—–’

‘Now, Robert …’

‘Oh, don’t worry.’ He pulled a wry face. ‘I’m not going to bring that up again. I just—well, I like being with you, and I don’t mind where it is.’

Catherine looked down into her glass. ‘You should find yourself a woman who wants to settle down,’ she said quietly. ‘Not a career woman like me. You know you want a home and family. You’re not getting any younger—neither of us are. You should be looking around.’

Robert ignored her and looked round the bar. ‘This looks a pretty old place,’ he commented. ‘Stone floors no less. No wonder the beer’s cold!’

‘You’re right. The cellars are ancient. As a matter of fact, I was just thinking those very thoughts.’

‘Really?’ Robert grinned. ‘You see! We even think alike.’

‘Oh, Robert!’

Catherine applied herself to her drink again, and Robert looked about him. ‘Tell me who everyone is,’ he ordered. ‘Come on. The bartender, for example. Is he the publican?’

‘No, that’s Morris Evans, the publican’s son. Josh has the licence.’

‘You mean he owns the place?’

‘No, again.’ Catherine’s lips tightened. ‘All the property in the valley is part of the Penwyth Estate.’

‘Is that right?’ Robert’s fair brows ascended. ‘That would be the estate which has granted drilling rights on your uncle’s land?’

‘Yes.’ Catherine’s fingers tightened round her glass. She preferred not to think about that.

Sensing this, Robert went on: ‘So, who else is here? That fat old boy in the corner, for instance, with the pipe. Who’s he?’

Patiently, Catherine catalogued the various occupations of the people in the bar, realising that Robert was doing his best to cheer her up. He was a nice person, and she had been delighted when he walked into the boutique, right on closing time. She hadn’t seen him for over two months, not since the last time she was in London, and it was surprising how much she had missed his humorous face.

A sudden influx of customers caused him to glance round again, and in an undertone, he said: ‘Farmers! These days they don’t look any different from accountants.’

‘They may be accountants, for all I know,’ declared Catherine tersely, after giving the men a cursory look. ‘They’re Norcroft’s men—geologists or geophysicists or something. They’re the ones conducting the explorations at Penwyn. I believe they’re staying here at the inn. They’re engineers of some kind, but I don’t know them.’

‘I see.’ Robert considered the newcomers thoughtfully. ‘And—is there any news?’

‘Not yet.’

‘How long has it been?’

‘Since they arrived?’ Catherine shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘I don’t know. A month, six weeks—something like that.’

It was exactly six weeks, two days, and eight hours since she had had that interview with Rafe Glyndower, but she wasn’t going to tell Robert that.

‘Interesting.’ Robert nodded now, and then, in an attempt to justify this statement, he added: ‘I mean, if it was anywhere else than on your uncle’s land, it would be interesting, wouldn’t it? If they do find lead, it will be tremendously important. After all, everyone thought lead mining was virtually defunct in Britain.’

Catherine knew he was right. Such a find was potentially exciting, but not if one was personally involved. She could only see the effect it was having on her family, and that negated its importance so far as she was concerned. Not that the men’s appearance had interfered too much with the running of Penwyn, yet at any rate. Their present explorations were confined to the top field, and apart from the inconvenience, and an occasional tremor from their boring equipment, they could almost forget they were there. Indeed, it was always possible that their search would prove fruitless, in which case Rafe Glyndower had given an undertaking that her uncle should have first option should the land have to be sold.

It was the only light at the end of the tunnel, but she knew her uncle had little faith in it. From the moment the first drillings were heard, he had withdrawn into a shell of his own making, and no amount of sympathy or cajolement could bring him out of it. He was not eating, he had lost weight; and her aunt said he was sleeping badly. And all because his shepherd had found the head of a Roman axe among some rocks in the top pasture, and he had been honest enough to hand it over to the Glyndowers.

Yet for all that, she could not entirely blame Rafe Glyndower for what had happened, even though her attitude had enraged her cousin Owen. Rafe was as helpless as they were, at the mercy of his own needs and necessities, and there was no easy solution to any of their problems.

Supper at Penwyn was not a comfortable occasion, even though her aunt attempted to make it so. Uncle Mervyn was out attending to a cow that was calving, and apart from appearing for a brief moment halfway through the meal, he left his wife to entertain their guests.

‘Do you have a dairy herd, too, Mrs Powys?’ asked Robert politely, helping himself to another slice of savoury flan, and Catherine saw the way Owen glowered at him.

‘Oh, no.’ Aunt Margaret shook her head. ‘Just a few cows for our own use, that’s all.’

‘This is a sheep farm,’ Owen told him shortly. ‘Or at least, it was.’

‘Owen!’

His mother gave him a warning look, but it was too good an opportunity to miss, and turning on Catherine, he added: ‘We’re all indebted to my dear cousin here for removing the uncertainty.’

‘It’s not Catherine’s fault.’ It was Gillian, his wife, who defended her. ‘She only told you what Mr Glyndower had told her.’

Owen snorted. ‘That bastard! I wouldn’t believe a word he said. If he’s so desperate for cash, how come that son of his goes to public school? And what about the servants they employ—–’

‘Would you have him dismiss old Percy Laurence?’ demanded Catherine, stung by his indifference to anyone’s well being but his own. ‘And what about the butler? Morgan, isn’t it?’ She appealed to her aunt for confirmation. ‘Neither of them would get any other employment, you know that.’

‘They still have to be paid,’ insisted Owen moodily, pushing his pie round his plate. ‘And I know Linda Jones works there, too.’

‘Penwyth is a big place,’ retorted Catherine. ‘Someone has to work there.’

‘Then why doesn’t that wife of his get herself off her backside and do something?’

‘Really, Owen! At the supper table!’ His mother looked apologetically at Robert. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Brooke. My son isn’t usually so objectionable.’

‘Oh, really …’ Robert was seldom embarrassed, and his smile was reassuring. ‘Don’t apologise, Mrs Powys. I come from a large family, so I’m used to family squabbles. Besides, I’m enjoying myself. You’re an excellent cook, if I may say so. This flan is delicious!’

Aunt Margaret flushed with pleasure, and Catherine felt a surge of warmth towards him. Robert could always be relied upon to smooth over any difficulties, and Owen was forced to apply himself to his supper, aware that any further comment on his part could only be construed as boorishness.

When supper was over, Catherine offered to wash up, and she and Gillian shared the dishes while her aunt showed Robert the family photograph album.

‘Don’t take any notice of Owen,’ his wife urged her awkwardly. ‘You know what he’s like. He always expected to take over here.’

‘I know that.’ Catherine cast a sympathetic glance in the younger girl’s direction.

‘It’s different for you,’ went on Gillian. ‘You don’t live here. I know you like coming here, but you have your own life outside the valley.’ She paused. ‘Are you going to marry Robert?’

‘Heavens, no!’ Catherine was vehement, and Gillian looked at her strangely.

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘Why not? I saw the way he was looking at you during supper. Hasn’t he asked you?’

Catherine was amused, and her gurgling laughter rang around the stone-flagged kitchen. ‘Oh, Gillian,’ she exclaimed, ‘I don’t want to marry anyone. Not yet, at least,’ she added, sobering as an image of Rafe Glyndower’s dark features swam unexpectedly before her eyes.

Gillian was affronted. ‘I expect you do things differently in London,’ she mumbled, clattering two plates together, and Catherine sighed.

‘I expect we do,’ she conceded. Then, encouragingly: ‘You’re looking well. Being pregnant evidently agrees with you.’

Gillian nodded, obviously still brooding over what Catherine had said, and presently she pursued: ‘Do you sleep with him?’

Catherine didn’t pretend not to understand. ‘With Robert?’ She shook her head. ‘No.’

Gillian frowned. ‘But he’s staying with you tonight, isn’t he? I heard Owen’s mother asking where he was staying, and he said at your cottage.’

‘There are two bedrooms,’ Catherine pointed out patiently. ‘Gillian, I know this may not be easy for you to understand, but a man and a woman—they can be just friends.’

Gillian looked sceptical. ‘Can they? All the men I’ve known want just one thing—Owen included.’ She flushed. ‘And you’re not getting any younger.’

‘Thank you.’ Catherine’s tone was dry.

‘Well, it’s true. You’re not. I’m twenty-two, and you were always three years older than me.’

‘Well, that’s one thing that doesn’t change,’ remarked Catherine wryly, reaching for the towel to dry her hands. ‘It’s nice of you to be so concerned, Gillian, but there’s really no need. I guess I’m just a career woman at heart.’

‘Mmm.’

Gillian didn’t sound convinced, but Catherine had had enough of this particular conversation. Nevertheless, as she crossed the stone flags to the door leading into the passage beyond, she wondered if she would have felt differently had she been born to this environment. She had always been happy in the valley. Those summer weeks still possessed a dreamlike quality that she had never been able to duplicate anywhere else. Waking in the mornings in her little room under the eaves, hearing the wood-pigeons crooning on the chimneys, smelling the pervading scents from her aunt’s flower garden; all these things had imprinted themselves on her memory. But, more significantly, she associated Penwyn with her awakening from girlhood to womanhood, and the painful realisation that dreams were no substitute for reality …

It was a little after ten when they drove back to Pendower. Catherine would have left earlier, but Robert had shown a genuine interest in her aunt’s reminiscences, and with some misgivings she went to find her uncle in the cowsheds. Mervyn Powys was uncommunicative, however, and as the local vet was with him and she was obviously in the way, Catherine soon returned to the house.

‘I like your aunt,’ remarked Robert, as she drove up the winding road that led out of the valley. ‘She’s quite a character. Is she your mother’s sister? I must say, she’s not very like her.’

‘No.’ Catherine shook her head, concentrating on the narrow road ahead. ‘Uncle Mervyn is my mother’s brother. But Mummy left the valley nearly thirty years ago, and unlike me, she’s never wanted to come back.’

Robert shrugged. ‘You can’t blame her, I suppose. Life on the farm was probably pretty spartan in those days.’

Catherine nodded, changing into a lower gear as the Renault laboured up the steepest part of the pass, and then stepped automatically on the brake as some small creature flung itself across the road ahead of them.

‘What the devil was that?’ exclaimed Robert, gazing at her profile in the semi-darkness, and she made a helpless movement of her shoulders. ‘It almost looked human to me,’ he added, rolling down his window and staring towards the ditch that dipped beside them. ‘What did you think it was?’

Catherine was still shaken by the immediacy of her reaction, but she managed to say weakly: ‘I thought it was human, too. It had legs.’

Robert grimaced. ‘So do animals, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘No. I mean—two legs. I thought it was a child.’

‘A child! Up here? At this time of night?’

‘I know it seems crazy.’ Catherine removed her moist palms from the wheel. ‘Should we—should we look?’

But even as she said the words, they heard a whimper which sounded suspiciously like a sob, and without waiting for Robert’s answer, Catherine thrust open her door and got out, circling the car to reach the ditch. She wished she had a torch, or a match, although it would never have stayed alight in the stiff breeze that was blowing off the mountains. Instead, she concentrated on the shifting shadows beneath the level of the road, endeavouring to distinguish a human form among the ferns and undergrowth.

‘I know you’re there,’ she declared, annoyed to find her voice quavered a little as she spoke, and Robert at the elbow asked in a wry undertone whether she expected some imp of Satan to appear. ‘I don’t know, do I?’ she demanded, half irritated by his complacency, and then started again, as a small figure rose up in front of her.

‘Good God! It is a child!’ muttered Robert disbelievingly, while Catherine stared in amazement at the small boy who moved into the shadow of the car’s headlights.

‘I—I’m sorry if I startled you.’ The boy spoke clearly and well, she noticed. ‘I’m afraid I’ve hurt my knee. I didn’t hear the car, you see, because of the wind, and I fell getting into the ditch.’

Catherine shook her head helplessly. ‘Do you realise what time it is?’ she exclaimed, unable to think of anything else to say at that moment, and the boy nodded, apparently unconcerned.

‘It’s late, I know,’ he answered. ‘I missed the last bus from Pendower, so I had to walk, you see. Then I twisted my knee and—–’

‘But where are you walking to?’ demanded Robert, but as if freezing before the unmistakable exasperation in his voice, the boy made no response, merely shifting his weight from one leg to the other and offering a mutinous expression.

‘We can’t leave him here, you know,’ Robert added, close to Catherine’s ear. ‘Wherever he’s going, he could die of exposure before he gets there. It’s so damn cold!’

Realising she had to make the next move, Catherine gestured towards the car. ‘Can we give you a lift?’ she suggested, wondering how a boy of no more than ten years of age could be wandering these roads at this time of night. Who was he? Where had he come from? ‘It’s much warmer inside.’

‘I’m not allowed to accept lifts from strangers,’ the boy replied then, hunching one shoulder, but Robert stretched out a hand and caught his arm.

‘Well, we can’t leave you here, old man,’ he declared, urging him towards the Renault. ‘Come on. We can talk just as well inside.’

‘No, no! Let go of me!’ The boy fought like a little fury then. ‘I shall tell my father about this. He’ll be furious, I can tell you. He owns this valley—–’

‘What!’ Catherine detained Robert’s enforced abduction, grasping the boy’s shoulder and turning him so that she could see his face. Her heart lurched as Rafe Glyndower’s dark features were exposed to her stare; smaller, younger, perhaps a little fairer, but definitely related. ‘You mean—you’re Thomas?’

‘That’s right.’ He fought back a sob. ‘And you have no right to keep me here!’

Catherine gathered herself with difficulty. ‘Does your father know where you are?’ she demanded, knowing the answer before she voiced the question. If Glyndower’s son had been discovered missing, the whole valley would have heard about it by now. ‘You know he doesn’t. You’re supposed to be away at school, aren’t you? What’s happened? Have you run away?’

‘Yes—no. That is—it’s nothing to do with you!’

Shades of Lucy Glyndower, thought Catherine dryly. Then: ‘And do you think you’ll be welcome, at this time of night? I’d hazard a guess that your father will be less than pleased to see you.’

‘Catherine, we can’t stand here arguing the toss,’ Robert exclaimed shortly, showing uncharacteristic signs of irritation, and although she deplored his impatience, she appreciated his point.

‘I wasn’t going home,’ Thomas was saying now, shocking her still further. ‘There’s a shepherd’s hut not far from here. I was going to spend the night there and go home in the morning, only … only …’

‘Only what?’

‘Only—it’s jolly dark, isn’t it? I’m not afraid of ghosts, of course,’ he added, holding up his head, ‘but I might not find it in the dark, might I?’

Catherine felt an overwhelming surge of sympathy for him. ‘You have run away, then? From school?’

The boy nodded, looking down at his toes, and over his bent head Catherine exchanged an appealing look with Robert. Thomas was only wearing a blazer over his uniform grey shirt and trousers, and Robert hadn’t been far wrong when he considered the possible effects of exposure. The boy was shivering already, and a night spent in a shepherd’s hut …

Without hesitating, Catherine came to a decision. ‘Look,’ she said, squatting down beside him, ‘you know you can’t sleep in an old hut at this time of year. That might have been all right in the summer, when the nights were warm, but now it’s cold, very cold, and you could freeze to death.’

Thomas sniffed. ‘You’re going to take me home?’

‘Is that what you want?’

‘Oh, honestly, Catherine—–’

Overriding Robert’s exasperated ejaculation, she repeated the question, and this time Thomas shook his head. ‘Not—not tonight,’ he admitted unhappily, and she straightened with determination, taking his small cold hand in hers.

‘Now you listen to me,’ she said firmly. ‘How would you like to spend the night at my cottage in Pendower, then I’ll run you home in the morning myself?’

Her legs quivered at this prospect, but short of bundling the boy into the car and dumping him on his father’s doorstep at eleven o’clock at night, there was nothing else she could do.

‘You’re crazy!’ declared Robert, jerking open the car door. ‘Why can’t you take him home?’

‘What do you say, Thomas?’

The boy hesitated. ‘Do you have buttermilk?’

‘Oh, my God! Not only does he hesitate, but he makes conditions!’ exclaimed Robert frustratedly, but Catherine ignored him.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said to the child now, ‘I don’t have anything like that. Why? Is it your favourite?’

‘No!’ Thomas was adamant. ‘I hate it. My mother makes me drink it.’

‘I see.’ Catherine raised her eyebrows helplessly, as he suddenly smiled up at her.

‘I’ll come with you now,’ he said. ‘Can I sit in front?’

With much grumbling from Robert, Thomas was wedged between them, and the remainder of the journey was accomplished mostly in a stony silence. Thomas seemed to enjoy watching the road ahead, examining the instruments on the dashboard from time to time, and making comparisons between the Renault and his father’s Volvo, but otherwise there was no conversation. Catherine was glad when they reached their destination, although she was taken aback when Robert said he was going to move into the hotel.

‘You only have two beds,’ he pointed out shortly, as they stood in the small hallway of Catherine’s cottage in Pembroke Square. ‘And as you’ve given one away …’ He paused, significantly. ‘Unless you’d like me to share yours?’

‘Oh, Robert …’

‘I thought not.’ He marched angrily up the stairs. ‘Then I’ll just get my case and leave you two alone.’

‘Robert!’ Catherine felt terrible now. ‘Robert, there is the couch.’

‘No, thanks.’ He came down again, carrying the overnight bag he had taken up earlier. ‘I prefer a proper bed, thank you.’ He halted in the hall, and looked half longingly at her. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, shall I?’