An old man appeared from one of the rooms leading off from the hall; small, stooped, with an oriental cast to his features.
"Akira will fetch your bags in and take them up to your rooms," Simon said, then barked an order in fluent Japanese at the old man. Akira kept his eyes downcast but acknowledged the command with a slight inclination of his head. With shuffling steps he progressed to the open front door.
They made their way up the curving staircase, Simon stopping every so often to point out a new delight to Heather. "This is a portrait of my great grandfather," he said, stopping at a large canvass depicting a dashing looking man in military uniform astride a chestnut horse. "How the artist got the horse to pose so well is beyond me."
Heather laughed. She already liked Simon Desborough enormously.
The stairs led onto a small landing and from there into a long and wide passageway with doors set in the walls at regular intervals. Between the doors the walls strained under the weight of more paintings, giving Heather the impression she was walking through an art gallery.
"That's a Matisse," she said, stopping in front of a small and beautifully executed painting of a nude woman.
"My grandmother knew him briefly when he was at the Academie Julian," Simon said blithely. "She posed for him a few times."
"This is your grandmother?" Heather said.
"She was lovely. Even in old age, you could still see her beauty." He stopped outside a door and opened it. "Heather, we've put you in the Blue Room. David, you're in the Red Room, but then you probably expected that." He turned to Heather. "David always used to sleep in the Red Room when he came to stay. Sort of a tradition." He noticed Heather and David exchange a look, and ignored it. He opened the door wide and ushered Heather inside.
Akira appeared at the end of the passageway, carrying David and Heather's bags. His wiry frame belied a deceptive strength as he carried the bags along the passageway with little effort. Heather took her bag with a nod of thanks and entered the bedroom.
"Come on, David. Let's leave Heather to get settled in. You know the way." To Heather he said, "Three doors up on the left," and winked. He closed the door and trotted to catch up with David, who had already found his room.
David threw himself onto the bed and folded his arms behind his head. "It's good to be back here," he said as Simon entered the room. "It's good that you're back here. It's been bloody miserable since you left."
"I don't know," Simon said, and sat down on the bed next to his friend. "It seems that Heather's doing you the world of good. I've never seen you looking so well."
David shrugged. "Early days. It's only been three months. But you're right, she is pretty wonderful." He sat up abruptly. "What's all this business with separate rooms? Are you deliberately trying to thwart my love life?"
Simon laughed. "Not at all. But I didn't know how far things had progressed with you two, and it's not really something a chap can ask over the phone."
"Fair enough," David said, and reclined on the bed again. "Talking of people's love life, I ran into Johnny Foxworth the other day. He tells me you brought someone back with you from Japan."
A frown appeared fleetingly on Simon's face. "Foxworth should learn to keep his mouth shut and his nose out of other peoples' business," he said tightly.
"I'm sure he didn't mean any harm. He always was a terrible gossip."
"He told you, of course, that he came here on the cadge?"
"He didn't, but it doesn't surprise me. He was the same at Oxford. Spent his entire grant on booze and women, then pleaded poverty to his friends. I grew wise to him after the first year. Three loans, none of which were ever repaid. I pulled the plug after that."
"I'm afraid I sent him packing. But he was right. I have brought someone back with me. In fact I brought several people back with me. You saw Akira when you arrived. He was my servant in Kyoto, and very good at his job so I was reluctant to let him go. His wife, Toshiyo, is cook and housekeeper here. She has a way with western cuisine which is surprising to say the least..."
"You're prevaricating," David chided.
Simon got to his feet. "Indeed I am. But don't worry, all will become clear later." He walked to the door. "There are clean towels in the bottom drawer of the wardrobe. Anything else you need?"
"I could murder a coffee."
"I'll have a pot sent up."
"You're really not going to tell me?"
"Be patient," Simon said, and left the room.
David frowned and watched the door close, then shrugged and started to unpack his bag.
In her room Heather was standing at the window as David entered. He put the two cups of coffee down on the dressing table and came up behind her, putting his arms around her waist. He kissed the nape of her neck. "It's a wonderful house," she said, leaning into him.
"So you're not disappointed you came?"
"Far from it. Simon is sweet. I thought that kind of old-world courtesy had gone out of fashion. Fancy putting us in separate rooms."
"He's always been the same. His parents were quite old when they had him, and I suppose being brought up in a place like this with a nanny and servants protected him from the harshness of modern life. He's always had one foot firmly in the past."
Heather did not appear to be listening to him. She was leaning forward in his arms, staring hard out through the window. Her room overlooked the back garden and, although the twilight had deepened to a gloomy dusk, she could still make out the bold elliptical shapes of the flower beds, the dark hexagon of the ornamental pond and, on the eastern side of the garden, the skeletal outline of a glass summerhouse. Beyond the sloping lawn the garden dissolved into orchard, with the crowns of budding apple, pear, cherry and plum trees giving a soft verdant border to the more formal garden.
"Did you see that?" she asked.
David mumbled something but was nuzzling her neck again, breathing in her subtle perfume, becoming aroused by the musky scent. She pulled away from his embrace, pressing her face to the glass, shielding her eyes from the peripheral light with her hands.
"I'm sure I saw a light moving through the trees."
"Fireflies," he said dismissively, trying to draw her back to his arms.
"Stronger than that. More like a torch or a lantern. It's gone now." She turned away from the window to become enwrapped in his embrace again. Curling her arms around David's neck, she kissed him and twisted her wrist to see her watch. "We'd better get ready for dinner," she said, and went across to the bed to unpack her suitcase.
He followed her and slipped his hand inside the front of her blouse. "We've got an hour yet," he said.
"And I don't need three guesses to tell me what you'd like to do in that time."
He pushed her onto the bed.
"I need a shower," she protested.
"So will I...afterwards," he said and kissed her.
The brass fittings in the bathroom were polished to a high, gleaming lustre and their Victorian elegance combined with the plain white tiles to give the room a modern designer feel. Heather turned on the taps for the shower and undressed as the water hissed and gurgled in the pipes. The showerhead again was brass, jutting out from the wall above the freestanding cast-iron bath. Finally the water gushed forth and she stepped quickly under it, drawing the shower-curtain around her. The temperature of the water was perfect and she let it soak her body, easing away the aches in her limbs caused by several hours of being cramped up in the car.
She rubbed shampoo into her cropped blonde hair, massaging her scalp with her fingers, releasing the tensions that had built up over the course of the day. Ducking her head under the spray she washed the lather from her hair, turned off the shower and stepped out onto the cold, tiled floor. She pulled a towel from the heated rail and wrapped it about her in a sarong. With another warm towel she patted her hair. As she went through the mechanical routine of drying herself she felt a draught playing on her back. Her skin was prickling and she had the curious sensation that s
he was being watched.
Her back was to the door and she felt an urge to look over her shoulder, but fought it down, telling herself she was being stupid. She continued to rub at her hair with the towel. Unfamiliar surroundings and the sheer antiquity of the place were conspiring to unsettle her. Still, no matter how much she told herself she was being ridiculous, she could not shake off the feeling that she was not alone in the bathroom.
The moisture on her body started to steam, and her breath began to mist as the temperature of the room dropped sharply. Unable to contain the unease any longer she spun round in time to see the bathroom door closing. It settled in its frame with a soft click and for a second she thought she could hear footsteps receding down the passage. Until then she was not aware she had been holding her breath. Now she let it out in a long gasp, ran to the door and tugged at the handle. It was locked.
Fumbling with the key she unlocked the door and pulled it open. Outside, the passageway was deserted. She stood for a moment, breathing hard, before closing the door and twisting the key in the lock, angry with herself. Her imagination was playing tricks on her. She was sure it was just a combination of tiredness and the unfamiliarity of the old house. She quickly gathered up her clothes and hurried back to her room.
David struggled into the trousers of his dinner suit, feeling the effects of three months of over-indulgence in the tightness of the waistband. Since meeting Heather his life had been a whirl of candle-lit dinners in expensive restaurants, and weekend parties where drink ran freely and food was in abundance. He had never before been with anyone who knew so many people and had such an active social life. Heather had turned his world around. With her huge circle of friends she had taken his solitary, almost monastic, life and stood it on its head. This weekend, spent in the country in the company of his old university friend was important to him, if only to show to Heather that he had some friends of his own who could entertain as lavishly as hers. So far he was not disappointed.
He had visited Desborough Hall many times during his years at university. The first time, a shooting party organised by Desborough's father, he had been bowled over by the grandeur of the place, but on subsequent visits he became more used to the opulence of his surroundings and, as such, became much more at ease with Simon's parents and the company they liked to keep. The news of their death came as a massive blow to him. He had lost two people from his life that he admired and liked enormously. And in such a stupid and futile way. An accident in their Bentley. A drunken chauffeur and a winding country road. An unforgiving oak tree, ploughed into at seventy miles an hour. No survivors. It had nearly broken his heart.
The visit this weekend served a dual purpose. To see his old friend again after a long two years' absence, and a chance to lay the ghosts of Sir Frederick and Lady Jane Desborough. So far it had been only partly successful. He still half-expected to walk into a room and see the larger than life figure of Freddy Desborough, puffing on his customary large Havana, dominating the room with his sheer presence.
Jane he missed for other reasons. Having never been close to his own mother, Jane had become a much-trusted confidante. Someone he could turn to and tell his innermost thoughts, and who guided him with kindness and intuitive good sense. It was the loss of Jane he felt most keenly. Without her sound advice he had spent the last three years rudderless, drifting on a lake of broken relationships and shattered dreams. He hoped things would work out better with Heather, but it was still too early to say. He wondered, as he knotted his bow tie, what Jane Desborough would have made of Heather. He liked to think she would have approved.
From outside he heard the sound of a car pulling up. Doors opened and slammed, and the sound of voices drifted up to him. The other guests were beginning to arrive.
Drinks were being served in the morning room. There were a dozen guests and a dozen pairs of eyes turned to look at David and Heather as they entered the room. David scanned the faces and recognised no one; Heather smiled uncertainly. At the grand piano in the corner a young Japanese woman was feeling her way cautiously through a Gershwin tune, watched by a small, but attentive, audience. Of Simon there was no sign. The woman stopped playing and excused herself to her audience, gliding across the room, hand outstretched, to greet David and Heather.
Heather wanted to shrink into herself, to disappear. The simple black dress she was wearing, that had looked so elegant and chic in the privacy of the bedroom, seemed plain and dowdy compared to the stylish and expensive clothes the other women in the room were wearing. She felt completely under-dressed.
"I'm Anna Otani, Simon's fiancé," the Japanese woman said lightly. Her accent was not English, but neither was it Japanese. David guessed American. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here to greet you when you arrived but I had so many preparations to make. Are your rooms comfortable?"
"Fine," David said hesitantly, scrutinising the woman, still trying to take in that his best friend was engaged to be married and had not confided in him. Simon had said nothing of this, neither on the phone or earlier in his room, and David had given him ample opportunity to do so. He felt slightly hurt by Simon's reticence.
"The house is beautiful," Heather said, feeling even more conspicuous and plain. Anna Otani's dress was a fabulous creation of cerise silk, low cut, emphasising the woman's long swan's neck, and decorated with dragon motifs. The silk clung to her body like a second skin, outlining her svelte figure, and making a feature of her small but perfectly proportioned breasts. She was stunning. Large almond shaped eyes, dusky brown, framed by long black lashes, flawless ivory skin, and black hair that hung loose to her waist and shone like the silk of her dress.
"It is a beautiful, yes, though Simon likes to make light of it. I keep reminding him how lucky he is to own a place that contains so many treasures. Let me get you a drink and I'll introduce you to the others."
She led the way across the room but a tall, middle-aged Japanese man intercepted her, wrapping his arm about her waist and whispering in her ear. He was dressed impeccably in an Armani suit, his thick black hair swept back from a finely chiselled face. Anna turned to them with a smile. "You must excuse my father, but he insists on being introduced to you. David Aylwin and Heather Grant, my father, Shinjiro Otani."
Otani smiled graciously and gave a slight bow. "This gives me great pleasure," he said in clipped, accented English. "To meet such good friends of Simon is indeed an honour. David, he has spoken of you often, but I'm afraid I am not so well acquainted with your lovely companion."
"Simon and I met for the first time today," Heather said.
"We haven't been together very long," David said artlessly.
"But I sense you will be together for a very long time to come," Otani said. "Ah, I see your drinks are coming." He turned to move back to his group when Akira, who had been circling the room offering canapés to the guests, stepped in front of him, narrowly avoiding a collision. The urbane expression on Shinjiro Otani's face slipped, to be replaced by a look of anger. He gripped Akira by the shoulder and shook the old man roughly, spitting out a furious reprimand in Japanese. Akira looked shaken, but bowed deeply and shuffled away.
"How would you like him as a father-in-law?" Heather said under her breath.
"Not very much," David answered quietly.
The incident seemed to pass unnoticed by the others in the room and conversation was carrying on normally. The group by the piano was getting restless and calling for Anna to return to the piano. David took his drink from Anna. "We're keeping you from your friends," he said.
Anna smiled. "I have a small talent," she said. "It seems to amuse them. Do you mind?"
"Not at all," Heather said. "You play very well."
"Thank you," Anna said. "Please feel free to help yourselves to more drinks." She returned to the piano to be greeted by a small cheer from her audience, sat down on the stool and began a quiet classical piece that David did not recognise.
"Can we go now?" Heather said to him urgently.
"Go? Are you being serious?"
"No, just feeling inadequate. I bet she juggles as well."
David wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and kissed the top of her head. "She's probably a lousy cook."
"Oh God, I do hope so."
They made their way across to the piano and joined the main group. The hesitancy Anna Otani had shown when tackling the Gershwin number was no longer evident. The music moved along smoothly and eloquently, and Anna played, eyes closed, her body swaying gently, in sympathy with the lilting melody. Heather watched the young woman's fingers move effortlessly over the keys, jealousy giving way to admiration as the music swelled up inside her. She felt her mind drifting. There was something slightly oriental about the piece, an element in the chord structure that filled her thoughts with vivid images of the Far East. She closed her eyes and let the music carry her away on a tonal journey across oceans.
David finished his drink and went to replenish his glass. In the corner of the room a young couple occupied space on a chaise longue. The man he did not recognise at all, but the woman looked vaguely familiar. David could not place her. She was a pale, fragile creature with deep-set, haunted eyes and she was wearing a white cotton shift that seemed perfectly in keeping with her plain, bird-like features. It was only when she lifted her drink to her lips that he noticed her hands. They were gnarled and twisted into bony fists and she had to use both of them to hold the glass. She lowered the glass and rested her hands in her lap, where they twitched like birds with broken wings as the young woman watched Anna play with rapt attention.
Echoes of Darkness Page 21