by Sara Craven
In spite of herself, Rowan found she was visualising that dark, proud face with its cool, sensual mouth, and trying to imagine its owner in a state of hopeless love with anyone. It was not easy.,
Without thinking what she was saying, she asked, 'How did he get that scar?'
'My word, we were observant,' Antonia mocked. 'I've no idea, actually. I expect one of his women bit him. But don't get any ideas, sweetie. He eats little girls like you for breakfast.'
'How desperately unconventional,' said Rowan, trying for lightness. 'Has he got something against cornflakes?' Antonia was not amused. 'You know what I mean,' she said petulantly. 'He is out-but out of your league, ducky, and don't you forget it.
'I'm not likely to.' Rowan felt suddenly listless. 'Anyway, it's unlikely that we'll ever meet again, so let's drop the subject.' .
Antonia sighed, abruptly and her shoulders seemed -to sag. 'Would that we could,' she said. 'But that's what I've been trying to tell you. It's dear Cousin Carne to whom I owe all this money, and as I can't repay him in cash he's insisting that it has to be in kind. He has this house at Ravensmere which an old aunt looks after for him. But she's got arthritis now, or some crippling thing, so the idea is that I go there for a while and act as his housekeeper in ' her place.'
There was a long silence as Rowan stared at her in utter disbelief. Then, 'Oh, God give me strength,' she said, half under her breath. 'Is he serious?'
'Of course he's serious. That's the deal. I go up to this mountain hellhole of his for as long as it takes while 1purge my contempt, I suppose.' Antonia's lips thinned. 'He's also offered to payoff any other debts I may have, including Celia's, so I can't accuse him of being ungenerous~'
'It's not a question of that.' Rowan shook her head'. 'You don't even know how to keep house. Does he' know that?'
Antonia shrugged. 'The subject wasn't raised. He knows I ran the Surrey house and the other flat, without any problems. Naturally, he wasn't a frequent visitor because your father, to speak plainly, sweetie, was jealous of him.' She gave a little knowing smile that made Rowan feel sick. 'Not altogether without cause, I may say.'
Rowan pushed back her chair and got to her feet. 'That being the case,' she said quietly, 'the last thing you'll want is my presence in the house. I'm sorry you're in this mess, Antonia, but it's of your own making, and there's nothing I can do about it. From now on we go our separate ways.'
'Oh, but we don't.' Antonia's eyes glittered as she stared up at her stepdaughter. 'I have no intention of serving my term and then finding myself without a penny. I do have-plans, naturally, but I also intend to keep all my other options open, and I'm not seeing your father's allowance just whistled down the wind. Besides, the deal includes you. I told Carne about Victor's will, and he was most understanding.'
'How good of him!' Rowan's eyes flashed. 'But I would prefer not to be carted round Britain like so much excess baggage. I can manage to support myself for the next two years. There are grants and . . .'
'And what about me?' To her horror, Rowan saw enormous tears welling up in Antonia's eyes. 'Your father wanted us to stay together, you know he did. You're all of his that I've got left. You can't leave me, Rowan!'
Rowan was aghast., 'That's cheap blackmail, and you know it,' she began roundly, but Antonia was crying now in real earnest.
'Rowan, you've got to come with me. It will only be for six months or so at the most. You can go on with your course afterwards--do what you like. If you don't come with me, then the whole arrangement is cancelled and Carne is going to make me bankrupt. He threatened to last night. Why do you think I drank so much?'
'But he hardly knows of my existence . . .'
'Of course he does. And there's another thing.' Antonia bent her head over her wedding ring, twisting it aimlessly on her finger. 'I-I let him think you were younger than you actually are. You don't look your age, Rowan, you know you don't. It wouldn't be any hardship to pretend just for a little while.'
'How old?' Rowan said baldly.
Antonia concentrated on her wedding ring. 'Sixteen,' she returned after' a pause.
'Sixteen?' Rowan sank back on to her chair, her legs threatening to give way beneath her. 'Antonia, you are unbelievable! You can't do this to me.'
'And you can't do it to me,' Antonia retorted sullenly. 'They take everything from you when 'you're bankrupt. There was talk of an investigation after your father died, hut it was smoothed over. If Carne bankrupts me, the whole thing could start again. Do you want to see the Winslow name dragged through the financial mud?'
'No,' Rowan acknowledged. 'But I don't think it will come to that.'
'Oh, yes, it will,' Antonia said softly. 'For one thing, Carne has never forgiven me for marrying Victor. When he offered to back me in the boutique, I thought it was an olive branch, but I realise now that he just wanted to have a hold over me. It was as if he knew the boutique was going to fail.'
'Well, he wouldn't have needed much business acumen to tell him that,' Rowan said drily. 'What is he? Something in the City? I thought I knew his face from somewhere.'
Antonia grimaced. 'Well, it's more likely to have been the gossip columns than the financial pages. You've heard of him, of course--I'm surprised his name didn't ring a bell. He's Carne Maitland.'
'The painter?' Rowan could hardly believe her ears.
The most surprising element in the story was that Antonia should be even distantly related to one of the most famous portrait painters in Britain and have failed to mention it.
'The very same.' Antonia smiled lazily, her tears forgotten. 'Did you notice his tan? He's been out in one of the oil states, painting a sheik. They're about the only people in the world who can afford his prices these days. Of course, he doesn't need the money. His parents each left him a fortune, and he still has the controlling voice in the family business. Painting was always his hobby when he was a child, but everyone was amazed when he went to art college and began to work at it seriously. Who says you need to starve in a garret to be a success?'
Certainly, Rowan thought, not the critics, whose laudatory remarks had greeted every new canvas in recent years. He had had some dazzling commissions of late, including the obligatory Royal portrait, and had fulfilled them brilliantly. And he was Antonia's distant cousin, and a former lover, to judge by her words.
She got up and went over to the window, gazing down into the busy street outside with eyes that saw nothing. 'So I can tell him it's all right?' From behind her, Antonia's voice sounded anxious. 'I can tell him to expect us both?'
Rowan moved her shoulders in a slight shrug. 'Tell him what you like. That's what you've done up to now, isn't it? I'll come with you, but for Daddy's sake; Antonia, not yours.'
And not mine either, she thought, as she began the weary task of locating the missing inventory. Because the last thing she needed was to find herself in Carne Maitland's orbit again. She could still feel the lingering scrutiny of those silver eyes, and the memory disturbed her more than she cared to acknowledge, even to herself.
Not that she had anything to worry about, she told herself ruefully, as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the long mirror. The beautiful, the rich and the elegant those were the type of women with whom his name was most often linked, and she didn't qualify under any of those headings. Quite apart from the fact that he regarded her as a child, she had no doubt at all that he found her looks and personality about as fascinating as a--stewed prune.
And that was meant to be a joke, so why was she finding it so hard to smile? Rowan sighed, thankful that the tenor of her thoughts was known only to herself.
This could prove to be the most difficult summer of her life. And she thought, 'I'm going to have to be careful. Very careful.'
CHAPTER TWO
THE motorway was far behind them, and the towering fells had closed in as if they were entering some secret citadel. Antonia wall driving and Rowan sat beside her, the map open on her knee, although they hadn
't needed it so far as everything was so well signposted.
Rowan had never been to the Lake District before, and she supposed she could hardly be seeing it for the first time under better conditions. The soft blue April day was warm and the sun sparkled everywhere--on the grey-blue slate that faced the houses, on the rippling water, on the last traces of snow in the sheltered hollows of the fells, and on the masses of daffodils blooming wherever the eye could see.
She had read Wordsworth's poem, of course, but she had never expected to see it brought to life with quite such extravagance. She felt she wanted to laugh out loud with the sheer unexpected gaiety of it all, and the mood of depression which had been gripping her lately lifted perceptibly.
All she needed now was someone to share it with, but Antonia had already made it patently clear that the rugged beauty of their surroundings had not the slightest appeal as far as she was concerned. Nor was she suited with the narrowness of the road they were now travelling on, or the frequency of its bends. She had grumbled constantly since leaving the motorway, and Rowan felt wryly that her attitude augured ill for what lay ahead of them.
It had been a difficult few weeks. Rowan had informed the college principal that she would not be returning after the Easter break, and he had not been pleased at the news. He had tried hard to persuade her to stay on and complete her .course, but she had merely said that her family circumstances made it impossible at the moment, and left him to draw his own conclusions.
Rowan had not seen Carne Maitland again, although she had no doubt that he had visited the flat in her absence. There was occasionally the faint aroma of cigar smoke in the air when she returned. From odd remarks that Antonia let fall, she guessed that he had been as good as his word in settling her debts at cards, yet her stepmother seemed to have very little notion of what was going to be demanded of her in return. When Rowan asked the size of the house they were going to, and if any local help was employed, Antonia appeared vague to the point of indifference.
'But you must have some idea,' Rowan said at last. 'Do you know whether you're expected to cook as well as organise the housework?'
Antonia shrugged. 'I haven't the least idea. I'll worry about that when it happens.'
'But you can't cook,' Rowan pointed out. 'The whole thing is utterly ludicrous! Does your cousin realise this?'
'I don't know whether he does or not.' Antonia sounded bored. 'This was his idea, not mine, if you remember. Anyway, if dreary old Sybilla has managed all this time, I'm sure we can.'
'We?' Rowan raised her eyebrows. ‘Just leave me out of the reckoning, Antonia. I'm going to Ravensmere strictly under protest, to safeguard your income from the estate.'
Antonia smiled lazily and leaned across to pat her cheek. 'I know, sweetie, but all the same, you wouldn't leave me in the lurch. And you can hardly live under Carne's roof without doing something to earn your bed and board. By the way--' she reached for her handbag and fumbled in it, 'this is for you.'
It was a cheque, and when Rowan looked at the amount it was made out for and the uncompromising signature at the bottom, she felt her brain reel.
'What's this for?' she demanded huskily.
'To enable you to do some shopping,' Antonia said calmly. 'Carne will be doing quite a lot of entertaining, I imagine, and he won't want you to be lurking round in corners looking as if you've been dressed by War on Want.'
Rowan's face was burning. 'I see.'
For a moment she looked as if she was going to crumple the cheque up in her hand, and Antonia, alarmed, reached forward and snatched it away.
'Don't be stupid,' she said sharply. 'Not even you can pretend it isn't nice to have something to spend on yourself. You can't spend the rest of your life in jeans and sweaters. Get your hair done. Find someone to do a rescue job on those nails.'
'Look my age, you mean?' Rowan enquired ironically, and Antonia had the grace to look embarrassed.
'Not exactly,' she said shortly. 'But you could try and get away from this waif and stray image. For heaven's sake, Rowan, there must be something you want to buy for yourself!'
And there was, of course, though Rowan doubted whether the sturdy portable typewriter in its carrying case was exactly what the donor of the cheque had intended. She had expected a further tussle with Antonia too, but her stepmother seemed to have retreated into some private world of discontent, and would hardly have noticed, Rowan-thought, if she had shaved her head and painted her skin with woad.
Antonia offered no explanation for her glumness, but Rowan suspected the fact that they were travelling to Ravensmere without Carne Maitland's personal escort might have something to do with it. The estate car they were travelling in was a new one, and had been bought for Antonia's use, although she did not seem particularly impressed by the fact. Rowan guessed she would have preferred to travel in the sleek sports model she had glimpsed at the flat that first evening. She was thankful that they had been given something less powerful. Antonia was not a bad driver, but she was inclined to be reckless and impatient when conditions did not suit her, and Rowan grimaced inwardly as she contemplated what these latter stages of their journey could have been like.
'Well, here's Ravensmere at last,' Antonia commented petulantly. 'What a dead and alive hole! How much farther now, for heaven's 'sake?'
Rowan shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.'
She thought Ravensmere was an attractive village. It was very small-a few houses built "of the inevitable slate, a pub with shuttered windows and creeper-hung walls, and a combined village store and post office--c-but it was clean and well kept and the cottage gardens burgeoned with spring flowers.
Rowan leaned forward and stared around her. 'Is your cousin's house actually in the village?' She felt a twinge of nervousness assail her at the knowledge that they had nearly arrived at their destination. The palms of her hands felt damp and she wiped them surreptitiously on her denim-clad thighs. She wished very much that she was safely back in London, and that she had ignored all Antonia's pleas and arguments. Oh, why had she ever agreed to come all this way to take part in what amounted to little more than a charade? And at the same moment it occurred to her that she knew exactly why and she felt a sudden warmth invade her body that had nothing to do with the spring sunlight. Fool, she castigated herself silently.
'The house is called Raven's Crag,' Antonia was saying impatiently. 'Wind your window down and ask someone. It's getting late and I don't want to be driving around in these mountains once the sun has gone down.'
There didn't seem to be anyone about that they could ask, and eventually Antonia stopped outside the shop; and told Rowan brusquely to enquire there. 'And get me some cigarettes while you're about it,' she added.
The shop was small, but its proprietor had clearly decided not to let that stand in his way. Rowan thought she had never seen such a wide range of goods or so many different brand names. Every surface, every nook and cranny carried its full complement, and even the grille over the Post Office counter in the corner was plastered with posters and notices.
There was a young girl wearing a white overall behind the counter, transferring toffee bars from a box on to a plastic display tray, and she smiled when she saw Rowan. 'Yes, please?'
In spite of the range, they didn't have the exact brand of cigarettes that Antonia wanted, so Rowan bought the next best thing, knowing that she would be faced with more complaints when she returned to the car. Then she asked where Raven's Crag was.
There was open curiosity in the girl's eyes as she studied Rowan. 'You mean Mr Maitland's house? You want to take the back road, and bear to the right. It's a good climb, mind.'
The shop bell tinkled behind Rowan as she closed the door and walked back to the car. Something made her turn and look over her shoulder and she saw that the girl was peering through the crowded window watching her go, and that an older woman had joined her.
Rowan frowned slightly. It was true that Ravensmere was off the beaten t
ourist track, but surely the local inhabitants weren't so unused to the sight of strangers? She had intended to mention it to Antonia as she got back into the car, but the fuss her stepmother kicked up over the cigarettes drove it out of her mind.
'God, what a dump!' Antonia stormed, putting the car in gear with a hideous screech. 'It wouldn't take much for me to turn right round and go back to London!'
'Well, why don't we?' Rowan said quickly. 'This is never going to work, Antonia, and you know it. You've never had to look after a house in your life. Someone else has always done it for you.'
Antonia swung the car on to the back road with a frank disregard for its tyres. 'No, my dear simpleton, we're staying. My clever Cousin Carne may have the upper hand at the moment, but that won't last for ever.' She gave a small provocative smile. 'From housekeeper to lady of the house isn't that great a step.'
'You intend to marry him?' Rowan asked dazedly. Antonia shrugged. 'I haven't been able to work out yet whether he's .the marrying kind. But it makes very little difference these days. And there's always been a-rapport between Carne and me. There are too many other distractions in London; but up here in the back of beyond he shouldn't be too difficult to manipulate.'
'I see,' Rowan managed. ,
Antonia shot her a sideways glance. 'I hope you do, sweetie. I'm sure you'll know when and how to be diplomatic, and I'm relying on you to keep Sybilla out of the way too.'
The gradient was increasing sharply all the time, and there were frequent bends, so Antonia had to concentrate all her attention on her driving while Rowan sat silently beside her. So much, she told herself wryly, for being tempted into the realms of fantasy. From now on she would reserve her romantic dreams for her stories where they belonged.
What had she been hoping for anyway? A scene like something from an old Hollywood film where Carne would have seen behind the facade of the skinny sixteen-year-old and murmured, 'My God, but you're beautiful?' And even. If he had done, what then? She might be three years older than he had been led to believe, but even so she was a lifetime behind him in experience and sophistication. When he wanted a woman, it was obvious that his choice would be someone like Antonia, voluptuous and more than capable of catering to all of a man's needs. Well, not quite all. Rowan's sense of the ridiculous came to her rescue. Antonia couldn't keep house or cook, but what would that matter in the light of her other eminently desirable attributes? She had called herself a fool, but she was worse than a fool, she was pitiful. And here she was in a situation where she was going to be hurt-a situation entirely of her own making. She could have stood out against Antonia. After all, if her stepmother's plans came to fruition she would be in no need of the allowance from the Winslow estate. And Rowan herself could have found a grant to support her through her degree course. Other students survived; she could have been one of them. And now she had burned her boats behind her, it seemed. Once this strange summer was over she would have to pick up the threads of her life and start over again. It was a bleak prospect, and it was no comfort to realise that she had brought it all upon herself.