CHAPTER TWO
Liam Sherrard didn't move a muscle, just stood there looking at her, arms folded, and for an age that could only have been seconds she was literally unable to say a word or take a step. Then, with an immense effort, she made herself start walking again.
Incredibly nobody seemed to have noticed that looking him full in the face had hit Carly like a blow.' Her mind was still whirling. He was a barrister, he could easily have been around during the court case. Somewhere in her subconscious a memory stirred of that dark watchful face so that she half expected him to say, 'Haven't we met before?' or even, 'How's it gone with you, Miss Brown, since your boy-friend went down for burglary?'
'This is Carly,' Roland was saying, looking pleased as though he had found her himself, and Carly felt sorry for him because he probably wouldn't feel proud of her much longer. 'Carly, this is Victoria Hayden, and that brother of mine I was telling you about.'
The girl called Victoria murmured hello, her huge eyes evaluating Carly like a cash register: face, figure, clothes. Liam said, 'How do you do,' and Carly had an hysterical urge to answer,
'Honestly, believe it or not. The way I always have done.'
Then she realised that Madame Corbe had a hand on her arm and was looking at Liam as though something exciting was happening.
'Well?' she was saying. 'Well?'
'Well what?' asked Liam.
'Who does she remind you of?'
Carly's face went blank. Liam and Roland exchanged glances. Roland shrugged, bewildered; Liam said, 'I have no idea.'
Yes, you have, thought Carly, and I can understand how you know, but what is my little old lady talking about?
Madame Corbe sounded disappointed. 'I did hope Roland might have seen it, but I was sure you would, Liam.'
'I give up,' said Liam. 'You tell us.
'I shall show you.' She tightened her grip on Carly's arm. 'Come,' she said imperiously, and swept Carly out of the room with a word here and a smile there. Like a royal progress, Carly thought, with the two princes following behind, and the lady Victoria twittering in the rear.
Carly hadn't a clue what was going on. It would have been intriguing and amusing if Liam Sherrard hadn't arrived, but he had brought bitter memories and she felt slightly sick. Although the beauty of the graceful staircase, and the cool femininity of the bedroom into which Madame. Corbe led her little procession, were soothing in their way.
There were bowls and vases of yellow roses all around, the room was like a bower, and Madame Corbe took Carly to the dressing table and picked up a photograph in a thin oval silver frame.
'Now,' she said to Liam and Roland, 'you see it, don't you?' She was almost' pleading, as if she very much wanted them to agree with her and Victoria squeaked, 'Who is it?'
Nobody answered. No one else had followed upstairs, and Roland took the silver frame and looked at the coloured photograph and then at Carly and said, 'Yes, I think there is a likeness.' He held it for Carly to see, a young girl, with high cheekbones and honey-coloured hair cut in a fringe and bob, sitting on a rock, the sea behind her.
She thought there was a family resemblance to Madame Corbe rather than a likeness to herself. The child looked delicate, but Madame Corbe was explaining eagerly, 'The colouring, you see, the hair. That used to swing when she moved her head, the way Carly's does. And her gestures. And she was a kind girl. She would have brought an old lady in for a cup of tea like you did.' Tears glittered in her eyes and Carly put an arm around her shoulders.
'I'm sure she would,' she said.
'She was my granddaughter,' said Madame Corbe. 'You look like my granddaughter.'
That was a coincidence, considering that Carly had talked about adopting her as a grandmother. The imaginary resemblance seemed to be pleasing her, and Carly asked gently, 'You lost her?'
'Nearly twenty years ago, just after this photograph was taken. She was a beautiful girl. Wasn't she beautiful?'
She looked again at Liam and Roland, and Roland said, 'Indeed she was.'
'She was,' Liam said crisply. 'But she looked like you, Aunt Aimee, and not in the least like Miss Brown.'
The light went out in Madame Corbe's face. She had wanted to talk about her granddaughter, Carly could see that she would have launched into memories—not all of them sad, she had been starting to smile—but when. Liam spoke her lips closed tremulously. Then she asked, 'How old are you, Carly?'
'Twenty-one,' said Carly. And eleven months.
'Antoinette would have been twenty-nine, she was Roland's age, but I think she might have grown up looking like you,' and Carly said,
'I'd like to hear about her, I really would.'
'Not tonight,' said Liam to Madame Corbe. 'Not while you've getting on for fifty folk cluttering up the drawing room. Your place is down there, my beauty, you're the one they're here to see. You can talk with Miss Brown another time.'
Madame Corbe was a hostess of the old school. Reminded of her duties to her guests, she responded automatically, 'But of course we must go down again.'
She took Liam's arm, which he offered with a smile, and as they went he began telling her some story that made her laugh. The silvery sound of her laughter drifted back as Carly picked up the photograph again and asked Roland, 'What was she like?'
'Aunt Aimee's pride and joy,' he said. 'She never goes anywhere without that photograph even now. It was taken that last summer. We always went over there for the school holidays, Liam and I, she was like a sister to us, a smashing kid. She caught pneumonia, a chill, and suddenly she'd gone.' He sighed, his cheerful face grave. 'I suppose it was nearly twenty years ago— lord, how time flies!' and Carly knew that for a moment he had been reliving holidays of long ago.
For her school holidays hadn't differed much from term-time, except that there were no lessons. Most of the children had somewhere to go, somebody who wanted them for some of the time, but Carly usually stayed in the orphanage. She hadn't been unhappy, she had been busy, helping in the gardens and the buildings, but the fun of long lazy days, family holidays, had never been her lot.
How tragic that the little girl who had everything should have slipped away like that. She must have had a fabulous time when holidays came round and the two English boys who were like her brothers came: riding, swimming, running barefoot along beaches. Carly could imagine Roland, his face was still boyish, and Liam would have been a tall thin studious boy, and the girl walking between them had had hair the colour of her own.
'Am I like her?' she asked. Her reflection in the gilt-framed mirror over the dressing table didn't answer her question. There was the age difference, and Carly's face was stronger, lacking the soft prettiness of the child's.
'Probably,' said Roland after a moment's hesitation. 'I can't remember too clearly how she looked, I was only nine when she died. I can see her again when I look at photographs, of course, and probably Aunt Aimee's right and she might have grown up looking something like you.'
But not like me, she thought. Not like me inside at all. 'Pity we have to go down and join them,' said Roland, putting practised arms around her and kissing her with gentle ardour. And it was warm and pleasant and after the kiss they would certainly join the others, because there was no passion. This was just a moment of mutual appreciation, and when Carly turned her head they were reflected in the mirror looking very well together, her slim white figure entwined with his tall dark-suited body.
But she had no time to admire the picture they made, because Liam was also reflected in the dressing table mirror. He stood just inside the doorway, arms folded, viewing them with what seemed to be cynical detachment.
'Do you usually pussyfoot around like this?' she asked his reflection, and Roland turned and saw his brother and grinned as Liam said,
'All the time, in my own house.'
'Yours, is it?'
'Afraid so.' Liam opened a drawer in a white bow-fronted chest of drawers and took out a small flat bottle, explaining, 'Aunt Aimee's smelling sal
ts. We're getting a little short on oxygen down there.' But Carly wondered if he had doubled back because he was unwilling to leave her in the bedroom's with Roland, and finding them kissing could have confirmed his suspicions. 'I hate to spoil anything more interesting,' he said, 'but I think you should be rejoining the party.'
'I hate to agree with you,' said Roland. He was still holding Carly, still smiling at her, asking Liam, 'But isn't she gorgeous? Wouldn't you find it hard to keep your hands off her?'
'Difficult,' said Liam drily, 'but fortunately not impossible,' and Carly found herself looking at his Viands and thinking, I'd hate them on me, because she knew quite surely that the touch would be no caress.
'What's with "Miss Brown"?' asked Roland as the three of them came down the staircase. 'Why not Carly?'
'An unusual name. Is it short for anything?' Liam sounded casual, but he was watching her face as closely as if this was evidence in a courtroom, and she said,
'It's short for Caroline,' repeating, 'Caroline Brown.' She looked straight at him because she didn't like him, but she wasn't having him imagine that she was scared of him, and in turning to look up put her foot not quite squarely on the narrow shallow step. She would probably have regained her balance, but as she lurched slightly Liam grabbed her shoulder making her gasp. The grip was hard enough to bruise, although his voice sounded deceptively considerate. 'Do watch your step, Caroline.'
'Thank you,' she said, 'that was quick. Rather too quick, because I wasn't falling. And by the way, nobody calls me Caroline. If you can't manage Carly let's stay with Miss Brown.'
She said it laughing, and he laughed too, 'Oh, I'm sure I can manage Carly,' and she was pretty sure that was a threat and his laughter went no deeper than hers.
She didn't enjoy what was left of the party. Roland was just as attentive and just as charming, but even while she was smiling and flirting with him she was searching for Liam. No, not searching, she never looked around deliberately for him, but it was as though she had turned bionic so that she could sense his presence anywhere in the crowded rooms. Because every time she did glance up she seemed to meet his eyes.
She couldn't relax when her nerves were twanging, and the atmosphere was thickening with cigarette smoke and the hot air of a barrage of talk and perfume and after-shave and overheated bodies. She could understand why Madame Corbe had wanted her smelling salts, although Madame Corbe still looked cool and composed. It only seemed to be Carly who was finding it hard to breathe.
They danced, she and Roland. When another man asked her for a dance Roland said, 'Sorry, she's fully booked,' and that was flattering, but although the doors to the little walled garden were open now and the dancers were swaying around out there Carly still felt breathless even in the open air. Probably because as she went out with Roland Liam had said, 'It's rugged underfoot. Remember what I told you, watch your step.'
He had been standing with his back to Carly and Victoria hanging on to his arm. 'Your brother doesn't miss much, does he?' she said to Roland.
The music was soft out here, and there was only room for about half a dozen couples. Roland's arms were around her waist and she moved with him to the beat. 'No,' he agreed. 'But what made you say that?'
Because he was watching her like a hawk, she could feel his eyes like talons. Because he knew her—or t thought he did. If she and Roland had been alone out here she would have walked to the end of the garden, where there, was a little stone seat, and sat down and said, 'I think I've met Liam before.' Then she would have told him about Gerald.
She was sure that Liam would tell him when the party was over, and afterwards maybe Roland wouldn't turn up for their evening date. It could sound very unsavoury, because of course Liam's account would put Carly in the Worst possible light.
But if Roland did come then Carly would tell her side of the story and he could please himself what he believed. She couldn't get in ahead tonight, this was not the time nor the place for intimate confessions, and if Roland let himself be brainwashed by Liam then she could do without Roland.
'Well?' queried Roland. 'What makes you think Liam doesn't miss anything?'
She danced on, almost on the spot, her heavy hair swishing. 'Well, he saw us coming out here although he had his back to us,'
'Heard us, more likely,' said Roland.
'And he looks sharp.'
'Granted. As a razor.'
'Sharp and prejudiced,' she said, and surprise made Roland loose his tenuous hold on her and fling out his hands in protest, demanding, 'What?'
'He doesn't like me.'
'Rubbish!' Roland's reaction was emphatic and sincere. He hadn't sensed the antagonism, and for a moment she wondered if she had been over-reacting. 'Of course he likes you,' said Roland. He cupped her shoulders. 'Not as much as I do, of course,' and she, flinched slightly merging the movement into the dance. She was going to have five separate bruises on her right shoulder, Liam Sherrard's fingerprints, and she saw his tall figure silhouetted in the doorway as he and Victoria came out.
'Shall we ask him?' Roland suggested, smiling, following her gaze, and suddenly Carly was tired of the whole thing. It was late and she had to be up early. She said, 'I really should be going home,' and gently overriding Roland's protests headed for the door back into the house.
'Goodnight,' she said brightly to Liam and Victoria.
'Leaving so soon?' Liam enquired.
'I start work early.'
'You make clothes, I hear.' That was Victoria, sounding as though Carly was a little sewing woman stitching away in an attic.
This was the first patronising touch Carly had encountered tonight, Victoria wasn't gushing now, she was practically sneering, and Carly decided she was very suitable for Liam.
'That's right, yes,' Carly drawled. 'Do you make anything?' and Victoria went into the giggles.
'Oh yes,' she batted her lashes at Liam. 'And I'm good at it too, aren't I, darling?'
She obviously meant making love, and Carly said, 'I should watch him if I were you. He only helped me downstairs and I'm black and blue.'
She found Madame Corbe and said, 'It's a lovely party, I've enjoyed myself enormously, only I have to get up in the morning.'
'Goodnight, my dear.' Madame Corbe raised her face again to be kissed, and Carly felt a strange pang, an urge to say something like—please don't listen to Liam, he doesn't know it all, I promise you. 'I shall see you again before we leave,' said Madame Corbe, squeezing Carly's hands, and Carly said, 'I do hope so.'
'I'm seeing Carly tomorrow night,' said Roland, though it was tonight, actually, and Madame Corbe looked pleased and Carly said, 'I wonder, please could I take a few cakes back for William?'
She was leaving with a large cardboard box of assorted party bites when Liam loomed up again in the entrance hall and she said, 'Cakes. Would you like to check? No silverware. Just cakes for a small boy.'
'Yours?'
'The boy? No. A friend's.'
She wasn't absolutely certain, of course, that he had recognised her, although there was the niggling feeling at the back of her own mind that she had seen him some time during her blackest hours. But even if she had it was possible that he couldn't quite place her yet. Nearly four years had passed, perhaps it was nagging him too, the face, the name. She might still have time to get in her story first, and she went out of the house with Roland.
He had asked how she was getting home and she had explained, 'I've brought a car.' She had parked just round the corner, and they walked with his arm around her in silence. When they reached the van and she dug into her purse for the key he said, 'Is this it?'
'It's hardly one I'd be stealing, is it?' It was an ancient model, and he laughed, and Carly wished she hadn't said 'stealing'. Now she could say, 'Come in and sit down—I've got something to tell you before Liam does.' But she was tired, and the prospect of spelling out that old miserable story was daunting. She couldn't do it. The words would stick. Tomorrow she would—if he came tomorrow.
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'Goodnight, then,' said Roland, and kissed her lightly on the lips, tilting her chin to raise her face to his. 'Half past seven, and I'll count the hours.'
She was sure he said that quite often, and she nodded, 'Seven-thirty, you know where to find me...'
The bedside light was still on in Ruth's room and her door was ajar. She was reading, pillows propped up behind her,, and as Carly passed she called, 'Have fun?'
'You're keeping late nights.' Carly came into the room. Ruth had always been slightly insomniac, but lately it had been worse.
'Look who's talking,' said Ruth. But when Carly wasn't out on a date she slept a sound seven and a half hours, and now she sat on the side of the bed and said,
'Was I wrong about our little old lady! She has estates in Brittany—she's French, and you should have seen the house the party was held in!' As she described it, and the guests, Ruth's eyes grew wider. 'What with Daimlers and Rolls and Jags,' said Carly, 'I was so sorry for our old van that I parked her round the corner.' She grinned. 'Well, you know how sensitive she is, it could have given her a complex. Honestly, I was bowled over, everything was fabulous! And rich. If Madame Corbe had taken her gloves off in the shop and we'd seen her rings we'd have known she could buy and sell us.'
'I suppose she wouldn't like to buy us?' said Ruth wistfully.
Carly hadn't thought about that, but Madame Corbe had admired her work, and she did seem to be interested in the boutique, and perhaps she might consider a business proposal.
'Or maybe you found your millionaire?' Ruth was joking now, and Carly laughed,
'You wait and see who's calling for me after work tonight! His name's Roland Sherrard and he's related to Madame Corbe. He runs the estates and he's gorgeous.'
She closed her eyes, hugging herself with an exaggeratedly blissful expression, and Ruth squealed, 'It isn't true! You're pulling my leg.'
'It is so true.' Carly had put down the box by the bed and she bent now to lift it up. 'And here's William's take-home party to prove it. I thought I'd leave it in my room and he could have it when he got in from school. Down in the kitchen he might have fancied it for breakfast.'
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