'Let me know if you want to buy it,' John had said, smiling because he knew they didn't and they couldn't, and they had all gone into Dora's house for supper and started playing the pretend game.
'If we ever did go back,' Simon had said, 'we could run the business from there, use the rooms for settings for antiques. It might bring the tourists in.'
'It went all right as an hotel,' Dora had said. 'Well, not too badly.' The owner's ill health had made things difficult this last year. 'We might run it as a family. I could do the cooking and Thea could organise everything, and you could dig the garden and wear a velvet jacket in the evenings and play mine host.'
'The first thing we buy, when we win the pools,' said Thea.
None of them did the pools, but Simon said, 'Right. As soon as we get the money we'll buy the Manor.'
It was never anything but a joke, but Dora suspected that Thea had held back the news that it was sold until they had eaten their meal, and drunk a glass or two of wine, and the strains of the day had ebbed.
They knew they couldn't have their own home back again, but the fact that someone else was moving in gave them both a little pang of regret. While the house stood still they could people it with memories. They could have gone along again any time and walked through it again.
'What's happening to it?' Dora asked.
It was unlikely to become a private dwelling house again. Somebody probably had plans to run it on a business basis. Thea said, 'John didn't say. Just that somebody was interested and he thought he might have a sale, and the man said he knew you and he asked after you. His name was Sullivan.'
Brother and sister looked blankly at each other, then Dora's eyes widened and Simon whistled almost soundlessly. 'It couldn't be,' he said.
Dora shook her head. Her 'No' was very emphatic.
'Who?' Thea leaned forward, intrigued.
'Coll Sullivan,' said Simon, slowly as though he hadn't said the name for a long time and he wasn't sure how it sounded.
`Who's he?' demanded Thea.
Neither answered for a moment, then Simon said, 'He was a gipsy. He used to camp off the main road.' There was a pull-in just outside the village where the trailer-caravans still came two or three times a year, staying a week or two until they were moved on.
'Not a gipsy,' said Dora. 'A tinker.'
'... Not gipsy-scum, tinker-scum,' he had said, 'and this time I won't be back ...'
'No!' she said again, and Simon asked,
`Do you know another Sullivan?'
'I don't think so, but I could do.'
Thea smiled. 'Well, if he's thinking of buying the Manor he's come a long way. What was his line?'
'His father dealt in scrap metal, old bangers, that sort of thing.' Simon shrugged. 'Junk.'
'Perhaps he's made a fortune out of scrap.' Thea was finding this very interesting. 'What was he like?'
Simon was doing the answering. Dora sat, turning the ring on her finger. 'My age,' said Simon. 'He came with his father.' He did some mental calculations. 'Oh, about half a dozen times in about ten years.'
Four times. Dora could have told them. She remembered exactly.
'He'd be about twenty when we saw him last.' Simon was remembering again, too, how Coll Sullivan had looked and sounded when he last came to this village. `You know,' said Simon, his voice rising, 'I wouldn't be all that surprised if it is him.'
A thin wail came out of the little baby-alarm that
connected with the mike hanging over the cot. It didn't sound urgent, as though Clare was stirring in her sleep rather than waking, but Dora jumped up. 'Can I?'
'Sure,' said Thea. 'But I think she'll go off again.'
Clare—usually referred to and addressed as Kiki was a happy baby. Sleeping and waking she was more delight than trouble. As Dora opened the door into the hall she almost bumped into Neil, who told them, 'Mother wasn't sure whether I said I'd be bringing you home for supper.'
'Not before midnight,' said Simon.
'Just looking in on Kiki.' Dora gave Neil a quick smile. 'I'll be back in a minute.'
She went into the nursery, closing the door quietly, and going over to the cot where Kiki was lying peacefully, sprawled in relaxed baby slumber. Flushed with sleep, damp golden curls sticking to her forehead, she was a picture.
Dora wished she had woken. She would have liked to pick her up and cuddle her close, and not just because she loved her, but because it would have been comfort for her, as well as the child, to have something warm and loving in her arms.
She was feeling strange, shaken. It was like that old saying about something walking over your grave. Little icy shivers were running down her spine, and she went across to the window, pulling a curtain back, looking up and down the road.
She couldn't stay in here for long. She would have to go back and say that Kiki was sleeping, and they would still be talking about the chance of the Manor being sold, and the man who might buy it.
If he bought it, of course. There was many a slip
between an interested viewer and a signed contract, and if it should be Coll Sullivan it was always possible that he'd seen an advertisement and asked to look over the place from sheer curiosity. It didn't mean he had that kind of money or wanted that kind of house.
She wondered what the years had done to him. Ten years were enough to change him out of recognition. He would be older, of course, settled maybe. He could have children almost as old as he had been when he first came to this village.
She couldn't imagine him now. She could see him vividly as he was the four times he came here, between the ages of ten and twenty. Each time there was a separate and detailed picture, but she couldn't imagine beyond the young man with the black hair and the hawk face who had looked at her with such contempt.
No one else had ever looked at her like that. Not even the man whose ring she had returned after the wedding invitations had been sent out.
'This time I won't be back,' Coll had said. But this afternoon he could have been walking through the grounds and the rooms of the Manor. If it was Coll.
She tried to think. Sullivan ... Sullivan ... Surely she knew another Sullivan? It might be someone she or Simon had met through business, a client of Neil's or somebody who had bought something from the shop sometime. Someone the estate agent didn't know. But, try as she would, no one came to mind.
The street was almost empty, and she would have to go back into the living room or Thea would be along to see what was holding her up. By now they might have finished discussing the sale.
But she still stood there, watching each car, each
pedestrian, her eyes darting as though she was on lookout. And then a car drew up just outside, and she knew that she was at this window because she had wanted to be prepared, she had had an instinctive feeling he would be seeking them out.
Of course this could be another visitor, a friend, although she couldn't recognise the car. And expensive cars did draw up beside antique shops, even closed ones, so that passengers could look into windows.
One man got out. He stood back and looked up, and he was Coll Sullivan and Dora thought she was going to choke.
She shrank back from the window, and stood for a frozen moment. Her blood was ice and her teeth were chattering. Then she hurried from the room, and along the little passage to where they were still sitting around the table.
'Hey,' she said brightly, 'did you hear the car?' 'What car?' asked Simon.
'The one that's just drawn up outside.' The bell rang and she said, 'Get ready for a surprise—it is Coll Sullivan.'
'Well, what do you know?' said Simon.
'Who?' asked Neil.
'The man who might be buying the Manor,' said Dora. 'Haven't they told you?'
'It isn't actually sold yet, is it?' said Thea. 'And Neil's been telling us his mother wants us all to go over to the bungalow sometime. We've been trying to work out when.'
What she really meant was that Simon had been raising objections to
every date put forward. Simon had gone downstairs to answer the door, and Thea
said, 'This is exciting. I'm looking forward to meeting him.'
`What's exciting?' Neil demanded.
'He used to come to the village years ago,' Thea explained. 'Didn't he?' Dora nodded.
'What's he going to do with the Manor?' Neil wanted to know, and Dora shrugged.
'John Redway, the estate agent, phoned through this afternoon,' said Thea, `to say he thought he might have a sale. That's all we know.'
Simon was doing the talking, it was his voice and his laughter that reached them, welcome in both. When he pushed open the door he ushered in the visitor with a flourish, and stood back with the pleased expression of an impresario delivering a star. 'Look who we've got here,' he said.
The man stood smiling at them. He was tall, broad-shouldered in a thin grey polo-necked sweater and grey slacks. His eyebrows were raised in amused query, as he looked at the three who were facing him.
Dora would have known him. She would have known him anywhere. 'Hello,' he said. He was speaking to her and she smiled politely.
'This is a surprise.'
So it was. Before she had any inkling what he had in mind he had covered the three paces between them, taken her in his arms and kissed her firmly on the mouth.
She was shocked speechless, and before she could protest or shove he had stepped back and was saying cheerfully, 'It's good to see you again. You haven't changed at all.'
Perhaps she hadn't inside. She had forgotten that confusion of feelings—resentment, anger, perhaps a
little fear—that Coll Sullivan had always stirred in her. She still felt the same inside, looking at him, her lips stiff in rejection of the touch of his lips.
But of course her appearance had changed, for the better, she hoped, and she said—pretending to laugh—`Considering I was a scrubbed-face sixteen year-old when we last met is that supposed to be a compliment?'
He was the only one who didn't laugh. `No,' he said, `an observation.' He turned to the others and Simon put an arm around Thea.
`Meet Coll Sullivan,' said Simon. 'One-time gipsy, God knows what now. And this is my wife Thea.'
Coll took Thea's hand and Dora had to admit that he was handsome. The black hair sprang back from a peak and the dark eyes had a spiky fringe of lashes. The nose-was high-bridged and the mouth was firm and long. Thea was smiling as though she enjoyed looking at him, saying, 'Hello.'
`And Neil Hewitt, Dora's fiancé,' said Simon.
Coll seemed to let Thea's hand go reluctantly. He turned to Neil and smiled, making a helpless gesture. 'in that case I should be apologising for kissing Dora.' To me you should, Dora thought, because nothing had ever happened to give him the right to kiss her on sight. Even if a lot of years had passed and he looked as though he now took what he wanted.
'But we three were childhood playmates,' said Coll, and his smile was for Simon and Dora, as though all their memories were good.
`Are you thinking of buying the Manor?' Simon asked.
`I am buying it.'
Dora's heart sank. In her turmoil of emotion she felt
THE BLAC K HUNTER
an extra bit of leaden depression where her heart probably was, but Simon's grin was delighted, if astonished.
'How ' he began, laughing, and Coll prompted,
'How did I get hold of the money?'
'Well, yes,' said Simon.
'Would you believe in luck?'
There was a glittering, reckless look about him. She remembered that too, and the way he threw back his head, as though he would enjoy taking on anything or anyone. It was a dangerous look, although some folk might describe it as charisma.
I'd believe it, she thought. I'd believe anything of you. I'd believe murder.
'Well, yes,' said Simon, 'it would have to be luck, of course but how—?'
'Simon!' protested Thea. She turned to Coll, playing the hostess in gay exaggerated fashion. 'Do please sit down, and please can I offer you a drink or something before my husband,' she pretended to glare at Simon, 'really starts to cross-question you.'
`I'm an open book,' said Coll. He took a chair and Simon sat down beside him. Then Neil sat down and, slowly, so did Dora. Coll smiled at Thea. 'I'm driving, but a coffee would be very acceptable.'
There were no rough edges to his voice now. It was the same voice, but as free of accent as Simon's. He looked aristocratic, born to the good life, even his shoes looked handmade.
He could have been a childhood playmate who had been brought to the Manor in a chauffeured car, instead of dropping out of the trees like something dark and wild.
He had landed on his feet like a cat, jumping from an old walnut tree, as Simon and Dora rode around
horse! '
could have stopped': I didn't want you--let go of my Simon, who was with them by then, had thanked him and called her a stupid kid, and that summer's day, a long time ago, had been spoiled ...
drawn up before she reached the end of the plain, where the ground began to slope down to the valley. saddle well out of Coll's touch, and spat at him, 'I She had snatched back her reins, wriggled back in her soothing and holding the frightened little pony until when a fluttering scrap of paper spooked Folly, who galloped off. Both Simon and Coil had raced after her, and Coil had reached her first, grabbing the reins, she came to a standstill,
were horses in the stables in those days, Coil was day they all insisted Folly had bolted that she hated allowed to ride when he had proved to her father, and boarding school—leaving her behind. But it was the him. She still believed she had been in control. There him, and she was jealous.
of a month that first summer, and he turned up again and again, going off with Simon—who was home from
to Tommy the groom, that he could handle a horse. first it might have been because Simon didn't dislike slightly. Dora was six years old, and Folly was a birthday present, a small New Forest pony of whom she was immensely proud.
instant dislike to the dark boy who was Simon's age. At
the five-acre meadow; and Dora's horse had shied
Dora had been furious, convinced she could have
'All right, kid, keep your hair on,' he'd said, and
The three of them were riding high over the hills
He camped in the neighbourhood for the best part
Right then, all those years ago, she had taken an
The man who had spoiled it was saying now, 'I'm in property, building, construction.'
'All of them?' Simon asked, impressed for all his raillery.
'They're allied trades.' Coll grinned back. 'You remember the last time I was here?'
'Yes,' said Simon.
Very well, thought Dora, oh very well. I had forgotten until now how well.
She looked at him, but he didn't meet her eyes, only Simon's. 'I started soon after that,' he explained. 'With a few hundred I'd managed to save I bought a derelict barn and did it up. That was my first profit and I went on from there.
'I've been lucky all along. I was into construction when the recession came, so I weathered it.' He smiled at them, all except Dora. 'And now I'm very comfortably situated, thank you.'
'Are you a millionaire yet?' she heard herself ask tartly, and he said, in the easy understated way he had described his career to date,
'Not yet. But I will be.'
The extraordinary thing was that she believed him. It was going to happen. You looked at him and you believed it.
Simon said, 'This beats all.' He took a long awed breath, then he added, 'It does, but it shouldn't, because you always were a winner.' A grin spread slowly from ear to ear. 'Hey, do you remember the sports at the fur-and-feather fete? How old were we?'
'You were twelve, you two, I was eight,' said Dora, and Simon nodded.
'Yeah, about that.' He was telling Thea, so that she could share the joke. 'Well, he won the lot, every-
thing—the racing, the long jump, the high jump, t
he lot. He was there in the line for everything, and every time he came in first.'
Dora had wanted Simon to win, or any of half a dozen friends, and this boy from outside, who shouldn't have been there at all, had won everything, every time. And he had to be cheating, because nobody wins at everything.
She was slipping back into those childhood incidents, remembering her emotions so vividly that it was almost impossible to laugh with Simon and Thea. 'Then, another time, there was the birthday party,' Simon chortled. 'Dora's birthday.'
... Her ninth, they had been thirteen. The picture of that came into detailed focus, down to the white dress she had worn, with small embroidered pink daisies, and the buffet in the marquee on the big lawn.
Coll had arrived a couple of days before, still remembered from his athletic triumphs the previous year, and been invited by Simon to her party. When she had protested her father had overruled her and Coll had been among the guests, conspicuous in tat-tered shirt and trousers that were too large for him.
'There was a fight,' said Simon, chuckling as he recalled it. 'Coll in the middle, laying about like a trooper. It was a shambles, I'd never enjoyed a birthday party so much in my life.'
Coll clapped both hands to his head, and laughing too Thea said, can imagine. What was it all about?'
'As I recall,' said Coll gravely, 'something to do with the cut of my suit.'
Dora remembered that the party was spoiled. That Coll Sullivan had always spoiled things. When he and his father drove off, in their battered old car towing
their battered trailer, that time, she had prayed they would never come back. The man never did. He died before the boy was fourteen, and Coll was twenty before they saw him again.
Simon said, 'You know, I really used to look forward to seeing you. We never knew when you'd be coming, or if you'd be coming, but when you did you certainly livened things up.' Dora hoped he wasn't going into any more happy memories. They bored her. She had never liked Coll Sullivan and she never would. But Simon seemed to have had his fill of the past, and he asked, 'What are you going to do with the Manor?'
The black Hunter Page 2