Nick took a fresh grip, slid his feet into the stirrups and began again, and this time, for twelve counts, the thumps were evenly spaced.
‘I did it, Mirry!’ A triumphant grin lit his handsome face, and for a few moments it could have been the Nick of two years ago, with the future his good looks and high intelligence had promised. Only when he extricated himself clumsily from the exercise machine and lurched as he moved to hug her was the illusion dashed.
‘Didn’t I always say you could?’ A slight huskiness betrayed the emotions constricting her throat as she hugged him back, her cheek pressing against his damp T-shirt. ‘Ugh!’ She pretended disgust at his sweat-soaked body. ‘You’d better get your shower.’
She sighed as she watched his shambling gait as he left the room. Her constant companion during their growing up years, it had been Nick who had spurred her own ambitions to opt for a career still weighted against females. He’d even wanted to defer his scholarship to Cambridge for a year until Mirry would be ready to leave for university. Perhaps if she hadn’t talked him out of that idea he wouldn’t have been in the wrong place at the wrong time…
But it was no good thinking of might-have-beens. Nick’s accident had happened, cutting short both their careers, because there had been no question of Mirry pursuing her dream of becoming an architect when Nick needed her.
After the dairy, the big, old-fashioned kitchen was cosy.
‘Just look at the weather!’ Mirry said in disgust, ruffling Andrew’s already wind-tousled hair and dropping a kiss on her father’s cheek as they both sat at the big table.
‘Don’t knock it,’ Donald Grey grinned. ‘Good growing weather; at least, it would be if it’d warm up a bit.’
‘All right for your precious plants, but what about Aunt Georgie’s sofa?’ Mirry’s smile belied her grumbling tone.
‘You finished it, then?’ her mother asked from the stove.
‘Two o’clock this morning.’ Mirry reached up to kiss her cheek. Cathy Grey was small compared to her husband and five hulking sons, but Mirry was smaller, the top of her head barely reaching her mother’s ear. With her reddish-brown hair tumbling down her back she looked no more than sixteen, especially as the curves which were a clue to her actual twenty-three years were hidden by her bulky sweater.
‘Oh, darling…’ Cathy Grey’s still pretty face clouded with compunction. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed you…’
‘What was the rush, anyway?’ Andrew reached for the coffee-pot to refill his cup.
Mirry noticed her mother’s troubled frown. ‘I’ll have some coffee, please, Andrew. And Mum’s right. The sooner the sofa’s returned to the house, the better.’
‘I still don’t see it matters.’ Andrew filled her cup. ‘Jay Elphick’s had one of his heirlooms restored, after all.’
Cathy and Donald exchanged a look of understanding as she took his empty plate and received a caressing pat on her still neat posterior. Though her dark hair was sprinkled with grey and his was fast disappearing, their love was expressed in many such ways every day of their lives.
‘You’ll need the truck, then, Mirry,’ her father said. ‘Do you want Andrew too, to help with the lifting?’
‘I can do it.’ Nick, his hair still damp, had caught the last part of the conversation. ‘I often help Mirry.’
‘That’s right, Nick. You’re the brains and I’m the brawn.’ Mirry grinned, then, turning to her father, added, ‘Of course Nick and I can manage. It’s only a little sofa and anyway I’m—’
‘—stronger than you look,’ Donald and Andrew chorused, picking up the old family joke.
After helping her mother with the chores, Mirry went out to the back lobby, grabbing the first anorak that came to hand. It hung well below her knees, the hood falling over her nose, which wasn’t a bad thing as the rain-filled wind buffeted her.
There were already a few cars in the garden centre car park, and the small craft showrooms converted from former outhouses were open for business. They were well established; the unit Mirry unlocked contained only her drawing-board and tools, but it was where she had begun to dream of establishing her own business.
Although doubtful of her capabilities at first, the longer she had worked on the conversion project the more enthusiastic she had become. Georgie had been delighted with her plans, and Mirry had needed little encouragement to complete the specifications. But there had been no time to submit the finished plans to the local council. Aunt Georgie had gone to bed one night a week ago and had failed to wake up in the morning.
So Mirry’s new career was already in limbo. There would be nothing to stop Jay Elphick going along with the plans when he took over at Wenlow, but she doubted he’d consider a partly trained architect with no experience capable of handling the job. Sighing, she stripped off her anorak.
If Jay was coming into his inheritance too soon to find the upkeep of the house supported by the rents from the luxury flats as Georgie had planned, at least he would find the extensive collection of Jacobean needlework almost completely restored. It had begun ten years ago when Mirry had copied the pattern on one of the bed-hangings to make a picture. That first attempt had been very amateur, but it had caught Aunt Georgie’s interest. Mirry had copied more of the patterns, and after months of practising the different stitches they had embarked on the task of restoring the original needlework.
The little sofa had been one of the last pieces, not only the pattern worn away but the fabric itself in shreds. Mirry had started from scratch, selecting from the many authentic designs of birds and beasts and flowers she had collected over the years. She had completed the embroidery but not the re-upholstery when Georgie had died, and it had been her mother’s insistence that it should be finished and returned to the Hall before Jay’s arrival that had been the cause of Mirry’s late night.
She found herself speculating curiously about this unknown cousin as she wrapped the sofa in air-bubble plastic to protect it, feeling a tingle of excitement that she would soon meet him.
Andrew backed the truck up to the door and helped Nick stow the sofa aboard. Pulling on the over-large anorak again, Mirry clambered into the cab beside Nick and drove out on to the narrow road that wound between high hedges just beginning to show a tender green. In less than five hundred yards she was slowing again, turning by the tiny church into a drive that curved beside a shallow lake up to a large, honey-stuccoed house.
The rain spattered against the plastic covering as they carried the sofa into the house, the hood of Mirry’s anorak covering so much of her face she could only see her feet. But she knew every inch of the house and unerringly led the way across the great hall into the inner hall and started up the curving staircase.
After three steps there was a jerk as Nick stumbled. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, butting her in the back as he moved forward again, bearing her along too fast to negotiate the bend. Nick grunted as the sofa became wedged between the wall and the iron balustrade.
Clawing the impeding hood back far enough to survey the problem, she directed breathlessly, ‘Back up, Nick. No…gently!’
‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ a harsh voice grated, and they both jumped, Nick turning to gaze mutely at the speaker, Mirry peering over the balustrade to get an impression of light brown hair trimmed neatly against a well-shaped head, and a lean body clad in a formal grey business suit.
‘Wherever you were going with that, you’ll take it back…at once.’ He spoke quietly, but with a ring of authority that had Nick glancing at Mirry for guidance. Snapping out of her trance, she said, ‘I’m sorry, but we didn’t expect—’
He ignored her, firing at Nick, ‘What are you, gypsies come to see what the pickings are?’
Mirry gasped, but, frustrated by the sofa blocking her way, she had to listen as he said threateningly to Nick, ‘Are you going to put it back, or do I have to make you?’
‘Now, look, if you’d only let me explain—’ Mirry tried again. This time h
e did deign to look at her, and she felt a sharp jolt. The eyes that were regarding her so scathingly were a light silvery grey, the coldest eyes she had ever seen.
Used all her life to affectionate indulgence from the male sex, she was even more shattered when he said rudely, ‘I was talking to the organ grinder, not the monkey,’ and turned his inimical gaze back to Nick. ‘I assume it is you and not your little brother who is in charge of this operation?’ And when Nick still said nothing, ‘Well? Are you dumb as well as daft?’
Nick’s hands curled into fists as he struggled to answer, finally bursting into an unintelligible stream of words.
‘My God, it’s the bloody village idiot!’
Fury at the callous remark gave Mirry the impetus to shove at the sofa until she could squeeze past. ‘Nick…’ She stood protectively between her brother and his attacker. ‘Wait for me in the truck.’
Nick cast an apprehensive glance at the man who snapped, ‘Oh, no, you don’t. You’re neither of you—’
‘Shut up!’ Mirry turned on him like a bantam cock, sweeping the hampering hood from her head so the reddish curls tumbled wildly about her face. His surprise would have been laughable had she not been so angry. ‘Tell me, Mr Elphick, do you jeer at cripples, too?’
The silvery eyes narrowed. ‘You know my name?’
Mirry refused to be side-tracked. ‘If my brother had lost an arm or a leg, would you still be calling him names?’ Not allowing the discomfited man to answer, she powered on, her temper lost beyond recall, ‘To set the matter straight, we were not trying to make off with one of your heirlooms. We were in fact returning it after restoration. It belongs in the sitting-room of the master suite, and how you’re going to get it there now is your problem.’
Taking advantage of the fact that her diatribe had momentarily stunned her antagonist, she dragged Nick past him in a flurry of billowing anorak and flying hair.
CHAPTER TWO
Climbing into the truck, Mirry wondered how she was going to reassure her brother, but to her surprise his expression showed only admiring wonder.
‘You sure told him, Mirry.’ His speech was relatively clear now and his mouth twitched in amusement.
‘I wasn’t having him call you an idiot,’ she muttered, ‘which is why I—’
‘—went for the jugular,’ Nick finished with a grin. ‘Poor chap didn’t know what hit him.’
Mirry looked at him in consternation. So much for the understanding welcome Georgie had trusted her to give to Jay! ‘I did go over the top a bit, didn’t I? Should I go back?’
Nick shook his head, grinning. ‘He’d probably hide.’
Mirry worried about it as she drove the short distance home, but as she parked beside a sedate grey BMW, a throaty roar from a racy red sports car sweeping up behind them put everything else out of her mind.
‘Simon!’ Nick scrambled out of the truck and Mirry followed suit, hurtling to greet the most handsome of her five good-looking brothers.
‘Hi, Nick…Mirry…’ Simon peered at the all-enveloping anorak. ‘I assume it is my little sister in there somewhere.’ He swept her off her feet in a hug and Mirry squealed with pleasure.
Asking excited questions, she led the way into the house and through to the sitting-room where the fitful sunlight and leaded window-panes were making crossword patterns on the polished floor. There they found Richard and his blonde wife Sandra drinking coffee with their mother.
After the delighted greetings, Cathy said, ‘You’ve been quick, Mirry.’
Nick enunciated carefully, ‘We had a run-in with Jay Elphick and thought we’d better come back and tell you.’
‘He’s here today!’ Cathy said incredulously.
‘Jay Elphick?’ Sandra sat up, her blonde hair swinging. ‘What’s he like, Mirry? Too awful? To think of some little bank clerk taking Sir David’s place!’
Richard avoided his mother’s gaze as he remonstrated mildly, ‘Don’t be such a snob, Sandra.’
Mirry was aware they were waiting for her opinion, but what could she say? Cold as marble with a burn like dry ice? Certainly nothing like the humble bank clerk of Sandra’s imagining. ‘I think you could be in for a surprise,’ she told her sister-in-law.
‘I’m surprised he’s turned up for the funeral, since he didn’t attend his father’s,’ Cathy said tartly. ‘Was he alone?’
‘I didn’t see anyone else.’ And hadn’t waited to find out!
‘I wondered if his mother was with him.’ Cathy grimaced. ‘Now, I could imagine her eager to be at Georgie’s funeral—to dance!’
Her unfamiliar bitterness had all five young people staring. ‘Which would have been better unsaid,’ she conceded. ‘I’d better phone Martha to see if everything can still go ahead as arranged.’
That was a complication that hadn’t occurred to Mirry, and her relief was as great as her mother’s when Cathy returned to say, ‘It’s all right, Jay arrived today on the solicitor’s instructions. Unfortunately Mr Golding omitted to tell him about the funeral. But Martha says he doesn’t want to interfere. She also says…’ she fixed a puzzled gaze on her daughter ‘…to tell Mirry Mr Elphick managed to get the sofa upstairs all right. Mirry, what’s been going on?’
Her face flamed and she shot an agonised glance at the grinning Nick. ‘He appeared like a genie just as we got the sofa stuck on the stairs, and jumped to the conclusion we were stealing it,’ she told them uncomfortably. ‘He wouldn’t listen when I tried to explain. In fact, he was pretty nasty to Nick.’
‘So she told him what she thought of him and stormed out,’ Nick added with huge enjoyment.
Richard and Simon roared with laughter, for both had baited their sister in the past and knew what a firebrand she could be. But Mirry was recalling her mother’s bitterness towards Jay’s mother. It wasn’t until she was in the kitchen, slicing breadsticks and spreading the garlic butter, that she was able to ask, ‘You don’t resent Jay’s inheriting Wenlow, do you, Mum?’
Her mother’s hand slowed as she stirred the pan. ‘He is David’s only son, and Georgie always wanted it, too.’
Mirry tore off strips of tinfoil, sensing her mother’s reservations. She already regretted over-reacting to Jay’s remarks, now she was beginning to regret telling her family about it if it was going to cause more ill-feeling. ‘I know I got off on the wrong foot with Jay, but I can’t help feeling sorry for him. He’s missed out on such a lot, hasn’t he?’ She was thinking how different her own life might have been if she hadn’t been lucky enough to become part of her big, affectionate family.
She surprised a shamed expression on her mother’s face. ‘I should think he’s missed out on everything that matters,’ Cathy agreed. ‘I was forgetting Jay was a victim of his mother’s ambitions, too.’ She hesitated. ‘You knew David and Georgie wanted to adopt him?’
Mirry nodded. ‘But you can’t blame Valerie for wanting to keep him.’
‘Oh, Mirry…’ Cathy shook her head. ‘Valerie Elphick was no naive girl losing her head over a married man. She was already in her late twenties, a failed marriage behind her and as hard as nails. David was the vulnerable one and she played on that. Her pregnancy was deliberate. She thought if she produced the son his wife couldn’t give him, David would marry her.’
It was the first time Mirry had ever heard her mother speak ill of anyone, which made it all the more convincing, but she still felt bound to protest, ‘You can’t be sure of that, Mum.’
‘Can’t I? When she told David the only way he was going to see his child was if he married her?’ Cathy slammed the tray of breadsticks into the oven. ‘Mirry, you have no idea what it was like, the threats… She was going to abort the baby, to have it adopted by strangers, go abroad and just abandon it. Anything to get David to change his offer of adoption to one of marriage. Poor David was going out of his mind, but I knew if she got rid of the child she’d no longer have a bargaining point. And in the end she settled for the money when David sold the Dower House
to us. His only stipulation was that she allowed him access, and she did let him visit her as often as he liked at first, obviously hoping the child would help to change his mind. But when that didn’t work she began to make difficulties, rationing his visits and—’
‘—using the baby as a weapon,’ Mirry said with a shudder.
Her mother nodded. ‘David and Georgie hoped she’d tire of the game eventually, and allow the adoption, but it went on and on, with Valerie getting more and more hostile, telling the boy his father didn’t want him.’
Mirry was appalled that any mother could raise such confusion in a child’s mind. ‘But surely as Jay grew older David must have been able to tell him—’
Her mother’s laugh was devoid of humour. ‘Valerie never once let David see his son unless she was present. And David had too many scruples to drag the boy into the battle. Now can you understand why I can only view her triumphal return here with dread?’
‘But she isn’t here yet,’ Mirry pointed out.
Her mother relaxed. ‘No. At least it gives us the chance to get to know Jay without her disruptive influence.’
By two o’clock that afternoon Mirry was unrecognisable as the urchin who’d clashed with Jay Elphick. Severe brushing had brought out the red lights in her hair and had tamed it into a sleek chignon with only a few errant tendrils escaping. Her elegant black suit was a world away from the swamping anorak, the narrow skirt hugging her hips, the nipped-in waist emphasising the swell of her breasts, while the frothy ruffles of her chiffon blouse softened the tailored look. Black patent shoes on her narrow feet added three inches to her diminutive height, and a pert black pillbox hat completed the transformation.
Mirry was too busy trying to control the lump in her throat to care what a delicately elegant picture she made as the family and friends of Lady Georgina Jayston gathered at Wenlow to follow her on her last short journey. As if it had used up all its spite that morning, the weather had cleared and the sun shone on the cortege as it moved on foot down the drive to the tiny church at the gates.
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