Legacy of the Past

by Anne Mather

  ‘How was the tea?’ asked Madeline herself, coming through from the kitchen, with a tray of coffee. ‘Did you get on all right with his parents?’

  Diana shrugged her slim shoulders eloquently. ‘I suppose so. His mother made some rather barbed comments about Jeff neglecting his studies recently, as though I was the entire cause, and that he would have to pick himself up if he was expecting them to send him to university in the autumn. Poor Jeff!’ Diana sighed in remembrance. ‘He looked positively furious and told her rather rudely that it was his affair whether or not he went to the university. I think he’s having second thoughts.’

  ‘I see.’ Madeline ran a tongue over her lips. ‘But of course, you told him he must go to the university, didn’t you, Diana? He’s quite a clever boy. His headmaster says so. You mustn’t come between him and his work.’

  Diana looked mutinous, but remained silent, and Adrian and Madeline exchanged glances.

  ‘What did you have for supper?’ asked Diana suddenly, changing the subject, and shrugging, Madeline related the events of their evening, describing their meeting with Hetherington and his subsequent invitation to visit the Mastersons.

  ‘Gosh!’ Diana sounded envious. ‘Do you think I could come?’

  Adrian frowned. ‘I’m afraid not, Diana. This is a grown-up affair. It would probably bore you to tears.’ Diana compressed her lips. ‘Grown-up,’ she muttered. “What am I?’

  Adrian reached for his cigarette case. ‘Little more than a schoolgirl,’ he replied smoothly. ‘Diana, you have years and years ahead of you. Enjoy what’s yours today. Don’t hanker over the future before it arrives.’

  Diana sighed. ‘Uncle Adrian, I don’t want a lecture. Anyway, I think it will be jolly exciting. Who will be there?’

  ‘Oh, the executives from the factory, I expect,’ replied Adrian. ‘They’re mostly married men, with their families over here. As I’ve said, it’s a pretty dull affair.’

  ‘What on earth shall I wear?’ exclaimed Madeline suddenly.

  ‘You’ll think of something,’ replied Adrian, smiling. ‘I’d better give old Hetherington a ring tomorrow and find out what time we have to be there. I should hate us to arrive while they’re having dinner.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ nodded Madeline. ‘You can let me know on Monday.’ She stretched lazily. ‘I’m tired. It’s been a long day.’

  ‘That’s my cue,’ murmured Adrian dryly, rising to his feet. ‘I’ll be off. Will I see you tomorrow?’

  ‘You can come round if you want to,’ said Madeline easily. ‘Please yourself. If not I’ll see you Monday morning.’

  ‘Right. Good night, then. Good night, Diana.’

  ‘Good night, Uncle Adrian,’ said Diana, kissing his cheek. ‘Mind how you go.’

  After Adrian had gone, Madeline carried the dishes into the kitchen and Diana followed her and picked up the tea towel to dry them.

  ‘Are you seeing Jeff tomorrow?’ asked Madeline, turning on the hot tap.

  ‘Yes. Why? Do you want me for something?’ Diana frowned.

  ‘Oh…er…no.’ Madeline smiled rather uncertainly at her daughter. ‘Where are you going then?’

  ‘Well, actually, just for a walk in the afternoon,’ replied Diana quietly.

  ‘Would you like to bring him back here for tea?’

  Diana’s eyes brightened. ‘Could I?’ Jeff had only been to tea once before at the flat and then Madeline had had a headache and had had to leave them to their own devices.

  She smiled now. ‘Of course. After tea, if Uncle Adrian comes round, we might play Monopoly or something.’

  Diana looked disgusted. ‘Oh, Mum, Jeff and I won’t want to play games!’

  Madeline shrugged. ‘All right. What will you do then?’

  ‘We might go to the Seventies Club.’

  Madeline frowned. She did not like the idea of Diana going to a place like that on a Sunday evening, but alternatively it was better to know they were there, rather than wandering round the streets.

  ‘All right,’ she said, ‘you do what you like.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  DURING Monday, Madeline found her thoughts straying often to the evening ahead. It was quite an occasion for her to go out during the week. Now and then she and Adrian would take the train to London and go and see a show or listen to a concert at the Royal Festival Hall, but these outings were few and far between as Adrian was usually busy during the week, and besides, there was Diana to consider. She was still very young to be left too long alone and Madeline always put her first.

  On Sunday Adrian had come to high tea at the flat and met Jeff. They had had quite a good time together. Jeff was intelligent and could discuss topics with Adrian which neither of the women could have done. Madeline found him quite charming and wondered whether she was worrying unduly about Diana. After all, surely young people could be friendly without getting themselves into bother. He was a nice-looking boy and whatever his background he was able to take care of himself and act as politely as the next person.

  At lunchtime on Monday, Madeline went into the town centre. She had decided to treat herself to a new dress for the evening. She rarely indulged herself, except for necessities, and even Diana had gone as far as to say that this kind of affair did not happen every day. Madeline suspected that Diana was hoping for some development in her relationship with Adrian, and if so, Madeline knew she was going to be disappointed.

  She found what she wanted in a small dress shop in Gilesgate. It was more than she had expected to pay, but she couldn’t resist it after trying it on. It was a delicious shade of leaf green chiffon, an ankle-length dress with sequins studded on the bodice. The neckline was low and round and embroidered with tiny beads and it had long sleeves which ended in cuffs, also embroidered with beads. It was the ideal dress for the occasion and she took it back to work feeling very pleased with her expedition. When Adrian asked to see it later in the afternoon she refused to show it to him.

  ‘Wait until tonight,’ she said teasingly. ‘I want to surprise you.’

  Adrian chuckled. ‘All right, my dear, have it your own way. But I shall expect you to model it before we leave for the party.’

  Madeline smiled and shook her head. Really, Adrian was a dear, she thought, sighing. Why couldn’t she decide to marry him and be done with it?

  They were due at the Mastersons’ at nine o’clock and Adrian called at ten minutes to nine. He had already collected Mr. Hetherington and he was waiting in the car when they went down. Diana was not going out this evening. Jeff was studying and she had decided to wash her hair and play her records.

  Madeline was wearing a brushed wool coat in a creamy colour and for once had left her hair loose on her shoulders. She looked about twenty-five and Diana had said, rather scathingly:

  ‘Good heavens, Mum, no one will believe you have a daughter of over sixteen!’

  ‘That’s all to the good, surely?’ Madeline had answered, but Diana had sounded non-committal. Madeline wondered whether the fact of Diana losing Joe at such an early age had made her doubly dependent on herself, and doubly willing to resent her mother’s youthful appearance. It was as though she was afraid Madeline might forget she had a daughter altogether, which was ridiculous.

  Of course, Joe had been so much older, and Diana would have obviously greatly preferred a homely, buxom type without any pretensions to attraction. Perhaps her campaign on Adrian’s behalf was fixed on the idea that as Adrian was middle-aged he might tone her mother down somewhat.

  Madeline was amused at her speculations. Ought she indeed to make Adrian and Diana happy and marry him after all? But then she squashed the idea. It wouldn’t make anybody happy really. The novelty of having a headmaster as her stepfather would wear off with Diana if he tried to press any restriction upon her; Adrian would be continually in a state about his precious collection and Madeline – well! she would be utterly bored by the whole affair. Nothing, not even security, was worth that much.

  Hetheringt
on was most complimentary about her appearance. Adrian had already said how delightful she looked in the new dress, so Madeline felt sure she was going to enjoy herself, and relaxed completely.

  The Mastersons’ house, Ingleside, was not far away. Standing in its own grounds and floodlit by night, it looked very impressive as they turned between the permanently open drive gates. There were several cars parked in front of the house on the gravelled courtyard. Madeline saw that most of them were the wide, luxurious type, made by the Sheridan factory and its counterparts. They looked superlatively comfortable and she envied their occupants such vehicular superiority. There were several Sheridans like the one into which she had skidded last week on her scooter, but not one red one.

  The house, which had been built during the sixteenth century, had been renovated extensively and although from the outside it looked typically Elizabethan, inside central heating, electric lights and fitted carpets had done away with much of its atmosphere.

  The hall, wide and high with a carved roof was lit by electric candelabra, set at intervals round the walls giving a restful, luminous quality to the polished panelling and oak furniture. The floor, too had been polished and was ideal for dancing. However, most of the guests seemed to have congregated in a large lounge to the right of the hall and the manservant who had admitted them and taken their coats went into the lounge to advise his employers of their arrival.

  Madeline was entranced by the place and was fascinatedly studying the minstrels’ gallery when a dainty little woman in rich purple pants and blouse came out of the lounge to greet them. She introduced herself as Lucie Masterson, and said that her husband would join them later.

  ‘He’s closeted with Nicholas – you know, Nicholas Vitale, at the moment,’ she said, after she had discovered their identity. ‘They’re always talking business these days. I do hope you won’t think he’s being rude. But Nicholas is the boss and they do have a lot to discuss while he’s here.’

  ‘That’s quite all right, Mrs. Masterson,’ replied Hetherington, smiling. ‘We understand.’

  ‘Good,’ Lucie beamed. She could have been any age between thirty-five and forty-five, speculated Madeline, who thought she seemed a rather shallow woman at first appraisal.

  Lucie drew them into the throng in the lounge. There were about thirty guests, all standing around drinking cocktails and exchanging small talk. A radiogram played soft music in a corner and there was an aroma of French perfume and Havana tobacco. A rich red carpet covered the floor, the colour of which was echoed in the heavy velvet curtains. There were couches and armchairs upholstered in soft leather while the white walls were relieved of starkness by vivid prints.

  Many of the guests seemed to be married couples, Madeline discovered, as Lucie introduced them around. There was an almost equal number of Italians and Americans, and Lucie explained that Sheridans had factories in both countries as well as here. When Adrian and Mr. Hetherington got caught up in technical discussions with some of the older guests present Madeline found herself beside a young American couple called Fran and Dave Madison.

  ‘Do you live in Otterbury,’ asked Fran, interestedly, as Madeline accepted a cigarette from Dave.

  ‘Yes. I have a flat not far from here, actually,’ replied Madeline. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes. We, too, have a flat,’ confirmed Dave. ‘But we’re expecting to have a house soon in the new development near the factory later in the year.’

  ‘Oh, I see. You’re from America?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Dave grinned. ‘I guess the accent is unmistakable.’

  Madeline chuckled. ‘I thought you might have been here visiting the Mastersons,’ she said. She looked at Fran. ‘Do you like England?’

  ‘It’s okay, I guess,’ said Fran, without enthusiasm. ‘There’s not much to do, is there? We’re hoping to go to Italy later on. Have you ever been abroad?’

  ‘Just to France,’ said Madeline ruefully. ‘Since my husband died, my daughter and I don’t go away a lot.’

  ‘You have a daughter?’ exclaimed Dave in surprise. ‘A baby daughter?’

  ‘No. Actually, she’s sixteen,’ replied Madeline, smiling. ‘But thank you for those few kind words.’

  ‘They weren’t kind,’ exclaimed Dave, grinning. ‘I wouldn’t say you looked more than twenty-five or six.’

  Fran was looking a little put out now and Madeline was glad when another man came to join them. He was like Dave, tall and fair, with pleasant freckly features.

  ‘Hi there, you two,’ he said easily, obviously knowing the Madisons well. ‘Have we got a new member of the organization?’

  ‘No,’ answered Dave, turning to him. ‘Madeline, this is Harvey Cummings – he, too, is a member of the Sheridan clan.’

  ‘How do you do,’ said Madeline politely, nodding at the newcomer.

  ‘I’m fine,’ answered Harvey, grinning. ‘Especially when a lovely woman is interested. Say, do you have a husband somewhere around?’

  ‘I’m a widow,’ replied Madeline, her cheeks reddening. His rather direct approach was a little disconcerting, to say the last.

  ‘Great. I mean great for me,’ said Harvey exuberantly. ‘I thought you looked rather lonely and unattached. May I attach myself to you?’

  Madeline looked rather helplessly at the Madisons. ‘Is your wife not here?’ she asked cautiously.

  Dave roared with laughter. ‘Harvey married? Are you kidding? Who would take on a liability like him?’

  ‘Take no notice,’ said Harvey with mock disdain. ‘It’s simply that no one understands me.’

  Madeline laughed. She was enjoying this good-natured bantering. It was so long since she had been in company young enough to indulge in it. Adrian, although easy-going in his own way, was definitely not the type to make fun of himself. And even Joe had had no time for facetiousness, and because of her early marriage Madeline had missed out on this kind of lighthearted interchange.

  ‘Oh, here’s Con,’ said Dave suddenly. ‘And our illustrious chief. They must have finished their business.’

  Madeline and the others looked round. Two men were entering the room, both tall, but one was broader in the shoulders with lean good looks. They were both dressed in dark suits, but the broad-shouldered man was much darker skinned than his companion and was immediately recognizable to Madeline as the man who had driven the red car. Who was he? Conrad Masterson or Nicholas Vitale? Surely it could not be the latter!

  ‘Which one is Mr. Masterson?’ she asked Fran softly.

  ‘Why, the one on the left, honey,’ replied Fran. ‘Don’t you know him?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. So the darker man is Nicholas Vitale?’

  ‘Yes – handsome, isn’t he? He’s Italian, of course. That’s why he’s so dark-skinned. He’s spent a lot of time in the States. We all fell for him, naturally. But as you can see, I settled for Dave.’ She laughed at Dave’s indignant face. ‘Darling, Nicholas is the most elusive male since Adam!’

  Madeline felt her stomach turn over. She had skidded into the car belonging to the owner of Sheridans. No wonder he had been annoyed!

  * * *

  Nicholas Vitale surveyed the throng in the lounge of the Mastersons’ house with cynical boredom in his eyes. Gatherings of this nature always bored him. Too much to drink and too many predatory females hanging around him. Had he not had business with Conrad Masterson he would not have been here tonight. He had found a small club in London which was much more to his taste. However, he was here now, and he was expected to stay at least for an interval.

  His keen eyes searched the room for Harvey Cummings. Harvey was his personal assistant and public relations man. Harvey liked these kind of affairs and in truth they had had some good times together, but somehow he didn’t feel he was going to enjoy himself tonight.

  He saw Harvey almost at once. He was standing with Dave Madison and his wife and another girl. He supposed the girl must be with Harvey.

  Excusing himself from his host,
he made his way through the chattering crowds to Harvey’s side. He acknowledged the greetings of the other guests in passing, but to the regret of the female contingency, he did not stop to talk. Everyone knew who he was, of course, and he knew they would be speculating about his activities. His private life was practically non-existent at times and he knew he had a ruthless reputation where women were concerned. To a certain extent his reputation was justified, but Nicholas himself was well aware that the women who involved themselves in his life expected no more than he gave them. If they were willing to play the game Nicholas’s way, he was certainly not the man to complain. Only Harvey of his circle of associates ever saw the real man behind the mask of diplomacy.

  Harvey and his girl-friend were absorbed in conversation as he approached them and he had time to wonder who the girl was and what they were talking about. She was tall and slim and had hair of a very unusual and lovely colour. It swung loosely on her shoulders and looked thick and silky. He mused that Harvey could usually pick his women.

  Putting a hand on Harvey’s shoulder, he said:

  ‘Do you mind if I break up this tête-à-tête?’

  Harvey swung round and groaned. ‘God, I thought it was the law! Must you creep up on a guy like that?’

  Nicholas grinned, and then his eyes narrowed. The girl with Harvey was known to him. She had been riding the scooter which had bumped into his car last Friday. She had obviously recognized him, too, for her face was suddenly suffused with colour.

  ‘Well, well,’ he drawled. ‘The world is really a small place.’

  Harvey looked puzzled. ‘How’s that? Do you two know one another?’

  ‘Mrs…er…Scott and I collided last Friday,’ said Nicholas dryly. ‘I was in my car at the time and she was riding a scooter.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Harvey raised his eyebrows. ‘Say, Madeline, you didn’t say you knew Nick when he walked in.’

  ‘I don’t…that is….’ Madeline felt schoolgirlishly embarrassed. ‘Mr. Vitale merely helped me up, that’s all. We were hardly introduced.’