by Anne Hampson
‘Who is speaking?’ asked the voice, and Serra sagged with relief.
‘Mrs. Morgan—Serra Morgan.’
‘Just one minute; I’ll tell Mr. Kershawe.’
For a long moment after hearing Charles’s rather troubled ‘Serra, what on earth is it?’ Serra could not speak. And then it all tumbled out, not very coherently, because Charles kept on interrupting to ask a question.
‘Come, Charles, please come at once! I’m terrified!’
‘But Preston—’
‘I want you!’
‘But Serra, I’m miles away. Preston is the man you want. Lord, girl, how did you come to get into a mess like this? Dirk will cast you off—’
‘Oh,’ she quivered, ‘you’re heartless to remind me of that just now! If you don’t come I’ll never speak to you again.’
‘All right, but I still think you should tell Preston of your fears. He’d know exactly what to do.’
‘He doesn’t approve of me.’
‘What’s that to do with it? He’s not going to let Dirk be robbed just because he doesn’t like his wife.’
‘Are you c-coming or—or n-not—’ A little sob escaped her and Charles said a hurried, ‘Okay, I’ll be there—but I’ll probably break my neck—certainly I’ll be run in for breaking the speed limit!’ and rang off.
She sat on her bed, watching the clock. Charles lived near Bath, but the roads would be very quiet and he should be here in half an hour. He arrived in twenty-five minutes. She heard his car and opened the window.
‘Can you come up the fire-escape?’ she called softly.
‘Why all the melodrama?’ he wanted to know a few seconds later on stepping through her window. ‘Preston would have let me in.’
‘I don’t want Preston to know. You’ll think of something, Charles, and even Dirk will never know.’
Charles’s presence had lifted the blight enormously. She had previously resigned herself to her husband’s wrath, but now she cherished the hope that her foolishness could be kept from him. She looked up at Charles. ‘I’m so glad to see you!’
‘Yes, Serra, no doubt you are, but this can’t be dealt with quietly.’ He paused. ‘How do you know this Roderick’s crooked?’
‘I’m not sure, granted.’ Serra went on to explain the whole, for her information on the telephone had been scrappy, to say the least. ‘He might be all right,’ she ended, ‘but I have a dreadful feeling that he isn’t.’
‘Now you’ve told me everything I’m damned sure he isn’t!’ Charles’s face was grim and censorious. ‘What made you do it—advertise, I mean? Why didn’t you discuss the matter with Dirk first?’
She gave him a wry glance.
‘Dirk never has time to bother with me,’ she said on a tiny note of self-pity.
‘Well, he’ll certainly have time to bother with you over this! It can’t be kept from him, Serra.’
‘It can! I’m relying on you. Frighten Roderick away—or—or something.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘I expect he’s in his room, waiting until everyone’s in bed. Do you think he phoned an accomplice?’
‘Nothing so sure.’ Charles became thoughtful. ‘It’s all very clear now,’ he announced at last. ‘He was all set to do the job at his leisure, probably tomorrow night when you returned from your trip. He’d have the car, he was thinking—which he would ditch later. But he suddenly realized that Preston suspected him and began to wonder if he’d ring Dirk, or perhaps the police. So he decided it must be a rush job—’
‘You feel sure that Preston suspected him, then?’
‘I’m sure Preston was following you around the house and this fellow knew it. That’s why he was nervous when you were in the Silver Room—Preston was there, you can be sure of it, but he buzzed out of the way sharpish before either of you saw him. Later when you were talking Roderick knew instinctively that Preston would never give you the key to the garage, and that was the moment he decided to do the job in a hurry. Hence his phoning for an accomplice to bring some sort of vehicle.’ Charles shook his head and his expression was as formidable as any Serra had seen on her husband’s face as he added, ‘You must have been out of your mind to allow a stranger like this to go all over the house, taking stock of everything.’
‘I know that now,’ she agreed forlornly. ‘You see, in Greece we trust everybody.’
‘Well, I don’t know why you should. I expect they have as much crime as anyone else.’
‘I haven’t come up against it.’
Charles sighed exasperatedly.
‘No use feeling sorry for yourself, Serra. You should think before you act. It seems to me that impulsiveness is your greatest failing.’
She nodded.
‘I fear it is,’ and she added in a small voice, ‘It’s no excuse that I was lonely.’
Charles softened, and patted her shoulder. It was a kindly act, but thoughtless, for it was bound to release Serra’s pent-up emotions, and before he knew what was happening she was weeping against his chest. His arms went round her protectingly and soothingly, and he murmured,
‘There, there, don’t cry. No real damage has been done—’ Breaking off as the door swung wide open, he looked over Serra’s head to meet her husband’s smouldering and incredulous gaze.
‘What the—?’ Dirk strode into the room and as Serra twisted round, her eyes widened with fright, he took her by the shoulders and wrenched her away from the protecting arms of his friend. ‘Perhaps,’ he said furiously, ‘one of you will tell me what this is all about!’ .
‘Dirk! How did you get here—oh, you’re hurting me!’
‘Hurting you! I’ll break your damned neck! What’s going on, I said!’
‘Steady on, Dirk,’ intervened Charles in his customary mild tones. ‘First of all, tell us why you’re here?’ The merest pause of enlightenment and then, ‘Preston rang you?’
Dirk’s nostrils flared.
‘What,’ he blazed, ‘are you doing in my wife’s bedroom?’
A profound silence fell before Charles said curiously,
‘The pose of outraged husband seems totally unsuited to the situation, Dirk. You married for convenience, remember?’ And when for one wrathful second Dirk seemed incapable of speech, ‘Greek girls don’t,’ came Charles’s gentle reminder. ‘You said so yourself; or have you forgotten?’
‘Answer my question. What are you doing here!’
‘I sent for him,’ confessed Serra, lifting a tear-stained face to her husband’s dark countenance. ‘He came up the fire-escape.’
‘How very original! What about your other boyfriend?’ She merely looked indignantly at him and he said, ‘Why did you send for Charles?’
‘She’d begun to suspect this fellow—her cousin—’
‘Her—what?’
‘I’d better explain,’ began Serra, but of course she was not allowed to do so.
‘Where did you pick this rogue up?’
‘Perhaps you’ll let me explain,’ interposed Charles mildly, moving across the room to close the door. ‘But first of all, I am right in assuming that Preston phoned you?’
‘He phoned me a couple of hours ago. I’ve been booked twice for speeding!’
Serra looked fearfully at him—and moved closer to Charles, who said commiseratingly,
‘Hard luck. I managed to get away with it.’ And he couldn’t help adding, ‘You wretch, Serra! If Dirk beats you it’ll be no more than you deserve. You promised to be so good, and not let Dirk even feel he was married.’
Serra’s lip quivered. She wanted to ask Dirk if he intended sending her home, but the blockage in her throat prevented speech. In any case, Charles was speaking and soon Dirk had heard all that happened. He looked quite ready to explode when at length his friend lapsed into silence.
‘You advertised—and actually gave my address! Have you no sense at all?’
Serra started to cry.
‘I was lonely,’ she protested. ‘How did I k
now you had such rogues in your country? I wish I was back in Greece where p-people are honest!’
Dirk smothered a curse.
‘You don’t wish it any more than I do!’
‘You should have married Clarice!’
‘You’re quite right, I should.’ But this time Dirk’s tone lacked the vehemence he had portrayed up till now and Charles intervened, saying,
‘Shall we get down to something constructive? We’re all agreed about this Roderick being a rogue, but we haven’t any real proof, so what are we to do about him?’
‘Preston was mean and interfering to send for you,’ Serra interrupted, looking at her husband, and received a scowling glance for her trouble.
‘You should be grateful to Preston,’ Dirk declared. ‘He must have been puzzled by all these letters Charles says you received, and when this Roderick appeared he probably concluded his presence had something to do with the letters. He was very vague—and guarded, let me tell you,’ he added forcefully as if to acquaint Serra with the fact that Preston was not the interfering person she had declared him to be. ‘He merely said he didn’t like this man and asked me if he should keep an eye on him.’
‘I still think he should have minded his own business!’
‘No doubt you do. It’s pretty obvious from the fact of your sending for Charles that you hoped to keep this escapade from me.’
‘Are—are y-you going to s-send me home?’ she just could not help asking, and received a short and sharp ‘yes’ in undelayed response. Her tears flowed again and another smothered curse issued from her husband’s lips.
‘While you two are throwing bricks at one another the man could be running off with all the family heirlooms,’ began Charles.
‘I’m not throwing bricks,’ protested Serra, casting Charles an indignant glance. But her thoughts were elsewhere. To be sent home in disgrace. What would her father say? Such a thing was unheard of in Greece. And Aunt Agni—how she would gloat, because even with the wedding date fixed she had asserted that the marriage would never take place. They were complete opposites, she had said. They would never get on together.
‘Serra,’ came Dirk’s voice, soft now and yet vibrantly dangerous, ‘if you interrupt once more I’ll box your ears.’ He turned to Charles. ‘The fellow won’t be running off with the family heirlooms at all, because he’s gone.’
‘Gone?’ echoed his two listeners simultaneously.
‘Took fright because when he returned from his walk Preston remained hovering around, even following when he went upstairs to the room you’d given him—the best guest room,’ he added, although there was no need to, Serra thought. ‘A little later he opened the door, only to find Preston posted at the end of the corridor. A few minutes later he emerged with his belongings and said he’d just telephoned a friend at home and he had to leave. Preston escorted him to the front door and secured it after him. He’ll probably meet up with this accomplice you appear to think he had.’ Dirk spoke to Charles, but every now and then he sent his wife such darkling glances that by the time he had finished she was again incapable of speech, even had she been able to find anything to say. Nevertheless, she was inordinately relieved at this turn of events because she’d had visions of the police being called in and the whole thing getting into the newspapers for all Dirk’s friends to read.
‘Well,’ murmured Charles mildly at last, ‘as there’s no damage done how about retiring to the drawing-room and having a drink?’
Serra sent him a grateful glance, but her heart was heavy.
‘I don’t feel like drinking,’ she said miserably. ‘I haven’t anything to celebrate, for I don’t know what my father will say when I arrive home.’
‘Nor do I,’ rejoined her husband heartlessly. ‘Much less do I care. Come, Charles, your suggestion’s a good one—though a drink will hardly compensate for what I’ve missed.’
‘You mean,’ faltered Serra with her incurable impulsiveness, ‘that you left your girl-friend?’
Her husband glared at her, hesitated a second and then, ‘Yes,’ he said between his teeth, ‘I left my girlfriend!’
CHAPTER SIX
SERRA had made her escape from the oppressive silence of the breakfast-room over an hour ago and she was still wandering about the grounds, expecting all the time to hear her husband’s summons and his orders for her to go upstairs and pack her belongings.
Perhaps he was phoning the airport, she thought, to find out if there was a plane that day.
A movement in the distant grove brought her attention to the girl on the horse, cantering through the trees, making for the Grange. Serra would have sought refuge in a nearby summerhouse, but Jenny had seen her and she stopped walking and waited for her sister-in-law to come up to her.
‘Good morning,’ greeted Jenny, smiling.
Serra returned the greeting, but abstractedly, for her mind was on other things. And because she was not in clear control of her thoughts she added,
‘You’re out early—seeing that you were so late in last night.’
‘How do you know?’ demanded Jenny in surprise.
‘I rang your maid,’ Serra was forced to admit.
‘You wanted me?’
‘No—your mother. It was nothing,’ she said quickly, wishing Jenny would not look down at her like that, seeming to be so arrogant and distantly superior. ‘He has a lovely silky coat.’ Serra managed a difficult smile, but it was owing to the activities of the horse, for it was nuzzling her shoulder.
‘He happens to be a she.’
‘Oh...’ Serra had no wish to stand here talking to Jenny, who, she thought, should have dismounted, not continued to sit up there, looking haughty. ‘I’ll be going now. I’m—I’m just taking a walk.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Jenny sprang down and stood, one hand carelessly thrown across the horse’s back, the other holding the reins, which she thoughtfully looped and twisted in her fingers. ‘You’ve been crying.’
‘Not recently.’ The rather abstracted rejoinder told Jenny nothing and to Serra’s surprise the older girl asked for an explanation. ‘It was last night—and in the night,’ Serra answered, her voice caught on a little sob.
‘Dirk?’
Serra blinked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘What’s Dirk been doing to you?’ And, when Serra just shook her head, ‘He must have done something to make you cry.’
Why should Jenny trouble to question her? wondered Serra. After showing scarcely any interest at all she was now eager to know what had been happening to make Serra cry. Short of snubbing Jenny, which she had no desire to do, Serra could only offer a full, if brief, explanation of what had occurred, feeling that Jenny would find out in any case because if she was so close to her brother he would obviously take his troubles to her.
To Serra’s surprise Jenny’s face was dark with anger when she had finished speaking. She snapped,
‘Dirk was in London, was he? What doing?’
‘I don’t know—’
‘And you didn’t even know where he was, I suppose?’
‘No, but that wasn’t important. Dirk is under no obligation to tell me where he is.’
‘No?’ Jenny’s eyes glinted. ‘Supposing you were to be ill, or were to have an accident?’
Serra frowned.
‘What has that to do with it?’
‘Plenty! A wife should at least know where to find her husband!’ There was a strange and awful emphasis on the ‘at least’ which seemed to say that in Jenny’s opinion Dirk should not be away at all, but at home with his wife.
‘You know the reason for our marriage,’ Serra reminded her and added, as though compelled by some force, ‘Your mother said you would take me under your wing, and show me around.’ With the words spoken Serra realized her lack of tact and hid her face in the horse’s neck, still caressing his coat. She would have liked to learn to ride, but when she had mentioned this to Dirk he had merely said she could do—some time.
‘Are you saying that had I taken you under my wing, as you put it, this would not have happened?’
‘No—certainly not! I’m sorry if I spoke without thinking ’ She tailed off, shrugging helplessly.
‘So you do blame me?’
‘Not blame.’ She looked at her sister-in-law through misty eyes. ‘I was so lonely,’ she whispered. ‘There wasn’t anything to do—’ Automatically she twisted round and looked up at the magnificent pile that was her husband’s ancestral home. ‘It’s all so strange—and big, and—and I d-don’t know anybody.’
Jenny’s glance was keen and swift before she also looked towards the house, and her mouth was now compressed, but Serra scarcely noticed as she went on to mention something she had deliberately left out of her previous narrative, ‘It doesn’t matter any more, though, because I’m going home.’
Jenny’s head jerked.
‘What did you say?’
‘I’m g-going home—’ Serra broke off as the tears fell from her eyes. ‘Dirk’s h-had enough of m-me.’
An astounded silence followed; the reins came down almost viciously on Jenny’s protected leg.
‘Home! Sending you home!’ Jenny actually gritted her teeth and Serra seemed to notice her manner for the first time. She was furious. Had she a champion? wondered Serra, her heart leaping. Jenny was the last one from whom she would have expected help.
‘Is Dirk in now?’ rasped Jenny, fastening the reins to a gate leading off into a tree-lined walk.
‘Yes, but—’
‘Then by all means let us go and have a talk to him!’
Serra was soon trotting to catch up with her sister-in-law, whose own pace could only be described as a march. She was so slender and almost frail-looking, thought Serra, glancing up at her. Her hair was long and straight and held in the nape of her neck by a small black velvet bow; her features were firm but small, her skin fair and clear and transparent.