“I don’t suppose we shall ever meet again,” she told him. “I shall be returning as soon as I’ve helped Nancy put the house to rights. But I would like you to know how grateful I am for all you’ve done. I hardly know how to thank both you and Freda.”
Freda murmured, “Only too glad to have been of help.”
But Ian said stiffly, “I shouldn’t bother to try. Anything I did was for your aunt’s sake.”
Vanessa felt decidedly snubbed. Even Freda gave her brother a protesting glance. To hide her feelings, Vanessa moved on to speak to one of her aunts.
Actually, few of Aunt Maud’s relatives had attended the funeral, though Vanessa had notified all those whose whereabouts were known to her. Vanessa’s mother had stayed away, saying she detested funerals. Though her father had driven down, he had already left again. Vanessa wished they would all go—Ian and Freda included, though during the past week she had grown to like Freda very much indeed.
But soon all had left, leaving Nancy and Vanessa alone again.
The day after the funeral Vanessa caught the train into Cringlewood. Aunt Maud’s lawyer had asked to see her. Vanessa could not think why, as it was most unlikely that her aunt had any money to leave. The house would surely be left either to Nancy or Vanessa’s father. She hoped, to the former, as Nancy was more in need than her father. But Aunt Maud was just as likely to leave it to the National Trust, or a wild life preservation society. Perhaps she herself was a trustee or something like that.
The lawyer, a bright and surprisingly young man, began by offering his sympathy to Vanessa on the death of her aunt.
“She was a very interesting and unusual woman.”
“Eccentric,” Vanessa supplied with a slight smile.
“Yes, I suppose you would say that, and like all eccentrics she left a rather unusual will. You will not be surprised, I’m sure, to know that she left a considerable sum of money to a local bird sanctuary, also to her friend and companion, Miss Nancy Gould. To her relatives she left absolutely nothing—with one exception—yourself. Even so, there are conditions attached.”
“Conditions? What sort of conditions?”
But the lawyer shook his head. “That I am not allowed to tell you. It’s to be held in trust for six months, after which time, my fellow trustee and I will decide whether or not you are entitled to it.”
Vanessa couldn’t help smiling. “Aunt Maud always did like playing games. But I didn’t know she had any money.”
“Oh yes. It’s a very considerable amount. Your aunt accumulated it simply because she never spent any—or very little.”
“And if I don’t fulfil the conditions?” Vanessa queried.
“Then the money all goes to the bird sanctuary. But there’s something else.”
“Yes?”
“Your aunt has left the house and the entire estate to you—unconditionally.”
CHAPTER TWO
“To me?” Vanessa echoed. She could scarcely believe it. “But—but why me?”
The man behind the desk smiled. “You’re too modest. I would have thought it was obvious. She left the thing she valued most to the person for whom she had the highest regard.”
But Vanessa shook her head in denial. “You’re very kind, Mr. Oliver, but I’m sure it would have been more appropriate if Aunt Maud had left the house and land to Miss Gould. What on earth am I going to do with a house that size?”
“I’m quite sure your aunt knew what she was doing, Miss Woodrow. You’ll do the right thing with it. I’ve no doubt of that. There’s no need to worry about Miss Gould. Your aunt has left her well-provided for.”
Vanessa felt too bewildered for the time being to think straight. Mr. Oliver rose and held out his hand.
“You’ll soon get used to the idea. And if you have any problems, I’ll be glad to advise you in any way I can.”
She shook hands with him and thanked him. Then as she reached the door, he added,
“By the way, Ian Hamilton was a very great friend of your aunt. I’m sure he too will be happy to give you any help or advice you need.”
Vanessa smiled politely and descended the spiral of stone steps, vaguely trying to assess how she felt about Ian Hamilton—and why, and at the same time hazarding a guess as to his opinion of herself. But her thoughts either way did not progress very far. As she stepped out onto the sidewalk she almost collided with Ian.
“Good morning,” he said, not looking in the least surprised to see her. He glanced upward to the lawyer’s office window. “I see you’ve paid your visit to Mr. Oliver.”
“Why, yes. Do you know him?”
“Of course. Your aunt mentioned to me that he was her lawyer. Have you—heard some good news?” he queried.
“I—I think so.”
“What do you mean—you think so?” he demanded.
She fought a swift reaction to his interrogation. “I mean I’m not sure yet. I haven’t had time to think about it. A large house like that—all those grounds. It’s a terrific responsibility.”
“That’s so.” He glanced at a nearby clock. “Look, it’s almost lunch time. Would you have lunch with me and maybe talk about it?”
She hesitated, then almost, it seemed, against her will, she thanked him. He put his hand under her arm and marched her off down the street. She was beginning to get a glimmering of what made Ian Hamilton tick for some people—the strong, forceful personality of the man. That and more. Much more.
He led her through a doorway sandwiched between a hardware store and a gardening store, then up a flight of stairs;
“This is the place to come if you should ever be in town and need a meal,” he said. “It’s quiet, unpretentious, the food’s good—and it’s licensed. I don’t think much of any place if you can’t have a glass of wine with a meal if you want it. It’s called the White Horse.”
Now he was telling her where she should eat, she thought. His taste might not be the same as hers in the least, though he seemed to take it for granted that it would be.
But when they reached the top of the stairs, and he led her into the restaurant she was agreeably surprised. The place was beautifully and very tastefully decorated with clever lighting, flowers on every table and a deep pile carpet on the floor in a rich wine color. It was evident that he was a regular from the way he was greeted by name by the head waiter and by the girl who served their meal.
“You like it?” he asked, as her gaze flitted from one point of the decor to another.
She nodded. “It’s very nice. But whether I shall come here very frequently, if at all, depends on their prices. I have very little money. I’m afraid. Unless I get a job of some kind—” She broke off. “I’m sorry. I was thinking aloud. I hadn’t meant to trouble you—or anyone—with my problems.”
“That’s all right,” he said quietly. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling me the news from your aunt’s lawyer. I take it from the little you said earlier that she has bequeathed you her house and land.”
“That’s so.” She told him the rest. “I don’t know what the conditions are with regard to the money in trust, but I don’t really want my aunt’s money, and—”
His eyes opened wide. “You can’t really mean that.”
She gave him an angry look. “Of course I mean it. The only thing is, I don’t know how on earth I’m going to keep up the place. Even if I do get a job, what I earn will only keep me. It won’t pay for anything to be done on the house or—”
“Or what?” he prompted.
“Or even heat the place adequately in winter.”
“You certainly have a problem. Do I take it that you intend living at Puck’s Hill?”
“Of course. What else? I’m sure that’s what Aunt Maud would have wished.”
“I expect so. I thought you might consider selling the place. As you say, it’s a large house; certainly too big for either one or two, supposing Miss Gould stayed on with you.”
Vanessa frowned. Into her mind with startling
clarity came the things Miles Kendal had told her—that Ian Hamilton wanted to buy Puck’s Hill, that he had already made her aunt an offer, and that he was land-hungry.
“I shall never sell Puck’s Hill,” she flung out emphatically. “Not to anyone.”
Ian inclined his head and gave her a calculating look. “That’s how you feel at the moment, I’m sure, but it might be a different story in a few months’ time. However—” he went on swiftly, as an angry denial sprang to Vanessa’s lips—“I take it you’re going to take up residence and do the best you can for the house and property. What sort of a job do you have?”
Vanessa drew a deep breath. “I work for my parents—or did. My father is a doctor, as you probably know, and I act as his secretary, do the gardening and drive the family car.”
A hint of a smile curved at Ian Hamilton’s mouth. “It sounds as though you’ll be very well equipped to look after Puck’s Hill. But won’t your father miss you?”
“He will understand. And he won’t miss me so much as he might have done some months ago. He—has a new partner now who—who has just married, so—”
“I see. You talked of getting a job around here, but somehow I don’t think you’ll find it necessary.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, you’ll think of something,” he said evasively, and as if to assist him the waitress came with their second course.
So much for the “help and advice” Mr. Oliver said Ian Hamilton would be happy to give, Vanessa could not help thinking wryly to herself. All he was interested in, seemingly, was the future of Puck’s Hill. Well, she had promised her aunt she would never sell, and she would keep that promise. But how was she going to live without getting a job, and if she was out at work all day how was she going to be able to look after the place?
“Don’t look so worried,’’ Ian told her. “You’ll make out. I’m sure of it.”
If Vanessa had not been so puzzled by this and his other rather ineffectual remark, she would have been irritated. But somehow she couldn’t help feeling that such banalities from him were out of character.
“I shall have to do some hard thinking, anyway,” she answered.
He gave her a steady look. “Well, when you arrive at some conclusions, I’ll be interested to hear them,” he said, much more characteristically, Vanessa thought fleetingly. Then he went on, “Meanwhile, as you’re in town why not take the rest of the day off. I’ll show you around?”
Vanessa hesitated. She felt sure he would be the most uncomfortable person to be with. On the other hand, there was no bus back to Barn Hill until four-thirty.
“We could include a look around some of the stores,” he added disarmingly.
Vanessa could not resist a smile. “You make it difficult for me to say no. But I would like to get home about five-thirty. Nancy will be expecting me by that time. I wouldn’t like her to worry about me. As you probably know, we don’t have a phone.”
He nodded. “I’ll get you back all right, but you should think seriously of getting a phone. I tried to persuade your aunt, but she said she’d managed all these years without one and would continue to do so.”
Vanessa’s eyes gleamed. “No one could ever persuade Aunt Maud to do anything she didn’t want to do.”
Ian eyed her keenly. “And what about you? Are you just as obstinate?”
“I can be—yes,” she told him, “if obstinate is the term you would use for someone who knows their own mind and won’t allow themselves to be maneuvered first this way, then that.”
He made no comment, but Vanessa could guess what he was thinking and was glad. She did not know whether she was considered to be obstinate or not. But she had certainly been brought up to make her own decisions: once having felt a course of action was right, to stick to it and not allow herself to be talked out of it. She hoped he realized that no power on earth would persuade her to sell Puck’s Hill.
She knew Cringlewood a little, but that was all. Ian showed her the more interesting buildings in the old part of the town: the merchant’s house dating back to the 15th century, now a museum and art gallery; the Elizabethan Theater, recently restored; an old coachhouse inn; a narrow, cobbled street with its pink and whitewashed houses and stores that sold and displayed all the old crafts and artists’ materials; and finally the ancient market square, t still in use with its wonderful floral and plant displays.
Now they were on foot. Presumably on a sudden impulse, Ian bought a bouquet of sweet-smelling freesias and thrust them into her hands.
“In memory of Aunt Maud,” he said as if he was afraid she might misconstrue the gift.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll put them on her—”
“No, don’t,” he cut in sharply. “She wouldn’t like that at all. Put them in your room, or at any rate somewhere in the house.”
He was an odd sort of person, she concluded. Difficult to know, difficult to understand, difficult also, she surmised, to please.
“Well, now for the stores,” he announced. “We have only three large ones, but they sell pretty nearly everything among them. All have a top floor tea room.”
Each of the places had some very beautiful things—china, glasswear, furniture, fabrics and, naturally, clothes. Afraid of boring him, she was careful not to wander too long among the many dresses, coats, suits and hats, but Ian obviously sensed this.
“Go on,” he urged. “Don’t mind me. Take all the time you want.”
But some of the clothes were so fabulous, so smart and so desirable, and Vanessa had so little money, it was really depressing to linger. She sighed at the recollection of her meager wardrobe and turned away.
“A cup of tea would suit me better at the moment—and it is getting late.”
“This way, then,” he said briskly.
During tea she suggested that she should catch the bus home, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
“I’m your neighbor,” he said. “Remember?”
She was not likely to forget. But she had been in danger of forgetting how poor defenseless creatures were hunted down on his land and shot. How could Aunt Maud have liked him? she wondered again.
“What’s on your mind?” asked the object of her thoughts.
She gave a slight start. What a disconcerting man he could be. There was not a flicker of the eyebrows, or a look or gesture which he missed. But she was not to be led into disclosing her musings.
“It’s on my mind that I ought to be getting home—if you don’t mind,” she answered.
“All right.”
He rose immediately, much to her inner annoyance. She had not expected him to take her up quite so quickly and had intended finishing her cup of tea. But now she had no option but to follow his lead.
He spoke very little as he drove through the Suffolk countryside. From time to time, Vanessa stole a glance at his stern profile, and the uncompromising mouth and jaw. A man to be reckoned with, she thought. He was a good, competent driver, courteous to other road users, calm and unruffled in the face of some blatant bad driving. Vanessa found herself watching his strong hands on the wheel in strange fascination. She was so entranced, she hardly even noticed when they drove through his woodlands. Afterward she was annoyed with herself. She had meant to ask him one or two questions about himself and his property—whether he had been related to the Colonel, whether he had bought the land or had it bequeathed to him, and just exactly what he did—besides hunting. But he deposited her at the front door of Puck’s Hill and made off, giving her barely enough time in which to thank him.
Vanessa had two visitors that evening; Miles Kendal and Freda Hamilton. Miles was the first to lift the great, old-fashioned front door knocker.
“I would have called sooner,” he said, “to offer my sympathies on your aunt’s death, but I didn’t want to intrude on a private and family affair.”
“That’s all right. But it’s nice to see you.” She invited him in.
“I’ve be
en thinking about you,” he said as he stepped inside. “In spite of your aunt being so ill, her death must have been a great blow to you. I know how fond you were of her.”
Vanessa led him into the small sitting room, a favorite of Aunt Maud’s which she used instead of the large living room, because it overlooked a quiet part of the garden. Here, she could open the French window to put out food for the birds and the squirrels and sit and watch them. This was one area of the garden that was relatively free from the rank weeds which choked the rest of the grounds. Aunt Maud dug them up herself, but still retained all the wild flowers which other people called weeds.
“Yes,” Vanessa said in answer to Miles. “It was a wrench, but Aunt Maud’s personality was so strong it almost seems as though she’s still here.”
Miles frowned slightly. “It will be like that for a while until you get over it.”
Vanessa gave him a glance of faint surprise, but she made no effort to contradict him. Aunt Maud had set her seal so firmly on this house and garden; her influence would always be felt.
“What—will you do now?” Miles asked after a short silence. “Will you be staying on here or—has your aunt left the place to someone else?”
Vanessa smiled. “No, she’s left it to me—and I’m glad. At first I think I was a little overwhelmed at the thought of owning all this—the responsibility and so on. But now I’m glad. I don’t think I would have liked anyone else to have it. They might have been tempted to sell it or something.”
Miles eyed her uncertainly. “You mean—you’re glad because of the affection you had for your aunt?”
To My Dear Niece Page 3