Royal Purple

by Susan Barrie

  She knew that her eyebrows flew up.

  “Your mother? Then you have a mother?” she said quickly.

  He lay back in a corner of the chesterfield and his eyes were sleepily indolent, as well as amused, as they dwelt on her.

  “Oh yes, I have a mother. One day I hope you’ll meet her,” he added.

  CHAPTER IX

  AFTER tea he showed her over the house, and Lucy thought it a peculiarly perfect little house. The kitchen, where Mrs. Miles was busy washing up the tea things, was like a model kitchen, and every device invented to save labour seemed to have found its way to it.

  The dining-room was everything that, in Lucy’s opinion, a dining-room ought to be—especially when it was small and intimate. The dining-table was oval, chairs were covered in oyster-coloured tapestry, and a lovely piece of mahogany, and the seats of the Oyster curtains of satin-damask flowed before the windows, and the wide window-seat was made comfortable with matching cushions. The sideboard matched the dining-table, and the collection of glass Paul had mentioned was housed in a corner cupboard that in itself was a graceful feature of the room.

  Lucy was terrified to touch the lovely array of glass, but some of the bowls and goblets made her fingers itch with the desire to handle them. She had never seen such radiant colours in crystal before, such glowing reds and jewel-bright greens, and the slender stems of a set of champagne glasses looked as if they might shatter at a touch.

  Although she hadn’t been paying very much attention at the time, she recalled something Augustine had said about glasses shivering at a touch.

  Upstairs there were only four bedrooms, but they were all beautifully equipped. The one Paul used himself when he was staying at the cottage was the least pretentious, even a little stark, Lucy thought, with its white walls and dark crimson bed coverlet.

  The bathrooms—two of them—were quite fantastically luxurious.

  “Oh, I think this must be a wonderful house to stay in,” she exclaimed, without quite realising what she was saying, as they went downstairs again. “Everything in it is so perfect!”

  “You think so?” Paul enquired, his eyes grave as they rested on her, standing two stairs above him in the hall.

  “Oh, yes.” Then she flushed and looked away. “Who did all the furnishing? Did you?”

  “I was responsible for some of it.”

  “The colours are so perfect, and the arrangement of everything is ... well, a woman might have given a lot of time and thought to it! It’s a woman’s house, although it is occupied by a man ... and that’s rather strange,” she added thoughtfully, still standing on her stair and looking down at him, “because most houses that are intended for male occupation have nothing feminine about them. A woman would have to introduce a lot of softening touches if she wanted to make them habitable ... from a woman’s point of view.”

  “Would she?” The statement made him smile a little, and he put out his hands and lifted her down the two stairs until she was standing close beside him in the hall. He looked down at her softly waving fair hair. “I think you ought to have a drink before you go back to London,” he said.

  She looked up at him in alarm.

  “Oh, but it must be getting late! I ought to have gone before!”

  “Don’t worry,” he said softly. “You’ll be back by six o’clock,” with a sudden low laugh. “But in case you’re not I’ll telephone the Countess von Ardrath and warn her that you might be just a little late.”

  “She’ll be very annoyed.”

  And then she realised that the hall was very shadowy, and the dark panels seemed to shut them in in a kind of purposeful seclusion. Mrs. Miles, having finished her washing-up, had departed, and the house was very quiet ... Paul’s hands were on her shoulders, and his nearness was disturbing. In fact, it was much more than disturbing; it made her pulse flutter wildly as if they were imprisoned birds beating their wings against the bars of a cage, and the one at the base of her throat made her catch her breath. All at once she was so breathless she felt as if she had been running, and her heart was beating so fast and so heavily she was certain he could hear it. When she put back her head to look up at him swiftly and then away again she realised that she was lost, for his dark eyes were caressing her ... and his hands had closed very firmly over her shoulders, and he had drawn her into his arms.

  “You’re very sweet, Lucy,” he said softly, and she felt his lips pressing hard and firm against her own, and a sensation of bliss such as she had never dreamed she would ever experience rose up like a flood wall and practically drowned her.

  When at last he drew back his head, and the bliss receded slightly, she heard him murmur with a half tender, half huskily amused note in his voice, “You really are very sweet, Lucy!” And then he pressed her golden head into the hollow of his neck for a moment, and she had the fantastic notion that that was where it belonged, and that that was where it would have to stay if she was ever to know happiness—complete and perfect and slightly delirious happiness!

  But he put her away from him gently, and he said quietly: “We must go, Lucy. Her Highness will be telephoning the police if I don’t return you to her soon.”

  She stared at him dazedly.

  “Do you really think she would do that?”

  “I think she will hand me over to the police if I prove that I’m not the right sort of person to take you out for the afternoon!”

  He was joking, she knew, but as she followed him out to the car she had a temporary mental image of the Countess ordering Augustine to get on to the telephone and the local police station, to find out why a young woman she employed had not returned on time, after promising that under no circumstances would she be late.

  They went out to the car by a side entrance, and as they passed through the room where they had had tea Paul stopped and turned and looked at Lucy. His mouth was unusually soft, his eyes had a strangely regretful look in them, and he said impulsively: “Oh, darling, I didn’t bring you here to make love to you but I can’t let you go like this. Come here!” and he caught her back into his arms again.

  This time his kiss was a revelation to Lucy. There was nothing calm or deliberate about it, and her own eagerness to return it seemed to set him on fire. He crushed her against him until her bones threatened to crack, and although she could have cried out with the pain of such a relentless hold she merely turned her soft mouth up to him, and he bruised it with his own. She found it hard to breathe, but his kiss went on and on, and she closed her eyes and clung to him and the room rocked round her...

  Then he kissed her as if he was apologising for so much violence, on the tip of her nose and her eves, on her cheeks and her chin and her brow, and when he let her go this time there was no question of anything humorous in the darkness of his eyes, and he said nothing at all until she spoke.

  “I—I’ve dropped my handbag...”

  He picked it up for her, and he offered it to her with the utmost gravity and courtesy, the fire dying slowly out of his yes, although he seemed to find it hard to look anywhere but at her.

  “I’m afraid I was rather rough just now. Please forgive me!” he said.

  Her eyes were very clear as she lifted them to his face, and there was nothing embarrassed about her expression. She smiled warmly and impulsively at him.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said.

  “Isn’t there?”

  He smiled back at her a little crookedly, then he took both her hands and held them up against his face. He kissed them lingeringly, until the colour scorched her cheeks again, and then he let them go.

  “You are adorable,” he told her. “ I find you utterly adorable!”

  But on the journey back to London he was very silent, and his silence affected Lucy in such a way that she too began to find little to talk about. Up till then she had chatted about his house, and said how much she had enjoyed the afternoon, and how lucky he was to have such an excellent woman as Mrs. Miles to look after everything
for him.

  She had talked quickly and a little nervously, because as the miles between her and the delightful week-end cottage—attached to a farm which she had a feeling might well be prosperous—where she had had tea, increased, and the memory of those moments when she had been kissed passionately for the first time in her life by a man who knew how to kiss passionately and memorably was overlaid by the detachment which seemed to have altered him a little, she felt the need to talk quickly of almost anything that couldn’t give rise to embarrassment. Or was in any way connected with the afternoon’s highlight.

  Paul answered as if at least a part of his mind was dwelling on something else—or that was the impression she received; and although he occasionally directed at her his sideways smile, and his voice had a warm note of intimacy in it just occasionally—sufficiently warm and intimate to set something deep inside her trembling, as if it was a bird that had encountered unexpected tempest, and was trying to recover from the shock—for the most part he concentrated on the business of driving, and let her spate of light, inconsequent talk flow over him.

  When they drew near to London, Lucy’s thoughts turned to the Countess, and in addition to a feeling of let-down and slight bewilderment she began to anticipate her employer’s annoyance because it was already nearly a quarter to seven. Paul glanced at a clock and remarked that it would be fully seven before they arrived at twenty-four Alison Gardens, and Lucy felt the palms of her hands grow moist.

  What in the world was she going to say to the Countess to explain away such a piece of careless disregard of her expressed wishes?

  But Paul laid a hand on her knee, and told her to stop worrying.

  “The old lady can’t eat you, you know,” he said whimsically. “And in any case, I’ll have a word with her myself, so that some measure of her wrath will be deflected from you and descend upon me!”

  Lucy glanced at him, a sudden ray of hope in her heart. If he accompanied her inside, perhaps—perhaps the Countess might invite him to remain and have a drink, or even to stay to dinner. They had much better food nowadays, and Augustine would be quite up to coping with an unexpected guest.

  Especially if it was for Lucy’s sake. Augustine had become quite attached to Lucy lately, and ever since the house had been filled with flowers, which she had never doubted for a moment were the tribute of a serious admirer, she had displayed an interest in Lucy’s young man which was a little embarrassing at times to Lucy herself.

  But no sooner had the car stopped outside the house than the door was opened and Augustine appeared in the opening looking harassed. She put a finger up to her lips as if to enjoin caution on Lucy’s part, and when the girl stood beside her in the hall she whispered:

  “Her Highness is in one of her tantrums, and you’d better be ready with a very good story to explain the reason why you’re late, mademoiselle!” She looked up swiftly at the tall form of Avery, and dropped him something that was very nearly a curtsy. “Good evening, monsieur. I’m sure mademoiselle has had a very pleasant afternoon—”

  From the rear of the hall a harsh voice interrupted her.

  “Augustine! If that is Miss Gray, tell her I wish to speak with her at once! And if she is not alone, tell the young man who has condescended to bring her back at last that I would like a few words with him also!”

  Lucy looked in almost a frightened fashion at Augustine, and the old servant shrugged her shoulders, as if the whole situation was beyond her, and in any case she was not responsible for it. But Paul put Lucy gently aside and strode down the length of the hall, with its dingy furnishings, to make his apologies to the Countess.

  She stood leaning on a slender ebony cane with a handsome gold-mounted top, and although she had taken little pains with her dress, and her absurd auburn wig was askew, as usual, there was something so strikingly dignified about her that he instinctively slowed his steps as he drew nearer to her. He bowed, very meticulously, in front of her, and then straightening himself and clicking his heels—not as if he was an ordinary young man in a casual but well-tailored suit, but a courtier who knew precisely in front of whom he was standing—he put back his head and looked at her very levelly.

  Behind him Lucy could see his squared shoulders, and although she couldn’t see his square jaw she knew that it was very square at that moment. She heard him say gently:

  “I am very sorry indeed, madame, if I have kept Miss Gray out longer than the length of time you gave her permission to remain away from you. It was entirely my fault—”

  “I’m perfectly sure it was,” the Countess snapped back at him, with a hint of venom in her voice. “Miss Gray is a good girl, and in the six months I’ve known her she has never failed to keep a promise she has made to me. Not until this afternoon! And as you’re the individual who took her out gallivanting then you’re the one I hold responsible for a piece of discourtesy!”

  Once more he bent his head in a mildly abject manner.

  “You have every reason to be annoyed, madame, and I’m truly sorry—”

  “Being sorry isn’t good enough,” she said. “Come in here...!” She indicated the door of her sitting-room, that was standing open. “There are one or two things I would like to say to you, Mr. Avery. A few things I would like to ask you! I hope you are not on duty in your capacity as an hotel employee this evening, for I may make you a little late.”

  He stood aside for her to precede him into the room, but she refused to budge until he had entered the room himself. But before that he turned and looked at Lucy, and Lucy felt suddenly despairing as she realised that this was the moment when she had to say goodbye to him. And there had been nothing at all said about another meeting!

  She had spent several wonderful hours in his company, and now she didn’t know when she would see him again!

  He held out his hand to her, and he smiled at her gravely.

  “Goodbye, Lucy,” he said. (And at least he wasn’t afraid to call her Lucy in front of the Countess.) “I’ve enjoyed today tremendously, and thank you for allowing me to take up so much of your time.”

  The Countess clucked.

  “You’ve certainly done that,” she said. “At least I hope you’ve got to know one another reasonably well,” in so dry a tone that Lucy wondered for an instant whether she was joking. Until she saw the animosity in the old eyes. “But not too well, I hope!”

  CHAPTER X

  FOR the next week Lucy had little opportunity to think of anything but the Countess, and the duties that were expected of her in her capacity as a paid companion, for her employer developed a chill that confined her to her bed for several days, and after that she was so peevish and difficult for several more days that life in the gloomy maisonette seemed to have nothing but a dark side for the girl who was only twenty-two.

  The Countess seemed to enjoy making as many demands as she could think of of the two who were paid to look after her. Augustine toiled up the narrow flights of stairs with endless hot water bottles, and Lucy was never allowed to permit the fire to die down into what she considered a comfortable glow. The Countess insisted upon a roaring fire threatening the soot-caked chimney all the time, and at night it had to be banked up so that it couldn’t possibly go out. Lucy considered it was fortunate the weather had taken a nasty turn for the worse, and instead of warm spring sunshine and gentle breezes a gale that seemed to be blowing straight off fields of Arctic ice raged outside.

  March was going out like a lion, and the temptation to dwell upon the thought of Kensington Gardens—and Surrey lanes!—was not so strong when everyone who passed the windows looked blue with cold, and new spring hats were banished to the backs of wardrobes in favour of close-fitting head-scarves.

  The Countess sat up in bed protected from every draught by numberless shawls, and congratulated herself because she had been clever enough to choose such an inclement spell to stay confined to her room. She refused to see a doctor although she had quite a nasty cough, and Augustine had to make constant infusi
ons of herb tea which the patient drank with the same gusto with which she drank champagne, and Lucy was required to rub her chest with a combination of camphorated oil and something that smelt even more abominable every few hours. In addition, loaded trays of nourishing food were carried up to the sickroom also every few hours, and the local greengrocer opened his eyes very wide at the vast quantity of grapes, and countless oranges, which were purchased for (and obviously consumed by) the invalid.

  As a result of this anything but Spartan method of dealing with a bad chill the Countess von Ardrath threw it off successfully before a week was out. But she declined to throw off the role of one weakened by illness for some considerable while after that.

  She leaned heavily on Lucy’s arm when she returned to the sitting-room for the first time, and had one of her coughing spells in the middle of the room while she looked round it for some evidence of a devoted admirer’s need to proclaim himself.

  “What, no flowers?” she said, between wheezes. “Has something happened to that young man of yours since he doesn’t appear to have made contact with his favourite florist recently? At any rate, not on your behalf!”

  Lucy’s colour deepened, but her eyes were just a shade resentful. Since the night when Paul Avery had been forced into a private interview with the Countess, Lucy had heard nothing at all from him. Not a single telephone message had Augustine had occasion to repeat from him ... and as for flowers, or even a note, nothing like that had been received from him.

  After the Countess had had her talk with him—and they had remained closeted together for fully half an hour—he had departed without making any request to say another farewell to Lucy, and although she had been hiding in the shadows of the hall at the moment of his departure he hadn’t once looked back, or cast a glance over his shoulder, to make certain she wasn’t anticipating anything of the sort. It had seemed to her that he had escaped with haste, and with the maximum of determination to get outside the house—and remain outside it in the future?—and the Countess had stood watching him with both hands pressed on the handle of her cane, and a curious expression in her eyes when Lucy stole anxiously to her side.