The Shadow of Langley Hall

by Dilys Xavier

  As she watched Richard work his way across the room where they sat, Catherine groaned inwardly. She did not want to meet him here. This was his territory and he would feel more at ease here than at Langley Hall, where she could control things. All too soon he was standing by their table.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Finnegan, Miss Lowestoffe.’ He nodded to them both. ‘I didn’t expect to meet you here.’ He was tempted to add, ‘It’s probably not up to your standard,’ but he just smiled wryly instead.

  ‘Won’t you join us?’ Louise gestured at the empty chair. ‘We’re just about to order.’

  Almost against her will, Catherine heard herself say, ‘Yes, please do.’

  She toyed with her drink as she studied Richard’s profile. He wasn’t handsome in a film star way, but he had that indefinable charm that women reacted to instinctively. Charisma, she thought, yes, that’s what it is, and I’m sure he’s quite a lady’s man. She would enjoy seeing his reaction to Cecile when they met at the dinner party.

  As they ate, Richard related a few amusing anecdotes and then asked Louise about her life in Ireland. He admitted that he had never visited the Ring of Kerry, but he had heard of their famous dolphin, Fungie. Every now and then he would cast a surreptitious glance at Catherine. She was dressed far more casually than when they had first met; the pale blue, hip length silk shirt was unbuttoned at the top and bottom, and worn outside a pair of designer jeans. A pair of long dangly pearl earrings peeped through her corn coloured hair; cultured pearls, no doubt, he surmised. The whole attire was topped off with a scarf that matched her eyes. Her face seemed softer today; even lovelier than he had realised. He turned away quickly as she caught his admiring glance.

  Two or three times, Louise tried to say something about the planned dinner party, but every time she did, Catherine changed the subject. Then, just as they were about to say goodbye, she laid a hand on Richard’s arm and gazed at him in a beguiling manner.

  ‘I’m having a little dinner party on Wednesday night, and one of my guests is without a partner. Her friend is in America on business. If you are free that evening, maybe you would consider joining us at the manor.’ She paused for a moment. ‘It’s not formal, casual dress will be fine.’

  Richard tried to keep the excitement out of his voice.

  ‘That’s kind of you, Miss Lowestoffe. I may have to check my diary first, but if I’m free I’ll be pleased to accept your invitation. Thank you.’

  ‘Then I’ll expect to hear from you soon,’ Catherine said as he rose to his feet. Then she smiled. ‘And please call me Catherine, it’s far less formal.’

  ‘Then you must call me Richard.’

  As he walked out of the pub, Richard smiled to himself. She’s making things so much easier for me, he mused, and then he wondered whether she had engineered the whole thing. However, he wasn’t overly concerned. At least it would give him a chance to look around his future home.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Nicole was surprised to find Richard sitting at his desk when she came into work on Monday morning.

  ‘Well, what are you doing in the office so bright and early? Did your girlfriend push you out so the neighbours wouldn’t spot you?’ When he looked embarrassed, she laughed.

  ‘Just as well you’re a good secretary,’ Richard said, joining in her laughter, ‘or you’d be looking for a new job.’ He spread a sheaf of papers on the desk. ‘I’d like your help to obtain some information.’

  ‘What sort of information?’

  ‘Legal documents mostly,’ Richard said, and then he went on to list the birth, death and marriage certificates that he needed. ‘I should add that it’s matter of great importance.’

  ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘I ... er.’ He hesitated for a moment. Could he afford to reveal what was entailed and his motives for applying for the documents? Yes, she was the one person he could trust implicitly; she was not only a highly competent secretary, but she was very mindful of his privacy. ‘Okay, let me explain what it’s all about.’

  Over the next fifteen to twenty minutes he outlined the events of the weekend. How he had found letters that indicated he might be related to Sir Hugh Williams and then went on to relate his conversations with Aubrey Mackay, and Agnes Frobisher. He concluded by adding,

  ‘I’m not going to say anything until I’ve tied up all the loose ends, so I’ll have to ask you to keep it confidential.’ When she agreed, he tapped the list. ‘How long will it take to gather all that information?’

  ‘It’s a lot easier than it used to be, so I’d guess several days, if you’re lucky.’

  ‘And if I’m not lucky?’

  ‘A few weeks.’ Nicole glanced at the list again. ‘You have to remember there’s a tremendous interest in genealogy now, which means there’s usually a long waiting list of people who want searches done. And of course the staff who work in those places don’t hurry themselves. They misplace letters, lose correspondence and occasionally go on holidays without handing the work onto someone else. You’ll need a lot of luck to get it all back in less than a week.’ She watched Richard pull a face. ‘What’s the hurry, or is that asking too much?’

  ‘There’s a cut-off date,’ he replied. ‘After that the inheritance goes to the next in line.’

  The telephone interrupted their conversation so Richard picked up the second copy of the list and went into his office. It was mid-afternoon before he remembered to ring Catherine. The maid answered the phone, took his message, and promised to inform her mistress. Richard was about to hang up when Peter Hamblyn came on the line.

  ‘Ah, Carlisle,’ he said, rather brusquely, ‘Catherine will be pleased that you’ve been able to accept our invitation.’ He gave a nervous little cough. ‘I’d have thought a busy man like yourself would have sent an email, but then I realised that you probably didn’t know our email address. I’ll give it to you now if you like.’ He paused and then continued, cautiously. ‘Better let me take a note of yours while you’re on the line.’

  After Richard had replaced the receiver, he wondered what Hamblyn was up to. He was sure the man was well aware that it was normal to accept invitations by phone or letter. So why did he want an email address? There had to be a reason, but he could not imagine what it could be. I wonder what Catherine’s up to, he mused.

  *

  Peter hung up the phone and smiled; Richard had only hesitated for a moment before quoting his email address and website. It was all falling into place nicely. He recollected how Catherine had smiled as she told him how Richard had played right into her hands at the inn when she had invited him to dinner; it had all been so easy. However, she had also mentioned that she was suspicious that he had not been fooled by her excuse of a missing partner. The important thing was to get him to drop his guard.

  Gerald’s words came to mind as he looked at the information. The lad had said; ‘There are lots of ways of finding out what you need to know to get into someone’s computer’.

  He had no idea what could be achieved by hacking into Richard’s computer, but the lad had assured him that anyone’s files could be accessed unless they were encrypted. Anyway it was worth trying; there must be something on his computer that they could use to their advantage. Besides it wouldn’t do any harm to know more about Carlisle Enterprises.

  Later that afternoon, Peter checked the wine racks and decided to phone Murphy and tell him to get another carton of Muscadet on the next trip to France. After he had hung up, he thought about the man’s cynical reply to the accusation that he was running drugs. He was half tempted to go to the police and voice his suspicions, but then he realised that Murphy might find out, and that would only make matters worse. When Catherine returned a few hours later, he told her that Richard had called to say he would be able to attend the dinner party on Wednesday evening.

  ‘And what about Anna?’ Catherine asked. ‘Have you invited her?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Peter replied, evasively. ‘I don’t know if it’s a good i
dea if the whole purpose of the evening is to find out what Carlisle is up to. She’s only a kid, and she might get the wrong idea.’

  Catherine looked at him quizzically.

  ‘I thought she might balance things out. You know, bring a bit of spontaneity to it all. We don’t want to give that man any reason to suspect that we’re trying to find out what he’s up to.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll give her a call,’ Peter agreed.

  *

  There were a number of cars already parked outside the manor when Richard arrived. A vintage Alvin trundled up the driveway and came to a halt next to a late model BMW coupe as he climbed out of the Saab. The driver acknowledged his greeting, but when the man fussed around locking up the old car Richard decided to carry on towards the house alone. The lion-head knocker that graced the front door seemed inadequate to summon anyone from the depths of the building, and he was just about to repeat the exercise when he saw the bell pull. Half a minute later the door opened.

  ‘Hello, Richard, do come in.’ Catherine’s voice was almost seductive.

  He did not have to make a conscious effort to keep his eyes off the portrait of Sir Hugh because she commanded his full attention. However he could not resist looking her over discreetly; his gaze ranged down to her feet and back to her beautiful hairstyle. The peachy pink culottes style outfit emphasised every curve of her body and yet it seemed to touch her nowhere and the colour highlighted her flawless complexion. A matching scarf had been artfully draped across one shoulder to fall half way down her back. The effect was almost breathtaking.

  ‘May I compliment you on your appearance,’ he said, in an almost subdued voice.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Catherine led him into the sitting room and introduced him to everyone. After Peter had shaken his hand he asked Richard if he would like a drink, and then led him to the sideboard where a large range of spirits and liqueurs were on display.

  ‘You drink Calvados, don’t you?’ He picked up the squat Obertin bottle and read the inscription on the back. ‘Calvados is to apple what Cognac is to the grape.’ He gave a little laugh. ‘From the orchards of Normandy.’

  Without waiting for an acknowledgement Peter half filled a small balloon goblet and handed it to Richard. ‘I noticed the Calvados took your attention when you here last time.’

  ‘After the funeral?’

  Peter nodded. ‘I have an associate who goes over to France quite regularly and he often brings back some duty free booze. I could ask him to get some for you, if you like.’

  ‘I suppose he’ll need cash?’

  ‘Afraid so, old man.’ His attempt at bonhomie fell flat.

  ‘I don’t have much money on me. Can I give you a cheque?’

  ‘We’ll work something out later. After all we don’t want to upset Catherine by doing business at her dinner party.’

  Two more guests had arrived while they were talking. Peter introduced them and then turned to the young woman who reached up and kissed his cheek affectionately. He introduced her as his sister, Anna.

  Richard looked into the girl’s upturned face that was framed by a halo of fluffy, baby blonde hair. There was a childlike innocence about her that seemed strangely out of place under the circumstances. It was hard to guess her age. He could only surmise she was in her late teens or early twenties. As they talked, Catherine glided silently to their side. When she caught their attention she looked pointedly at her wristwatch and then at the doorway.

  ‘I wonder where Cecile is.’ she said. ‘It’s not like her to be late.’

  Suddenly a smile lit up her face and Richard saw her look towards a woman framed in the archway. However, she made no effort to go forward to greet the new guest, but turned and looked expectantly at Richard.

  Cecile stopped long enough to ensure that she had Richard’s undivided attention before she moved. Then, with a deliberate gracefulness she slowly crossed the room to where he stood.

  Unable to resist the allure she exuded, his gaze took in the black, figure hugging dress that accentuated every curve of her voluptuous body. She too, had draped a scarf over one shoulder. But hers was crimson, matching the colour of her lipstick. The affect was stunning.

  An ornate choker of three rows of cultivated pearls with droppers pulled his eyes away from the ‘v’ of her dress for a brief moment. Only then did he notice her hair. The long dark tresses were swept up to form a halo-like crown that made her look completely irresistible. He took a deep breath as Catherine laid her hand on his arm.

  ‘Richard, I’d like you to meet Cecile Katsoulis.’ She had to mask the tendency to laugh aloud at Richard’s reaction to her friend; it was even better than she had expected.

  ‘Hello, Richard.’ Cecile low-pitched voice seemed to encapsulate him. It was like being wrapped in deep chocolate velvet. ‘Catherine said you were an attractive man, but she was much too conservative.’

  ‘Then you had the advantage,’ Richard said, with a smile. ‘I had no idea that I was to dine with such a beautiful woman.’ He resisted the impulse to cup her hand in both of his as she held it out to him. After he had let go of her hand he turned to Catherine. ‘Pity any man who would need to choose between you two beautiful women.’

  Catherine smiled sweetly and led her friend away, pretentiously to meet the other guests. Soon after, a maid announced that dinner was served. Richard was seated next to Cecile, with Peter opposite to his left and Catherine two places removed on his right. The triangular arrangement of the principal parties meant he was constantly turning first this way and then that way to answer their questions.

  He was not particularly impressed with the walnut and cheese salad entrée, but then he had never developed a taste for goat’s cheese. However he was delighted with the main course; fillets of Dover sole served in a creamy vermouth sauce, Veronique style. A dessert of a fluffy pastry with seasonal fruits, served with a snappy cider sauce, rounded off the meal. When the last plate was cleared away, Catherine suggested that they have coffee in the drawing room.

  Peter had continued to ply Richard with wine throughout the meal and now offered him a rare vintage port. Conscious that he had already consumed more than the legal limit, Richard hesitated. ‘Just a small one then.’

  As the evening progressed, it became increasingly clear to Richard that he had been cleverly drawn into a prearranged trap. Whenever someone attempted to change the subject, the conversation was steered back to his home life, his parents, and his plans for the future. He had caught a few meaningful glances between Catherine and Peter, and could only imagine what had transpired between her and Cecile when he was looking the other way. Well, two can play at this game, he thought, as Catherine asked where he had gone to school.

  ‘Oh, here, there and everywhere,’ he answered, in an off-hand manner. ‘You must remember that my father was subject to the Air Ministry’s commands. He had to serve in various locations.’ He paused for effect. ‘He was not only a good pilot, but a good administrator.’

  ‘Was he decorated, Mr Carlisle?’ Anna gazed at him with a look almost bordering on adoration.

  ‘D.F.C. and bar.’ The reply slipped easily off his tongue, as he warmed to his fictional tale. ‘Of course I’d have liked to follow in his footsteps, but the old man was adamant that I take advantage of the prevailing economic situation and go into industry. We were alike in so many ways, you know. I’ve a photo of him taken when he was the same age as I am now. The resemblance is uncanny.’

  ‘You’re like your father?’ Catherine glanced quickly at Peter and then turned back towards him, but not before he had seen a look of surprise in her eyes.

  ‘Spitting image.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘Except for the moustache, of course. I couldn’t bear those RAF appendages.’ Then in a deliberate effort to change the subject, he turned to John Clements, the man who had arrived in the old Alvis. ‘Tell me, John, did you restore the car yourself?’

  Catherine pulled a small face and whispered an aside to Cecile.<
br />
  ‘He’s awake to us, isn’t he? I think he’s concocting those stories about his father and the RAF.’

  ‘There are more ways to kill a cat than by drowning it in cream,’ Cecile said, meaningfully, ‘The evening’s not over yet.’ Then she laughed softly. ‘Actually, that might be the answer. Drown him in cream.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘How do you think he’ll react if he thinks I’m more than just his dinner date?’

  Now it was Catherine’s turn to laugh.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll have him eating out of your hand within a very short time.’

  Richard showed a great deal in interest in John Clement’s account of the trials and tribulations that had beset someone restoring a vintage car, and asked numerous questions about the project. As Catherine watched the interchange between the two men, she realised she would have to break them up if she wanted to regain control of the evening. She walked over to Richard, stretched out a hand, and drew him to his feet.

  ‘Let me show you my home, Richard,’ she said, quietly but firmly. ‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate why I love this house and couldn’t think of ever living anywhere else.’

  *

  Peter gave a sigh of relief as he watched them leave the room. He had become quite concerned about the way Anna had sat almost at Richard’s feet and hung on his every word. Maybe he was being too protective, but he was aware that Carlisle had enjoyed her attention even though she was barely more than a child. And of course he did not like the idea that his sister was attracted to a man so much older than herself.

  However, he was not the least bit concerned about Catherine. He was reasonably sure that she would not allow herself to be taken in by Richard’s charming manner or good looks, although he suspected that she was attracted to him. Maybe her interest in him was not completely feigned. The thought was pushed from his mind when he recalled the man’s immediate reaction to Cecile’s grand entrance. Whether she could comprise him in some way remained to be seen, because he had a sneaky suspicion that Richard might have twigged their plot.