by Lucy Gillen
She was aware that Robert was taking an undue interest in their conversation and sought to bring it to a close by half-turning away.
Jonathan Darrell shrugged his shoulders, his eyes disconcertingly steady. ‘As you like, of course,’ he agreed. ‘Goodnight, Miss Kincaid.’
Robert took matters into his own hands at that point. ‘Goo’night, Jon,’ he said, and Louise hustled him hastily into his room and closed the door. She resented the fact, unreasonably perhaps, that Jonathan Darrell had succeeded in disturbing the air of quiet tranquillity she had carefully built around herself in the past four and a half years. Also he had successfully breached Robert’s normally impregnable defences and in doing so made her realise that there was something missing from her son’s life.
She had never before admitted that a household of women was not the best environment for a small boy and now she had been forced to recognise it—worse, she had been baited into losing her temper to the point of rudeness.
The sooner Jonathan Darrell departed from Cray the better she would be pleased. Just the same she found it annoyingly difficult to erase the memory of that slow smile from her mind as she put Robert to bed.
CHAPTER THREE
WAKING the next morning, Louise frowned at the time showing on the bedside clock, for it must surely be earlier than half-past eight, she thought. There was no glimmer of daylight showing through the curtains, but she could hear the quiet whisper of Davey McGregor’s soft-soled shoes over the carpet outside on the landing, and Davey was never more than a few minutes either side of half-past eight.
The expected light tap on the door followed and the girl came in, her small thin face smiling as usual when Louise blinked in the suddenness of light after dark.
‘Guid mornin’, Miss Louise.’ She glanced over at the top of Essie Nostrum’s blonde head just showing above the bedclothes in the other bed and made a grimace as she set down one of the cups of tea on the bedside table. ‘There’s snow as thick as pudden all over this morning,’ she announced, keeping her voice down so as not to wake the sleeper.
Louise pulled a face over the news, taking the welcome cup of tea gratefully. ‘Oh dear, then it looks as if we shall have our extra guests longer than we expected. Is it still snowing, or has it stopped?’
Davey nodded, apparently unworried by the prospect of being snowed in. ‘Oooh aye, it’s still comin’ down,’ she told her, ‘an’ it looks as if it’ll no stop this side o’ Hogmanay, miss.’
Quiet as their voices were they must have disturbed the occupant of the other bed, for the tightly-rolled bundle stirred and a sleepy face peered over one shoulder at them, watching Davey depart with an understanding grin.
‘Good morning.’ Essie sat up hastily, rubbing sleep from her eyes. ‘Sorry, but I sleep like a log wherever I am. Is it very late?’
‘It’s not late at all,’ Louise assured her with a smile, ‘but I’m afraid the news isn’t very encouraging as far as the weather is concerned.’
‘Oh? The cup of tea stopped half-way to her lips and Essie peered at her with curious eyes.
‘It’s snowing,’ Louise informed her, wondering what her reaction would be to the news, ‘and according to Davey it’s unlikely to stop this side of Hogmanay.’
‘Oh, lord!’ Louise eyed her questioningly, a little surprised at her dismay.
‘I’m sorry,’ she told her, ‘but it looks as if you’ll have to stay a bit longer than you anticipated anyway.’
‘Oh, it’s not that I mind too much,’ Essie hastened to assure her, ‘but it’s a bit of a bind for you, isn’t it, having two extra when you’ve already got a houseful to contend with.’
Louise smiled ruefully, not prepared to claim that she didn’t mind them staying on, although she had no objection to Essie in the least. ‘It can’t be helped,’ she said, ‘and please don’t apologise. You can’t help it any more than I can, and I’m not as inhospitable as you may think.’
‘I never supposed you were,’ Essie declared with a smile, ‘and frankly I don’t mind staying here for a bit longer in the least, but I don’t imagine Jon will take it quite so blithely.’
Louise frowned at the mention of her colleague. ‘I’m quite aware of whatMr. Darrell thinks of Berren,’ she said shortly, ‘but I’m afraid he’ll just have to put up with it as long as the snow keeps up.’
Essie laughed, her eyes showing curiosity, and Louise supposed her ownmanner had probably prompted it. ‘Oh, it won’t have anything to do with his not liking the island,’ Essie told her. ‘It’s just that he won’t be working after today and he gets thoroughly bored as a rule.’
‘Well, I’m sorry about that.’ Louise refused to show sympathy for his predicament; after all, her own would be worse with a disgruntled newsman in the house and in all probability looking for another story.
‘Funny thing is,’ Essie went on, ignoring the edge of sarcasm in her voice, ‘I doubt very much if he’d be such a glutton for work if he really needed to be to get on.’
‘And doesn’t he?’ She asked the question despite her complete lack of interest in the subject of Jonathan Darrell.
‘Not on your sweet life,’ Essie laughed, putting down her empty cup and hugging her knees to her. ‘The Darrells are probably as wealthy as the Kincaids, if you’ll forgive the allusion, but Jon thinks of nothing else but his job.’
‘You surprise me,’ Louise said, remembering the way his voice had deepened when he spoke to Diamond and the way he had so obviously enjoyed her admiration.
‘It surprises a lot of people,’ Essie claimed. ‘But then most people don’t realise that Jon’s great-grand-daddy started as a reporter on one of the papers in the group and ended as co-owner of the whole caboodle.’
Louise stared for a moment, too surprised to answer. ‘You mean,’ she said slowly at last, ‘that in a way he’s working for himself?’
‘In a way, I suppose,’ Essie admitted, ‘although when Jon’s grandfather retired he sold out to Sir Edward Meres, who’s Jon’s godfather, incidentally, so it’ll all come back to Jon eventually. Sir Edward’s a bachelor and he dotes on Jon.’
‘So he really started at the top of the ladder?’ Louise suggested, unable to keep the disparagement out of her voice. ‘He hasn’t worked his way up to where he is.’
‘That he has,’ Essie stated defensively. ‘He works harder than any other man on the staff and he always has.’
Louise smiled wryly at her defence of her colleague. ‘I’m sorry, I take it back, but in this particular case no amount of hard work is going to help if you can’t get your copy back to the magazine, is it?’
‘We’ll phone over what we have,’ Essie informed her with a grin, ‘and take the photographs when we can. We have a day or two’s grace in a case like this when we’re likely to get stuck somewhere.’
‘Well, you’re welcome to use the phone any time you like,’ Louise assured her, ‘always providing the line isn’t down, of course. It is sometimes in bad weather, the overland part of it goes out of action.’
‘Oh, lord, that would really upset poor old Amos.’ She giggled delightedly over the dilemma of her editor. ‘Never mind, we can but try.’
Louise thought wryly that the line being out of order would probably be the last straw as far as Jonathan Darrell was concerned. She could not see him accepting the idea of being stranded on the island with very good grace anyway, and being unable to telephone his copy through would no doubt be the final insult.
At breakfast, some time later, Louise as usual acted as hostess, with both Aunt Charlotte and her mother still warmly in their beds, deterred from early rising by the snow still falling outside.
Colin and Diamond sat side by side and facing Essie and Jonathan Darrell, while at the opposite end of the table to Louise, Stephen eyed the two strangers with evident disfavour. Robert, next to his mother, chattered with unaccustomed garrulity to Jonathan Darrell and Louise gave them an occasional uneasy glance.
She had seldom seen
her son take so easily to anyone and it gave her a strange feeling of being left out in the cold. Also there was the additional fear that probably the man’s inevitably short stay would prove upsetting to the boy. He would not want to see him go when he liked him so much, no matter how thankful she would be herself.
Her own relief, she admitted, would be because his association with Robert must, inevitably, involve herself too and she had no desire to become involved with anyone at present, especially anyone like Jonathan Darrell.
As if he sensed he was the subject of her heart-searching, the brown eyes sought and held hers until she hastily lowered her gaze. The slow smile crinkled them at their corners in a way that was most disconcerting.
‘I was wondering if it was safe to brave the blizzard, he told her. ‘I’m not a countryman myself, but Robert seems to think it might be fun.’
Louise saw Stephen’s head come up sharply at the suggestion and she felt him watching her, waiting to see if she would agree or not. She shook her head, making a grimace of discouragement at Robert. ‘I wouldn’t advise it really, Mr. Darrell. If you’re not familiar with the island it could be dangerous under all that snow, and I don’t want anything to happen to Robert.’
He took the answer with no more than a faint smile, bobbing his head in acknowledgment arid pulling a face at Robert. ‘Sorry, old son,’ he told the boy, ‘but we’d better do as the boss says and stay in, I think, don’t you? You’re the expert,’ he added, smiling at Louise.
She flushed with resentment at his tone and the choice of words. He was, it seemed, determined to be as offensive as possible. ‘I don’t claim to be an expert on anything, Mr. Darrell,’ she told him, with what she hoped was crushing dignity. ‘It’s only common sense, I would have thought, with the weather the way it is when you don’t know your way around.’
He arched his brows at her, a smile hovering round his mouth as he regarded her over the top of Robert’s head. ‘I’ve yielded to superior wisdom and knowledge,’ he pointed out. ‘I’m not arguing the point.’
He spoke the truth, she realised, but she bit on her lip not to retort as instinct prompted her to. It was ridiculous to allow him to shake her composure like this, she should merely treat him as she would any other visitor who was also a stranger—with formal politeness.
The matter would probably have been dropped at that point, but Robert was in no mood to be frustrated so easily and his eyes turned reproachfully to Louise. ‘I would like to have gone out,’ he told her soulfully. T would really, Mummy.’
Surprisingly support for his plea came from Stephen who had apparently followed the conversation despite a seeming preoccupation with his breakfast. ‘If Robert really wants to go for a walk, Louise,’ he told her, ‘I’m quite willing to take him. I know the ground rather better than Dar—Mr. Darrell does and I’d be very careful, of course.’
Louise looked at him for a moment, unable to disguise her surprise at the offer. Stephen was no lover of the outdoors at any time and in the face of such discouraging weather it was doubly surprising that he should make the offer. It took her only a moment to realise the reason for it. Stephen was apparently prepared to go to almost any lengths to put Jonathan Darrell in his place and, judging by the smile on his face, the other man realised it.
She hesitated whether to risk an outright rebuff from Robert by offering the choice of going with Stephen or not. So many times her cousin had attempted to ingratiate himself with the boy and he found Robert’s continued reticence disheartening, to say the least.
It was better, she decided at last, to make the refusal herself and make it as diplomatically as possible. She chose her words with care and hoped he would not guess the reason behind them. ‘I don’t think you’d better, Stephen, thank you.’ She laughed. ‘I don’t want to have to come and dig you both out of a snowdrift or have you both down with colds for the big day.’
She sensed Jonathan Darrell’s gaze switch from herself and back to Stephen, and his expression indicated that he guessed something of the position, a suspicion confirmed by his briefly arched brows a moment later. He was discomfitingly observant, she thought, and kept her eyes studiously downcast as she resumed her breakfast. Stephen’s dark head was bent once more over his coffee, his shoulders hunched in a gesture that betrayed his rather moody character. His expression closed and rather irritable as if he too had suspected the reason behind her diplomatic refusal, despite her efforts.
She sighed inwardly and prayed for an early cessation of the snow so that the visitors could leave before the two men actually came to blows, as she was sure they were bound to if things went on as they were.
‘Essie says we’re likely to be stranded here.’ The deep voice broke into her thoughts and made her start a little guiltily. ‘What’s your record for being snowed in, Miss Kincaid?’
‘Nearly three weeks,’ she told him, disliking the look of amusement he watched her with.
‘I’m sorry you’re stuck with us,’ he told her, ‘and for my sake I hope it isn’t for three weeks, but short of swimming across there’s not much we can do about it, is there? Unless,’ he added, ‘any of the cottages down there could take us.’
She shook her head, suspecting his meekness, but seeking to suppress the now familiar resentment as he held her gaze challengingly. ‘There’s no need for you to go down there, Mr. Darrell. For one thing it would mean making your way down the path to the cottages, and that ‘would be almost impossible in this, and for another thing I told Essie we have plenty of supplies to last for quite a long time even with two extra ones. Of course you’ll stay here.’
‘Thank you.’ She looked up hastily, suspecting he was laughing at her, but his expression was as sober as it could be and only some faint gleam in his eyes gave her cause to doubt.
‘I also told Essie,’ she went on quickly, ‘that you can use the phone whenever you want to as long as it’s in working order.’
‘Is it likely not to be?’ He looked surprised for a moment and she could not suppress a feeling of satisfaction that something at last had altered that self-satisfied expression.
‘It could be,’ she agreed, and he nodded.
‘Then I’d better use it soon after breakfast,’ he told her, ‘if I may.’ He smiled at her and she hastily looked away from the unexpectedness of it, wishing there was something she could do about that pulsing nerve in her temple. ‘Did you manage to fix me an interview with Mrs. Kincaid?’ he asked, and she nodded.
‘Yes, I did, but—’ She hesitated, not wanting to sound over-fussy. ‘She’s a very old lady, don’t overtire her, will you?’
‘I won’t,’ he promised, and it sounded sincere enough for her to take it at its face value; but not to Stephen, it seemed.
He looked up, frowning, his tone disapproving. T don’t quite see,’ he told Jonathan Darrell, ‘what my great-grandmother can tell you that isn’t already known.’
‘Interviewing Great-gran was the whole object of the visit, Stephen,’ Louise pointed out reasonably, ‘and she doesn’t mind in the least.’ She smiled briefly at him, almost by way of apology for her lack of support. ‘Confidentially,’ she added, ‘she’s rather enjoying it all.’
‘I have a feeling,’ Jonathan Darrell interposed before Stephen could speak, ‘that Mrs. Emma Kincaid has more stamina than the rest of us put together. She really is a very remarkable old lady, I can scarcely believe she’s really lived the kind of life she’s reported to have done. It sounds too incredible to be true.’
Louise looked at him for a moment, a fierce pride lending fire to her eyes, as if she suspected him of doubt. ‘It’s all perfectly true, Mr. Darrell, and we’re all very proud of her. Also don’t be misled into thinking she doesn’t know what’s going on around her, she does.’
‘I believe it,’ he allowed, ‘and I wouldn’t dare doubt her authenticity for one moment.’
He was, Louise decided, laughing at her again, and she clenched her hands tightly on the table top, a sparkle of a
nger making her eyes a deep, dark blue. ‘I’ll arrange for you to talk to her privately in the small sitting-room,’ she told him. ‘It will be a little while yet before she’s ready to see anyone, but I’ll let you know.’
‘It occurs to me,’ Stephen declared loudly, as if afraid the subject might be dropped, ‘that it would be a good idea if one of us sat in on the interview.’
Louise stared at him, as much at a loss as the man he was addressing. ‘Old ladies can be indiscreet,’ Stephen went on, ‘and you are a journalist after all, Darrell.’ Louise waited with lips slightly parted for the reaction and was not altogether surprised to detect a faint glimmer of anger deep down in the brown eyes when he looked across at Stephen, but his voice was quiet and quite controlled when he answered.
‘I’ve never claimed to be other than a journalist, Mr. Kincaid,’ he said, ‘but it you prefer, by all means have someone sit in on the ‘interview, anyone you like.’ His gaze turned on Louise again. ‘But may I suggest Miss Kincaid, since your great-grandmother’s used to her company? I’m quite sure you need have no fear of my being allowed to get away with anything in the circumstances.’
It was with reluctance that Louise invited Jonathan Darrell to the small cosy room next to the dining room some time later, and with even, more reluctance that she faced her duty as guardian of the family secrets. The look he gave her as he passed her in the doorway was both speculative and amused and she tried not to meet his eyes.
The old lady turned her bright enquiring gaze on him and smiled. ‘You can go now,’ she told Louise, ‘we can talk better on our own.’
Louise hesitated indecisively. She knew how Stephen would react if she failed to sit in on the interview as she had promised, but she disliked the amusement it caused Jonathan Darrell, an amusement she suspected her great-grandmother would probably share.