by Lucy Gillen
There was such logic in his argument as he saw it that for a crazy moment Louise could almost agree with him; only Stephen was apparently surprised by anything he said. ‘You—you mean,’ he gasped, ‘that he married Louise for her money?’ There was a naiveté in the question that struck an incongruous note and Louise glimpsed the gleam of derision in Jonathan Darrell’s eyes and flushed in resentment of it as if it had been directed at herself.
‘But of course,’ Henri Dupont agreed impatiently. ‘Why else would he marry the English girl? There were plenty of pretty girls in France, in his own town, that he could have married. And if a man marries a wealthy wife is he not entitled to expect that he too will be wealthy? Mais non! She cheats him.’
‘He must have been even worse than I realised,’ Stephen admitted, looking rather dazed at the revelation and coming out on her side openly for the first time. ‘Louise, I’m sorry.’ The apology was pedantic and possibly a little pompous, but Louise realised what it must have cost him to make it, particularly in front of Jonathan Darrell, and she was touched almost to the point of tears.
‘No, please, Stephen.’ She shook her head and even managed a half-smile so that he came and stood beside her, taking her hand in his.
‘Something’s just occurred to me,’ Jonathan’s voice startled Louise out of her momentary reverie. His eyes were fixed on the visitor thoughtfully and she thought Henri Dupont looked less confident as if he suspected what had just come to mind. ‘Why is it so important suddenly to ask for money for this boy? It’s been years now since—well, since your brother died, so why have you waited so long?’
He definitely looked discomfited, Louise thought, and the expressive eyes were hidden by lowered lids. ‘There are reasons, m’sieur.’
‘Obviously,’ Jonathan agreed dryly, ‘but what are they?’
Henri Dupont seemed to find the steady gaze too much for him and he shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. ‘There are conditions which—change,’ he told him evasively. ‘Things are different now.’
‘Mmm.’ Louise looked up curiously at Jonathan’s face, thoughtful and speculative. A hasty glance at Stephen showed him curious too now that the question had been raised, but it was Jonathan who took the initiative. Typically high-handed, Louise thought, although she should have been grateful to him, she knew.
‘I think you’d better go,’ Jonathan told him, polite but quite firm, and the man stared at him in surprise, ready to protest. ‘You’re staying with someone in the village?’
The dark head nodded agreement. ‘But I do not—’
‘If Miss Kincaid has anything further to say to you I’m sure she’ll contact you,’ Jonathan went on blandly, ‘now I think you’d better leave, m’sieur. You found it easier climbing the hill today, I expect, it’s much easier now that the ground has thawed a little!’
‘But—’ the man attempted to protest.
‘I’ll see you out,’ Jonathan told him, and took his arm, leading him inexorably towards the door into the hall, while Louise could only stare after them, a sudden and inexplicable desire to laugh bubbling up inside her until it was dangerously close to making itself heard.
‘But, madame—’ The dark eyes made one last plea, the slim hand spread in that expressive gesture again, but to no avail. Louise merely shook her head, the laughter hysterically seeking release so that she lowered her eyes to spare him the indignity of seeing it.
He was escorted swiftly and politely to the front door, taking up the hat he had arrived in, en route, then ushered down the steps and the door closed firmly and decisively behind him.
Coming back into the sitting-room a moment later, Jonathan looked quite bland and unperturbed and not a little pleased with himself although he did not smile when he spoke. ‘He’s gone,’ he assured Louise.
‘He hadn’t much option, had he?’ she asked, wishing the desire to laugh would subside and let her look as disapproving as she wished to, although she had to admit to relief at his action. It was most unsuitable in the circumstances and Jonathan Darrell had behaved with typical brashness. No matter how much she had wanted Henri Dupont to go, it had not been his place to order him out.
‘You were pretty high-handed,’ Stephen told him, his frown disapproving. ‘Considering your position here, I mean, you had no right to take things into your own hands like that.’
‘Like what?’ demanded Emma Kincaid’s sharp voice from the doorway, and Louise turned her head sharply. The old lady stood supported by Aunt Jessie’s arm under her elbow, her bright eyes taking in the group by the fireplace and missing nothing of the tension that filled the little room.
Louise was up quickly, her expression contrite. ‘Oh, Great-gran, I’m sorry,’ she told the old lady. ‘I should have come for you, but I quite forgot the time.’
‘Otherwise engaged, no doubt,’ Emma observed, glancing from one to the other of her companions. ‘Well, come on, girl, tell me what’s been going on.’
‘Nothing really, Great-gran.’ She realised it was little use trying to keep it from her, but at least she could try.
‘You been fighting, you three?’ the old lady guessed, and from her expression hoped it was true. She cackled her dry laugh when no one answered her. ‘I like a good argument, they stimulate the brain.’
‘We haven’t been arguing, Great-gran,’ Louise insisted, seating her in her customary chair. ‘I’ll get your tea, darling, right away.’
‘Never mind the tea yet, you tell me what’s been going on down here first,’ old Emma demanded stubbornly. ‘I don’t like being kept in the dark about what’s going on in my own house. Jon—I thought I saw you with that strange Frenchman when I came downstairs.’
Louise sighed resignedly and the old lady cackled delightedly at her expression. ‘I don’t miss much,’ she told her. ‘I saw him when they were busy sneaking him into William’s room the other night, and I guessed he’d be back before very long when I sent him packing the other morning; he’s stubborn. Now, tell me what’s been going on.’
‘I—I think he wanted money, Great-gran,’ Louise approached the matter cautiously and saw the old lady nod as if it was exactly what she had expected.
‘Of course he did,’ she said blandly. ‘Did you give him any?’
Louise looked startled. ‘No—no, I didn’t.’
‘Good.’ The old lady nodded approval. ‘And he just left without argument?’ she asked with such blatant innocence that Louise flushed. She knows he didn’t, she thought, she knows but she wants to hear it from me. In that moment she realised too how much she was like the old lady.
Emma Kincaid would have laughed exactly as she had, to see the intruder ejected, but she would have been less reticent about showing her laughter, and applauded openly instead of suppressing it for fear of being misunderstood.
Remembering too the high-handed way Jonathan Darrell had escorted her unwelcome visitor from the house, she could almost see old Robert Kincaid at that age, seeing off some unwanted stranger while young Emma laughed at the man’s ignominious exit.
For a moment her own laughter bubbled dangerously near the surface again. ‘No, Great-gran,’ she said, serious-faced, ‘Mr. Darrell threw him out.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘IS there any sign of your wily Frenchman coming back this morning?’ Emma Kincaid asked, the following day, and Louise frowned as she tidied the cushions in the chairs.
‘No, there isn’t,’ she declared, ‘and he isn’t my Frenchman, Great-gran, wily or otherwise.
‘He’ll try again, you see,’ old Emma prophesied with certainty, ‘and you’d better have Jon Darrell handy to get rid of him for you.’
Louise thumped the cushions viciously, bending to hide the flush that coloured her cheeks. ‘I don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me, she told her firmly, ‘least of all Jonathan Darrell.’
She knew the shrewd old eyes watched her and she refused to raise her head and meet them. You’ve made up your mind not to like him, haven�
�t you?’ the old lady chuckled. ‘Pig-headed, that’s what you are, my girl, just plain pig-headed.’
‘All right, I’m pig-headed,’ Louise thumped another cushion into submission, ‘but I just don’t like reporters, and Jonathan Darrell is as thick-skinned as any of his breed and arrogant too.’
Another chuckle answered her. ‘Oh, he’s arrogant,’ Emma admitted, ‘just like my Robert was, and I’ll bet he’s as good at getting what he wants too!’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Louise retorted. ‘Now can we please change the subject, Great-gran?’
‘I’ve asked him to have coffee with ne this morning,’ the old lady informed her, and Louise frowned, looking across at her with reproachful eyes.
‘You used to ask Stephen to have coffee with you,’ she told her. ‘He’s very hurt, Great-gran, at the way you’ve treated him lately.’
‘I’ve asked him,’ her great-grandmother told her, obviously resenting the chiding. ‘This is only the second time I’ve asked Jon instead, and I presume I can ask who I like to drink with me in my own house without causing trouble.’
Louise sighed resignedly. ‘Of course you can, darling.’ She smiled at the small, lined face with its stubborn chin and bright eyes, and glanced at her watch. ‘It’s almost coffee time now. I’d better go and see Hannah about it.’
It was only a few minutes later that she took the tray from Hannah Grayston and earned it to the small sitting-room, but the old lady’s visitor was already with her, seated comfortably in an armchair beside her, his long legs crossed casually, completely at ease. He got to his feet and took the tray from her, smiling secretly at her frown of disapproval.
‘Only two cups?’ he asked softly. ‘Aren’t you staying?’
‘Get another cup,’ Emma ordered her before she could reply. ‘
‘But I—’
‘Don’t be difficult, girl,’ the old lacy interrupted impatiently. ‘I feel like a bit of company this morning.’ Louise glared resentfully at Jonathan, as if he had instigated the order. ‘Then why don’t you come into the sitting-room with the family?’ she retorted, and saw the old lady’s mouth set firm.
‘Don’t be sassy, my girl,’ she told her. ‘I can’t stand the lot of ‘em all at once, especially Diamond’s silly prattle. She gets more stupid every day, that girl.’
‘Great-gran!’ Louise still stood by the low table where the tray awaited attention.
‘Great-gran, fiddlesticks!’ old Emma snapped, thoroughly enjoying herself, Louise felt sure. ‘Get another cup, girl, then come and pour out the coffee before it grows cold.’
After a last helpless frown at Jonathan Darrell, Louise did as she was bid and went through to the big sitting-room where the rest of the family were helping themselves to coffee from a trolley.
Stephen looked up and half-smiled when she came in, only to frown a moment later when she took a cup and saucer from the trolley and turned away again. ‘Great-gran wants me to have coffee with her this morning,’ she explained, and Stephen’s frown deepened into a scowl.
‘And Darrell,’ he snapped, and Diamond, overhearing, giggled.
‘Lucky girl,’ she told her maliciously. ‘Have fun, darling.’
Louise, already angry at having the choice made for her, did not bother to answer either of them, but went back to the small sitting-room burning with resentment. It was not fair, she told herself, that she should have to bear the brunt of the family’s jibes when the situation was none of her making.
The old lady and her visitor were already drinking their coffee when she returned, so presumably they had decided not to wait for her and, trivial as it was, her resentment increased when she saw them sitting there. True, Jonathan Darrell rose politely when she came in, but the fleeting half-smile round his mouth and the expression in his eyes when he noted her mood did nothing to pacify her.
‘You look grouchy,’ her great-grandmother informed her. ‘Cheer up, girl, things could be a lot worse and I don’t want a skeleton at the feast for my birthday.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Louise poured herself coffee and briefly, over the rim of her cup, caught Jonathan’s eyes on her.
‘Mrs. Kincaid has very kindly asked me to stay on for her birthday party,’ he told her. ‘Of course there may be no option, but it looks as if the weather is going to clear enough for a boat to come out before too long.’
Louise looked across at the old lady reproachfully, then put down her cup carefully before speaking. ‘Are you going to stay?’ she asked, and he smiled.
‘I told Mrs. K.,’ he informed her, ‘that as you’re the one in charge of the catering, et cetera, I’d only stay if you agreed. I don’t want to be a burden to you.’
She was surprised at her own feelings and for a moment sat there wondering at them. Wondering why she did not dread the idea as much as she thought she should. There would be further complaints from Stephen, that was inevitable, but otherwise—
She shrugged, picking up her coffee again, her eyes lowered. ‘Stay by all means, Mr. Darrell, if Great-gran has asked you to, we’ve more than enough for two extra as I explained to Essie, but,’ she hesitated, ‘haven’t you a deadline to meet or something? With your story, I mean.’
‘That’s no problem with the telephone still working,’ he told her. ‘And I’m afraid it’ll just be me who stays, Essie has to get back.’
‘But you’re privileged, of course?’ It was a jibe she should have been ashamed of, she knew, in view of what Essie had told her about the way he worked so hard, but there was only amusement in his gaze when he looked at her and she flushed.
‘If you like,’ he allowed, ‘or you could be more charitable and say that I have several weeks unused leave owing to me and Essie’s used all hers, but you have it your way.’
‘I’m—I’m sorry.’ She sipped her coffee, doing her best to hide behind the inadequately small shield it presented, colouring at the dry chuckle her great-grandmother gave.
‘You shouldn’t make snide remarks,’ the old lady told her. ‘You asked for that, my girl.’
‘It seems I always ask for all I get,’ Louise retorted bitterly, stung into anger and not a little self-pity. ‘I suppose I always have.’ She twined her fingers round the handle of the cup she held, so tightly the knuckles showed white. ‘Maybe that—that man is right, I’m a fool.’
‘No more than the rest of us,’ old Emma consoled her, less sharply now that she realised that it was more than mere sulkiness that prompted her mood. ‘Don’t worry about that Frenchman, Louise, he can do nothing while you refuse to see him again and if he comes here again I’ll tell Hannah to get rid of him. Or,’ she smiled slyly at the man beside her, ‘you can always get Jon to deal with him for you.’
Louise shook her head, wishing she had not mentioned Henri Dupont, but he was still on her mind and refused to be dismissed no matter how she tried.
‘It’s a personal matter,’ she objected. ‘I can handle it on my own.’
‘Don’t be so stubborn, Louise! Jon knows all about it and he dealt with him yesterday, didn’t he?’
‘That—that was different,’ Louise insisted. ‘And Mr. Darrell doesn’t know all about, only—the bare bones, I believe was what he said, and that’s enough as far as I’m concerned.’ A sudden, fearful possibility coming to mind, ‘You—you haven’t included any mention of it in your story about Great-gran?’ she asked, unable to avoid the pleading both in her voice and her eyes.
His answer was a short harsh laugh, as if he resented the question being asked. ‘You really do think I’m a vulture, don’t you?’ he asked. ‘Anything for a story— is that the idea? No holds barred as long as it’s good for business.’
‘I didn’t say that!’ She was stung into her usual anger by his sarcasm and felt the sharp prickle of threatening tears in her eyes. ‘You don’t know what it was like before.’
‘I don’t,’ he admitted, ‘but I can guess. The only thing I object to is being treated like some sort of monster because the p
ress boys gave you a bad time over the court case. That is the reason you’re so prickly, isn’t it?’
‘A bad time!’ She clenched her hands together almost involuntarily, a desperate, far-away look in her eyes. Back in those dark, seemingly endless days, four and a half years ago. ‘They had a field day while it lasted, because Simon was French, I suppose, it added a little spice to the proceedings.’ She realised how bitter she sounded when she saw the way he looked at her, but she had never before been quite so frank about it to anyone, and why he should be the one to inspire her to break her long silence she had no idea, unless it was because of the relief it afforded her to talk about it.
For so long she had kept determinedly silent about Simon, even to the family, trying to forget him but her very silence keeping him alive and always there. Suppressing it all these years had only made it more difficult to forget, not eased the tension as talking about it would have done, she could see that now. Perhaps, she thought wryly, Henri Dupont had done that much for her.
‘You don’t have to say any more,’ Jonathan told her quietly. ‘I see your point, and I’m sorry.’
‘Maybe,’ Emma Kincaid suggested, breaking her long silence, ‘it would be a good thing to bring it all out into the open and talk about it for a change—after all, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of.’