by Susan Barrie
Not that there was anything about Martin Pope which suggested that his beginnings were obscure. On the contrary, he had a certain amount of polish and sophistication, and she quite liked his looks. But she did wish he would keep silent about his early struggles, however much to be admired he was for having overcome every difficulty and got to the top. And a very comfortable top it was, now that he was there! She wished the son, Laurence, would take a little more interest in Ann and that an engagement might be arranged. It would be a good thing for Ann to marry money.
But at the moment Ann was deep in a book and Laurence had gone off on one of his long walks. Commander Merlin, lying-back comfortably in his chair, was enjoying the conversation with Martin Pope, and Eve and her aunt were listening, too, both obviously quite thrilled by the Pope exploits. Eve actually had a quiet glow of admiration in her grey eyes, and whenever Martin Pope met them something stirred deep down inside him, and he was tremendously thankful that he had achieved what he had achieved, if for no other reason than that she approved. That she could look at him like that
— with those clear grey eyes so warm and understanding and ready to applaud him! No shrinking from the picture of the slightly uncouth boy who taught himself at night-schools and spent every penny he earned on providing himself with text-books. No dislike of his slight North-country accent, which became more noticeable when he was excited or conscious of holding an audience.
And she was struggling hard, too. He wanted to help her —he meant to help her, in every way he could, so that she could go on living in this house she loved, and everybody must love, because it was so superbly situated, with the sea crooning away down there at the foot of the cliffs.
Roger Merlin exhaled a cloud of cigarette-smoke, and looked through it at Eve, leaning a little forward with her elbows on her knees and her chin cupped in her hands. There was a faint glow of color in her cheeks, and her lips were slightly parted, while she seemed to be hanging on Pope’s every word and watching him as if fascinated.
“But I mustn’t go on boring you like this!” the industrialist exclaimed suddenly. “I do apologize, Miss Petherick.”
“You haven’t bored me,” Eve assured him quite emphatically. Then she gave vent to a little sigh. “But I must bestir myself and go and get on with a few important jobs.” She looked towards Commander Merlin a little shyly. “Will you remain to tea, Commander Merlin?”
“Yes, of course you will, Roger,” Mrs. Wilmott answered for him. “Your hotel will get on quite well without you for one day, and it’s good to let things slide sometimes, anyway. And now I'm going to get my knitting-bag, and then we’ll go back down to the beach. You’ll come with me, won’t you, Roger?”
She didn’t wait for him to answer, but disappeared upstairs to her bedroom, and Eve stood up and returned to the dining-room. Roger Merlin followed her.
'I’d like to congratulate you on that lunch,” he said. “It was excellent.”
Eve came to a halt beneath a portrait of one of her ancestors whom she knew little about, and turned gracefully to face him.
“Was it?” She looked quite genuinely pleased by the praise. “But that was really due to Chris — Chris Carpenter, you know, our absolutely first-class cook. You met her last night.”
“Did I?” But he was surveying her rather intently. The lady behind her, in the portrait, had the same extraordinarily beautiful hair, and the same upward tilt to her chin and clear, almost transparent, skin. And he had accused her of being an interloper! Of having no background! “But the general running of the place is your job, isn’t it?”
“Well, we all do a little bit of everything,” she admitted. “Our staff isn’t the kind of staff you can trust just yet — in fact, our new 'daily’ broke a particularly precious vase this morning! But no doubt we’ll get them trained in time. And in the meantime it’s all hands to the pump.”
“Anyway, you’re managing remarkably well. My congratulations were quite sincere.”
“Thank you,” she said. She felt a little confused. “I — I’m going to have a look at a cottage this afternoon. It isn’t exactly a lodge, although it’s on the estate, and it’s not grand enough for a dower-house, but Aunt Kate and I have decided that, if we want to do the best we can with this house, it would be a good idea to live in the cottage. And I want to find out how much furniture it will take, and what its possibilities are. So, if you’ll forgive me for rushing away-” “I’ll come with you,” he said in the kind of voice which brooked no argument. “I think I remember the cottage. It’s quite an attractive place, and I’d like to see it again.”
“But — but Mrs. Wilmott-----------?” Eve thought of the
charming widow almost certainly carrying out extensive facial repairs in the room above their heads in anticipation of the kind of afternoon she could enjoy.
He looked surprised.
“Did you in fact hear me agree to accompany Mrs. Wilmott down to the beach?” he asked in slightly cold tones.
“Well, not exactly,” she admitted.
“In that case it will not even be necessary for me to make amends to her at tea. I never allow anyone to plan my afternoons—or any part of my day!—for me. And now, come along! We don’t want to waste any time, and it's a glorious afternoon.” He took her by the arm and impelled her towards the open French window. “Do you mind if Jocelyn comes with us? He needs exercise badly, and, in any case, he’s far too fat.” He whistled sharply, and the bull-dog, who had been slumbering noisily in the shade of a stone vase on the terrace, came lumbering awkwardly to meet them.
It was certainly a perfect afternoon, although with a slight haze over the sea which might indicate rain on the way, as the spell of fine weather had been somewhat prolonged. And when they left the gardens immediately surrounding Treloan Manor and stepped into the shade of a young birch wood, the dimness and coolness which met them were a little confusing at first after the bright glare of the open lawns and the cliff top.
There was a smell of moist earth and the fragrance of young growing things, and as the path between the trees was very narrow they had to proceed in single file. Eve went first, her light dress a pale blur in the gloom, the splendor of her red hair dimmed by the vague twilight which prevailed beneath the new and tender green that clothed the branches. Commander Merlin walked immediately behind her, head bent a little to avoid the caress of those same branches, and Jocelyn, with, many protesting heavy breaths, brought up the rear. Jocelyn preferred the back seat of a comfortable car to unnecessary exercise, and he was a little surprised at his master’s abrupt decision to indulge in some.
The birch wood extended for quite a considerable distance, and then they were turning inland and a blossom- starred, open field invited them. Beyond the field there was a high hedge, and beyond the hedge there was a deep and shut-in Cornish lane. In the lane there were some twisted Tudor chimneys, and the granite walls of a very ancient house, enclosed in park-like railings. Its tiny garden was neglected, but amongst the harts-tongue ferns and the dock- leaves and the pale celandines and startlingly blue periwinkle there were some stunted remains of rose-trees, and even a forlorn tulip or two interspersed with a few wallflowers under the sheltered south front of the house.
The house, with its single gable, tall chimneys, deep-set windows and stout front door, looked like the abode of witches or at least a fairy-tale cottage. There was nothing pretentious about it, but it had dignity, charm, age, and picturesqueness, and Eve had already decided that it would make a very pleasant dwelling. Commander Merlin looked up at it, leaning on the small iron gate which he had opened with difficulty.
“Yes; I remember this place,” he said. “When I was very young I used to regard it with a certain amount of awe, because even in those days nobody seemed to care to live in it.”
“I wonder why?” Eve asked.
“Probably because even then it wanted a certain amount of money spent on it to make it habitable, and I recollect your uncle was never very keen o
n laying out money. He liked keeping it in the bank and hoping that one day it would double itself.”
Eve said nothing, but she pushed open the door, which was not locked, and stepped into the tiny, stone-floored hall. Almost immediately she withdrew again, however, and somewhat precipitately, because a violent rushing of wings went past her head.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “What was that?”
And then she could have taken herself to task severely, and was acutely embarrassed, because she found that she had actually caught hold of Commander Merlin’s sleeve and
was clinging to it rather ridiculously. He laughed and placed an arm about her, and looked down at her with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Only a bat,” he told her. “You must have disturbed it, and they’re quite blind in the daylight, you know. You’d better let me go first this time, in case there are a few more waiting to receive us, or possibly a few hobgoblins.” He put her quite gently behind him, and she flushed rosily, allowing him to go ahead. “It's pretty dark in here!”
“How silly of me to be frightened by a bat!” she said. “I'm sorry I grabbed hold of you like that.”
“Not at all,” he answered, looking back at her with a good deal of quiet amusement in his blue eyes. “It might easily have been a hobgoblin, you know! ”
She laughed with him, but her color did not die down easily — not even when they were inside, and he had struggled with some interior shutters before the windows and let in a little more light. This enabled them to see some perfectly good panelling, and some floor-boards which, although they were encrusted with grime, were the width of a stout tree-trunk and as hard and unyielding as iron.
“Beautiful timber, that,” Roger Merlin observed, testing it with his foot. “Not even any dry-rot!” He looked around him at the walls. “And linefold panelling, too!” “Yes, I realized that when I came and had a first look at the place the other day,” Eve told him.
“Oh! Then you’ve been here before?” His eyes confused her as they studied her. “Weren’t there any bats on that occasion?”
“No, I'm thankful to say!”
He laughed again, solidly.
“What a shame to make capital out of an understandable weakness! Bats are objectionable things.”
“I think it was the suddenness with which it came at me,” Eve defended herself. “I — I wasn’t expecting it.”
He led the way up to the floor above, and they each admired the wide window-seats and the diamond-paned lattices. The floors were mostly uneven, and inclined to slope perilously, and there were odd little nooks and crannies, sudden alcoves, and unexpected short flights of stairs leading either up or down. In one room there was a disused rocking-chair standing in front of an old-fashioned nursery fire-guard before a cold hearth, and Eve put out a hand and rocked it gently.
“I wonder who used this last?” she said.
“I wonder?” he echoed, and looked at her out of his brilliant eyes that had been accustomed to surveying the far distances.
Before they went downstairs again she said:
“If we’re coming to live here, Aunt Kate and I, we’ll have to make up our minds to send an army of cleaners over to deal with the place before bringing in furniture. And it might be as well to have the roof looked at, and the plumbing arrangements and so forth.”
“I think that is a most necessary precaution,” he agreed. “But, on the whole, I envy you if you’re thinking of living here. If I’d a vacant cottage like this in my grounds, I wouldn’t be living in the Stark Point. Hotel life becomes a little nauseating at times, you know, and there’s nothing like owning the key of your front door and being able to turn it when you feel like it.”
“No; I suppose not. Although I hadn’t thought of it like that,” Eve admitted.
“For the very good reason that Treloan Manor is still more or less your own, but it won’t be if you plan to fill it with guests.”
“If I’m going to keep it at all, I must fill it with guests,” she pointed out to him.
“Is there all that of a must about it?” he asked. They were back in the little room that was one day to become her and Aunt Kate’s sitting-room; his back was to the fireplace, and he as leaning his broad shoulders against the mantelpiece. “An absolutely indispensable, and quite indisputable, must?”
“Why, what do you mean?” she asked, looking rather puzzled. “You said yourself that it would be impossible to maintain Treloan unless one — did something about it. And what else could one do with Treloan apart from turn it into an hotel, or a guest-house or something of the sort?” “If I had it I should certainly turn it into an hotel,” he admitted at once. “But,” with a suggestion of the old mocking drawl creeping back into his voice, and a slightly indolent look in his eyes, “I am not a girl with an attractive appearance, and fortunate enough to have a whole bevy of shipwrecked people seek sanctuary with me in a single night — including amongst them one millionaire! And Mr. Martin Pope has fallen in love with Treloan — I can see that!”
“Well, and what of it?” she demanded, still unable altogether to follow the drift of his remarks. “Mr. Pope does like Treloan very much, and he is going to do what he can to help me get more guests. He is going up to London next week, and he thinks he knows several
people ----------------------------------------------------------- ”
She broke off, suddenly recognizing that there was mockery in his eyes, and coloring a little.
“Why shouldn’t Mr. Pope fall in love with Treloan?”
“No reason at all,” he answered smoothly. “And there is no reason at all why he shouldn’t fall in love with the owner of Treloan, and that would simplify the whole matter, wouldn't it?”
“Oh!” she exclaimed. She was so shocked by his sudden change of front and the crudeness of his suggestion, that for a moment it took her aback and she could say nothing. And then her face flamed and her eyes sent forth sparks. “I think that’s a perfectly beastly thing to say,” she said.
“Do you?” He was still leaning against the mantelpiece, and there was a strange, sardonic look of humor on his face. “But why? You are an extremely attractive young woman, and you do happen to be the owner of Treloan, and Martin Pope, as I have already observed, quite noticeably admires you! He seems to be settling down quite happily at Treloan, and he’s remarkably pleasant and unusually intelligent, and with his worldly wealth . . . Well, think of all the things you could do for Treloan! Much nicer things than running a guesthouse!”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, staring back at him with eyes that were suddenly grey and inscrutable.
“In this life it’s important to make sure of essential things,” he told her, smiling at her in his slightly twisted fashion. “It’s absurd to be too 'nice’, and very few of us can afford to be sentimental these days. Quite possibly the Rose of Sharon all but piled up on the rocks here for a specific purpose.”
“Quite possibly,” she echoed him, and turned deliberately towards the door.
“I’m afraid I’ve succeeded in making you slightly angry,” he observed, as he followed her straight back and somewhat rigidly held, slim shoulders in the direction of the hall. “But that wasn’t my intention. I merely wanted to be helpful.”
“I’m quite sure you did, Commander Merlin,” she answered very dryly, and flashed him a detached, cool smile over her shoulder. “And, who knows, you may have been very helpful? My brain doesn’t work as fast as yours in some directions, but when it does start to work the results are sometimes amazing! And that’s not so surprising when one has no particular roots or background!”
“At least you’ve got a very good memory,” he remarked, studying her with faint amusement as they walked back through the wood.
The sudden truce between them was at an end, and they were back where they started, she thought, as she forged ahead of him between the pale, slim trunks of the graceful silver birch trees. The old antagonism — the antagonism with which they had begun their acq
uaintance — was alive once more, and the friendliness which had existed between them last night and during their walk to the cottage might never have been. He was a strangely cynical, unpredictable, and rather unpleasant individual, she thought, making up her mind to have little to do with him in the future. And she hoped that he was not going to make a habit of calling upon them at Treloan, or to make Mrs. Neville Wilmott an excuse for observing her future movements or the manner in which she ran Treloan.
Without realizing it she walked so quickly ahead of him that he had to lengthen his stride to keep up with her, and had she looked backwards she would have been able to observe that the increased pace caused him to limp slightly, but the peculiar smile remained in his eyes.
He called out to her suddenly: “You seem to be in a hurry.”
“I am!” she called back. “I have to help with the tea.”
“I don't think I'd better remain to tea,” he told her. “At least, I think you'd rather I didn't. . . .”
And then, coming out upon the smooth surface of the lawn before the house, they both paused in surprise at the sight of Annette sitting on the stone ballustrade of the terrace and nursing Aunt Kate's dachshund, Sarah, while Mrs. Neville Wilmott sat knitting furiously in a deckchair only a few paces away.
C H A P T E R T H I R T E E N
ANNETTE put her head on one side and regarded them somewhat curiously through eyes crinkled against the glare of the sun as they ascended the terrace steps.
“You have been a very long time away, you two!” she said. “How do you know? Commander Merlin asked, looking down at her lazily. “You were not here when we left.”