'Bad luck, Liza. I'm never sick when I travel, thank heavens. My Mum says my stomach's made of cast iron! Have some of this iced water; it's very refreshing with a piece of lemon in it.' Pam had eaten a slice of watermelon and a few strawberries, but the other two had refused—Keir seemed silent, too. Was he regretting having said so much to her about his private life?
She was thinking about him as she stared down at the green and gold of a Somerset landscape while they were descending into it. He led a strange life; full of luxury and privilege but, from what Keir said, nevertheless empty. Had he told her the truth? She didn't want to feel too much sympathy for him, or seem too friendly—in case all this was just another game, another trap for her.
They were met at the airfield by another limousine which drove them through the warm, summer evening at a smooth pace. They first saw Hartwell from a hilltop; it rose out of the formal park and gardens half a mile away and Liza heard Pam give a stifled gasp of admiration and awe.
is that it?'
'That's Hartwell,' Keir admitted, watching her face with a smile.
'It's . . . amazing,' Pam said, giving up a short struggle to find a better word to describe the glory of the house in the early evening sunlight. Bruno had called it a barracks, damp and rambling—but Liza suspected he had run it down the way a mother sometimes talks offhandedly of a much-loved child—Bruno didn't want to let anyone see how much he loved the place. Keir suffered no such inhibitions. He was gazing at it with glowing, possessive eyes and he talked to Pam about it with unhidden pride.
'The main part of the house is classical Georgian; built in the early part of the eighteenth century on a site once occupied by a Tudor abbey which was pulled down during the Reformation—demolished to make way for a big Elizabethan place some years later. That burnt down in 1712 and that was when the present house was started—it's been added to since then, but basically it's the house designed by the owner of the time, with a little help from a succession of architects who all left in high dudgeon because he wouldn't take their advice.' Keir grinned at them and Pam giggled.
'Was he an ancestor of yours, by any chance?' enquired Liza coolly, 'I seem to recognise certain characteristics.'
'Very funny, Miss Thurston,' he said, as they drove towards the portico in the front of the house. Rhododendrons and thorn trees grew close to the drive, forming a dark green tunnel through which they drove.
The limousine drew up right outside the portico, and a butler in a dark suit opened the door and bowed them past him into a great, echoing eighteenth-century hall. Liza's eyes skated around in fascination at the worn wood-block flooring, the dark gold of oak everywhere; on walls and high rafters and the floor. The sunlight made the wood gleam with a deep warmth, but Liza could see why Bruno had called it a draughty house—the ancient fireplace was so enormous that half a dozen men could have stood up in it, and the wind must whistle down there on winter nights.
'Oh, suits of armour!' Pam said, standing close to Liza in awe of the butler's splendid presence, and nudging her secretly, her eyes on the man's haughty face. Keir was talking to him and Pam whispered to Liza, imagine having a butler!'
'What would /do with a butler?' Liza whispered back, which made Pam start to giggle and drew Keir's eyes to them again.
'Norton will show you to your room,' he said and the butler picked up Pam's case from the floor and inclined his head with a faint smile.
'This way, miss.'
'When are the others arriving?' Liza asked Keir, who had told them that Nicky Wallis and his crew would make their own way by road, bringing their heavy equipment, and that Terry Lexington was coming with them.
'Later tonight, in time for dinner.'
Pam was following the butler, but glancing back at Liza, a little alarmed at being left alone with the awe-inspiring figure in the plain black suit.
'I'd better catch her up or she'll be struck dumb with horror,' Liza said, smiling and Keir smiled back.
'She's charming.'
'Yes, very unspoilt—I'm hoping to keep her that way.' Her eyes held a spark of aggression and he eyed her drily.
'Don't look at me like that; I won't try to change her. I like her the way she is.'
'She's far too young to cope with you,' Liza said and his brows met, black and angry.
'Are you hinting that I might make a pass at that child? For God's sake!' He talked through his teeth, looking down at Liza with menace. 'She's not even half my age!'
'I'm responsible for her, I have to look after her,' Liza said, watching Pam taking a turn in the wide, stone staircase leading up from the Georgian hall. The sound of her footsteps on the creamy, weathered stone was very loud, drowning the murmur of their voices.
it isn't me you should be worrying about, then,' Keir said angrily, i don't cradle-snatch, but I wouldn't be so sure about your friends Wallis and Lexington. They both fancy her, I'd say, and they wouldn't have any scruples about age even though they're both older than me.'
'Really?' Liza said in pretended incredulity, turning wide green eyes on him.
He glared at her for a second; then suddenly laughed. 'Very funny, Miss Thurston, but frankly I'm not too flattered that you take me for the sort of guy who tries to seduce teenagers.'
Liza flushed and started to walk away towards the stairs. He caught her arm and held it, looking down at her probingly, with apology. 'That wasn't any sort of dig, Liza. I'd forgotten for the moment. . . was he much older than you? If he was married, I suppose he must have been. It was bad luck, Liza, meeting someone like that first time around, but we aren't all bastards, you know. I won't chase little Pam.'
She believed him and managed a rueful smile, i feel responsible for her, you see.'
'She reminds you of yourself at that age?' he guessed shrewdly, his eyes gentle, and she gave him a startled glance, then laughed.
i suppose so, yes."
i must take a closer look at her,' drawled Keir. 'I'd like to know what you were like then.'
For some inexplicable reason that sent another stab of panic through Liza, and she headed for the stairs again with more determination. Keir let her go this time and followed with her suitcase, talking calmly.
'My mother must be in her room, changing for dinner, I expect. Would you like some help with your unpacking? I'll send someone ...'
'Certainly not!' she said, startled at the very idea, laughing. 'I've only brought a few things—it won't take five minutes to unpack them all.'
'Well, when you've had time to settle in, put on a pretty dress and come down to meet my mother.' He flung open a door leading off the landing on the first floor. T picked this room for you myself.' He smiled, i hope you like it.'
She walked into the room and stood, amazed and delighted, staring with pleasure around the cool elegance of a green and ivory room furnished in the graceful style of the mid-eighteenth century. A four-poster bed, hung with silk striped curtains which matched those at the two windows, a deep white carpet, watered silk on the walls which had a green shimmering the late sunlight, rosewood dressing-table, chairs, chest of drawers. There seemed to be no wardrobe, but Keir walked across the room and opened a white door, gesturing.
'Bathroom through there—dressing-room through there.'
Liza joined him and stared at the two doors. 'A dressing-room? How useful,' she said and glanced in at the room which had a full-length mirror on one wall, rows of empty coat-hangers along another and shelves running vertically on the wall behind the door.
'I'll see you later, then,' Keir murmured, putting her case down and smiling at her with the charm she was rapidly coming to find irresistible. 'Thank you for coming, Liza. I've been waiting for a long time to see you here at Hartwell.'
He had gone before she had taken in what he had said. She heard her bedroom door close quietly and stumbled back from the dressing-room to stare at the empty bedroom, feeling almost dizzy.
What had he meant by that? Had it been a meaningless courtesy? Or . . .
she broke off, biting her lip. Keir couldn't have meant it seriously, and anyway they had only met such a short time ago! Of course he hadn't meant it.
CHAPTER TEN
Keir's mother bore a strong resemblance to her children; she had the same beautiful, bony face as Pippa and eyes of the vivid blue she had handed on to her son. Her direct stare reminded Liza of Keir, too, and although his mother's hair was absolutely white Liza didn't need to guess that it had once been jet-black, because there was a large oil painting of Mrs Gilford over the fireplace in the drawing-room, painted in her girlhood, in the elegant clothes of the First World War era; cream silk and lace which she wore with style. She had been painted in a garden; lilies and roses around her. You could almost smell them, and she held flowers in her long, white hands, the shadow of their colour on her skin.
Fifty years later you could still trace that girl in the upright, graceful old woman who shook hands with Liza.
'Is your name really Elizabeth?' Mrs Gilford asked in a deep voice which reminded Liza of Keir, the timbre was so similiar.
Nodding, Liza agreed. 'But I was always called Liza because I had an aunt Elizabeth—I was named after her, I suppose, although I'd forgotten that.'
'Elizabeth is my name, too,' Mrs Giflbrd said, and Liza gave Keir a surprised, flushed look. He hadn't told her that. He was smiling, watching them both intently, but she couldn't read that expression and didn't trust his charm. It might mean anything, that was the whole trouble with charm—it was all things to all people and never personal, never special, just for you.
'Keir didn't tell you that?' His mother looked amused. 'He didn't mention it.'
'He likes to have secrets,' his mother said with wry affection and Keir made a protesting sound.
'Don't give me away, Mother, please!'
'Was I? We won't talk about you, then—I wouldn't want to spoil anything.'
Spoil what? thought Liza, her eyes flashing from one to the other. They had a silent rapport; she read the intimacy, the smiling understanding in their glances and knew they were very close, needed no words.
'Sit by me and tell me all about yourself,' Mrs Gifford said, patting the footstool next to her. 'Keir, get Liza a sherry.'
'Sweet or dry ?' he asked and Liza said she would prefer dry. She didn't like sherry, but she didn't quite like to say so and held the small glass, sipping gingerly while she talked to Mrs Gifford about her modelling and her agency business.
'Where do you come from, Liza? Now and then you seem to have a West Country accent—were you born around here?'
Startled, Liza flushed. 'Not quite, but it's clever of you to pick up the accent—I haven't been back for years. I'd forgotten I ever had an accent, I thought I'd lost it.'
'One never quite loses the intonation learnt in childhood,' Mrs Gifford said, her chin resting on one hand. She was wearing a white silk evening blouse, high-necked and long-sleeved, almost Edwardian in style. Her long black skirt rustled every time she moved—Liza suspected she had a few layers of stiff petticoats under it.
'Where were you born?' Mrs Gifford asked and Liza hesitated, aware of Keir listening, leaning against the Adams fireplace, a glass in his hand and his lean body graceful in evening dress.
'Wiltshire,' he murmured suddenly and Liza stiffened, turning incredulous, horrified eyes on him. She hadn't told him—how could he have known that? She had never told anyone at all and she had changed her name when she had come to London so he couldn't have traced her by checking on her birth certificate.
'What part of Wiltshire?' asked his mother, unaware of the undercurrents flowing between the other two.
That was when Pippa Morris joined them, and in the uneasy conversation following her arrival Mrs Gifford forgot what they had been talking about, to Liza's deep relief. Bruno's mother shook hands with Liza politely, but coolly; she wasn't welcoming her to Hartwell, but her manners were too good for her to be rude, especially while her family were watching.
Liza decided to be direct and ask about Bruno; there seemed no point in avoiding the subject. 'How's Bruno settling down in New York?' she asked, and his mother said curtly that he had now moved into an apartment and was finding his feet, it seemed. 'You haven't heard from him?' she asked then, watching Liza closely, and looked relieved when Liza shook her head.
'No, but I expect he'll remember to send me a postcard one day!'
Mrs Morris laughed. 'Bruno isn't very good at writing letters.'
'Nor am I,' said Pam, who had been very quiet since she and Liza came downstairs, perhaps overwhelmed by the grandeur of the house, or just the ambience surrounding the Giffords. 'Young people have lost the art,' said Mrs Gifford 'Oh, I don't know,' Pippa Morris disagreed. 'I've never had the patience to write long letters, either, and I'm hardly young now.'
'You are to me,' her mother said and Pam giggled.
'That's what my Mum always says. She says that even when I'm going grey I'll still be her little girl. She's real soft, my Mum, at times.'
Mrs Morris smiled at her with a warmth she had never shown Liza, and in that smile Liza learnt more about Bruno's mother than she had done before. She understood why Bruno had said that once she got to know his mother she would like her; she hadn't believed it possible, but suddenly she thought she might come to like Keir's sister, after all.
They had a delicious meal that evening; a summer dinner party in a Victorian conservatory adjoining the back of the house. Candles on the table, the shadows of vine leaves giving a green and underwater gloom on the white damask tablecloth; a scent of exotic flowers heady in the air.
The food matched the surroundings—a chilled summer soup, followed by melon delicately flavoured with mint, and after that salmon hollandaise: the fish perfectly cooked and flaking as a fork touched it, the salad served with it crisp and unusual. By the time the dessert was served Liza was replete and yawning secretly; good food, good wine, had been too much for her after a very long day.
Pam looked greedily at the rum and chocolate mousse. 'It looks terrific! What is it?'
She had a large helping; Liza shook her head, smiling, and so did Pippa Morris, but Keir and his mother both ate some, and then they all moved back into the drawing-room to have coffee. Liza was having a problem hiding in i yawns by then, and Keir noticed.
Why don't you go up to bed? You look as if you're half-asleep already. We'll look after Pam, won't we, Pam?'
Pam grinned cheerfully, helping herself to a chocolate mint. Liza eyed her sternly.
'You'll put on pounds at this rate!'
'You know I never do,' Pam said, and it was true. Liza made a face at Keir as he raised his brows enquiringly.
'She's one of those lucky people whose metabolism seems able to cope with any amount of food. Mind you, that may change as she gets older. At the moment she's always running around, exercising, working hard, burning up all those calories. When she stops living at that pace, she may not be able to eat anything she fancies.'
Pam took another mint, defiance in her eyes. 'Pooh,' she said, eating it.
Liza said goodnight amid laughter, and made her way into the great hall. She had one foot on the bottom stair when she heard the sound of cars pulling up outside on the drive, and the butler came slowly out of some back part of the house and moved to open the front door as someone crashed down the brass lion door-knocker.
Nicky Wallis and his team had arrived with Terry Lexington and a drowsy young secretary, who looked a little bemused as she followed the others into the oak-lined, vaulted hall.
'It's the House of Usher,' she said to Terry who grimaced at her.
'Ssh . . . our host may hear you.'
Liza turned to greet them a little reluctantly and Nicky looked her up and down, half in admiration, half in malice.
'You look very chic, lovie,' he said, his mouth curling. The rest of the arrivals stared at Liza, too—from her smooth blonde head, over her aquamarine silk dress, to her silver sandals. She had been clever in picking a Georgian-style
dress, Nicky told her. it suits the house exactly—or did you know that? Have you been here before? You said you hadn't, but maybe Bruno did bring you down?'
'No, he didn't,' Liza said coolly. 'But I knew the house was eighteenth century, after all. It wasn't guesswork.'
'I'm starving,' the secretary wailed. 'They had drinks and sandwiches, but I can't eat in cars, it makes me sick.'
Keir appeared in time to hear that and smiled at the girl, who looked far too young to be working for Terry Lexington. Liza suspected her role in Terry's life was not entirely secretarial, but Keir, if he suspected that too, looked kindly at the girl.
'I've made arrangements for a cold buffet—it's laid out in the dining-room. My butler will show you the way after you've been up to your room.'
The girl looked completely knocked for six, pink and stammering. 'Oh, thanks, I . . . thanks.'
They all trooped up stairs, except Nicky's brawny young assistant who was ferrying heavy equipment into the house and asking, 'Where can I stack this safely, sir?'
The hall echoed with the tramp of feet, loud voices, clattering and bangs. Liza yawned and quietly went to bed, leaving them all to it. Their arrival had broken something; the gentle spell of the house, the warm summer evening, the candles in the old conservatory, the lazy voices and the lingering taste of white wine. Nicky and Terry and their crew were from another world altogether; they had crashed in on the deceptive idyll and made Liza remember she did not belong here, any more than they did.
She washed, undressed and was just getting into bed when there was a tap on her door. Warily she put on her neglige and tied her belt tightly, then opened the door.
'Oh, I'm glad you hadn't had time to get to bed yet, my dear,' Keir's mother said, smiling warmly at her. i just wanted to check that you had everything you needed, that you were comfortable.'
"Oh—yes, thank you,' Liza said, her green eyes wide and startled, but warming with pleasure at the smile Keir's mother gave her.
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