by Lucy Gillen
CHAPTER TWO
IT was not really surprising that Charlotte did not sleep very well in her very makeshift accommodation that night. It was true she had found all the bedrooms furnished, as Noel Chartres had promised, and haying chosen one to use, she had stripped the_ bed to make sure there were no unwelcome visitors. Relieved on that point at least, she had sought out bed linen from a well stocked but chillingly damp cupboard, and hopefully spread out sheets and blankets in the sun to air. A couple of hours in that warm sun, she thought would take care of any lingering dampness. But the bed itself was another matter and she had settled finally and very reluctantly for the much harder surface of the floor. She had slept only fitfully, for there were any number of strange creaks and scratches that disturbed the dark silence, and she dared not even try to identify them, much less unroll herself from the enshrouding blankets to seek them out. It was early morning before she really fell asleep, from sheer exhaustion, and the first thing she was aware of when she woke again was the sun streaming in through uncurtained windows and across her 26 Face. She hid her head, lingering for as long as possible in the comforting limbo between sleeping and waking, then reluctantly she sat up and yawned. So much for her first night at Blanestock, she thought, ruefully. Getting out of her blanket roll, she walked across to the windows and stood gazing out at the view. It surpassed anything she had expected to see before she came, and she gazed at it for several minutes, feeling some of her first enthusiasm returning-as she looked at it. The green and grey ruggedness of the Peaks with the thin, spiralling ribbon of an occasional road winding, apparently aimlessly, like a lone touch of civilisation in a vast expanse of wildness. It was beautiful, and at the same, time a little awe-inspiring, and she knew that in winter many of those roads could become impassable for days on end. It was a sobering thought for a girl born and raised in the comparative security of a big town, but it offered a challenge and a sense of freedom and adventure that Charlotte was more than willing to accept. A glint of something shining, in the distance caught her attention for a moment, and she narrowed her eyes, trying to decide what it was. Possibly a stream or a small roadside waterfall, for such things abounded among the rocks, so her grandmother had told her. It was a wonderful place to have spent a childhood, and Charlotte, reassured by another day,, was ready to enjoy it all. It was all so vastly. Different 27 From the town garden and paved streets she was used to, and much more exciting. She was already decided, when she turned away from the window, that she would go into Chedwell this morning and see about getting a woman in to clean up the house before she did anything else. A gardener could come later, when the estate was more settled and she felt more sure of herself. But in the meantime she would move into Blanestock as soon as water and electricity could be restored. It was only when she faced the prospect of doing without a bath because there was neither water nor the means to heat it that she realised just how right Scott Lingrove had been about her roughing it. She could neither cook herself a breakfast, nor, as he had pointed out, make herself a cup of tea, but the worst dilemma of all, she realised as she came downstairs, was that she could not even call a taxi to take her back to Chedwell, and for a moment the runaway excitement of it all cooled in the need to be practical. Isolation, she realised ruefully, was only enjoyable when it was well organised, and she had cut herself off from everything and everybody without giving even the most basic essentials a second thought. It was a situation that made rather a joke of her much prized efficiency. Perched on a sheet-shrouded ghost of an armchair a little while later, she was faced with the fact not only that she was very hungry, but that her best and probably only way of getting help and the use of 29 ''. Telephone was to seek out Scott Lingrove. Much as "'he disliked the idea of it, he was her nearest neighbour. probably he would not be too surprised to see her, 'or he had promised that he would see her this m rivng, and it looked as if he was going to be right. It also occurred to her a few minutes later as she walked down the weed-grown driveway to the road, that in this sort of country one's neighbour was as likely to be five miles away as just over the fence" T hanks to a good memory she remembered his address from her correspondence with the solicitors, but she had no idea how near it was, and she prepaired herself for a long walk. She had gone less than half a mile, however, when she spotted, the name 'Wainscote' carved deeply in one of a pair of stout stone pillars at the bottom of a curving drive, and smiled her relief. The outlook here was very different from that at Blanestock and she eyed it with envy. The name was clear and plain for all to see, and the drive was neat and elegant, but one thing that caused her to raise a scornful brow was a notice board attached to a post just inside the black iron gates. WAINSCOTE, it announced in large black letters. HOUSE AND GARDENS OPEN TO THE PUBLIC. Daily 11 a.m. 6 p.m. Admission. So, Charlotte thought, her lip curling in superior disdain, for all his autocratic manner Scott Lingrove was not above opening his home to the public. She Could see now why he was so keen to buy Blanestock, he either wanted it as an added attraction or as somewhere -he could sneak away to when he got , tired of being part of the show. One thing puzzled her about it, however, and she frowned over it as she started along the drive. Why should his house be of any special interest to visitors? Usually, or so she had always understood, a house opened to the public belonged to some ancient family of honourable lineage, and surely Scott Lingrove did not come into that category. The fact that he possibly could made her feel less sure of herself, but she nevertheless continued on up the beautifully kept driveway, through an avenue of tall, elegant oaks and beeches, with neatly laid out flower borders visible on smooth green lawns. She was daydreaming about how Blanestock would look when it was similarly cared for when she stopped short suddenly as another bend in the drive confronted her with the house itself. It was much bigger than Blanestock, as was to be expected, and much better cared for, but otherwise contemporary, and the graceful elegance that could have been Blanestock's too seemed almost to taunt her as she gazed at it in envy. Now that she had arrived she was uncertain just what she ought to do. Whether she should ring the bell and ask for assistance as a neighbour in need, or whether to be quite casual and merely ask to use the telephone as if she was simply a passing stranger. A great deal would depend on who answered her 30 Summons. If she-was seen by Scott Lingrove himself then she would be bound to eat humble pie, and that she was very reluctant to do. The decision was made for her a moment later, however, when she heard the crunch of footsteps on the gravel and turned to see who it was. Scott Lingrove came round from the back of the house, and was evidently returning from a morning ride, for he wore slim-fitting cream trousers with short, soft leather boots, and a white shirt open at the neck, a riding crop tapping lightly against one leg as he walked. ' So far he had not seen her, half hidden by the trees bordering the drive,-and his mouth was pursed in a soft whistle. Some slight movement on her part must have caught his eye then, for he looked across to where she stood and a moment later smiled recognition. 'Good morning,' he called to her. 'Come on over, you don't have to hide in the trees.' Since she had had no intention of hiding, Charlotte resented the implication, but she was undecided just how to approach him without demolishing too much of her dignity. She went across the intervening yards of drive still wondering how much appeal she should put into her greeting. 'Good morning,' she said, and almost involuntarily responded to his smile. 'I'm afraid I'm rather an early caller.' A wide and completely friendly grin reassured her, and one large hand waved in the direction of the house. 'I told you I'd see you this morning,' he Reminded her. 'Come in.' Charlotte eyed him doubtfully, wishing he had not been so obviously ready to prove himself right about his forecast of last night. 'I only wanted to use your telephone,' she explained, and he nodded. 'Why not? It's just inside the hall.' She followed him up the steps to the half open doors, and blinked when she saw the splendour of the hall he had so casually referred to. No wonder that Wainscote was open to public viewing if this small section was any guide to the rest of it it m
ust be quite beautiful. The telephone stood on a small table against one wall and he indicated it with a casual hand. 'Help yourself,' he told her. 'Thank you.' She felt suddenly and dismayingly overawed by her surroundings, but she would hate him to know it. 'Would you rather make your call first, or wash and breakfast first?' he asked, and grinned amiably. 'If you've got your priorities right, you'll settle for a wash and brush up and breakfast.' Charlotte blinked at him for a moment, startled by such unexpected hospitality. 'Oh, but I didn't ' she began, and he eyed her almost as if he was daring her to deny the increasing pangs of hunger that gnawed at her empty stomach. 'Now don't try and tell me you're not hungry,' he interrupted with another grin. 'You must be.' A small, rueful smile admitted it at last. While she was no altogether sure that she liked his rather 32 Officious manner that took her acquiescence for granted, she felt sure he meant well in this instance, and she was unwilling to jeopardise her chances of a breakfast. 'I'm starving,' she confessed, 'and I would enjoy a breakfast, thank you.' 'Good I' The hazel eyes swept over her briefly and expressively. 'I hoped you wouldn't be too suspicious to behave sensibly. Now which are you going to do first ? Wash and eat or phone ?' 'I'd like to wash, if I may,' Charlotte said. 'I feel awful, if you're sure it's ' 'I'm quite sure,' he said, interrupting again. 'There are twelve bathrooms here, so I'm sure we can fit you in somewhere.' This time the waving hand indicated a magnificent curved staircase. 'You start on your way up and I'll send Mrs. Crayle to give you a hand with whatever you need.' 'I can manage,' Charlotte said, automatically, and he smiled, ignoring her protest and giving his attention to an elderly woman who came out from the nether regions of the house, almost as if on cue. 'Ah, Mrs. Crayle,' he said, 'show Miss Brown the bathroom, will you? And give her anything she needs, then you can see about some breakfast for us, we're both on the point of starvation.' The woman smiled and nodded. 'Yes, of course, Mr. Lingrove. Will you come this way, madam?' Charlotte followed her up the beautiful staircase, walking a little self-consciously stiff-backed because she knew instinctively that Scott Lingrove was watching her from the bottom of the stairs. She wished, too late now, that she could have sought the help of some other neighbour, i indeed there was one within walking distance, but then he would probably not have been given the facilities The Coffered here. Scott Lingrove was proving much too disconcerting for her peace of mind, but east he provided breakfast and she was prepared to take a great deal at the moment to feed the inner "Whether any more than one of the twelve boasted bathrooms was in use. Charlotte had no way knowing, perhaps they were merely for show of economy, but the one she was shown in had certainly been in use quite recently and, she guessed, by her host. There was still a warm steamy atmosphere from a bath, and an electric razor shared the glass 'S over the wash basin with a brand of after-shave that she recognised as having been used by the man 'ThTwas5 provided with a towel and soap and told how to find her way down to the breakfast room when she was ready, then left to her own devices. The bathroom was sheer luxury, Charge decided as she washed and cleaned her teeth. Its fittings were he last word in elegance and its size made her Se ruefully as she worked out that her entire bed sit in London would have fitted comfortably " she had not dared to bath because she was not too 34 sure how much time she was expected to take, but a wash refreshed her, and she prepared to go downstairs, again feeling a little better able to face Scott Lingrove's rather disturbing brand of hospitality. Her host, she discovered, having located the breakfast room, was already drinking coffee from a large and surprisingly inelegant pot. mug. Not at all the sort of thing she would have envisaged on the table of a stately home. However, pottery aside, he rose politely when she came in and smiled a greeting Feeling better?' he asked, and Charlotte nodded. 'Very much better, thank you, Mr. Lingrove.' 'Breakfast is on the way.' He saw her seated and poured her coffee, then went back to his 9wn brew. 'Did you sleep well at Blanestock?' She sought an answer that would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had been right about the state of the bedding, but it was not easy. 'Not too badly, thank you,' she-said cautiously.. 'No creepy-crawlies?' She shook her head. 'Or spooks?' Charlotte kept her peace while the woman was in the room with them, but her mouth tightened when she thought she saw his reason at last for giving her breakfast and being so solicitous about her welfare. By fair means or foul he meant to have Blanestock, and he was trying a little of both at the moment. . The unexpected hospitality, the warnings about the place being too damp and the insinuations that she might be made uncomfortable at Blanestock by 35 either marauding insects or by something more sinister were all too clearly done with the intention of making her as uneasy as possible. 'I'm not afraid of creepy-crawlies, Mr. Lingrove,' she told him as the woman closed the door. 'And I don't believe in spooks.' 'No?' One brow questioned the truth of that, and the hazel eyes gleamed with either laughter or malice, she was very unsure which at the moment. 'You wait until you've spent a few winter nights there, with a howling'north-easter screeching round the chimneys.' Charlotte looked at him steadily, her small and slightly tip-tilted nose in the air. 'I don't mind the wind either,' she informed him. 'I expect it can be pretty noisy in the winter, but as long as I know what it is, I shan't mind.' He was smiling again and he eyed her for a moment before answering. 'You're a stubborn little creature, aren't you?' he said then, and Charlotte flushed bright pink. It was very tempting to be rude to him, but she did not really want to descend to that. 'I just have no intention of being driven off my property by anything, that's all,' she told him. 'I like Blanestock and I mean to stay there.' 'Gome what may, eh?' he laughed, and shook his head. 'Well, I just hope you won't let your determination to stay there at all costs lead you into doing anything foolhardy, that's all.' 'I'm not a complete idiot, Mr. Lingrove,' she 36 declared haughtily. 'Oh, I had no intention of suggesting that you were,' he said mildly, a tone denied by the malicious gleam of laughter in his eyes. 'But the place must be damp after all this time and you'll be getting pneumonia if you spend any more nights in those beds until they've been thoroughly aired.' Charlotte looked down at her plate and hesitated about being too forthcoming about her sleeping arrangements. ' I managed,' she said. 'On the floor?' The accuracy of the guess startled her for a moment, and she looked up swiftly, wide eyed, so that he knew he was right and smiled... "I was quite comfortable,' she told him. 'You'd have been more comfortable in a hotel in Chedwell,' he retorted. 'Maybe, but I wanted to stay in Blanestock!' He was nodding and his smile made her want to hit out, it was so all-knowing. 'So that you could establish your claim,' he guessed. 'If you like t' 'Any special reason ?' She blinked for a moment uncertainly. 'I don't know,' she admitted at last. 'I just like the idea of owning a house like Blanestock, that's all.' 'I see.' Charlotte looked at him from the shadow of a dark sweep of lashes. 'Why do you want it, Mr. Lingrove?' she asked softly, and for a moment Scott Lingrove looked at her steadily, then the brown face crinkled into a smile, 37 'So Noel Chartres has told you, has he?' 'I have been told that you want Blanestock, yes,' she agreed cautiously, wondering, now that the step was taken, if she had been very wise to let him know she was aware of his plans. He was still smiling as he helped himself from the dish of bacon and eggs. 'It must have been Noel,' he told her with annoying certainty. 'Old Philip would never have been so indiscreet, especially on a first meeting. Also,' he added with a smile that suggested all manner of things, 'he wouldn't have been so influenced by a beautiful face.' All of which was probably quite true. Charlotte realised ruefully.. Noel Chartres had obviously been impressed, for all his reticence, and he should probably not have mentioned the matter of Blanestock changing hands. Whatever his reasons had been she doubted if the elder Chartres would view his son's indiscretion with much pleasure, and she made a" vow that Philip Chartres would not learn of it from her. Whether Scott Lingrove could be relied upon to be quiet about it was another matter. 'Whoever told me about it,' she said, 'the fact remains that you do want Blanestock, don't you?' 'I want to buy it,' Scott Lingrove agreed with a smile. 'Yo
u sound rather as if you think I'm out to commandeer it by fair means or foul.' The hazel eyes held hers for a moment steadily. 'My intentions are strictly honourable, I assure you. Miss Brown.' His choice of phrase, she felt, was probably used 38 with the intention of embarrassing her, but she had no intention of allowing herself to be swayed, no matter how it was done. 'Whatever your intentions are,' she informed him, politely but coolly, 'I'm not parting with Blanestock I like it.' 'I can see your point,' he said quietly. 'It's a lovely old place, or it would be if it was restored.' 'Which is precisely what I intend to do,' Charlotte said. 'You've really made up your mind to live there, then?' She nodded firmly. 'I have. But first I have to see about making it habitable by having the water and electricity, etc., turned on again.' 'Is that what you wanted to use the phone for?' he asked, and she shook her head. 'Not exactly,' she said. 'I can see about all that once I get back to Chedwell. I presume that's where the powers-that-be reside?' 'No, I wanted to' use your phone to ring for a taxi to come and fetch me, actually. I never gave a thought to how difficult it would be to get away from here again,' she confessed unwillingly, especially when she saw his smile. 'Can you drive?' The question was unexpected, and she shook her head. 'No. I've never had reason to learn.' 'Well, if you're going to live out here,' he told her, 'you'd better learn. I'll teach you if you like.' Again she blinked at the unexpectedness of it, 39 and shook her head somewhat vaguely. 'I don't know,' she said. 'I'll have .to see whether I like the idea or not. Of learning to drive,' she added hastily when she saw his raised brows. 'It's up to you, of course,' he told her. 'Now you're such a wealthy woman, you could have a Rolls and a handsome chauffeur. But in the meantime you needn't bother getting a taxi to fetch you I'm going into Chedwell myself after breakfast. I'll run you in.' Charlotte was unsure if she wanted to be any further indebted to him, but she could see no reasonable way of refusing his offer, so she nodded. 'Thank you,, that's very good of you, Mr Lingrove.' He smiled. 'My pleasure. Incidentally, you don't have to bother about seeing the powers-that-be about getting the services restored.' But I ' Philip Chartres mentioned that the new owner would be here some time yesterday,' he told her. 'So I rang them all and organised it. They'll be along any day now, to fix you up.' Charlotte's small frown was instinctive, although she knew she should have been very grateful to him for taking the trouble. It was simply that she had always been a very independent type of girl, especially in the last five years, and she was not at all sure that she liked being looked after quite so completely and efficiently as Scott Lingrove was doing. 'Thank you.' One brow recognised her reticence and he smiled 40 at her across the table. 'You don't really mean that, do you?' he asked, and Charlotte hastily lowered her gaze. Yes, of course I do,' she told him quietly. 'But , well, I am a trained secretary, Mr. Lingrove, and I'm used to doing things for myself.' 'I do beg your pardon!' The hazel eyes gleamed wickedly, although his features were suitably composed into an expression of apology. 'I forgot for the moment that you're one of those super-efficient business women. One expects a woman, especially such a beautiful woman, to be just a little dependent. You must, forgive my anxiety to help, but I hadn't met you then,-of course.' It was difficult to know whether he resented her independence or if he found it amusing, but she had no hesitation in deciding that he was quite the most disconcerting man she had ever met, and she found herself wishing she had known him long enough to be downright rude to him. He had that sort of effect on her. 'I'm a secretary,' she said, stiffly polite. 'And I pride myself on being reasonably efficient, Mr. Lingrove. I hope I am.' 'Not to the extent of making sure you weren't stranded miles from the nearest transport, or that the house was fit to sleep in,' he reminded her quietly. 'But I suppose that scarcely comes under the heading of duties for an efficient secretary, does it?' 'It doesn't,' she agreed shortly. 41 'Ah well,' he smiled, and shook his head slowly, his gaze wandering slowly over her face in obvious appreciation of what he saw. 'You won't need to be anything but beautiful now that you're going to be a lady of leisure, will you?' he said softly, and she hastily hid her eyes with a sweep of dark lashes. His expression was one she had seen many times before and always been able to cope with, but somehow with this man she felt so much more vulnerable. 'I haven't quite got used to the idea of being a lady of leisure yet,' she confessed. 'You've hardly had time,' he agreed. 'And you won't be taking up residence right away, will you?' Charlotte nodded. 'As soon as the place is habitable,' she said. 'Then I'll see about getting it restored and the gardens cleaned up. It could be such a beautiful place, it's such a shame it's been allowed to fall into neglect.' 'It could be lovely,' he agreed. 'And it's so much less cumbersome than Wainscote.' 'Oh, but this is beautiful!' Charlotte exclaimed without hesitation. She looked at him curiously for a second through her lashes. 'In fact I can't quite see why you want Blanestock when you have this.' His eyes glowed with laughter again, and he shook his head. as he disposed of the. last of his breakfast. 'I doubt if I should want it if Wainscote was mine,' he told her, and Charlotte stared at him for a moment, uncomprehendingly. 'I don't understand,' she said at last. 'Isn't it yours? I thought ' 42 He was shaking his head. 'It isn't mine,' he told her. 'I only manage it for Simon Lord Everslade.' 'Oh! Oh, I see.' She thought she could see at last, why he was so anxious to buy Blanestock for himself. If he was merely managing this huge house, then it was more feasible that he would want somewhere of his own, and being so close to Wainscote it would kill two birds with one stone as it were. One thing occurred to her, however, and that was that he must be drawing an enormous salary as manager if he could even consider buying Blanestock. It'd be perfect for me, as you can imagine,' he told her, 'to be right next door. I'd be on the spot without, as it were, living on the job.' 'Yes, yes, of course I can see that.' The hazel eyes quizzed her speculatively for a moment, and he smiled. 'But you won't let me have it?' Charlotte shook her head. 'No,' she said firmly, 'I won't let you have it.' 'Ah well!' He shrugged, still smiling. 'Aiidaces fortuna juvat. We'll see.' 'I don't ' Charlotte began, and he laughed softly as he got to his feet. : 'The Everslade family motto,' he told her. 'Fortune favours the bold and it's amazing how often i it does. Miss Brown.'