Storm In A Rain Barrel

by Anne Mather

  That left only one person—Lucia Marcinello.

  Domine sighed. She was loath to put any form of ammunition into the Italian woman’s hands, and yet possibly she was the only person who could listen objectively.

  With sudden decision, she returned to the door of the dining-room, and supporting herself against the lintel, she said: ‘Signora Marcinello! Could—could I see you for a moment?’

  The surprise on Mrs. Mannering’s and Melanie’s faces was almost comical, but Lucia Marcinello did not demur. She merely nodded, pushed back her chair, and came out into the hall where Domine waited nervously.

  ‘Yes?’ she said curiously, ‘what is it?’

  Domine bit her lip. ‘We can’t talk here. Could—could we take your car and go for a drive?’

  Lucia frowned. ‘If you like,’ she agreed. ‘But I must put on some shoes,’ she indicated the elegant fur-lined mules she was wearing.

  Domine nodded. ‘All right, I’ll get my coat.’

  She followed Lucia up the stairs, and speeding along to her room she collected the letter as well as her red overcoat. Then, wrapping the coat closely about her, she descended the stairs again to join Lucia.

  Once in the car, she relaxed a little. It was a beautiful morning, the mist just rising from the moors, and the promise of a crisp day ahead. Smoke hung sleepily in the atmosphere, and there was the pungent scent of dampness and bonfires, and rotting vegetation. Country smells that Domine had grown to appreciate.

  Lucia asked no questions until they were about a mile from Grey Witches, on the moorland road, on a sweep of land from where the sea was visible. Lucia parked the car, offered Domine a cigarette, and after they were lit said:

  ‘Now what is troubling you? Is it James?’

  Domine glanced at her sharply. ‘Why do you say that?’

  Lucia gave her a speculative look. ‘You ask me that!’ she countered. ‘Obviously something happened between you and James the night before he left for Italy.’

  Domine flushed. ‘Did he tell you?’

  Lucia shook her head. ‘Oh, no. James is not a man to bring his troubles to anyone, least of all a woman, but I know him quite well now, and I know when he is disturbed. And he was disturbed before he left, and that was why he left, wasn’t it?’

  Domine sighed. ‘Oh, I suppose so. Though why I should tell you amazes me.’

  Lucia looked puzzled. ‘Why? Surely of all the people here I am the least involved, and therefore the easiest to tell.’

  Domine looked steadily at her. ‘Do you love James?’ she asked daringly.

  Lucia uttered a gasp. ‘Love James?’ she echoed. ‘No, of course I do not love him, and certainly he does not love me, if that is to be your next question.’

  ‘But—’ Domine broke off. ‘You are so—so close!’

  ‘Of course. We are good friends. I have told you—he and Giulio were friends. They had known one another for many years. It was natural that James and I should get to know one another. But it is not an intimate relationship.’ Lucia sighed now. ‘Sometimes—only sometimes—I wish James would see me as a woman, and not as Giulio’s wife, but—’ she shrugged. ‘He is not interested in me. There—now—what is all this secrecy about? Why this urgent need for privacy? What has happened? Are you pregnant or something?’

  ‘No!’ Domine was horrified. ‘Of course not.’

  Lucia shrugged in a continental fashion. ‘Why “of course not”?’ she parried. ‘You mean James has never made love to you?’

  ‘No!’ Domine stared at her aghast.

  Lucia gave an exclamation. ‘I begin to understand his disturbance,’ she murmured, rather sardonically. Then she pressed Domine’s arm. ‘Do not look so distraught, Domine. You cannot look me in the eyes and tell me he would not like to do so!’

  Domine pressed the palms of her hands to her cheeks. ‘How do you know all this?’

  Lucia spread her hands. ‘I am Italian,’ she said, as though that explained everything. ‘When he bought you the gown, I felt certain—’

  ‘The gown!’ echoed Domine. ‘You mean—the gown you gave me?’

  ‘But of course.’ Lucia sighed. ‘Ah, you are very naïve, little Domine. And James read you correctly. He said you would not have taken it from him. That was why he asked me to give you it.’

  Domine stared down at her hands clasped in her lap. ‘I see,’ she murmured, almost inaudibly, remembering with clarity the way she had taunted him when he had not expressed admiration of the dressing gown. An awful sense of embarrassment swept over her, but Lucia brushed it aside as she said: ‘Well? Are you going to tell me, or are you not?’

  Domine swallowed hard, and then fumbling in her pocket she brought out the letter and handed it wordlessly to Lucia. Lucia drew it out of its envelope and read it silently. Then she whistled softly through her teeth, and a small chuckle escaped her. ‘So?’ she said, with amusement. ‘The mistress of Grey Witches is no mistress at all. Poor Geraldine! She will be most upset!’

  Domine compressed her lips. Then she said slowly: ‘The point is, I don’t want it—not any of it! James was his son. He is entitled to everything, not me! My uncle only used me, can’t you see that? His reasons for taking me away from the orphanage—they have meaning now. He needed a scapegoat, and I’m it!’

  ‘Oh, now, Domine, you are hardly the scapegoat!’ Lucia shook her head. ‘On the contrary, of all of them, you have come out of this best. You are now a wealthy young woman. And as far as one can understand, there’s absolutely no reason why you shouldn’t sell Grey Witches and the estate, and live on the capital until you find yourself some nice wealthy boyfriend!’

  ‘No!’ Domine was adamant. ‘I don’t want his house, or his estate, or his money! I think he behaved abominably in his life, and even more abominably at his death! He must have known that unless by some quirk of fate he happened to die during the three months of the year we spent at Bognor, the earlier will would be produced and acted upon. I’m convinced that’s why he left those instructions with Mr. Lancer. He hoped this would happen. He hoped the second will wasn’t found until Mrs. Mannering, and James, had actually become beneficiaries in every sense of the word.’

  ‘You may be right,’ Lucia conceded, ‘but nevertheless, this will has been found and the Mannerings will have to know about it.’

  ‘No!’ Domine buried her face in her hands. ‘Oh, Signora Marcinello, I don’t want that to happen. Oh, what can I do?’ There was despair in her voice, and Lucia felt a sense of responsibility assail her suddenly.

  ‘These solicitors,’ she consulted the letter, ‘Hayman, Brown and Partners of Bognor. Why don’t you go to see them? Tell them how you feel. See if you can’t work something out between you.’

  ‘Such as what? I don’t want to be the beneficiary. I mean that.’

  Lucia frowned. ‘Nevertheless, you have expressed some doubts about your future, and it might be a good idea if you retained sufficient of the capital to enable you to find somewhere to live, wherever you want to live, and to bank something for your English rainy day.’

  Domine saw the logic of this, and she nodded slowly. ‘I suppose I could do that. I had half expected Great-Uncle Henry would leave me something to exist on until I found a job of sorts. I don’t anticipate any difficulties in that direction really. My qualifications are reasonable.’

  ‘All right, then. All you have to do is to get down to Bognor and see these solicitors as soon as possible. There are trains, are there not? You could go today—this afternoon.’

  Domine hesitated. ‘But what about Mrs. Mannering? And Melanie? What can I tell them?’

  ‘Tell them nothing,’ advised Lucia thoughtfully. ‘Look, if you like, I can drive you to the station this afternoon. We can find out the times of trains and so on, but no one need know you have left until you are gone. That way you avoid explanations, and I will assure them that you are in good hands. Then, when you come back, everything will be settled, and you will not feel this sense of inadequacy or a
pprehension at facing the formidable Mrs. Mannering.’

  ‘Oh, Lucia!’ Domine clasped her hands. ‘That sounds a wonderful idea.’ Then she coloured. ‘I mean—Signora—’

  ‘Lucia will do,’ remarked the Italian woman dryly. ‘So! We have no time to waste. Already we are arousing suspicion by being out here alone. Come! We will go back and think of some excuse for driving out again this afternoon.’

  As the car turned back towards Grey Witches, Domine said, thoughtfully: ‘I could offer to show you the historical monuments of York!’

  ‘So you could,’ agreed Lucia. ‘Particularly the railway station!’

  Crompton’s Hotel was exactly as Domine remembered it to be and she couldn’t suppress a faint shudder as she mounted the steps and entered the lobby. It was three days since she had left Yorkshire and during that time she had accomplished much of what she had intended.

  The solicitors, Hayman, Brown and Partners, had been very kind and very helpful, understanding the terrible position she was faced with. Mr. Brown himself had handled the will from its inception and he it was who advised her to think very carefully before committing herself to actions she might later regret.

  ‘You tell me this son of the late Mr. Farriday is the playwright, James Mannering,’ he said. ‘Surely, therefore, he is not without funds in his own right?’

  Domine sighed. ‘It’s not the money,’ she tried to explain. ‘It’s the house, Grey Witches. It should belong to James. His mother is already its mistress. I couldn’t destroy that!’

  Mr. Brown tugged at his chin thoughtfully. ‘Nevertheless, your great-uncle left everything to you. You have explained about the rather unusual aspects of this situation, but while I accept, that Mr. Mannering is possibly the natural heir, Mr. Farriday did in fact change his will in your favour, and I would advise you to consider what your position will be if you reject everything.’

  Domine sighed again. ‘But don’t you see, my great-uncle only used me as a kind of whipping boy.’ She pressed her finger tips to her temples. ‘Oh, that’s not exactly what I mean. It’s difficult to explain, but surely you can see that this was his way of avenging himself against Mrs. Mannering for refusing his offer of marriage.’

  Mr. Brown lit a cigar with deliberation. ‘Aren’t you dramatizing the facts, somewhat?’ he queried gently. ‘Very few people would carry a grudge to their grave.’

  Domine looked at him seriously. ‘And can you say in all honesty that my great-uncle was incapable of doing just that?’

  Mr. Brown moved uncomfortably. ‘No, I suppose not,’ he agreed slowly. ‘The fact that your uncle made two wills with different solicitors points to his desiring to create some kind of disturbance at his death. But even so, have you thought what this means to you in terms of money—’

  ‘I’m not interested in the money,’ cried Domine impatiently. ‘I know I need a little, sufficient at least to enable me to find somewhere to live and to keep me until I’m earning an adequate income, but apart from that I want nothing. I want you to contact Grant, Campbell and Dawson before they have time to do anything about this and explain that the terms of the old will are going to stand in almost every aspect.’

  Mr. Brown studied the tip of his cigar. ‘Very well, Miss Grainger, if this is really what you want.’ He gave a slight smile. ‘It seems your uncle made one mistake anyway. He should have inserted a clause preventing you from doing exactly what you are doing if he had wanted to make it completely water-tight.’

  Domine considered this. ‘I think my great-uncle made several errors of judgement,’ she conceded. ‘I suppose he imagined James would either abandon me completely, or at best leave me in the convent until I was eighteen. Had that happened, I suppose it was just conceivable that not knowing James and his mother and the circumstances surrounding their presence at Grey Witches, I might have accepted the terms of this second will without question. At any rate, he obviously believed his son had as little humanity as he seems to have had.’ Her voice broke, suddenly.

  Mr. Brown nodded his head understandingly. ‘Very well, Miss Grainger. We’ll act on your instructions. I’ll be in touch with you in a day or two to finalize the details. Is there somewhere you can stay?’

  ‘I’ve booked in at a hotel,’ Domine nodded.

  ‘Crompton’s Hotel?’

  Domine shook her head vigorously. ‘No,’ she said firmly, ‘not Crompton’s Hotel.’

  But that was two days ago now, and this morning Domine had signed away her inheritance, but some strange sense of curiosity had drawn her here, to Crompton’s Hotel, to see it for the last time. It was late afternoon, and there was a tea lounge where one could have afternoon tea. She knew the tea lounge very well, very well indeed, she thought reflectively. How many hours had she sat in there with Great-Uncle Henry, watching him play interminable games of chess with an elderly retired colonel from one of the colonial regiments? That was exactly the kind of hotel it was, she realized now with her new insight into human relationships. It was the kind of hotel where schoolmistresses went to retire, or colonels, or men who wished to escape from the realities of their life, she thought with distaste.

  The receptionist didn’t recognize her, and she made her way into the tea lounge, taking a table near the window which looked out on the promenade. There were a few couples taking the air, but a sea mist had banished all but the most hardy. In the summer, the promenade was thronged with people, and there were lots of children. But in the winter the seaside was for old people, not the young.

  The waitress who came to take her order eyed her strangely, then blinked rapidly. ‘It’s Miss Grainger, isn’t it?’ she exclaimed, in astonishment. ‘Why, fancy you being here, taking tea! I thought as how your uncle was dead.’ She flushed. ‘Begging your pardon, miss!’

  ‘Mr. Farriday is dead,’ said Domine, without emotion. ‘I’m just here on a visit, Josie. Er—could I have some tea—and some cigarettes!’

  Josie’s mouth tilted. ‘You—smoking, miss?’ she exclaimed. ‘Well, fancy that. Do you want cakes, too?’

  ‘No, thank you. Just tea.’ Domine managed a slight smile and watched the portly figure of Josie as she made her way across the almost deserted restaurant to the swing doors into the kitchen.

  But as Josie disappeared, a man came into the restaurant and stood looking around broodingly until his eyes lighted on Domine. Then he strode purposefully through the tables to her side, and staring down at her with angry eyes, he exclaimed: ‘For God’s sake, Domine, I’ve searched everywhere for you! What in hell are you doing here?’

  Domine quivered. ‘I might ask you the same thing, Mr. Mannering,’ she said unsteadily. ‘I—I’m having tea. Won’t you join me?’

  ‘No, I won’t. And you’re coming with me. I want to talk to you, and what I have to say can’t be said in this miserable place!’

  Domine shivered. ‘I don’t think we have anything to say to one another that can’t be said here,’ she retorted, with an amazing amount of calm, considering she was a quaking mass inside.

  James’s eyes darkened. ‘Do you want me to pick you up and carry you bodily out of here?’ he muttered savagely, ‘because by God, I’ll do it if I have to!’

  Domine got uncertainly to her feet. ‘You—you wouldn’t dare,’ she gasped.

  ‘Try me!’ he urged her fiercely.

  She glanced round. The few tables that were occupied were viewing their confrontation with some interest, and with an angry glance in his direction she swept across the room to the door. As she reached it, Josie emerged from the kitchen with her tray.

  ‘Why, Miss Grainger, you’re not leaving!’

  she exclaimed in surprise.

  ‘Miss Grainger is,’ said James precisely. ‘If you wish to charge for your trouble, send the bill to Mr. Farriday’s solicitors. Mr. Lancer knows their address.’

  ‘Y-yes, sir.’ Josie was obviously astounded, and Domine, her cheeks burning, made her way outside.

  But once there she turned on Jam
es furiously. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘you’ve got your way. I’ve left the restaurant. But now you can’t make me go with you.’

  ‘Can’t I?’ He gave a wry smile, and bent to open the door of the sleek sports car parked at the kerb. ‘Get in.’

  ‘But this is a restricted parking area,’ she began. ‘You’re not allowed to park here!’

  ‘I don’t intend to,’ he snapped. ‘Get in!’

  Unwillingly Domine acquiesced. There was a sense of defeat about her, and she hadn’t the strength for much more fighting.

  James slid in beside her, his thigh brushing hers, and then turning on the ignition, he put the car smoothly into gear. They shot away down the promenade and Domine felt somehow that this was inevitable. She didn’t know how or why he was here, but there was nothing she could do about it now.

  He drove out of the town and parked on the cliffs some distance from the road. Then he turned in his seat and said harshly: ‘You’re a crazy idiot, do you know that?’

  Domine heaved a sigh. ‘In what particular connection are you meaning?’ she inquired wearily. ‘I seem to have done nothing but crazy things ever since I left the convent!’

  James gave her a long considering look. ‘I mean—Henry’s will,’ he replied quietly. ‘And you know it.’

  Domine shrugged. ‘How do you know about that?’

  James gave a brief ejaculation. ‘Surely you must have realized that Grant, Campbell and Dawson were bound to contact me in the circumstances, as the chief beneficiary in the old will?’

  ‘But you were in Italy!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘No, I was not. I returned a few days ago.’

  ‘You didn’t contact your mother.’

  ‘No, I needed time to think,’ he muttered, rather huskily. ‘And I could hardly come back, could I? After what happened.’