The Golden Maze, page 12
"You know very well I didn't mean you!" he almost snapped at her. "I agree you did right in asking them in. Only a couple of kids," he said almost scornfully, and Cindy, remembering that Roxanna and Martin had been about her age, felt her cheeks burning still more. "Shouldn't be out trekking alone. They could easily get lost. The girl didn't look as if she enjoyed it much."
"She hates it."
"Then why do it?"
Drawing a deep breath, Cindy turned to him. "Are you men blind? She loves him, that's why she does it, and he's too ... too selfish to see it !"
"You mean she walks these miles, gets half drowned, her feet painful, just because she loves that .. .? She must be crazy !"
"Most females are. I suppose no man would do such a thing for a girl he loved," Cindy said bitterly. "He'd expect her to mould her life the way he wanted it."
"Well, that's right, isn't it?" he asked, his voice casual.
"No, it is not !" Cindy retorted angrily. "There should be compromise. It shouldn't all be-for one to have his own way."
"But you're as bad as the rest of them, Cindy. Look how eager you are to get back to your boss, and I bet he whistles the tune, and you do what he says even when you don't like it,"
"The boss . " she began, and stopped. "He never asks me to do anything I don't want to."
Peter whistled softly. "Well, well, well, aren't we a lucky girl !"
She clenched her hands, fighting the desire to smack his face. Instead she turned her back and looked out at the rain-drenched world.. Where had the beauty of the mountains and lakes gone? The, stark loveliness of the leafless trees had vanished in the mist. Now everything was grey sheets of rain and the maddening tick-tock-tick-tock of the windscreen wipers.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT was not until they were near the castle that Peter broke the silence, and then only casually, almost as if unaware it had existed.
"Cindy, as I said, I would be grateful if you'd do some research for me about the castle. I think it was designed to be like the castles built in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, but I'm not sure as to the date. I'd like to know what sort of furniture they had in that period and the clothes, so that the staff could wear them. Wasn't it your idea in the first place? After all, as you said, in Ireland it's successful and there are quite a lot of people who'd get a kick out of living in the past, but, as I say, I want it to be the right background."
Cindy turned round a little. She was tempted to refuse, yet knew she never could.
"I'll go to some of the museums and libraries. You are going to run it as a hotel?" -
"I can think of no other way. It would cost the earth to have it as a mere home and it's far too big. I did think of it as a school, but can't imagine it somehow, can you ?"
"No." Cindy had to laugh, imagining the swarms of little boys or girls racing up the stairs. "Actually I think it would be rather dangerous. They'd have to rail off the garden."
"You're right. It's a bit too close to danger."
"You're selling the farm ?"
"Yes. I've persuaded old Colin Pritchard to come and be my head gardener. There's a cottage on the fell that he can have, so he'll be quite happy. I'm only keeping ground enough for a flower and vegetable garden and of course somewhere the guests can sit in the sun . I might even build a little folly—you know, those comic little sort of summerhouses they built."
"That's a good idea," Cindy said warmly. "You'll want a lot of staff."
"I thought of keeping Mrs. Stone as housekeeper, in charge of the staff. She was good to the old man and seems very efficient."
"She is. And Paul ?"
Peter frowned as he turned off the main road and they began to jolt and slide on the muddy track. "I'm not sure. I'll have a good talk with him. He's' done absolutely nothing to the garden, but he's a good driver and quite a good mechanic, so I might keep him for that."
"You oughtn't to have cars, but coaches," Cindy pointed out.
"Help ! You're right. But can you imagine a coach going down that narrow winding-road to the village ?"
"Yet it must have done once."
"You're right, you know." Peter sounded surprised.
The rain seemed to have lessened a little as they came in sight of the castle. Cindy gave it a desperate look, she loved it so much. It seemed to her that she was always saying -goodbye to it. When would she finally go?
"When will my car be ready ?" she asked.
"Ready? Oh, about Thursday or Friday."
"It's taking longer than we expected," she said, dismayed.
Peter shrugged. "So it seems."
Cindy pleaded a headache as an excuse to go early to bed and after coffee in the drawing-room, left them talking. Half way upstairs, she remembered she had left her book there, so went back. As she began to open the door, she heard Peter say :
"Planning to buy a house with seven chimneys?" he asked as if amused.
"So what if I am ?" Yvonne snapped back.
Cindy pulled the door to gently. Were they going to start another of those wrangles that depressed her 'so much? She went up to her bedroom; she would read Uncle Robert's diary instead. There were so many notes and the handwriting so small that there was still quite a lot she hadn't read yet.
It was tea time next day that Keith Ayres arrived. Peter and Yvonne were having tea with Cindy. It was a chilly, dismal day, though the rain was less severe. Yvonne was in a strange mood, hardly talking, constantly looking at Cindy as if she wanted to say something but was hesitating.
Mrs. Stone ushered him in. "Mr. Keith Ayres," she announced.
He stood in the doorway staring at them. They were startled and showed it. Then he went straight to Cindy.
"Miss Preston ? Good to see you again." He turned to Peter and held out his hand. "Mr. Baxter, I came up to settle some small details." He looked at Yvonne
and waited for Peter to introduce her, which he did promptly.
"Sit down, have a cup ?" Peter asked.
"No, thank you. I had rather a big lunch on the way. I can only stay for a night and if you can't put me up, I can go to a hotel somewhere, but there are a few things we have to clear up."
He sat down, speaking curtly as if angry. Cindy wondered why, for he had been so different before. He was a good-looking, older man, with slightly greying hair and a friendly smile when he looked at her.
"Of course you can stay here. I'll tell Mrs. Stone to get your room ready," said Peter, leaving them.
There was a little silence. "You are the solicitor?" Yvonne asked.
Keith Ayres looked at her. "Yes, I am,' he said, his words clipped.
Peter returned and sat down. "Was it a bad journey up? I mean much fog ?"
"Pretty unpleasant, but it got better when I got nearer here." He looked round. "It's quite some place, isn't it? I'm not surprised Miss Preston liked it." He smiled at Cindy. Then he looked at Peter. "I have an important thing to tell you which I believe may be of interest. You know all that hullabaloo about the American who wanted to buy this castle?" He waited until they had nodded, then he folded his arms and looked from face to face. "Well, the whole thing was a hoax. There was no American."
"But then ..." Cindy began.
"No American?" Peter echoed slowly. "Then why was it in the paper ?"
Keith Ayres looked at Yvonne.
"That's absurd," she said. "There was a letter from him."
"I know. Miss Preston sent it to me—unopened." He looked at Peter thoughtfully. "One point was rather interesting. The letter had been posted several days earlier and should have reached the castle before the article in the newspaper appeared. Something went wrong and the letter was delayed."
"Paul Stone said the letter was opened," Yvonne put in, looking at Cindy. "Why should he lie?"
"Because he hates Miss Preston, and Mr. Baxter. His mother brought him up to believe that Robert Baxter would treat him, as a son and leave him the castle and a good sum of money. When the will was read, Paul was furious. I was not there at the time, but my uncle was. He said he thought the boy would have a fit and that Mrs. Stone was extremely rude and wanted to fight the will, but my uncle persuaded her that she had no hope of winning. Probably the boy said the letter was opened by Miss Preston out of sheer malice." Keith smiled at Cindy. "Personally I should have thought that anyone knowing Miss Preston would unhesitatingly believe anything she said."
"The reporter said she rang him up," Yvonne chimed in.
Keith looked at her, his eyes narrowed. "Voices, as doubtless you are aware, can sound very different on the telephone. That sort of evidence would never be accepted in court.
"But who else would do it? I mean, there's no point in it, is there?" Yvonne asked.
Cindy found her voice. "But why should-I do it? All that happened was that I lost the castle." She stood up, suddenly unable to bear it. "Excuse me," she murmured, hurrying out of the room. They were talking about her as if she wasn't there, as if she didn't exist. Why hadn't Peter leapt to her rescue? she wondered. But then, of course, he must be on Yvonne's side. Now who would make up an American buyer?
Suddenly she thought : Mrs. Stone ! Knowing the local people, she knew there would be an outcry because their precious Claife Castle was to be demolished and removed to America, another land. Perhaps Mrs. Stone hoped that through the noise and arguments, Cindy's right to the heirdom would be queried, for if the castle was left to her only because she loved it—wouldn't her apparent willingness to sell it prove she had no right to have it?
Cindy stayed upstairs as long as she could and then went down, for she didn't want to give them a chance to say anything, and hoped they would all have left the drawing-room. But they hadn't, though Peter and Keith Ayres were obviously making for the library to talk business. Yvonne saw Cindy coming and stood up.
"You do know, of course, Cindy, that your car has been ready in the garage for two days," she said in her husky voice.
"Two days?" Cindy was startled. "But I was told it wouldn't be ready until Thursday or Friday."
"That's your story," Yvonne said coldly. "The plain truth is 'that you intend to stay here as long as
you can despite the fact that you should have gone long ago. You have no right to be here."
Peter looked startled. "Yvonne, you have no right to say that. I am the host. I asked Cindy to stay. I knew her car was ready, but . .."
Cindy was suddenly so angry she could hardly speak. She swung round to stare at Peter.
"You knew? Yet you knew very well I wanted to get back to London, and you lied !" she exclaimed angrily.
He smiled and, for a moment, she hated him. He looked so ... so complaisant, which was not a word used generally, though it was one of her boss's favourites.
"For your own good, Cindy. I didn't think it wise for you to start work again so soon after your near-accident. Besides, I knew you loved the castle and I didn't want to deprive you of the pleasure of being here."
"Oh, you ... you . ." She was battling between anger and tears. So she turned to Keith Ayres and caught hold of his arm. "Would you drive me right away to the garage? I'll pick up my car and I can stay at a hotel. I don't want to be here another moment !"
"Calm down, Cindy," said Peter, and his condescending voice was the last straw. "Mr. Ayres and I have business to talk over. You can leave tomorrow morning, but not before. Come along, Ayres," he said, leading the way.
Cindy rushed by him and stood for a moment on the stairs. "Please ask Mrs. Stone to bring my dinner up," she said. "I never want to speak to either of you
again." She turned and ran up the stairs, stumbling, as the tears ran down her cheeks.
In her own room, she stood still, her hands to her eyes. How dared he speak like that? As if she was a small child ! How dared he lie like that—telling her the car wasn't ready, making it look as if she was the liar, she the one who wanted to stay . . .
An hour or so later there was a knock on Cindy's door and she heard Peter's voice.
"Cindy, I want to speak to you," he said firmly. She slid off the bed, hastily brushed her hair, and went to the door.
"May I come in ?" he asked with that slightly-pompous air he put on often and which invariably made her want to laugh.
"It's your castle," she muttered, standing back. He came inside, closed the door and looked at her.
"Isn't it time you behaved like an adult and not as a spoilt child ?" he asked her.
She was completely taken aback. She wasn't sure what she had expected him to say but it certainly wasn't what he had.
"Why should I stay there and let Yvonne insult me? She implied that I lied about the car and ..."
He smiled. "It was me. I apologise, but honestly, Cindy, it was for your good. However, that's the past. We're now involved in the present. I've invited David and Johanna to dinner as I don't want Keith Ayres to be too utterly bored tonight. Somehow he and Yvonne don't hit it off."
"I'm not surprised," Cindy said bitterly.
Peter laughed. "Oh, it's just her way. If you knew
her as well as I do, you'd take no notice." He opened the door. "You'll be down, then."
"Yes," said Cindy, closing the door quickly, leaning against it. Now, why had she agreed ? Why should she go and be a sitting duck for Yvonne to aim at? Was she getting like the rest of the females in the Baxter world? A meek little mouse, dutifully saying `Yes', all the time?
She dressed carefully, wearing her long pale green dress with the high waist. It was the only party dress she'd got, for she so, seldom went out ! But with Yvonne and Johanna looking so beautiful, she had to look her best. At the dinner party, Mrs. Usher had mentioned how well she thought it suited Cindy.
"Charming colour with your hair, my dear."
A little nervous, Cindy went downstairs. David and Johanna were already there, talking and laughing with Peter over their drinks
Johanna welcomed her with a smile, but David only with a stiff jerk of his head. Cindy wondered why he disliked her so much. Then Yvonne came in with a· flourish, looking ravishing in a shimmering gold maxi-dress.
"David !" she said, holding out both her hands. "I'm so glad you could come. Peter and Keith will talk shop all the time and one gets so utterably bored." She flung a quick vague smile at Johanna and ignored Cindy completely.
Dinner was pleasant; as usual, Mrs. Stone had proved what a competent cook she was. Afterwards, as they sat in the drawing-room with coffee and liqueurs, Yvonne sat next to David, as she had done at dinner, talking and laughing with him, while
Johanna talked stiffly to Keith and Cindy found herself with Peter.
"I wonder where Roxanna and Martin are," said Cindy, more for something impersonal to talk about than because she was interested.
"At least the rain is ceasing, so they should start walking soon," he said casually.
Suddenly he leaned forward, speaking so loudly that automatically everyone looked at him so that there were no longer three groups of two people talking, but one large group.
"Have you heard the latest, Johanna ?" he asked with a laugh. "Yvonne has fallen for the old story about the house with seven chimneys. I think she's even trying to buy it !"
As he spoke he glanced at his cousin David, who immediately looked uncomfortable, fidgeting a little in his chair.
"Well, why not? These legends can't last for years without there being some truth in them," Yvonne defended herself quickly.
Suddenly Johanna clicked her fingers. "I've got it !" She looked triumphant and amazingly beautiful in her straight white silk dress. Now her face seemed to glow, her eyes sparkling. "I remember where I met you !" Johanna pointed a finger at Yvonne. "It was a few days before Cindy came. You came into my tea-shop and . ."
"That's absurd, Johanna," Peter said with a smile. "Yvonne had never been in the Lake District before she came straight here."
Johanna swung round to him. "Oh yes, I know she was here. It was something she said to me that
day. You had a blonde wig on," Johanna said accusingly to the startled Yvonne. "And you looked fatter and much ... well, less with it. Also you wore dark glasses. As soon as you started asking questions about Castle Claife I knew you were from the South. I thought what a lot of idiots you must be to believe that after all these years the smugglers' treasure would still be hidden. It so happened I was pretty bored that day, so I played you up. I told you a lot of codswallop about the treasure in the castle that could only be discovered by finding the mysterious path that gave this castle its name. And you said," Johanna went on triumphantly, "just as you said just now—that's how I recognised your voice : 'These legends couldn't last for years without there being some truth in them.' "
Yvonne's face had gone very white, but now her cheeks were flaming with anger.
"You lied to me? Why, you . . . you . . ." she nearly exploded.
Johanna laughed. "Why not? Only a sucker like you would have fallen, so I laid it on good and thick."
"You.. . you .. ." Yvonne half-rose from her chair, looking as if she was going to fly at Johanna in her fury.
Peter spoke quietly, very quietly, so that Cindy's heart seemed to skip a beat.
"You came up here at once to find out about the castle Yvonne? You made up the yarn about the American buyer because you wanted me to claim the castle ?"
"Of course I did. It was for you." Yvonne turned
towards him, her face still flushed. "I had to do something, because you were so stubborn. I came up to see if the castle was worth having. I decided it wasn't because of what it would cost to modernise it. Then this ... this ..." she bit back her angry words and glared at Johanna, who was sitting back, her hands folded demurely, her eyes bright with triumph, "lied to me. I thought when I heard about the treasure that had been hidden for centuries it might be found by modern methods. I thought it worth trying as an investment."
"You phoned the newspaper to get publicity and make me believe that Cindy was ...?' Peter began, still with that ominous quietness that made Cindy shiver but that Yvonne didn't seem to notice.
