The Golden Maze Read online

  The Golden Maze by Hilary Wilde

  Cindy Preston arrived at the lovely Lake District castle as its prospective owner, but wound up staying as guest of the real heir. On discovering the cause of his long-standing estrangement from his father, she earned his gratitude and love.

  PRINTED IN CANADA

  TORONTO · LONDON · NEW YORK · AMSTERDAM · SYDNEY · WINNIPEG

  Harlequin Omnibus 58

  Copyright © 1977 by Harlequin Enterprises Limited. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 240 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, M3B 1Z4, Canada.

  All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone hearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

  Copyright @ 1972 by Hilary Wilde

  First published in 1972 by Mills & Boon Limited

  Harlequin edition (#1624) published September 1972

  ISBN 0-373-70357-0

  First Harlequin Omnibus edition published June 1977

  The Harlequin trademark, consisting of the word HARLEQUIN and the portrayal of a Harlequin, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in the Canada Trade Marks Office.

  Imagine inheriting a castle! The very idea thrilled Cindy. Especially the Lake District castle, which had been the scene of a happy time in her life. It was like a dream come true. Then, suddenly, the real heir appeared and Cindy no longer had any claim. But meeting Peter Baxter proved more than compensation for her shattered hopes!

  CHAPTER ONE

  CINDY frowned as she gazed up at the names on the board, high up on the wall, that she could not see properly. She had almost run up from Ludgate Circus, hardly hearing the roar of traffic, for all she could think of was the Castle.

  The castle of her dreams !

  And now here she was to learn all about it and she couldn't even see which floor the solicitors were on !

  "Having trouble?" A deep masculine voice interrupted her thoughts. Startled, she swung round and saw the man standing by her side. She couldn't see his face clearly, but he was tall, with broad shoulders, and blond hair. He towered above her.

  "Why not wear glasses ?" he asked, sounding amused. "Then you could see."

  "I do usually." She gave an excited little laugh, "but I was in such a hurry to get here I forgot them. I mean, it isn't every day you inherit a castle !"

  "A castle ?" He sounded surprised, then paused before continuing : "You've inherited a castle ?"

  The condescension in his voice irritated her, but she answered : "Yes, a real castle . . ." then she corrected herself : "At least it will be mine if his son doesn't turn up."

  "His son? So there's a son." For some odd reason, the man sounded more amused than ever, so Cindy frowned.

  "It's quite simple. If the son can't be found after three years' searching, I'll inherit the castle."

  "If there's a son alive, where do you come into it?"

  "Well, you see they don't know. I mean if the son is alive or not. It seems he quarrelled with his father years ago and walked out and—well, I suppose the father was sorry. Anyhow he left everything to his son, but if the son wasn't traced for three years, then it comes to me. I honestly don't know why." Cindy shook her head thoughtfully, her long chestnut-brown hair swinging. "I hardly knew him—Mr. Baxter, I mean. I was about seven when Mummy, who was a widow, met him and we were asked there for a holiday. She hated the quietness. I loved it . . ." Remembering, Cindy half-closed her eyes. "It was absolutely super. A real castle ! Of course I had the usual absurd dreams." She laughed and then looked grave. "They weren't just dreams at the time. I persuaded myself that I was a princess and that my so-called parents had found me in a dustbin and that one day, the truth would be discovered and I would live in the castle and it would be mine . . ." As she spoke, her voice rose excitedly. "And now this ... this has happened."

  "The son might turn up," the stranger said dryly.

  Cindy nodded. "Of course he might, but they've been hunting for him for three years and the solicitor's letter said only three weeks were left of the search . . ."

  "Where is this wonderful castle."

  "Cumberland—in the Lake District. I can just remember the lakes and the mountains and the . . ."

  "Castle." He gave a funny little laugh. "How will you run it? Castles cost money, you know."

  Cindy tossed her head, her hair swinging. "I'll find

  a way." She twisted her hands together, her brown handbag hanging from her shoulder, her little oval face framed by the pale pink woollen cap. "It's so wonderful, you see. I woke up this morning feeling . . . feeling so unhappy. So . . . well, rejected. No one cared for me. I was all alone, and then—then this letter came. I couldn't believe it. Uncle Robert—that's what he made me call him—hadn't forgotten me. He said he wanted the castle to go to someone who loved it as he did. Just think, he hadn't forgotten me all these years. Ever since I was seven."

  "How long ago is that? Eight years?"

  Cindy's eyes blazed, for she hated this kind of joke. Just because she had a young look ! Her cousins were always teasing her about it, too, just as they did about her miserable five feet two inches height.

  "I'm nineteen years and ten months," she said with dignity as well as anger.

  "Is that so? You don't look it. Well, I'm thirty-three and seven months."

  "Well, you . . ." she began indignantly, and stopped, having to laugh instead. "I'm afraid I can't see you properly," she admitted, and looked at her watch. "Help ! I must hurry and see the solicitor. I told my boss I'd be as quick as I could."

  "I thought you only got your letter this morning?" "I did, but I rang my boss at once. He's always to at work himself, so I rang his home and he quite understood. He told me to be as quick as I could, so I must ."

  "How can you have a castle in Cumberland and a job in London? Rather an expensive distance to commute," the stranger said dryly.

  Cindy laughed : "Oh, I'll give up my job, of course. Could you tell me which floor Ayres & Bolton are on?"

  "Certainly. Third floor. The lift's over there. Do you think you can reach the button ... ?"

  Her face flamed. "Of course I can," she said angrily.

  "Well, watch your way. You're moving in a golden maze."

  Even as she started to turn, she paused. "A golden maze ?" she repeated, puzzled.

  He smiled. "Dryden. 'I think and think on things impossible, And love to wander in that golden maze'."

  "Oh." Cindy hesitated. "You mean dreams. What's wrong with dreams?" she asked defiantly.

  "Nothing—except that you get hurt when the balloons burst."

  "This one isn't going to," she told him, and hurried to the lift.

  Inside it, she wondered at herself. How could she have talked so easily to a complete stranger? Why? She must have bored him terribly. That was another thing her cousins were always telling her : that she talked too much. What must he think of her? she asked herself as the lift stopped and she hurried down the carpeted corridor to a door with the names Ayres & Bolton on it. 'Please walk in', she read underneath them.

  Obeying, she went through a glass door that swung open as she touched it and a girl with blonde hair, piled high on her head, looked up.

  "My name is Lucinda Preston," Cindy said. "I

  rang Mr. Ayres early this morning in r
eply to his letter."

  The girl smiled. "Of course. Please sit down and I'll see if Mr. Ayres is ready."

  Cindy obeyed, looking round her curiously. It was all very modern and luxurious so it must be a reliable firm, she decided.

  The girl returned. "Mr. Ayres will see you now. This way."

  Cindy followed her down the carpeted corridor and into a large room with an enormous picture window that showed St. Paul's Cathedral in all its dignified glory, but Cindy was looking at the lean, handsome man who came to meet her, holding out his hand. His hair was dark but greying at the temples, his eyes were dark too and he had a pleasant friendly smile. She liked him at once.

  "How good of you to contact me so quickly," he said, shaking her hand, leading her to a chair, then sitting opposite her on the other side of the large walnut desk. He ruffled through some papers and then looked up with a smile. "You are Miss Lucinda Preston, daughter of the late Bartholomew Preston and of Winifred, his wife? You are, I understand, an only child? Your father died when you were very young and your mother when you were ten years old?"

  Cindy nodded, her eyes misting: Would she ever forget the awful loneliness when her mother died? The knowledge that she was a nuisance to her cousins, and an unwelcome burden to their parents, for she had been tossed from one aunt and uncle to another: Maybe she had been stupidly sensitive, but she still inwardly squirmed at the memories of her older cousins'

  teasing. `Goggly-eyed Cindy'; 'Tiny Cindy'; 'Brainless Cindy'. Her height had been a handicap, for they were all tall; all bright at school, flowing effortlessly through exams while she, working like mad, just managed to squeeze past the final posts. That was why, as soon as she could, she had learned shorthand and typing, got herself a good job and a bedsitter in Earls -Court. Living sensibly, she had saved enough money to buy herself a car—small, grey and efficient. It made all the difference in the world to her life, for every weekend she could slip away to the quietness of the country she loved.

  She realised with a shock that she hadn't been listening to the solicitor. Her cheeks hot, she apologised.

  "I am sorry, I was thinking . . ."

  He smiled. "That's all right. I asked if you could remember Mr. Baxter."

  Cindy shook her head slowly. "Not really. Just as a big man with a kind voice. I know he was a friend of Mummy's—they met somewhere and he asked us to visit him. I loved it, but Mum hated it, so we never went back again."

  "You loved it ?"

  Her eyes shining, Cindy nodded. "It was super. The most exciting and romantic thing that ever happened to me. Living in a castle !" She sighed ecstatically.

  Mr. Ayres smiled. "It's not a real castle, you know. It's what is called a mock castle . . . built years after

  ' real castles were built."

  "It may be mock or real, but I remember it as a castle. It looked just like one—with a drawbridge and

  a moat and vaults and . . ." Cindy stopped. "I expect you've seen it."

  "No, I. haven't. My uncle was alive at that time and Mr. Robert Baxter was his client."

  "I'll never forget it, ever. There were mountains and a great lake and then this lovely castle . . . Mummy had always read me fairy stories and, of course, I felt like a princess in her castle, waiting for my handsome prince to come."

  "It certainly made an impression on you." Keith Ayres smiled. "As I, told you in my letter, Mr. Baxter never forgot your love of the place."

  "I can't understand how he could remember me all these years." Cindy spread out her hands expressively.

  "He was old and lonely. It was a pity about his son. Mr. Baxter was devoted to the boy. These family quarrels are sad things. Fathers so easily forget how they felt when they were sons."

  "Well, if you build up a big business, surely you're building it for your son, too?" Cindy asked. "Not that that means the son must automatically follow on, of course."

  Keith Ayres smiled ruefully. "It's so easy to judge. I'm not married, so can't talk from experience, but I'm building up this firm from the mess it was in when my uncle died, and I must confess, I'd like a son of mine to benefit as a result of my hard work."

  "It's funny, isn't it, as you grow older everything seems to reverse," Cindy began, and stopped abruptly. It was when she said stupid things like that that her cousins called her a bore. "You . . . you haven't found Mr. Baxter's son?"

  "No, but there are still three weeks .. ." Keith Ayres hesitated before continuing. "Actually we fear he is dead. We traced him to Australia, then Canada, and finally South America. There was some turmoil there and he just vanished. We have advertised ... are still advertising." He frowned. "Your mother didn't like the castle?"

  "It wasn't that—it was the loneliness. Mummy liked people and bright lights and ... and life, as she called it. I'm more like my dad, an introvert."

  Keith Ayres laughed. "I'd hardly call you that. You can't remember anything about Mr. Baxter?"

  Cindy looked round the luxurious office and half closed her eyes. "What you said about a mock castle ... that does seem to ring a bell." She clapped her hands excitedly. "I've got it ! I remember how Mummy told me that. She said it wasn't a real castle and ... and I remember crying and then ..." Cindy frowned thoughtfully, her eyes narrowed. "Yes, I am beginning to remember. This man I had to call Uncle Robert gave me a big white hankie and said it would always be a real castle to him, and that made me awfully happy, because it was his castle, so he had to be right. It was real !"

  Keith Ayres looked thoughtful. "What you liked when you were seven years old may look different now, Miss Preston. Er ... did your mother ... er

  I don't want to sound impertinent, but have you a private income?"

  Looking surprised, Cindy shook her head. "No, Mummy had an annuity which died with her. I lived with aunts and uncles and I got a job as soon as I

  could and ... well, I'm not doing too badly. I have a car and . ."

  Keith Ayres smiled. "Very commendable, Miss Preston, but I doubt if it would be enough to enable you . ." He paused. "Mr. Baxter was not a rich man when he died. Locals believed him to be wealthy, but he had many troubles financially as well as physically. I'm afraid after all the death duties and taxes, etc., there won't be much money left. The reason I wished to contact you before the three years was up was because, at the moment, you view this inheritance with romantic eyes, but it could become a pain in the neck. The castle is large and expensive to keep in repair. In addition there is a housekeeper and her son, the gardener, who have been there ten years. Efficient, I gather, but expecting and getting generous salaries. The estate pays this at the moment. You may find it advisable to sell the castle."

  Cindy's eyes widened in horror. "Sell it? Sell the castle?"

  Keith Ayres tried not to smile. "Well, until I wrote to you you had forgotten it, so it can't mean all that much."

  "Oh, but it does, and I hadn't . . ." Cindy leaned forward, her hair swinging on either side of her face. "It's always been a wonderful dream to me. If things got bad, I could cheer myself up by thinking of the castle that would one day be mine. It was a dream that had somehow come true, if you know what I mean ?"

  "Yes, I do, but all the same . . . Look, I think it would be a good idea for you to visit it as soon as possible, Miss Preston."

  Cindy's eyes brightened. "I'd love to visit it."

  "Good. I suggest you talk things over with your boss and get a week off. Let me know the date you can go up to, Cumberland and I'll arrange with Mrs. Stone—she's the housekeeper—to expect you. You can go by train or coach."

  "I'll drive up, I don't know that part of England, so it will be fun," Cindy told him eagerly.

  Keith Ayres hesitated. "You're rather young to drive around alone." He saw the frown on her face and hastily added, "I was thinking if, the car broke down, some of those roads in the Lake District in winter can be very isolated. You have a friend who could go with you ?"

  It was Cindy's turn to hesitate. "Yes," she said slowly, which wasn't th
e whole truth but half of it. She had friends at the office, but the friendship ended at five o'clock each day. Somehow she wasn't one of them. She had found London lonely, but with the weekends in the country to look forward to, she had learned to live with loneliness.

  "Good." Keith Ayres stood up and smiled. "Let me know which day you're free to go up to the castle and I'll contact Mrs. Stone." He hesitated. "I hope you won't be too disillusioned, Miss Preston."

  She shook hands with him at the door and her eyes were bright with excitement. "I'm never disillusioned, Mr. Ayres." she said gaily. "Mummy used to say, when one door closes another opens. Something good always happens to me."

  Look at today, she told herself as she hurried down towards tile large block of offices where she worked, she had woken up that morning, feeling depressed, dreading the hours at the office where she could see

  mirth mixed with sympathy in the girls' eyes because she had been dropped by Oliver Bentley. And then the letter had come ! The letter that had opened a whole new exciting world for her.

  Now as she hurried down the corridor in the office building, she smiled through the glass walls of the typing pool and waved to the girls gaily. She had the most wonderful news imaginable to tell them. What did Oliver matter after all? True, he was a charmer and she had enjoyed the two evenings he took her out. He had been attentive, kissing her . . . and then next day she had been cut dead by him and later, meeting in the canteen, he had paused by her side and said :

  "It was nice knowing you, Cindy, but not half as nice as I'd hoped."

  One of the typists, close behind Cindy, had giggled. Cindy hadn't understood what Oliver meant, thinking it must be because she was—as her cousins had frequently told her—an awful bore. That she was a nothing. That no man with any sense would look at her ! As Oliver hurried by, Maggie, the girl behind Cindy, had squeezed her arm.