The Golden Maze Page 6

  "I don't think much of Paul Stone as a gardener, do you?"

  "Well, I did think it looked pretty scruffy, but then

  I know nothing about gardening," Cindy admitted as they got into the car.

  "I'll have a talk with Luke Fairhead when we get back. Seems to me my father just gave up caring and the whole place has ... well, gone to the dogs, you might say."

  Cindy looked at him quickly. There was an impatient note in his voice. He was probably a hardworking perfectionist and expected everyone else to be the same. In that respect, he reminded her a little of her boss, Mr. Jenkins.

  "I think Mrs. Stone has done a wonderful job," she said quickly. "It can't be easy to keep a place as big as the castle so clean and polished."

  Peter looked at her, his mouth curling a little. "Yes, she's made a good job of it, but that doesn't excuse her son's laziness. Why do you want to see Mrs. Usher?" he asked abruptly.

  "Because ... because I like her."

  "That's not the truth, is it ? You're a bad liar, Cindy," Peter said, driving down the winding road towards the village. On the other side of the lake, lofty hills stood out boldly in the clear blue sky, that promised a perfect day.

  "No," Cindy agreed. "I want to ask her advice." "Why not ask mine?"

  Cindy turned towards him. "Because you think I lied."

  "You didn't lie ! I know that. I know you didn't write the article, but you could have known of the offer and accepted it—if the Castle became yours—before you ever came here. It was so obvious to me

  that Ayres was determined to make you sell the castle."

  "But he, wasn't. He knew I wanted to live here."

  "Is that so ?" Peter 'spoke slowly. "You must admit he made it plain that it would be impossible for you to afford it, didn't he ?" He snapped the question at her.

  Startled, Cindy said : "Yes, but . . ."

  "Look, there are too many 'buts' for my liking. Ayres wanted you to see the castle that we're agreed on. Right? Well, maybe Ayres arranged to sell it for you and someone sneaked out the news. Right?"

  "No, definitely not right," Cindy said quickly. "Mr. Ayres isn't like that. He knew I was going to try everything to keep the castle."

  "And what, may I ask, is 'everything' ?"

  Cindy's cheeks were hot. "I thought perhaps it would make a hotel."

  "Ye gods and little fishes !" Peter nearly exploded. "Just how naive and stupid can you be ? 'Have you any idea how much it costs to convert an old rundown place like it into a hotel ?"

  "We could have kept it as it is . . . people love to stay in a castle and they don't expect mod. cons. I believe they did it successfully in Ireland. People like to, live as they did then !" Cindy fought back. "And with the staff dressed in period clothes !"

  He turned to look at her and laughed.

  "Honestly, I didn't think people like you were still born. Where were you going to get the money?"

  "That was what worried me," Cindy said gravely. "I wondered if the bank would loan it."

  They were near the village now, the blue water

  very still, the small snowdrops pushing up their white little heads above the soil. Peter left her at Mrs. Usher's cottage.

  "I'll be along in about an hour, tell her," he said,' and drove away.

  There was no answer to Cindy's knock. She waited, uncertain what to do, not wanting to go back to the village and the curious condemning eyes. Suddenly someone on a bicycle came along the road, stopped at the little wicket gate, and it was the little old lady who got off, waving a hand. She wore a trouser suit with a thick anorak and a scarf round her head.

  "Well, dear, this is nice," she smiled, lifting out her shopping. "I had to go down along the lake to get my mushrooms. Do come in, the kettle will be boiling

  now."

  "I'm afraid it's very early."

  Mrs. Usher's face shone. "The earlier the better, dear. Sit you down now and be comfy while I get around."

  In ten minutes the tea was ready, the fire crackling as Mrs. Usher looked at Cindy sympathetically.

  "I thought maybe you'd come down now. 'T’was a nasty shock for you, I would say, seeing that in the paper."

  "Oh, Mrs. Usher !" For one awful moment, Cindy thought she was going to cry. "You believe me, then? You know I had nothing to do with it?"

  "Of course I do, child. 'Twouldn't be like you t'do such a thing. That's what I told them all. No judge of character, that's their trouble, as I said now. Tell me about it."

  Gratefully Cindy obeyed, starting with David Baxter waving the paper on the ferry.

  "I thought he was the man I'd seen in London, but it seems he wasn't. Because Peter Baxter is quite different, yet they do look alike."

  "You thought David was Peter?" Mrs. Usher chuckled. "I doubt if t'either would be flattered. Never did get on, those two."

  Then Cindy told Mrs. Usher of the scene in the post office.

  "I could feel their anger and I didn't know what I'd done wrong." She described her dismal day and how frightening the mountains and quiet lakes had been.

  "I know, dear," Mrs. Usher agreed. "They can give you the creeps now. Real eerie, they are. So you went home."

  "Back to the castle, and . . . and he was there." Mrs. Usher's face dimpled as she tried not to laugh.

  "And who, might I ask, is he ?"

  "Peter, of course."

  "Of course. Go on."

  So Cindy did; telling her how Peter had implied that she was lying, had said he planned to let her have the castle until he saw the article in the paper.

  "It isn't fair," Cindy nearly wailed. "I had nothing to do with the article. You know I would never sell the castle."

  "Unless you had no choice," Mrs. Usher said dryly. "Sometimes it's impossible to do what we want to. All the same, it is sad. You could have had the

  castle and Peter not had to come up. Is he sad about it ? Memories ?"

  "He was and he isn't, if you know what I mean," Cindy tried to explain. "He's ... well, not easy to understand. He's a mass of contradictions."

  Mrs. Usher poured them out more tea, "He always was a strange one any time. So what happens now ?"

  "Well, I wanted, to pack and go, because I have no right here now he's here and he wouldn't let ..."

  "Wouldn't let you ?" Mrs. Usher looked shocked. "You mean he stopped you ?"

  "In a way." Cindy told the little old lady what ad happened and was startled when Mrs. Usher laughed.

  "The same old Peter—turns on the charm." suddenly she was serious. "My dear child, don't tell e you've . .. ?"

  Cindy knew instantly what she meant. "I ... I ..."

  "Am afraid so?" Mrs. Usher finished the sentence. "Oh, my poor child ! Peter isn't the marrying kind, you know."

  "I don't know, but I I. . . well, I know he would never see me," Cindy sighed.

  "And why not?" Mrs. Usher's voice changed again; now it was sharp. "You're a rare good-looking girl, my child, and don't forget it. There's a fey look about your face and dreamy eyes that has a charm all its own and . . ."

  A knock on the door interrupted her and she got up to open it.

  "Peter, my dear boy !" she exclaimed, putting her s round him.

  "Aunt Rhoda—it is good to see you!" he said warmly.

  He came to sit by the fire while Mrs. Usher fluttered round like an anxious hen. "I knew you'd be coming, Peter," she said. "And I cooked those crumpets you like. I'll go and fetch them now. I know you'll eat them any time."

  "You bet !" he grinned, and settled himself comfortably, stretching out his long legs, smiling at Cindy. "Isn't she a pet?" he said softly.

  Cindy nodded, her face grave. This was a different Peter from the one she knew. How relaxed he was, how . . . how happy.

  Mrs. Usher joined them and she was full of questions. Where had Peter been; had he found the heat too much for him; any good adventures? How well he was looking and it was wonderful to have him back ...

  "Not that you were ever over-fond of this part of the world, Peter," she said a little sadly. "Nor was your mother, for that matter. It was your dad the castle meant so much to."

  "I know. That's why I'm here," Peter said, looking across at Cindy, his eyes narrowed.

  "Peter, I've known you since you were a small wee baby, so I can ask you certain things," Mrs. Usher's face was concerned as she leant forward. "Tell me. Peter, why didn't you write to your father ?"

  "But I did," Peter said at once, leaning towards the old lady. "That was the worst part of it. He returned every one of the letters. Unopened! Then I heard he was ill and I came across from Africa, came straight here. Mrs Stone went to tell him I was there

  and she came back and said he told her he never wanted to see me again. Mrs. Stone was upset and . and so was I." He smiled ruefully. "What more could I do, Aunt Rhoda? He just didn't want to have anything to do with me. That's why I was surprised when I heard he'd left everything to me."

  "Peter," Cindy turned to him quickly, unable to keep quiet, "the other day I found . .."

  There came a pounding on the door and Mrs. Usher went to open it. Peter stood up as a tall girl came in. Cindy recognized her at once—Johanna Younge from the little tea-shop, the one-time beauty queen who had said jokingly that she was looking for a wealthy husband.

  Now she held out her hands. "Welcome back, Peter. You won't remember me—we only met a few times."

  Peter smiled. "Of course I do—the beauty queen. We all envied Jim and wondered how he'd done it."

  "You're back for good ?" Johanna said eagerly.

  "In a sense. I'll be here some time, anyhow," Peter told her.

  Johanna smiled at Cindy. "Tough luck, Miss Preston, but the castle needs a man. It'll be nice having you around, Peter, one gets very bored here." Sh
e gave him a brilliant smile, then looked at Mrs. Usher. "Just thought I'd pop in and welcome him back."

  "Very sweet of you, dear, most thoughtful," Mrs. Usher said, her voice dry. She closed the door and smiled at Peter. "Well?"

  "She hasn't changed at all, has she ?" he said, and laughed. "Once a beauty queen, always a beauty

  queen, I suppose. Well, Cindy, it's a lovely morning. I suggest we drive around and share the beauty."

  "A good idea," Mrs. Usher said warmly. "It really is nice to have you back, Peter."

  He bent and kissed her lightly. "Know something, Aunt Rhoda? It's nice to be back, too."

  Once in the car, he looked at Cindy.

  "I meant it," he said. "I wasn't happy here before —perhaps that's why I hated the place. Today I can see its charm."

  It was a pleasant morning. Peter took her to see all the beauty he found himself remembering. They stopped at Ambleside and looked at the quaint little cottage perched on the bridge, he showed her Cray Castle and then the cottage where Wordsworth lived and the rock on which he was supposed to have sat as he composed his poems, as well as the church where he and so many of his family were buried. Finally Peter drove then into the more bleak mountains, explaining that screes were where rocks had broken into small fragments and were dangerous to walk on. He showed her the majestic beauty' of Honister Pass and the gloomy frightening greyness of Wastwater. As they drove back to Claife Castle, Cindy felt sad, for she had an intuition that this would be their last morning alone together. She didn't know why, but she had a feeling that something unpleasant was about to happen .. .

  As they went into the Castle Mrs. Stone came hurrying, her face concerned.

  "You're late now, and a young lady phoned you,

  Mr. Baxter, asked you to pick her up at the station."

  "A young lady?" Peter sounded perplexed and then

  he laughed. "Was her name by chance Miss Todd?" he said.

  "That's right."

  "Well, we're starving, so please serve lunch, Mrs. Stone. Paul can fetch the young lady."

  "But she won't have had anything to eat."

  "I expect she's eaten there. In any case, she's on a diet, so it won't hurt her to starve for once—or if she's hungry when she arrives, I'm sure you can toss up a delectable omelette." He smiled as he spoke, but Cindy shivered. She knew—how she had no idea—but she knew he was angry, that he was battling to control his temper.

  Who was this Miss Todd? Cindy wondered as they ate their lunch almost in silence. He didn't seem to want to talk, so she sat quietly.

  They were drinking coffee when they heard the sound of a car. Peter frowned and looked at Cindy.

  "Women !" he said scathingly. "Why were they ever invented? They're nothing but a nuisance !"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THEY sat in silence, listening to the impatient hammering on the front door, then the squeak as it was opened.

  Cindy had no idea what sort of person she expected `Miss Todd' to be, but it seemed obvious that she was someone Peter didn't like particularly, for he had sent Paul to meet her, and also told Mrs. Stone they wouldn't wait for lunch ! So, as Cindy heard the sound of heels pattering on the polished floor, an impatient voice and Mrs. Stone's shrill answer before the dining-room door was flung open and 'Miss Todd' stood there, she hadn't expected what she saw !

  Cindy caught her breath; for a moment she could not believe her eyes or that this slim, tall, beautiful girl could possibly be 'Miss Todd'.

  But she obviously was, for Peter was on his feet. "Hullo, Yvonne."

  She practically charged into the room, glaring at him, her black and white fur coat swinging, her small white fur hat perched on top of short curly dark hair.

  "I just can't understand you, Peter Baxter !" she almost shouted, her cheeks flushed with rage. "A fine way to treat me ! I had to wait on that beastly cold platform—I'm starving, and then, to add to it, you haven't the decency to come and meet me yourself !" She looked round the room and as she saw Cindy, she

  seemed to freeze with shock, then swung round to look at Peter.

  "What's she doing here? I'd have thought she'd have the decency to go after the way she's behaved !" Yvonne Todd demanded.

  Peter's face was suddenly hard. "Miss Preston was good friend of my father's and I hope she will be my friend, too, so kindly stop behaving like a fishwife and being so rude !"

  Peter and the lovely girl just stood and stared at one another—almost as if it was the start of a duel, Cindy thought, as she stood up. Or perhaps two angry cats about to fight.

  Yvonne gave a little grunt, then smiled politely. "How do you do, Miss Preston. Delighted to meet you," she said sarcastically before turning back to Peter. "What some people can get away with amazes me. You're just like your father—soft to the wrong people. Is that boy bringing in my luggage?"

  Peter raised an eyebrow. "You've come to stay?"

  "Of course. You'll need a woman's hand here." She looked round the lofty cold room and at the big oil paintings on the wall. "It has gone to seed, hasn't it? I can't wait to explore it." She turned swiftly to Cindy, her eyes bright with suspicion. "I suppose you've been over it from top to toe with a magnifying glass," Yvonne Todd added bitterly.

  "Naturally Cindy was interested in what she believed might be her castle," Peter said quietly.

  Cindy wondered what she should do. Her inclination was to rush out of the room, for why should she stand there to be insulted? Yet Peter was defending her ... it was puzzling. Yvonne Todd was everything

  Cindy wished she could be—tall, slim, those huge " dark eyes, the high cheekbones, the husky voice ...

  "Mrs. Stone will show you to a room," Peter said, turning to the tall thin silent woman who was still standing just outside the door, her eyes bright with curiosity. "I'm sorry at such short notice, Mrs. Stone, but I wasn't expecting Miss Todd."

  Cindy saw the colour flame in Yvonne's cheeks and the quick intake of breath she gave. So Yvonne Todd had come up uninvited?

  "Yvonne," Peter swung round, "if you're hungry, I'm sure Mrs. Stone would make you an omelette. I understood you were on a diet." He looked at his watch. "I must go. I have an appointment with Mr. Fairhead." He glanced at Cindy. "I'm sure you can find plenty to do and I imagine Yvonne will be busy unpacking her incredible amount of luggage, so I suggest we all meet for tea."

  He walked past Yvonne, who took a step back, showing her surprise. Cindy hurried after him, trying to get to the stairs. She was going to start packing immediately, and while Peter was with Mr. Fairhead, she could quietly slip away.

  But at the foot of the stairs, Peter caught her by the arm. "I'm sorry, Cindy, for her rudeness. Yvonne believes in calling a spade a spade."

  Cindy looked at him. "She doesn't just call a spade a spade, she ..." she stopped herself in time. What was the good of losing her temper? It wouldn't help. She looked up at him"Look, Peter, I think it would be better for us all if I go back to London. I can always sleep on the way if it gets foggy, as I did coming up."

  He looked at her, his thick eyebrows moving together.

  "You promised," he said gently. "I had an idea you always kept your word."

  "But . . . but you don't need me now. You have her."

  "Suppose I don't want her?"

  Cindy managed to laugh. "Please ! Look, I'm sure I'll only be in the way .. ."

  His hand tightened on her arm. "Please," he echoed.

  She sighed, "All right . . ."

  "Good girl ! See you later," Peter smiled, and hurried out of the front door while Cindy, giving a quick glance at the five enormous suitcases piled up in the hall, fled up the stairs. How long did Yvonne Todd propose to stay? she wondered. How close were Yvonne and Peter? He had been almost rude and she had been angry in a possessive way. It seemed to be a strange sort of . . . well, relationship.

  Alone in her bedroom, Cindy locked the door, got out Uncle Robert's diary, curled up on the windowsill, the electric fire switched on and a blanket round her shoulders, for the rooms were too big to heat quickley.

  She read slowly the tiny beautifully written words, because it was difficult. It seemed odd that a successful business man who was, apparently, rather a tyrant could have written with such care, obviously thinking about each word before he wrote it.