The Golden Maze Read online

  It was sad reading. He admitted frankly that he regretted so much of his past. He wrote of his wife, `so gentle that it irritated me immensely',—of his son,

  `too much like me. Maybe that is why we constantly clashed.'

  Cindy was searching for the mention of his illness, of the day his son had come to see him and he had rejected him, telling Mrs. Stone to tell his son that he never wanted to see him again.

  Somehow it didn't make sense—unless this diary was supposed to be a satire? Could it be that he had written it as a joke? Pretending to be the opposite of everything he was. Or was this his real self ?

  Hehad written down the dates he wrote, so perhaps if she could find out when Peter had come to see his father, she could trace the entry Uncle Robert would have surely made? Mrs. Stone might know, but she was the last person Cindy wanted to ask. Peter? Definitely no. That left her Luke Fairhead. He had said he had seen Peter—even if it wasn't the actual date, he might remember the year and the season which would help.

  Quickly Cindy locked away Uncle. Robert's diary, brushed her hair, put on a warm yellow jersey over blue trousers. If she was quick, she might catch Mr. Fairhead after his talk with Peter. She would wait in the car . . . from there she could see Mr. Fairhead's office. He was sure to be there before going home.

  The castle was very still as Cindy went down the

  ' curving staircase as quietly as she could, for she had no desire to meet Yvonne Todd. The drawing-room was empty, so she let herself out through one of the french windows on to the paved terrace that ran down the sides of the castle. Even as she did, a man came out from the shadow of a clump of trees and came

  - to meet her.

  A short man, not much taller than herself, Cindy noticed. He had a pointed black beard, sideboards and even thicker black eyebrows than Peter.

  "Miss Preston ?" he said politely.

  "Yes." She was startled. There was no sign of a car, so how had he got up there ? Unless he had parked the car further down the road and came up quietly, not wanting to be seen. But if so . . .

  "I understand you are inheriting this castle," he went on.

  Cindy stared at him and frowned. "I am not. Mr. Baxter's son is."

  "I understand he can't be traced." -

  "He's been found. He's here now," Cindy told him. "Look, I'm afraid I can't stop now . . ."

  The man moved forward, blocking her way. "Please, Miss Preston. You say Peter Baxter has been found? This is news. So the castle and its treasures are no longer yours. Is Mr. Baxter here?"

  "Yes. Look, I can't . .."

  "Mr. Baxter is staying here and so are you ?" The short man grinned, his big white teeth flashing. "Oh, maybe you and he will marry and share the castle ?" He gave a funny little laugh.

  "It's most unlikely," Cindy said angrily. "We don't know one another. Besides, he has a friend also staying . . ." She stopped abruptly. She shouldn't be answering questions. It would only mean more news in the papers and more trouble.

  "I see . . . the eternal triangle !" he chuckled, and Cindy's cheeks burned.

  "Look, please get out of my way. I don't wish to be interviewed."

  "I understand. You've found yourself in a very embarrassing position, Miss Preston. I understand you arranged to sell the castle to an American. Will Mr. Baxter do the same ?"

  "What the . . ." Peter had come round the side of the castle and towered above them. "Just who are you ?" he asked angrily. "You know Miss Preston ?"

  The little man swung round, "She spoke to me on the phone in London."

  "I did not !" Cindy cried.

  Both the men looked at her.

  "Excuse me, Miss Preston, but you did. You rang my newspaper and told me about, the castle you were about to inherit and that you'd been made an offer by an American which you were going to accept if the deceased's son did not turn up . .." the little man said quietly.

  Cindy stared at him, bewildered, Suddenly she thought of something. "I gave you my name ?"

  He shook his head. "I asked, but you said you'd prefer not to .. ."

  "Why should I have said that? What did it matter if you had my name?" Cindy asked quickly. "You could easily have found out from the solicitor ..."

  "Ah, the solicitor," Peter said.

  Cindy looked up at him. "Peter,' I didn't phone the newspaper. Why should I ? It just doesn't make sense . ."

  It certainly didn't. Peter soon got rid of the polite little reporter who told them his name was Neil Gifford and he was sorry if he had embarrassed them but . . . news was news and it was his job. He finally

  went and Cindy looked at Peter who looked back at her, an odd expression on his face.

  "You don't believe me, do you ?" Cindy said. "This is the end. I'm going . .."

  He caught her by both arms. "Oh, no, you're not," he said quietly. "Not until I say so . . ."

  She tried to free herself, but his grip was tight. "There's something funny, here," he told her. "And you're not going until I find out . . ."

  "Peter . . ." A demanding voice broke the stillness as they looked at one another. "Peter . . . where are you ..."

  Yvonne came round the corner, elegant in her white trouser suit. "Oh, there you are," she said, her voice disapproving. "What's going on ?"

  "I've just persuaded Cindy to stay on. She's eager to get back to London, but I said we would prefer her to stay." Peter gave an odd smile. "We need a chaperone."

  He let go of Cindy and they walked back to the front of the castle. Mrs. Stone must have seen the french window open, for now it was closed and locked and they heard the tinkle of a gong through the open front door.

  "Tea," said Peter. "I don't know about you two, but I could do with a cup." He looked at Cindy. "Things are worse than I expected them to be, according to Luke Fairhead. I imagine you saw that, too."

  Yvonne, leading the way, spoke over her shoulder.

  "Surely your father was a rich man? I understood... ." She stopped abruptly. "Who was that little man I saw walking down the drive?"

  "Only a reporter," Cindy said.

  "A reporter?" There was a sharp note in Yvonne's voice. "What was he doing here ?"

  "Asking questions, of course. That's what reporters always do," Peter told bier, his voice amused.

  "I know that," Yvonne snapped. "But what about ?"

  "The American. who wants to buy the castle and take it, stone by stone, to rebuild in his own country," Peter said slowly, sounding bored.

  "Well, that's off now, isn't it ?" said Yvonne. "So it isn't news."

  "Isn't it ?" said Peter, as they reached the open front door where Mrs. Stone stood, tall, dignified and disapproving, the gong in her hands. "I wonder . . ." he added as he led the way indoors.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TEA was not a very pleasant meal for Cindy, as Yvonne completely ignored her, talking to Peter all the time while Peter kept including Cindy in the conversation. Afterwards, Peter looked at Yvonne.

  "Like me to show you round the castle ?" he asked casually.

  "I have been all over it, but maybe you'll show me things I missed," Yvonne said with a sweet smile.

  "Good—let's go, now." Peter got up and they left the room. Cindy sat very still, trying to reassure herself that Peter hadn't just forgotten her, that he might have done it thoughtfully, in believing that it would be kinder not to show her the castle she had lost. Mrs. Stone came in to collect the tea things. She gave Cindy a quick, disapproving glance but said nothing. Cindy went up to her bedroom and got out Uncle Robert's diary. If only she knew the date of the day Mr. Fairhead had seen Peter come to see his ' father ! Suddenly she knew what she must do. Quickly she put away the notes, pulled on her anorak, because it would be chilly outside, and hurried out to Mr. Fairhead's office.

  He wasn't there. But Paul Stone was. He looked up from some bushes he was clipping and asked her what she wanted.

  ' "I want to see Mr. Fairhead."

  "Why ?" he asked.

  Cindy bit her lip. "That's my business."

  "No longer," Paul Stone said with a grin. "How do you feel now?" He laughed. "Serves you right, that's what I say."

  "Look, Mr. Stone," Cindy kept a grip on her temper, "I want to see Mr. Fairhead. Where would he be at this time ?"

  Paul Stone made a great show of looking at his watch. He took as long as he could over it, even lifting it to his ear to see if it was ticking. Cindy forced herself to wait. She had to see Luke Fairhead, otherwise she would have walked off.

  "Reckon that at this hour, he'll be home with his missus. It's other side of the village. You can't mistake it, t'roof is going green with age."

  "Thank you," Cindy said politely. "I'll wait and see him tomorrow."

  Paul grinned. "He won't be coming tomorrow, neither the next day. He has his own farm to run."

  "I see." Cindy hesitated for a moment, then went and backed her car out. It was fast growing dark, but that didn't worry her.

  She had soon driven through the village. There was an open space of fields coming down to the lakeside and then the saw a large square-looking farmhouse. She couldn't see if the roof was green or not, but she pulled up outside and went through the little white gate to the front door. She pulled the bell and the door opened. A tall woman with a large plump face and a friendly smile stared at her. She wore a bright blue frock.

  "Who's to wanting ?" she asked.

  "Is this Mr. Fairhead's farm ?" Cindy was relieved

  when the woman nodded. "I wonder if I could see him."

  "Of course." The door was opened wider and she was invited into a tiled hall. "You must be Miss Preston. Luke is just having tea. Come and join us, Miss Preston."

  "That's very good of you."

  "A pleasure, I'm sure. I'm Mrs. Fairhead, Maidie Fairhead. Born in this house, and so was my grandfather," she said as she led the way down the hall and to a huge warm kitchen where a kitchen range blazed cheerfully.

  Mr. Fairhead stood up. He was in his shirt sleeves and looked a little embarrassed. Two or three children were also at the table and turned to stare at Cindy.

  "Come in, Miss Preston," Luke Fairhead said warmly. "Sit down and have something to eat."

  "No, thanks. I've just had tea," Cindy smiled at him "I tried to see you before you left the castle, but I got held up."

  Luke Fairhead grinned. "The Press, I hear. Peter Baxter wasn't amused, eh?"

  Cindy laughed. "Nor was I. Why can't the Press leave us alone ?" She sat back in the high-backed chair and ran her hand over her face. "You know, Mr. Fairhead, sometimes I wish Uncle Robert had forgotten me."

  Mrs. Fairhead leaned forward eagerly. "I remember when you stayed at the castle with your mum. A lovely woman, she. You were but a little lass."

  "I loved the castle. It was so ... so . ."

  "Romantic," Luke Fairhead said drily.

  Cindy looked at him ruefully. "I still find it fascinating. Will . . . will Peter be able to save it ?"

  "I think so. Shrewd, that lad's become. And bright. I always thought he was. Eeeh, Miss Preston, maybe I shouldn't ask you any time, but . . . but is he, and that . . . well . . ." Luke Fairhead seemed embarrassed and looked at his wife. She came to the rescue.

  "We were wondering, like, if he was going to marry Miss Todd any time."

  Cindy looked at them both and shook her head. "I don't know. She practically told me they were."

  "And what did he say, Peter himself ?" Luke Fairhead asked.

  "He wasn't there. I don't know him very well. I mean, we've only just met and . . ."

  Maidie Fairhead nodded her head wisely, her dark hair slightly streaked with grey. "A good-looking lad is our Peter. 'T’was a sad day when he left. I always wished he and his dad could have made it up. Fair broke his dad's heart, it did."

  Cindy drank the cup of tea she had been given, then turned to Luke Fairhead. "Can you remember when it was that Peter came to see his father and was turned away?"

  Luke's weather beaten face wrinkled as he frowned.

  "Ah'll think. Maidie, you're the one for remembering . . . Let's see, he died three years ago, and 'twas about a year before."

  "It was September four years ago. I remember how upset you were, Luke. Fair broke your heart."

  "Well, the look on that lad's face . . ."

  "It couldn't have been easy for Mrs. Stone to have to give Peter the message," Cindy said, and saw the

  quick look the two Fairheads gave one another. "You said the quarrel broke his dad's heart, yet he refused to see Peter. It doesn't make sense."

  "You're right. We couldn't understand it. Mrs. Stone, none of us liked her any time. Just crazy about that boy of hers, out to get all she could from the poor old man .. ."

  "Do you think .. ." Cindy began cautiously. "Do you think Mrs.Stone could have made it up and actually never told Uncle Robert that Peter had come to see him ?"

  Again Mr. and Mrs. Fairhead glanced at one another.

  "Wouldn't put it past her," said Mrs. Fairhead. "We never did trust her. Luke's always saying the money she spent on running the Castle and we couldn't see where t'had gone."

  "You'll be leaving us soon?" Luke Fairhead asked. "I'm sorry."

  Cindy smiled at him. "Thanks very much. I'm sorry, too, but I always did know that if Peter turned up, the castle wouldn't be mine. You know, it's strange. I just can't understand it, but . . . but Peter was going to let me have the castle, he said, because he didn't want it and he knew I did, but . . . but then there was that article in the paper.. You saw it, of course ?"

  The children had raced away with Bessie, the dog, and now there was only Cindy and the two Fairheads round the table.

  "I didn't give that information to the paper. I knew nothing about it," Cindy said almost desperately. "And today that horrible little reporter came and

  asked questions and told Peter I'd phoned him and told him about the American offer. I knew nothing about it."

  Luke Fairhead leaned forward and patted her hand. "Don't fret so, lass. We know that."

  "Peter doesn't believe me." Cindy heard the desperate note in her voice and stopped.

  "Another cup of tea, love ?" Mrs. Fairhead asked tactfully, rising to take the cup and fill it.

  "That doesn't sound like our Peter," commented Luke.

  "Well, as I said, the reporter told Peter I had phoned him and told him that if I inherited the castle I would sell it to the American, and I didn't." Again, Cindy heard her voice rise.

  Mrs. Fairhead put the cup of tea on the table. "There, love, don't let it fret you. I'm sure no one with sense would believe you'd do a thing like that."

  "Peter does," said Cindy, and sipped the hot sweet tea gratefully.

  Afterwards she told them about the diary she had found.

  "I felt rather awful about reading it, but.. . but I wanted to know more about Uncle Robert and . . . and honestly, he seemed awfully upset about Peter and blamed himself."

  "Has Peter read it?" Luke asked.

  "Not yet. I'm giving it to him when I leave at the end of the week because I haven't finished it. It's terribly tiny writing and I'm afraid Peter might be too impatient to read it and miss the important parts. About the letters, I mean. Peter told me that he got back all the letters he wrote to his father, they were

  returned unopened. Yet Uncle Robert says how he longs for a letter. And I want to see if I can trace the entry of September, four years ago, and see what he says then about Peter's visit. I can't understand why he refused to see Peter when he kept writing about him."

  "If ... he refused," Maidie Fairhead said slowly. "I never did trust that Stone woman."

  "You think she may have ?" Cindy looked at them. "I want to be able to say to Peter, read these dates and see what your father really felt. As I said, the writing is terribly small and Peter can be impatient." She smiled. "Oh, I can't tell you how wonderful it is to have you both on my side. I wanted to leave, but Peter persuaded me to stay, and yet I feel horribly in the way and . . . and unwanted. It hurts when someone you . . . when someone just refuses to believe you," she added wistfully.

  "We're behind you all the way," Luke Fairhead said gravely. "Maybe you've mistook Peter. 'T’wasn't the impression I got."

  The grandfather clock in the hall chimed noisily.

  "I'd better go." Cindy jumped up. "If I'm late for dinner, it'll just give them something else to blame me for."

  Both Fairheads went out to see Cindy off in her little grey car.

  "Thanks . . . thanks for everything," Cindy called.

  Driving back to the castle, she felt happier than she had done for days, for at least the Fairheads were on her side.

  Peter was in the hall and opened the door after she had knocked.

  "Where have you been?" he asked angrily. "You had me worried."

  "I wanted to see Mr. Fairhead."

  "Was it important ?" Peter demanded.

  Cindy looked up at him. Should she tell him, now?

  she wondered. Or would it be better to wait until she

  could give specific facts and dates to look up?

  "Yes, it was," she said coldly, and walked by him.

  "I think I'll have an early night. I'm tired." "Come and have a drink," he said, taking her

  anorak off and leading the way to the drawing-room. Yvonne glanced up from where she sat by the fire. "I thought you'd gone," she said, her voice implying

  that it was a pity Cindy hadn't.

  The Fairheads' loyalty and belief in her had heightened Cindy's courage, so she laughed :

  "I promised Peter I'd stay till the end of the week." Yvonne frowned. "It seems daft to me, it can only hurt you more."

  "On the contrary," Cindy said almost light heartedly, "I'm thoroughly enjoying it."

  After dinner, they were having coffee in the drawing-room and talking when Mrs. Stone opened the door and said, her voice stiff :

  "Mr. Baxter . . . Mr. David Baxter."

  Cindy looked up, startled, staring at the man she had mistaken for Peter. Now she saw the two of them together, she could see how foolish she had been.