Bird of Prey (10 page)

“No, of course not,” she replied quickly. Then, as she saw him smile, she added quickly, “It’s simply that I expect a man like you finds it difficult to understand Cecil.”

“A man like me? What exactly do you mean by that ambiguous remark?”

But Caroline was not to be led into further indiscretions, especially as she realized that he wasn’t the smallest bit interested in her opinion of him and was simply trying to lead her deeper and deeper into a morass of confusion.

“I think we’d better go on to the house,” she said quickly. “Robin must be hungry. Aren’t you, Robin?”

Robin nodded obligingly.

“Yes, I’m very hungry,” he agreed. “I hope Mrs. Creed has

something very nice for elevenses.”

A sardonic smile twisted Randall’s thin, bony face. “Well, I suppose it’s as good an excuse as any to flee from my presence. Hurry off to the house, then, both of you.”

As he spoke he turned abruptly on his heel. She stood in silence watching as he got into the big car and drove away.

Slowly, Caroline continued towards the house, following Robin who ran before her. Led by the sound of his high, shrill tones, she found herself once more in the parlour in which she had been entertained by the housekeeper on the previous day. Here Robin was regaling Mrs. Creed with the story of the morning’s adventures. “And we saw Uncle Cecil,” he told her, “and I was going to creep up on him and shout ‘Boo’ and give him a fright, but Caroline wouldn’t let me.”

“And Caroline was quite right. Such behaviour!” Mrs. Creed admonished.

“I hate milk,” Robin broke off to exclaim as Mrs. Creed placed milk and biscuits before him. “Why can’t I have lemonade and cake instead?”

“Because your mummy says you’re to have milk and biscuits,” the housekeeper told him. “You won’t grow into a big, strong man if you don’t drink your milk.”

“Please, Mrs. Creed, may I have lemonade for once?”

“Well, we’ll see—tomorrow, perhaps. Now tell me what else happened while you were on your walk?” The housekeeper diverted the boy’s attention, as she poured coffee for Caroline.

“I threw stones,” Robin went on.

“What? Threw stones at your Uncle Cecil?” gasped Mrs. Creed, turning in horror to Caroline.

Robin gave a hoot of laughter and nearly choked on a biscuit. “No, in the lake,” he informed her.

“Oh, well, there’s no harm in that,” the housekeeper approved.

“Really, such a child!” She turned to Caroline. “And Mr. Cecil’s such a dreamy, easygoing sort of person that one wonders

sometimes—”

“Oh, I wouldn’t throw stones at Uncle Cecil,” Robin assured her.

“Not really, because I like him.”

“Besides, Mr. Craig doesn’t like little boys to be naughty,” the housekeeper reminded him. “Mr. Cecil is busy composing his music, but Mr. Craig sees everything and takes notice of everything, you may be sure.”

“Oh yes, he has eyes in the back of his head,” Robin agreed, munching his biscuits energetically.

“Robin seems to have enjoyed his walk,” the housekeeper said to Caroline. “You must go out with him again tomorrow if it’s fine.”

Robin paused, a rim of white milk outlining his upper lip. “What shall we do tomorrow if it’s raining, Caroline?”

Caroline looked at him, quite at a loss at this unexpected question. “Oh—oh, I don’t know,” she replied, after a moment. “We’ll think of something exciting to do indoors.”

“Such a pity Mrs. Brant forgot to pack a coat for the child,” Mrs. Creed murmured to Caroline. “He’s so much better when he’s outdoors, and—”

“You must buy me an anorak, like yours, Caroline,” Robin’s voice burst into the housekeeper’s carefully sotto voce remarks.

“What? Really, Robin!” Mrs. Creed turned to him sharply.

“You said I could have one, didn’t you, Caroline?” Robin demanded.

“Well, yes, but—” Caroline temporised.

“The idea! Really, you are the most spoiled child,” Mrs. Creed scolded. “After all, it’s for your mummy to buy you a new coat and—”

“Oh, Mummy wouldn’t mind if Caroline bought it for me,” Robin told her confidently.

Caroline smiled. Robin was still young enough to think that all grown-ups had plenty of money, she was thinking wryly. The difference between Grace’s wealth and her own poverty was something he was not aware of.

“And that reminds me,” Mrs. Creed went on, speaking softly to Caroline, “we haven’t settled up yet the question of your salary. Considering that your position here is—well, rather unusual, I thought it better to leave it to Mr. Craig himself, but I’d remind him about it, if I were you, for he goes off on trips abroad quite suddenly, sometimes without giving us hardly any notice, and is often away for weeks, and it would be very awkward if matters were left hanging in the air. ”

Caroline looked at Robin’s eager questioning face and suddenly her mind was made up. She had not troubled herself about the question of salary because she had been so thankful to have secured a job and shelter that she felt inclined to leave this to fate, but now she knew that for Robin’s sake she would tackle

the problem.

“Yes, I’ll ask him as soon as I can,” she told Mrs. Creed. Then she said reassuringly to Robin, “Don’t worry, you shall have a nice new anorak and we’ll go out on the moors, even if the day isn’t really fine.”

Delighted, Robin ran out of the room, and Mrs. Creed turned to Caroline admonishingly. “Really, Caroline, don’t be foolish. Mrs. Brant has more than enough money to give the child everything he needs—indeed, that’s what’s wrong—he gets far too many clothes—far more than any sensible boy could wear. Remember, this will be quite an inroad on your salary. But the child’s so thoughtless—fancy asking you for a jacket. Just spoiled, that’s what he is!”

Mrs. Creed went on in the same strain for some time and Caroline was glad when at last she said it was time to get back to work and hurried off in the direction of the kitchens.

During the rest of the day Caroline found Robin much easier to handle. His airing on the moors seemed to have run off his surplus energies and he permitted her to read aloud to him and actually settled down for a nap in the afternoon without too much fuss.

In spite of this the day was exhausting as far as Caroline was concerned and she was glad when at last she was able to tuck him up in his bed.

This wasn’t the end of the day, however, she was to discover, for she had no sooner gone to her own room that night when Robin appeared in the doorway, in his blue and white striped pyjamas, looking very wide awake.

“Robin! Why are you not asleep?” Caroline demanded. “And how did you find out where my room is?”

“Oh, I watched you going upstairs and I followed you to see what door you would go in, but you didn’t see me,” he told her, triumphantly.

“But why?”

“Well, I had to know, so that I could come and ask you for a drink of water if I felt thirsty during the night,” he explained.

“Oh, Robin,” Caroline cried in exasperation. “Come along.” She held out her hand. “Off to bed with you.”

But he avoided her hand and began to wander about her room. “This is a nice room,” he decided, examining it critically. “It has a fluffy bedspread, and besides, it’s small. I like small bedrooms because they make you feel safe.”

So the real reason for Robin’s wakefulness was that he was frightened in his strange bedroom and was doing everything he could to postpone the moment when he would be left alone for the night in the great, high-ceilinged room.

Caroline eventually persuaded him to come down again with her to his bedroom and once more tucked him in, making sure to leave the bedside lamp switched on.

As she was about to leave, she said impulsively, “How would you like a sweet, Robin? I’ve a bar of chocolate in my room. I’ll bring it down to you and you may eat it before you go to sleep— just for this once.”

To her surprise, although Robin’s eyes brightened at the suggestion, he shook his head. “Mummy says I mayn’t eat sweets—especially at bedtime, ’cos they’re bad for my teeth.” Caroline gazed at the child thoughtfully. Robin, so spoiled and pampered in many ways, was also denied so many of the things that go to make up the normal life of a child. Grace, over-indulgent at times, could also be severe in her thoughtless, almost careless way.

“Of course if you say I
ought
to,” Robin said wheedingly, “Mummy said I was to obey you and do as you tell me.”

Caroline laughed. “No, Robin, you’d better do as your mummy wishes.”

“Well, will you read me a bedtime story?”

So Caroline read to him the story of the Ugly Duckling that became a swan. As the enchanting fairy-tale progressed, she was relieved to see Robin’s golden-brown lashes fall against his cheeks in baby-like curves. He appeared to have drowsed off and she was tiptoeing towards the door when he suddenly sat up again. “You won’t forget—about buying me the anorak?” he asked, in his ringing, childish voice. Caroline spun around on her heel. “Oh, Robin!”

“I’m going to sleep now—really I am,” he assured her. “I just wanted to be sure.”

As Caroline met that limpid gaze she knew she couldn’t possibly disappoint the child. “Very well, I promise. I’ll go tomorrow—that is, if Mr. Craig returns tonight.”

“Tomorrow? Oh, good! May I come with you?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see,” she temporised.

“You’ll have to take me with you so that you’ll know what size to get,” he told her. “Otherwise you might buy one that was far too small—or miles too big. I’ll go to sleep immediately so that I’ll be able to get up in plenty of time,” he finished with a radiant smile as he snuggled under the clothes.

As Caroline returned to her room she was thinking wryly that once again her impulsive nature had landed her in an awkward situation.

She opened her window wide and sat on the edge of her bed reading, in an endeavour to keep awake until she should hear the sound of Randall’s return. So absorbed had she become that it was only when she heard his voice calling to the dogs and the sound of their baying as they ran to meet him that she realized that he was home again. Slowly she closed the book and with a hand that trembled, replaced it in the short row of her favourite volumes along the narrow mantelshelf.

She waited a moment, then silently opened her door and listened, her breath held. There came the sound of footsteps across the hall and the slam of his study door.

She walked across to the little mirror on top of the chest of drawers and peered in. How pale she looked, her eyes great frightened pools in her small, brittle boned face. And suddenly she felt angry with herself. Why, Caroline Downes, you’re no better than a frightened baby, she told herself contemptuously. She picked up her hairbrush and drew it through her thick dark brown hair with a few swift strokes, dashed some lipstick on her small, well-shaped mouth and then as a last thought, rummaged in her drawer and drew out the small bottle of perfume she had purchased with the money Uncle Trevor had given her on her last birthday. Muguet des Bois: the scent seemed to fill the small room as she tipped the tiny bottle with a trembling hand, spilling far too much of the precious liquid over her handkerchief. Then, stuffing it in her pocket, she turned and almost ran from the room. If she delayed any longer her courage would ooze quite away and she would never be able to face him.

Outside the study door she paused for a moment, then knocked firmly. She could hear the sound of coals being shovelled on to the fire with a generous hand. He had not heard her and she was forced to knock again, feeling her courage rapidly evaporating. There came the sound of quick footsteps, the door was thrown wide and Randall’s tall, thin figure stood framed in the doorway.

“Caroline! What are you doing here at this hour of the night?”

“I—I wonder if I could speak to you for a few moments,” she faltered.

He considered her thoughtfully. “But why tonight?” he

demanded. “Surely tomorrow will do just as well?”

“Oh, no, it won’t,” Caroline replied with what she immediately realized was unnecessary emphasis. “I want to catch the bus in the morning and perhaps I won’t see you then.”

For a moment he looked down at her from his great height, and then said, “I see. Very well, come in.”

He turned and moved across the room to an armchair and indicated that she should seat herself in the chair opposite.

She sat down, feeling herself growing increasingly more flustered, especially as he didn’t pursue the subject but busied himself with poking the fire.

Then at last he turned to her. “So it took you only a very short time to tire of us. I had hoped we’d be able to keep you a little longer—but then that’s the curse that hangs over Longmere, isn’t it? No one stays very long.”

“Oh, but I’m not leaving,” she interposed quickly. “It’s simply that I want to go into Keswick.”

“To Keswick? And why on earth shouldn’t you go into Keswick without consulting me about it?”

She was coming to the awkward part of her interview and she tried to tread as warily as possible.

“Well, I was thinking of doing a little shopping,” she said carefully.

“I see.” He laid the poker down and regarded her thoughtfully. “I think I begin to understand. You’re going on a shopping spree and would like to know what arrangements axe to be made concerning your salary, isn’t that it?”