Bird of Prey (9 page)

“Is that so?” Caroline replied. “What sort of monster?”

“Oh, very prehistoric,” Robin told her solemnly. “You see, the lake’s very deep: it goes down and down, and the monster lives right at the very bottom and he’s very fierce and savage. If you came here in the middle of the night, perhaps he’d come out of the water and catch you in his teeth and drag you down under the water to his gigantic cave and eat you in one great mouthful. ”

He gave a little shudder and returned to gazing fascinated at the lake beneath.

“Oh, I don’t believe there’s a monster there,” she told him

cheerfully. “That’s a story.”

“Do you think so?” His eyes were wide, seeking reassurance, and she wondered for a moment what horrors and fears lay behind Robin’s mischievousness.

“Yes, I’m perfectly sure there’s no monster there,” she said firmly. “Some day we must go for a row on the lake and you’ll see what I say is true.”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Robin agreed solemnly “When shall we go?”

“Oh, perhaps tomorrow. At any rate, we’ll go before you go home again.”

The child brightened at the news and bounded forward, singing at the top of his voice.

Caroline followed, entranced by the beauty of the scene: the russet colours of the mountains, covered now with withered bracken, the sunlight striking off the still waters beneath and the autumn hues of the leaves and berries. The path led downwards now into a small wood of firs and pine trees and Caroline was delighted with the fresh tangy scent of pine. The ground was carpeted with dry needles and their feet made no sound as they moved along.

As they emerged from the trees she saw to her surprise a tall figure in the distance walking with head bent, hands in pockets and evidently deep in reverie. At first Caroline didn’t realize who he was.

It was Robin who informed her. “There’s Uncle Cecil,” he exclaimed: “I’ll creep up behind him and give him a fright.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Caroline said firmly. “Probably he doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

Robin nodded in solemn agreement. “He’s probably composing.”

“In that case we’d better go our own way,” Caroline told him severely.

But already Robin’s shrill voice had carried to the figure ahead. He turned around and hailed them with an air of pleased surprise. “And what are you two doing here? It’s very seldom I find company on my rambles.”

“I told Caroline you were probably composing,” Robin said importantly.

“Were you?” Caroline inquired.

For a moment his thin, ascetic face flushed slightly as though in embarrassment. “Well, yes, actually I was! I find this countryside inspiring.” He fell into step beside her and Robin

again bounded forward, his voice shrill and happy.

“But how does it inspire you exactly?” Caroline inquired, completely at a loss. It was easy enough for her to conjure up fantasies in which she played interesting and romantic roles—but music! The idea was completely beyond her comprehension.

“Listen! ” They had come to where a steep narrow gorge led down to the lakeside. He caught her by the arm. “Do you hear that?”

Caroline strained her ears. “Nothing but a stream,” she said, mystified.

“Exactly! Just the tinkling of a stream—but to me it’s a cascade of silver notes. There are a hundred and one things to inspire me here—the songs of the birds, the winds moving through the trees, or the lap of the lake against the shore on a blustery day. All the beauty chat exists in the sounds of nature, if one’s ears are open to receive it.”

Caroline looked at him, almost in awe. “It must be wonderful to be capable of appreciating such subtleties. I’m afraid only the very obvious things occur to me.”

“Such as?”

“Oh—” She hesitated reluctantly.

“Don’t be shy. After all, I’ve confided in you.”

“Oh, but I think of such silly things, like—like—”

“Like being lost in the woods and rescued by a handsome hero.”

She blushed, astounded at such perception.

“Well, something like that,” she admitted.

“And why shouldn’t you?” He looked at her with a sort of wistful kindliness. “After all, you’re very young. It’s natural you should have a young girl’s hopes and yearnings.”

“Oh, I’m not so very young,” Caroline protested defensively. “Everyone seems to think me completely immature, even Mr.—” She stopped, biting back the name.

“Even Mr. Craig,” he finished. “Oh yes,” he nodded. “I can well imagine Randall treating you like a half-hatched fledgling, but then he has the inestimable advantage of being completely superior to the rest of the world.” His voice had taken on a bitter twist and Caroline looked at him curiously.

He was gazing ahead, tight-lipped. It was natural that the two men should dislike each other intensely. They were so completely different in every aspect—even in appearance: Randall with his strong, harsh looks, and Cecil, fine-boned and ascetic. She remembered the tone of contempt with which Randall had spoken of Cecil to his sister. “That tame musician brother of yours has more humanity than you have, Grace,” he had said to her. It was impossible that two such diverse personalities should have anything in common.

“Well, how do you like life at Longmere?” he was asking, and Caroline got the impression that he was deliberately changing the conversation.

“I don’t quite know,” she replied cautiously. “Mrs. Creed is trying to make things as comfortable as possible.”

“I’ll bet she is,” Cecil said a trifle sardonically. “The woman’s an inveterate snob. She’s found out, of course, that you’re our cousin and is playing her cards cautiously. ”

They had come to a small plateau of short grassy turf and of one accord they seated themselves. Cecil drew out a tobacco pouch and began thoughtfully to fill his pipe while Caroline, with arms clasped around her knees, dreamily watched Robin, who had run down to the shore and was now spinning flat stones across the smooth, mirror-like surface of the lake.

For some time they sat in companionable silence, then Cecil turned and regarded her thoughtfully. “Tell me, do you not find country life frightfully boring: there’s so very little to do here?” Caroline laughed. “You talk as if I’d led a very glamorous and exciting life with Uncle Trevor and Aunt Muriel. ”

“I don’t exactly mean that, but you did have the opportunity there of meeting boys of your own age. ” He watched her quizzically, as she pulled at a tuft of grass. “Tell me, Caroline, how do you actually get on with the master of Longmere?”

She looked up at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I say. I think you know exactly what I mean. He hasn’t the reputation for diplomacy or good manners. I hope he isn’t making things too tough for you.”

“He can be rather terrifying,” Caroline admitted. “Sometimes he reminds me of some sort of bird of prey, ready to swoop at the smallest sign of weakness.”

Cecil puffed at his pipe and gave his slow, rather melancholy smile. “Nevertheless I expect you’re well able to hold your own. In spite of your air of simplicity, Caroline, I imagine you can be pretty devastating when you put your mind to it. ”

“What’s a bird of prey?” Robin’s voice piped unexpectedly behind her.

With a start Caroline swung around and found to her dismay that Robin, tiring of his games at the lakeside, had been listening to their conversation with rapt attention. How much had he heard or understood? For a moment she felt acutely uncomfortable and hoped fervently that with small-boy heedlessness he would have forgotten the reference before they returned to Longmere.

“Never you mind, young man,” Cecil tapped out his pipe on a nearby stone and got to his feet. “I think it’s time we were heading back. If I hadn’t met you two I’d have begun work ages ago.” He caught Caroline by the hands and his face crinkled into a smile as he pulled her to her feet. “Though I won’t deny how much I’ve enjoyed your company. It’s reminded me that there are other things in life apart from music.”

His eyes were warm as he regarded her and for a moment Caroline turned away a little shyly. But as they walked back together, their conversation casual and desultory, it was as though they had known each other for a long time and were perfectly at ease in each other’s company.

As they came in sight of the house Cecil bade her farewell, saying sotto voce as they were parting, “I’ve no wish to meet up with your bird of prey. He always gives the impression that he considers a composer one of the most despicable creatures on the face of the earth. However, I don’t let his opinion influence me unduly,” he added dryly. “Perhaps we’ll meet again, Caroline, when you decide to go walking once more.” With a wave of the hand he went off.

Caroline and Robin continued towards the house which stood still and deserted against the light of the blue-grey sky: there was no sign of life and a strange calm hung over the scene as though it were a landscape painting.

Robin had taken her hand and was now skipping by her side as Caroline walked along humming to herself. He seemed to have forgotten what he had heard of their conversation, much to her relief. Surely by the time he again encountered Randall Craig, it would have completely passed from his young mind!

It was as they were passing the glasshouses that Randall appeared, in company with an elderly gardener with whom he was deep in conversation.

He had barely dismissed the old man when, to Caroline’s horror, Robin piped shrilly, “What’s a bird of prey, Randall?”

He fixed the child with an inquiring look. “Caroline was saying to Uncle Cecil that that’s what you are,” Robin explained solemnly, “but they wouldn’t tell me what it was, so I expect it must be something rather horrid.”

Silence followed Robin’s piping inquiry and Caroline felt the vivid colour flood her cheeks as she became aware of being the object of Randall’s piercing and sardonic regard. She scuffed her shoes in the gravel and wished fervently that the earth would open up and swallow her.

“You’re right, Robin, ‘bird of prey’ is not exactly a particularly flattering description. But I find Caroline’s assessment of me interesting.” Again she felt intensely conscious of being impaled by those deep-set steely eyes. “So that’s how you regard me, is it, Caroline, as predatory? Who’d have thought that beneath that prim exterior of yours there beats such a rebellious heart? But I find your opinion interesting. Why don’t you expand a little on the subject?”

There was no mistaking the mockery behind his words and Caroline’s initial embarrassment was swept away by a mounting sense of resentment. She glanced up at him and tried to meet his regard unflinchingly. “You don’t really care what people think of you, do you?”

He shrugged. “On the contrary, you have me all agog.”

“Very well! ” She gazed up at him bellicosely. “If you really want to know, I think you’re a tyrant and a bully and you’re arrogant and self-opinionated and—and—” She stopped, breathless and shaking with resentment.

But, completely unmoved, Randall Craig said dryly, “Don’t tell me you’re at a loss for words! Do go on, Caroline, for I’ve a feeling you’ve a lot more flattering things to say.”

But Caroline discovered that she had shot her bolt. She felt nothing now but dismay. The arrogant Randall Craig was not in the habit of hearing home truths from his employees. This explosion on her part would certainly result in her summary departure from Longmere, and somehow now that her dismissal was imminent she felt her heart sink dismally. It was as though the brightness of the day had become dimmed and a dark shadow had stolen across the countryside. For a moment she wondered confusedly why she should feel such a crushing sense of misery. After all, since her arrival at Longmere Randall Craig’s attitude towards her had fluctuated between disinterest and open mockery. He was not the type of man she could admire, she told herself firmly.

But her heart beat with leaden thumps as she waited for his cold words of dismissal.

CHAPTER FOUR

FOR a moment silence lay between them and she could feel herself being examined with more acute interest than he had shown before. “Really, you’re quite a surprising little person, aren’t you? Who’d have thought that the bedraggled waif at the railway station would have turned into a firebrand!”

With resentment that was tempered with relief she heard a distinct note of genuine amusement in his tones. So instead of taking her outburst seriously he was simply dismissing it!

“So you met Cecil Perdue on your rambles, did you?” he added abruptly, “and as you’re such an acute judge of character, Caroline, I’d be interested to have your considered opinion of him.”

Caroline gazed at him suspiciously. She was not going to be tricked into a further outburst, no matter how derisive his tones.

“Well, why don’t you answer? You were loquacious enough when it came to an analysis of my character. Why the sudden silence, now that we’re on the subject of Cecil? But at least you can’t accuse him of being arrogant or self-opinionated. That would rather spoil the picture he presents of a romantic, dreaming musician with his head in the clouds,” he added contemptuously.

And again Caroline found herself impulsively springing to Cecil’s defence. “You despise artistic people, don’t you—creative people, like Cecil?”

He frowned. “Not necessarily. Let’s just say I despise Cecil. An unsuccessful composer is hardly my idea of an admirable character—especially when he sponges on his sister. I’m sure he’d be flattered if he knew how quickly you came to his defence. Don’t tell me that the artistic, sensitive Cecil has superseded that admirable character, Dick, in your affections?”