Enemy Lover (3 page)

CHAPTER THREE

TINA went to London for an interview with the solicitors. They were an old firm—a very old-established firm—and she found them enshrined in an atmosphere of handsome tooled leather and crackly parchment that was mostly contained in black japanned deedboxes.

The crackly parchment that was concerned with Sir Angus Giffard, deceased, and his estate had already been brought forth from its appropriate deed-box. The senior partner of the firm was awaiting her behind a handsome walnut desk, and as she was shown into the room by an underling he rose with promptitude and walked to meet her. She was surprised, because he was quite unlike the aged and bent solicitor who had handled her father’s affairs, and had practised in a dark and stuffy little office where he employed one man and a youth; and the sea of faded but beautiful carpet she had to cross before her hand was firmly grasped by long white fingers was as much a surprise as everything else. Quite obviously London solicitors were far more prosperous than those who practised in small provincial towns.

“Ah, my dear Miss Andrews!” Mr. Jasper exclaimed. He had a thin

and elegant face as well as thin and elegant hands. She could actually fed him beaming at her.

Tina was wearing a warm wool dress under her fur-trimmed coat. The dress was a very dark red, and the coat was an even darker red—a shade that took the colour out of her small, delicately boned face. Her hair swung loosely on her shoulders, and as she had washed it only the night before it was an unbelievable pale flaxen yellow. Her eyes were alert and darkly blue.

“Mr. Jasper” she began, as if she had rehearsed her speech in advance, “I can’t understand why Sir Angus—”

“No, no, of course not, my dear young lady,” the solicitor returned, guiding her expertly to a chair and putting her into it. “No one ever understands why certain things happen, but they do happen, nevertheless. Sir Angus was a man, in any case, inclined to the unexpected, so perhaps this final gesture of his is not such a surprise, after all.”

“You mean—” looking at him with those very darkly blue eyes—“that you yourself are not surprised?”

He shrugged. It was an elegant gesture, and he took his place once more behind his desk.

“My dear young lady—” obviously he was going to adopt the paternal note—“does it matter? The important thing is that you rendered a service to Sir Angus, and he decided to reward you. A perfectly understandable thing for a man of his temperament to do.” “But what of his relatives? All those people who should have benefited under the terms of the will?” Mr. Jasper shrugged, and this lime he smiled a trifle curiously.

“Not really your concern, Ms. Andrews,” he assured her. “For one thing, the fact that they have been passed over in the will doesn’t mean that they have been reduced to a condition of poverty, or anything of that sort. Mrs. Clare Giffard has a perfectly satisfactory income of her own, and her daughter, also, is provided for. Dr. Giffard never expected to be mentioned in the will, and Sir Angus—”

“Ah, Sir Angus!” she exclaimed. The memory of those hard blue eyes that had raked her from head to foot and then dismissed her in complete contempt when she was not in any condition to put up any defence for herself had not faded. If anything, the memory of them had become like a raw wound that refused to heal ... Startling her suddenly in the silence of the night, rising up like an uneasy miasma in the daytime. He had stripped her bare of something that was more important than pride, and the fact that he had had no justification for disliking—if not despising—her offered her no comfort.

She had come to London for the express purpose of putting matters right, and avoiding all further contact with the owner of the merciless blue eyes. But it began to seem that it was not the simple matter that she had imagined, and Mr. Jasper talked with such smooth plausibility and so successfully prevented her advancing any arguments that she began to feel deliberately frustrated. According to him the new baronet was in no greater need of financial assistance than either his mother or sister.

It was unfortunate, perhaps, that Giffard’s Prior would no longer belong to any member of his family; but Sir Angus—the late Sir Angus—had been on such poor terms with his family for such a number of years that they could not have formed the habit of visiting there. And after all, it was entirely up to Sir Angus where he left his money . . . everything that belonged to him apart from his title. If he had married he would no doubt have had a wife and really close family of his own who could have benefited; but he had remained a bachelor all his days, and it was his whim that a young woman who was neither kith nor kin should inherit his possessions. In his will he had stated very clearly, and in no uncertain terms, that he considered she deserved them ... ‘The only female I ever met for whom I felt an instant attachment, and to whom I would have proposed marriage if I had been of an age to consider it. Being far beyond that age, and wishing her to know the greatest amount of security and comfort for the rest of her days—in an unmarried state if that should be her wish— I feel that I can now die happily, and at peace with my relatives who may not think kindly of me once I am gone. But as they never thought kindly of me during my lifetime that is not anything to worry me! My nephew, Angus, will get the title . . . And much good may it do him! And may he make a better success of his life than I have ever done!

‘My nephew, Alaine, lacks for little. My niece, Juliet, will almost certainly marry ... I should like my leading beneficiary to provide her with all the trimmings of a magnificent wedding when this event is to take place. My sister-in-law, Clare, might

be encouraged to visit at Giffard’s Prior if this should in no way inconvenience Miss Clementina Mary Andrews.’

Provision was made in the will for a couple of old servants, and there were one or two other minor bequests . . . But, apart from this, Tina was the only one who really benefited. To her it seemed a quite extraordinary and utterly unacceptable Last Will and Testament.

“You must realise, of course, that I couldn’t possibly— possibly.” she was beginning, when Mr. Jasper’s smooth voice died into silence; but he rose immediately and went towards her.

“Miss Andrews,” he pointed out, with unexpected firmness, “there is no question of your benefiting anyone if you decline to accept all that the late Sir Angus has made available to you. Short of an expensive legal action which might very easily go against them, the Giffard family will still get nothing even if you do refuse the benefits. Sir Angus provided for this eventuality in his will . . . The money goes to an obscure society for the preservation of ancient dialects, and the house—or houses, since there is also the London house—are to be sold to swell the funds. It seems to me that Sir Angus didn’t really want this to happen.”

Tina was startled and amazed.

“Did he dislike the members of his family so very much, then?” she asked.

Mr. Jasper smiled faintly, but declined to answer in so many words.

“And is it true that he put that bit in about wanting to marry me if—if he had been young enough to marry?” she managed to get out, while blushing vividly.

Mr. Jasper, with a wider and much more benevolent smile, asked her whether she would like to peruse the document for herself, but she declined hastily with an even more painful flush.

“No, no! It was just that I ... I couldn’t believe . . . You see, he only knew me a week.”

“Hearts have been lost in a day, Miss Andrews,” the solicitor reminded her gallantly.

“I know. But that usually happens when two people are—are young—”

“And impressionable? Well, I’ll confess Sir Angus proved himself to be far more impressionable than I would, have ever believed, although I can’t say I’m entirely astounded.” Mr. Jasper became very fatherly all at once. “You’re very attractive, my dear, if you don’t mind my saying so,” he said.

Tina felt a little glow of pleasure seep through her but it was largely because an old man who was nearly eighty had found her attractive enough to wish tc marry her after the briefest possible acquaintance, and stated so openly in his will.

“I shall always remember Sir Angus wanted to marry me,” she confessed with shy impulsiveness. “I’m twenty-three, and no one has ever wanted to marry me before!”

“Believe me,” the solicitor assured her a little drily, “it will not be the last time a man will want to marry you, Miss Andrews. You may find yourself very popular from now on.”

And then he asked her what she proposed to do in the immediate future, suggested that she stayed at a hotel for a few weeks until all the legal business was completed, and offered to advance her any money she required.

“Just name the sum,” he said, smiling, and preparing to write a cheque.

Tina looked slightly taken aback.

“Well, if I really can’t benefit the family by giving up all claim on the will, a few pounds...” she said diffidently.

“A few pounds? A few hundreds might suffice for the time being, but you will have a very generous income and there is no need to stint yourself. You can call upon me for whatever you need,” he assured her.

In the end she left his office with a cheque, the size of which made her feel vaguely uncomfortable, in her handbag, and a promise to take a taxi straight to the hotel in a very salubrious part of Kensington recommended by Mr. Jasper. She would have been perfectly happy driving to a hostel where she had stayed before, but he looked so shocked when she suggested it that she hastily agreed it might not, perhaps, be suitable . . . now that she could certainly afford somewhere better.

And as he let her out of the door, with many bows and smiles, and even accompanied her across the floor of the outer office, where a smiling secretary opened the door for them, he advised her to take a look at her London house—at present in a somewhat bad state of repair, since no one had lived in it for years—and arranged to have the keys dispatched to her with as little delay as possible.

“And if there’s anything you wish to know, or any advice or assistance you require, please don’t hesitate to contact me,” he begged her, and watched her walking a little dazedly down the steps as if she hardly knew whether she was the victim of good fortune or otherwise.

She took a taxi to the hotel, and was instantly provided with a room and bath on the second floor, the price of which caused her some serious misgivings when she thought about it afterwards. Nevertheless, it was a very pleasant room, the furnishings were almost luxurious, and the bathroom a real joy after the somewhat primitive bathing arrangements that were hers in the tiny schoolhouse in the far north. She would hardly have been normal and young if she hadn’t experienced a kind of upsurge of naive delight at the thought that this room was hers for as long as she wanted it—and could afford it—and that no one else had a right to enter it or disturb her in any way.

She wandered round examining the tapestry-covered armchairs and the writing-desk, and then decided to take a shower without delay. She had never taken a shower in her life before, and it was a glorious feeling standing beneath the deliciously warm water and then drying herself on some really voluminous towels. There appeared to be a vast quantity of them, and when next day they were all whisked away and a fresh supply put in their place she felt concern for the size of the hotel laundry bill.

But on this, her first evening, the novelty of everything was the thing that really mattered. She wondered what she was going to wear to go down to dinner, and then decided that there was really no problem, for she had one other dress with her, and that hardly fitted into the category of an evening-dress, or even a dinner-gown.

She had been granted a week’s leave of absence by the authority who controlled her little school, and although at that time it never even occurred to her that she would be giving up teaching it did occur to her that her wardrobe would have to undergo some extensive alterations . . not to say increases. One could hardly be the possessor of a cheque the size of the one contained inside her handbag and feel content to go about wearing either a dark red woollen dress or a skirt and hand-made jumper.

She decided that the red dress would have to do for going down to dinner, but nevertheless she felt almost painfully conspicuous when she entered the softly lit dining-room where a startlingly large number of people were already beginning their dinners.

They seemed to be composed largely of distinguished-looking elderly ladies wearing ropes of pearls and the odd diamond bracelet, who glanced up at her with raised brows as she made her way to a table. Fortunately, the waiter was attentive, and the head waiter was even more attentive after he had received a message from the reception desk which requested him to look after her and

pay her particular attention.

She was not to know that Mr. Jasper himself had telephoned and made it clear that she was a rather valuable client of his who was new to London and its ways, and asked that she should receive special treatment.

The next morning she rose early despite the temptation to enjoy a long lie-in in such a superbly comfortable bed, and breakfasted almost alone in the big dining-room. She had a really satisfying breakfast— fruit juice, cereal, bacon and egg, toast and marma-lade—and smiled when the waiter made some joke about not caring about the size of her waistline. As she had an exceptionally tiny waistline, neat and trim beneath the Orlon jumper that was the same almost violet blue as her eyes, he could do this without in any way offending, and she realised that he was actually paying her a compliment.

The first thing she intended to do this morning was make for the shops. She had a vague idea of the important shopping thoroughfares, and within half an hour of leaving the hotel was in one of London’s leading stores and choosing a practical outfit. She had a nasty moment when it came to settling the bill, for as yet she hadn’t presented her cheque at the bank, and only the thought of Mr. Jasper prevented her from becoming really flurried. But a telephone call to the solicitor soon put matters right, and she was assured that she could have extended credit at the stores if she wished it, and was finally escorted outside and put into a taxi by the young woman who had attended to most of her purchases.