Home is Where the Heart Is (6 page)

"Rob, I just couldn't believe my eyes when I saw that bungalow this afternoon. I could have wept, I was so upset."

"Honestly, Lindy, I'd never have told you if I'd thought you'd be so cut up about all this. I'd have just invented some story about White Chestnuts being turned into a convalescent home or something."

Lindsey smiled. Rob only called her, "Lindy," nowadays when he was acting the big brother. She had got the nickname years ago when he was a toddler, "Lindy," being the nearest he could manage to, "Lindsey."

"Well, what possible explanation could there be for pulling it down? It was a beautiful old place with so much character. I think
it's absolute sacrilege!"

"Look, Lin, you've got to move with the times, old love. That bungalow is rather fabulous, you know—a great improvement on the old house, I'll bet, with all mod cons. After all, you must admit that the old WC was rather draughty . . ."

"Robin, how could you!" Lindsey was scandalised. She found a biro on the desk and began to fiddle with it, clicking it on and off.

"It's a nuisance the Marks are still away. They're bound to know something, I should think….Lin
aren't you going to ask if there's any mail here for you?"

"Well, is there?" The biro fell on the floor, and she retrieved it, hanging perilously on to the receiver.

"Are you still there, Lin?—Oh, good. I thought we'd been cut off for a minute. Two more letters from Gavin—nothing from the old man, but then he never writes unless he's forced to, does he…? I'll forward them tomorrow. Look, I'm thinking of coming down to Cambrook for a weekend soon to see what I can find out. Are there any pubs round about where I can stay?"

Lindsey told him. "I'll have to go now, Rob. Ring me again soon."

"Okay, will do…Bye, love…And Lindy…keep
smiling. Every cloud has a silver lining, as father would say."

Lindsey sighed in exasperation, as she put down the receiver. Rob was always a cheerful optimist, but he would never be realistic. She was always the one who had to cope—such as now when she had to finance the pair of them. Oh well, she'd just have to make the best of it, somehow.

As Lindsey reached the top landing, Susan came darting out of the alcove where the 'phone extension was. There was something furtive about her manner, and she jumped, startled, when she saw

Lindsey. Lindsey had a sudden suspicion that Susan had been listening in to Rob's call. One look at the flushed, guilty cheeks was enough to confirm this.

"Susan, what are you doing up here," she asked more sharply than she had intended.

Susan tossed back her hair and looked defiant.

"Can't I even go to the loo without being cross-questioned, now? Really you're worse than the Spanish Inquisition . . ."

Lindsey decided to drop the matter, but goodness
know what a childlike Susan would make of Rob's 'phone call, especially as she probably didn't realise that he was Lindsey's brother.

Lindsey changed back into her uniform and made her way to the kitchen, her mind full of that afternoon's events and, suddenly, of Gavin. She realised guiltily, that she found herself thinking of him less and less as the days went by. She hadn't even replied to his last letter yet, and now there were two more. Oh, if only she could be sure of her feelings for him. When she was with him, seeing him nearly every day, it was so easy to imagine herself as his wife. He had always been so much a part of the family that it had become an accepted fact amongst her relatives that one day she would marry him; but now, with more than 4,000 miles separating them, the doubts began to crowd into her mind and, not for the first time, she found herself seriously wondering whether Gavin really was the right choice for her.

She realised just how much she had enjoyed the afternoon with Andrew—apart from the brief visit to Cambrook. He was light-hearted and full of fun. Not a bit like Gavin who was always so serious and had very little sense of humour. Since she had been in England, she had begun to see things in a different light. She knew now, without a doubt, that she would have to make a choice between her love for England and her love for Gavin. It just depended on which was the strongest bond. It didn't seem right to place a country on a par with a human being, but that was what she found herself doing now, and she couldn't seem to help it.

Andrew came into the kitchen as she was preparing to serve supper.

"Hello there. You're a quick-change artist back to Cinderella aren't you? Sue tells me that was your mysterious boyfriend on the 'phone just now. I suppose you realise I'm insanely jealous."

"Well, you needn't be because it was only my brother, but don't let on to Sue. She was listening on the extension, and I couldn't bear to disappoint the child."

Andrew laughed heartily. "One up to you. I haven't had a chance to thank you properly for the afternoon." And before she could stop him he swept her into his arms and kissed her fiercely.

Dazedly, Lindsey tore herself free from his embrace.

"The supper's getting dried up, and if you can't be of use you had better go back to the dining room."

Andrew looked at her in hurt surprise, but took the hint and made a hasty exit.

Lindsey felt ashamed of herself for being so vulnerable, but Andrew had caught her off guard. She knew that she was being disloyal to Gavin, but she could not analyse her feelings.

She sighed and concentrated all her efforts on serving up the supper, wishing that life wasn't so complicated.

Chapter Three

On Wednesday afternoon Lindsey felt the need for a breath of fresh air before Sonia Vincent's visit, and so, arming herself with a trug and secateurs, she set off to gather some berries and leaves for flower arrangements. She found herself standing in the lane leading towards Barford. A glint of jewel-like haws in the hedgerow caught her eye. Due to the mild winter they still clung to the hawthorn. The sky was overcast and leaden grey; a group of sheep huddled together in a nearby field. She wandered along humming softly to herself, stopping every now and again to gather some copper-coloured leaves or a handful of grasses.

She must have gone about half a mile when she felt the first drops of rain accompanied by an ominous clap of thunder, and she instinctively took shelter beneath the nearest tree.
The rain torrented down.

"Don't you know it's dangerous to shelter under trees during storms?" demanded a familiar voice. She hadn't noticed Simon Kirkby coming across the fields towards her.

"I didn't think," she said awkwardly, "I just made for the nearest shelter." Another clap of thunder rent the air. He caught hold of her arm. "Come on—leave your basket here. We can pick it up later. There's a barn over there where we can stay till it passes."

The heavens opened as they ran towards it. His grip on her arm tightened and sent tremors pulsating through her body. They reached the barn at last, and sank panting breathlessly on the bales of hay. They were like a couple of drowned rats. Lindsey took off her shoes and surveyed them ruefully.

"I should have thought you'd have had more sense than to have worn such flimsy footwear on a day like this."

Little rivulets of rain water were trickling down his face. Lindsey mopped hers ineffectually with a few scraps of soggy tissues.

Simon produced a large red handkerchief. "Here, you'd better have this, I've got another somewhere."

It was an incongruous situation and Lindsey, suddenly seeing the funny side of it, began to laugh. Simon's eyes flashed.

"What's so comical?"

"It's just that under practically any other circumstances wild horses wouldn't have dragged the pair of us into this barn," she gasped.

His lips twitched, but he said grimly, "No? Well you can thank your lucky stars I'm not having to tell Miss Porlock that the fourth housekeeper she sent me was struck by forked lightning. Look at it!" A jagged streak illuminated the sky with gold.

"She wouldn't have believed you anyway," Lindsey countered. "She'd have thought you'd killed me off!"

Simon stared at her, "Scared you to death more likely. But you seem to be immune to my acid tongue."

"Maybe it's because I realise your bark's worse than your bite," Lindsey said a trifle unsteadily.

His grey eyes sparked dangerously. "Oh, is that so!—On your first day here, I seem to remember you accused me of being a male chauvinist pig."

"I didn't say pig and anyway…”

"Anyway what?" He caught hold of her wrist and twisted her round to face him. The contact of his skin with hers seemed to burn her with a fierce intensity so that she felt sure she must be blistered.

"Anyway, it's true, isn't it?" she said, greatly daring, meeting his granite eyes with her own green onyx ones, her heart beating wildly at his nearness. There was a strange expression on his face and he gazed at her for a long moment.

"You'd have made a good suffragette," he said at length, and releasing her suddenly moved abruptly away and stood watching the storm. "Sue will be under the kitchen table with Polly no doubt—Silly pair can't stand storms."

Lindsey laughed shakily, and the tension of the moment was eased.

They talked of literature and music, of cabbages and kings, until long after the storm had abated. Suddenly Simon said, "It's stopped raining—shall we go home?"

Lindsey realised with surprise that she was actually sorry that the storm was over. Simon had given her a glimpse of a different facet of his character; a gentler, more humane side. They reached the tree where she had left her basket to find the contents spilt all over the ground.

"Some blessed animal," he said and stooped to help her pick them up. "What d'you want these for anyway?"

"I thought they'd make nice decorations—for your visitor this evening," she said lamely.

"In Sonia's honour, eh?" he laughed and caught up the basket.

As they approached the house, he became his old self again.

"Miss Vincent will no doubt want to meet my new housekeeper—You'd better have coffee with us…You won't forget to chill the wine will you?—Only very slightly mind."

"No,
Mr. Kirkby." Lindsey sighed inwardly. For a brief interlude that after-noon their positions hadn't mattered. They had just been two people seeking refuge from a storm, but now they were obviously back on their old footing again. He sneezed suddenly, and she looked at him with concern.

"You've not caught cold have you,
Mr. Kirkby…? You'd better have a hot bath and change your socks." He looked as if he were about to choke, but said meekly, "Yes Ma' am," and saluted her smartly, before disappearing into his study.

She stood staring after him, remembering wonderingly the contact of skin on skin, that electric sensation that had sent her pulse racing. She remembered too, the softer expression in his grey eyes, and the way he had helped her to gather up the scattered flowers just now. She sighed —what a complex person he was. Would she ever get to know him? She stooped, and picking up the basket, hurried along the passage-way to the kitchen.

Lindsey checked the contents of the coffee tray once again, and adjusted the charming little flower and leaf arrangement in its silver bowl—A memento of that afternoon. The dinner had gone smoothly, much to her relief. She hadn't fancied any criticism in that direction.

Sonia Vincent had proved to be the most glamorous-looking red-head, Lindsey had ever seen. Dressed in an exquisite robe of startling yellow, dripping mink and jewels, and exuding a heavy perfume, she had looked straight through Lindsey, as if she were invisible. When introduced; Sonia had surveyed the new house-keeper appraisingly for a moment before remarking, "You've got the same uniform as that Pargiter woman. I should have thought you'd had enough of that agency, Simon darling. They don't seem very reliable."

Lindsey had bitten back a sharp retort. After all, she couldn't easily be rude to her employer's guest, but why should she be subjected to such insulting treatment?

Lindsey wished she hadn't accepted the invitation to coffee, but she couldn't very well back out of it now. Although she was curious to learn more about this woman who, it was reputed, intended to marry Simon Kirkby, she had no desire to be put on trial, as Andrew had warned her she would be. Could that be why her employer had had such a rapid succession of housekeepers in the past, because Sonia Vincent had pronounced them all to be unsuitable?

As Lindsey reached the hall, she stopped short at the sight of a small figure bent almost double outside the dining room, looking suspiciously as if he were peering through the key-hole.

"Tommy!" she hissed. "What do you think you're doing?"

Tommy guiltily straightened up. "Oh, I was just tying my shoelace, Merry."

She caught hold of his arm and propelled him away from the door, trying not to laugh. "Oh no you weren't, young man—
You're wearing your slippers!"

"Well, I can't stand that woman," he said in a stage whisper.

"You don't think Daddy's serious about her, do you Merry? They're sitting next to each other on the sofa, but they weren't kissing or anything…D'you know she thinks we ought to go to a boarding school…I heard her talking to Daddy one day, but I didn't tell Sue."

Lindsey suddenly felt fiercely protective towards him.

"Come on, Tommy, I'm going to take the coffee in now—Perhaps there's some trifle left. Mrs. Parker will let you have it, if you ask her nicely; there's sherry and cream in it."

Tommy's eyes glinted, his worries temporarily forgotten.

"Oh thanks a lot!”

The way to a man's heart was definitely via his stomach thought Lindsey, gently amused. It was certainly true where Tommy and Rob were concerned, and for that matter, Gavin too.

"You know, if Daddy marries that woman she'll send you away, Merry, I know she will. You're better than her any day—Bet she wouldn't help me with my homework like you do either. If I were Daddy I'd sooner kiss you than her . . ."

"Tommy!" Lindsey exclaimed sharply, but it was a disconcerting thought, and she could not help wondering what it would be like to be kissed by a man as dynamic as Simon Kirkby. The thought sent little shivers tingling down her spine, and her heart began to pound in a most extraordinary manner. Whatever was the matter with her?

"Can I go and get the trifle now?" Tommy demanded impatiently.

Lindsey pulled herself together with an effort. "What—
Oh, yes, of course—Run along. You'd better take some up for Susan too."

When Lindsey entered the lounge a few moments later, she sensed from the sudden silence that she had interrupted something. Sonia was blowing smoke rings through a long black cigarette holder and looking sulky, while Simon Kirkby was gazing moodily into his brandy.

Lindsey was not to know that they had been arguing about Simon's need for yet another housekeeper.

"Ah, Miss Meredith, do come in." He got up and took the tray from her.

Lindsey pouring the
coffee, was aware that Sonia Vincent was scrutinising her.

Sonia considered Simon to be her own personal property, and the very fact that Lindsey was young and living under the same roof made her a rival encroaching on Sonia's territory. It rankled that Simon had installed this person in the house during her absence.

"What have you done with all the ash-trays?" she demanded petulantly. "I can't find anything tonight; at least Miss Pargiter didn't move things about."

Lindsey silently handed her a cup of coffee and placed an ash-tray by her elbow. Sonia's amber eyes narrowed.

"I should hate to be a housekeeper, so boring and being at everyone's beck and call all the time."

"You haven't got the right temperament, Sonia," Simon said.

Sonia laughed harshly, "You bet I haven't…Anyway, I shouldn't like to be so insignificant. I like to be noticed."

"Yes, I have noticed," Simon remarked dryly.

"I suppose, if you have to work for your living and you don't have a profession, then you haven't got much option."

"Well, you work, my dear."

Sonia sipped her coffee daintily. "Oh, but modelling is hardly a normal run of the mill job, is it? It's more like a professional hobby where I'm concerned."

"Really," Lindsey said coolly, inwardly seething. "Well, I could have a profession if I chose. I took a commercial course, and then I went to Switzerland and did a Cordon Bleu cookery course."

There was a silence, during which Sonia languidly surveyed her beautifully manicured nails, not in the least nonplussed.

It hadn't taken Lindsey long to realise that her opinion of Sonia Vincent matched up to Tommy's. Sonia was like a Siamese cat, reflected Lindsey, with a long pedigree, beautiful, pampered, but with sharp claws which she wouldn't hesitate to dig in if roused. Well, if she thought she was going to dig them into Lindsey, she would discover that she had met her match!

Sonia looked at Simon, her amber eyes veiled beneath ridiculously long lashes. "Simon, darling, when are you going to do that article for me? I've brought my latest photographs to show you. They're rather good, even though I do say so myself."

"But they always are, Sonia. I promise you, I'll write the article when I get time, my dear, but I'm afraid I'm rather busy at the moment."

He took the flat, buff envelope and placed the photographs one by one on the coffee table, so that Lindsey could see them. She had to admit that Sonia was photogenic, and quite breathtakingly lovely.

Sonia looked sulky. She was used to having her own way, and made life difficult if she didn't get it. She patted her beautifully coiffured auburn hair with a slender hand. The diamond bracelet on her wrist glinted.

"Do you know, Miss Meredith, when I was in Paris modelling for some of these photographs, I wore my hair in a different style every day, and we were there for three weeks…Of course most women have simply no idea of how to dress…You must get tired of wearing that dreadful uniform. Don't you wish you had a gown like this?" She pointed to a creation in champagne-coloured, wild silk, "It's an absolute dream."

"Not particularly," Lindsey said sweetly. "I can't wear that colour—
Can I pour you some more coffee?"

"What?—Oh thank you." Sonia glanced at Lindsey critically. "Yes, I do see your point, but then, of course, I'm so lucky to have this colouring. It shows most clothes off to perfection…Take this gown I'm wearing for instance. It's an exclusive Paris creation, of course, but not everyone could wear this particular shade of yellow . . . Si darling, do give me another cigarette—mine are in the car."