Inherit the Skies (72 page)

‘What passes between me and Sarah is our business,' he said quietly.

Her mouth twisted upwards slightly and for a moment she looked almost wistful.

‘You really do love her, don't you?'

‘More than anything in the world.'

‘Well.' She turned away with a lift of one eyebrow. ‘In that case, Adam, I suppose I should no longer stand in your way. I have had my chance – and much happiness has it brought me. Perhaps it is time for Sarah to have hers. Very well, Adam, you shall have your divorce. We will leave it to our lawyers to work out the best way to go about it so that there is as little unpleasantness as possible. And now I suggest you go to her. To be honest, I beg you to go to her. At this moment I really don't care to have you in my room a moment longer!'

‘Thank you, Alicia.' He crossed to the door, her back presented to him was very straight, very erect. Even at this moment Alicia was totally the mistress of self-control. ‘Thank you,' he said again. ‘I am only sorry it has to end this way.'

He went out closing the door after him and only then did Alicia's iron control crack. She snatched up her hair brush from the dressing table and hurled it with all her might at the bed. It bounced off the pillow and lay in the centre of the floor.

‘Damn!' Alicia cried. ‘Damn! Damn! Damn!'

But there was no-one to hear her.

The room at the inn was exactly as she remembered it. Just being there, where she and Adam had made love on that first wonderful night brought back memories so poignant that she wanted to weep, so vivid that she ached for him with every fibre of her being. She should not have come here, of course. It was stupidly self-indulgent, and yet …

Sarah sat on the edge of the bed where they had lain together, recalling every detail. One night, one glorious stolen night. Perhaps it was all they would ever have. For the good of the company she felt it must be. But nothing could take away from her the happiness they had known.

When she had arrived very late the previous evening the landlord had greeted her with barely veiled surprise – he remembered the lady aviator whose crash landing had caused such a stir in their sleepy village. But Sarah had brooked no questions and today she had spent walking and thinking, and the moment her meals were abandoned, half-eaten, she had left the dining room.

Now it was late afternoon and she was facing the prospect of another night alone. She could not stay here much longer, of course. But at least it had afforded her a breathing space – time to reflect – and so far nothing had changed her view that the only course of action open to her was to leave Chewton Leigh for good.

It would be painful, she knew. She would have to build a new life for herself somewhere. The thought of it was daunting. But left alone Adam would no doubt mend his bridges with Alicia and the two of them would be able to resurrect Morse Bailey from the ashes.

Footsteps on the stairs. Sarah took little notice. Then the door swung open, making her jump and as she spun round breath caught in her throat.

‘Adam!'

For a moment she thought she must have fallen asleep and be dreaming. He came into the room, kicking the door shut behind him, and she knew she was not.

‘I thought I'd find you here, Sarah. At least – I hoped I would. I couldn't think of another single place where you might go.'

She was trembling with the longing to throw herself into his arms but she remained standing stiffly by the bed.

‘Why are you here?'

‘Why do you think? To bring you home.'

‘But Adam … I explained in my letter. It's best if I give you my shares and just disappear off the scene.'

‘You little idiot!' he said. ‘Did you really think I'd let you go so easily? As for your shares – Gilbert gave them to you because he wanted you to have them. You can't throw them back in his face.'

‘Oh – I don't know …'

‘If I don't mean anything to you at least think about your airline,' he said roughly. ‘How is that going to get off the ground if you aren't there to organize it?'

‘Someone else can …'

‘Who?'

‘Oh, I don't know … Alicia, maybe.'

‘Alicia is not interested in the business. It was Gilbert's blind spot to think she might be. And before you say another word I think I should tell you that Alicia has agreed to divorce me.'

‘You
told
her?'

‘I did. So there is no longer any problem, Sarah, and I am not prepared to listen to your excuses any longer. If I had a fragile ego I would think you dreamed them up especially to avoid me. But I haven't a fragile ego. Now, are you coming with me willingly – or do I have to remove you by force?'

‘Oh Adam …' Her knees felt weak. Was there another man alive who could make her feel this way?

‘Perhaps a little force wouldn't be such a bad thing in. any case,' he said harshly. And then she was in his arms and it was a long time before either of them said anything more. Darkness had fallen by the time they were back in Somerset, a star-spangled blackness that seemed to draw the last sweet perfume from the hedgerows and lay soft on their faces, and Sarah felt that in some way it was recharging her for all the difficulties of the days ahead, flowing into her, making her strong. It was not going to be an easy road. But that would not deter her now.

Through the lanes, curving and dipping, every one of them with its own special place in her memory. And he had a port of call to make before he took her home.

The works made an unsightly blot against the skyline. The windows were darkened now, like blinded eyes, but as he stopped the car on the drive the lights caught some of the panes of glass, bringing them to sudden sparkling light and in the rattle of the idling motor she seemed to hear the hum of an aero engine.

How I love this place! she thought. It must not fail – I will not let it! Especially since Gilbert had put his trust in her – whatever the cost, she would fight on as long as there was breath in her body. Much as she loved Adam the company was bigger and more important than any of them. And yet in some strange way they were inextricably bound – now that Gilbert was gone Adam
was
Morse Bailey. In fighting for one she would be fighting for them both.

There in the darkness Sarah took on the mantle of responsibility – and took it gladly. This was where she belonged, here where the smells of engine oil mingled with the fresh scents of the countryside. Here her past, her present and her future were bound up together in the heritage of Morse Enterprises. And she knew she would never willingly leave them again.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully
surrendering the things of youth.
…
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your
soul. With all its sham and drudgery and broken
dreams it is still a beautiful world
.

Desiderata

Alicia, Countess von Brecht, had slept late.

Every morning for the past ten years Irene, her maid, had awakened her at seven with a pot of Earl Grey tea and whilst she was drinking it Alicia planned her day, beginning with the decision whether or not to take breakfast in bed, which clothes she should ask Irene to lay out for her and where and with whom she would lunch. Then she would open her mail, scan the headlines of the
Telegraph
, and take a leisurely bath.

When Irene tapped on the bedroom door on the morning after the catastrophic meeting at Rules, however, there was no immediate reply and when she opened the door, balancing the tray expertly on the flat of her hand as she did so, Alicia, who was still wearing her midnight blue satin sleep mask, gave no sign of having heard her.

Irene's heart almost stopped beating and with a great leap of panic she wondered if Alicia had died in her sleep. She had not been herself yesterday and at her age one never knew … As she hovered anxiously in the doorway she saw Alicia's hand move in a gesture of dismissal before it dropped back once more onto the soft fawn fur of Ming, curled up on the bed beside her, and Alicia murmured:

‘Leave me a little longer, Irene. I haven't slept well.'

Relieved but puzzled Irene withdrew. She was exceedingly curious as to what had happened yesterday to upset the Countess so. There had been no mistaking her distress when she had returned, much earlier than expected, from her luncheon appointment and she had spent the rest of the day pacing her small sitting-room, smoking so many Black Russians that Irene had had to open all the windows to clear the fug out of the air after she had gone to bed, and merely picking at the dainty supper Irene had prepared for her. It was all very unlike the Countess and Irene would have given a good deal to know what was wrong. But she was not paid to ask questions. In all the years she had been with her the Countess had never encouraged the slightest familiarity and Irene knew she would not do so now.

An hour later she made a fresh pot of tea and tried again, this time with more success. As she set the tray down on the bedside table Alicia stirred, removing the sleep mask and blinking as the cold light of the March morning struck her eyes.

‘Thank you, Irene. Leave it there would you?' She raised herself on the ivory silk pillows, massaging her face awake with scarlet-tipped fingers.

‘Yes, Madam.'

‘And then you can run my bath. God, how I hate sleeping late! It makes one so wooden!'

Irene thought that few women of seventy-five would have considered sleeping until eight to be an extraordinary thing to do but of course she did not say so. Her friends thought it odd that after all these years in her service Irene had not struck up something of a relationship with her employer but Irene was a solitary soul herself and the situation suited her. The Countess did look very pale and strained though … Irene experienced another stab of anxiety. Quite apart from a genuine respect she had developed for Alicia over the years – one did not use the term ‘fondness' in connection with the Countess – Irene knew she would be out of a job if anything happened to her employer and positions as ladies' maids were few and far between nowadays. Irene sighed inwardly. Just a few more years and then she would be able to retire herself …

‘Is there any mail for me today, Irene?' Alicia asked, sipping the aromatic tea.

‘Yes, Madam, on the tray …' Irene caught at herself, frowning slightly. ‘ I am sorry, Madam, I must have left them in the kitchen …' She hurried out. The letters had certainly been on the first tray as they always were, she must have forgotten to replace them when she made the fresh tea. How unlike her – especially since she knew only too well the Countess's habit of opening her mail as early as possible in the day. At one time the postman had changed his round so that the first post was several hours later in arriving – but a telephone call from Alicia to the Post Office had soon set that to rights! Clearly her anxiety about the Countess's health was affecting her more than she had realised.

She fetched the pile of envelopes and took them back to Alicia who leafed through them immediately. Most of them, Irene suspected, were in connection with the various charities Alicia chaired, and several, well-disguised though they were, suggested accounts. But when sorting them Irene had noticed that one was handwritten and bore an Australian stamp, and now Alicia homed in on this envelope, putting the others down on the counterpane beside Ming's enquiring nose and ripping it open with the narrow bladed paper knife which lay on her bedside table.

Irene smiled to herself as she went into the bathroom and emptied a sachet of salts into the stream of scalding water. She had recognised the writing at once. It belonged to the Countess's grandson, David Bailey. After a short spell as a total drop-out – a ‘ hippy' Irene believed she had heard the type referred to – he had joined the Countess's family firm of aeroplane manufacturers and had spent the last year in Australia, home of one of the overseas divisions. Whilst he had been there he had written periodically to his grand-mother and the letters never failed to put her in a good humour. Perhaps this one would make her snap out of whatever was troubling her, Irene thought hopefully.

Above the rushing of the water she thought she heard a cry. Alarmed she hurried back into the bedroom in time to see Alicia turning back the covers and getting out of bed whilst a disgruntled Ming, resentful at being disturbed so suddenly, yapped furiously from the centre of the Chinese rug.

‘Madam! What is it? Not bad news, I hope? In her agitation Irene almost forgot the unwritten rule of impersonality.

One glance at Alicia's face told her she need not worry. The Countess no longer looked tired and strained. There was a sparkle in her violet eyes and her lips, still stained from the scarlet lipstick she always wore, curved up into a wide smile.

‘Bad news? Certainly not! The only bad news is that I have overslept. Is my bath ready, Irene? Good! I haven't a moment to waste. My grandson is coming to visit me – this morning, probably. And I would hate him to find me looking like a tired old woman!'

Irene smiled, turning off the taps and testing the foamy water.

‘But I thought your grandson was in Australia, Madam.'

‘He was, Irene, he was. But not any more. He flew back to England yesterday. Today he is going down to Bristol to our main works. And before he goes he is stopping off to pay me a visit. The water is not too hot, is it? You know if I have it too hot it will make me feel faint. Good. Now you may get my breakfast ready downstairs – a grapefruit and some dry toast, I think. I will be down in approximately half an hour. Well, what are you waiting for? Didn't you hear me say there is no time to waste?'

‘Yes, Madam,' Irene said, unable to suppress a smile of relief.

That was much more like the Countess! Perhaps whatever it was that was worrying her was not so serious after all – or at least not serious enough to spoil her pleasure at the prospect of seeing her grandson again. Crusty she might be, difficult and autocratic she certainly was, but Irene was only too pleased to have the old Alicia back!