Oriental Hotel (6 page)

‘Oh, Granny!' For some reason Katy dissolved into peals of laughter. ‘ When you were living in Hong Kong, I bet you never visualised yourself doing that kind of thing one day!'

‘I don't suppose I did,' Elise agreed. ‘ Neither did I visualise myself worrying over my lovely and wilful granddaughter! Take care, Katy, please – and when you've a quiet moment, give a little thought to what I just said.'

For a moment Katy's eyes grew serious in her fine-boned face, then her mouth curved.

‘All right, Granny, if it will make you happy. But you must promise to stop worrying, or I shall never tell you anything again.'

You haven't told me anything now except with your eyes, Elise thought. Aloud, she said, ‘ Goodnight, Katy. Sweet dreams. And thank you for the wine.'

‘Sweet dreams, Granny.'

The night was velvet dark now, the air soft and still warm, stars like chinks of light escaping from another world.

Elise looked back at Katy's door as the car reached the corner of the mews; it was still open, spilling golden brightness on to the pavement and Elise could imagine Katy standing there, watching until the car was out of sight, leaning against the doorpost with her head slightly to one side so that her hair fell in a shining curtain to her bare shoulder.

Something sharp and painful twisted inside her and the feeling of helplessness returned, aching in her bones and making her feel old suddenly.

She had been right in her suspicions about Katy's involvement with Gunther Dietrich, she had tried to do something about it and she had failed. There was no way, she supposed, that she could make Katy see what she was doing from the same angle as herself. Katy, adoring her father and wanting only to help him, would blind herself to the sharp image of truth.

And she was no longer a child. She would resent any interference, particularly from her grandmother, however dearly she loved her.

What was it Katy had said? That she was older now than Elise had been when she married Gordon? Yes, it was true. Certainly her mother had warned her that Gordon was too old for her, just as she was warning Katy of Gunther. But she had taken no notice. Gordon had seemed a rock of stability to her, the first person since her father to make her feel safe and wanted and loved …

She leaned her head back against the soft leather seat, feeling the niggle of pain from tension between her eyebrows. Perhaps that was how Katy saw Gunther – the rock to which Sandersons might safely secure their mooring rope. Perhaps the very invincibility of him was attractive. Power and money certainly were, but in the years to come these would not be enough – not for someone who possessed as much warmth and passion as Katy.

I look at her and see myself, Elise thought. Whatever happens, I must ensure she does not make the mistake I made.

But how?

Tiredness lapped at her bones again and she thought: If only I were thirty years younger! But she was not. Doing what she had to do would be doubly painful now. If the worst came to the worst and the only way was to vote against the proposals presented to the board, it would be the most disastrous thing for her to bring down the company that had been her life.

But if it will save Katy, I shall do it, she vowed.

And in the darkness felt better for having made up her mind.

Lights seemed to be burning still in every window of Durscombe Park as the car swung on to the gravelled forecourt. Elise made a mental note to enquire into it tomorrow: there was surely no need to waste money in this way.

Evans drew up by the front door and she went in. The scent of roses from the huge arrangement on the George Jack chest at the foot of the stairs hung heavily on the still warm air. The door from the kitchen opened and Mrs Parsons, the housekeeper, emerged, round and bustling even at this late hour, though she had brushed out her hair ready for bed.

‘Oh, you're back, Ma'am! Now, what can I get you? There's a nice piece of cold ham, if you're peckish, and a salad. Or a slice of apple pie and cream …'

‘Nothing, thank you, Mrs Parsons. Just a cup of hot chocolate, please. And I think shall go straight up. I'm very tired.'

‘Hot chocolate?' Although this was Elise's regular nightcap, Mrs Parsons still managed to inject a note of faint surprise into her voice. ‘Right you are. Ma'am.'

‘Thank you.'

Elise turned to climb the stairs, realising as she did so just how tired she was. Along the landing she went, past the Macchiaiolis and the exquisite Erskine Nicol that hung against the pale yellow walls, and into the room which had long been her retreat.

The greens that she loved had been repeated here and in the adjoining bathroom: sharp apple and white and soft, dark olive, with cane furniture and hanging plants to continue the theme. There were no pictures, only photographs – Gordon on his seventieth birthday, his face as smooth as it had been twenty years earlier; Alex and Geraldine as children; Geraldine's wedding; Alex's wife Laura, with her family of three sons; and, of course, Katy. Kicking off her shoes, Elise crossed to the chaise longue which occupied an alcove to the left of the window her feet sinking deliciously into the deep soft pile of the pale green carpet.

I really should get ready for bed, she thought. If I sit down I shall probably never move again. But the temptation was too great and she sat, resting her back against the comfortable curve of the chaise and tucking up her feet beneath her.

In the stillness she closed her eyes, momentarily forgetting all her worries. Here in this room she had given free rein to her hopes, dreams and fears for so long that she could feel totally and completely relaxed, without the slightest need for keeping up the pretence that was her armour against the world. Outside her bedroom she was Mrs Gordon Sanderson, poised, dressed by Jean Muir and Dior and in complete control of her life. Within it she was Elise, feeling much the same person she had been at seventeen, as vulnerable – and as determined.

I should like to die in this room, she mused, and then scolded herself. I'm sixty-four years old and I have no intention of dying for a very long time yet. There are still too many things I want to do, too many things I want to see – for instance, Katy happily married to a man who is worthy of her love …

‘Mrs Sanderson?'

Dozing, she had not heard the tap on the door. Now she looked up to see Mrs Parsons standing in the doorway, carrying a tray with hot chocolate and a plate of biscuits.

‘Oh, Mrs Parsons, I'm sorry. I didn't hear you.'

‘Not to worry, Mrs Sanderson. But you do look exhausted. Let me help you get ready for bed; then you can have your drink comfortably propped up against the pillows.'

Elise smiled, getting to her feet with an effort and standing patiently while Mrs Parsons unfastened the long zip at the back of her apricot silk dress and let it slide down over her hips to a soft bundle at her feet.

‘Now, let me see, where's your nightdress …' She crossed to the bed and Elise waited obediently, only easing off her slip and bra when Mrs Parsons returned with the nightgown, a simple Janet Reger sheath of cream silk.

‘Now, into bed with you, Ma'am.' The housekeeper turned the covers aside, eased her mistress beneath them and tucked them over once more with calm efficiency. Then she brought the tray of hot chocolate and biscuits, setting it down on the table beside the bed.

‘You'll be all right now, Mrs Sanderson, won't you? If I know anything about it you'll be asleep before I've had a chance to lock up the house …' She had crossed the room as she spoke, but now in the doorway she stopped suddenly. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot!'

‘Nearly forgot what?' Elise asked, reaching for the cup of chocolate.

‘The gentleman who phoned up for you. He was quite put out when I told him you were out. It seems he is very anxious to see you and is only in this country for a day or two. Here from Hong Kong, I think he said.'

‘Hong Kong?' Elise was suddenly sharply awake.

‘That's right. Anyway, he said he would take a chance and run out here tomorrow afternoon. I told him to ring first for an appointment, but he took no notice of me – just said he didn't know if he would have time to ring again and would I tell you to expect him. I thought perhaps it was somebody you and Mr Sanderson knew when you were out in the Far East.'

There was a stillness within Elise that she could not explain, a strange, suspended waiting as if breath was trapped within her lungs and her very heart had stopped beating. ‘Did he give his name, Mrs Parsons?'

The housekeeper nodded. ‘ Yes, he did. Brittain, he said – Mr Brittain.' Then, as she saw the change come over Elise's face, saw the cup shake violently in her hand, she took a quick alarmed step back into the room. ‘Mrs Sanderson, what is it? Are you all right?'

Elise scarcely heard her. The voice was blurred, muffled by the roaring in her ears; the familiar room was spinning before her eyes. With a tremendous effort she controlled the cup, but the fine bone china clinked dangerously as she set it down heavily on the bedside table.

Mr Brittain. Brit! It wasn't possible …

‘Mrs Parsons …' Elise's voice rasped slightly as if shock had dried every drop of saliva.

‘I'm sorry if I did wrong.' The housekeeper hovered anxiously. It wasn't like her mistress to act this way; she was usually so calm, so much in control of herself. ‘ I should have insisted, I suppose, but he didn't give me the chance, really.'

No, he wouldn't, thought Elise. Brit had always had his way, never stood on formality … She shook herself – it couldn't possibly be Brit!

‘Did he give his Christian name?' She could hear her voice rising and fought to keep it level.

‘No, Ma'am, I don't know that he did.' Mrs Parsons' round face was creased with anxiety. ‘You don't have to see him if it's going to upset you. I can send him packing if he shows his face here tomorrow.'

‘No!' Elise said sharply. Then more quietly, ‘ No, there is no need to do that, Mrs Parsons. I would like to see him.'

‘Well, if you're sure, Ma'am …'

‘Of course I'm sure,' she said aloud. She must be going crazy. The whole world was going crazy …

‘Now look, Mrs Sanderson, what you need is a good night's rest.' Mrs Parsons came back to smooth the covers once more, still unsure what she had done to upset the mistress she adored and taking refuge in a pretence of normality. ‘ Would you like one of the tablets the doctor left when you sprained your ankle last year? That would help you to sleep, most likely.'

Elise shook her head, for she hated taking drugs of any kind. She hadn't taken the doctor's tablets even when her ankle had been most painful and she certainly had no intention of taking them now. Besides, there was no way any tablet could ease the ache in her heart.

‘I'll just drink my chocolate, Mrs Parsons. I'm fine now. And you're not to worry about the gentleman who telephoned – it was just a bit of a shock, that's all.'

‘Well, if you're quite sure …' Uncertainly Mrs Parsons turned once more to the door and Elise summoned a determined smile.

‘Goodnight, Mrs Parsons. Sleep well.'

‘And you, Ma'am,' came the reply.

But Elise knew that tired as she was she would not sleep now.

She set down her cup once more and turned off the light above her bed, then lay staring into the darkness while the memories came flooding in. Herself, twenty-three years old and looking, if she was honest, very much as Katy looked today. Gordon, vitally youthful in spite of his forty-five years. And a young man in RAF uniform: tall, athletically built, with broad shoulders and hard muscles. She half closed her eyes and across the years his face came tantalisingly into focus for just a moment before it was gone again – dark hair springing strongly away from an angular face, a slightly crooked nose, cool hazel eyes and a scar that ran jaggedly down the side of his cheek. Brit as she had known and loved him.

But Brit was dead. She had seen him die. Forty years had passed since that day and she had known he must be dead. Nothing else made sense.

Slowly the long hours of the night slid by. Towards dawn Elise dozed, but her sleep was punctuated by the chaos of her thoughts.

With daylight common sense began to prevail, and determinedly she pushed the persistent memories to the back of her mind. It was crazy, ridiculous, that just one mention of a name from so long ago should have this effect on her. And to begin living in the past now, when there was so much in the present to claim her attention, was the sheerest folly.

Yet as she busied herself with the everyday tasks – her mail, her files, plans for the Flower Show which only yesterday had seemed so important – Elise was conscious of a feeling of breathless waiting, the blood coursing in her veins each time the telephone rang, her heart seeming to miss a beat whenever she heard footsteps or a car engine on the valley road.

It was late afternoon when the doorbell rang. The weather was less fine than on the previous day, with thunder in the air, and Elise was working not in the garden but in the sitting room. As the bell pealed in the stillness of the house, she recalled that Mrs Parsons had gone to the village to shop. Someone else would probably answer the door if she left it, she thought – Evans, or maybe even one of the gardeners if they were in the vicinity. But in fact she did not want the door answered by any of them.

She put her papers aside and stood up, a slim figure in a flowered silk dress of palest pinks and mauves, and gently touched her cap of soft silver curls to ensure their tidiness.

She crossed the hall, where the scent of roses still hung heavily, to the door which stood ajar to the heat of the afternoon. For just a second she hesitated, her breath coming a little too fast, her heart thudding uncomfortably. Then she raised her hand and opened the door.

He stood on the top step, a tall man with springy hair and cool hazel eyes, a half-expectant smile on his strong-boned, angular face. The beat of her heart seemed to increase in tempo until it resembled the ticking of a loud and erratic clock; against the door jamb her fingers tightened, whitening beneath the pressure, and her knees felt weak beneath her.