The Girl From Over the Sea (9 page)

Lesley decided to ignore that. Her private opinion was that th
e person who should be tied up w
as Madame Sorrel Defontaine herself. T
w
o unpleasant types seemed to have found each other in these two, and no doubt theirs was a very successful match.

The girl
’
s smile to her husband was a very special one and then she turned and sauntered a
way
. No
w
Blake Defontaine let his arm drop from across the door.
H
ad he thought she would fly at his wife
’
s throat? Lesley wondered.

‘
Don
’
t do anything stupid like releasing that dog
,’
he advised.
‘
You
’
re nursing your sister, so you can
’
t keep an eye on the puppy as well. Your brother is evidently not sufficiently responsible to do so. If you have any thought at all for the puppy leave him where he is so that he doesn
’
t get into further trouble.
’

Lesley bit her lip. She hated the idea of giving him best, but she had no alternative till Rita was able to go out. If only Ricky
...
Where
had
he been this morning?

She bent to Dingo and gave him a hug.
‘
All right, old boy,
’
she whispered,
‘
I
’
ll have you out as soon as I can
.’
She turned back to Blake Defontaine.
‘
I
’
ll be responsible for him as soon as my sister is well and I
’
ll ask my brother again to take him out only on a lead.
’

‘
That
’
s very sensible of you,
’
he said with a nod, and Lesley could have struck him for his condescension. Seething with fury, she passed him without a glance. One thing was quite certain in her mind. As soon as Ricky had established his claim to the Trevendone estate
Mr.
and
Mrs.
Blake Defontaine must receive notice to quit the Lodge.
She
was unspeakable and he was too large, domineering and arrogant to have on the premises a moment longer than necessary.

CHAPTER IV

Lesley
’
s first instinct was to rush back to the Manor and demand to know what Ricky had been doing since they arrived here, but second and wiser thoughts prevailed. The last thing she must do was to upset Rita, and having a blazing row with Ricky would do that quicker than anything else. So far as he was concerned too, that would get her nowhere. He would just become stubborn and withdrawn or begin to talk of leaving Cornwall. It wasn
’
t as if he had ever wanted to come.

No, the best thing she could do in her present mood of anger, frustration and general feeling of depression and despair was to walk it off and get herself sorted out.

She hurried through the neat vegetable garden, and came to a rougher piece of land, mainly pasture with a few apple trees standing in the hollow. The path led upwards to a wall in which was a gate and soon she was on the cliff top with a magnificent view of the coastline beyond St Benga Town to some distant headland jutting into the lovely turquoise sea. It was rolling out but there were still white-headed breakers churning to foam on the cruel toothed rocks.

As Lesley turned to look in the other direction she saw that there was a path winding down the cliffs, broken here and there by steps which led to a sheltered, sandy cove. It looked like a private bathing beach and probably Avas, but she had no intention of going down there. This afternoon it was probably going to be private to Air and
Mrs.
Blake Defontaine and their horses.

She turned in the direction of St Benga Town, walking quickly along the springy downs for a time, her nerves so tense that she couldn
’
t even think coherently.

But the cold wind blowing in her face and the exercise for which she had been pining gradually had their effect and after a while she slackened her speed, having worked off at least the surface of her
w
orries.

She had got to get this matter of Ricky settled without bringing Rita into it. The girl twin would always spring to her brother
’
s defence no matter what the problem. They might bicker and even quarrel between themselves, but to the
world they always presented a united front.

Lesley thought despondently, everything had gone wrong. I had the biggest difficulty in persuading them to come and since we arrived here nothing has gone smoothly. It had seemed to start when they were confronted by the ogre-like figure of Blake Defontaine looming up in the half light of that late afternoon a week ago. He had seen who was driving, Lesley felt sure, and he was holding the knowledge over her head until it suited him to pounce. Wild thoughts of blackmail came fleetingly and went just as quickly in Lesley
’
s brain.

Another piece of bad luck had been the twins
’
insistence on adopting the puppy. He had been a source of trouble since they came down here, and the twins
were
irresponsible about him. Lesley had to agree there with
‘
the Enemy
’
s
’
judgment. She would have to do something herself about getting a licence and try to train him. It would be no good leaving it to the other two.

It had also been unfortunate that the two Trevendones who were in possession had both been away from the Manor when they had arrived and the only people they had been able to see had been the very old lady whose mind was fixed now only on the happy days of her youth and of course
...
Blake Defontaine.

Lesley began to walk quickly again, her hands thrust deeply into the pockets of her coat, her copper-coloured hair whipping across her face. He made her feel like this, tense and strung up in a suffocating excited way every time she met him or even thought of him.

It had got to stop being like that. She must take a hold on herself, treat him with coldness and reserve, refuse to be drawn into battle, where possible, avoid him.

He and his wife, that hateful Sorrel girl, must be renting the stables here as well as the Lodge, and being the types they were, they had calmly taken possession of the rest of the estate. It was a situation that would have to be changed.

Lesley swallowed suddenly, unnerved by the wave of depression which flooded over her. They seemed so formidable, those two together. Separately she felt she could have fought them, but as a couple, married and obviously very much in love—at least Sorrel was. No mistaking the look she had given him when he had asked her to go on and
leave him to deal quickly with this upstart intruder from over the sea.

Lesley
’
s hands went deeper into her coat pockets and she found that now she was almost running over the smooth turf. At this rate she would soon be at St Benga Town and then there would be all the way to walk back. What was she going at this pace for? Running away from something or just from herself?

She stood for a few moments looking down at the cluster of grey roofs that made up St Benga Town and the little harbour with its few boats rocking at anchor. And there among the houses winding up the hill was the one with blue shutters where she had first seen Sorrel.

Her eyes went to the cruel coastline with the rocks like sharks
’
teeth stretching out across the sands, eager to smash to atoms any luckless ship or sailor who should venture too near. For the moment the magic charm of the land of Lyonesse had vanished from her heart. This wasn
’
t a land of courtly knights and fair ladies. It was the wreckers
’
coast.

She thought again of Blake Defontaine with his dark face and his cold eyes and the black-haired Cornish girl who loved him. In this land of the Celt, Lesley suddenly felt an alien, a foreigner. She wasn
’
t even English, and to the Cornish, even they were foreigners
.
She was an Australian, a girl from over the sea, and to tho
s
e two at least she was a hostile stranger.

She thought miserably: if only I could turn back the clock. If only I
’
d never come here.

And then Lesley shook her head vigorously, pushing back the strands of her hair from her face. How faint-hearted and feeble could she get? Once again her eyes were on the lovely scene before her eyes. Was she going to shrink away from it because its beauty had an element of savagery and cruelty? She had come to Cornwall to fight for the-twins
’
inheritance and was she going to lose her spirit because the fight was going to be tougher than she
’
d expected?

Now it was her own self-contempt that drove her on. Again she was almost running as she made her way back to the Manor, the cold easterly driving behind her. By the time she reached the wall where the Manor gardens began she was really weary. If instead of going back through the orchard and
kitchen garden she went a bit further on, she might find a
shorter cut to the house.

She came upon the seat unexpectedly, set back in the wall and fashioned out of half a boat upturned with a board across sufficiently wide for two people to sit. Lesley sank down into it. It was too cold to sit for long, but at the moment she felt she couldn
’
t take another step, and the sides of the boat gave shelter from the bitter wind. Behind were two trees bent in two directions by the wind so that their upper branches met but leaving an elongated oval of sky above the seat.

Lesley closed her eyes. Gosh, she
was
tired, and that wasn
’
t going to help when she tackled Rick.

On the smooth springy turf there was no sound of footsteps. The first Lesley knew that someone else was about was when a hand came on to her shoulder and a man
’
s lips were on her cheek. She had turned just a fraction of a second in time or the kiss would have been on her lips.

She sprang up, looking into the dark face of a young man with sea blue eyes that reminded her of the twins
’
.

‘
What
...
what do you think you
’
re doing?
’
she questioned.

He straightened up, laughter on his handsome mouth.
‘
Kissing you, of course, or trying to,
’
he said unrepentantly.
‘
If you sit in the Kissing Seat that
’
s what you expect, surely
.’

‘
The Kissing Seat?
’
Lesley faltered, turning to stare at it.
‘
Is that what it
’
s called
?’

He was just a bit taller than she and his blue eyes twinkled down at her.
‘
Yes, that
’
s the Kissing Seat, and those
,’
indicating the two trees,
‘
are the Kissing Trees. Look how they
’
ve bent together over the years and are now in an embrace that neither of them can ever evade. It
’
s quite a thought, isn
’
t it?
’

Lesley looked at him from under her sweeping lashes.
‘
Isn
’
t this private property?
’
she questioned.
‘
Ought you to be here?
’
She moved away from him and from the seat, walking towards the cliffs and staring downwards. Yes, they were there, as she had expected—a man and a girl exercising their horses.

‘
It
’
s not really private, though we try to keep it so
,’
he admitted.

Then she
’
d guessed right. From the beginning she
had been fairly sure that this young man with his dark romantic looks was a Trevendone. He must be Dominic.

She was on the verge of asking him and then she changed her mind. She would wait to see what
he
said. But he seemed to be waiting for her, so now she smiled,
‘
I
’
ve seen you before.
‘
You were lunching one day at the King
’
s Arms in St Benga Town and then you were at the door of a lovely house on the cliff. There was a dog, a huge Russian wolfhound.
’

‘
Oh, that
’
s Boris. A beauty, isn
’
t he?
’

Lesley made a tiny grimace, and her eyes wandered again to the rider below, her black hair streaming in the wind.
‘
I
’
m not so sure. I was afraid he was going to make mincemeat of my dog who had dared to bark at him.
’

He slapped his booted leg with the riding crop he was carrying.
‘
Of course, I remember. Sorrel—
Mrs.
Lang—was half inclined to let Boris have a go.
’

‘
I thought so
,’
Lesley replied, nodding.
‘
Sorrell
.
She
’
s the girl down there, isn
’
t she?
’
and she indicated the two riders now on the far distant beach. Her eyes wandered to the sea, turquoise and dark blue all at once under these changing skies.

The young man
’
s expression changed.
‘
Yes, they
’
re putting in some intensive practice for a race meeting that
’
s coming up very soon. And now I must be off. I promised
...’
Lesley
’
s own expression was puzzled.
‘
You called her
...
Mrs.
Lang, but I thought—I mean, doesn
’
t she live at the Lodge?
’

‘
Good God, no, why should she?
’
His voice was suddenly harsh and his dark face half angry, half surprised.
‘
She lives at Treida, the house where you saw the dog. The man down there, Blake Defontaine, lives at the Lodge. The long low building next to it is his lab. He writes books and lectures at universities all over the world and is an agricultural economist, rather famous in his own sphere, as a matter of fact.
’

‘
Oh
,’
said Lesley blankly, and then,
‘
I should imagine she rides well. She
’
s a beautiful girl. Does her husband ride too?
’

Dominic made a gesture.
‘
Lang? He
’
s dead. He was a racing motorist. She
’
s been a widow since October.
’

‘
How sad for her. She
’
s so young.
’
Beneath her lashes,
Lesley
’
s green eyes were curious. She sensed a certain reserve in his manner, perhaps even conflict. It
’
s Sorrel, she thought. He
’
s jealous of Defontaine. He hates her being down there with him.