The Golden Maze (2 page)

"It certainly made an impression on you." Keith Ayres smiled. "As I, told you in my letter, Mr. Baxter never forgot your love of the place."

"I can't understand how he could remember me all these years." Cindy spread out her hands expressively.

"He was old and lonely. It was a pity about his son. Mr. Baxter was devoted to the boy. These family quarrels are sad things. Fathers so easily forget how they felt when they were sons."

"Well, if you build up a big business, surely you're building it for your son, too?" Cindy asked. "Not that that means the son must automatically follow on, of course."

Keith Ayres smiled ruefully. "It's so easy to judge. I'm not married, so can't talk from experience, but I'm building up this firm from the mess it was in when my uncle died, and I must confess, I'd like a son of mine to benefit as a result of my hard work."

"It's funny, isn't it, as you grow older everything seems to reverse," Cindy began, and stopped abruptly. It was when she said stupid things like that that her cousins called her a bore. "You . . . you haven't found Mr. Baxter's son?"

"No, but there are still three weeks .. ." Keith Ayres hesitated before continuing. "Actually we fear he is dead. We traced him to Australia, then Canada, and finally South America. There was some turmoil there and he just vanished. We have advertised ... are still advertising." He frowned. "Your mother didn't like the castle?"

"It wasn't that—it was the loneliness. Mummy liked people and bright lights and ... and life, as she called it. I'm more like my dad, an introvert."

Keith Ayres laughed. "I'd hardly call you that. You can't remember anything about Mr. Baxter?"

Cindy looked round the luxurious office and half closed her eyes. "What you said about a mock castle ... that does seem to ring a bell." She clapped her hands excitedly. "I've got it ! I remember how Mummy told me that. She said it wasn't a real castle and ... and I remember crying and then ..." Cindy frowned thoughtfully, her eyes narrowed. "Yes, I am beginning to remember. This man I had to call Uncle Robert gave me a big white hankie and said it would always be a real castle to him, and that made me awfully happy, because it was his castle, so he had to be right. It was real !"

Keith Ayres looked thoughtful. "What you liked when you were seven years old may look different now, Miss Preston. Er ... did your mother ... er

I don't want to sound impertinent, but have you a private income?"

Looking surprised, Cindy shook her head. "No, Mummy had an annuity which died with her. I lived with aunts and uncles and I got a job as soon as I

could and ... well, I'm not doing too badly. I have a car and . ."

Keith Ayres smiled. "Very commendable, Miss Preston, but I doubt if it would be enough to enable you . ." He paused. "Mr. Baxter was not a rich man when he died. Locals believed him to be wealthy, but he had many troubles financially as well as physically. I'm afraid after all the death duties and taxes, etc., there won't be much money left. The reason I wished to contact you before the three years was up was because, at the moment, you view this inheritance with romantic eyes, but it could become a pain in the neck. The castle is large and expensive to keep in repair. In addition there is a housekeeper and her son, the gardener, who have been there ten years. Efficient, I gather, but expecting and getting generous salaries. The estate pays this at the moment. You may find it advisable to sell the castle."

Cindy's eyes widened in horror. "Sell it? Sell the castle?"

Keith Ayres tried not to smile. "Well, until I wrote to you you had forgotten it, so it can't mean all that much."

"Oh, but it does, and I hadn't . . ." Cindy leaned forward, her hair swinging on either side of her face. "It's always been a wonderful dream to me. If things got bad, I could cheer myself up by thinking of the castle that would one day be mine. It was a dream that had somehow come true, if you know what I mean ?"

"Yes, I do, but all the same . . . Look, I think it would be a good idea for you to visit it as soon as possible, Miss Preston."

Cindy's eyes brightened. "I'd love to visit it."

"Good. I suggest you talk things over with your boss and get a week off. Let me know the date you can go up to, Cumberland and I'll arrange with Mrs. Stone—she's the housekeeper—to expect you. You can go by train or coach."

"I'll drive up, I don't know that part of England, so it will be fun," Cindy told him eagerly.

Keith Ayres hesitated. "You're rather young to drive around alone." He saw the frown on her face and hastily added, "I was thinking if, the car broke down, some of those roads in the Lake District in winter can be very isolated. You have a friend who could go with you ?"

It was Cindy's turn to hesitate. "Yes," she said slowly, which wasn't the whole truth but half of it. She had friends at the office, but the friendship ended at five o'clock each day. Somehow she wasn't one of them. She had found London lonely, but with the weekends in the country to look forward to, she had learned to live with loneliness.

"Good." Keith Ayres stood up and smiled. "Let me know which day you're free to go up to the castle and I'll contact Mrs. Stone." He hesitated. "I hope you won't be too disillusioned, Miss Preston."

She shook hands with him at the door and her eyes were bright with excitement. "I'm never disillusioned, Mr. Ayres." she said gaily. "Mummy used to say, when one door closes another opens. Something good always happens to me."

Look at today, she told herself as she hurried down towards tile large block of offices where she worked, she had woken up that morning, feeling depressed, dreading the hours at the office where she could see

mirth mixed with sympathy in the girls' eyes because she had been dropped by Oliver Bentley. And then the letter had come ! The letter that had opened a whole new exciting world for her.

Now as she hurried down the corridor in the office building, she smiled through the glass walls of the typing pool and waved to the girls gaily. She had the most wonderful news imaginable to tell them. What did Oliver matter after all? True, he was a charmer and she had enjoyed the two evenings he took her out. He had been attentive, kissing her . . . and then next day she had been cut dead by him and later, meeting in the canteen, he had paused by her side and said :

"It was nice knowing you, Cindy, but not half as nice as I'd hoped."

One of the typists, close behind Cindy, had giggled. Cindy hadn't understood what Oliver meant, thinking it must be because she was—as her cousins had frequently told her—an awful bore. That she was a nothing. That no man with any sense would look at her ! As Oliver hurried by, Maggie, the girl behind Cindy, had squeezed her arm.

"It's not your fault, Cindy, you're just not with it," she said sympathetically, which had made it worse. But today . . . why, a castle was better than all the Olivers in the world put together !

As soon as Cindy had hung up her winter coat and little hat, carefully looked at her face and wondered why she looked so different, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining, she hurried to her boss's office, her notebook in hand, half a dozen pencils ready.

"Well?" Patrick Jenkins looked up. A tall, lean

man with reddish hair and green eyes, he was a hardworking boss whom most of the girls disliked but whom Cindy enjoyed working for.

"I told you it was a castle !"

Patrick Jenkins grinned. "You know, I was half asleep when you phoned this morning, and you should know by now that I can't think properly until twelve o'clock, so please tell me slowly and in detail what happened."

She obeyed, sitting opposite him, her hair swinging as she kept nodding her head and her voice rose excitedly. When she had finished, he frowned.

"Oh dear, just as I've bullied you into being the perfect secretary ! I suppose I must let you go . . . will you postpone it for a week and train one of those idiots in the pool ? Last time you were ill, I nearly went mad. The girl I had couldn't even spell, and as for the filing cabinet . .."

The phone bell shrilled loudly. It was a long-distance call and Cindy waited while he talked. Her thoughts were racing round in circles like a little trapped mouse. A mixture of beautiful lakes, mountains topped with snow, and a castle ... a real castle .. .

When Patrick Jenkins replaced the receiver he looked at Cindy. He sighed dramatically, but she saw the twinkle in his green eyes.

"When will you grow up ?" he asked sadly. "You've forgotten your glasses again and you walk around, your head stuck forward like an ostrich's, your eyes screwed up."

Cindy's cheeks burned. "I know . . . I forgot them because I was so excited."

"You're always forgetting them. A subconscious refusal to wear them, I imagine. Now why ?"

"Well . . ." Cindy wriggled about on the seat uncomfortably. Put into words it sounded so stupid. "My cousins used to tease me a lot. I was called Gobblyeyed Cindy and they said.. . they said I looked pretty awful in them as I was so ugly in the beginning. I.. well . . ." Her voice tailed away weakly.

He looked grave. "What utter tripe ! I find you extremely pretty and I think you're even prettier when you're wearing glasses."

"You do ?" Cindy looked so startled Patrick Jenkins found it hard not to laugh.

"I do. Now . . ." he glanced at his watch, "maybe we'd better get some work done. You can go next week, but come back quickly." He smiled. "I shall miss you," he said so pathetically that they both laughed. "Now, this Drinkwater firm, for instance. Ready ?"

Cindy nodded, pencil poised, as she tried to concentrate on the job in hand.

THE week crawled by for Cindy, impatient as she was to get to the castle that might be hers. She had phoned Mr. Ayres and he had sent her a letter of instructions and had repeated, his fears that she would find it too expensive to run if the real heir didn't materialise.

Now on the cold wintry day with the sun trying to peep out from behind the clouds, Cindy started on her journey and tried to think of how she could find the money required. Whatever happened, she wouldn't sell it. She was used to London traffic and her little grey car slipped in and out until the slow-moving crowded roads of London were left behind and she was on the highways. Her she could settle in the lane she had chosen and let the speed-crazy race by, for she was in no hurry, looking at the countryside with interested eyes. The first part of the journey she found dull, for she loathed flat country. Mountains and lakes and forests, she thought. happily, were what she loved. Castle Claife would be so different from this flat uninteresting land. Mr. Ayres had told her the word Claife meant steep hillside with path, so there must be a special path. Her boss, Mr. Jenkins, had chuckled and said there'd been a lot of smuggling in that part of the world in days gone by—maybe this special path led to a hideaway, as he called it.

Would she ever marry? she wondered. According

to her cousins, no man would look twice at her, but Mr. Jenkins had said . . . Suddenly she was laughing happily. He really was a pet, so kind and understanding. Of course he had said that to boost her morale, and it certainly had.

The scenery began to change, the roads to curve, the hills to appear, and she sang gaily as she drove along. She had a feeling that everything was going to be all right.

Then the fog came down without warning. A frightening moment as the cars vanished in the swirling mist. It grew worse and while still in the fast lane cars whizzed by, Cindy crawled along, nose to tail in the long line of cautious drivers as they felt their way. The sight of a motel loomed up through the mist, so Cindy turned off and decided to spend the night there if the fog didn't lift. She tried to phone Claife Castle, but was told the line was out of order. Probably the fog had reached them so Mrs. Stone would understand, she thought as she sat, pretending to read a magazine and finding her thoughts going back again and again to that morning when she had heard from the solicitors and stood in the hall, trying to read the names that she couldn't see—and then that stranger had spoken to her. That was the amazing thing. She didn't know him, but he kept coming into her thoughts. If only she had not forgotten her glasses and had seen him properly. Somehow she couldn't forget him. He seemed to haunt her. Had it been his voice? Deep and—what was the word? Oh yes, authoritative, a favourite word used frequently by her boss ! It was amazing how easy she had found it to talk to the stranger and—she had to smile—how cross he had

made her by teasing her about her age and height, as well as her glasses. Yet he had done it nicely, not rudely.

She walked round the room restlessly. Why must she keep thinking of this man she would never see again? Had she bored him terribly? she wondered. Yet if she had, surely he could easily have ended the conversation and walked away?

The fog was still thick, so she must definitely spend the night there at the motel. She din
n
ed early to go to bed and sleep, for she was tired. But whether it was excitement about the castle or fear lest the fog persist for days and so shorten her stay in Claife Castle, for she must remember the real heir might turn up, Cindy didn't know, but she could not sleep that night. Lying awake, tossing and turning, plumping up the pillows, her mind returned time and again to the stranger she could not forget.