Vintage Love (80 page)

She sat back wearily in her chair. “Why must money always be coming into it? I want to find my sister!”

“And so you shall—if she is your sister,” Sir Roger Drexel said. “Yet your Aunt Isobel is right in fearing you might be stepping into a trap or that an impostor might be palmed off on you!”

“I don’t think that is likely.”

Sir Roger gave her a stern look. “Consider this: If the girl in Rome should be given acceptance as your sister and anything subsequently happened to you, she would then be the sole heiress.”

“Why do you point out such an obvious fact?” she asked impatiently.

“To make you understand the possible dangers in all this,” the lawyer said slowly so that it would sink into her mind. “You might be lured into a trap and then murdered if your sister is in the hands of unscrupulous people.”

Della listened to the old lawyer’s grim warning but determination remained on her lovely face. She did not flinch at the risks as she replied, “But Sir Roger, do I have any choice?”

He raised his white eyebrows. “Meaning exactly?”

“All my life I have been haunted by the disappearance of my twin sister,” Della told him. “I saw my parents die, if not from broken hearts, most surely as the consequence of the anguish they suffered. Their dearest wish was to find Irma.”

“True.”

“I therefore feel it my duty to follow this up,” she said. “And I pray that I shall be reunited with my dear sister in Rome.”

Sir Roger’s weathered face showed approval. “Spoken with courage and wisdom,” he said. “Your parents would be proud of you if they were alive.”

She smiled thinly. “Thank you. I know Aunt Isobel will accompany me, though she may make protests to the contrary. She is as much interested in this as I am.”

“That is good,” he said with a sigh. “Still you can scarcely embark on a venture of this sort alone. I insist that a member of this firm accompany you to offer you the best protection possible every foot of the way.”

“You think that required?”

“I consider it imperative.”

“Very well,” she said. “I suppose it would be best. I shall bow to your wisdom in this.”

“Thank you, Della,” Sir Roger said. “If you will excuse me for a moment I will bring the person I think ideal for the task in here.” And with that he left the room.

She sat alone in the book-lined office wondering who the old lawyer might settle on. Perhaps some older member of the firm who had made the tour to Rome many times. Such a man would have a considerable advantage and perhaps also a knowledge of the Italian tongue.

Her back was to the door and so she heard Sir Roger and the man he had chosen entering the room before she was able to see them. As the two men came into view she gave a start! For the young man Sir Roger had in tow was no other than Henry Clarkson!

Sir Roger Drexel, clearly innocent of the breach between them, beamed at her and said, “I know you and Mr. Clarkson are acquainted!”

Sitting up in her chair, she said stiffly, “Yes, we have met.”

Henry Clarkson’s face was crimson and he bowed to her with some embarrassment. He said, “It is good to see you again, Miss Standish!”

She thought it to his credit that he at least did not take the liberty of calling her Della, as he had so often when they went about as a couple. The situation was, she felt sure, as difficult for him as for her.

Sir Roger showed an expansive smile. “It came to me in a second that Clarkson might be the ideal person to accompany you. Not that we can afford to lose him here in London.”

She said hurriedly, “Pray do not work any hardship on the firm. Some older man might do just as well for this unimportant task.”

“I do not consider the expedition unimportant,” the old lawyer told her. “It could be that your journey might be fraught with danger.”

“Surely not,” she protested.

An unhappy Henry Clarkson turned to his superior and said, “I think it most important that Miss Standish be satisfied about who accompanies her. And, as you know, I’m fully occupied here with the settlement of Lord Mavor’s estate.”

Sir Roger brushed this aside. “I can put another man on that!”

The young lawyer’s pleasant face showed his acute chagrin as he turned to her and said, “Please understand I do not wish to force myself upon you!”

“That is to your credit,” she said primly.

Sir Roger Drexel eyed them with some perplexity and boomed out, “May I ask what all this means? I have been told that you two were on the point of being engaged. I would expect the chance of a journey together to Rome would suit your ardent state most agreeably. Yet you both protest and make excuses!”

Now it was Della’s turn to feel her own cheeks burn as she explained, “We have not been seeing each other of late! And we surely are not on the point of becoming engaged!”

“That is the truth, sir,” Henry told his superior.

Sir Roger studied them both for a moment and a smile slowly spread over his craggy face. He pounded his right fist in the palm of his left hand and exclaimed, “I understand now! You’ve had a lovers’ quarrel! Damme, why didn’t you say so?”

She sat in confusion, staring down at her hands. “It wasn’t quite that,” she said awkwardly. “We simply made up our minds not to see each other again.”

“Miss Standish is telling the facts exactly,” Henry Clarkson said loyally, although in truth this was not at all the case. She had refused to see him again despite his efforts to win her forgiveness.

Sir Roger boomed, “Call it what you will, I say it is a lovers’ quarrel!” He was so emphatic on this that neither of them dared contradict him. Henry stood in unhappy silence and she kept staring down at her hands without trying any reply.

Then Sir Roger spoke again: “In any event I do not think your differences are of any consequence.”

She looked up at him with incredulity in her large green eyes. “Not of any consequence?”

“No!” he said. “In fact it might be better this way. If you and Clarkson were mooning and lost in puppy love you might well be exposed to danger without realizing it!”

“What are you saying?” she asked the old lawyer.

Sir Roger eyed her smugly. “That I’m just as pleased you’ve had this difference. It means the arrangement would have much less personal feeling in it. Mr Clarkson would have his mind strictly on business and so would you.”

“Do you think it wise, sir?” Henry said desperately. “We have had differences. More could arise if we were forced to make a long journey together.”

Sir Roger asked, “Would your difficulties with Miss Standish make you any the less diligent in your protecting her as an agent of this firm?”

“Certainly not,” Henry Clarkson said.

“Then that is all that matters,” his superior replied.

It was Della’s turn to protest. She said, “Am I not to be considered? I wish to feel comfortable with whomever is assigned to accompany my aunt and myself.”

Sir Roger gave her a stern eye. “Do you not think that Mr. Clarkson would properly do his duty and properly keep his place? Why should you be uncomfortable?”

Despairingly, she said, “A stranger might be better.”

“I cannot agree,” the old lawyer said. “Clarkson speaks a smattering of Italian. He has visited Rome and he is young and agile should you need protection from physical violence. No one else in the firm meets those requirements. So I say he is the one who must join you and your aunt on this journey.”

She sank back in her chair. “Perhaps we can discuss it later.”

Sir Roger looked stubborn. “We can discuss it as much as you like. But I warn you I’m not about to change my mind. I shall go ahead with making the arrangements for your trip with Mr. Clarkson as the firm’s representative to accompany you.”

Henry Clarkson gave her a miserably apologetic glance and told the old man, “I have a client in my office, sir. May I go back to him now?”

“Go,” Sir Roger said. “But consider this settled. We will have a meeting about it tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir,” the young lawyer said unhappily. And to Della, he bowed and said, “Good day, Miss Standish.”

She nodded a silent farewell to him and he went on out. When she was alone with Sir Roger she told him, “You surely are aware that you’re making both myself and Mr. Clarkson miserable.”

Sir Roger shrugged. “Don’t expect me to be a party to all your lovers’ quarrels or much interested in them. I’m merely trying to do my duty as your legal advisor. And I maintain that Henry Clarkson is the man best fitted to see you through this business.”

She took a deep breath. “What if I refuse?”

“Then I shall delay your departure until we reach some agreement!”

Della rose and complained, “That is a threat to stay me altogether; I think it most unfair.”

“If I have to resort to unfairness to insure your safety I’m perfectly capable of it,” was the old lawyer’s reply in a tone which indicated he meant it.

“Am I to have no say in this at all?” Della exclaimed with frustration.

“Certainly, my dear,” Sir Roger said, joining her to escort her from the office. “You may choose your wardrobe at will and decide how soon you wish to leave. The rest must be left in my hands.”

She returned to the street in a state of confused anger. Events had taken a turn for which she was in no way prepared. She’d never dreamed that Sir Roger might decide on Henry as the one to accompany her on the adventure. She could understand the old man’s confidence in him, but after their quarrel she could not imagine spending months in his company.

The carriage had not yet returned for her and she waited impatiently. The street was crowded but she was in such a quandary she hardly noticed anyone. As she stood there mulling the situation, she was suddenly bumped into by a tall, swarthy man in a dark suit, cloak and wide-brimmed black hat. Surely a foreigner in this London street.

The man halted and, removing his hat, bowed and said, “My regrets,
signorina
, I was lost in thought! I beg you to forgive me!”

She stared up at the lean, brown face and saw the man’s intense, burning eyes. London had its share of foreign fanatics and anarchists and she had no doubt this was one of them.

She said, “It was nothing.”

He kept staring at her. “You are too kind,
signorina
!”

Fortunately, at that moment her carriage appeared and she quickly got into it and was driven away. She looked back and saw the swarthy man still standing on the curb with his hat in his hand, watching her. It gave her a strange feeling.

Judging by his accent and appearance, he was probably an Italian. It was odd that she should have this meeting with one just after her conference in the lawyer’s office. But then she realized she was being silly and placing too much stress on the event. London had many foreigners and it was not all that surprising this tense, self-absorbed one should have accidentally brushed against her.

She dismissed the matter from her mind and went on to her dressmaker’s establishment, where she spent a trying hour having fittings. She advised the owner of the shop that she might be leaving London shortly and would need the dresses earlier than expected.

The middle-aged woman had not shown pleasure at this, but told her, “Most of my ladies are of the same mind, Miss Standish. They all want their work finished at once.”

“You will do your best?” Della said.

“You may rely on that,” the woman replied without giving her any definite promise.

So Della returned to her carriage again in not too happy a state of mind. It seemed that it was to be one of those days when everything combined to frustrate her. A brief call at her milliner’s made her feel better, but when she went out to her carriage she was startled to see a familiar figure standing across the street watching her.

It was the swarthy foreigner in the wide-brimmed hat!

She was certain of it. With a feeling of panic she hurried to the carriage. As the coachmen helped her inside she told him to take her straight home. She tried to appear calm and not stare in the direction of the watching man. But as the carriage began to move she cast a glance at him.

He was still standing there and he was following her with his eyes. Perhaps it was another foreign man in a broad-brimmed hat, there were surely more than one of them in London, but she had a strong feeling this was the same man. And if so, what did it mean? He could not be there by sheer coincidence? He must have been following her.

It was a worrisome thought and one which she could not explain. Why should this unknown man be interested in her? Did it possibly have anything to do with her missing sister in Rome? Were her adventures to start in London rather than in the ancient Italian city? It could not be so. She was fantasizing wildly even to entertain such thoughts!

Rebuking herself, she decided it had all been quite ordinary. She had seen two foreigners who dressed and looked enough alike to catch her attention. One of them had happened to bump into her and he surely would not have done that had he been following her and not wanting her to know it. She was allowing her sense of the dramatic to take over. She must put the whole business out of her mind.

And this was exactly what she did. On entering the mansion in Doane Square she sought out her Aunt Isobel and talked only of her trouble at the dressmaker’s and her difficulty in finding hats suitable for Italy’s warmer climate.

Aunt Isobel, seated in her usual chair near the fireplace, said, “Why do you not pattern yourself after me? I intend to delay any new purchases until I reach Rome. I’m sure I can get better prices there and find materials favored in that city.”

“It does make sense,” Della agreed, seated on the arm of a divan near her aunt. “But I need something to start the journey with.”

“You have dozens of dresses that would do.”

“I suppose so,” she said, sighing. “But that is not really why I’m so upset. That is not the worst of it!”

Her aunt’s eyes widened. “May I ask what the worst is? Or do you think me too old to be included in your problems?”

She stood up and sighed and then began to pace. “You know I always confide in you, Aunt Isobel.”