‘Good.’ Rachel’s response was fervent, and she turned her head away again to stare blindly through the misting windows. She could never forgive Jaime, she thought, never! And the prospect of the next few hours filled her with apprehension.
In spite of the fog, the journey was over all too soon, as far as Rachel was concerned. The forty or so miles between Newcastle and Rothside, the nearest village to Clere Heights, was accomplished in a little over an hour, and it was only a quarter to nine as Liz drove between the stone gateposts, that marked the boundary of the Shards’ property. Rachel remembered that the drive that led to the house wound between hedges of thick rhododendrons that in early summer were a mass of purple flowers. But at this time of the year the glossy leaves were drooping and wet with the mist that rose thickly from the ocean, and the crunching sound of wheels on gravel was muted by its drifting vapour.
It was a reluctant relief to see the house looming up ahead of them. Lights gleamed through uncurtained windows, throwing shafts of illumination across the gravelled forecourt, and as the car ground to a halt, the heavy oak door was swung wide to reveal Robert Shard’s broad figure.
With the mist shrouding the upper floors of the house, Rachel could only imagine the long-leaded windows, baying out above the front door, and the clinging creeper that covered the walls and gave them a pinkish tinge. She could see the wide bay windows on either side of the door, and glimpsed the leaping flames from the open fire Liz had promised her, but although she told herself she had had no alternative, she couldn’t help the certain conviction that she should not have come here.
‘Rachel, my dear!’ Robert Shard had descended the shallow steps and crossed the forecourt to swing her door open. ‘Welcome to Clere Heights! I’m so glad you made it. Isn’t it a vile night?’
‘I was almost late,’ his wife commented, climbing out at the other side of the car. ‘The fog’s really thick.’ She smiled across at Rachel. ‘It’s just as well you weren’t flying up. I’m sure the airport must be closed.’
As Rachel got out, she heard the muted thunder of the ocean, and her heart quickened. Returning Robert’s kiss with a nervousness she tried hard to disguise, she admitted that the weather wasn’t at all seasonai, and then thanked him for inviting her, through lips stiffened, she insisted, by the cold.
‘It was a pleasure,’ Robert Shard assured her warmly, drawing back to study her face. ‘I suppose Liz has told you we’ve got an unexpected visitor. I guess it came as something of a surprise.’
An understatement, thought Rachel tautly, but she managed to disguise her misgivings. ‘I feel something of an—interloper,’ she offered, glancing round at Jaime’s mother. ‘I’m sure you’d all enjoy yourselves better, if I—were not here.’
‘Rubbish!’ Robert wouldn’t hear a word of it. ‘We’ve been looking forward to your visit, and hearing all about what’s been happening to you. Isn’t that so, Liz?’ And at his wife’s nod: ‘But go along inside now. Are your cases in the boot? Good. I’ll get them.’
Rachel hesitated, but Liz came round the car to join her, tucking her arm through the girl’s and urging her forward. ‘Come along,’ she said. ‘I’m sure Maisie’s got supper all ready and waiting. I expect you could do with something to eat.’
In truth, Rachel had never felt less like eating, but she could hardly say so, and she accompanied Liz into the hall of Clere Heights feeling sick with apprehension. Where was Jaime? Was he waiting for them in the comfortable sitting room, which the Shards used most evenings? Was he in bed? She faced the coming confrontation with a feeling close to dread, and wondered if Liz had noticed she was trembling.
‘Take off your coat,’ said Liz, as they stood beneath the attractive chandelier that hung above the wide, square hall of the house. Panelled in a dark wood, but highlighted by the pale gold carpet underfoot, the hall was as big as any of the rooms Rachel had known in her father’s house, and the staircase that wound around two walls was broad and stately, and heavily carved. An enormous bowl of pink and cream roses occupied a prominent position on the oak settle that stood at the foot of the stairs, and their perfume mingled with the dampness from outside, as Robert carried in her luggage and shouldered the door closed.
Rachel was removing her leather coat as Maisie Armstrong, the Shards’ housekeeper, came bustling through the door beneath the curve of the stairs that Rachel knew led to the kitchen. She had heard the heavy door slamming, and her thin face broke into a smile when she saw their visitor.
‘Well, well! It never rains but what it pours,’ she exclaimed, beaming at Rachel. ‘What a night to arrive, to be sure! You’ll be thinking we have nothing but bad weather up here.’
‘I know you don’t,’ Rachel assured her, smiling, and handing over her coat. ‘How are you, Mrs Armstrong? You’re looking well. The weather doesn’t seem to disagree with you.’
‘Ah, Maisie was born and bred to it,’ Robert remarked, making for the stairs. ‘Come along, Rachel. I’ll show you your room before supper. I’m sure you’d like a few minutes to wash your hands and comb your hair.’
Blessing his understanding, Rachel nodded eagerly. ‘If you don’t mind,’ she said, looking anxiously at Jaime’s mother, and Liz made a deprecating gesture.
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she exclaimed, but there was a faint trace of tension in her expression. ‘Come down to the sitting room when you’re ready.’
‘Thank you.’
Rachel nodded, and suppressing the desire to hurry, she followed Robert up the stairs.
A landing circled the hall on two sides, with corridors running in either direction, to the two wings of the house. Built at the end of the last century, when economy of dimensions was not at a premium, Clere Heights was a rambling, spacious building, with two floors above ground level and one below. The second floor rooms were smaller than those on the first floor, meant in the initial instance to accommodate a full quota of servants, but Rachel knew from her previous visits that these were seldom used now. The Shards, who had lived in the house for the last thirty-five years, had made certain modifications, adding central heating and bathrooms, and updating the electrical system, but the character of the place had not been altered, and Rachel had always been happy here. But that was because she had been with Jaime, she thought tightly now, closing her mind to the coming encounter.
Robert led the way along the corridor that gave access to the south wing of the house, and opened the door into a spacious apartment, that sprang to life when he switched on the lamps. The soft green carpet underfoot was reflected in green and gold curtains and a matching patterned bedspread, and Rachel recognised the dark oak furniture from her visit two years ago.
‘Remember it?’ enquired Robert, setting her case on the ottoman at the foot of the square bed, and Rachel nodded mutely, too overcome to speak. ‘We thought you’d like to be in here,’ he added, depositing her hold-all on the bed. ‘Take your time, and acclimatise yourself. Maisie’s supper won’t spoil for a few minutes’ waiting.’
‘Thank you.’
Rachel’s gratitude was evident in the unusual brightness of her eyes, and Robert hesitated a moment. ‘You don’t change, do you, Rachel?’ he said thoughtfully, giving her a rueful smile. ‘You’re still the beautiful enigma, aren’t you? The only girl I ever knew who beat Jaime at his own game. I guess that cool exterior drove him to distraction. I only wish he’d met you before Betsy got her claws into him.’
This was too close to the bone, and as if he knew it, Jaime’s father turned away. ‘See you soon,’ he said, raising a hand as if in apology, and closed the door swiftly, before she could respond.
Left alone, Rachel drew a deep breath before surveying her domain. She still felt weak, and somehow defenceless, and her own reflection in the long wardrobe mirrors didn’t help. It had been a mistake to wear dark colours, she decided. The dark brown silk