Bride by Arrangement (2 page)

“Miss de Lisle can have my room for tonight, and I’ll make another bed up for myself. We only have one maid who lives in, and I’m afraid she’s already asleep, and there’ll be a certain amount of delay otherwise. And, if she’d care for a hot bath, I’ll run the taps for her...”

“Now, that is kind!” Pierre observed, turning to look at her with a touch of quizzicalness. “The good little Samaritan all at once, definitely against going by on the other side! And if you could rouse up some sandwiches from somewhere a certain hollow feeling in my inner mechanism would appreciate it.”

“I’ll see to those, sir,” Burton said at once.

“Good old Burton!” Pierre exclaimed. “At least you always give me a warm welcome!”

Miss de Lisle stretched herself luxuriously on the settee, and accorded Chloe an attractive smile.

“And perhaps you’re not quite as prim as you look,” she remarked. “When I first saw you I thought you were positively forbidding. But I was only joking when I talked about Pierre and me stopping somewhere for the night. And, in any case, we wouldn’t have shared a room...”

“Tck, tck!” he exclaimed, not quite as softly and drawlingly as before, and placing a hand over her lips. “Your tongue runs away with you, infant.”

“I was only trying to prevent your aunt’s companion from getting a wrong impression.”

“My aunt’s companion probably enjoys wrong impressions.” He bowed suddenly in front of Chloe, and as he was very slender and elegant, with immaculate linen and a tailor who obviously knew his craft, the bow should have conveyed quite a
favourable impression. “I should have introduced myself formally on arrival. I am Pierre Albertin, and this is Miss Fern de Lisle, and you are—?”

“Chloe Meredith,” she told him, finding it quite impossible to unbend in the very slightest.

Another little bow.

“Then, Miss Meredith, we know one another! Won’t you partake of some of Burton’s sandwiches with us?” as the butler returned.

“I would much prefer to go and make up my own bed. I will also clear some drawers for Miss de Lisle. I expect she has some luggage
...
?”

“There’s a case in the car,” Fern yawned.

As she ascended the fan-like staircase Chloe looked backwards, and downwards, for an instant. Her employer’s nephew was lighting a cigarette and looking up at her, and the flame of the lighter illumined his face. It was dark and arresting and interesting, but the melting eyes mocked.

It was a kind of mockery she had never encountered before.

In the morning she took Benjamin, Madame Albertin’s corgi, for his walk on the beach. He was old, and he lumbered along, but the morning was fair with the unbelievable fairness of a fine day on the north Cornish coast.

There was no wind this morning, and no turbulent seas.

Nothing but a blue blaze like larkspur in front of her eyes, and a shimmer like diamond points where the sun touched the edges of each incoming wave. The sands were wedding-ring gold, and the cliffs green as emerald. Trelas stood out proudly against a background of calm sky, and its gardens flowed colourfully to the cliff edge,
well-tended
because Madame Albertin could afford two regular gardeners, and the only other duty they had to perform was to drive her in her old-fashioned Daimler when she elected to do a little shopping, or go to church.

Chloe had worked for Madame Albertin for six months, and she was very fond of her. She couldn’t imagine herself working for anyone else if ever the day dawned when her services at Trelas would no longer be required.

Life at Trelas was, to a certain extent, isolated and cut off, and for a young person it should have been dull. But Chloe was used to dullness. Her father had been a vicar in a remote country parish, and with no wife to run his household, nor any other child, Chloe had stepped into the shoes of housekeeper from the day she was sixteen. She was twenty-three now, and her father had been dead two years, but she would always be
able to run a home competently on slender means, and she would never be afraid of living cut off from social amenities like cinemas, or even an adequate hairdresser.

On the path which led upwards from the beach Chloe ran into Pierre, bathing-trunks and a towel tucked underneath his arm. He looked almost as carefree as the morning in his open-necked shirt—heavy silk, she noticed, just as she had noticed that his cigarette-case was of platinum, and that it bore some sort of a crest—and well-pressed slacks, and his good looks were quite startling in the revealing sunshine. There were none of the lines she had expected to see round his mouth and beneath his eyes. And the eyes themselves were lustrous, as well as deceptively gentle.

For she was certain, somehow, that he was not a gentle man. “Ah, good morning, little Miss Prim!” He bowed to her in his elegant, Continental fashion. “More than ever you make me think of a Quakeress, with those downcast eyes, and that placid brow. But you weren’t placid last night. You were very annoyed indeed, weren’t you? Therefore you are not really, at heart, a Quakeress.”

“I was annoyed because your aunt had spent the whole of the day looking out constantly for your arrival.”

“And my poor aunt was disappointed, because I didn’t arrive until after she had gone to bed!” Once again his eyes were openly mocking.
“
But I’ve already seen her this morning, and she has forgiven me. Indeed, it wouldn’t occur to her to do anything else. She’s very devoted to me, is dear Aunt Abbie, and she cannot see flaws in those she loves.”

Chloe looked away from him, her green eyes belying the demureness of her downcast lids.

“I could never be like that,” she said. “One must always recognise the truth.”

“Even if the truth’s unpalatable?” His voice was jibing. “And the beloved very beloved indeed?”

“
I was talking about your aunt,” she said stiffly. “An aunt’s affection would scarcely amount to blind adoration.”

“That is meant for lovers, you mean?” very softly and silkily. “But you do not strike me as having the capacity for blind adoration, little Miss Prim! I do not think you would make an ardent lover. You have a mouth that wars with those strange green eyes of yours, and it says most decidedly that anything other than moderation in all things would be most unacceptable. Oh, indeed, yes, most unacceptable. But perhaps it wouldn’t be quite so revealing if you used a little more lipstick!”

She looked him straight in the eyes, and the unadorned lips
pressed themselves together.

“Are you usually rude like this to employees, Mr. Albertin? And you know I am nothing more than an employee here.”

“Last night I had the firm conviction you had taken over the role of mistress. Perhaps it was a moment of insight.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“No?” He smiled peculiarly. “But then I’m an enigma to quite a lot of people—even myself, sometimes.”

She asked, in an effort to change the subject:

“How did Miss de Lisle sleep? I’m sorry there was no room ready for her.”

“Considering you conceived an instant dislike for her, you were very kind in offering her your room.” His voice was once more very smooth, but a muscle twitched at one corner of his shapely mouth. “And contrary to your expectations I haven’t seen her this morning. I haven’t even ventured as far as the corridor in which her room is situated.”

She felt the colour sting her cheeks at the certainty that he was secretly enjoying himself at her expense, and once more lowered her glance before the provocative blaze of amusement in his eyes.

“I—I expect she’s tired,” she heard herself stammer. “She’ll probably sleep late.”

“Probably.”

“She doesn’t look very—very strong.”

“Neither do you, if it comes to that, but your life is much more sheltered, isn’t it?” he enquired suavely.
“
Fern doesn’t have many opportunities to develop a robust look. When she’s got a job she’s working or rehearsing most of the time, and the odd moments left over she plays. In between I think she probably starves.”

Chloe looked shocked, and he regarded her derisively.

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever come anywhere near to starving, have you, little one? You’ve never yet hit the high spots, but you’ve always been secure. It’s the kind of life that makes a broad outlook impossible. Fern’s outlook could be just a trifle too broad, she’s plucky enough. At the moment she hasn’t a job, so I brought her here. I thought a little of my aunt’s hospitality wouldn’t do her any harm.”

Chloe said nothing.

He turned on his heel, after giving the corgi a pat.

“Ah, wel
l
, I mustn’t keep you from your duties. I want to swim out to the point.” His eyes narrowed as he stared at the skyline. “By the way, my aunt has given instructions for rather a special lunch. I understand it was a special lunch yesterday, but I didn’t turn up. Today there’s to be just the three of us.”

“
The three of us?”

“Yes.” Apparently the faint trails of smoke on the horizon—the track of passing ships—interested him. “I’m to find accommodation for Fern at the inn, if they can take her. If not, she’ll have to be planted on someone who will take her. Aunt Abbie is quite adamant that she mustn’t remain in the house.”

“But—but why?” Chloe stared at him. “There’s heaps of room!”

He shrugged.

“Just an idea of Aunt Abbie’s. She doesn’t seem to take kindly to the thought of my lady friends at the moment. And it’s not because she doesn’t recognise the importance of the feminine element in a man’s life.” Suddenly his gaze swung round to her again, and it was bleak and almost accusing. “I think she feels the atmosphere will be more suitable if we banish Fern to the inn.
Au revoir
,
little Miss Prim. See you at lunch. And I hope you’re not in for too many shocks!”

But when Chloe made her way up to her employer's room it was to make the discovery that Madame Albertin was suffering from one of her bad headaches—due, no doubt, to the agitation of the day before—and once again the celebration lunch would have to be postponed.

“I simply couldn’t go downstairs feeling like this,” the old lady admitted, with infinite regret in her tones. She looked very shrunken and frail in her huge bed, with the garland-wreathed posts and pleated Venetian silk curtains. It was very faded silk, and liable to disintegrate at a touch; but a famous French beauty had once slept in the bed, and because the beauty had been a favourite with a certain French king, and Madame Albertin was an incurable romantic—at heart—nothing would induce her to have new curtains made for the bed. “But I absolutely insist that that girl Pierre has so stupidly brought with him must be got out of the house as quickly as possible! I
want
her out of the house, because I don’t want her interfering with my plans,” sounding very petulant. “You must ring up the King’s Arms at Trelas, and if they can’t take her she must go back to London.”

“But—” Chloe realised that she stared, for this was so unlike the hospitable, generous, kindly Madame Albertin that it might almost be another woman. She had never known Madame Albertin decline to put up a guest before.

“I didn’t invite her.” Madame Albertin spoke still more petulantly. “And an out-of-work actress is not the sort of young woman I want here at the present time. She could spoil everything.”

“But ... if you don’t feel like entertaining her...”

“I don’t propose to ask you to do so, my child.” Madame Albertin lay looking at her very kindly, and with a softened expression in her eyes. “You’re too young, for one thing, and for another you’re the reason I must have her out of the house. I had meant to explain everything to you today, but most unfortunately I don’t feel up to it, and the matter will have to wait. But I can’t have you getting a wrong impression of Pierre, and that silly girl will have to go. Please see to it!”

She closed her eyes, as if the pain in her head was too much for her, and Mrs. McClay came forward and tut-tutted at her, and insisted on her taking some tablets she shook out of a bottle.

“Go and do what she’s asked you to do, Miss Meredith,” she said in an aside to Chloe. “And, whatever you do, don’t argue with her just now. I’m thinking I’ll get Dr. Paget out from Tregenna to dose her with something that’ll quieten her down a bit. She could do with a few days in bed. Yesterday she was far too keyed up, and she’s got this nonsense on her mind
...
”

“What nonsense?” Chloe wanted to know, in a whisper. But Bertha McClay waved her away, after darting a curious look at her.

“Keep Master Pierre away from her, and get that young woman of his settled at the King’s Arms. Mrs. Bewes’
ll
take her. They’re not very full.”

When Chloe made her way downstairs she found Master Pierre’s “young woman” sitting on the arm of a chair and sampling a martini which Burton had just, mixed for her. She looked up, frowning a little sullenly, when she heard Chloe’s footsteps on the stairs. But she endeavoured to speak lightly.

“So I’m being thrown out,” she said. “The old woman doesn’t want me!”