Bride by Arrangement (3 page)

Chloe felt as if her teeth were suddenly on edge. “Madame Albertin isn’t particularly well this morning, and she doesn’t feel like entertaining visitors,” she attempted to soften the ejection order.

“Except Pierre? Darling Pierre!”

Chloe said nothing, and Fern looked down thoughtfully into the remains of her martini. Chloe couldn’t help remarking the length and luxuriance of her sweeping, golden-tipped eyelashes.

“I rather gathered that he’s her favourite nephew, and has expectations from her one day?” The violet eyes looked probingly into Chloe’s green ones. “Is that true?”

“So far as I know he’s her only nephew, but I know nothing about expectations,” Madame Albertin’s companion answered a
trifle crisply.

Pierre came striding into the hall at that moment, and for the first time his eyes looked quite expressionless to Chloe.

“I’ve managed to fix you up at the King’s Arms,” he said to Fern. “She’ll put you up for a few days, at any rate.”

Fern smiled at him sweetly.

“Thank you, darling. And who’ll foot the bill? You know I’m absolutely broke!”

He gazed at her with a kind of quiet gravity, but he didn’t answer the question. Instead he asked:

“Have you packed your case? I’ll come and have dinner with you tonight.”

He ignored Chloe. She had the feeling that he was doing so because of some turmoil that was bubbling up inside him.

CHAPTER TWO

Madame Albertin stayed in bed, and Dr. Paget said she was suffering from some form of repressed excitement that was bad for her. She had agitated herself before her nephew’s arrival, and now that he had arrived she must be kept as quiet as possible, and if possible the excitement must be persuaded to simmer down. She must learn to be calm and accept things as they were, otherwise her heart would not behave itself.

Pierre gazed broodingly at Chloe whenever she was near enough for him to do so, and the questioning look in his eyes puzzled her so much at times that it made her feel
v
aguely uneasy. He no longer looked upon her with open mockery—although the suggestion of mockery was still there in the dark brown velvet gaze—and he insisted on her accompanying him to the King’s Arms occasionally, once to have lunch with Fern, and two or three times to have drinks. The fact that Chloe didn’t drink was overcome by her being allowed to sip coffee while the other two went in for something stronger.

Aware that Fern was irked by her presence—even sullenly resentful of it—Chloe endeavoured to avoid these local jaunts, but Pierre was quite adamant.

“My aunt has said you are not to be left out, and therefore I must not have you left out.” He frowned as he drove her along
the green cliff top one evening before dinner. “Have you no idea why my aunt takes such an interest in you? You know, of course, that she is very fond of you?”

“I know that I am very fond of her,” Chloe answered. “I’m very happy working for her.”

“And that is all?” He sent her a somewhat dubious sideways glance. “There is no other reason why you think it is a good plan to go on working for her?”

Chloe’s slim eyebrows arched.

“What other reason could there be? I have to earn my living.”

“And you have no plans for the future that do not include earning your living? You do not think that perhaps one day it will not be necessary?”

“You mean,” Chloe said, coolly, “that I might—marry one day? I hardly think that is very likely. This is not the sort of place where one meets men who are thinking about matrimony.”

“Men think about matrimony all over the world,” he answered, “for various reasons. Women—even those without beauty!—think of it, too. Probably very often.”

“And you don’t hesitate to let me know that, in your opinion, I am one of those women without beauty?” she murmured, looking down into her lap, where her fingers were clutching at her handbag.

Once again he glanced at her sideways.

“I haven’t made up my mind quite what to think about you,” he admitted, with a puzzled candour. “You have eyes that could fascinate, because they are so green, and as clear as glass—yet one could never be certain what you are thinking behind that placid brow of yours! And your hair is pretty and soft, but quite unspectacular, and your complexion good. It would be much better if you lived out of doors more, instead of hiding yourself away in dim corners of the house with my aunt’s account books, and so forth. And your figure would probably be quite perfect if you ate a little more!”

“Well!” she exclaimed, and felt anger rising in her like a flood. “What I eat is my own business, and I am employed to concern myself with your aunt’s account books. And, as a matter of fact, I have very little to do with accounts. It’s Madame Albertin’s correspondence that I deal with mostly.”

“And all her good works? You know that she is very, very generous?”

“I know that she is almost foolishly generous. People impose on her.”

“And that annoys you?” he suggested smoothly. “You
are
interested in the money side?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” feeling the colour sting her cheeks, as if he had accused her deliberately of something despicable. “I don’t like anyone with your aunt’s good nature to be taken advantage of.
That
annoys me!”

“And you think that I take advantage of it?”

“I—know nothing about you,” she answered.

He nodded at the road ahead.

“That is the supreme disadvantage which you and I will always be up against,” he told her surprisingly. “We will never really know one another. Whatever we d
o
will be suspect, however we behave the other will always suspect that the motives behind it are doubtful, to say the least. It has been so ordained, and there is nothing whatsoever we can do about it. You will be as certain of this as I am one of these days—possibly before very long!”

She heard herself saying with almost a frightened note in her voice:

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Pierre shrugged.

“For the moment it doesn’t matter.”

There was a lovely light over everything, a light which made Chloe wish she was an artist who could faithfully reproduce it on canvas.

In a room crowded with ships in bottles, ships’ lanterns, uncomfortable chairs and primly arranged tables, Fern de Lisle sat on a high stool at the bar counter and chatted animatedly with a bronzed young man in flannels. The bronzed young man was accompanied by a bronzed young woman who was obviously closely connected with him, and she smiled at Chloe as she entered.

“Hullo, my dear, I haven’t seen you for ages! How’s the old lady?” she asked.

David Pentland, who had a very obvious and painful limp, and very, very blue eyes—the eyes of a man who had had much to do with the sea, but could no longer follow the trackless paths of the oceans of the world—unhooked himself from his own high stool, and took a few limping steps towards Chloe.

“Yes, how is the old lady?” he echoed. There was a sort of warm pleasure in his eyes as they rested on the slight figure in the home-made dress with flowers scattered all over a white ground. “It's too bad you should be kept such a prisoner at Trelas! Why don’t you stand up for your rights and come and see us more often?”

“Because Miss Meredith happens to be employed as my aunt’s secretary-companion,” Pierre answered for her, with a curtness that sent all the eyebrows in the room ascending a
little. “It’s her job to remain with my aunt, and she gets well paid for it.”

Eunice Pentland put her head on one side and regarded him with curiosity.

“You must be Pierre, Madame Albertin’s nephew!” she exclaimed. “I’ve heard a lot about you, but we’ve never met you before.”

“I don’t come here often,” Pierre answered, just as curtly.

The bronzed young woman, wearing the smartest of slacks, and a chunky white sweater, smiled in a meaning fashion.

“No; that’s what I mean,” she said.

Fern, on her high stool, laughed her sudden, rather tinkling laugh.

“What do you think, Pierre darling? Mr.
P
entland is the next best thing to a millionaire, and he has a wonderful house somewhere along the cliffs near here! A modern house, specially designed for him and his sister, and he’s invited me to see it. If you’re a little more polite he might ask you, too!”

But Pierre’s dark, aloof face remained just as aloof.

“I’ve heard of it,” he said. “Everyone who comes to this corner of Cornwall has heard of the Pentland challenge to all the older houses in the area. Personally, I prefer old houses.”

“But that’s no reason why you shouldn’t come and see our house,” Eunice—who had the same blue eyes as her brother, sea-blue and vivid—said softly. “High Cross was built to suit our own requirements, and we love it. We think it has everything ... including atmosphere.”

As she said the last words her eyes were holding his, or endeavouring to hold them. He turned away, and walked up to the counter.

“What will you have to drink?” he asked Chloe.

“Nothing,” she answered mechanically, and then corrected herself. “A—fruit juice will do!”

David smiled at her.

“You won’t get tight on that, Chloe! Are you always going to be as abstemious? Try a little gin in it for a change.”

“If she wishes for fruit juice, then there is no reason that I can think of why she should not have fruit juice,” Pierre cut in, as if he was always pedantic and precise. He put her fru
i
t juice into Chloe’s hand with a graceful, and very foreign, little bow, and she found herself smiling almost nervously at Eunice.

“I don’t think I’d like gin,” she explained.

David said earnestly:

“You must come and spend a week-end with us soon, Chloe. It’s ages since you had any real free time, and I want you to see Linda’s first litter. They’re a sight to gladden your heart.”

“I’m sure they are,” Chloe replied, “and you’ve probably got a future champion amongst them. But you must remember I’ve only been working for Madame Albertin for six months, and she’s by no means a task-master. In fact, she’s unusually kind.”

“Oh, I’m sure the old lady’s all right,” he agreed carelessly. “But, from your point of view, you ought to see more young people, and Eunice and I love having you.” His hand covered one of hers lightly. “We’ll make it a week-end soon, even if I have to appeal to Madame Albertin myself.” His eyes narrowed, and he glanced sideways at Pierre. “How long is the nephew staying?”

“I don’t know.”

“I suppose he’s here to ‘touch’ the old girl? He has quite a lively taste in lady friends! That copper-headed young woman would be exceptionally difficult to throw off if the moment arrived when it was expedient to see no more of her.”

They returned to the subject of Linda and her puppies, and Chloe asked eager questions about them. By the time Pierre came across and said he was taking her back to Trelas they had forgotten the others, and Chloe’s pale skin was delicately flushed, and her eyes bright with interest, as she looked up, faintly startled, into his face.

“
Oh, must we go?” she said, not quite realising what she was saying, and he replied drily that they must.

“Unfortunately, there is still my aunt,” he said. “She’ll expect to see something of us during the evening.”

“Oh, of course,” Chloe agreed, and sprang to her feet.

Aunt Abbie, was not in any mood for company when they arrived back at Trelas. In their absence the doctor had been called, and he was still in the hall when they entered it.

He was fingering his chin and looking thoughtful, and Bertha McClay was looking agitated.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to humour her a good deal,” he said, referring to his patient, to the old lady’s nephew. “She’s very weak, and secret excitement is burning her up. She thinks she’s coming downstairs in a day or so, but I don’t know.” He looked gravely into the younger man’s eyes. “Just humour her. Whatever you do, don’t argue with her!”

Chloe stole in to see her employer before she went to change her dress, and Madame Albertin beckoned her towards the bed.

“Come here, my dear!” she said in a thin, eager whisper. “I want you to go to Truro tomorrow and do some special shopping for me. I want you to buy yourself some new dresses—something pretty for evening, and some day dresses as well. And get your hair done, and buy yourself some
cosmetics—you know, the kind that make young people look so attractive nowadays! In my young days we didn’t use them, of course, but I’m not going to say we wouldn’t have been improved by a little make-up occasionally! I’ve signed a cheque, and you can cash it at the bank
...
”

“But, Madame Albertin,” Chloe protested, already forgetting the doctor’s instructions, “I couldn’t possibly allow you to
...
”

But Madame Albertin held up a feeble hand. She was looking very frail, and alarmingly tired.

“Please!” she said. “At my age one has a right to expect one’s whims to be gratified, and it is my whim to see you dressed as nicely as possible. Don’t use up my strength by raising objections!”

“But you pay me such a generous salary, Madame Albertin, I could pay for the things myself,” Chloe felt forced to insist.

The old lady shook her head.

“It is my whim
... I will pay for it! Now go, and I don’t want to see you again until you have done all that I asked you to do. Take the Daimler.”

Chloe nodded, hesitated for a moment, and then crept from the room. She had the strangest feeling that she was doing something terribly final as she left it.

The next morning Pierre watched her as she waited on the drive for the car to come round from the garage. He saw her pulling on her gloves, and she was wearing a prim little hat beneath which the ends of soft fair hair waved gently in the breeze. She looked preoccupied, and rather as if she was embarking on something that alarmed her.

“If you’re going somewhere special, I’ll drive you,” Pierre offered. “In fact, I’ll drive you wherever you’re going.”

She shook her head.

“I have rather a lot of shopping to do in Truro. It wouldn’t be at all pleasant for you.”

“Personal shopping?” he enquired.

“In a—in a way, yes.”

“Then I could carry your parcels. We could have lunch together.” He was curiously insistent
.
“Why take Jenkins off his regular job when I’m available?”

“I’m carrying out your aunt’s instructions,” she replied.

“I see.” His voice was suddenly dry. “From now on, I suppose that is what we shall be doing all the time! Carrying out my aunt’s instructions!” He bowed as he put her into the car, seeing her comfortably settled in the back of the huge Daimler. “Then, since I’m not to be made use of, I’ll go and have lunch with Fern.”

“Pleasure instead of business,” she heard herself saying
before she could stop herself.

His eyebrows ascended, and he regarded her narrowly through the glass.

“Is it part of my duty to my aunt to offer to escort you?” he demanded coolly. “Perhaps I ought to point out to you that I seldom make duty a fetish. However, it really will be pleasant to lunch with Fern!” and he banged the car door shut.

Chloe was borne away to Truro in the dignified car, and for the first mile or so her thoughts seemed to cling to Pierre. He was quite unlike the Pierre she had expected. He could be urbane even when he was saying something offensive; his manner suggested that it would be very difficult to ruffle him seriously, and yet his eyes had a darkness in them, and a depth, that hinted of unplumbed depths, and a capacity for some sort of feeling that might even be staggering if one should ever experience it.

Staring at the clasp of her handbag, Chloe knew that she suspected in him a certain relentlessness, a touch of ruthlessness. He knew what he wanted, and he would go after it always. He was not weak—not in the accepted sense.

He might have other weaknesses; he no doubt had. He could be casual, careless, neglectful of the feelings of someone like his aunt, who adored him. And yet, if she adored him, why hadn’t she secured his future for him before this? Why was there always so much talk about what she was going to do with her money; and why—when Pierre was the obvious beneficiary, and her only living relative—hadn’t she simply made a will long ago, leaving everything to him? And left it like that!

The more Chloe thought of it, the more puzzled she began to feel, and the more she pondered on the old lady’s latest whim the keener was the bewilderment that attacked her. For generosity had its limits, and she was only a paid companion. Why was it important that she should suddenly possess new and attractive clothes, and have her hair done?

It was extraordinary ... And because it was so extraordinary, Chloe was certain there was some explanation for it. Madame Albertin might be failing, but she usually had a reason for everything she did.