HIGH TIDE AT MIDNIGHT (19 page)

her voice say almost beseechingly, 'It's all right. I really don't want any.'

'Oh—I'm sorry.' Karen's voice was effusive. 'What a dreadful mistake! I saw

there was an extra cup and thought that Inez had miscounted.' She gave a

little theatrical laugh. 'I get so used to there just being family at these little

gatherings.'

The silence after the smiling words had been spoken was suddenly electric.

There had been no mistaking the insolence, the desire to wound that

underlay them. Morwenna felt as if she had been struck in the face publicly.

Dominic was the first to move. He walked across to the trolley, filled the

remaining cup with coffee and brought it to her. She muttered a confused

word of thanks as she took the cup from him, and stole a look at his dark

face. It told her nothing, but there was an air of icy control about him as if he

was keeping a tight rein on his temper. He would not be pleased with Karen

for her lack of courtesy, but he could not be too angry with her when her

words had simply reflected his own feelings.

Nick's voice was a rumble of anger, however, and she jumped slightly,

slopping a little of the coffee into the saucer.

'To me, my dear Karen, Morwenna is as much a member of this family as

anyone else in this room.'

Karen saw she had made a bad mistake, but didn't know how to recoup it.

'But of course.' She spread her hands in front of her, placatingly. 'I see that

I've totally misread the situation. I understood that Miss Kerslake was

employed here as some sort of secretary. It never occurred to me--'

'Well, let it occur to you now.' Nick could not have been more brusque, his

face harsh with displeasure. Morwenna saw Barbie Inglis make a slight

movement as if she was in pain and wanted to cry out to Nick to drop the

whole thing now. There was nothing to be gained by hurting Barbie through

this attack on her niece, or by setting herself at odds with the woman

Dominic loved.

'I have never regarded her as an employee,' the angry voice went on. 'She has

become as dear to me as the daughter I never had. As dear to me as her

mother was before her.'

'Nick!' Morwenna protestingly pressed her hands to her burning face, but he

went on remorselessly:

'I want no one left in the slightest doubt about my regard for this child.' He

got to his feet clumsily, reaching for his stick. Dominic went to his side,

grasping his arm.

'Steady.' The warning sounded bleak.

Nick shook him away imperatively. 'I'm all right, damn it. Morwenna, come

here, girl, and give me your arm. I have a surprise for you. I hadn't planned it

for this moment, but events have overtaken me.'

As they went towards the door, she said in a desperate undertone, 'Nick,

what are you doing?'

'It's all right,' he silenced her authoritatively. 'It's for the best, believe me.'

She said no more. He was shaking with anger, and she was terrified that

another attack might be prompted by his outraged emotions. The others were

following them, she realised, in a bewildered procession. She caught a

glimpse of Barbie's face and saw that she was as white as death.

They turned right at the top of the stairs. Nick was breathless, but his grip on

her arm was as firm as ever. He marched her along the gallery until they

reached a door at the far end, and then he released her, searching in his

pockets.

Dominic said, his voice cold with fury, 'Nick, for God's sake. There's no

need for a big dramatic gesture.'

His uncle made no reply. He had brought out a bunch of keys and was fitting

one of them into the lock. The door was opening before them and Nick was

urging her forward. She didn't want to go into the room. She knew what it

was. This had been her mother's room, the one that had been locked up ever

since she went away. She didn't know quite what to expect—something out

of
Great Expectations
perhaps, but she stepped forward with numb

obedience as Nick's hand pressed her arm and looked round her.

And, after all, it was only a large and quite beautiful bedroom. There wasn't

a cobweb in sight or a speck of dust either. There were long curtains

brocaded in green and gold at the tall windows and a matching quilted

bedcover with a valance that reached the carpeted floor. The furniture was

walnut with an elegance that did not belong to the present century. There

was even a fire of apple logs and pine cones waiting in the marble fireplace,

and fluffy towels hanging on the rail of the washstand. It had an air of

waiting as if the usual occupant had been away on a journey and was

expected back at any minute. There was no feeling that it had been shut up

for over twenty years.

'This is to be your room, child,' said Nick. He threw the words out as if they

were a challenge, daring anyone to object. He turned and pointed to a large

painting on one of the walls. 'And there she is, your namesake, Morwenna

Trevennon.'

Morwenna was shaking inside, not so much with what had just happened,

although that was disturbing enough, but because as Nick spoke she had

caught sight of Dominic looking at her. He wore an expression of black rage

and frustration that terrified her. She had the craziest impulse to fling herself

at his feet and cry out, 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't know this was going to

happen.'

Only he wouldn't believe it. He would think the whole thing had been

planned in advance, and that she'd persuaded Nick to establish her position

in the household so that there could be no argument about it.

She wanted to be happy about this. She wanted to thank Nick for this gesture

of affection and faith and be sincere in her thanks, but she felt totally

miserable inside. Karen was there, staring round the room, looking daggers

at the furnishings which still had a pristine quality sadly lacking in the rest of

the house. Her eyes seemed to linger on the bed, which was enormous, a

wide double bed, far too large for just one person.

Morwenna thought, 'But this wasn't intended for just one person. This is a

room designed and intended for a couple.' She turned to Nick, the question

forming on her lips, but he forestalled her.

'Yes,' he said quietly. 'Your mother decorated and furnished this room. It

was, I hoped, going to be our room eventually.'

Barbie Inglis, who had stood like a stone, suddenly spoke. 'Laura's room,'

she said, and her eyes were bright and fierce with tears. 'My God, after all

these years! I hope you realise how honoured you all are to be allowed to set

foot in—Laura's shrine.' She gave a little harsh laugh, then turned on her

heel and walked out.

Karen gave a little gasp and went after her. Mark, obedient to a swift gesture

from Dominic, followed. The three of them were left alone, confronting

each other.

Dominic said tautly, 'I hope it's given you satisfaction— this act of

gratuitous cruelty.'

Nic shook his head wearily. 'I didn't intend it to happen like this,' he said.

'My plans were very different. I lost my temper, that's all. But it may all turn

out for the best, even yet.'

'You can say that?' Dominic demanded, his voice vibrating with scorn. 'How

can you even contemplate the future when you're so hung up about the past?'

'Oh, stop, please!' Morwenna clapped her hands to her ears. 'Don't let's talk

about it any more tonight.' She knew she was near to tears.

'Why not?' Dominic swung towards her, his eyes blazing. 'Can you think of a

more appropriate time—or place? She was right, you know., when she said

this was a shrine. The locked and sacrosanct room with its bitter-sweet

memories. God in heaven!' He stared around him appraisingly. 'I can only

say it seems in remarkably good order. Your work, Nick? I can't actually

picture you with duster and broom, but I suppose everything is possible in

this truly amazing world.'

Nick moved his shoulders tiredly. 'Of course I didn't do it,' he said irritably.

'Inez has been cleaning it regularly for years on my instruction.'

'You kept that very quiet,' Dominic accused.

'Is that so surprising?' Nick asked with a gleam of humour. 'Locking the

room in the first place was the big dramatic gesture you mentioned just now.

Having it springcleaned regularly hasn't nearly the same muscle. Frankly, I

was ashamed of the whole business. It's a beautiful room—one of the best in

the house. It was madness to keep it shut up and I knew it, but it's hard to

back down once a gesture has been made.'

'Then why make the same mistake again?' Dominic glared at him. 'You may

not find this one so easy to get out of.'

'Please.' Morwenna interposed herself between them. 'The question of

gestures doesn't arise. I'd prefer to stay in my own room. I can't possibly

sleep here alone in that enormous bed.'

Dominic's smile was slow and insulting. 'Is that an invitation, my Lady

Morwenna? Because if so you've badly misjudged your sense of timing.'

'Dominic!' Nick almost roared. 'You'll apologise for that.'

'It doesn't matter.' Morwenna put her hand on his arm. Her head was aching

badly now. She wanted to get away from the tension in the atmosphere and

escape to the peace of her own room. 'Please, let's get out of here. I don't

think I can stand any more.'

'Any more?' Dominic Trevennon gave her a long contemptuous look before

he turned away. 'Believe me, lady, this has barely begun.'

The door slammed shut behind him. Nick lost his rigid look. There was a

small brocade chair close beside him and he made his way to it and sat down

heavily.

'Oh, God,' he said quietly, and stared down at the floor.

'Why did you do it?' Morwenna demanded. She swung round, her hands

spread despairingly, indicating her surroundings. 'I don't want all this—you

know I don't. It's a room for a couple.'

Nick sighed deeply. 'As I said, I lost my temper. It doesn't happen very often,

and perhaps that's been my biggest mistake. Perhaps I should have lost it

long ago and dragged this whole issue kicking and screaming into the light

of day. But instead I did what I thought was right.' He bent his head. 'I'm

sorry,' he said lamely.

Morwenna went over and knelt beside him, putting her hand on his knee.

'Don't be sorry.' Her voice was gentle. 'We'll make it right.' She made herself

smile. 'It has to come right.'

And not just, she thought achingly, to clear away the shadows and bring

back the joy to this old house, but to feed the vain hope that one day Dominic

might look at her without hating or despising her.

She said hesitantly, 'You—you haven't told your nephew —the truth. About

Barbie, I mean.'

'No,' he shook his head. 'The fewer people that know, the better. I've always

felt that, as you know.' His eyes sought hers. He looked older suddenly and

oddly defeated. 'Can you bear this burden with me for a little longer, child?'

'Yes,' she said at last in a low voice. They were silent for a little while, then

Nick roused himself.

'I'd better return downstairs and see what's happened,' he said ruefully. 'Will

you come with me?'

Morwenna shook her head. 'I think I'd rather go to my room.'

'This is your room,' he said almost sharply. 'I meant what I said. This is the

room you are to occupy while you remain at Trevennon.'

'But I can't sleep here tonight,' she protested. 'The bed won't be aired for one

thing—and all my things are in the other room.'

Nick stuck his chin out mulishly. 'Inez shall air the room tomorrow,' he

declared. 'And I'll tell Zack to move your things along.' He got to his feet,

reaching for his stick. 'There are still some of her things in the drawers,' he

said abruptly. 'The nightdress you wore the first night you were here was one

of them. She left some trinkets in the dressing table too which you may care

to have. It's all yours, to do as you want with.' He gave her a strained smile as

he moved to the door. 'And you won't be completely alone, anyway. You'll

have Morwenna Trevennon to keep you company.'

She felt very cold when she was alone. She turned round, still on her knees

and gazed up at the big oil-painting Nick had indicated earlier. Elegantly

dressed in the fashion of a bygone age, Morwenna Trevennon sat in her

high-backed chair in the classic repose that portraiture demanded, a small

pet monkey nestling in the folds of her skirt. But that representation of

demure restfulness was totally misleading, Morwenna knew instinctively.

As soon as the artist laid down his brush for the day, the great chair would

have been kicked backwards and the small velvet cap tugged off, allowing

the mass of golden hair it confined to tumble over her shoulders and down

her back. The girl's mouth was set in prim enough lines, but there was