Page 81 of The Secrets of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #1)

Richard was let in by the housekeeper, and ran up the stairs two at a time, hearing the thumping sounds of a piano lesson from above.

He tapped on the door to be polite, but opened it at once.

A small boy was sitting at the piano, feet dangling above the pedals, watching his hands with intense concentration as if they might come loose from his wrists and prance away without him.

Mrs Sands, who was beating time with a baton on her palm, looked up.

The boy glanced up too, his hands fell over themselves, and the music stopped.

‘Do I intrude?’ Richard said gaily. He held up a paper bag. ‘I’ve brought sacrifices to appease the gods.’

‘I’m teaching,’ Mrs Sands said. ‘I’m always pleased to see you, but I can’t have you interrupting my lessons. I have a living to earn.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Richard said meekly. ‘I’ll sit quietly in the corner until you’re finished.’

‘You’ll do no such thing. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate with your eyes boring into my back. You must go away and come back later.’

At least she’d said he should come back. He pressed his advantage. ‘At what time?’

‘Twelve,’ she said.

‘And then I’ll take you to lunch.’

‘I have another lesson at a quarter to one.’

‘Then lunch shall come to you. I’ll leave these, for now,’ he said, and put down the bag on the table. ‘In case you have time between pupils.’ He winked at the rather startled boy, and withdrew before she could say something severe.

At twelve, he passed a different pupil on the stairs, a twig of a boy with a long neck, whose sleeves and trouser legs were too short, as if he had grown rapidly in the past hour.

The first bag he had brought was still on the table, he noticed. He put down a second one. Mrs Sands paused from sorting out music. ‘Hot pies. Fetch plates,’ he commanded her. ‘And glasses. I brought a bottle.’

‘I can’t drink wine, foolish boy,’ she said. ‘What would my pupils think?’

‘How would they know what wine smelt like on the breath?’

‘My next pupil is a girl and her mother brings her,’ said Mrs Sands.

‘Well, the bottle isn’t wine, anyway. It’s ginger beer. Do you think I don’t know how you work by now? Ginger beer, so we can pretend it’s champagne.’

‘You are a most in sistent, per sistent person,’ said Mrs Sands. ‘You bother me like a fly at a picnic.’

‘Since I brought the picnic, that’s most ungenerous,’ he said. She had fetched the plates from the chimney cupboard, and he was laying things out. ‘But I forgive you. What would you have been eating if I hadn’t?’

‘I think there’s some bread and cheese,’ she said vaguely. ‘I don’t bother much with luncheon when Chloe isn’t here.’

‘Just as I thought! You neglect yourself. It won’t do, you know.’

‘Hm, those pies smell good.’

‘From the stall on the corner of Green Park.’ He saw how hungrily she ate.

Things were a struggle, he guessed. Chloe was getting her tuition free, but there would still be incidental expenses – clothes and music, and food for Chloe while she was out during the day.

And there was nothing he could do about it. He had nothing himself.

He amused her with light chatter while she ate the pie, and then he produced the earlier bag. ‘Custard tarts,’ he said. ‘I know you like them.’

‘Pastry and pastry,’ she said. ‘What a shocking diet.’

‘You should have let me take you out.’ He could charge at most restaurants.

She cocked her head. ‘Why do you bother with me?’ she asked. ‘I thought—’

‘You thought? Yes, I tried that once. Didn’t take to it at all.’

She laughed. ‘You like to pretend you are careless and frivolous, but I know you are a good, kind person.’

‘You don’t know the half of it! I’m not at all good, and rarely kind. It’s just that you bring out the best in me.’

‘I thought,’ she went on, with a sort of determination, ‘that you came here for Chloe’s sake. In the beginning, you seemed struck with her. And she is very beautiful – though I’m her mother, I can say that, because her beauty is of a special order.’

‘She is one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen.’

‘And she has extraordinary talent.’

‘She has. I admire her extremely. And I’m so glad she is at the Royal College every day, so that I can have you to myself.’

Her cheeks reddened, and she looked away. ‘You mustn’t say things like that, Richard,’ she said quietly.

‘ Mustn’t I – Molly?’ he replied.

‘Don’t joke,’ she said. ‘I’ve thought sometimes – you’ve been so kind – it’s ridiculous, I know – but I’ve thought—’

‘That it’s you I come here for, not your pretty daughter? Yes, that’s pretty ridiculous, isn’t it? But it does happen to be true.’

She put her hands to her face. ‘Don’t!’ she cried.

‘Why not?’ he said. ‘Chloe is sweet, but she’s a child, and I’m long past childhood.

Na?ve innocent girls don’t appeal to me, haven’t appealed to me since before I went away to Africa.

I’m long past sops and cocoa, Molly Sands.

I want a woman of intellect and character, a woman who can talk to me on my own level, a woman,’ he slipped from his chair to his knees before her, capturing her hands, ‘who shakes all my senses to their foundation.’ She tried to pull her hands away.

‘No, no, you invited me into your parlour, remember? I’m tangled in your web.

You are the spider in this case, and I am the helpless fly. ’ He lifted her hands and kissed them.

With a determined jerk, she pulled them free. In a harsh voice, she said, ‘Richard, get up! At once!’

It was the sort of voice that was obeyed. He resumed his seat, looking at her with a raised eyebrow, not yet upset, not yet accepting rejection. Her cheeks were hot. ‘That colour suits you,’ he said conversationally. ‘You should wear it more often.’

‘Richard,’ she said desperately, ‘you must stop this.’

‘Don’t you like it?’

‘Don’t you understand? I was your father’s mistress. I slept with your father. Your father !’

He hadn’t thought of it quite like that, and for a moment he was taken aback.

She saw the thought permeating his mind as clearly as if it had been water trickling down a glass.

And then, shockingly, he grinned. ‘Oh well,’ he said.

‘what’s that jolly song Vesta Tilley sings? “Following In Father’s Footsteps”?’

‘ Richard! ’

‘Dear, darling Molly, don’t fret. What does it matter?

It isn’t a case of incest. We aren’t related by blood.

You slept with my father, but you’re not my mother, for God’s sake!

If I don’t care, why should you? Don’t you fancy me?

I thought you did. Did I get it completely wrong?

I’m not usually so insensitive, but if I’ve mistaken your feelings, I’ll apologise and clear out. ’

‘I—’ she began, and stopped. Her eyes moved away.

‘Ha! Thought so,’ he said triumphantly.

‘I think you should go now,’ she said quietly.

He looked at her for a moment, and then got up.

‘All right,’ he said, quietly too. ‘But you haven’t got rid of me.

I came to tell you that I’m going down to Ashmore for a few weeks.

My brother has summoned me – I suppose he wants to find out what I’m going to do to pay for my keep.

I came to take my leave, and to tell you that I shall miss you.

But I shall be back. And in the mean time, if there’s anything you need, anything at all, send me word, and I’ll come hurrying to your side as fast as the train will carry me. ’

‘You’re very good,’ she said, in a subdued voice. ‘But we’ll be all right.’ She got to her feet, and went to the door to show him out.

When he reached it, he put his hand over hers on the doorknob to stop her opening it.

She looked up at him. Their faces were very close.

Their eyes met, and a message passed without volition between them.

He closed his eyes – his eyelashes were very thick and very dark, she noticed – and he laid his lips softly against hers.

They were warm and firm, like the touch of a sun-ripened fruit.

It was a feather of a kiss, and lasted only an instant, and then he tipped his hat and was gone.

She put her fingers to her lips in dismay, and thought, My God, what next?

Footsteps up the stairs, that’s what – her next pupil and her mother.

Alice rode into the yard, and saw Axe’s cottage door open, though he was not in sight.

Dolly barked and came running out but, seeing her, sat down in the middle of the yard, waiting for her, eyes bright and stubby tail beating the dust. Alice halted Pharaoh and jumped down, expecting Axe to come out.

But perhaps he was at the back, or even out in the woods.

He wouldn’t mind leaving his door open out here – there was no-one to bother him.

She and Rachel had started out for a ride together, but once they were away from the house, Rachel had told her she was going to meet Victor Lattery.

‘You can come too,’ she said. But it was plain she didn’t mean it – and Alice had no wish to sit and listen to their silly talk.

‘I’ll come back for you,’ she said. If they arrived at home separately, questions might be asked.

So, naturally, she thought of riding over to see if Axe was about. She half thought he wouldn’t be, so the open door was a pleasant surprise.

‘It’s me,’ she called, leading Pharaoh over to the ring. He knew the pattern by now, and was nosing about on the ground for spare wisps of hay as she tied the rope round his neck.

As she reached the cottage door, Axe appeared at last, but he seemed put out. His cheeks were very red, and his hair was ruffled, as though he had run his hands through it backwards.

‘I was just passing, so I thought I’d stop by and see you,’ she said, and heard a sound from inside the cottage, a suppressed cough. ‘Oh, have you got visitors?’ she said.

‘Just one,’ he admitted. He wasn’t moving to let her in, and she was a bit puzzled.