The noble fa?ade of Goudham Manor shone with a sort of theatrical splendour in the amber glow from the setting sun. Caryl had booked in for one night at an hotel immediately upon her arrival in Dorchester by train from the north of England. After a quick wash and change of dress she took a taxi to Bridport, an attractive little holiday resort with a harbour that was invariably crowded with fishing boats and pleasure craft no matter what time of the year. Goudham Manor occupied a unique position on a knoll about a mile from the resort and was completely surrounded by the extensive farmlands and woodlands that comprised the estate of Sir Geoffrey, the last of a long line of Goudhams who had owned the manor and demesne lands for more than three hundred years.
The taxi crunched to a stop on the loose shingle of the forecourt, and Caryl felt her legs weaken beneath her as she alighted from the back seat after the driver had opened the door for her. She had made the appointment by phone, and Brad had sounded friendly and interested in her request, a circumstance which gave her both hope and courage. But now, with the meeting imminent, she was trembling, and her stomach muscles felt as if they had tied themselves into tight little knots.
'You want me to wait, miss?' the driver asked as she opened her handbag to pay him.
'No, I don't think so. I might be a long time.'
'Well, if you do want me, just ring the hotel. I spend hours waiting there, so it's most likely the porter'll get me.'
'I shall certainly do that,' she promised.
The car drove off, but Caryl felt as if her feet were glued to the ground, so difficult was it for her to move them. But the door behind her swung open, and she turned to look up into a face that had altered little, the few changes being the lines of maturity which added to his attraction, and the mouth, which seemed rather more full than Caryl had remembered. The dark hair was sprinkled with threads of iron grey at the temples, and all in all the picture she saw was one of nobility and distinction and superlative self-confidence. By contrast Caryl felt small and unsure of herself—a nobody, a mere mortal beside a god! A smile touched her lips because of her thoughts; Brad, who had appeared to have been taking in every detail of her face before his eyes had slid the full length of her figure to absorb her slim beauty, saw her smile and responded as he held out his hand.
'So you managed to get here on time, then? You should have accepted my offer of a lift from the railway station.'
'I didn't want anyone to be waiting. The railway office gave me the impression that all trains run late on Sunday because repairs to the lines are done then.' He had her hand; she felt the pressure of long brown fingers against a ring she wore and felt as if he had broken the skin, so strong was his handshake.
'Come on in, Caryl. You're looking extremely well and beautiful.'
She coloured adorably and was glad of the activity of entering the hall and of Brad's closing the door behind her. She soon found herself in a large, elegant drawing room where the predominating colours were blue and gold. Drapes and carpet were blue, the walls gold. The furniture was antique, wonderfully cared for. The chairs were built for both beauty and comfort, and Caryl sank into one with a sigh on her lips. The train journey had been long and tedious, and the hard seats had not helped. She leant back, crossed her legs, and tried to appear totally at her ease.
'Where's your luggage?' inquired Brad as if he had just thought of it.
'I booked in at an hotel in Dorchester—the Angel.'
'That won't do.' He frowned. 'I'll have it brought here.' He was standing close to her chair; she caught the pervasive and lingering smell of aftershave and realised he had changed for dinner.
'I suppose it would have been better if I'd left the visit till the morning,' she said. 'It's getting late…' Her voice was silenced by the lift of his hand. She suddenly felt inadequate and lacking in the self-confidence she had meant to assume.
'Not at all.' Brad took the jacket she had taken off and laid it over the back of a chair. 'Can I get you a drink?' He was walking towards a bell-rope by the white marble fireplace. 'What hotel did you say?'
'The Angel.'
A manservant came in response to the summons. 'Have someone take the car and bring Miss Chapman's suitcase from the Angel in Dorchester. The account will be settled later,' he added, and the man nodded and went out. Caryl found herself smiling at the imperious way in which Brad had taken over, not caring if she had any objection to staying here as his guest. Emma would have been furious at behaviour like that and would certainly have made some protest.
'What are you drinking?' Brad was at the cocktail cabinet, his head turned towards her, his eyes flicking over her, taking in what she wore. She felt glad she had changed from her travel-worn dress into one of coral-coloured jersey—very fine and fitting where it ought to fit, and with the skirt full and fairly short. The matching jacket now over the back of a chair was loose-fitting yet exceedingly smart. Caryl had always felt that the ensemble was one of the best buys she had ever made.
'I'll have a dry sherry, please.'
It was brought over to her, and a small antique table placed at her elbow. She expected Brad to move—hoped he would do it quickly because he overpowered her, with his height and his air of superiority. But he did not move; he stood looking down at her with interest, as if comparing what he saw to what she had been as a girl of eighteen. A quirk of amusement caused her to blush and hope he would not remind her of that occasion, would not speak his thoughts aloud.
'You've grown up' was all he said, but even that spoke volumes, and her colour deepened.
'It's been six years,' she said. 'Of course I've grown up.'
'How is Emma?' Unemotional the tone; it was plain that he now regarded her sister as nothing more than a onetime acquaintance.
'She's fine. I suppose she answered your letter?'
'No, but she telephoned shortly before you did. We had a long conversation, and she told me she's engaged to be married.' A small pause, and then, reflectively: 'She'll be thirty now. Wasn't in any hurry, obviously.' Brad walked away to pour himself a drink.
Caryl asked about his uncle. 'We were sorry to hear about his sight,' she added, reaching out for her glass.
'It's very sad, but he is almost eighty. It's a good age.'
'Emma said she had the impression from your letter that he feels he hasn't much longer to live.'
'He's had a couple of minor heart attacks.' Brad moved to a chair and sat down. 'Dinner will be served in about half an hour,' he said, changing the subject. 'It's late this evening because I held it off so that you could join me.'
'That was good of you,' she said shyly. She was right in line with one of the high windows, and the gold of evening touched her face and hair. Brad seemed interested, but only in a superficial way.
'Let us talk about this job you are hoping to get. I see no reason why you shouldn't come here and bring this dog you spoke of.'
'Thank you,' she said swiftly. 'Oh, thank you very much, Brad! You have no idea what it means to me!'
'To you, or the dog? From what I learned from Emma on the phone, you are more interested in his welfare than in your own.'
She laughed. 'It must sound crazy to you, but as a matter of fact it's very important that Sandy is not parted from me until he goes back to his owner, an invalid lady who adores him as much as he adores her.' Caryl went on to tell him the whole, even though she guessed he knew it all anyway—what with Emma's conversation on the phone and then her own. 'I shan't be able to travel with him, but once he's here and sees me he'll be all right.'
'You might be able to travel with him,' returned Brad thoughtfully. 'If I employ you at once, then you could be the handler.'
'Of course! I'm delighted!'
'Well, that's settled, then. When do you hope to bring this Sandy down here?'
'I believe I could come almost at once. I'm not quite sure about the regulations regarding a situation like this, but it obviously has happened before.'
'Of course. Owners sometimes take a dislike to the kennels first chosen and decide to change.'
'It was a surprise to me to learn that your uncle had kennels. I remembered he did have them, though, and so the idea of asking you for a job came to me.' Caryl was fast gaining confidence, mainly because of the way Brad was with her—friendly and chatty and with a smile now and then. She felt comfortable and knew a tinge of excitement at the prospect of having dinner with him—alone.
'He's an animal lover, and at the time he conceived the idea of a kennels he'd been visiting a quarantined dog with a friend of his and was most unhappy at what he saw. He had visions of providing large quarters for the dogs but soon realised he was under orders from the Ministry of Agriculture. They lay down the rules, and so, whatever idealistic schemes you have, you might as well forget them.'
'You sound as if you're a dog lover, too.'
'I like all animals—except foxes and tigers,' he added with a grimace. 'I don't happen to have a dog in the house at present. Uncle's spaniel died a few weeks ago, and all we have now are the farm dogs. We have three of those.'
'It's going to be most enjoyable for me, working here.'
'You'll be over at the kennels,' he corrected quietly. 'You can live in the dower house. We've turned it into apartments to house some of the farm workers and also two kennel-girls who share the top flat. You can have a small, one-bedroom flat on the ground floor.' Brad paused a moment, and as she looked at him Caryl had the odd impression that he was searching for words with which to say what was in his mind. It seemed a most strange impression to get, simply because hesitancy of that kind was entirely out of keeping with his strong, dynamic personality. When at last he did speak, it was to make a suggestion: would she pose as Emma and meet his uncle the following day? Caryl's mouth parted, but she caught back the exclamation and just stared at him for several seconds in absolute silence.
'It wouldn't be possible,' she began when he interrupted her.
'Why not? Emma told me on the phone that she had suggested you take her place and come down to see Uncle. She saw no problems, because of Uncle's failing sight. He'd never know the difference.'
'Not briefly,' Caryl agreed, but she went on to remind him that the present situation was different: she would be here to stay.
'You'd not be seeing Uncle after the first meeting tomorrow morning. The kennels are some distance from here, and as Uncle never leaves his room now, he wouldn't even know you were employed at the kennels.'
'Surely he'd know eventually,' persisted Caryl, but Brad was shaking his head.
'He never leaves his room,' he repeated. 'There is no possible way in which he could know you were here.'
Caryl hesitated, but not for long. There seemed to be no snags that she could see, not after she had accepted what Brad had just said.
'Well… if you are quite sure, then, yes, I'll pretend to be Emma, just for tomorrow.'
'Thank you,' said Brad with the trace of a smile. 'I was upset when Emma refused to come. Uncle had seemed so sure she would, and his disappointment would have been exceedingly great. I have no idea why he suddenly wanted to see your sister again after all these years, but the doctor seemed to think it would do him a great deal of good if he did see her, and so I wrote to Emma, feeling that even if she were married she'd still come down, just to help my uncle—' Brad broke off and shrugged his shoulder. 'She obviously felt the journey was too much, and that's fair enough—'
'Don't get any wrong ideas about Emma,' Caryl was forced to break in and say. 'She'd do anything for anyone, but it just so happened that when your letter came she wasn't in the mood for a tedious train journey lasting several hours.'
'But you were willing to make it.'
'For Sandy's sake and for that of his mistress. I don't want Miss Haldene to lose her little pal if I can help it…' Caryl's voice drifted away to silence as she noted his expression. It was one of amusement not untinged with admiration, and when he spoke there was a strange gentleness in his tone.
'It's all very commendable, Caryl, and I don't know what made me hesitate in asking you to do me the favour of posing as Emma. I ought to have known you'd be willing to do it.'
Flattered by his words, Caryl coloured and smiled and on the whole felt awkward and embarrassed. She reached for her sherry and took a sip, glad of something to do which would appear cool and natural. The entry into the room of the manservant was another help. Dinner was served, he said and withdrew.
'This is lovely!' Caryl was exclaiming a few minutes later as she sat opposite her host at a table which, she suspected, could be extended to more than treble its present size. 'Do you dine in here every night, all alone?'
'To be alone is restful after a long day either outside or in my office. I usually have music—Perhaps you would like some now?' He did not wait for her reply but rose from his chair to insert a tape of light classical music into the recorder. The music flowed at once, flooding the room softly, relayed through no fewer than four speakers, each unobtrusively placed in a corner. Caryl closed her eyes, feeling content and happy and faintly excited. But there was no emotional reaction to being alone with Brad in this romantic atmosphere. On meeting him a short while ago after six years she had felt a trifle surprised that her heart had not been stirred, if only in some small way. Was she disappointed at her total lack of feeling? Her smile had been thin, she remembered, thin and polite in a face she knew was undisturbed by troublesome memories. Brad spoke; she opened her eyes and they smiled at him.
'Where are your thoughts?' he had asked quietly.
'I was thinking of our meeting, after six years,' she began, unable to find any means of prevaricating, because she was sure he would know if she were to tell a lie.
'And?' His dark eyes registered interest, curiosity, and just the merest hint of amusement to betray the fact of his remembering the chastisement he had meted out to her.
'One never knows quite what to expect.' She was thinking of Emma and her assertion that she would feel awkward with Brad, embarrassed.
'You must have known you'd be welcome. I believe I made that clear over the phone.'
'You'd already had the idea of my posing as Emma?'
Brad nodded at once. 'I wanted to cheer Uncle up if it were at all possible.' Brad paused and frowned, then added after a reflective silence, 'He's a changed man from the one Emma knew. His warm and happy smile is gone.'
Caryl said without thinking, 'Emma used to say he was bad-tempered at times.'
'Absolutely true,' with a wry grimace. 'I had to have the patience of Job in those days. But he changed a great deal; seemed happy and content for two or three years until his sight began to fail. That depressed him, and he was always going back—reminiscing. I feel that could be the reason why he wanted to see Emma.'
'He wanted to recapture old times?'
'Could be.' Brad fell silent as the first course was being served, and when the man had gone Brad told Caryl his name was James and he had been his uncle's butler for over thirty years.
Caryl looked down at the plate of smoked salmon and said thoughtfully, 'You mentioned in your letter to Emma that your uncle has a manservant, a sort of male nurse who is with him all the time.'
'That's right. Uncle keeps to his room, as I mentioned, and Robert is with him for most of the time. He's an excellent man who's dedicated to the work he has chosen to do in life. He reads to Uncle; he looks after his clothes and serves him his food. Uncle has a bedroom next to his sitting room, and Robert has one adjoining it. We had a communicating door put in so that Robert can go in to Uncle if he needs him during the night.' Sober the tone and faintly sad. 'I wish Uncle could resume his daily strolls—He used to be fond of walking around the grounds, and sometimes he'd make it to the kennels. But his health has gradually deteriorated, and now he seems unable to walk any farther than to the bathroom or to his bedroom and back.'
'It's all very sad.'
'But your visit will buck him up. I'll see Robert in the morning, and we'll take you in to Uncle when he's washed him and given him his breakfast. Uncle doesn't get up until around half past nine.'
'You spend time with him, of course?'
'Quite often I make time during the afternoon. He retires at eight every night, so I have only a few minutes with him in the evenings.'
'It's a lot for Robert to do on his own.'
'A relief comes in for two evenings a week, which gives Robert the chance of a little recreation.'
'He doesn't have a day off?'
'It's been offered him over and over again, but he won't take it. As I said, he's dedicated to the work he's chosen to do.'
Caryl looked at Brad across the table, saw the admiration that had entered his eyes. 'This Robert must be exceptional,' she said at length.
'We think so, and we've been most fortunate in finding him. He took to Uncle from the first, and he has certainly made a great difference in his life. We had a succession of female nurses, but they all seemed to treat the job of caring for Uncle as a paid duty, and one which they stuck to to the letter, which meant they would fret and fume if the relief happened to arrive late. Robert doesn't seem to mind if he never gets a break from duty. And that's surprising, because he's only a young man.'
'He's on call for twenty-four hours a day, then?'
Brad nodded. 'Except when he has those two evenings off.'
'He mustn't have a girl friend.'
'Not that I know of.'
The second course arrived, and for a few minutes the two were silent, watching it being served. Afterwards they chatted between pauses when they listened to the music. For Caryl it was a pleasant evening, unmarred even by the glimpses of the past which would now and then flit across her mental vision. That schoolgirl crush had certainly been intense, she thought wryly as she recalled impossible dreams and idyllic fantasies, visions tender and immature, and finally the panic of impending hurt. The pain would never fade, she had told herself at that time, yet here she was, dining with the man concerned and feeling nothing more than a superficial friendliness and the background awareness that he would soon be her employer.
Following the delicious meal there was coffee in the drawing room, served with mint chocolates and liqueurs. At a quarter to ten Caryl felt her eyelids begin to droop and heard her companion say, 'It's been a long day for you, Caryl. Don't hesitate if you want to go to bed.'
'I would like to go,' she returned, faintly apologetic in spite of his assurance. She had not yet been shown her room, and Brad rose at once to ring the bell. A trim maid entered, her glance curiously unfathomable as she looked at Caryl.
'Miss Chapman will be staying the night, Louisa. I expect James told you to prepare a room?'
'Yes, sir, he did.'
'Then please take Miss Chapman to it.'
'Thank you.' Caryl gave him a smile, then tried to suppress a yawn. 'Good night, Brad—' She stopped, arrested by Louisa's keen interest. Was it because she had used Brad's Christian name?
'Good night, Caryl. Sleep well.'
Louisa preceded her through a massive hall towards a balustraded staircase leading up to the principal bedrooms and suites. Caryl had been given a large, elegantly furnished room, with a bathroom off it. The view was to the sea, where at this time a myriad of lights flickered along the waterfront, while out towards the dark horizon more lights could be seen—just a few—from fishing boats which would be out there until the morning when the catch would be brought in and sold in the little makeshift shops which lined the harbour.
'Is there anything you would like?' asked Louisa, who had already turned the bed covers down. 'The bathroom is in there.' She flicked a finger, indicating a door. But her eyes were restless and still curious, and Caryl had the impression that a question hovered on the girl's tongue but she dared not depart from the formality which her employer would expect of her.
'There's nothing, thank you,' replied Caryl, again suppressing a yawn.
'Would you like tea in the morning?'
'That would be most acceptable.'
'What time would you like me to bring it?'
'About eight o'clock, please.' Caryl watched the girl depart and then wondered if Brad would expect her to join him for breakfast, and if so, what time did he usually have it. However, as the maid had gone and as she felt ready to drop, Caryl decided to forget tomorrow and concentrate on getting into bed in the least possible time. Her suitcase was on a chair; she took out her nightdress and toilet bag and went into the bathroom. Ten minutes later she was between the cool sheets with the haziness of sleep closing in to rob her mind of all clear thought.
