The Dutch Uncle Page 3

  She set it on the dressing table and wandered to the window, picturing the view subtly changing with the seasons. It was difficult to imagine the warm, sun-soaked colours outside transmuted into the sepia tints of December. Would she still be here then?

  Silently she re-acquainted herself with the house. Here and there she found changes; the old settle under the landing window had gone, and the window seat had been covered with tapestry. Here a different picture hung, there an ornament had been replaced. But the essence was unchanged, the atmosphere of welcome. Meads was a friendly house, and if it possessed ghosts they were certainly not unhappy ones.

  She went to the Bechstein in the lounge and began to play, tentatively at first, then with increasing confidence as her fingers became accustomed to the keyboard. Struggling with the intricacies of a Chopin etude, she did not realize she was no longer alone until a discordant wail caused her to stop and look round. A large dignified Siamese cat sat in a shaft of sunlight, its blue eyes wide and unblinking in its sepia mask. Having attracted her attention it yawned once, stretched leisurely, and stalked across the carpet to leap with lithe grace into her lap. There it circled, butting its head against her arm, and then settled down comfortably, uttering deep, rumbling purrs.

  She stroked its silky coat and groped for the disc on its collar, then murmured, ‘I might have known— you’ve grown up, Ming. You’re the villain who once cost me a dress—to say nothing of the painful consequences afterwards.’

  Ming looked up at her unrepentantly, then flattened his ears as a second mournful wail announced the arrival of another sleek brown and cream feline. Dara padded towards them and looked up hopefully.

  It seemed that Siamese ructions were imminent, Tessa’s lap not being sufficiently ample to accommodate two rather solid cats, and she hastily sought means of averting trouble. A crumpled ball of cellophane in the hearth proved a diverting toy, and also that the playful pair possessed an apparently limitless source of energy, Tessa thought breathlessly as she retrieved the ball of cellophane from under the piano pedal where Ming’s impatient paw could not dislodge it.

  ‘Settling in, I see,’ said a dry voice from above. ‘Despite your forebodings.’

  She sat back on her heels, looking up at Nicholas’s tall figure, then accepted the hands he held out to draw her to her feet, much as he had done in years gone by.

  ‘Everything happened so quickly,’ she said awkwardly, conscious of the amusement in his eyes. ‘Coming to stay here was the last thing I expected.’

  He studied her for a moment. ‘I believe you were looking forward to an Italian holiday. I’m afraid Meads can’t offer the facilities of a continental resort, but at least the weather holds promise of summer—if it lasts long enough,’ he ended on an ironical note, folding his arms and leaning back against the piano.

  ‘What are your plans,’ he asked, ‘now that you’ve finished with school? I’m afraid I’ve rather lost touch with you since—’ He paused, and unbidden a picture of Christine formed in Tessa’s mind. ‘Wasn’t there some talk of art school?’

  ‘Postponed,’ she replied. ‘You know Angie.’

  ‘Yes.’ His voice was clipped. ‘Were you very disappointed?’

  ‘What’s the use?’ She shrugged. ‘I hadn’t much choice.’

  He was silent, and she moved to the piano and began gathering together the scattered pieces of music.

  ‘It could still be arranged, if you wished.’

  When she did not respond he turned, adding, ‘You could drive into town each day with me. I’m sure any difficulties could be ironed out.’

  ‘No, Nicholas.’ She looked at him with quaint seriousness. ‘We can’t. Angie booked my tuition, and then cancelled it. Another change of mind would hardly give them a good opinion of me. Besides, my place will probably have been filled. It’s very kind and thoughtful of you to suggest it, but I think we’d better leave things as they are. Perhaps when Angie comes back...’

  ‘As you wish,’ he said indifferently. ‘However, you have several weeks in which to think it over. Term starts in September, I believe.’ His brows quirked enquiringly in the old remembered way. ‘The offer will remain open.’

  ‘If I did decide to,’ she said slowly, ‘what about the fees?’ She looked down. ‘I mean, Angie is away and ...’ She felt delicately round the subject which had been causing her a great deal of secret concern. ‘We were in such a whirl before Angie went away that when I did ask her about monetary arrangements—for here, I mean—she just brushed me aside and said that everything was taken care of. Did she—did—’ Tessa stopped, and Nicholas watched her, volunteering no help.

  ‘She did take care of that side, Nicholas?’ Tessa got it out in a rush. ‘I—I’m not leeching on to Meads for goodness knows how long?’

  The frown deepened between his brows. ‘I don’t care for your turn of expression,’ he said angrily. ‘If “ leeching” is a sample of the vocabulary taught at Friars’ Dene, it’s a pity you ever went there.’

  She looked ashamed. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes. You make it perfectly plain,’ he commented dryly. ‘What you’ve apparently forgotten is the fact that your father left you well provided for. Apart from the provision he made for your education there is also the capital he retained in the business after I took over! It has been gathering interest for you for nine years.’ Nicholas’s mouth compressed. ‘So you see, Tessa, your words were ill-chosen. Or are you in complete ignorance of your affairs?’

  ‘I suppose I am,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Angie did tell me that Daddy had left me some money, but since I couldn’t touch it until I came of age I may as well forget about it. She assured me she was able to take care of my needs until then.’ Tessa moved restlessly to the window, her face shadowed. ‘I didn’t care what he had left me. I missed him too much for that.’

  There was no reply, and she said in a low voice:

  ‘I’m sorry, Nicholas, I didn’t mean to be rude. Only I—’ She stopped, the mute shake of her head betraying impatience of her inarticulation, and absently ruffled Ming’s fur. Her hand still smoothing the big cat, she turned and said suddenly:

  ‘Nicholas? Why did Daddy retain his interest in the gallery after he retired, instead of...? Angie thought it rather an uncertain—’ Again Tessa hesitated, biting her lip. ‘I mean at the time. Later it proved—’

  ‘A more profitable investment?’ Nicholas cut in, his tone curt.

  Tessa flushed. ‘It did expand after ... I was thinking of the way he tied things up for me. I know Angie was puzzled, but of course I didn’t understand at the time, and she said she supposed it would all work out when I was older. Nicholas, the gallery is yours, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not entirely, Tessa.’ He looked away, seeming to choose his words with care. ‘Your father was doubtful whether you would inherit his passion for the heritage of the past. He thought it more likely that your mother’s influence would exert a stronger pull over your tastes and your choice of a career. But he still hoped secretly that you would develop an interest in the gallery when you were older, even if not a working one. That is part of the reason why he stipulated that your inheritance should be tied up in it. With all due respect to Angie, he also realized that the entertainment world holds little place for fallen stars. She has always been extravagant, and she can’t ride the crest of the wave for ever. And so he entrusted me with that provision for your future. Even if the gallery were to fail, the site is of considerable value, value which is continually increasing on today’s market.’

  Nicholas paused and groped for his cigarette case.

  Over the flame of the lighter he regarded Tessa levelly.

  ‘Your father’s idea was that, if necessary, you could sell out when you came of age. Or if you wished to do so. But only to me, or whomever I chose to designate.’

  ‘I see,’ said Tessa slowly.

  Certain things were becoming more clear now. She had never given much consideration—or been enco
uraged by Angie to do so—to the provisions her father had made for her future. She had vague recollections of Angie’s resentment at the time and her stray remarks questioning the wisdom of capital tied up in a concern which was out of her hands. Then the gallery had prospered and expanded under Nicholas’s capable management and Angie’s resentment had disappeared.

  Tessa, whose knowledge of business principles was of the scantiest, forgot her vague notions about a few shares and realized that she had something very like a dormant partnership with Nicholas, and one that had increased in value far beyond her father’s original conception. She sighed. Was there no end to the obligations she and Angie owed to this man?

  Aware of his questioning eyes, she said sadly, ‘It doesn’t seem very fair.’

  He frowned, and said sharply, ‘In what way?’

  ‘Not to me—I mean to you,’ she said hastily and somewhat confusedly. She saw his frown relax and hurried on: ‘Thinking of the gallery today and comparing it with my early memories of it, Daddy didn’t exactly run it as a paying concern. He wouldn’t part with a picture or anything unless he thought the person who was buying it would appreciate it properly. You built it up into the successful business it is today.’

  ‘The gallery was only a sideline to your father, Tessa. An indulgence of his hobby and his love of fine craftsmanship.’

  ‘Yes.’ She went to the piano and looked down at the keys. ‘I suppose I get my small talent for drawing from him.’ She did not see Nicholas’s mouth suddenly compress, and went on, ‘I seem to have the best of the bargain—we owe you so much, Nicholas.’

  ‘Is that how you feel? Does it worry you?’

  Her glance fell before the coldness that had come into his eyes. She gave a small, helpless gesture. ‘N-not exactly, but I—’

  ‘I don’t remember all this independence. And I’m not sure that I like it, but,’ a wry smile curved his lips, we’d better not discourage it too much.’

  Rather uncertainly she met his gaze. ‘Nicholas?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Isn’t there anything I could do to help? I’ve already asked Mrs. Reyne. We—we did an elementary business course during the last year at school. I can type—though my shorthand isn’t very good—and I can cook a dinner and...’

  ‘So you are determined to both pay and work your passage.’ The smile had left his face, and he shook his head. ‘No, Tessa. Not that I dispute your capabilities, but Meads and the business are running perfectly smoothly. Let’s leave it at that. I’d prefer you not to persist any longer with this nonsense.’

  She sighed. ‘Very well, but I wish...’

  ‘You have the freedom of the house, but remember you are my guest and in my care. Therefore you will abide by any decisions I might make regarding your welfare. Is that perfectly clear, and accepted?’

  His tone left her in no doubt that the question was purely a formality. Sadly she recognized and accepted the fact that Nicholas had changed. She had had her first glimpse of the quiet, sometimes forbidding stranger who had entered into him. But deep in her heart she clung to the memory of the Nicholas whom she’d adored; your guide and counsellor, he’d once announced pompously, and they’d dissolved into mirth so riotous she’d nearly choked as she watched him imitating a learned old greybeard while trying to subdue his own laughter at the same time. Surely he had not gone completely from her.

  The settling-in day’s passed calmly enough. By the end of her first week at Meads she had slipped imperceptibly into the smooth routine of a well-run house. Of Nicholas she saw little during those early days. The absence of his assistant on holiday brought an increased pressure of work, and Nicholas had time for only the briefest of daily exchanges during the next three weeks.

  Diffident of invading his privacy, Tessa withdrew into her own activities, and if the initial freedom was exhilarating after the rule-bound life at school she soon became aware of a sense of purposelessness verging dangerously near boredom.

  And so when Dennis Gerard wandered idly into the garden one sunny afternoon he received a much more enthusiastic welcome than he had expected.

  Tessa had taken her sketchbook into the garden and pleaded with Ming to remain still while her pencil raced over the paper. Ming, perversely, was in one of his quicksilver moods, and when a butterfly, with a sad lack of discretion, hovered before his nose Tessa threw the sketchbook aside and gave a little cry that wavered between laughter and exasperation as she lay back on the grass to watch the resultant antics.

  From the drive Dennis surveyed the little scene and saw his soft ‘Coo-ee’ bring her swiftly to her feet and a delighted smile to her lips.

  He greeted her easily and dropped on the grass to pick up her sketchbook and leaf through the pages. Her pleasure was obvious as he recognized the locale of one of her recent efforts, and a game of guessing soon developed when he turned back the pages and came to her earlier sketches of Friars’ Dene and Jane’s Yorkshire home.

  ‘They’re good,’ he said with genuine sincerity. ‘You ought to take it up seriously.’

  ‘I intended to—would you like some tea?’

  He did not miss the disappointment she betrayed when he refused regretfully and explained that he was on his way to pick up a client who wished to view a property. He did not lose the advantage.

  ‘How about an afternoon on the river? Tea or a picnic? Then meet my folks at night?’

  She hesitated, then burst out laughing as he stooped to pluck a daisy and handed it to her, his expression comical.

  The date decided on, she watched him drive away and then wandered back to the house, mentally reviewing her wardrobe for something suitable for the dual role of informality on the river and dinner later with Dennis and his parents. The blue linen would be best, she thought, suddenly thankful for Angie’s foresight and realizing with surprise how much she was looking forward to Saturday.

  On the Friday night a fleeting thought occurred to her, and she wondered how far she could keep Nicholas informed of her comings and goings. Courtesy demanded that Florence should be told when she intended missing meals, but at the moment Tessa was uncertain of the extent to which Nicholas would exert his authority over her. A small inner voice warned that he would be quite capable of vetting any new friends she made and unhesitant about voicing his disapproval of any he considered unsuitable.

  However, the opportunity of testing the extent of his temporary guardianship did not arise in time on this occasion, though through no real fault of Tessa’s.

  ‘We’ll drive to Greenbanks and take a boat from there—less crowded,’ Dennis outlined as they sped along the Marchfield road in his convertible.

  Tessa relaxed back, enjoying the exhilaration of the wind whipping through her hair and singing against her face.

  ‘And how’s the keeper of the gate?’ Dennis asked flippantly. ‘Any quibbles over your pass-out chit?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Tessa sat up sharply. ‘Whatever do you mean, Dennis?’

  ‘Nothing, my sweet.’ He assumed an expression of outraged innocence. ‘I just wanted to clear up a rather mistaken impression I’d gained.’

  That kind of remark, with its teasing undertone, was very difficult to resist querying. After a moment Tessa said, innocently, ‘About me?’

  ‘Certainly not about old Nick.’

  She shuddered at the diminutive and resisted the temptation to succumb again to curiosity. After a few minutes’ silence Dennis said, ‘Somehow—you’ll shoot me for this—I got the idea that Nick had been landed with a brat of a schoolgirl to look after for six months. You know,’ Dennis flashed a quick grin, ‘spindly knees, adenoids, and probably sadistic tendencies as well.’ Hearing her shocked exclamation he hurried on: ‘Therefore meeting you was a very pleasant surprise that night of the party. Anything less like—’ He paused. ‘Wonder how that misunderstanding occurred?’

  His concluding remark passed over her head. An echo had stirred of something recently overheard. She searched back, chasin
g the elusive memory.

  Misinterpreting her silence, he placated, ‘Have I put my foot in it? It seemed a good joke—and certainly not on you.’

  Suddenly the memory clicked into place and she knew with certainty whom Dennis had quoted. Hiding her resentment, she said coolly, ‘I doubt if there’s any mystery involved. However, I won’t mention any names or the brat may descend to the level of the feline.’

  Dennis whistled softly. ‘Shall we change the subject? Lovely weather we’re having just now.’

  She did not reply, and it was some time before she regained her former lightheartedness. It was cooler on the river. Dennis rowed steadily upstream until they were clear of the last isolated villa and the open countryside stretched ahead. Tessa closed her eyes against the sun-sparkles dappling the water, and listened to the soft plash of the ripples against the boat.

  ‘There’s an island a little way on,’ Dennis said. ‘Like to visit it? Though I’d better warn you that it’s reputed to be haunted.’

  Tessa forgot her resentful suspicions of Christine and sat up, her interest aroused. ‘By what? Or whom?’ The supernatural seemed remote from this peaceful sunlit stream.

  ‘A dog.’ Dennis shipped the oars and allowed the boat to drift gently midstream. ‘A small boy was drowned off the island many years ago. His pet dog used to swim around searching until it was exhausted, refusing to leave. Eventually they got tired of rowing over to rescue it and after a while it wasn’t seen any more. The older locals swear they hear it howling at nights.’

  Tessa shivered. ‘It must have starved to death.’

  ‘You’ll see the island round the next bend. Can you steer? The entrance into the cove is very narrow.’