Before I could make any kind of comment, the door opened again, and Diana walked in, obviously not at all surprised to see Gwendolyn Reece-Jones sitting in her parlor. Undoubtedly she had seen the car in the drive.
“Hello, Gwenny dear,” Diana said, crossing the room to the fireplace.
Gwenny jumped up and the two women embraced, then Gwenny said, “Rather rude. Dropping in like this. Wanted to say hello.”
“Please don’t apologize, it’s lovely to see you,” Diana said in a warm voice. “You must stay for tea. I’ll just pop into the kitchen and tell Parky to bring it in. Excuse me for a moment.”
“I’ll come with you,” I exclaimed, moving toward the door. “To help.”
Diana looked at me curiously but made no comment, and we left the parlor together.
Of course later in the evening, after Gwendolyn Reece-Jones left and went on her way to Leeds, we held a little postmortem on her. It was only natural, I suppose, given the circumstances.
“She has such an odd way of speaking,” I said to Diana, shaking my head. “It’s sort of staccato.”
“I know, she talks in little sharp bursts, and she has a predilection for using one-word sentences. But she’s a good sort, awfully kind and considerate, and she doesn’t have a bad word for anybody, or a bad bone in her body, for that matter,” Diana answered.
“I liked her very much,” I murmured.
“And she liked you,” Diana replied. “Furthermore, she was rather relieved that you know about her relationship with your father.”
“I hope I didn’t embarrass her, I just wanted to level with her, let her know I knew.” I gave Diana one of my piercing looks. “Did she say anything when you went out to the car with her, Diana?”
“Only that you’d taken her by surprise when you’d mentioned Edward, and what a lovely young woman you were, so pretty. She was very admiring of your beautiful red hair.”
“I thought she was rather attractive, too, and I can just see her and Daddy together. I approve; she is very nice.”
“But as eccentric as hell!” Andrew exclaimed. “A genuine character. And whenever I hear the name Gwendolyn, I think of scarves. She’s always worn masses of them, rain or shine, all kinds of weather, and as far as I remember they’ve been made of every type of fabric. Gwenny’s a regular Isadora Duncan, if you ask me.” He laughed and stood up. “Would you like another glass of wine, Ma?”
“Not at the moment, darling,” Diana said, “I’ve still got half of this one left.”
“I think I will,” he said and walked across the parlor to the skirted table in the corner, where Parky had put a tray holding a bottle of white wine in an ice bucket and a syphon of soda water. “How about you, Mal?”
“I’m fine, Andrew, and listen, you two, before we have supper I want to show you my finds.”
“Finds? What do you mean?” Andrew asked, turning around and smiling at me fondly.
“I was poking around in the library this afternoon, and I found a diary by one of your ancestors, Lettice Keswick, which she wrote in the seventeenth century. Actually, what I found was a copy of the original, and it was in the most beautiful copperplate handwriting. It was done by Clarissa Keswick, who copied it in 1893 in order to preserve it.”
“Good Lord! So that’s what you were doing all afternoon, digging around amongst those moldy old books. Better you than me, my love.” Andrew squeezed my shoulder as he came back to the fireplace, bent over me, and kissed the top of my head. “And trust you to come across something unusual.”
Diana cut in, “But you said finds, Mal, in the plural. What else did you unearth?” She had a puzzled expression in her eyes as she looked at me across the room.
“I actually found the real diary, as well as Clarissa’s copy of it,” I said, and I went on to explain what I had done earlier in the day. Then, standing up, walking toward the door, I finished, “Let me go and get them; they’re in the library. Once you see both books, you’ll understand what I’m talking about.”
Firelight danced on the walls and across the ceiling, filling our bedroom with a rosy glow. There was no other light in the room, and I felt relaxed, drowsy, encased in a cocoon of warmth and love as I lay within the circle of Andrew’s arms.
Earlier, a high wind had blown up, and now I could hear it howling over the moors. In the distance was the sound of thunder, and lightning flashed spasmodically, illuminating the bedroom with a bright white brilliance for a moment or two.
I shivered slightly, despite the warmth of the bed, and put my arm around my husband, drew closer to him. “I’m glad we’re not out in that. Quite a storm’s blown up since we came upstairs.”
He chuckled. “Yes, it has, and we’re in the best place, you and I. Snug as two bugs in a rug. But you know what? When I was little I always wanted to be out in it, in the rain and the wind and the hail, don’t ask me why. I just loved storms. Maybe the inherent drama of such dreadful weather appealed to something in me. And once, when I was about seven, my father told me that it was our ancestors in their armor crashing about up there in the heavens, that their ghosts were riding out to conquer their enemies, as they had done centuries ago. I’m certain that must’ve sparked my imagination when I was a kid.”
“And did you go out in the storm when you were a boy?”
“Sometimes I managed to sneak out of the house, but not if Ma could help it. She was always a bit overprotective.”
“What mother isn’t? Anyway, I don’t blame her; storms can be dangerous. People have been struck by lightning—”
“Like I was, when I first met you!” he interrupted, putting his hand under my chin and turning my face to his. He kissed me softly, tenderly on the mouth, then broke away. “The French call it a coup de foudre, that instantaneous falling in love just like that.” He snapped his thumb and a finger together. “In other words, struck by lightning.”
I smiled against his chest. “I know what it means.”
There was a small silence. We were content to lie together like this, so at peace with each other.
After a few minutes I said, “It’s been such a lovely weekend, Andrew, I’m glad we came to Yorkshire, aren’t you?”
“I am, and anyway, it’s not over yet. We still have Sunday here. We can go riding tomorrow morning if you like, up on the gallops as I promised. And then we can take it easy for the rest of the day, be lazy. We’ll have a good Sunday lunch, read the newspapers, watch television.”
“You’re not going to do any work?” I asked, my voice rising a fraction in my surprise.
“Certainly not. Anyway, I’ve done as much as I can. Now I’ve got to wait for Jack to come in from New York next week.”
“I have a feeling you’ve discovered something about Malcolm Stainley, something awful.”
When he was silent, I went on, “Something . . . unpleasant, unsavory, perhaps?”
His answer was simply a long, drawn-out sigh.
“What is it? What’s he done?” I pressed, riddled with curiosity. I turned my face to look at his in the firelight, but it betrayed nothing.
“I don’t want to go into it now, darling, honestly I don’t.” He sighed again. “But always remember: Beware of guys selling snake oil.”
“He’s crooked, Andrew! That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”
Pushing himself up on one elbow, he bent over me, smoothed the hair away from my face, and kissed me full on the mouth. Then he stopped and stared deeply into my eyes. “I don’t want to discuss it. I’ve got other, more important things on my mind right now.”
“Such as what?” I teased.
“You know what, Mrs. Keswick,” he murmured, a half smile playing around his mouth.
I looked up into his face, that beloved face which was so dear to me. His expression was intense, and his extraordinary blue eyes had turned darker, almost navy in the firelight; they overpowered me.
“You,” he said at last. “I’ve got you on my mind. I love you so much, Mal. You’re my
whole reason for being.”
“I love you, too.” I stroked his face. “Make love to me.”
Bending over me, he brought his mouth down to mine and kissed me for a long time, gently at first. But his desire overtook him, and his kisses became wilder, more passionate.
“Oh, Mal, oh, my darling,” he said between his hot kisses. Then pulling the bedcovers away, he slipped off the straps of my nightgown and released my breasts, stroking them. “Oh, look at you, darling, you’re so beautiful, my beautiful wife.” Lowering his head, he kissed my nipples, and his hand slid down my thigh, along the silky length of my nightgown until he caught the hem of it in his fingers. He raised it to my waist, began to kiss my stomach, then my inner thighs. And all the while his hand stroked my body in long caresses, and I trembled under his touch.
Eventually, his mouth came to rest at the center of me, and I felt myself stiffen with pleasure. I was swept along, lost in my love for him. He came and knelt between my legs and brought me cresting to a climax, then he stopped suddenly and slid inside me, filling me. We clung together, and as always we became one.
The fire had burned low, and the shadows had lengthened across the bedroom walls. Outside, the wind howled and rain slashed violently against the panes of glass. It was a wild November night here at the edge of the moors, and growing wilder, by the sound of it.
Andrew stirred against me and murmured, “Shall I put another log on the fire?”
“Not unless you’re cold.”
“I’m fine. And we should let the fire die out anyway.”
Sitting up, I climbed out of bed, padded over to the window, and pulled the cord to close the draperies, shutting out the storm. As I walked back, I said, “That was nice of your mother, wasn’t it?”
“Inviting Gwenny for Christmas, you mean?”
“Yes.” I got into bed, pulled the covers over me, and snuggled up to Andrew. “I hope she’ll come, and that she’ll bring Daddy with her. That way it’ll be a real family occasion.”
“I don’t think your father could stay away. And the twins are going to love it here. It’s going to be a wonderful Christmas, Mal. The best.”
PART THREE
* * *
NEW YORK CITY
* * *
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
NEW YORK, DECEMBER 1988
“Have a wonderful baby shower, and we’ll see you tomorrow,” Andrew said, moving across the hall to the front door of the apartment.
“It won’t be the same without you, but I do understand your reasons for fleeing,” I said, laughing.
He laughed with me. “Sixteen women in this apartment is a bit too much even for me to cope with.” He picked up Trixy’s lead and his canvas bag and opened the front door. “Come on, kids, let’s get this show on the road. It’ll be teatime before we get to Indian Meadows, if we don’t leave soon.”
“Coming, Dad,” Jamie said, buttoning his quilted, down-filled jacket but getting the buttons in the wrong holes.
I bent down to help him do it correctly, then kissed him on the cheek. He looked at me through solemn eyes and asked, “Is it our baby shower, Mom?”
I shook my head. “No, Alicia Munroe’s. She’s the one having the baby, honey.”
“Oh,” he said, and his little face fell. “Any news of our baby, Mom? Have you made it yet?” he asked, fixing me with his bright blue eyes, a hopeful look flashing across his face.
“Not yet,” I answered, standing up. I glanced at Andrew and we exchanged amused looks, and he winked at me.
Lissa said, “Don’t forget to feed Swellen, Mom, will you?”
“No, I won’t, darling, I promise.” I hunkered down on my haunches and kissed her. She put her little arms around my neck and showered me with fluttery kisses on my cheek. “Butterfly kisses for you. Mommy, like Daddy gives me,” she said, then holding her head on one side in that old-fashioned way she had, she continued, “Did you tell Santa to bring me the big baby doll?”
“Yes. Well, at least Daddy told him.”
“Will Santa know where to come?” she asked, suddenly sounding anxious. Her expression grew worried when she added, “Will he find Nanna’s house in Yorkshire?”
“Of course. Daddy gave Santa her address.”
She beamed at me, and I buttoned her coat and pulled on her blue woolen cap that exactly matched her eyes. “There! You look beautiful! You’re my beautiful little girl, the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world. Now, put your gloves on. Both of you,” I said, glancing at Jamie. “And I don’t want either of you running outside to play without your coats when you’re in the country. It’s far too cold. And don’t give Trixy any tidbits from the table.”
“No, Mom,” they said in unison.
“Hear that, Trixy?” I said, glancing down at the puppy. Our little Bichon Frise looked up at me through her soulful black eyes and wagged her tail. I picked her up and cuddled her, kissed the top of her head, then put her back down on the floor.
I walked with them to the front door and stood in the outside foyer waiting for the elevator to come. Andrew hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, then asked, “Did you put the list in the canvas bag? The list of the things you want me to bring back tomorrow?”
“Yes, I did. And there’s not much, really, just a few items for the twins and our shearling coats, yours and mine, to take with us to Yorkshire.”
“Okay, no problem, Puss.” He kissed me again and ushered the kids and the puppy into the elevator. “See you.”
“Drive carefully,” I said just as the elevator doors started to close.
“I will,” he called back. “And I’ll ring you when we get there, Mal.”
It was quiet in the apartment now that they had left. I went to my desk in the bedroom, sat down, and carefully wrote the card to go with Alicia’s gift.
Alicia Munroe was a good friend of Sarah’s and mine and had been at Radcliffe with us. A fellow New Yorker, she had married Jonathan Munroe two years ago and moved to Boston with him. She had come to Manhattan for the weekend to see her parents and to attend the baby shower Sarah and I were giving in her honor at the apartment.
When he heard, three weeks ago, what we were planning, Andrew had exclaimed, “It’s the country for me, Mal! In any case, I want to give Indian Meadows the once-over before we take off for Yorkshire for Christmas. I’ll take the twins and Trixy with me, get them all out of your hair, and you can have a real girls’ weekend with Sarah.”
When I had worried out loud how he would manage without Jenny, our former au pair, who had finally returned to live in London, he had grinned at me and said one word: “Nora.” And, of course, hearing her name had set my mind at ease at once. Nora loved the twins and enjoyed cooking for them, fussing over them. She would be in her element without me hovering around, as would Eric, who was devoted to Jamie and Lissa.
I glanced at the small calendar on my desk. Today was Saturday the tenth. In exactly eleven days we were flying to London and then taking the train to Yorkshire the following morning.
Diana had invited Sarah to join us for Christmas, and she had been thrilled to accept, and we were all going to stay at Kilgram Chase until early January. Gwenny Reece-Jones and my father were going to be with us too; in fact my father had called me yesterday from London. He had wanted to tell me how much he was looking forward to spending the holidays with me, Andrew, and his grandchildren. He had also told me how glad he was I liked Gwendolyn.
There were still quite a lot of preparations to make for the trip, and tomorrow Sarah and I were going shopping for last-minute gifts. Now I began to make a list on a yellow pad and was stumped when I came to Gwenny’s name. Last night, tongue in cheek, Andrew had suggested we buy her a scarf. And although he had been joking, it wasn’t a bad idea after all, since she did seem to like them. Perhaps I would find something special and unusual at Bloomingdale’s.
Once I had finished the list, I put the card in the shopping bag with the gift for Alicia, an antique silver chri
stening cup. Then, carrying the bag, I went into the living room.
Josie, our housekeeper, a lovely, motherly woman from Chile, was already plumping up cushions on the two big traditional sofas and armchairs.
She glanced up as I came in and said, “I’ve dusted the dining room, and I’ll get to the kitchen next, Mrs. Keswick.”
“Thanks, Josie, but perhaps you’d better make the beds and tidy the bedrooms first. Miss Thomas should be here any minute, and then we’ll start preparing some of the food. I guess you ought to leave the kitchen until last.”
“You’re right, and I can help with the sandwiches as soon as I’ve finished cleaning.”
“Thanks,” I said, and went into the adjoining dining room, where I put the shopping bag in a corner. I added, “I’m going to start setting the table for the tea.”
By the time Sarah arrived half an hour later, I had already put out cups, saucers, and plates, as well as crystal flutes, since we had called the shower a champagne tea, and we were going to serve Veuve Clicquot.
“You haven’t left me very much to do,” Sarah said, as she surveyed my handiwork in the dining room.
“Don’t kid yourself,” I shot back. “There’s a lot to do yet. Roll your sleeves up, and let’s go to the kitchen.”
But the first thing we did was to have a cup of coffee together. This we drank at the table in front of the window, chatting about the shower and Sarah’s hectic week and gossiping in general.
Finally, fifteen minutes later we started to work on the food, cutting the slices of smoked salmon into small pieces, boiling eggs for the egg salad, slicing cucumbers and tomatoes, and mashing sardines. All of these things we would use for the tea sandwiches later in the afternoon, just before the guests were due. They had been invited for three o’clock and it was still far too soon to make the sandwiches.
At one moment Sarah said, “I’m glad we made it early, Mal. Everyone’ll be gone by six, no later than six-thirty, and maybe we can go to a movie, have supper out somewhere.”