Carmichael's Return. Lilian Peake

been added to over the centuries,’ Marie explained as she joined Lauren on the gravelled driveway. ‘It’s nearly three hundred years old. Come on in.’

      The living area was so large it almost took Lauren’s breath away. Oak beams had been left in place, inset into the ceiling, while the stone fireplace, which had been cleverly restored, occupied a large area of wall, with alcoves left for ornaments and even books.

      ‘Three rooms were knocked into one,’ Marie explained, arms swinging wide. ‘And this is the kitchen—’ she led the way ‘—all mod cons. Everything a girl could ever want. Yes?’ She looked coaxingly into Lauren’s face.

      Lauren could only nod, but quickly qualified the action with a noncommittal, ‘Maybe.’

      ‘And upstairs,’ Marie went on, and the staircase creaked as they went up, ‘there are so many bedrooms you could almost sleep in a different one every night. All with en suite facilities, as they say in hotel brochures. How’s that for modernity? And here—’ she flung a door wide ‘—you could paint and draw to your heart’s content. It used to be Uncle Redmund’s study. Yes?’ she repeated, smiling winningly.

      ‘Mmm,’ was all Lauren was prepared to say at that moment, but the sound prolonged itself into an appreciative affirmative.

      Inside, she could feel all opposition to the whole idea melting. In that room, in which there was virtually no furniture, the light from the huge floor-to-ceiling windows—plus the two skylights that had been inserted into the sloping roof—was so good that she knew at once how easily she could work there.

      On their way down Lauren commented on the oil paintings which adorned the staircase walls and hallway.

      ‘Paintings acquired by Uncle Redmund. They’re quite valuable, by the way.’ She paused, pointing to three empty picture hooks. ‘Here hung Mrs Redmund Gard the first, and here Mrs Redmund Gard the second.’

      ‘This one?’ Lauren asked.

      ‘And on this one, Uncle Redmund’s son The bad boy of the family, or so the story goes.’

      They had reached the hallway. ‘So what happened?’ Lauren prompted.

      ‘Well.. ’ Counting on her fingers, Marie told her. ‘Mrs Gard the first left him. Mrs Gard the second likewise, and—’

      ‘Don’t tell me, the bad son left him too?’

      ‘He did. Uncle Redmund—or so my parents told me—accused his son of having an affair with his stepmother and driving her away from him. Said son had a furious row with his father, denying the accusation, but his father didn’t believe him.’

      ‘Threw him out?’

      ‘Either that or the probably guilty son fled the nest. In other words, he upped and left, never to be heard of or from again’

      ‘What a strange story,’ Lauren commented sadly.

      Marie nodded. ‘The Press got hold of it, so paternal parent took full advantage of the publicity and told the world of his son’s many other amorous exploits. Thus clearing himself of the suggestion of having falsely accused his son of stealing his second wife’s affections, as Uncle Redmund so dramatically put it.’

      ‘Hence the three empty picture hooks,’ Lauren supplied.

      ‘Yep. Did I tell you,’ Marie asked as they entered the living room, ‘that tomorrow night’s get-together is going to be a kind of farewell party? Reggie and I are leaving the next morning.’

      ‘Which means I’d be in charge from then on?’

      Mane nodded, frowning. ‘Do you mind, Lauren? I mean, if you do…’

      ‘You’d have to stay here,’ Lauren took her up with a wry smile, ‘losing your chance of that job in Reggie’s firm and crying your heart out while he gets on with his life across the Channel without you?’

      ‘I was going to say I’d have to find someone else to live here,’ Marie responded pleadingly, but with the light of hope in her eyes. ‘Although there’s nobody around I could possibly trust like I trust you.’

      Lauren smiled. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere. Oh, Marie—’ she hugged her friend ‘—you know I’ll do it, don’t you?’

      At which, Marie laughed, gave her friend a hug in return, then dashed off to call the caterers.

      Glancing through the living room window, Lauren felt the pull of the gardens, and, pushing open the glass-paned doors, she took a deep breath of country air and went to explore.

      There were paved paths winding round, bordered by beds planted with sweet-smelling flowers and varied shrubs. In the centre of the main lawn stood a cedar tree, its branches wide-spreading, throwing shadows over the stone-walled residence.

      In various places throughout the extensive gardens there were terracotta heads poised on short columns. Lauren ran her hand over them, appreciating the skill of the artist. Studying them more closely, she began to wonder who the people were that they represented.

      Her artist’s eye picked up details that were common to them all—the delicacy of the features, the strong nose, the jaw-line, the well-shaped lips. In all of them, however, the eyes were blank, telling her nothing.

      Back inside, Lauren paused in the doorway to the living area, admiring the view once more. The sun had moved round and the flowers’ colours glowed just as brilliantly but from a different angle.

      The great cedar tree placed centrally in the lawn now flung its huge shadow right across her body. She had the strangest feeling of being both pushed away by its far-reaching branches and yet drawn in, as if they were great arms pulling her towards them.

      Although there was no hint of a breeze in the still air, a shiver coursed through her.

      

      Late on the day before, after explaining the whereabouts of the various keys to the property, and all the other details a house-sitter needed to know, Marie had shown Lauren to the guest room.

      It was a low-ceilinged, chintz-curtained hideaway, with dark wooden furniture and a worn carpet half hidden by rugs.

      And now, minutes before joining the party, Lauren studied her reflection in the long mirror as she combed her deep brown hair, draping it to curl each side of her oval-shaped face. A curiously excited, pre-party mood enveloped her, even though her only friend amongst the partygoers would be Marie—plus, of course, Reggie, Marie’s fiancé. She placed a light layer of lipstick on her full lips, but her eyes, grey and winsome, she did not touch.

      ‘They’re so dreamy,’ Mitch had told her after a few dates. ‘A guy could lose himself in those eyes of yours. Plus they make a guy wonder just where he stands with you.’

      ‘“Stand” is the right word,’ Lauren had smilingly retorted.

      ‘Is that a challenge?’ Mitch had asked, and had not believed her when she had nodded.

      He had grown angry and told her that if she didn’t let her barriers down soon he’d make her…At which she had told him coolly that rape was a criminal offence and that as she wasn’t victim material she didn’t want to date him any more At that point he had stormed from her digs and she had never heard from him again.

      What can I do, she asked her reflection now, to give those eyes a down-to-earth look? Making a few faces at herself, she laughed and gave up trying. Fixing a choker of hand-turned polished wooden beads to follow the neckline of her black and white striped cotton top, she smoothed the well-fitting fabric into the waistband of her black velvet trousers, then ran the comb once more through her long hair.

      That morning Reggie, Marie’s fiancé, had called for Lauren, and helped load her belongings into the hired van.

      ‘My promotion’s going to put some extra cash into my bank account,’ he had confided as he drove. ‘Which means a better car when I take