Summer Of The Raven. Sara Craven

doesn’t stint himself,’ she remarked.

      ‘No.’ Rowan came straight to the point. ‘What’s the idea of giving Sybilla the impression that I’m some kind of slob?’

      Antonia shrugged casually. ‘If she disapproves of you, then she’s less likely to start asking awkward questions, and I thought you’d prefer that. She can be like the Grand Inquisitor when she gets going. That’s one of the things I’ve always disliked about her.’

      Rowan gave her a long look. ‘I don’t mind her questions. I’ve got nothing to hide. The three years discrepancy in my age was your idea, not mine, although I’ll never understand what possessed you to say such a thing.’

      ‘Can’t you?’ Antonia sat down on her silk-covered dressing stool and took her lipstick out of her bag. She began to outline the full curves of her mouth with elaborate care. ‘It’s quite simple really. I’ve been saddled with this stepmother bit, but I don’t have to like it. And while a child is one thing, a grown woman’s quite another. Besides, Carne doesn’t know everything about the terms of Vic’s will. I had to tell him you were in my care. He wouldn’t have swallowed that if I’d told him your correct age—so—–’ she shrugged again.

      Rowan said softly, ‘Just as long as we’re not still here in two years’ time when I become twenty-one, because then I shall be off, Antonia, and you’ll have to tell your Cousin Carne any story you please.’

      ‘Don’t worry, darling.’ Antonia replaced the lipstick in its gold case. ‘If I’m still here in two years’ time, it will be because I’m Carne’s wife, and you’ll be free to go, just as soon as that joyous day arrives.’

      ‘Then I have a vested interest in making sure it does arrive,’ Rowan said bitterly. ‘You can count on my support, Antonia.’

      ‘I’m delighted to hear it. It seems there’s cold chicken and a salad waiting for us in the refrigerator this evening, but from tomorrow we’re on our own—literally. Just before Sybilla left me, she informed me that no other help is kept. It seems there used to be, but now there isn’t—illness in the family or some such thing. So we have this great barracks of a house to look after between us, honey child.’ A glint of rare humour appeared in Antonia’s eyes. ‘I’m beginning to think bankruptcy might have been easier after all.’

      Perhaps it might at that, Rowan thought soberly as she went back to her own room. Antonia seemed confident that she could ultimately wind Carne Maitland round her little finger, but he was calling all the shots at the moment. Her heart sank. All the cleaning, and the cooking as well! There would be no end to it, and she did not even dare contemplate what would happen if the guest rooms Sybilla had mentioned began to fill up.

      That blasted boutique, she thought crossly. I wonder how much money Antonia owes him altogether? Surely she could have repaid him in some other way than this. I’ve a feeling he’s going to expect his pound of flesh and some over.

      Rowan saw no reason to change her opinion as the first fortnight at Raven’s Crag pursued its tedious way. The house was as labour-saving as the ingenuity of twentieth-century man could make it, but it was large, with vast expanses of glass and pale surfaces which needed constant attention. Antonia’s constant grumbling did not help either, and nor, for that matter did Antonia herself for much of the time. She talked a lot about how much there was to do, and she was quick to notice if any thing had been overlooked, but her activities were largely confined to a little desultory dusting and flower arranging in between sporadic visits to Keswick, the nearest large town to Ravensmere.

      One of the more obvious disadvantages of the deception over Rowan’s age was that she was unable to drive the car, even though she had passed her driving test while she was in the Sixth Form. She had assumed, of course, in the circumstances that she would accompany Antonia on her visits to Keswick, but this was far from being the case. There always seemed more perfectly good reason why her stepmother preferred to go alone. Rowan was disappointed. She would have liked to have a look round Keswick, and seize the opportunity of buying some fresh food while she was there too. Antonia seemed hellbent on filling the large freezer in the walk-in pantry which led off the kitchen with convenience foods, and she ignored Rowan’s protests.

      ‘I don’t intend to do any more cooking than I have to,’ she declared disdainfully.

      Rowan could have replied that Antonia did the minimum as it was, but she bit back the reply. It would only lead to a quarrel, after which Antonia would sulk, and as they had no company but each other that would be a disaster.

      Sybilla had kept her word about not intruding upon them. Indeed, she kept almost religiously out of the way, which made Rowan feel uncomfortable. She doubted whether Sybilla had confined herself so rigorously to her own quarters prior to their arrival on the scene. And after all, this was her home.

      But it will never be mine, Rowan thought sometimes as she prowled restlessly through the immaculate rooms, waiting for Antonia to come back from one of her shopping expeditions. I’m only here for a few months, just passing through.

      Sometimes she was tempted to go and knock on Sybilla’s door and ask if she could talk to her, but she had the uneasy feeling she would not be very welcome. She had encountered Sybilla a few times in the garden, and the older woman’s greeting, although courteous, had been distant. Rowan knew why, of course. Antonia’s careless words had done their work well, and she had to bear the burden of Sybilla’s unspoken disapproval as a consequence.

      Rowan supposed she was a fool to allow it to matter. Sybilla was a complete stranger, not even a relation, so her opinion shouldn’t really bear any weight, and yet the realisation that Sybilla regarded her as an awkward teenager, even a drop-out, was oddly hurtful, and at the same time it was part of the ring of deceit which Antonia had deliberately enclosed her in.

      Again she asked herself, why? She had always known that Antonia was touchy about her age, and had never liked being saddled with an adolescent stepdaughter, but she had never dreamed that she was prepared to go to such lengths to preserve her image of eternal youth. If it was as simple as that, Rowan thought, but what other explanation could there be? She was under no illusion that physically she could be any threat to Antonia’s plans for her future.

      The future. Whenever she thought of that, a small sick feeling began to well up in Rowan. If everything worked out for Antonia eventually, Rowan would be quite alone in the world, her last tenuous links with the happier past severed totally, and it was a daunting prospect even for someone older and more mature than Rowan. She had always been sheltered in a way, she supposed. Her father’s money had taken care of every thing for most of her life, and then there had been boarding school. Perhaps Victor Winslow had thought he was extending that protection until his only daughter was safely launched on adult life. Maybe he had even imagined that his wife and daughter would draw together in mutual need after the sorrow of his death. Looking back, Rowan thought ruefully that her father had never been one to take a very practical view of relationships. Antonia had been coldly furious when she heard the terms of the will, but although she had recovered herself swiftly, Rowan had never been left in any doubt that she was simply making the best of things. Antonia had always made the best of things, or at least the best for Antonia. That was really why they were here. After all, her stepmother could have got a job of some kind and arranged to repay Carne any money that was owing to him out of her earnings, but instead she had chosen what she hoped would be a softer option. Rowan could only hope for Antonia’s sake that she had chosen correctly. She couldn’t imagine Carne Maitland being soft in any way.

      And certainly he had upset all Antonia’s preconceptions by absenting himself without a word. Rowan knew what her stepmother had been daily expecting a letter, or even a card, but the postman’s visit brought only mail addressed to Carne, and the usual bills and circulars. The telephone remained silent too, although occasionally they heard the sound of a distant bell ringing, and guessed that Sybilla had her own private telephone in the flat. But if Carne was among her unknown callers, then there were no messages for the newcomers in his house, and Antonia was becoming increasingly restive. She had evidently been expecting a very different reception.

      Perhaps