Summer Of The Raven. Sara Craven

got arthritis now, or some crippling thing, so the idea is that I go there for a while and act as his housekeeper in her place.’

      There was a long silence as Rowan stared at her in utter disbelief. Then, ‘Oh, God give me strength,’ she said, half under her breath. ‘Is he serious?’

      ‘Of course he’s serious. That’s the deal. I go up to this mountain hellhole of his for as long as it takes while I—purge my contempt, I suppose.’ Antonia’s lips thinned. ‘He’s also offered to pay off any other debts I may have, including Celia’s, so I can’t accuse him of being ungenerous.’

      ‘It’s not a question of that.’ Rowan shook her head. ‘You don’t even know how to keep house. Does he know that?’

      Antonia shrugged. ‘The subject wasn’t raised. He knows I ran the Surrey house and the other flat without any problems. Naturally, he wasn’t a frequent visitor because your father, to speak plainly, sweetie, was jealous of him.’ She gave a little knowing smile that made Rowan feel sick. ‘Not altogether without cause, I may say.’

      Rowan pushed back her chair and got to her feet. ‘That being the case,’ she said quietly, ‘the last thing you’ll want is my presence in the house. I’m sorry you’re in this mess, Antonia, but it’s of your own making, and there’s nothing I can do about it. From now on we go our separate ways.’

      ‘Oh, but we don’t.’ Antonia’s eyes glittered as she stared up at her stepdaughter. ‘I have no intention of serving my term and then finding myself without a penny. I do have—plans, naturally, but I also intend to keep all my other options open, and I’m not seeing your father’s allowance just whistled down the wind. Besides, the deal includes you. I told Carne about Victor’s will, and he was most understanding.’

      ‘How good of him!’ Rowan’s eyes flashed. ‘But I would prefer not to be carted round Britain like so much excess baggage. I can manage to support myself for the next two years. There are grants and …’

      ‘And what about me?’ To her horror, Rowan saw enormous tears welling up in Antonia’s eyes. ‘Your father wanted us to stay together, you know he did. You’re all of his that I’ve got left. You can’t leave me, Rowan!’

      Rowan was aghast. ‘That’s cheap blackmail, and you know it,’ she began roundly, but Antonia was crying now in real earnest.

      ‘Rowan, you’ve got to come with me. It will only be for six months or so at the most. You can go on with your course afterwards—do what you like. If you don’t come with me, then the whole arrangement is cancelled and Carne is going to make me bankrupt. He threatened to last night. Why do you think I drank so much?’

      ‘But he hardly knows of my existence …’

      ‘Of course he does. And there’s another thing.’ Antonia bent her head over her wedding ring, twisting it aimlessly on her finger. ‘I—I let him think you were younger than you actually are. You don’t look your age, Rowan, you know you don’t. It wouldn’t be any hardship to pretend—just for a little while.’

      ‘How old?’ Rowan said baldly.

      Antonia concentrated on her wedding ring. ‘Sixteen,’ she returned after a pause.

      ‘Sixteen?’ Rowan sank back on to her chair, her legs threatening to give way beneath her. ‘Antonia, you are unbelievable! You can’t do this to me.’

      ‘And you can’t do it to me,’ Antonia retorted sullenly. ‘They take everything from you when you’re bankrupt. There was talk of an investigation after your father died, but it was smoothed over. If Carne bankrupts me, the whole thing could start again. Do you want to see the Winslow name dragged through the financial mud?’

      ‘No,’ Rowan acknowledged. ‘But I don’t think it will come to that.’

      ‘Oh, yes, it will,’ Antonia said softly. ‘For one thing, Carne has never forgiven me for marrying Victor. When he offered to back me in the boutique, I thought it was an olive branch, but I realise now that he just wanted to have a hold over me. It was as if he knew the boutique was going to fail.’

      ‘Well, he wouldn’t have needed much business acumen to tell him that,’ Rowan said drily. ‘What is he? Something in the City? I thought I knew his face from somewhere.’

      Antonia grimaced. ‘Well, it’s more likely to have been the gossip columns than the financial pages. You’ve heard of him, of course—I’m surprised his name didn’t ring a bell. He’s Carne Maitland.’

      ‘The painter?’ Rowan could hardly believe her ears. The most surprising element in the story was that Antonia should be even distantly related to one of the most famous portrait paiters in Britain and have failed to mention it.

      ‘The very same.’ Antonia smiled lazily, her tears forgotten. ‘Did you notice his tan? He’s been out in one of the oil states, painting a sheik. They’re about the only people in the world who can afford his prices these days. Of course, he doesn’t need the money. His parents each left him a fortune, and he still has the controlling voice in the family business. Painting was always his hobby when he was a child, but everyone was amazed when he went to art college and began to work at it seriously. Who says you need to starve in a garret to be a success?’

      Certainly, Rowan thought, not the critics, whose laudatory remarks had greeted every new canvas in recent years. He had had some dazzling commissions of late, including the obligatory Royal portrait, and had fulfilled them brilliantly. And he was Antonia’s distant cousin, and a former lover, to judge by her words.

      She got up and went over to the window, gazing down into the busy street outside with eyes that saw nothing.

      ‘So I can tell him it’s all right?’ From behind her, Antonia’s voice sounded anxious. ‘I can tell him to expect us both?’

      Rowan moved her shoulders in a slight shrug. ‘Tell him what you like. That’s what you’ve done up to now, isn’t it? I’ll come with you, but for Daddy’s sake, Antonia, not yours.’

      And not mine either, she thought, as she began the weary task of locating the missing inventory. Because the last thing she needed was to find herself in Carne Maitland’s orbit again. She could still feel the lingering scrutiny of those silver eyes, and the memory disturbed her more than she cared to acknowledge, even to herself.

      Not that she had anything to worry about, she told herself ruefully, as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the long mirror. The beautiful, the rich and the elegant—those were the type of women with whom his name was most often linked, and she didn’t qualify under any of those headings. Quite apart from the fact that he regarded her as a child, she had no doubt at all that he found her looks and personality about as fascinating as a—stewed prune.

      And that was meant to be a joke, so why was she finding it so hard to smile? Rowan sighed, thankful that the tenor of her thoughts was known only to herself.

      This could prove to be the most difficult summer of her life. And she thought, ‘I’m going to have to be careful. Very careful.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      THE motorway was far behind them, and the towering fells had closed in as if they were entering some secret citadel. Antonia was driving and Rowan sat beside her, the map open on her knee, although they hadn’t needed it so far as everything was so well signposted.

      Rowan had never been to the Lake District before, and she supposed she could hardly be seeing it for the first time under better conditions. The soft blue April day was warm and the sun sparkled everywhere—on the grey-blue slate that faced the houses, on the rippling water, on the last traces of snow in the sheltered hollows of the fells, and on the masses of daffodils blooming wherever the eye could see.

      She had read Wordsworth’s poem, of course, but she had never expected to see it brought to life with quite such extravagance.