Charade In Winter. Anne Mather

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Good.’ He turned thoughtfully back to the trolley and poured himself another whisky. ‘What did she tell you?’

      Alix took another sip of her own drink. Now what was that supposed to mean? What could Lady Morgan have told her? Except what qualifications were required for the job.

      ‘I—she told me you wanted someone with a degree in English, and a basic knowledge of at least one other language.’ Alix frowned. ‘Oh, and some interest in mathematics—for statistical purposes, I suppose.’

      He faced her again, feet apart, one hand holding his glass, the other insinuated into the low belt of his pants. ‘And that didn’t sound unusual to you, did it?’

      Alix wished she knew what he meant. ‘Not—especially.’

      ‘Tell me, Mrs Thornton, what libraries have you catalogued where such qualifications were necessary?’

      Alix trembled. So he had had her investigated, after all. He knew she was a fraud, and this was his way of breaking it to her. But how best to deal with it? Ought she to pretend ignorance until he confronted her with her duplicity, or confess her identity forthwith and pray that he wouldn’t use physical violence to eject her?

      She was still trying to make up her mind, when he went on impatiently: ‘You’re looking worried again, Mrs Thornton. There is no need, I can assure you. I’m not about to divulge myself as the devil incarnate, nor do I particularly care to take my pleasures with unpaid members of your sex, however delectable they might appear! My dear aunt would not have sent you here otherwise. My questions are purely academic, pertaining to the issues I have to discuss with you. Now—are you reassured?’

      Alix was not at all sure she was. But it seemed she had been hasty in assuming he had discovered her identity. ‘I—I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Mr Morgan,’ she ventured demurely, deciding to feign ignorance of the coarser remarks he had addressed to her, and judging from his scornful expression, she had succeeded in this at least.

      ‘Very well.’ His nostrils flared. ‘I’ll come straight to the point, Mrs Thornton. I did not hire you for a librarian.’

      He had succeeded in shocking her now, and Alix came involuntarily to her feet, almost spilling her drink in the process. ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘You heard me, Mrs Thornton. I did not hire you to catalogue my library.’

      Alix’s thoughts tumbled wildly. What did he mean? If he did not need to have his library catalogued, why should he go to the trouble of hiring somebody with those qualifications? She stared at him disbelievingly, and he removed his hand from the waistband of his pants to run it carelessly into the open neckline of his dark brown shirt. The movement released another button and the feelings evoked by the curling dark hair escaping through the gap made her realise how vulnerable a woman could be with a man of such unconscious sexuality.

      Then he spoke again, and she lifted her eyes to his face. ‘For reasons I prefer not to enlarge upon, it was necessary to practise a little subterfuge, Mrs Thornton. My real purpose in bringing you to Darkwater may not be initially to your liking, but I think the remuneration I am prepared to offer will more than compensate you for any inconvenience.’

      Alix’s fingers felt numb about the glass. ‘You said you would get to the point, Mr Morgan,’ she said, her voice remarkably even in the circumstances. ‘I don’t think you have—yet.’

      He replaced his empty glass on the trolley, and then put both hands behind his back. ‘You’re impatient, Mrs Thornton.’ He moved to stand before the fire. ‘I perceive that’s one qualification Grizelda overlooked.’

      Alix could feel the tension within herself rising. ‘If you don’t want a librarian, Mr Morgan, what do you want?’ she exclaimed, at a loss to know how her mother would have reacted in this situation, and with a sigh he turned to rest one hand on the mantel.

      ‘A governess, Mrs Thornton,’ he said astonishingly, his grey eyes cold and intent. ‘I need someone to prepare my daughter for boarding school next September.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      ALIX’S rooms were in the west wing. Carpeted passages led from the first floor gallery into the east and west wings of the Hall, and the overall impression was of great size and grandeur. But in spite of an adequate heating system, Darkwater Hall was too big to feel at home in, and as Alix unpacked her cases and put her belongings away in the capacious cavern of a wardrobe, she couldn’t help feeling vaguely anxious. So far as she was aware, she was the only occupant of the west wing, and all those vacant doors she and Seth had passed on the way to her apartments made her feel uneasy.

      Not that there was anything to complain about so far as her accommodation was concerned. She had been given adjoining rooms with a private bath, and the sitting room which adjoined this bedroom was extremely comfortable. Most of the furniture was old, but beautifully preserved, and as well as the more traditional items there was a large colour television which would at least help to keep her in touch with the outside world.

      The outside world! She shivered. Why was she suddenly thinking of it like that? She was very much of that world, and somehow she would have to maintain contact with it. Willie would be expecting to hear from her, and when he learned why she had been brought here, he would be as astounded as she had been. Oliver and Joanne Morgan had had no children. That had been put forward as one of the reasons for the breakdown of the marriage, for long before Joanne died it was known that the relationship between Oliver Morgan and his wife was deteriorating rapidly, and odds were being offered as to when they would eventually split up. But it hadn’t happened that way. Joanne Morgan had died instead, arousing a wealth of speculation from every quarter. It was typical of the man himself that he had refused to answer any questions concerning his wife’s death, and had left the country three months ago returning, not to London, but to this remote establishment.

      No wonder he hadn’t wanted to advertise the fact that he required a governess, thought Alix incredulously. This child, whoever she was, was not his wife’s offspring, or there would have been no need of the subterfuge he had practised. But apparently the child needed educating, and he was willing to suffer a winter in the north of England if she could be prepared to enter boarding school next autumn. Whether he intended acknowledging her identity at that time, Alix did not care to consider, but her hands trembled when she considered the story this would make. She spread her palms, looking down at their unsteadiness. She must keep calm, she told herself fiercely. On no account must Oliver Morgan learn of her identity, or she hesitated to speculate what his reactions might be.

      Fortunately he had taken her startled amazement downstairs to mean what it appeared—the disconcertment of a person hired to do one job who is suddenly faced with another. Anyone would have been shocked to learn they had been hired under false pretences, and indeed, not everyone might have accepted the new arrangements as willingly as she did. Had she been too willing? she asked herself now, and then dismissed the question. It was too late to worry about things like that, when she had so many other matters to worry about, not least her own reactions to the master of Darkwater Hall.

      She had never considered herself an emotional person, and her career had always come first with her. The relationships with men she’d had had always remained within the acceptable bounds of affection; and her experiences had never led her to believe that lovemaking was anything more than a rather unnecessary complication she would rather avoid.

      Making her plans to come to Darkwater Hall, knowing as she did the reputation Oliver Morgan had acquired, rightly or wrongly, over the years, Alix had never once considered that she might find him attractive. He was too old, for one thing; he was coarse and ill-tempered, and the sensitivity of his work was not reflected in his personal life. Why then did she feel this intense awareness of him as a man, when at no time during their interview had he been anything more than remotely polite with her? He was not handsome, his nose looked as if it had