White Rose Of Winter. Anne Mather

had been taken. ‘And are you feeling better?’

      ‘Oh, much better.’ Lucy looked up at Robert, who was standing watching this interchange rather grimly. ‘Darling, do you think Halbird could provide us with some tea? I’m sure Julie would love a cup, wouldn’t you, dear?’

      Julie nodded, avoiding Robert’s critical stare. ‘Thank you, that would be lovely.’

      ‘Oh, there’s so much to say!’ exclaimed Lucy suddenly, hugging Emma close to her. ‘You and I have got to get to know one another properly, haven’t we, Emma?’

      Halbird had carried in the cases and disappeared with them through another door which obviously led to the other rooms of the apartment, and Robert departed, obviously in search of him.

      ‘Do you live here, Grandma?’ Emma asked, looking about her in wonder, and Julie was not surprised. Life in Rhatoon had hardly prepared her for such apparent luxury. Apart from its size, the lounge was extensively furnished, but despite the quality of the furnishings it was not a bleak room. There was a warmth about it, a lived-in quality, that appealed to Julie in spite of herself. Even so, to a little girl it was all rather overwhelming and Emma seemed fascinated by the pseudo cowl-fire which broke up the central area and provided a focal point.

      ‘No, darling,’ Lucy was replying now. ‘Nowhere so grand. I have a flat in a mews not far from here. You’ll see it in good time, I expect. But Uncle Robert uses his apartment for entertaining, so naturally it has to be very grand and important.’

      ‘Entertaining?’ repeated Emma. ‘You mean he puts on shows?’

      Lucy chuckled, and Julie felt impatient suddenly. Surely someone should tell her what was going on. Why were they here? Why weren’t they staying with Lucy as arranged. And why didn’t Lucy say something? When were they all going to talk? Really talk, about the things that really mattered! Like Michael’s death, for example!

       CHAPTER TWO

      EMMA was asleep, and Julie was changing for dinner.

      The afternoon tea Halbird had provided, a delicious spread of wafer-thin sandwiches, savoury biscuits, and cream cakes, had been more than enough to make Emma drowsy, and after a swift shower she had tumbled into bed without any protest.

      Their rooms were linked by the bathroom, which they were to share, and as with the lounge the appointments were attractively exquisite. Emma’s bedroom was smaller than her mother’s with a fluffy blue carpet and pale blue curtains and covers, while Julie’s room had a white carpet and violet covers and curtains. Both rooms had long fitted units to take their clothes, and during tea Halbird had hung those garments which were likely to crease in the wardrobes. The trunks containing the rest of their belongings had not arrived yet, but Julie expected they would be here in a few days as they had been sent in advance.

      Julie surveyed her reflection critically in the dressing-table mirror as she brushed her hair. Had she changed much? Could Robert see much difference in her? Did she look much older?

      She sighed. What did it matter what Robert thought? Although nothing had been said yet about the change in arrangements she knew that if they were to stay here for a few days it must be that Lucy had not been entirely truthful when it came to explaining the circumstances. And Julie had no intention of remaining in Robert’s apartment any longer than was absolutely necessary. Even if it meant taking a job and finding a flat of their own.

      She leant forward to examine the shadows beneath her eyes. She was not sleeping well, and it was beginning to show. She pressed her lips together impatiently. What did it matter? There was no one to care how she looked here, of that she had few doubts. Lucy was accepting her because of Emma, and Robert …

      A sliver of apprehension caused an involuntary shudder. She would not think of the past. She would think only of the present. And to hell with the rest.

      She rose from the dressing-table stool and smoothed the skirt of the one and only evening dress she had carried with her, a slim-fitting gown of dark blue crepe jersey, that brushed her ankles and accentuated her excessive fairness and slenderness of figure. Her hair she wore as she always wore it, straight as a silver curtain about her shoulders.

      When she was satisfied that there was no improvement she could make she emerged from her room and walked slowly along the panelled hall to the double doors of the lounge. A faint odour of continental coffee pervaded the air, and she sniffed appreciatively. She was not hungry, she had eaten little of Halbird’s spread at teatime, but she did enjoy good coffee.

      Lamps illuminated the lounge, giving a curiously intimate atmosphere to a room that could never be described as such. And yet it was warm and comfortable, and deserted at the moment.

      Julie closed the doors behind her and walked across to the plate glass windows. Venetian blinds had been let down and through them she could see the panorama of the city glittering with a myriad lights below her. And yet for all that they were in the heart of the city, it was silent up here, silent and isolated, and remote like the cabin of an airliner. One could not fail to get an inflated feeling of one’s own importance living here, thought Julie ruefully.

      She was startled into awareness by the closing of the door and swinging round to face Robert Pemberton she paused to wonder how long he had been standing there, watching her. He was not wearing a dinner jacket but had shed the informal suede for a charcoal grey lounge suite that fitted his lean body closely, accentuating the length of his legs and the hard muscles beneath the rippling material. From the dampness of his hair, she guessed he had recently stepped out of the shower.

      His gaze flickered over her for a moment, taking in the fragility of her appearance, and then with a casual movement of his shoulders he walked across to where an opened cabinet displayed an assortment of bottles.

      ‘What will you drink?’ he inquired, turning his back on her and uncorking the whisky bottle, scooping ice out of its container, chinking it into a glass.

      Julie took a deep breath. ‘Gin and tonic, please,’ she replied, taking care that her voice should reveal none of her thoughts.

      Robert made the drink and turning walked across to hand it to her. As he did so Julie caught his gaze, and taking the initiative, she said: ‘Are you going to tell me now why we’ve been brought here?’

      Robert hesitated, rubbing his palms together where the condensation on the chilled glass had dampened them. ‘Does it matter?’ he asked briefly. ‘I can assure you my motives were purely unselfish ones.’

      ‘What sam I supposed to gather from that remark?’

      ‘What I say. My mother is incapable of accommodating you. Naturally as Michael’s widow you are welcome here.’

      ‘You don’t sound very welcoming.’ Julie sipped her drink to hide her nervousness.

      ‘Don’t I?’ Robert made an indifferent gesture. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘You’re not sorry at all!’ Julie burst out, and then regretted it. Taking another trembling breath, she hastened on: ‘What I can’t understand is why your mother should have written and offered Emma and me a home now that – now that she’s alone, and not really mean it.’

      ‘Would you have come if you’d known it was I who was offering you a home?’ inquired Robert coldly.

      Julie pressed her lips together. ‘Of course not.’

      ‘There you are, then.’ Robert turned away to get his own drink and Julie gave a helpless gasp.

      ‘You mean I was brought here under false pretences?’

      ‘Stop being dramatic, Julie. It was necessary that you should be brought back here. This was the only way.’

      Julie was indignant. ‘But why was it necessary? I – your mother never wanted me when – when Michael was alive. Why should she want me now that Michael is dead?’