Where have you been? 4 страница

"You still insist that you don't want to marry him?"

"Yes."

"So who the hell have you been with?" her father demanded fiercely, "because I'll tell you something, Helen -you have not been staying at the Black Bull at Bowness!"

Helen was lucky that Bessie came in at that moment with the tea trolley. With the familiarity of long service, she bustled about, setting out cups and saucers, drawing attention to the plate of sandwiches and the mouth-watering toasted scones and newly baked spice cake.

"I thought you'd probably be hungry, miss," she explained warmly. "You tuck in. You look proper starved, you do. Hotel or no hotel., they haven't been feeding you properly -"

"Have you been listening at the door, Bessie?" exclaimed Philip James angrily, and the little housekeeper bristled.

"No, I have not, sir. I don't go in for eavesdropping. But can I help it if I hear you saying that Miss Helen hasn't been staying at some hotel or other?"

"That will do, Bessie,” Philip James shook his head resignedly. "You can go. Miss Helen can attend to her own needs."

The housekeeper tossed her head and left them and after she had gone Helen bent over the teapot, trying desperately not to show that she was shocked by what her father had said.

"I'm waiting, Helen." Her father resumed his scat in the armchair opposite, pressing out his half-smoked cigarette. "I want to know where you've been."

Helen hunched her shoulders. "How do you know I haven't been to Bowness?" she asked, playing for time.

"By die obvious methods. Inquiries were made. You were not registered."

"But how did you know that I might - go there?"

"I didn't. But when it became obvious that you hadn't left England, at least, not by the usual routes, I had to apply myself to the question as to where you might be."

"But Bowness!"

"Why not? We did have some good times there. I grant you that. It was an obvious possibility."

Helen moved her head slowly from side to side. So, if she had gone to the little hotel which had seemed such a haven a week ago, her father would have found her in a couple of days. It was incredible. She ought to have known that someone so astute in business would not be thwarted by a mere girl! She should have realised that and done something completely illogical. But then she would never have met Dominic Lyall, never fallen in love with him, and never suffered such pain and humiliation at his hands ...

The feeling of hopelessness deepened. Would she have wanted that? Never to know him? Never to share for a little time at least the lonely anguish of his isolation?

No. It had had to be. And now she was to know a similar anguish of her own!

"It seems a great pity to me," she said, with feeling, "that I can't go away for a few days on my own without you hiring a gang of detectives to look for me. What did you hope to achieve by finding me? What would you have done if you had found me at the Black Bull? "

Her father's nostrils flared. "Don't tempt me to demonstrate, Helen," he retorted, his patience slipping. "Now, I've asked you where you were and who you've been with. Are you going to answer me?"

Helen looked up, her long eyes slanted. "And if I say no?"

Her father got to his feet. It was as if sitting still irritated him. "Helen, for the last time -" "I haven't-been -with anybody."

"Do you expect me to believe that?"

"It doesn't really matter what you believe, does it?"

"Helen, I warn you -"

"Oh, Daddy, please! Can't I even have a cup of tea without this inquisition?"

Her father thrust his hands into his trousers' pockets. "All right, all right," he agreed, forcing himself to remain controlled with obvious difficulty. "All right. Have your tea. I can wait."

Helen poured tea, added milk, and then sipped the liquid slowly. There was something enormously revitalising about a hot cup of tea and she soon finished it and poured another. She was conscious of her father standing watching her. She could feel his antagonism growing stronger by the minute. She knew he would have liked to have hauled her out of the chair and shaken her until she gave in and told him where she had been. But she was not a child any more and such tactics did not work with her. He already knew that. She possessed too much of his own stubbornness and determination.

The food on the trolley did not appeal to her. She was empty, it was true. But it was an emptiness of the spirit rather than the body. The image of Dominic as she had last seen him, pale and drawn against his pillows, haunted her, and now that she did not have the concentration of driving to distract her she felt lost and despairing. She was desperately concerned about him, and the knowledge that he had denied any further contact between them was a shattering reality.

"Well, Helen? Are you going to tell me where you've been?"

Her father's voice brought her back to an awareness of her immediate surroundings. Helen looked up at him reluctantly.

"I don't want to argue with you, Daddy," she said quietly. "Can't you just accept that I've - well, spent a few days on my own?"

"And where did you spend those few days? At a hotel?"

Helen hesitated. "Where else?"

"That's what I'm asking you."

She sighed. "I'd rather not discuss it, if you don't mind."

"If I don't mind!" Her father's fists clenched. "Helen, explanations have to be made. Not just to me, but to the force of detectives I've hired to find you. What am I supposed to tell them?"

"Couldn't you just say that it was all a terrible mistake? That I wasn't missing at all? I mean, you had my note -"

"Do you think I showed them that?" her father scowled. "What do you take me for-a fool?"

Helen put down her empty cup. "Well, I'm sorry, Daddy, but you'll have to think of something. I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not? What happened? Helen, I may not be very astute where you're concerned, but I do know when you're putting on an act. Something's upset you - or someone! And I mean to get to the bottom of it." His eyes narrowed. "What's that bruise on your forehead? How did that happen?"

Helen touched the gra2;e with tentative fingers. "It's nothing. I bumped my head, that's all." "How did you bump your head?"

"How does anyone bump their heads? Oh, Daddy, please! I'm tired and weary. Couldn't I just go to my room?"

"Did somebody hit you? Is that what happened? Because I warn you, Helen, if that's what did happen, and I find out who it was -"

"Don't be so dramatic, Daddy. Look, you knew how I felt about Mike before I went away. I won't be manoeuvred into this marriage, I won't. And nothing you can say can make me!"

Her father paced irritably before her. "And why not? What's wrong with Michael? My God, you've spent enough time with him. I thought you were fond of one another, and so did his father."

"We were - we are, I suppose. But Daddy, being fond of someone is nor sufficient grounds for marriage -" "Why not? You don't suppose Isabel and I-" "What Isabel and you choose to do is your own affair. I want no part of it."

"Now wait a minute." Her father's face was growing red. "If you don't want to marry Michael it must be because you've found somebody else." "Oh, really, Daddy!" "Well? What's wrong with that?" "Who else am I supposed to have met, with you and Mike's father breathing down our necks every minute of the day?"

Philip sniffed. "I don't know. You could have managed it somehow." "Well, I didn't."

He looked at her squarely. "And you can tell me honestly that you've spent these last few days alone - or at least, without the company of a man?"

Helen bent her head quickly so that he should not see her face. "Yes."

"I don't believe you. I didn't believe you before, and by God! I don't believe you now. Helen, if you're lying to me-"

"What is going on here?"

The cool languid tones of Helen's stepmother were like drops of water on the heated air. For once Helen was inestimably glad to see her, although Isabel's next words were hardly welcoming.

"So you're back," she observed dryly. "I might have known. Well, Philip, is this any way to greet the prodigal lamb?"

Philip hunched his broad shoulders as he looked at his wife. "Keep out of this, Isabel," he grunted. "You're back early, aren't you? Didn't you get a game? "

"Your solicitude is overwhelming, darling, but it was too cold. Keen as I am, golf is not a game to be played with freezing fingers." She cast a speculative glance in Helen's direction. "Well, and where have you been? Spending a crafty week with the gamekeeper?" "Isabel!"

Her husband's voice silenced her and Helen got unsteadily to her feet. "May I go to my room, Daddy?" she requested quietly.

Philip James made an angry gesture. "Oh, yes - yes I go! But don't think you've heard the last of this." "No, Daddy."

Helen walked to the door with as much composure as she could muster. It was all coming back to her. The cut-and-thrust world she had been brought up in was taking over, and she hated the artificiality of it all. Maybe Dominic was right to opt out. Maybe she should do the same. One thing was certain - nothing would ever be quite the same again.

During the next couple of weeks, Helen tried to take up the strings of her old life. Her friends, learning she was back, were eager to invite her to dinner or to parties, but she had lost all enthusiasm for such outings. Even so, she made the effort. She wanted to feel at peace with herself again. She wanted to put all thoughts of that week in the Lake District out of her mind - but it was impossible. Dominic dominated her thoughts. She ate hardly enough to keep a bird alive, and she slept badly, and gradually the strain began to show.

It was Michael Framley who first noticed the change in her.

She had begun seeing him again, partly because both he and her father seemed to expect it, and partly because Mike himself was such an undemanding companion. He must have been just as curious to know the reasons for her disappearance as her father had been, but he was considerate enough not to ask the inevitable questions and Helen thought that one day she might tell him what had happened. She could talk to Mike; but whether he would show his usual understanding when it came to such a personal matter she had her doubts.

One afternoon, after he had taken her to an exhibition of art at the Hayward Gallery, they had tea at a small restaurant just off the Embankment. It was quite a warm afternoon for early March, and there were daffodils showing yellow heads in the gardens outside.

Mike waited until the waitress had brought their tea and scones and then he said quietly: "How much longer do you think you can go on, Helen?"

Helen's head jerked up. She had been idly tracing the pattern of the tablecloth with her fingernail, and had hardly been aware of his presence. "I - what do you mean?" she exclaimed, colouring.

"I think you know what I mean," replied Mike, taking the initiative and pouring the tea himself. "How long do you think you can go on living on your nerves? You don't eat - and from the look of you you don't sleep much either."

"Do I look such a hag?" she parried, with an attempt at lightness.

Mike sighed. "You don't look a hag at all, and you know it. But you and I know one another quite well, Helen, and I know that something - or someone - is eating you up."

Helen reached for her tea. "It's been a long winter."

"Has it? I hadn't noticed."

"No, well, you have your work, haven't you?"

"All right." Mike began to drink his own tea. "If you'd rather not talk about it..."

Helen rested her elbows on the table, cupping her chin in her hands. "I didn't say that, exactly."

"So you admit - something is wrong?"

Helen nodded slowly. "I suppose so."

"It's a man, isn't it?" Mike's mouth was drawn down at the corners.

"Sort of." Helen didn't quite know how to answer him. "Mike, you know that Daddy - I mean, you know our parents expect us to get married, don't you?"

"Of course."

"And you've guessed - at least, you must know that I -well, that I don't want to many you."

Mike inclined his head. "It's pretty obvious even to me."

"Oh, Mike!" Helen looked at him regretfully. "You're so - nice! I wish I did love you. How much simpler life would be."

Mike shook his head. "Life is seldom simple, Helen. And I'm sure that's just a euphemistic way of letting me down."

"Perhaps it is." Helen put her hand over his on the table. "But you are nice - and kind - and understanding."

"What a shattering submission!" Mike grimaced.

"You know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I do. In other words, I don't turn you on. But someone else does, is that what you're trying to say? "

Helen looked down at his slim white hand, so different from Dominic's hard brown fingers. "Yes," she said at last. "That's what I'm trying to say."

"So that week you were away - you were with this man?"

"I - met him while I was away," Helen amended quietly.

"I see." Mike frowned. "And your father doesn't want you to have anything to do with him, is that it? "

"Heavens, no! Nothing like that." Helen withdrew her fingers, clenching her hands tightly together. "My father knows nothing about it. And I don't want you to tell him."

"Why not?"

"Because - oh, because he would never understand."

"Why? Who is this man? What do you know about him? Where does he live?"

"Oh, Mike, please." Helen shook her head. "You're beginning to sound just like Daddy."

"All right." Mike curbed his impatience. "Suppose you tell me in your owe words."

"Well-he's an author."

"A novelist?"

"Not exactly. He writes - non-fiction."

"Do I know him?"

"I shouldn't think so."

"Why not? I know quite a lot of writers-"

"He doesn't - mix in society."

"So who is he?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not, for heaven's sake? Helen, you know that whatever you tell me, I'll keep in confidence, or you wouldn't have begun this in the first place."

"I know. But this is different. I - I sort of gave my word."

Mike threw himself back in his chair. "Impasse" he remarked dryly.

Helen lifted her cup, cradling it in her hands. "Well, at least you know the situation."

"Do I? You say you met some man while you were away - that he turns you on! What do you mean by mat? Are you in love with him?"

Helen hesitated, pressing her lips tightly together. "And if I am?"

Mike made an impatient gesture. "So why don't you get together?"

"This may come as something of a surprise, Mike, but I don't think he- likes me very much."

Mike's face mirrored his astonishment. "Helen, this gets crazier by the minute!"

"Why?"

"Well, how can you have fallen in love with this guy if he doesn't even like you?"

"Quite easily, I'm afraid." Helen sounded regretful.

"Oh, Helen!" Mike reached for her wrist. "Helen, don't you think this is all a little fanciful? I mean - okay, so you met some man you found attractive, and you imagine you've fallen in love with him. Well, it seems it's over now, doesn't it? So what can you do about it? There's no sense in risking your health by not eating and not sleeping-"

"Do you think I haven't told myself that a hundred times?" she exclaimed.

"Besides," went on Mike insistently, "he's probably married, or something. Have you thought of that? In any case, there's bound to be some woman in the picture -"

"He's not married," stated Helen firmly.

"Engaged, then."

"No!"

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I stayed at his house!"

As soon as the words were uttered Helen wished she could withdraw them. Mike was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before and the hot colour stained her cheeks.

"You stayed at his house?" Mike echoed disbelievingly. "How the hell could you do that?"

Helen shook her head. "Oh, Mike, don't ask me, please, don't ask me."

"Did you live with him?"

"If you mean by that, did I sleep with him - then no!"

Mike looked somewhat relieved. Then he went on: "But you did have some kind of relationship with him, didn't you?"

"You might say that."

"Oh, Helen!" He breathed deeply. "Helen, why won't you tell me the truth? I - I might be able to help you."

Helen finished her tea and pushed the cup aside, refusing his offer of a second. "All right," she said slowly. "I'll tell you as much as I can." Mike nodded, and she continued: "Well, my-my car broke down in the blizzard-"

"What blizzard?"

"The blizzard I drove into."

"So you did go to the Lake District?"

"Yes." Helen paused. "As I said, my car broke down, and - and this man came to my assistance."

"I see."

"He offered me - shelter, for the night, and I accepted."

"Goon."

"Well, in the morning, the - the weather was worse, and I stayed on."

"Alone - with this man?"

"No. Not alone. He - he had a manservant. There were the three of us."

"And you stayed there all week?"

"Yes."

"And you fell in love with him?"

"Yes."

"So why did you come away?"

"He- he asked me to leave."

"My God!" Mike raised his eyes heavenward. "Why? What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," Helen couldn't meet his eyes.

"Look, Mike, I've told you what happened -"

"A version of it, perhaps."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, Helen! Why would this man ask you to stay on at his house if he didn't like you? And why would he suddenly ask you to leave? It doesn't make sense. Is he - was he very attractive?"

Helen sighed. "He - he had a limp. It troubled him a lot."

"He was a cripple?"

"Not exactly. He needed plenty of rest."

"And this is the man you've fallen in love with?" Mike was clearly astounded. "A man you say doesn't like you, and who's crippled into the bargain! Dear heaven, Helen, I wouldn't have thought - that is -"

Helen looked up then. "I know what you're trying to say, Mike," she said clearly. "You can't imagine why I should find such a man attractive when I could marry someone with perfect physical health and a healthy bank balance into the bargain!"

"Something like that."

"I know." Helen moved her shoulders in a dismissive gesture. "My father would feel exactly the same, if I told him."

"I expect he would." Mike sounded totally confused.

"And that's why I haven't told him."

Mike nodded slowly. "I'm beginning to understand." He considered what she had told him a few moments longer and then he said: "Tell me, Helen - this - relationship you had with the man: was it an emotional one?"

"I expect you would call it that."

"But he wasn't interested?"

"No."

"Are you sure about that?"

Helen drew a trembling breath. "He told me to leave, didn't he?"

"Yes." Mike drew a pattern on the tablecloth with his spoon. "But have you considered that his reasons for sending you away might have to do with his - disability?"

"What do you mean?" Now Helen stared at him.

"Just that - it's possible that he feels his incapacity to be too great to ask anyone to share it"

"Oh, no-no!"

Helen refused to react to this new and disturbing possibility. It simply wasn't credible. Mike still didn't know all the facts, so how could he make any satisfactory assessment? He didn't know, for instance, that Dominic had not invited her to stay at his house - he had confined her there. He didn't know that since the terrible accident which had killed his brother and injured him, Dominic had spurned the company of women. And last, but by no means least, he didn't know of Dominic's intention to make love to her that final evening before she left, an intention which had only been thwarted by her own impulsive confession of love for him. A love he had instantly rejected. Oh, no, Dominic was in no way crippled by his disability.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

Mike's voice brought her out of her reverie with a start. "Why-nothing, I suppose."

"You realise your father is still determined to find out where you were?"

"Did he tell you that?" Her eyes clouded. "Did he ask you to find out as much as you could?"

"Yes." Mike was honest.

Helen nodded. "I guessed as much."

"You know you can trust me, don't you?" His fingers were warm on hers.

"Oh, yes," she nodded, managing a faint smile. "Or I shouldn't be here."

CHAPTER NINE

Although Helen had rebuffed Mike's suggestion that Dominic might have had a motive for sending her away, during the next few days she found herself constantly going over the possibility in her mind. What if there was some truth in it? What if he was waiting for her to make the next move? He bad said that she would forget all about him once she returned to London. Perhaps it was up to her to prove that she had not.

Schemes, all of them discarded, plagued her mind and it was only when Isabel made her opinion known that Helen finally came to a decision.

It was over breakfast one morning about a week later. Her father had already left for the office and Helen and Isabel were dawdling over their coffee. Isabel was still not dressed and in a transparent black negligee was looking particularly attractive as she cupped her chin on her hands and surveyed her stepdaughter across the table.

"You look ghastly," she announced brutally. "For God's sake, Helen, go and see this man, whoever he is!"

Helen's lips parted. "What man?"

"Oh, don't give me that!" Isabel reached for a cigarette. "This man who's giving you sleepless nights. You needn't bother to pretend that it's not a man. I've been there too many times myself not to recognise the symptoms!"

Helen looked down at her hands. "Has my father asked you to speak to me, Isabel?"

"Of coarse not. Do you honestly suppose your father would imagine I could influence you one way or the other?"

"Perhaps not."

"So. Why don't you go and see him? Whoever he is. He must be quite a man. I've never seen you like this before?"

Helen sighed. "You make it sound so easy."

"And isn't it? What's wrong? Is he married?"

"No!"

"So what's stopping you?"

Helen looked across at her stepmother square. "Nothing," she said evenly, coming to a decision. "Nothing at all."

Isabel half smiled. "Do I take it you'll be disappearing for another few days?"

"You can take it how you like."

"Well, don't worry about it. I'll tell Philip you've gone to stay with a girl friend for a few days. How does that sound?"

Helen rose to her feet, "like a dream," she remarked, with some sarcasm.

Isabel chuckled. "Darling, I only want you to be happy."

"Do you?" Helen walked towards the door. "And off your back, too?"

"It's a tantalising possibility."

Helen shook her head and went out of the room. Isabel could always be relied upon to speak her mind. All the same, if she could allay her father's suspicions, all the better.

It was nearing lunchtime before Helen could get away to begin her journey north to Hawksmere. She had brought an overnight bag because whatever happened she would be too tired to drive straight back to town that night. She felt pretty confident she could find her way to the house once she reached the village and got her whereabouts, and at least there was no snow now to hamper her progress. It was still visible of course, in the ditches and on the mountain slopes as she reached the lakeland area, but the roads were free of it, and here, as in London, trees and hedges were burgeoning with new life.

She reached Hawksmere in the late afternoon and as she drove through the village she kept her eyes alert for any small hotel which might take overnight guests. There was one, the Swan, and she made a note of it in case of emergencies. Her lips tightened. Would Dominic bar her the house after she had driven all this way? Would he refuse to see her? She hardly dared to speculate, and drove on quickly before discretion got the better of valour.

It was almost easy finding the rambling old house in daylight, but the daylight wouldn't last much longer and she put on a spurt of speed as she drove up to the heavy front door. There was no sign of life as she approached, no smoke coming from the chimneys, no sound of animals from the back.

She stopped the car and got out, quivering as she looked up at the blank windows. Well, she was here, and the sooner she made her presence known the better.

She was tempted to turn the handle and open the door, but the thought that Sheba might be behind that door deterred her. Instead, she knocked and waited patiently for Bolt to answer.

But no one answered. The sound of her knocking echoed hollowly through the building and a wave of anti-climactic disappointment swept over her. She had been right in her earlier assumption. The place was deserted. They had gone!

She tried the door in the vain hope that she might be mistaken, but it was securely locked, and a swift reconnaissance of the yard at the back assured her that the animals had gone, too. But where? And when? And why? She sighed frustratedly. Had he imagined she would go telling her father where he was the minute she got back? Didn't he have any faith, in her at all?

With depression like an actual physical presence bearing her down she got back into the car and drove back to the village. She passed only one car on her journey, a plain grey limousine, but its occupant was short and fair and plump, and bore no resemblance to either Dominic Lyall or Bolt.

The manager of the Swan Hotel was more than willing to accommodate her, and after being shown to a small, but attractive, bedroom under the eaves, Helen went down to take dinner in the small dining room. There appeared to be only one other guest, a short fair man with a moustache, and she was almost sure he was the man she had seen earlier on when she was leaving the house. But she had too many things to ponder to pay much attention to that rather insignificant individual, and when the meal was over she deliberately engaged the manager in conversation.

"Tell me," she said encouragingly, "that - er - house, up the road a short way -"

"Ashbourn House, you mean, miss ?"

"If that's its name. A rather rambling old building, but attractive, too."

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