House of Shadows (28 page)

‘It's not your responsibility,' I said shakily. ‘I saw the lawyer myself and he said everything was legal enough, that Justin was an illegitimate son and had no claim. I wonder how Mr Jeremy is. I do hope he's escaped the explosion.'

‘I doubt it,' Diane said. ‘It's terrible, they don't know how many people are under the rubble, but as it's a building of offices of legal people, it shouldn't be too hard to make an identification of the deceased.'

‘So an unexploded bomb caused all this havoc.' I was quite shaken. ‘Poor Mr Jeremy, he was very old. Too old to be working, really.'

Diane gave me a quick look and poured more tea for herself. ‘All our young men are still trying to recover from the war. Oh dear, I feel quite shaken. I wish I'd never suggested coming here.'

‘Well, you weren't to know there would be an explosion, were you? Look on the bright side, we could have been caught up in it all.'

Diane shivered. ‘Don't be so cheerful!' Her tone held a touch of sarcasm, and I smiled to myself. Diane was getting her old spirit back.

Diane became weary of the peace and quiet of Aberglasney after a few days, and on the following Monday we had lunch in Swansea and then I waved her off. I waited until I could no longer see her car in the distance, and then turned to look straight into the dear face of Tom.

‘Riana.' There was a world of love and sweetness in his voice, and in spite of myself I wanted to sink into his arms.

We stood looking at each for a long moment, and then we both moved and he was kissing me, holding me as though he would never let me go.

He took me for tea in a simple tea shop, and we sat holding hands over our cooling tea. I knew questions could wait, and I went with him willingly for a walk – along the darkening streets, through Victoria Park, along the sea front – holding hands like lovers. Well, we were lovers, even if we'd made love only once.

He booked us a room in a guest house, and I went with him willingly. I decided that if I could only have him sometimes that was better then nothing at all. Did he love me? I was afraid to ask, but he wanted me, I could see it in his eyes, and for now that was enough.

He took me gently, slowly, and I revelled in his touch. Sensations I'd never known before swept my body, tingling my senses and bringing me to a cascade of desire and a tumbling of joy as my body and senses were lost and my mind was bursting with stars. And then, sated, we lay on the bed alongside each other holding hands, his broad chest rising and falling with the breathlessness we were both feeling.

In me there was a wonder that any man could rouse such passion, such burning, melting love. I adored Tom. I loved every shape of his lean body: his fine buttocks, his strong legs, his broad chest. I
loved
him.

Later we showered and shared a bottle of precious red wine in our room. I had no nightclothes with me so I wrapped myself in one of Tom's shirts and sat cross-legged on the bed, holding my glass between my fingers. I had never been so happy in all my life. And then Tom spoke.

‘You should marry Justin Mansel-Atherton, you know.' He said it gravely, with no hint of a smile, and my heart almost stopped beating.

‘What did you say?'

‘For your own good, Riana. He's eligible, young, attractive . . . He might well have a claim to Aberglasney, you know.'

I was tearful and furious all at once. ‘You've just made love to me in the most wonderful way, and now you are telling me to marry another man! Are you mad?'

He took my hand, and though I tried to pull away he held on to me. ‘Riana, there are people who want me dead,' he said. ‘If I lived with you, even, I'd be putting you at risk, don't you understand that?'

I dragged my hand free and flopped down on the bed. ‘I don't understand anything!' I almost screamed at him. ‘I love you, Tom, don't you know that? You appear and disappear without a thought for my feelings! I don't know what you are involved with, but I don't care. I just want to be with you!'

‘Sleep on it.' Tom spoke abruptly. He tucked himself inside the bedclothes and turned his back on me. I sat up, staring at his hair, which lay in curls on his neck, for a time. I wanted to touch his hair, kiss his neck, but in the end I closed my eyes, turned away from him and cried myself to sleep.

In the morning Tom had gone, and when, shamed, I went to check out, I found he hadn't even paid the bill properly. He'd left a sheaf of notes as if I was little more than a prostitute.

I hurried to the station. I just wanted to get home, shut myself in my room and try to heal my tattered pride. I didn't want to do anything – no painting, no social weekends with the ghost hunters. Perhaps I would just marry Justin and, as a married woman, get a sensible job and let Justin figure out the best way to keep the house in a good state of repair. If Justin
was
the real heir, I presumed he'd inherit whatever money the Mansel-Athertons had hidden away.

It sounded an easy way out – just hand over responsibility to someone else. I sat listening to the
clackety-clack
of the train, closed my eyes and went over every detail of my night of love with Tom in my head.

THIRTY-ONE

D
iane became a frequent visitor to Aberglasney. The trouble was, she always seemed to have Justin in tow – as well as Rosie, who cooed and fussed over Diane as though she were a princess.

Diane enjoyed the ghost weekends and continued to market my paintings, and I thought her respect for Justin and her dreams of him marrying me and making my life easier were sweet but ill placed. The more I saw of Justin, the more I knew I loved Tom, despite everything.

One happy event in my life was that my painting grew in maturity. I put new focus on the house, painted odd corners of the rooms with ghostly images lurking mistily in them. I often painted the old cloisters, which had been built hundreds of years ago, and thought of Tom and me sitting under the arches on a summer's day, when deep shadows and brightly-patterned sunlight had shaped the gardens. I often thought of those days with nostalgia and hurt in my heart.

The grass and flowers had been wild then, and it was because of Tom and his men that the flower beds had begun to have order and shape. Of course, I could afford two gardeners now, who kept the gardens trimmed and neat and weeded, but I knew I would never forget that Tom was the one who had planted my garden and made it beautiful.

I knew I should be pleased with my life. I had good friends – especially Diane, who had my best interests at heart – and I was becoming a ‘name' now in the world of art. I was known as the strange young lady who lived with ghosts, but I didn't mind what folk said about me as long as my work was appreciated. I was even commissioned by a minor royal to paint an ancestor sweeping grandly across the lawn at Aberglasney. In spite of myself and my best efforts, the lady ended up bearing a striking resemblance to Beatrice. The painting was returned with a short letter telling me the likeness to the royal lady was not quite right and would I do more work on the face?

I looked at the painted miniature I'd been allowed to borrow and worked with a focused mind, and at last the likeness was almost perfect. This time the painting was accepted and I was paid a handsome sum, which I immediately took to my bank in Swansea, grateful that I was secure for at least another year if I wasn't too enthusiastic with my spending on the house.

Summer came and went, hot and dry and with visitors galore, who were not only coming to see the house but also to visit the beautiful gardens, making use of the newly-restored drive and entrance archway. I saw Tom only twice during the summer, and each time he told me he loved me, took me to bed and made such beautiful love to me that I cried each time.

Now the summer had gone, there was an autumnal touch to the evenings, and the leaves fell like coloured patterns on to the well-manicured grass lawns. I walked the gardens – shuffling through the crisp leaves and kicking them up in heaps like a child.

And then it suddenly became winter once more. The nights drew in and shadows crept across from the cloister into the garden, and I felt that first summer at Aberglasney was long ago and far away.

The house was almost restored to its former glory now; there was electric lighting all over the house, though we still used oil lamps and candelabras for effect on the ghost weekends. My career was blossoming, and all I needed to make my life complete was Tom. But he continued to be evasive.

Justin came often with Diane and stayed at the house, and I had yet to prove by law that Aberglasney was mine. Justin seemed to have given up the idea that he owned the place, but I soon found out that I was completely wrong about that.

I was sitting in the comfort of the drawing room, wondering what to do for a Christmas party this year and enjoying a glass of much needed sherry, when there was a commotion at the door. I stood up abruptly, my senses alert, imagining Tom had arrived to sweep me away.

A flustered Mrs Ward called me into the hallway. ‘It's Mr Mansel-Atherton, Riana. He says he's here to stay and that I must take my orders from him.'

Justin stood in the hallway smiling at me, his bags and cases on the floor beside him. ‘Sorry, Riana,' he said, grinning. ‘I've nowhere else to go, and this house is rightfully mine. So I'm here to stay, whether you like it or not!' He turned to Mrs Ward. ‘Make up a room for me, Mrs Ward.'

She hesitated, looking at me uncertainly.

Justin put his hands on his hips in a ‘lord of the manor' pose. ‘I won't ask again, Mrs Ward.'

She scuttled upstairs, and I could hear her rummaging in the linen cupboard for sheets. I stood there glaring at Justin for a long moment, and then without waiting he strode past me into the sitting room and sat down in the most comfortable armchair! When Mrs Ward returned he ordered a brandy and soda, and she was so frightened by his authoritative manner that she rushed away to do his bidding.

‘What do you think you are doing?' I could hardly speak I was so angry. ‘How
dare
you come striding in here as if you own the place?'

‘Because I
do
own the place! Call the police, if you like. See what
they
say about all this. Just see if they will throw me out!'

‘You know they won't be able to do that on the spot. It takes a solicitor and legal papers to determine who really owns Aberglasney,' I stuttered.

‘Precisely, and all you own is a pathetic piece of paper signed by a batty old woman. You only got the house because no one contested it. Well, all that is changed now. I'm back, and if I want to live in my house then I have every right to do so. That solicitor chap told me that before he died.'

I shook my head. ‘How convenient for you that a bomb killed him before we could sort this out. Well, we'll see about that in the morning! There are other solicitors who deal with wills and that sort of thing.'

‘Well, in the meantime, I'll go to my room. And once in, believe me, you won't shift me.'

‘We'll see,' I said, overwhelmed by anger. ‘I might get someone to throw you out, if I have to.'

‘Threats, Miss Evans? Don't overstep the mark or
I
might be the one to do the throwing out.' He bowed to me as though he was a gentleman and left the room.

I could hear him going upstairs, and I stood near the door and shook my fist up the stairs. ‘I hope all the ghosts of Aberglasney rise up to haunt you,' I whispered.

Justin must have heard me, because he turned round and smiled spitefully. ‘I know the ghosts of Aberglasney much better than you do, Riana darling, and they are not the ones in the spirit world, believe me.'

‘What are you talking about, Justin?'

‘Past history, Riana. Things you don't understand and don't need to know about.' Justin was as smug as ever. ‘Now, I'll say goodnight.'

He disappeared along the corridor, and I went back into the sitting room and refrained from banging the door shut. I sat there and fumed as I heard Justin's footsteps across the landing, wondering if he was attempting to intrude into my studio to look at my unfinished paintings. If he was, he would soon find out that I always kept it locked! It looked as if I was stuck with Justin until I could invoke some legal law that would have him evicted.

In the morning, Justin was seated at the breakfast table with Mrs Ward serving him bacon and eggs and toast as if he was lord of all he surveyed.

‘You don't have to wait on Mr Mansel-Atherton,' I said crossly. ‘Let him cook his own breakfast, seeing as he's not even paying for board and lodge here.'

‘No man pays board and lodge when he owns the house,' Justin said, rebuking me, and Mrs Ward made a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

I followed her. ‘When Justin pays your wages you can wait on him as much as you like. Until then, please do what
I
ask.'

‘It's difficult for me to take it all in,' she said. ‘The Mansel-Atherton family has owned Aberglasney for as long as I can remember.'

‘Well, I'm the legal owner now,' I said more gently, ‘and I'll prove it. I'll go to a London solicitor if I have to and get Justin thrown out of here.'

‘Want breakfast?' Mrs Ward adroitly changed the subject. ‘I've just made a fresh pot of tea.'

I sat down. ‘I'll have tea and toast,' I said, sulky as a child, ‘but I won't eat with that man. I'll stay in here with you.'

‘That's all right,' Mrs Ward said, and I felt, churlishly, that she was giving me permission to eat in my own kitchen.

Later, I heard Justin go upstairs, and by the banging and moving of furniture I realized he was searching my house. He wasn't the first one to make a search of Aberglasney; what were they all looking for? Could they
really
all still be looking for Mr Mansel-Atherton's engine designs, after all this time? Of course, I thought, Justin could be looking for proof of his inheritance. My blood ran cold.