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  'I don't remember anything. Not anything! Isn't that stupid?'

  Her voice broke on the final word, and she turned her head aside on the pillow, not wanting him to see the weak tears that overspilled her eyes at the reminder of her helplessness.

  If she had been worried that James Bentley might rush to console her, she need not have concerned herself. After scrubbing the treacherous tears away with the heel of her hand, she turned her head again to find him watching her with a distinctly guarded expression on his face, and his apparent lack of sympathy made her ask impulsively, 'Shouldn't I remember you?'

  She seemed to have disconcerted him now, for he removed the ankle he had raised to rest negligently across his knee, and leaning forward with his arms along his thighs, he countered swiftly, 'What do you think?'

  DARK MOSAIC

  BY

  ANNE MATHER

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE GIRL really was incredibly like her. Sitting opposite her in the railway carriage, Ceci found her eyes straying often to those pale, narrow features facing hers across the narrow expanse of the formica-topped table. The same straight nose; the same mouth-which Ceci had always felt was a little too wide for real beauty; the same eyes, which Gran used to say were like violets put in with a smutty finger; even the same hair, although Ceci's single braid was a contrast to the other girl's loosened waves. But the corn-streaked toffee strands were very similar, and in the same clothes they could almost pass as sisters.

  But they weren't, reflected Ceci regretfully, idly speculating on what the other girl's background might be. It was obvious she was not on her way to yet another doubtful interview. No one bent on such an objective would wear such an air of suppressed excitement. Unless it was a first interview, of course. After more than a dozen, Ceci was more blase. But in any case, no one seeking possible employment would turn up in a coat that was evidently sable. The amazing thing was that the girl should be travelling second class. Dressed like that, Ceci would have expected her to buy a first-class ticket. But then, the train wasn't full, and perhaps the coat was just an indulgence. Who could tell? Gran had always maintained that you should never judge by appearances.

  Turning her gaze to the less salubrious suburbs of London through which the train was presently passing, Ceci tried to anticipate her own destination with rather more enthusiasm. But it was difficult to feel enthusiastic about working in the north of England, when everyone and everything she had known all her life were in the south. Her landlady's impressions of living in Yorkshire, like her own, were coloured by images of grimy towns and coal-mines, and inner city deprivation.

  Of course, London had its problems too, but London was familiar; Leeds wasn't.

  Still, if she had a successful interview, at least it would be a job, doing what she wanted to do most. Since leaving the art college, where she had qualified as a designer in textiles, she had had no luck in finding such employment in London. It was over ten months now since she had been forced to use the small legacy her grandmother had left her to supplement her income, and in spite of living frugally she was finding it increasingly difficult to find the rent for the small bed-sitter where she had lived for the past four years.

  While she was alive, her grandmother had done everything she could to support her only daughter's child. Her parents had been killed when Ceci was only four years old, and as she hardly remembered them, her grandmother had been the only family she knew. Things hadn't always been easy, she knew, but Gran had never complained. On the contrary, she used to say that having Ceci to care for had kept her young. Then, four years ago, just as Ceci was entering art college, she had died, too, and since then Ceci had had to support herself.

  It hadn't been so bad while she was at college. She had had her grant for expenses, and her days had been fully occupied with the course she was taking. Also, in the holidays, it had been comparatively easy to find casual work. But, since leaving college last July, she had been eager to prove herself in her own field, and she knew if she went on accepting jobs as receptionists and waitresses she would never get to use the qualifications she had worked so hard to obtain. That was why she was on the ten o'clock express out of King's Cross, heading for Leeds and the Ripley Textile Company. She had an interview with the company's personnel manager at half-past three that afternoon; and if all went well- which was by no means a foregone conclusion, she reflected, with rueful irony-she would be moving to West Yorkshire, and a whole new life in the north. It wasn't as if she had any real ties in London any longer, she thought consolingly. Most of her friends from college had either married or moved away themselves, and while until recently she had thought she might be getting married herself, circumstances had proved that this was not to be the case...

  'It's warm in here, isn't it?'

  For a moment, Ceci didn't respond, not immediately realising that the girl was talking to her. On the contrary, in spite of her grandmother's homilies, she had judged her companion to be plummy-tongued and definitely stand-offish, and it was quite a surprise to hear her actually opening a conversation. In addition to which, her accent was what her grandmother would have described as distinctly 'east of the river', a minor disparagement from someone to whom an accent was definitely not to be encouraged.

  In consequence, her 'I beg your pardon?' was also an automatic reflex, so that the girl grimaced ruefully before repeating her question.

  'I said it's hot in here, isn't it?' she exclaimed, jerking the sable coat off her shoulders, and tipping it behind her on the seat. 'I expect it's this coat what's to blame. Elegant it may be, but it's too bloody heavy for today.'

  Ceci hid a smile. 'It's a beautiful coat,' she said obliquely. 'And yes, it is warm in here. I think the heating's still on. I don't suppose they expected the weather to change so quickly.'

  'No,' the girl acknowledged. 'It has been awful, hasn't it? Rain, rain, rain! I thought it'd never stop. Where I live, they thought the bleeding river was going to flood. Cor, that would've caused a stink. Literally, I mean, as well as for the authorities, if you see what I mean.' She grinned.

  Ceci grinned, too. 'I can believe it.'

  'Anyway, at least the sun has come out now,' continued her companion, nodding at the blue skies that were appearing more frequently as the buildings of London gave way to the cleaner spaces of Hertfordshire. 'Kind of an omen, isn't it? Like you're moving on to better things. Well, I am, anyway; I don't know about you.'

  Ceci's smile became a little fixed. 'Let's hope so,' she murmured, not wanting to tempt fate by anticipating it.

  'Are you going far?' persisted the other girl, fumbling in an expensive leather handbag and pulling out a pack of equally expensive cigarettes. 'You don't mind, do you? I've got to have a fag. I'm choking!'

  Ceci shook her head, and then said reluctantly, 'Leeds,' hoping her companion would not consider it necessary to probe any further. But she was to be disappointed.

  'Leeds, eh?' exclaimed the girl, lighting her cigarette with an elaborate gold lighter and then dropping it back into the bag. 'Now, isn't that a coincidence? That's where I'm headed, would you believe that?'

  Ceci shook her head. 'No,' she murmured drily, and turned back to look out of the window.

  'D'you know Leeds at all?' the girl continued, after a few gulping drags at her cigarette, and sighing, Ceci decided to explain.

  'No,' she said briefly. 'It's my first visit. I'm going to attend an interview.'

  'Oh, I see.' The girl nodded. 'What are you? A secretary, or something?'

  'I'm a textile designer,' said Ceci patiently. 'I design patterns for fabrics, that sort of thing.' She shrugged as the other girl looked confused. 'It's not very interesting to anyone outside the trade.'

  'Oh, no. I wasn't thinking that,' her companion as
sured her quickly. 'I just realised-we look a bit alike, don't we? Same sort of colouring. Same sort of build.'

  Ceci pulled a wry face. 'But not the same sort of income, if that coat is any indication,' she remarked im-

  pulsively, and then wished she hadn't. Good heavens, the girl might think she was implying something im-

  moral, and that had been the last thought in her mind, until now. 'I mean,' she coloured, 'that is, I didn't

  mean '

  'I know what you mean,' the girl opposite declared carelessly. 'You're wondering what someone like me is doing wearing clothes like this.' She flicked a hand at the form-fitting jersey silk of her dress and grimaced. 'I dare say I'd be wondering, too, if I was you. Well, I didn't steal the bleeding things, if that's what you're thinking.'

  Ceci caught her breath. 'Oh, I never '

  'Didn't you?' The girl regarded her through the haze of her cigarette smoke. 'Well, you might have. Threads like these don't grow on trees, if you take my meaning.'

  Ceci licked her lips. 'Honestly, I '

  'I've embarrassed you, haven't I?' Her companion pulled a face. 'I'm always doing that. It's what comes of saying what you mean, instead of mucking about. Where I live-used to live,' she corrected herself quickly, 'people don't have time to play with words. And where I'm going, if they don't like it, they're going to have to lump it!'

  Ceci couldn't help laughing. 'I'm sorry,' she said, after a moment. 'I'm not laughing at you, really. It's just that-well, when I got on this train, I was feeling pretty depressed, but now-oh, you've made me feel a whole lot better.'

  'That's good.' The girl finished her cigarette and, dropping it on to the floor, ground it out beneath her heel. 'So why don't we introduce ourselves, eh? My name's Jessica Devlin. What's yours?'

  'Cecily Chambers,' replied Ceci at once, and Jessica smiled.

  'Pleased to meet you, Cecily,' she acknowledged, holding out her hand. 'You don't mind if I call you Cecily, do you? As we're never likely to meet one another again, it does seem a waste of time to stand on ceremony.'

  'I agree.' Ceci relaxed completely. 'I believe it takes about two hours to get to Leeds. Perhaps we could have some coffee later, to help pass the time.'

  'OK.' Jessica nodded, and, shifting the sable coat on to the seat beside her, she settled back to enjoy the journey.

  The carriage was fairly empty, Ceci noticed, allowing her gaze to wander. As it was near the front of the train, most people had found seats in the other carriages to save walking the length of the platform, and apart from two men seated near the door, and an elderly lady dozing two rows down, they were the only other passengers.

  'Aren't you going to ask me why I'm travelling north?' Jessica enquired suddenly, breaking in to her thoughts, and Ceci blinked and looked back at her.

  "Well, I '

  'No. You're not the nosy kind, are you?' Jessica remarked wryly. 'I'd be choked with curiosity, but you're not like that, worse luck!'

  'Worse luck?' Ceci frowned. 'What do you mean?'

  'Well, here am I dying to tell everybody what I'm doing, and you're not interested, are you?'

  Ceci was honest. 'I wouldn't say that.'

  'You mean, you would like to know?'

  Ceci hesitated. 'If you want to tell me.'

  Jessica chuckled. 'Would you believe I'm an heiress?'

  Ceci would have believed anything of this extraordinary girl. 'An heiress?'

  'Yeah. An heiress. I've inherited my father's business. And his house, and his cars, and his bank balance!'

  Ceci stared at her. 'And is that good? I mean-that your father's dead and all?'

  'Oh, yes.' Jessica was complacent. 'I never knew him, you see. I was a bastard!' She said the word without bitterness. 'My mother, God rest her soul, would never tell me who he was, but apparently the old devil decided to put the record straight before he snuffed it. I was his only child, it turns out, and rather than leave his money to some nephew or niece, he left it to me. His daughter.'

  Ceci shook her head. 'And you knew nothing about him until now?'

  'Not until this solicitor wrote to me, asking me to come to his office in Lincoln's Inn. You know, I got one of those letters saying if I'd come at a certain time, I'd hear something to my advantage.' She laughed. 'And I did.'

  Ceci was amazed. 'How marvellous!'

  'Yeah, isn't it?'

  'So-that's why you're travelling to Leeds?'

  'That's right. The old man used to live there, or at least, near there. There's a house in a village called Bickersley, or something, and a couple of mills in Wakefield and Bradford.'

  Ceci thought it was incredible. 'And you own- everything?'

  'Everything.'

  'But-didn't your father have a wife?'

  'Oh, yes. Mrs Bentley. That was my father's name, you know. Adam Bentley. She-his wife, that is-she still lives at the house in Bickersley. According to the solicitor, I can't put her out.'

  Ceci caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'Would you want to?'

  'Wouldn't you?'

  Ceci thought a minute. 'No. No, I don't think so. I mean, you can hardly blame her for-well, for what your father did.'

  Jessica shrugged. 'Maybe. Maybe not. It'll depend how she treats me, I suppose. I don't reckon she'll be too pleased to see me, do you?'

  Ceci thought that was probably the understatement of the year. 'So-what do you intend to do?'

  'Do?'

  Ceci traced a pattern on the table top with her fingertip. 'Do you intend living with her?'

  'With Mrs Bentley? No fear.' Jessica grimaced. 'No, I'm only paying them a visit to arrange for the sale of the mills. As soon as I can, I'll be hightailing it back to London, believe me.'

  Ceci stared at her. 'But what about your employees? The people who work-worked-for your father?'

  'What about them?'

  'Well-don't you care what happens to them?'

  'Did they care what happened to me?' Jessica was indifferent. 'Look-the way I see it, I've had to fend for myself all my life. Now they'll have to do the same. Bloody hell, I'm no bleeding heart! I've spent the past four years behind the tills in the supermarket. You can't expect me to worry about people I don't even know.'

  Her logic was unshakeable, but Ceci couldn't help feeling sorry for the Bentleys and their employees.

  'Well, I have a bed-sit,' said Ceci reluctantly. 'But I'm finding it difficult to pay its upkeep, actually. That's why I'm applying for this job in the north.'

  'Well, I don't envy you,' said Jessica. 'Having to live up north, I mean. Like I say, I can't wait to get back to London.'

  'Oh, it might not be so bad.' Ceci found herself defending the prospect. Funnily enough, as soon as Jessica began attacking the idea, she began to feel more hopeful about it.

  'Well, it's up to you, of course. It's nothing to do with me really, is it?' Jessica grimaced. 'Me, I'm looking forward to spending some money. Pots and pots of it. The old man wasn't short of a bob or two, I can tell you.'

  Ceci couldn't prevent the question that sprang to her lips. 'But what will Mrs Bentley do?'

  'Who knows? Who cares?' Jessica evidently wasn't concerned. 'I dare say she's got relatives to support her. I don't. I never have had. I've always been on my own, if you know what I mean.'

  Ceci couldn't help thinking that it was rather unfortunate that the Bentleys should have to deal with someone like Jessica. She could see Jessica's point of view. All her life she'd had to struggle for anything she wanted, whereas no doubt this Mrs Bentley had had everything laid on a plate, so to speak. Even so, the unknown Mrs Bentley could hardly be blamed for her husband's indiscretions, and faced with a tough, streetwise individual like Jessica, she might well feel the desire to give up without a fight.

  It was nothing to do with her, Ceci told herself, firmly putting her thoughts to other matters. She ought to be considering how she was going to present herself at this interview. Something original, if she could manage it. Something to make her prospective e
mployers believe that she was the ideal person for the position they had in mind. What could she say? What could she tell them? The portfolio on the luggage rack above her head would say it all. If they didn't like her designs, they wouldn't like her. It was as simple as that. She had attended too many interviews not to feel slightly cynical about one more.

  The train ploughed on, leaving the crowded south for the more sparsely populated areas of rural England. Conversation had lapsed between the two girls, and Ceci guessed their attitudes of mind were too far apart for there to ever be any real communication between them. She closed her eyes against the glare of the day and let her thoughts drift. What will be, will be, she reflected drowsily, and refused to worry any more.

  Jessica woke her some time later, shedding the expensive sable coat on to the seat beside Ceci. 'You've got more room than I have,' she explained, indicating the bag and vanity case beside her with one hand, while setting down a cardboard tray containing two plastic mugs of coffee and two packs of sandwiches on the table with the other. 'Here. I hope you like egg mayonnaise and cheese. I got two packets, and I thought we could share. I'm bleeding starving myself. I suppose it's nerves. I didn't know I had any until now.'

  Ceci, in that happy daze between sleeping and waking, was only conscious of the silky hairs of the sable coat brushing her fingers with unfamiliar softness. But then, recovering her senses, she struggled upward in the seat.

  'Hmm-I am a bit hungry,' she admitted ruefully, as Jessica subsided into the seat opposite. 'And coffee, too. How lovely! But you must let me pay my share.'

  'Don't be daft. It's my treat,' said Jessica, rummaging in her bag for her cigarettes again, and Ceci watched as she lighted one. 'But I had to stand for fifteen bleeding minutes to be served, so I'm going to have to go to the little girls' room before I have mine. Help yourself. I won't be long. Oh, and keep an eye on the skins, will you? It might be a bit difficult taking it with me this time.'

  Ceci smiled as Jessica wove her way between the tables to the end of the carriage. The high heels she was wearing caused her to exaggerate the sway of the train, and the lighted cigarette she was carrying skimmed dangerously close to the hair of one of the men seated by the door. Then a light came on to prove she had gained her objective, and Ceci barely hesitated before helping herself to a sandwich.