Stormspell Page 16

  'I see.' Dominic nodded. 'And I assume Ruth— that is—Miss Jason's mother, was his daughter too.'

  'That's right.' Connor fumbled for his cigar case. 'There only were two daughters, no sons. Davina inherited everything.'

  Dominic looked thoughtful. 'Do you know why? I mean, why should Miss Jason's mother be ignored? Was she the younger daughter?'

  'No."As a matter of fact, Helen was the eldest.' Connor offered his cigars to Dominic and when he refused, extracted one from the case. 'I suppose it's the classic situation Helen married a man her father didn't like, so he cut her out of his will.'

  Dominic was sceptical. 'And you learned all this from documentation.'

  'No.' Connor sniffed defensively. 'As a matter of fact, it was common knowledge in 1944. Your Miss Jason's father was a conscientious objector, and you know how well liked they were.' He put the cigar between his teeth and lit it with some effort. 'Old Henry nearly had a fit when his little girl left home to marry a conchy.'

  Dominic put up a hand to massage the back of his neck, trying to assimilate what he had heard. No wonder Jason had chosen to keep Ruth apart from the other members of her family! He had had no intention of allowing any of them to influence his daughter, even if he was not averse to living on the allowance his wife's mother had left her.

  'I guess that clarifies the situation, doesn't it?' Connor was saying now, puffing away at his cigar and creating a blue haze about them. 'Poor little rich girl, hmm? Are you going to tell Miss Pascal she has a niece?'

  'I imagine she knows,' retorted Dominic absently, remembering that Ruth had been born in England. Then, tersely; 'It's really nothing to do with me.'

  Connor nodded. 'I see.' He paused. 'I was just going to add that that adopted son of Davina's might have something to say about it.'

  'Adopted son?' Dominic stared blankly at him. 'But you said—Miss Pascal.'

  'That's right.' Connor was enjoying his importance. 'But there is an adopted son. I've seen the papers. Some boy, whose parents were killed when he was little more than a baby. Davina adopted him. I imagine she decided that even if she wasn't about toget married, there was no reason why she shouldn't enjoy the delights of motherhood.'

  Dominic shook his head. He had never expected anything like this. His enquiry had been instigated by a desire to reassure himself that if—when—Professor Jason died. Ruth would not be destitute. He had never imagined there might be more reasons than her father had given her for living on the island, and instead of this information reassuring him, it did quite the opposite.

  'Is there anything else I can do for you?' Connor asked now, triumphant in his success; and remembering why he had contacted the man in the first place. Dominic nodded.

  'Yes.' he said flatly, and ignoring Connor's expectant expression, he went on: 'You can refrain from discussing my affairs with your wife.'

  'I didn't!' Connor's face turned crimson, as he struggled to defend himself, if Marcia has said anything—'

  'Marcia has said plenty,' returned Dominic, finishing his drink and getting to his feet. 'And it won't do your reputation any good, Tim, if it's commonly known that you can't respect a client's confidence.' His lips twisted half in sympathy then, as the older man collapsed, deflated. 'I'd advise you to forget I ever asked about Ruth Jason.' He grimaced. 'After you've sent me your account, of course.'

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Dominic left the office early that afternoon, and took a cab to his apartment in Tressilian Square. He occupied the penthouse suite of a tower block, whose position in part made up for the phenomenal rent he paid. He would have preferred a town house, like that belonging to his parents, but it seemed an unnecessary encumbrance, commuting as he invariably did between his home and the house in Curzon Terrace. Besides, in summer he enjoyed driving down to Marlin Spike, a sprawling country residence his father had bought about thirty years ago, and where Dominic had spent much of his childhood. His old nurse. Miss Bainbridge, still lived there, now ostensibly acting as housekeeper, but as there had been no other children since his younger brother's death in infancy, his mother preferred the more active life in town.

  The apartment was cool, and quieter than Curzon Terrace. The spacious living room, with its split-level elevation and silk-screened walls, was a delightful change from his mother's home, despite its elegance. This room was aggressively modern, with plate glass windows, wall-to-wall carpeting, and the kind of squashy leather sofas that Dominic could stretch his length upon. There was a stereo and hi-fi system, television and video equipment, and plenty of space for entertaining, or simply being untidy.

  A man came into the living room from the direction of the bedrooms while Dominic was standing at the long windows, enjoying the view. He was a neat man, short and dapper, with a balding pate and a small moustache. Dominic, sensing his presence, glanced round without surprise, nodding at the man and giving him a wry smile.

  'I didn't think you'd be here. Shannon,' he remarked, turning away from the windows and unfastening his tie. 'Did you collect my belongings already? I thought you might run into some difficulties with my mama!'

  'Mrs Crown did say she had tried to persuade you to stay a little longer, sir,' Shannon responded politely, picking up the tie Dominic had discarded, and viewing his employer with evident satisfaction. 'Still, it's nice to have you back, sir. It's not the same, cooking for myself.'

  Dominic's smile was rueful. 'Thanks, Shannon. It's nice to be back. But I'm afraid I shan't be eating at home this evening. My mother insisted that I make up her numbers for dinner, and in the circumstances I didn't like to refuse.'

  'I understand, sir.' Shannon helped him off with his jacket. 'Shall I run your bath, or will you be taking a shower?'

  'Neither one, right now,' replied Dominic tersely. 'I want to speak to Hector Greenslade on the telephone. and then I have some work to do. I'll take a shower later. Shannon. Just get me a drink, there's a good chap. I badly need it.'

  Shannon hesitated. 'Mr Greenslade, sir? Isn't he the specialist your father saw last year?'

  Dominic nodded, flinging himself on to one of the low couches and looking up at the manservant resignedly. 'Right.'

  'There's nothing wrong with you, is there, sir? I mean—' Shannon hastily qualified the question, his accent pronounced in his agitation. 'Sure and there are no complications to your recover/, are there?'

  'My recovery? Hell, no.' Dominic watched while the little man dropped ice into a glass, before covering it with a measure of Scotch, then took the glass from him gratefully. 'I learned today that my father was warned last year that he had a heart condition. Unfortunately he chose not to tell anyone else.'

  Shannon's lips parted. 'What do you mean? Mr Crown is ill?'

  'He will be if he doesn't slow down.' Dominic declared flatly. 'He had some pain last week and he made another appointment with Greenslade. He got the results of the tests they ran on him this morning.'

  'And?'

  'And—he's been advised to take a rest, a long rest.'

  'To retire, you mean?'

  'I guess that's what it adds up to,' agreed Dominic, swallowing a mouthful of his drink, and then staring down broodingly into the glass. 'He's called an extraordinary meeting of the board for tomorrow. He's asked me to attend.'

  Shannon nodded. 'I can guess why.'

  Dominic looked up. 'So can I. The point is—do I want it?'

  'Do you want it?' Shannon made a sound of disapproval. 'Man, how can you even ask such a question? And you kicking your heels these past few years, just waiting for a chance to take over!'

  Dominic grimaced. 'Maybe I was more ambitious then. Right now, it seems a hell of a responsibility.'

  The telephone bell interrupted their exchange and waving Shannon away, Dominic reached for the receiver. 'Yes?' he said impatiently, in no mood for diplomacy, and then gasped aloud when a feminine voice teased: 'What a way to welcome someone home!'

  'Barbara!' Dominic sat forward on the couch, spreading his legs, th
e hand holding his glass hanging loosely between. 'When did you get back? I thought your father told me you weren't due home until the weekend.'

  'I wasn't,' Barbara agreed lightly. 'But Jane's all right now. The baby's thriving, and she has a perfectly good nursemaid. Besides,' she paused, 'I wanted to see you, darling. These past two weeks have seemed positively endless! Have you missed me?'

  Dominic slumped back against the cushions at her words, feeling abominably guilty. In all honesty, he had had little time to miss his fiancee, and recalling the content of his conversation with Tim Connor at lunchtime, he felt even worse. Barbara was so eager, so accommodating, exactly the right sort of girl to become Mrs Dominic Crown. The trouble was, he knew, he simply didn't appreciate her.

  Now, however, he found the right words to placate her. 'Of course I've missed you,' he told her gently. 'When can I see you? It's been much too long.'

  'How about tonight?' Barbara suggested breathily, his words effecting their purpose. 'Daddy's going to a business dinner this evening. Why don't you come over? We'll have the place to ourselves?'

  Dominic sighed. 'I can't, not tonight.' And he went on to explain the situation, it will have to be tomorrow evening. I'm sorry, but you should have warned me you were coming home.'

  Barbara sounded disappointed. 'Couldn't you come here after dinner tonight?' she appealed. 'Daddy won't be back until late, and we've hardly been alone together since we got back from Barbados, what with one thing and another. I want to see you, Dom. I want to be with you. Couldn't you try and get away early?'

  Dominic chewed absently at his lower lip. 'Okay,' he said at last. 'I'll try. But I can't promise. You know what these dinner parties of Ma's are like— they go on for ever.'

  'Well, do your best,' pleaded Barbara urgently, and after further protestations of her eagerness, she rang off, leaving Dominic feeling decidedly contemptible.

  In the event, Dominic was able to excuse himself from his parents' guests at about a quarter to ten, and he levered himself behind the wheel of the silver- grey Porsche with some relief. He had driven himself to Curzon Square to give him freedom of movement afterwards, but now, instead of heading towards Barbara's home in Kensington, he turned into Park Lane and drove north towards Regent's Park.

  After his conversation with Hector Greenslade that afternoon, he had purposely searched the telephone directory for Davina Pascal's address. Hers was not such a common name, and the designation when he found it—Pascal, Miss Davina—was unmistakable. Her address was given as 2, Wellington Mews, and a consultation with the map had elicited the information that it was among that maze of streets and squares between Gloucester Place and the Edgware Road.

  It wasn't easy to find at night, despite the street lighting. He suspected he might have found it easier on foot. But eventually he turned into a small square, with Wellington Mews opening off it, a narrow cul-de-sac, approached beneath a stone arch. It was certainly private, and after parking the car and taking a look, he was reluctantly impressed. There appeared to be only the one house opening into the mews, despite the number, and it was tall and narrow, flanked on either side by what looked like stables and garages. In the pale illumination from a pair of carriage lamps, he could see geranium-filled window boxes below windows with ornamental shutters. and a heavy door with a fluted fanlight, above whitewashed steps. There were lights at an upstairs window, and he wondered who was at home. He wondered what reaction he might get if he rang the bell and introduced himself, if he informed Miss Pascal of her brother-in-law's illness, and reminded her of the existence of her niece. How might she receive the news of her sister's child? Surely a woman who had adopted a son rather than remain childless might welcome a surrogate daughter.

  However, Dominic knew he could not intrude. If, after her father was dead, Ruth contacted him, if she asked for his assistance, then, and only then, could he explain that she was not without a family of her own. With a sigh, half of impatience, half of frustration with himself for once more getting involved, he turned back to the Porsche, sliding behind the wheel and starting the engine. Ruth would never contact him, he thought broodingly. He was the last person on earth she would turn to. And if her own father chose to keep her ignorant of the facts, it was not his prerogative to interfere.

  Nevertheless, driving back to Kensington, Dominic knew it would take more than self-justification to put Ruth out of his mind. Like it or not, he could not forget her, and he would have to hope that time, and events, would achieve what willpower could not.

  Barbara's home was a Victorian residence near Holland Park. Her father, Gerald Symonds, was a politician, and although his constituency was in some industrial district of the north-west, he found it easier to have his base in the capital. Besides, he had various business interests that demanded his time, and he enjoyed the social life at Westminster.

  Barbara's parents were divorced. Her mother, who had been unaware of her husband's political aspirations when she married him, had found the life of a politician's wife too much for her to handle. She was basically a quiet woman, content with her home and her family, and in consequence she had chosen to remain in Cumbria, while her husband made his life in the capital. Of course, it hadn't worked, and when she discovered that her husband had found himself a mistress, Mrs Symonds had filed for divorce.

  Barbara had been in school at that time, and the scandal had not affected her. Later, when she and her sister Jane, who was a year younger, returned home, they had had mixed feelings, and eventually Barbara had chosen to live with her father, while Jane, already involved with a young farmer, opted for the rural life, like her mother.

  Barbara opened the door of the house almost before Dominic had parked the Porsche at the kerb. She stood, framed in the light emanating from the hall behind her. and Dominic thought, as he had done many times in the past, what an attractive girl she was. Her hair was short and curly, a bubbling red-gold aureole around her pointed face. She was small and vivacious, if anything inclined towards plumpness, but in the right clothes from the right fashion houses, she was every bit as elegant as girls inches taller. Just now. she was wearing a loose- fitting caftan, that only hinted at the contours of her figure, but the light from behind her cast her voluptuous curves into silhouette.

  'Dominic!' she exclaimed, as he climbed out of the car, and paused a moment to turn the key. 'Oh. Dominic, you came! I was beginning to think you weren't going to.'

  Dominic circled the car and came towards her indolently, slipping his keys into the pocket of his mohair jacket. 'How could I disappoint you?' he teased, bending to take her eagerly proffered lips.

  'Dom.' she breathed, the evocative perfume she wore drifting to his nostrils. 'Oh, darling, it's been

  so long! Why did I agree to go and stay with Jane?'

  'Because she needed you,' replied Dominic, straightening, and urging her into the house. 'How is Jane, by the way? And your mother? I expect the Lake District is quite beautiful at this time of the year.'

  'Oh. it is.' Barbara agreed willingly, closing the door behind them, and linking her arm with his. 'But Kensington is better. Don't you agree?'

  She led the way into a high-ceilinged drawing room, and then turned to him. her face upraised. With her lips slightly parted and her eyes half closed, it was an open invitation, and Dominic would have been less than human if he had not reached for her.

  'Darling, darling.' she whispered, drawing his hands to her breasts, letting him feel the hard peaks beneath the fine silk of the caftan. 'Do you realise you haven't made love to me for more than sue weeks! Not since before you took off for that crazy stunt on the yacht.'

  Dominic caressed the side of her neck with his lips. 'You know why,' he murmured evasively. 'My arm—'

  'I know, I know.' Barbara was endearingly generous. 'I'm not blaming you exactly. I just wish that affair had never happened.'

  'So do I.' responded Dominic tautly, wishing she had not chosen to bring it up. With a determined effort he drew back from h
er. and forced a faint smile. 'Do you think I could have a drink, honey? My mother watches my intake like a hawk, and I'm positively dying of thirst.'

  Barbara sighed regretfully, but she went to do his bidding, lifting the bottle of Scotch from the table in the corner, and pouring a generous measure into a glass. Dominic, meanwhile, sought the comfort of the buttoned-leather sofa, loosening his jacket, and draping one leg casually over the arm.

  'Daddy won't be back for hours,' Barbara told him, as she handed him his drink and subsided beside him. 'You can stay the night, if you want to. Mrs Laurence will make you up a bed.'

  Dominic took a mouthful of the drink, and then shook his head, if I know Mrs Laurence, she's probably tucked up in bed by now,' he remarked dryly. 'And in any case, Shannon would never forgive me if I wasn't home for breakfast in the morning. This is my first night back at the apartment. He wasn't exactly overjoyed to learn I was dining out, and I couldn't disappoint him again.'

  'But you can disappoint me, is that it?' Barbara suggested, tensely, her long nails beating a tattoo against the dark brown hide, and Dominic heaved a sigh.

  'Honey, it's not just a question of where I sleep. You know as well as I do that your father wouldn't approve of me spending the night here. Besides,' and he knew an involuntary pang as he realised he was making excuses, 'I'm not really very good company this evening.'

  Barbara's arched brows ascended. 'No?'

  'No.' Dominic examined the contents of his glass with studied concentration. 'Barbara, it looks as if Dad's going to retire at last.' He paused, as she sucked in her breath in anticipation of what was coming next. 'He wants me to take his place—on a temporary basis, at least.'

  'Oh, Dominic!" Barbara's irritation disappeared beneath a wave of enthusiasm. 'Why didn't you tell me straight away? Oh, this is so exciting! You're going to be the head of the corporation! Honestly, I can hardly believe it!'