stained glass window two floors above. Arched doorways led into the apartments that opened from the hall, and immediately ahead of them, a fan-shaped staircase split at the first landing to coil around the outer wall to the second floor. The staircase, like the floor of the hall, was made of marble, veined and fluted, and elegantly mounted by an intricately moulded wrought iron balustrade.
Yet, for all its elegance, the house had a vaguely neglected air, Beth thought. The bowls that surmounted the pedestals set about the hall should have been filled with flowers, but they looked dry and dusty, and no one had bothered to sweep away the leaves that had been blown in through the open doorway and presently shifted underfoot.
‘Where is my daughter?’
Willard was speaking to Jonas, and Beth turned her attention to the elderly servant.
‘She’s lying down, sir,’ Jonas informed him, rather uncomfortably. ‘She wasn’t well this morning, and she sent Marya across to Mister Raoul——’
‘Yes, I know about that,’ replied Willard, rather tautly, and looking at his face, Beth saw that he was beginning to look drained again.
‘Willard——’ she began, and as if anticipating her words, he turned to Jonas and said half impatiently:
‘Has a room been made ready for Miss Rivers?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Jonas nodded, and as he did so, Raoul and the maid came into the hall carrying the cases.
‘Where do you want these?’ he asked, but Beth moved forward at once and said:
‘I can manage my own cases. If you’ll leave them here, I’ll deal with them later.’
‘Marya can deal with them,’ stated Willard uncompromisingly, and Raoul’s dark eyebrows quirked mockingly.
‘I’ll take yours up,’ he commented, looking at his employer, and Willard nodded, saying shortly: ‘You know where to go.’
The maid was small and dark, not as dark as Jonas, but almost. Her gaze flickered half enviously over the other girl, and Beth felt the first unfamiliar pangs of knowing herself helpless in the face of Willard’s domination.
‘If you’ll follow me, miss?’ Marya asked politely, and Beth was bending to pick up her vanity case when Willard said:
‘Leave that, Beth. The maid will come back for it. Go with Marya now. She’ll show you your room. Which is it?’ he asked, transferring his attention to the maid. ‘The blue suite?’ Marya bobbed and nodded her head, and Willard looked satisfied. ‘Good. I’ll follow you up.’
Beth caught her lower lip between her teeth, glancing first up the stairs to where Raoul had reached the first landing, and then back at her fiancé. ‘Willard——’
‘I’ve told you, I’m coming up,’ he insisted testily, and she had no other choice, but to follow the maid.
The rooms on the first floor were along a white-panelled corridor, the central area being given over to what appeared to be reception rooms. Beth guessed that in the days when servants were plentiful and the master of the big house had lived in some style, there had been balls and dinner parties in these echoing rooms which now accommodated only a widower and his daughter, and a handful of domestics. And his wife, she added silently to herself, remembering her own reasons for being here, but it seemed unreal. Right now, the noonday heat had created a somnolence that filled the house itself, and even her own advent seemed an intrusion.
Following Marya along the corridor they passed an open door and glancing in, Beth was disconcerted to find Raoul Valerian straightening after depositing Willard’s suitcases at the foot of a square four-poster bed. The action must have caused his hat to fall from his head, for he had bent to pick it up, and as he straightened Beth couldn’t help noticing how thick and smooth his hair was compared to Marya’s corkscrew curls. Then he turned his head and looked at her, and she found herself quickening her step to follow the maid.
Her rooms were, she found, next door to Willard’s. Marya showed her into a light, airy bedroom, with cream walls inset with blue silk panels, and a matching blue bedspread whose fringe trailed to the mosaic tiling of the floor. The bed itself was similar to Willard’s, but smaller, and there was a continental armoire in which to hang her clothes, and a pair of chests, in the drawers of which she could keep her lingerie. There was no dressing table as such, although the circular mirror which stood on one of the chests was obviously for that purpose. Everything about the room was old, but serviceable, and apart from a little dust here and there, evidence of careless housekeeping, it was very tasteful.
‘Thank you, Marya,’ Beth said now, as the maid put down her luggage. ‘This is very nice.’
‘The bathroom is through there, miss,’ Marya told her, her smile apparently reserved for someone else. ‘I’ll get the rest of your things.’
‘Just a minute …’ Beth had to ask. ‘Is—was this—I mean, did this room belong to the—the first Mrs Petrie?’
Marya shrugged. ‘I work here for two years only,’ she said, and left the room.
While she was gone, Beth wandered to the windows. Long chiffon curtains hid the handles of the french doors, but they were ajar, and Beth pushed the curtains aside and stepped out on to the balcony. As she had expected, these rooms overlooked the front of the house, and from here she had an uninterrupted view of the ocean. A sweep of white sand descended to waters that were white at the rim but deep turquoise further out. The beach seemed to shelve quite rapidly, and she thought of swimming out there, submerging her body in the water, drifting with the tide …
‘Is everything to your liking?’
Beth turned back into the room at the sound of Willard’s voice. He was standing rather heavily in the doorway, supporting himself against the jamb, and she hurried towards him anxiously.
‘Darling, everything’s perfect, but I have to say it—you do look tired. Won’t you rest for a while? I’m sure—everyone would understand.’
Willard drew a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ he conceded with a faint smile. ‘You’re right, I do feel absolutely shattered. But Clarrie’s preparing lunch——’
‘Clarrie?’ Beth frowned, and then shook her head. ‘Well, never mind now, I’m sure you could have some lunch in bed if you’re hungry. I’ll fetch it up to you myself.’
‘You’re so good—and so beautiful,’ he breathed huskily, reaching out a hand to touch a coil of silvery silk which had fallen over one shoulder. ‘Do you like your room? It was Agnes’s, you know. Barbara must have known that I would want you next to me.’
Beth swallowed a momentary sense of unease. It was the first time Willard had mentioned his first wife by name. And as to Barbara’s motives for giving her the room … She found it harder to be charitable about that, too.
‘Come along,’ she said now. ‘Let me help you to your room. And you can tell me who Clarrie is.’
Willard went with her willingly enough, and Beth saw to her relief that Raoul had departed. She helped Willard on to the bed, and then began very efficiently to strip the clothes from him.
‘Do you have any pyjamas here?’ she asked, looking around, and he nodded towards the chest
