CHAPTER THREE
IT was almost four o’clock by the time Holly got back to the house. Calling for the oil at the chandlery had taken longer than she had anticipated, Mr Parrish insisting she couldn’t leave without taking a glass of his home-made maubi. Although it was supposed to be non-alcoholic, the cocktail, derived from boiling tree bark, nutmeg and cinnamon, and adding it to a mixture of seagrape juice, ginger and cloves, was very potent, and Holly felt decidedly heady as she drove into the stable yard.
Still, it was not an unpleasant feeling, she reflected, lugging her heavy bag to the back door. In spite of her bravado, she had not been looking forward to facing Morgan Kane on her return. Now, however, she felt agreeably anaesthetised, and if her father’s satellite was waiting for her, breathing fire, then she was suitably fortified against his wrath.
But to her surprise, and annoyance, Morgan was not there. ‘He found that old sailing dinghy in the boat-house,’ Lucinda informed her, not without a trace of smugness, lifting scones off the griddle on to a wire tray. ‘Soon as he knew you wouldn’t be back until this afternoon, he rigged up the sail and took himself off across the bay. I gave him a packed lunch, of course. So’s he wouldn’t get hungry.’
‘How kind.’ Holly’s sarcasm was palpable. ‘Who told him where the boat-house was?’
‘No one did.’ Lucinda shrugged. ‘It’s big enough to see. ain’t it? And what with that hole rotting in the side, that padlock your Daddy put on it ain’t much use.’ She paused. ‘Surely you don’t mind, Holly. I can tell you, Mr Kane ain’t the kind of man to sit around all day waiting for no woman.’
‘Is that so?’ Holly’s lower lip jutted truculently. ‘Well, I’m pleased to hear you’ve changed your mind about him. My father would be proud of you. It’s exactly what he wanted.’
Lucinda straightened from the table, her dark eyes flashing indignantly. ‘You’ve got no call to talk to me like that,’ she exclaimed hotly. ‘I’m not saying I like the man, and goodness knows, I don’t want him whisking you off to London, you know that. But I did warn you it wasn’t wise to antagonise him. He looked pretty tight-lipped when I told him where you’d gone.’
‘Did he?’ Holly’s impatience with the housekeeper evaporated, and with a rueful gesture she put her arm around Lucinda’s neck and hugged her. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being totally unreasonable. But whenever my father takes a hand in my life, it’s a disaster!’
‘You can hardly blame your father for you jumping to the wrong conclusions,’ pointed out Lucinda mildly, but she returned the girl’s embrace and gently stroked her cheek. ‘Now—I suggest you go and take a shower and tidy yourself up before Mr Kane gets back. Maybe if you take a bit of trouble with yourself, he’ll overlook the fact that you’ve deliberately avoided him all day.’
Holly agreed, albeit for different motives and, after dumping her bag in her father’s study, she went up to her room. She usually dawdled on the way, surveying her surroundings with loving eyes, but not today. For the first time, she was struck by the shabbiness of the paintwork, by the scars that marred the once-unblemished carvings, and by the worn patches in curtains which were probably older than she was. It was not an easy thing to admit, but she realised she was seeing the house with Morgan Kane’s eyes. She despised herself for doing so, but she could no longer ignore the evidence before her. His intrusion had brought her back to the twentieth century as she used to know it; to thoughts of renovation and interior decoration; to a dissatisfaction with the house’s neglect, and a latent desire to restore it to its former glory.
Not that she could ever have changed things on her own. The money her father sent her, and which she lavished so recklessly on the horses, would hardly have made an impression on the extensive repairs that were required. To restore even part of the house would have taken more than her yearly allowance, and she had long since learned not to ask her father for help. But that didn’t help her now, when acceptance was giving way to frustration. Damn Morgan Kane, she thought. Damn him for coming here, and making her aware of the neglect. She had been contented enough until he made his entrance.
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