‘Rock of Ages’ very loudly, and rather badly. I think this business over the entail has affected her almost as deeply as it has us.’
‘Nonsense,’ Morgana said robustly. ‘She’s wallowing in it. She’s seen a fair man, and grief and woe in the cards, and she’s in her element. We ought to start calling her Cassandra instead.’ She caught her mother looking at her oddly, and demanded resignedly, ‘Now what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing really, dear, except—oh, Morgana, that awful dress! I know it’s a mark of respect, but poor Daddy would have loathed it so. Such a depressing colour, and it doesn’t even fit you very well. I don’t know what your cousin must have thought.’
Morgana gave her reflection a rueful look. ‘I think it’s probably served its purpose,’ she conceded. ‘I’ll give it to the next jumble sale. But I couldn’t care less what Lyall Pentreath thinks about me, or my clothes,’ she added defiantly. ‘For two pins I’d wear the beastly thing every time he comes here.’
Mrs Pentreath shuddered. ‘Spare the rest of us, darling! And you couldn’t possibly wear it to go out with Rob.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘I’d better go downstairs and face the inquisition again. One can understand their concern, I suppose. This is as much their home, temporarily at least, as it is ours.’ She gave an uncertain little smile, said, ‘Have a lovely time, darling, and—–don’t worry. I’m sure everything is going to work out for the best,’ and went out of the room.
Morgana pulled off the despised dress and let it fall in a heap on the floor, before padding across to the wardrobe and viewing the contents. In the end, she decided to wear a pair of dark red corded jeans, and a cream Shetland wool sweater with a high collar. She had always liked simple clothes, and that was just as well, she thought wryly. She had found at school that she had a flair for dressmaking, and she had always ensured that the garments she made never had a home-made air, although nothing she wore could ever compete with the clothes of Elaine or Caroline Donleven, who bought many of their things from couture houses in London.
Robert had already arrived when she went downstairs and was standing in front of the drawing room fire, chatting to her mother. Miss Meakins had disappeared, she was relieved to notice, presumably to dress for dinner. Only Major Lawson was left, sitting quietly near the fire, completing the Times crossword. He glanced up as Morgana entered, and rose, giving her his pleasant, rather shy smile, and she thought, not for the first time, what a nice man he seemed, and what a pity all the guests they’d had staying at Polzion House over the years couldn’t have been like him.
She said a swift goodbye to her mother, then she and Robert walked out to where his car was parked at the front of the house.
‘I hear your unwelcome visitor arrived after all,’ Rob said casually as he opened the passenger door for her.
‘Yes, he did.’ Morgana tried to keep her tone non-committal, but was aware, just the same, that an edge had crept in.
‘Was he as you expected? Your mother seems to have been quite charmed.’
‘Mummy always tends to meet everyone more than halfway.’ Morgana said ruefully.
‘I gather that you weren’t equally captivated?’ Rob smiled.
‘I found him loathsome,’ she said coldly.
‘Good,’ he approved. ‘From your mother’s remarks, I’d begun to think I might have reason to be jealous.’ It was said teasingly, but there was an underlying serious note.
‘No reason at all,’ she said. She was glad the darkness in the car hid the sudden surge of colour in her face as she remembered unwillingly that uncontrolled response to his kiss that Lyall had forced from her. It made her feel sick with self-disgust to recall it to mind. If it had been a chance encounter, in some ways it would have been easier to forget, but Lyall had the right to return to Polzion House whenever he wanted, and every time she saw him, she was going to be haunted by the remembered searing pressure of his mouth on hers.
She asked lightly, ‘Where are we going?’
‘To the Polzion Arms. Mum and Dad have come down for the weekend, and they’re having dinner there. They’ve asked us to join them.’
‘Oh, lord!’ Morgana was aghast. ‘Why didn’t you warn me? I’d at least have put on a skirt.’
‘You look terrific just as you are,’ he said. ‘My cool, practical lady.’
Cool and practical! She could have laughed out loud. What would Rob have said if he could have seen her a couple of hours earlier, prancing round the Wishing Stone like a superstitious idiot, or boiling with tension and temper as she led Lyall Pentreath round the house she could no longer claim as her home? She’d made a fool of herself in every way there was, she thought, but she wouldn’t allow it to happen again. The next time she saw Lyall Pentreath, she would have herself well in hand. She would build a high wall around her emotions and retreat to a safe distance behind it—and whatever he threw at her, whether it was sexual innudendo or the rank injustice of the legal situation they found themselves in, then she would take it, coolly and practically. She wasn’t going to crumble at the knees because a man who undoubtedly had already had more than his fair share of success with women had made a pass at her.
Rob asked suddenly, ‘What is it, love? You’re as restless as a volcano about to go into eruption. Do you want to go home and change, because there’s time …’
‘No,’ she said hastily. ‘I’m sorry, Rob. It’s been an upsetting day, taken all round. I—I do need to relax.’
The Donlevens were already sitting in the firelit comfort of the lounge bar when Rob and Morgana arrived. Morgana saw drily that she wasn’t the only one wearing trousers, although the contrast between her own simple garb and Elaine’s aquamarine silk tunic and tightly cuffed harem pants could hardly have been greater. As she murmured the conventional greetings, Morgana was aware of the other girl’s eyes flicking over her in rather contemptuous satisfaction. She accepted the dry Martini which Mr Donleven offered her, and sat down on the high-backed wooden settle which flanked one side of the log fire, making herself relax, forcing herself to smile a response to Mrs Donlevan’s remarks, knowing full well that Elaine’s scrutiny had become speculative.
Eventually she spoke, breaking rather impatiently across her mother’s comments about the harvest of apples from the Home Farm’s orchard, ‘Did the missing heir turn up then?’
‘Yes, eventually.’ Morgana’s tone was short, and she picked up her drink and sipped it.
‘The whole thing sounds so incredibly unlikely.’ Elaine’s eyes were fixed on her face. ‘It all sounds like the plot for one of those old-fashioned romances.’
‘Well, I can assure you that there’s little of the old-fashioned romantic about my cousin Lyall,’ said Morgana, and instantly regretted it, because Elaine’s gaze sharpened with interest.
‘Dear me,’ she drawled. ‘Have the sparks been flying already?’
‘I hardly think that’s any of our business, Elaine,’ her father broke in repressively.
Elaine shrugged unrepentantly. ‘That doesn’t make it any less fascinating,’ she said. ‘On the contrary. So what’s he like, Morgana? Tall, dark and handsome?’
‘He’s tall,’ said Morgana, keeping her voice deliberately cool.
