staircase with the narrow windows let in at intervals, Julie couldn’t rid herself of the remembrance of that silver medallion or the memories it so painfully evoked. Memories of Jonas in the first year of their marriage, relaxed and laughing, on that holiday they had spent in Barbados. She had bought him the medallion there and it conjured up memories of Jonas trying to teach her to sail, to go snorkelling and skin-diving – of him asleep beside her early in the morning, when the silver medallion had been his only adornment …
Her cheeks flamed and she was glad that Mrs. Macpherson was ahead of her and could not see. She must be mad, allowing such thoughts to invade her head simply because she had happened to see again a cheap piece of jewellery she had purchased in a Bridgetown market. She had to remember that at least one other woman had seen Jonas in that lazily intimate state, and that Jonas himself had been responsible for the destruction of their marriage.
The staircase opened on to a landing with a gallery leading off before continuing on its way, but Mrs. Macpherson indicated that Julie should follow her along the carpeted gallery. The gallery followed the outer wall of the main part of the building and Julie couldn’t help noticing how much thicker the stonework was on one side than the other. No doubt in daylight the view from the windows on the outer side would be quite magnificent, but tonight, with the gaslights flickering disconcertingly, it had an eerie atmosphere.
Mrs. Macpherson glanced round. ‘All the bedrooms and guest rooms open off the gallery, Mrs. Hunter,’ she explained. ‘And directly below us is the main hall and dining area, and the reception rooms. Mr. Hunter’s private rooms are in the tower where you entered. He doesn’t bother much with the formal apartments, although perhaps he will now that you’re here.’ She smiled encouragingly.
Julie’s face felt stiff. What on earth did Mrs. Macpherson mean? Surely it was obvious from the small amount of luggage that she had brought with her that she was not here on a prolonged visit. Hadn’t Jonas discussed the length of her stay with his housekeeper? She didn’t know how to answer her, so she merely managed a smile and said nothing.
They had passed several heavy doors set into the stonework before Mrs. Macpherson stopped and opened one of them and went inside, beckoning Julie to follow her. The gas lamps here had been turned down, but the housekeeper quickly turned them up and smiled in satisfaction when she saw Julie’s obvious admiration of the huge bedroom which they had entered.
From the minute she entered the castle, Julie had realized that some sort of central heating system was in operation, and along the gallery she had noticed huge pipes and an old-fashioned radiator which had definitely taken the chill from the air. But the bedroom was really warm, heated by an enormous log fire burning in an equally enormous grate. There was an immense tester bed, the hanging canopy of which, although faded, bore the unmistakable imprint of years of intricate tapestry work; there were two massive wardrobes and a tallboy full of drawers, a dressing table with five folding mirrors that could throw back one’s reflection from every possible angle, and two wingbacked armchairs set at either side of the hearth. The silk-hung walls were unadorned, and overhead the ceiling had been panelled and carved. Julie shook her head helplessly. She had never seen such a bedroom outside of a stately home. But, she supposed wryly, that was exactly what Castle Lochcraig was.
‘It’s very nice, Mrs. Macpherson. Thank you,’ she said.
Mrs. Macpherson waved her thanks away. ‘It’s good to see the rooms used again,’ she protested. ‘Mrs. Drummond always slept in this room.’
Julie would have liked to have asked who Mrs. Drummond was, but she thought that perhaps it was something she ought to know, and she decided to ask Jonas rather than question the housekeeper.
‘You’ve a bathroom through here,’ went on Mrs. Macpherson, opening an inner door. ‘See – it’s quite modern.’
Julie peered into the shadowy bathroom. The bath was huge, like everything else here, and the massive, throne-like water closet filled her with amusment. It was good to feel a lightening of her spirits after the day it had been.
‘You’ll be able to find your way downstairs again, Mrs. Hunter?’ The housekeeper paused by the door.
‘Oh, yes, I think so.’ Julie nodded, glancing at her watch. ‘What time have I got?’
‘Will twenty minutes be enough for you?’
‘I should think it would.’ Julie smiled. ‘And thank you again. I’m sure I shall be very comfortable here.’
Mrs. Macpherson nodded. ‘If you’re not, I’ve no doubt Mr. Hunter will soon let me know,’ she commented dryly.
The housekeeper’s words aroused just the faintest sense of apprehension, but Julie dismissed the feeling impatiently. Left alone, she was free to explore her domain, but first she would take off her boots and allow her feet to sink into the soft cream carpet underfoot, and warm herself by the fire.
After a wash, she examined her appearance critically. She had shed her sheepskin coat to reveal a plain tweed suit and high-necked white blouse. She had had to put her boots on again as her shoes were in the case downstairs. Her hair needed little attention, the few strands which had escaped from the chignon soon tucked back into place. She applied a light foundation cream to her skin, added a little eye-shadow, and was satisfied with the result. The wind had added a little colour to her cheeks, but it was not unattractive. She sighed. It would be a simple matter to change her image – to loosen her hair and add lustre to her lips, but she restrained the impulse.
With a few minutes to spare she wandered round the room, examining the carvings that were an integral part of the furniture. The drawer handles on the tallboy were shaped like lion’s heads and one inserted one’s fingers into the open jaws to draw them out …
She stood back in surprise. She had opened a drawer, almost without being aware of doing so, and now she stared at its contents. It was filled with filmy lingerie, pants and bras and slips in a variety of shades, fragile chiffon garments and pure silk that clung to her fingers.
She closed the drawer with a jerk and turned away, unaccountably disturbed. Whose garments were they? What were they doing here in this bedroom that Mrs. Macpherson had implied had been long unused? Or had she said that? She had said that the formal apartments downstairs were seldom used, but that didn’t mean that no one had used this bedroom. On the contrary, she had said that Mrs. Drummond had always slept here. But somehow Julie knew that the Mrs. Drummond who had always slept here was not the person to wear such extravagant underwear.
Her brows drew together. The articles she had seen were not old. Whose ever they were they had been put there only recently. Had Jonas had some woman staying with him? The idea was distasteful to her. And yet why should it be so? She and Jonas were separated. What he did was his own affair. And if he chose to take some woman as his mistress, it was nothing to do with her.
Even so, there was an awful curling sensation in the pit of her stomach when she considered him sharing this bed with another woman. If he had, she would rather not sleep in it.
She looked towards the embroidered quilt that covered its enormous width. The bed could have comfortably accommodated half a dozen people, she thought with aversion. Oh, why had she opened that drawer? Like Pandora, she had released something totally unexpected.
She picked up her handbag and walked towards the door, but then she remembered she had not turned down the lamps. She went back to do so and as she passed one of the wardrobes her reflection mocked her. Curiosity was like a cancer inside her and without hesitation she reached out a hand and opened the wardrobe door. Inside were hanging perhaps a score of dresses, both long and short, suits
