Read Online As if by Magic by Dolores Gordon-Smith - Free Book Online

George’s shoulder. The table was a very substantial table in a very substantial house. There was nothing wrong with it. ‘I feel like a clumsy giant in here,’ muttered George. ‘It’s all
wrong.
Can’t you see it?’ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
    â€˜Come on,’ said Jack awkwardly. ‘The butler will be back soon.’
    â€˜He’s wrong too,’ said George savagely. ‘Everything’s wrong.’ He looked round the hall. ‘I wish I hadn’t come.’ He sat in silence until the butler returned.
    â€˜Mr Lassiter will see you now. Allow me to take your coats, gentlemen, then if you will come with me, please.’
    They followed the butler’s stately progress down the hall. He paused outside a door, coughed, then showed them into a big room made cosy by curtains and lamps. A fire burned in the grate at the further end of the room, surrounded by modern and inviting easy chairs. Above the fireplace hung an oil painting of an aeroplane in flight, which, from its graceful outline, Jack immediately recognized as an LE4c.
    A white-haired old man, who, at a guess, was well into his seventies but still bright-eyed and vigorous, stood on the rug in front of the fire. There was something vaguely familiar about him and Jack wondered where he’d seen him before. A woman in her late twenties, with dark hair and intelligent eyes, attractively dressed in blue and green, stood beside him. Mrs Anne Lassiter? Probably, thought Jack. So this was the woman who had refused to let the police arrest George after the incident in the kitchen. He looked at her with concealed interest. She seemed a thoroughly dependable sort, who could take charge when necessary. Exactly, in fact, as she had done that evening when George needed her help so badly. He wasn’t surprised she had made such a strong impression on George. As they were shown into the room her face was alive with interest.
    â€˜Major Haldean and Mr Lassiter,’ said the butler.
    As the door shut behind the butler, the old man moved forward a pace. ‘I wondered if Corby had heard your names correctly,’ he began, when George stepped into the lamplight. The man gasped and swayed. The woman beside him caught his arm. He stared at George, his mouth open and his eyes wide. ‘Charles?’ he mumbled. ‘Charles? Charles, it can’t be you!’ He made a fluttering movement with his hand and groped his way into a chair. Quickly but without fuss, Mrs Lassiter took a bottle of brandy from the cabinet behind her, poured some into a glass and added soda water. She put it into his outstretched hand, standing by with a calm, reassuring stillness.
    He gulped it down, then handed the glass back to her, colour returning to his cheeks. ‘Thank you, Anne.’ So it was Mrs Lassiter. The old man looked at George in bewilderment. ‘Who the devil are you?’
    George took a deep breath. ‘Lassiter. My name’s George Lassiter,’ he said. ‘I –’
    â€˜Wait.’ The old man held up his hand. ‘Please, before you say anything more, wait. Anne, there’s a photograph on the cabinet. A photograph of Charles. Can you bring it to me, please?’
    A collection of silver-framed photographs stood on the cabinet. After a short search she found the one he wanted and gave it to him. He motioned with his hand to Jack and George. ‘Come and look at this.’
    It was a studio portrait of a young man dressed in the fashion of thirty-odd years ago. Jack looked at the stiffly posed figure, then at his friend. ‘But it’s you, George,’ he said in astonishment. ‘Hang on, it’s not quite . . . Well, it’s nearly you,’ he finished.
    George shook his head. ‘No, it’s not. It’s my father. We had that photo at home.’ He looked from the old man to the photograph, his forehead creased in a frown. ‘I don’t understand,