castle being pulled down and moved to another land."
"That had nothing to do with me, either !" Cindy's voice rose angrily. "I know you don't believe me, but it's the truth. I had no idea until you showed me the newspaper."
He went on, half smiling at her in that hateful way. "Is that so ?" he said slowly.
Cindy's hand closed round the marmalade jar she happened to have in her hand. Never before had she so felt like throwing something at anyone. She put it down, stood up and said :
"I think it would be best if I leave at once."
He stood up, too. "I agree, provided we leave together in the same car."
They stared at one another, Cindy clenching and unclenching her hands. It wasn't right or fair for any man to be so handsome—to have those kind of eyes, that mouth .
"You did promise to stay," Peter said gently, Cindy swallowed. "All right. I'd . I'd like to see Mrs. Usher."
"Dear old Mrs. Usher? Is she still here ?" Peter sounded pleased. "I'd like to see her too. Look, I'll drop you there and go into the village as I have business to attend to and then I'll come back and pick you up ? Okay ?"
"Okay," Cindy agreed, and went up to her room, changing into a pale yellow woollen frock, looking worriedly at her face half-hidden by her hair and glasses. He was being very pleasant, but at the same time she was conscious of this curtain between them—the curtain he had dropped because he could not—or would not—believe her.
Peter was waiting in front, wandering round. He looked up as she joined him.
"I don't think much of Paul Stone as a gardener, do you?"
"Well, I did think it looked pretty scruffy, but then
I know nothing about gardening," Cindy admitted as they got into the car.
"I'll have a talk with Luke Fairhead when we get back. Seems to me my father just gave up caring and the whole place has ... well, gone to the dogs, you might say."
Cindy looked at him quickly. There was an impatient note in his voice. He was probably a hardworking perfectionist and expected everyone else to be the same. In that respect, he reminded her a little of her boss, Mr. Jenkins.
"I think Mrs. Stone has done a wonderful job," she said quickly. "It can't be easy to keep a place as big as the castle so clean and polished."
Peter looked at her, his mouth curling a little. "Yes, she's made a good job of it, but that doesn't excuse her son's laziness. Why do you want to see Mrs. Usher?" he asked abruptly.
"Because ... because I like her."
"That's not the truth, is it ? You're a bad liar, Cindy," Peter said, driving down the winding road towards the village. On the other side of the lake, lofty hills stood out boldly in the clear blue sky , that promised a perfect day.
"No," Cindy agreed. "I want to ask her advice." "Why not ask mine?"
Cindy turned towards him. "Because you think I lied."
"You didn't lie ! I know that. I know you didn't write the article, but you could have known of the offer and accepted it—if the Castle became yours—before you ever came here. It was so obvious to me
that Ayres was determined to make you sell the castle."
"But he, wasn't. He knew I wanted to live here."
"Is that so ?" Peter 'spoke slowly. "You must admit he made it plain that it would be impossible for you to afford it, didn't he ?" He snapped the question at her.
Startled, Cindy said : "Yes, but . . ."
"Look, there are too many 'buts' for my liking. Ayres wanted you to see the castle that we're agreed on. Right? Well, maybe Ayres arranged to sell it for you and someone sneaked out the news. Right?"
"No, definitely not right," Cindy said quickly. "Mr. Ayres isn't like that. He knew I was going to try everything to keep the castle."
"And what, may I ask, is 'everything' ?"
Cindy's cheeks were hot. "I thought perhaps it would make a hotel."
"Ye gods and little fishes !" Peter nearly exploded. "Just how naive and stupid can you be ? 'Have you any idea how much it costs to convert an old rundown place like it into a hotel ?"
"We
"That had nothing to do with me, either !" Cindy's voice rose angrily. "I know you don't believe me, but it's the truth. I had no idea until you showed me the newspaper."
He went on, half smiling at her in that hateful way. "Is that so ?" he said slowly.
Cindy's hand closed round the marmalade jar she happened to have in her hand. Never before had she so felt like throwing something at anyone. She put it down, stood up and said :
"I think it would be best if I leave at once."
He stood up, too. "I agree, provided we leave together in the same car."
They stared at one another, Cindy clenching and unclenching her hands. It wasn't right or fair for any man to be so handsome—to have those kind of eyes, that mouth .
"You did promise to stay," Peter said gently, Cindy swallowed. "All right. I'd . I'd like to see Mrs. Usher."
"Dear old Mrs. Usher? Is she still here ?" Peter sounded pleased. "I'd like to see her too. Look, I'll drop you there and go into the village as I have business to attend to and then I'll come back and pick you up ? Okay ?"
"Okay," Cindy agreed, and went up to her room, changing into a pale yellow woollen frock, looking worriedly at her face half-hidden by her hair and glasses. He was being very pleasant, but at the same time she was conscious of this curtain between them—the curtain he had dropped because he could not—or would not—believe her.
Peter was waiting in front, wandering round. He looked up as she joined him.
"I don't think much of Paul Stone as a gardener, do you?"
"Well, I did think it looked pretty scruffy, but then
I know nothing about gardening," Cindy admitted as they got into the car.
"I'll have a talk with Luke Fairhead when we get back. Seems to me my father just gave up caring and the whole place has ... well, gone to the dogs, you might say."
Cindy looked at him quickly. There was an impatient note in his voice. He was probably a hardworking perfectionist and expected everyone else to be the same. In that respect, he reminded her a little of her boss, Mr. Jenkins.
"I think Mrs. Stone has done a wonderful job," she said quickly. "It can't be easy to keep a place as big as the castle so clean and polished."
Peter looked at her, his mouth curling a little. "Yes, she's made a good job of it, but that doesn't excuse her son's laziness. Why do you want to see Mrs. Usher?" he asked abruptly.
"Because ... because I like her."
"That's not the truth, is it ? You're a bad liar, Cindy," Peter said, driving down the winding road towards the village. On the other side of the lake, lofty hills stood out boldly in the clear blue sky , that promised a perfect day.
"No," Cindy agreed. "I want to ask her advice." "Why not ask mine?"
Cindy turned towards him. "Because you think I lied."
"You didn't lie ! I know that. I know you didn't write the article, but you could have known of the offer and accepted it—if the Castle became yours—before you ever came here. It was so obvious to me
that Ayres was determined to make you sell the castle."
"But he, wasn't. He knew I wanted to live here."
"Is that so ?" Peter 'spoke slowly. "You must admit he made it plain that it would be impossible for you to afford it, didn't he ?" He snapped the question at her.
Startled, Cindy said : "Yes, but . . ."
"Look, there are too many 'buts' for my liking. Ayres wanted you to see the castle that we're agreed on. Right? Well, maybe Ayres arranged to sell it for you and someone sneaked out the news. Right?"
"No, definitely not right," Cindy said quickly. "Mr. Ayres isn't like that. He knew I was going to try everything to keep the castle."
"And what, may I ask, is 'everything' ?"
Cindy's cheeks were hot. "I thought perhaps it would make a hotel."
"Ye gods and little fishes !" Peter nearly exploded. "Just how naive and stupid can you be ? 'Have you any idea how much it costs to convert an old rundown place like it into a hotel ?"
"We
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