Read Online The Ivy Tree by Mary Stewart - Free Book Online Page B

there.
    â€˜ Winslow, Matthew. Frmr. Whitescar . . . Bellingham 248 .’
    The entry was marked, faintly, in pencil.
    I said, trying to keep my voice flat, and only succeeding in making it sound sulky: ‘Yes, I looked it up. It puzzled me, because your brother had said he owned the farm. It isn’t an old directory, so when you first spoke of “the old man”, I assumed he must have died quite recently.’
    She didn’t answer. She shut the book, then leaned back in her chair and looked up at me, with that calm, appraising look. I met it almost defiantly.
    â€˜All right, I was interested before. Who wouldn’t be? After that business on Sunday . . . oh, well, skip it. Call it curiosity if you like, I’m only human. But my heaven, there’s no reason why it should go further than curiosity! This – proposition – you appear to be suggesting, takes my breath away. No, no, I don’t want to hear any more about it. I can’t even believe you’re serious. Are you?’
    â€˜Quite.’
    â€˜Very well. But can you give me any conceivable reason why I should be?’
    She looked at me almost blankly. There it was again; that merciless all-excluding obsession with their personal problems. ‘I don’t understand.’
    I found that I was reaching, automatically, for another cigarette. I let it slip back into the packet. I had smoked too much that evening already; my eyes and throat felt hot and aching, and my brain stupid. I said: ‘Look, you approach me out of the blue with your family history, which may be intriguing, but which can really mean very little to me. You propose, let’s face it, that somehow or other I should help you to perpetrate a fraud. It may mean everything to you; I don’t see how, but we’ll grant it for argument’s sake. But why should it mean a thing to me? You tell me it’ll be “easy”. Why should I care? Why should I involve myself? In plain words, why on earth should I go out of my way to help you and your brother Con to anything?’
    I didn’t add: ‘When I don’t much like you, and I don’t trust him,’ but to my horror the words seemed to repeat themselves into the air of the room as clearly as if I, and not the tone of my voice, had said them.
    If she heard them, she may have been too unwilling to antagonise me, to resent them. Nor did she appear to mind my actual rudeness. She said, simply: ‘Why, for money, of course? What other reason is there?’
    â€˜For money ?’
    She gave a slight, summing, eloquent glance round the room. ‘If you’ll forgive me, you appear to need it. You said so, in fact to my brother; that was one of the reasons why we felt we could approach you. You have so much to gain. You will forgive my speaking so plainly on such a short acquaintance?’
    â€˜Do,’ I said ironically.
    â€˜You are a gentlewoman,’ said Miss Dermott, the outmoded sounding perfectly normal on her lips. ‘And this room . . . and your job at that dreadful café . . . You’ve been over here from Canada for how long?’
    â€˜Just a few days.’
    â€˜And this has been all you could find?’
    â€˜As far as I looked. It took all I had to get me here. I’m marking time while I get my bearings. I took the first thing that came. You don’t have to worry about me, Miss Dermott. I’ll make out. I don’t have to work in the Kasbah for life, you know.’
    â€˜All the same,’ she said, ‘it’s worth your while to listen to me. In plain terms, I’m offering you a job, a good one, the job of coming back to Whitescar as Annabel Winslow, and persuading the old man that that is who you are. You will have a home and every comfort, a position, everything; and eventually a small assured income for life. You call it a fraud: of course it is, but it’s not a cruel one. The