could talk about it,' he invited eagerly.
'Oh, no!' Marion groaned beneath her breath. It was bad enough having Reeve beneath the same roof as a guest, without having to endure his presence in their private living quarters as well.
'We won't....' She started to say 'We won't have time tonight,' and then she caught sight of her uncle's face. It was bright with the seldom experienced pleasure of meeting a fellow being who was interested in his somewhat abstruse subject, and the words died on her lips. Miles Dorman, with his white hair and slight, stooping figure, was more of a historian by nature than a hotel proprietor.
'We won't be having dinner until after seven,' she changed her sentence hurriedly, 'so any time after about eight will do. Unless, of course, you've got other plans for this evening?' she asked hopefully.
'Not at the moment.' His look challenged her, leaving her to wonder at what other plans he might have in mind. And who else they might include.
'Bring your friend, too, if he's interested,' Miles Dorman extended his invitation, and Marion's gloom lightened a little. With Willy there to chat to, it might not be so bad. She could leave Reeve exclusively to her uncle.
'I'll tell Willy you asked,' Reeve said politely, 'I'm sure he'll be pleased, but he's got a report to write that will take him most of the evening,' he neatly foiled her half formed plans.
'In that case we won't disturb him, of course.' Miles Dorman could not imagine a worse fate than to be disturbed at his writing, even for meals. Mrs Pugh had a daily battle to keep him adequately fed, but Marion did not imagine Willy shared her uncle's dedication. She had a sudden impulse to invite the pilot herself, but that, too, died half formed. If Reeve had spoken the truth and Willy really had got a report to write, perhaps about his flight over the valleys that morning, her own intervention might get Willy into trouble if he accepted the offer of an evening with the family, as she suspected he would, and neglect his paper work. She liked the pilot, and it would not be fair to sour his relationship with his superior—employer? She did not know which, and the lack of knowledge irritated her. But Willy had his job to look after, and he would have to put up with Reeve long after they left the hotel. Reluctantly she decided to leave things as they were, and live through the evening as best she could.
She made an excuse and ran upstairs to her own room to change. Despite her attentions with Reeve's duster in the car, her stockings were still mud-splashed, and felt uncomfortably grubby. The feeling brought her mind back to the promise to wash the duster for him. She showered and changed, and washed stockings and duster together. It would dry on the rack over the kitchen range, and she could iron it and give it back to him after dinner.
She creased her forehead at the thought of after dinner. It looked as if it was going to be a difficult evening. Although if Reeve and her uncle intended to delve into the new reference books she had brought from the library, it would leave her free to do something else herself. Perhaps finish her sketch. She turned to where she had tossed the buff-coloured envelope Reeve had given her on to her bed. At least he had the decency to keep her sketch flat. She picked up the envelope, suddenly curious. It was a business envelope, the sort that usually had a firm's name and address printed on the back. It might give her a clue to Reeve's firm, and from that, to what he himself was doing in the valley. Her brief excitement flickered out when she saw that the flap of the Envelope had been removed, leaving just the open ended receptacle which—she turned it over—was bare of any marking that might provide her with a useful clue.
Tipping it up made the hairband slip out, and the drawing followed it. And something flat and hard followed that. She frowned, and reached down on to the counterpane to pick it up. It was a box. Instant
'Oh, no!' Marion groaned beneath her breath. It was bad enough having Reeve beneath the same roof as a guest, without having to endure his presence in their private living quarters as well.
'We won't....' She started to say 'We won't have time tonight,' and then she caught sight of her uncle's face. It was bright with the seldom experienced pleasure of meeting a fellow being who was interested in his somewhat abstruse subject, and the words died on her lips. Miles Dorman, with his white hair and slight, stooping figure, was more of a historian by nature than a hotel proprietor.
'We won't be having dinner until after seven,' she changed her sentence hurriedly, 'so any time after about eight will do. Unless, of course, you've got other plans for this evening?' she asked hopefully.
'Not at the moment.' His look challenged her, leaving her to wonder at what other plans he might have in mind. And who else they might include.
'Bring your friend, too, if he's interested,' Miles Dorman extended his invitation, and Marion's gloom lightened a little. With Willy there to chat to, it might not be so bad. She could leave Reeve exclusively to her uncle.
'I'll tell Willy you asked,' Reeve said politely, 'I'm sure he'll be pleased, but he's got a report to write that will take him most of the evening,' he neatly foiled her half formed plans.
'In that case we won't disturb him, of course.' Miles Dorman could not imagine a worse fate than to be disturbed at his writing, even for meals. Mrs Pugh had a daily battle to keep him adequately fed, but Marion did not imagine Willy shared her uncle's dedication. She had a sudden impulse to invite the pilot herself, but that, too, died half formed. If Reeve had spoken the truth and Willy really had got a report to write, perhaps about his flight over the valleys that morning, her own intervention might get Willy into trouble if he accepted the offer of an evening with the family, as she suspected he would, and neglect his paper work. She liked the pilot, and it would not be fair to sour his relationship with his superior—employer? She did not know which, and the lack of knowledge irritated her. But Willy had his job to look after, and he would have to put up with Reeve long after they left the hotel. Reluctantly she decided to leave things as they were, and live through the evening as best she could.
She made an excuse and ran upstairs to her own room to change. Despite her attentions with Reeve's duster in the car, her stockings were still mud-splashed, and felt uncomfortably grubby. The feeling brought her mind back to the promise to wash the duster for him. She showered and changed, and washed stockings and duster together. It would dry on the rack over the kitchen range, and she could iron it and give it back to him after dinner.
She creased her forehead at the thought of after dinner. It looked as if it was going to be a difficult evening. Although if Reeve and her uncle intended to delve into the new reference books she had brought from the library, it would leave her free to do something else herself. Perhaps finish her sketch. She turned to where she had tossed the buff-coloured envelope Reeve had given her on to her bed. At least he had the decency to keep her sketch flat. She picked up the envelope, suddenly curious. It was a business envelope, the sort that usually had a firm's name and address printed on the back. It might give her a clue to Reeve's firm, and from that, to what he himself was doing in the valley. Her brief excitement flickered out when she saw that the flap of the Envelope had been removed, leaving just the open ended receptacle which—she turned it over—was bare of any marking that might provide her with a useful clue.
Tipping it up made the hairband slip out, and the drawing followed it. And something flat and hard followed that. She frowned, and reached down on to the counterpane to pick it up. It was a box. Instant
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