stood looking round her, at
the familiar shape of the walls and window, the outlines of the
furniture, breathing the hint of her own scent in the air. Her own—
and something else as well. The dark, bitter smell of stale tobacco
smoke.
Her mouth tightened in fury. She might have known that the room
would still harbour the essence of him. He'd left his mark on it, in
the same way as he had on her.
She marched over to the window and yanked it open, allowing the
night wind to billow in. The cold stream of air made her shiver,
and long after, hours later as she lay in the darkness, the window
safely closed again, the coldness was still there deep inside her.
Morgana was sitting at the bureau in the drawing room, trying to
put the papers there in some kind of order, when she heard the
sound of the car the following morning. Momentarily she
stiffened, knowing who it must be, but she made herself go on
with her task. There had been a letter from Mr Trevick that
morning, asking her to supply him with all the unpaid bills to date,
and it was something she was anxious to get out of the way as
soon as possible. The next unpleasant job, she thought, grimacing,
would be to go through the rest of the things in the bureau with her
mother and decide what should be kept and what should be thrown
away. As it was, there were letters, receipts, old address books,
diaries and even ancient Christmas and birthday cards all jumbled
together in glorious confusion.
The small room off the hall which they had used as an office was
rather more presentable, but then she and her mother had kept the
accounts between them, and Martin Pentreath had rarely been in
there, except when he couldn't find something, so there had been
little opportunity for him to spread his own particular brand of
chaos there.
When the imperative sound of the front door bell shrilled through
the house, she made no attempt to go and answer it, and presently
she heard Elsa go grumbling past.
I wonder he didn't just open the door and walk in, she thought. Her
mother, she knew, was in the office at this moment, rather
nervously assembling all the keys she could find. Morgana had no
idea what she intended to do with them—arrange a little handing-
over ceremony, presumably.
She was frankly amazed when Elaine's voice said from the
doorway, 'Working hard as always, sweetie?'
Morgana swung round on her chair, her expression mirroring her
utter bewilderment, as Elaine advanced into the room, smiling. She
looked amazingly chic in a moss green velvet suit, with dark green
suede boots, and she was carrying a large bunch of roses.
'Is someone ill?' Morgana asked drily, and a tinge of colour came
into Elaine's cheeks.
'Mummy thought your mother might like to have them,' she said
hurriedly. 'They're about the last we shall have this season. I loathe
the winter, don't you?'
'Not particularly.' Morgana rose from her chair. 'Thank you,
Elaine. It was a kind thought on your mother's part,' she added
with a trace of irony, knowing perfectly well the real motive for
Elaine's unexpected visit. 'Would you like some coffee?'
'I'd adore some.' Elaine sank down on the sofa. 'That is if you're
not too busy.'
'Not at all,' Morgana returned. 'It's almost time to make some for
the guests, anyway,' she added over her shoulder as she went to the
door.
In the kitchen, Elsa was already setting the tray with a face like
thunder.
'What's Lady Fan Tod come visiting for, I'd like to know?' she
demanded truculently.
'To bring Mummy some flowers.' Morgana laid the roses down on
the kitchen table. 'Can you put them in water, Elsa, until I've got
time to deal with them properly. They're very lovely—far better
than anything our garden's managed to produce this year.'
Elsa snorted. 'Her and her blamed roses! She thinks she's the
Queen of Hearts, that one, but there's darkness underneath, maid,
you mark my words'.
When Morgana returned to the drawing
the familiar shape of the walls and window, the outlines of the
furniture, breathing the hint of her own scent in the air. Her own—
and something else as well. The dark, bitter smell of stale tobacco
smoke.
Her mouth tightened in fury. She might have known that the room
would still harbour the essence of him. He'd left his mark on it, in
the same way as he had on her.
She marched over to the window and yanked it open, allowing the
night wind to billow in. The cold stream of air made her shiver,
and long after, hours later as she lay in the darkness, the window
safely closed again, the coldness was still there deep inside her.
Morgana was sitting at the bureau in the drawing room, trying to
put the papers there in some kind of order, when she heard the
sound of the car the following morning. Momentarily she
stiffened, knowing who it must be, but she made herself go on
with her task. There had been a letter from Mr Trevick that
morning, asking her to supply him with all the unpaid bills to date,
and it was something she was anxious to get out of the way as
soon as possible. The next unpleasant job, she thought, grimacing,
would be to go through the rest of the things in the bureau with her
mother and decide what should be kept and what should be thrown
away. As it was, there were letters, receipts, old address books,
diaries and even ancient Christmas and birthday cards all jumbled
together in glorious confusion.
The small room off the hall which they had used as an office was
rather more presentable, but then she and her mother had kept the
accounts between them, and Martin Pentreath had rarely been in
there, except when he couldn't find something, so there had been
little opportunity for him to spread his own particular brand of
chaos there.
When the imperative sound of the front door bell shrilled through
the house, she made no attempt to go and answer it, and presently
she heard Elsa go grumbling past.
I wonder he didn't just open the door and walk in, she thought. Her
mother, she knew, was in the office at this moment, rather
nervously assembling all the keys she could find. Morgana had no
idea what she intended to do with them—arrange a little handing-
over ceremony, presumably.
She was frankly amazed when Elaine's voice said from the
doorway, 'Working hard as always, sweetie?'
Morgana swung round on her chair, her expression mirroring her
utter bewilderment, as Elaine advanced into the room, smiling. She
looked amazingly chic in a moss green velvet suit, with dark green
suede boots, and she was carrying a large bunch of roses.
'Is someone ill?' Morgana asked drily, and a tinge of colour came
into Elaine's cheeks.
'Mummy thought your mother might like to have them,' she said
hurriedly. 'They're about the last we shall have this season. I loathe
the winter, don't you?'
'Not particularly.' Morgana rose from her chair. 'Thank you,
Elaine. It was a kind thought on your mother's part,' she added
with a trace of irony, knowing perfectly well the real motive for
Elaine's unexpected visit. 'Would you like some coffee?'
'I'd adore some.' Elaine sank down on the sofa. 'That is if you're
not too busy.'
'Not at all,' Morgana returned. 'It's almost time to make some for
the guests, anyway,' she added over her shoulder as she went to the
door.
In the kitchen, Elsa was already setting the tray with a face like
thunder.
'What's Lady Fan Tod come visiting for, I'd like to know?' she
demanded truculently.
'To bring Mummy some flowers.' Morgana laid the roses down on
the kitchen table. 'Can you put them in water, Elsa, until I've got
time to deal with them properly. They're very lovely—far better
than anything our garden's managed to produce this year.'
Elsa snorted. 'Her and her blamed roses! She thinks she's the
Queen of Hearts, that one, but there's darkness underneath, maid,
you mark my words'.
When Morgana returned to the drawing
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