The Secret Kiss of Darkness (14 page)

He was quite sure the little pink number had never looked that good on Caroline, but Miss Sinclair had filled it out very nicely. Well, more than nicely. The thought sent another shaft of desire through him, but he resolutely ignored it. He decided he must have been living the life of a monk for too long, but seducing young students who were guests in his house obviously wasn’t an option.

‘Daddy, I’m going to do a cannon ball. Daddy, look at me!’

Nell’s insistence pulled Wes out of his thoughts and he ducked under the water in order to try and clear his mind. He came up and shook his head, then watched Nell’s antics while he tried to block the images of Miss Sinclair which kept floating into his mind every time he so much as blinked. Her long, lithe legs, flat stomach, pert behind and curves. Luscious curves.

‘Damn it,’ he muttered. What was the matter with him? He hadn’t reacted to a woman like this since, well, since he first met Caroline. And he’d been much younger then. Did prolonged abstinence make your hormones go crazy? It certainly felt like it.

He sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to spending the morning in Miss Sinclair’s company. It would be sheer hell. It had been bad enough before he had seen her in a bathing suit, but now …

Trying to think of other things, he turned back to his daughter.

‘Come on, Nell, enough of this. Annie will be waiting for us.’

Breakfast was a meal that Kayla could usually do without, but after the early morning exercise she found that she was quite hungry. The kitchen, a cavernous white-painted room, was also situated in the basement, and Kayla made her way there by following the tempting smell of toast. It emanated from the back of the hall and seemed to permeate the entire house. Annie was busy cooking something, but turned to greet her.

‘Good morning. You’re up early.’

‘Yes, I’ve been up for ages thanks to young Nell. She took me swimming.’

‘Oh, no, is that where she disappeared off to? The little madam! And after I told her specifically not to disturb you. What am I to do with her, I ask you?’ Annie shook her head.

‘She did tell me you’d said that and she waited patiently until I was awake before saying anything, so don’t worry.’ Kayla smiled. ‘I have to admit she startled me a bit though.’

‘Well, I’m sorry about that. Now why don’t you tell me what you want for breakfast and I’ll cook you something.’

‘Just some toast, please, but I can make it myself. There is no need for you to put yourself out on my account.’

‘Nonsense, it’s my job, isn’t it. Just you sit yourself down and I’ll see to it.’

Annie refused to listen to any protests and in the end Kayla was provided with tea, toast, jam and butter, and a few other things besides. She ate in silence, looking around at the bright, sunny room. It reminded her of the kitchens at the Brighton Pavilion, with copper saucepans hanging in rows along the walls, and several large, scrubbed pine tables to use as work surfaces. Annie was washing up in an old-fashioned white porcelain sink and there was also an ancient cast iron stove, which didn’t look as if it was in use any longer. It was probably only kept for decorative purposes, Kayla thought, as the kitchen also boasted a large modern cooker and a shiny Aga set into a niche.

Halfway through her second piece of toast, Kayla ventured to ask a few questions.

‘Nell let me borrow her mother’s bathing suit. I hope Lady Marcombe won’t mind?’ She tried to make the query sound casual, but in actual fact she was consumed with curiosity about this woman whom she hadn’t seen as yet. Last night, she hadn’t just forgotten that Debrett’s mentioned a daughter, but also the fact that Sir Wesley was married. So where was his wife?

‘Goodness, no. Nell’s mother doesn’t live here anymore and if she didn’t take it with her I’m sure she has no use for it. You go right ahead.’

‘Are Nell’s parents divorced then?’ Kayla sipped her scalding hot tea carefully.

‘Yes, about a year ago. She’s only been back a few times since then and she never stays for more than a couple of hours.’ Annie shook her head once more. ‘I don’t mind telling you, I find some people strange. Fought with Sir Wesley about custody something fierce, but once he’d won it was as if she didn’t care. Just vanished. She’s allowed to visit at any time, but doesn’t seem to want to now.’

‘How odd.’
Poor little Nell
, Kayla thought. The woman must be weird indeed. Kayla’s curiosity was piqued even further, but she didn’t dare to pry any more.

‘Yes, but it doesn’t seem to have done the little one too much harm. She’s as cheerful as ever before. Never says a word about it and adores her father, she does,’ Annie went on.

Kayla smiled again. ‘Yes, I could see that. She, er, mentions him frequently.’ She finished off her breakfast and stood up to put her plate and cup in the sink. ‘Well, thank you, that was delicious. If you’re sure I can’t help you with anything, I’d better go and see if Sir Wesley has time to show me his paintings now. Perhaps I’ll see you later?’

‘Sure and you’re welcome. And if you see the little minx, just send her along to me. You can tell her I said so.’

Sir John Marcombe returned briefly to Devon after a long absence, only to inform his wife that he would soon be going back to London.

‘There are certain matters which need my attention,’ he explained, and to his great relief she didn’t ask any awkward questions. She was a biddable little thing most of the time, and lovely to look at, but she had so far failed with the only thing he really required of her. There had been no child. This time, however, she surprised him.

‘I have good news, John.’ She smiled shyly and regarded him out of the corner of her eyes. ‘I believe I am expecting at last.’

‘You are?’ He so far forgot himself as to embrace her, something he would never normally do. ‘That is wonderful news! Wonderful, indeed. When precisely?’

‘Well, I can’t be certain, but I think the baby is due some time in March or early April, or so the midwife tells me.’

He frowned. ‘You’ve seen the local woman? Really, my dear, you must have better care than that.’

‘What is wrong with her? I understand she supervises all the births for miles around. The housekeeper told me she is considered very good.’

‘Yes, yes, but those are common people. You must have a proper physician, someone used to gently bred ladies such as yourself. I will find one in London and send him down here to attend you.’

Eliza smiled again, and he realised it wasn’t often she did. Perhaps he had been hard on her? He should have invited more company down here for her. Well, time enough for that after she was safely delivered of his heir.

It was just as well he’d found himself a delightful little actress in London recently. He couldn’t wait to return to her slightly overblown charms and infectious laughter and he had no doubt she would keep him occupied while Eliza was breeding. Then he’d do his duty by his wife again once she had recovered from the birth.

He drew a sigh of relief. The actress may not be as beautiful as his wife, but she was a damn sight more accommodating in bed.

‘Sir Wesley?’ After knocking, Kayla stuck her head round the door of his study, but there didn’t seem to be anyone there, so she stepped inside and gazed around the room in admiration. It definitely wasn’t your average boring office. It was more of an old-fashioned library. Mahogany bookcases, beautifully carved at the top, lined every wall and were filled with leather-bound volumes. Sir Wesley’s desk, which was an enormous affair with large ball and claw feet, sat in the middle of the room facing a fireplace with a black marble chimneypiece and a huge gilt over-mantel mirror. The dark wooden floor was covered with deep-piled red Persian carpets.

As she was about to leave, Kayla saw a movement in the far corner of the room. She walked a bit further in and caught sight of Sir Wesley sitting at a smaller desk in an alcove made by a huge bay window. With a sinking heart she noticed that the angry expression was back in place. He was glaring at a computer screen and muttering to himself, while typing with two fingers, stabbing at the keyboard as if it offended him. He was also wearing headphones, which was obviously why he hadn’t heard her. Cautiously she advanced into his line of vision and waved a hand at him.

‘Oh, Miss Sinclair, I didn’t hear you come in.’ He lifted the headphones off and rubbed at his ears. ‘God, but these blasted things are uncomfortable.’

‘I’m sorry to disturb you yet again, but you said something about showing me the paintings in daylight. Or should I ask Annie perhaps?’

‘Ah, yes. Er, well, the thing is, Emma has left me in a bit of a fix as I told you yesterday. I’ve tried to reason with her, but she refuses to come back this time. I don’t know what’s got into her. Problem is, I have to finish off this report before twelve and at the rate I’m typing it will probably take me at least that long, if not more. I never realised this audio business was so complicated. I keep having to go back and listen to what I’ve said several times. I’m really sorry, but would you mind awfully waiting until after lunch or are you in a hurry to be off?’

‘Not at all.’ How could she protest? She was a guest in his house, an unexpected one at that. Kayla was about to leave him when inspiration struck. ‘Would it help if I typed your report for you? I’m … that is, I have been working part-time as a legal secretary to support my studies, so my typing speed might be a bit quicker than yours.’ The faster his work was finished, the sooner Kayla would be able to find Eliza’s portrait, she reasoned, and then she could leave this house, hopefully with mission accomplished.

Sir Wesley regarded her as if she was an angel come down from heaven to rescue him from the worst possible torture and his expression cleared. ‘Would you really be willing to do that? Are you sure?’

‘Yes, it shouldn’t take too long if it’s just one tape.’

‘You have no idea how grateful I will be, Miss Sinclair. These things were driving me crazy.’ He indicated the headset and she walked forward to take it from him with a smile.

‘You get used to them, I promise.’ He looked as if he didn’t believe her, so she added, ‘Well, after a few years anyway.’

He laughed, and she found that she liked the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners. They really were exceedingly like Jago’s, and the contrast with his dark brown hair and tanned skin was startling. He may not be classically handsome, she thought, but he definitely wasn’t hard on the eyes either. Again, like Jago.

‘I’ll take your word for it, Miss Sinclair, and will leave you to get on with it. Perhaps you’d better check what I have done so far. I haven’t run the spellcheck on it yet.’

‘Of course, and please call me Kayla if I’m going to be your secretary for the morning.’

‘It’s a deal if you’ll call me Wes. I hate that “Sir” business unless I’m trying to impress some important client.’ He returned happily to his own desk, and Kayla continued with his report after correcting a couple of misspellings.

In no time at all she had it ready, and after a few minor alterations Wes e-mailed it to his client, then sighed with satisfaction.

‘I really can’t thank you enough, Kayla.’ He beamed at her. ‘Will you let me pay you for a morning’s work? It’s the least I can do.’

‘Oh, no, that’s not necessary. You helped me out yesterday and if you’ll just show me the paintings I’ll be on my way. It was no trouble, honestly.’

‘Well, thank you again. I have some bad news for you, though.’ His expression grew serious. ‘I was just talking to Ben, the gatekeeper, on the phone and I’m afraid you won’t be leaving today.’

‘What? Why ever not?’

‘Some of the roads were flooded yesterday, as I thought they might be, and it will take at least another day before the water subsides enough for your little car to get through. And there’s more rain on the way, I think. I’m sorry. I hope you don’t mind putting up with us for another night? I’ll try to be a bit more hospitable.’ He smiled ruefully.

‘Well, I … that is, of course not. I’m just sorry to have to inconvenience you again.’ The sinking feeling in her stomach returned with a vengeance. Another evening spent in the company of this man was not a good idea. Definitely not. She was starting to like him, and the resemblance to Jago was becoming more pronounced by the minute. What if her strange infatuation with the painting spilled over onto Jago’s descendant? She knew she hadn’t acted rationally where Jago was concerned and it scared her.

‘I told you already, it’s no problem at all.’ Wes hesitated before continuing, ‘And if you could stand it, I’m sure Nell would love to spend a little more time with you. Her friends would have difficulty getting here on a day like this, so she’s probably a bit bored.’

‘Of course, I’d be happy to play with her for a while later on.’

‘Great. Well, let’s go up to the gallery then.’

‘Here are the two seascapes which Gainsborough painted down by the coast nearby. I believe he visited Devon several times, but I’m not sure what year these were done.’ Wes shrugged. ‘Sorry I can’t be more specific.’

They were standing in a beautiful long gallery at the back of the first floor of the house. Tall windows let in the light when their wooden shutters were opened, as now, and mirrors hung at intervals reflecting it back onto the artwork. Kayla concentrated on the paintings instead of the increasingly attractive man by her side and trawled through her memory for the necessary information from her hasty study of Gainsborough’s life.

‘It could have been in 1781 when he made a tour of the West Country with his nephew, Gainsborough Dupont. I think he came this way then. Or maybe they were painted two years before that when he was said to have spent some time near Teignmouth and Exeter.’

‘I’m sure you’re right. Or your guess is as good as mine. I’m afraid I don’t know much about art. It’s not really my thing.’

‘Are these the only paintings you have by him?’ Kayla tried not to hold her breath as she waited for Wes’s answer. Although the seascapes were pretty enough they didn’t interest her any more than they did their owner. But, of course, she couldn’t tell him that and if she asked after Eliza’s portrait outright she would have to explain how she knew about it.

‘No, there are two landscapes over here as well.’ Wes led the way to the next wall. ‘We’re very lucky to have them, or so I’m told.’

‘Yes, indeed. So, two seascapes and two landscapes. I see.’ Kayla felt the tension inside her slowly morph into cold disappointment when Wes didn’t add the words she hoped to hear – that actually he had a rather spectacular portrait as well. She so wanted to be able to help Jago, but as Wes stayed quiet, she realised she’d obviously have to try some other way.

Had Jago been wrong and the portrait wasn’t signed after all? If so, Wes obviously wouldn’t know it was a Gainsborough. She’d have to surreptitiously check all the portraits in the gallery. After Jago’s description she felt sure she’d recognise Eliza even without a signature.

It was also possible the painting of Eliza could have been inherited by any member of the family through the years. Then it would be a question of tracking down the various branches and checking who had it in their possession. There might be copies of old wills or something. She’d have to ask Jessie how to go about finding such things. Either way, she knew it would mean a lot of hard work. She swallowed a sigh and decided to try looking here first.

‘Well, thank you for showing them to me. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to make a few notes?’ Kayla had brought a pad and a pen in order to seem more efficient and student-like. Wes spread his hands.

‘Please, be my guest.’

‘And would you mind if I took some photos?’

‘No, as long as you don’t publish details of the exact location of these paintings. We don’t normally advertise the fact that they exist as we wouldn’t want to attract art thieves. They’re not precisely a secret, but still, if you’re going to refer to them, perhaps you could just say something vague like “they’re in the possession of a private owner”?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Great, thank you. I’ll leave you to it then. See you at lunchtime.’

Just to make doubly sure, Kayla walked around the long gallery and checked each portrait in turn in case the one of Eliza had been overlooked and the Gainsborough signature lost. Most of them had the names of the ladies inscribed on the frame or in a corner, and there were no Elizabeth’s that she could see. Of the ones that were unnamed, not a single one looked anything like the painting Jago had described. In fact, they weren’t very lifelike at all and Kayla didn’t have that eerie feeling of being watched. None of the ladies were particularly beautiful, either, and Kayla remembered distinctly that Jago had said Eliza was lovely. Although, come to think of it, ideals of beauty were quite different in those days compared to those of the present time.

Jago’s father was easy to spot, however, as the frame around his portrait had a huge brass plaque with ‘Sir Philip Marcombe’ and his dates. Kayla studied him for quite a while, but could see nothing of Jago in him at all apart from the eye colour, as he’d said. She concluded that Jago must resemble his Gypsy mother. Her theory about him planting a cuckoo in the Marcombe nest seemed very likely in the light of this, but she would have to ask him.

Kayla sat staring at the Gainsborough seascapes for a long time lost in thought. Her life had certainly changed considerably since Jago entered it. Was it really only a few weeks ago? He had turned everything upside down – her job, her marriage plans, even the way she acted. Three weeks ago she would never have considered lying to anyone deliberately, and yet here she was, pretending to be an art student when she couldn’t draw to save her life. She shook her head.

‘Oh, Jago, why did you have to pick me of all people? Surely there were other impressionable females at the auction rooms? You could have messed up their lives instead and left mine alone. I was quite happy the way I was.’

But the irritating little voice inside her head sniped, ‘Were you really? Then how come you never once considered apologising to Mike to make up after your little row? Was it perhaps because you wanted a way out? Had you already regretted your decision to marry him?’

‘Oh, shut up,’ she muttered. It was all too much and she was too tired to deal with it right now. One thing at a time.