Witching Hour (7 page)

history. I told him about Giles the Wrecker.'

'That's a terrible story,' Mrs Pentreath said indignantly. 'I've never

believed one word of it.'

'Yet you believe that old Josiah was a smuggler.' Morgana shook

her head affectionately.

'Well, smuggling is different,' Mrs Pentreath excused herself. 'In

those days, simply everyone did it. It was quite respectable.'

'Tell that to the Customs and Excise!' Morgana gave her mother a

swift hug. 'Shall I lay, the dining table, or has Elsa done it?'

'She was doing it when I came upstairs, and singing 'Rock of Ages'

very loudly, and rather badly. I think this business over the entail

has affected her almost as deeply as it has us.'

'Nonsense,' Morgana said robustly. 'She's wallowing in it. She's

seen a fair man, and grief and woe in the cards, and she's in her

element. We ought to start calling her Cassandra instead.' She

caught her mother looking at her oddly, and demanded resignedly,

'Now what's the matter?'

'Nothing really, dear, except—oh, Morgana, that awful dress! I

know it's a mark of respect, but poor Daddy would have loathed it

so. Such a depressing colour, and it doesn't even fit you very well.

I don't know what your cousin must have thought.'

Morgana gave her reflection a rueful look. 'I think it's probably

served its purpose,' she conceded. 'I'll give it to the next jumble

sale. But I couldn't care less what Lyall Pentreath thinks about me,

or my clothes,' she added defiantly. 'For two pins I'd wear the

beastly thing every time he comes here.'

Mrs Pentreath shuddered. 'Spare the rest of us, darling! And you

couldn't possibly wear it to go out with Rob.' She gave a little sigh.

'I'd better go downstairs and face the inquisition again. One can

understand their concern, I suppose. This is as much their home,

temporarily at least, as it is ours.' She gave an uncertain little

smile, said, 'Have a lovely time, darling, and—don't worry. I'm

sure everything is going to work out for the best,' and went out of

the room.

Morgana pulled off the despised dress and let it fall in a heap on

the floor, before padding across to the wardrobe and viewing the

contents. In the end, she decided to wear a pair of dark red corded

jeans, and a cream Shetland wool sweater with a high collar. She

had always liked simple clothes, and that was just as well, she

thought wryly. She had found at school that she had a flair for

dressmaking, and she had always ensured that the garments she

made never had a home-made air, although nothing she wore could

ever compete with the clothes of Elaine or Caroline Donleven,

who bought many of their things from couture houses in London.

Robert had already arrived when she went downstairs and was

standing in front of the drawing room fire, chatting to her mother.

Miss Meakins had disappeared, she was relieved to notice,

presumably to dress for dinner. Only Major Lawson was left,

sitting quietly near the fire, completing the
Times
crossword. He

glanced up as Morgana entered, and rose, giving her his pleasant,

rather shy smile, and she thought, not for the first time, what a nice

man he seemed, and what a pity all the guests they'd had staying at

Polzion House over the years couldn't have been like him.

She said a swift goodbye to her mother, then she and Robert

walked out to where his car was parked at the front of the house.

'I hear your unwelcome visitor arrived after all,' Rob said casually

as he opened the passenger door for her.

'Yes, he did.' Morgana tried to keep her tone non-committal, but

was aware, just the same, that an edge had crept in.

'Was he as you expected? Your mother seems to have been quite

charmed.'

'Mummy always tends to meet everyone more than halfway.'

Morgana said ruefully.

'I gather that you weren't equally captivated?' Rob smiled.

'I found him loathsome,' she said coldly.

'Good,' he approved. 'From your mother's remarks, I'd begun to

think I might have reason to be jealous.' It was said teasingly, but

there was an underlying serious note.

'No reason at all,' she said. She was glad the darkness in the car hid

the sudden surge of colour in her face as she remembered

unwillingly that uncontrolled response to his kiss that Lyall had

forced from her. It made her feel sick with self-disgust to recall it

to mind. If it had been a chance encounter, in some ways it would

have been easier to forget, but Lyall had the right to return to

Polzion House whenever he wanted, and every time she saw him,

she was going to be haunted by the remembered searing pressure

of his mouth on hers.

She asked lightly, 'Where are we going?'

'To the Polzion Arms. Mum and Dad have come down for the

weekend, and they're having dinner there. They've asked us to join

them.'

'Oh, lord!' Morgana was aghast. 'Why didn't you warn me? I'd at

least have put on a skirt.'

'You look terrific just as you are,' he said. 'My cool, practical lady.'

Cool and practical! She could have laughed out loud. What would

Rob have said if he could have seen her a couple of hours earlier,

prancing round the Wishing Stone like a superstitious idiot, or

boiling with tension and temper as she led Lyall Pentreath round

the house she could no longer claim as her home? She'd made a

fool of herself in every way there was, she thought, but she

wouldn't allow it to happen again. The next time she saw Lyall

Pentreath, she would have herself well in hand. She would build a

high wall around her emotions and retreat to a safe distance behind

it—and whatever he threw at her, whether it was sexual innuendo

or the rank injustice of the legal situation they found themselves

in, then she would take it, coolly and practically. She wasn't going

to crumble at the knees because a man who undoubtedly had

already had more than his fair share of success with women had

made a pass at her.

Rob asked suddenly, 'What is it, love? You're as restless as a

volcano about to go into eruption. Do you want to go home and

change, because there's time . . .'

'No,' she said hastily. 'I'm sorry, Rob. It's been an upsetting day,

taken all round. I—I do need to relax.'

The Donlevens were already sitting in the firelit comfort of the

lounge bar when Rob and Morgana arrived. Morgana saw drily

that she wasn't the only one wearing trousers, although the contrast

between her own simple garb and Elaine's aquamarine silk tunic

and tightly cuffed harem pants could hardly have been greater. As

she murmured the conventional greetings, Morgana was aware of

the other girl's eyes flicking over her in rather contemptuous

satisfaction. She accepted the dry Martini which Mr Donleven

offered her, and sat down on the high-backed wooden settle which

flanked one side of the log fire, making herself relax, forcing

herself to smile a response to Mrs Donlevan's remarks, knowing

full well that Elaine's scrutiny had become speculative.

Eventually she spoke, breaking rather impatiently across her

mother's comments about the harvest of apples from the Home

Farm's orchard, 'Did the missing heir turn up then?'

'Yes, eventually.' Morgana's tone was short, and she picked up her

drink and sipped it.

'The whole thing sounds so incredibly unlikely.' Elaine's eyes,

were fixed on her face. 'It all sounds like the plot for one of those

old-fashioned romances.'

'Well, I can assure you that there's little of the old-fashioned

romantic about my cousin Lyall,' said Morgana, and instantly

regretted it, because Elaine's gaze sharpened with interest.

'Dear me,' she drawled. 'Have the sparks been flying already?'

'I hardly think that's any of our business, Elaine,' her father broke

in repressively.

Elaine shrugged unrepentantly. 'That doesn't make it any less

fascinating,' she said. 'On the contrary. So what's he like,

Morgana? Tall, dark and handsome?'

'He's tall,' said Morgana, keeping her voice deliberately cool. 'And

I suppose some women might find him attractive.'

'But not you?' Elaine probed.

'Certainly not her.' Rob laid a hand over Morgana's and smiled at

her possessively. 'Morgana only has eyes for me, haven't you,

love?'

Out of the corner of her eye, Morgana saw his mother glance at

them quickly, then away, confirming her suspicions that Mrs

Donleven would not break her heart if Morgana was forced to

move far away from Polzion, and well out of Rob's orbit. She

wished suddenly that it was possible for her to lean across the

narrow oak table that separated them and say, 'Look, you have

nothing to worry about. I like Rob enormously, but I'm not in love

with him. Even if I'd been my father's heir, I would still feel the

same.'

But she and Mrs Donleven had never been on terms of sufficient

intimacy for her to even to venture on such a comment. Besides, it

was hardly the topic for a supposedly pleasant social occasion, and

she had no wish to hurt Rob, although she supposed it was

inevitable that their parting would be accompanied by a certain

amount of pain, less on her side than on his, she was forced to

acknowledge, and found herself wondering why she should

suddenly be so sure of this.

She took the menu Elaine handed her with a condescending smile

and studied it, the neat copperplate in which it was written dancing

meaninglessly in front of her eyes.

'Well,' said Elaine, 'attractive or not, he certainly seems to have

given you food for thought.'

'Is it any wonder?' Morgana countered lightly. 'He's now the legal

owner of the house I live .in. If someone arrived to dispossess you

tomorrow, I imagine you'd also be a little on edge.'

'It's a bad business.' Mr Donleven shook his head. 'Did you really

have no idea what would happen? Didn't your late father give you

any kind of warning?'

As Morgana shook her head, she reflected that Martin Pentreath

hadn't been the kind of man who dealt in warnings, merely in

optimism which was generally unfounded.

'From what I can gather from our solicitor, my father preferred to

ignore the other branch of the family altogether. For some reason,

he genuinely believed that Giles Pentreath had died a childless

bachelor. Of course, if he had done so, or if his child had been a

daughter as well, then everything would have been entirely

different.'

Mr Donleven sighed and drank some of his whisky. Morgana

could guess what he was thinking, that if he had been in Martin

Pentreath's shoes he would have done everything possible to

discover the truth beyond all doubt, and then taken some kind of

action to protect his family from the eventual blow. There was

little excuse to offer for her father's ostrich-like behaviour, she

thought sadly.

Rob bent solicitously towards her. 'What would you like to eat,

love?'

'Oh—melon, I think, and fillet steak.' She put the menu down. 'I'm

not very hungry.'

Mr Donleven gave the order to the hovering waitress, then turned

back to Morgana. 'Has your cousin given any indication of his

plans for the house? Does he intend to live there himself?'

'I don't know.' Morgana shook her head. 'But I would have thought

it was unlikely.'

'You mean he might be prepared to sell?' Mrs Donleven broke in

rather too eagerly, and Morgana turned an astonished look on her.

'Mother!' Rob's frown was thunderous. 'You know we agreed we

wouldn't say anything.'

'Say anything about what?' Morgana said rather desperately, and

Mr Donleven leaned forward conciliatingly.

'Oh, it was just an idea that my—that we had.' He gave her an

uneasy smile. 'We've always admired the house, you know, and we

thought if it was coming on the market at the right price . ..'

'Because it could be made charming,' his wife intervened, and then

flushed as if it suddenly occurred to her that she had been less than

tactful.

'Yes, it could,' Morgana agreed wryly, thinking of the expensive

transformation that had overtaken the Home Farm in recent years.

But although it had become a charming, and even luxurious home,

she supposed she could have guessed that it would only ever be