Power of a Woman. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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manage perfectly well; she paid no attention, simply departed with the luggage.
Miles shrugged to himself and went on down the last few remaining steps, close on the heels of Cappi and her other helper.
But when he heard Chloe calling his name, he paused, swung around, and a second later his sister was hurtling into his arms.
“Hi, Pumpkin,” he exclaimed, and gave her a big bear hug.
“I’ve been waiting all morning for you, Miles; you’re late.”
He grinned at her. “I think I’m early actually, kid. We weren’t due until noon, and it was just eleven thirty as we turned into the gates. Anyway, how’re things at Romany Hall?”
“Okay,” she answered laconically. There was a slight pause, then she added softly, “But I want to—” She broke off abruptly, as if she had changed her mind.
“Come on, Pumpkin, what were you going to tell me?”
“Oh, nothing…it was nothing important, honestly.”
Miles thought otherwise, but he made no comment, as always discreet. “Come on, then, let’s help Cappi and Lola with all that stuff. When the Rayners travel, it’s like old-style royalty on the move. And God only knows what they bring with them.”
“The kitchen sink,” Chloe chortled. “That’s what Mom says anyway. She told me earlier that they’d arrive with two dozen suitcases plus the kitchen sink.”
“Not quite, but almost,” Miles agreed, laughing with his sister.
They went down to the driveway holding hands. Chloe glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “So you didn’t bring Allison.”
Miles threw her an odd look. “Now, why would I bring her?”
“Bring who?” Derek asked as he braced himself for Chloe’s enthusiastic hugs and kisses.
Stevie stared at her son, waiting to hear his response to her stepfather’s question.
Glancing at Derek, Miles said, “Nobody. Nobody important, that is.”
Well, at least that’s to the point, Stevie thought. And leaves nothing to our imagination.
“Hello, darling,” Blair murmured, accepting Chloe’s kisses, which were, to her relief, more restrained than those just bestowed on Derek. “And who is Allison?” she asked, casting her glance on them all.
“Don’t look at me; I’ve no idea, my darling,” Derek intoned in his mellifluous actor’s voice and, hoisting two of the valises, went up the steps. Stevie and Blair followed, carrying some of the smaller bags.
After Miles had thanked the driver and tipped him, he too made his way to the front door with Chloe in tow. He said in a pointed voice, “Little pigs not only have big ears, but apparently loose tongues as well.”
Chloe giggled.
“Why did you mention Allison of all people, and in front of our mother? You know she’s longing for me to get married and have kids, so she can have more grandchildren. It was wrong of you, Chloe.”
“Well, you have been seeing a lot of Allison, and I thought it was…” Her voice trailed off lamely; she looked chagrined. And she felt suddenly uncomfortable under his fixed scrutiny.
“That’s my business, kid, not yours.”
“I thought it was getting serious between you two.”
“No. And even if I did have serious intentions, that has nothing to do with you or Mother or anyone else. It’s a private matter and it’s certainly not open for discussion within the family.”
“Oh.” There was a momentary pause, and she looked at him through worried eyes. “Are you mad at me?”
“No, but let’s not discuss my personal business in front of the rest of the family. Okay?”
“Yes, Miles, and I’m sorry.”
“That’s all right. Just remember what I said though. You’ve got to learn some discretion. You’re not a little kid anymore, you’re eighteen, and you must start growing up, behaving like an adult.”
Chloe nodded, her face suitably serious for once.
After coffee and hot buttered scones in front of the fire in the great hall, everybody dispersed in different directions. Stevie sent Cappi, Lola, and Chloe to help Blair and Derek unpack their voluminous luggage; Shana, the other young woman who worked with Cappi, took Miles’s bags up to his room. And his mother hurried off to the kitchen, explaining that she had to baste the turkey that was roasting in the oven.
Left alone, Miles wandered down the great hall into the dining room, and then slowly strolled through into the living room which adjoined it. He couldn’t help admiring the ambiance his mother had created in the house. It was immensely seductive, just as it was in her other homes. But he especially liked Romany Hall because it was an airy, spacious house filled with clear, crystalline light that poured in through the many windows upstairs and down, a great number of which were unencumbered by draperies.
Everything was sparkling and fresh throughout. The white paintwork was pristine; the windows shone; the wood floors gleamed, and there was not a speck of dust anywhere. No shabby corners, worn fabrics, or frayed rugs here. His mother was something of a perfectionist, and she maintained the house at the highest level. Every piece of furniture, each object and painting, was well cared for and in its proper place.
Although it was beautifully decorated, Romany Hall was not overdone and there was no unnecessary clutter or ostentation. The air was fragrant with potpourri, perfumed candles, and the unusual chocolate smell of the Sharry Baby orchids, their curvaceous stems laden with exotic dark blooms.
Miles did not linger very long in the living room, but continued on to the solarium, a room he generally gravitated to at least once every day when he was staying with his mother.
He had always been taken with its simple yet effective beauty—white walls, warm terra-cotta—tiled floor, and the eye-catching Pierre Frey fabrics patterned in reds, yellows, and blues that his mother had used on the sofas and chairs. The solarium had a French feeling to it, with its high-flung cathedral ceiling and beams, stone fireplace and the French Provençal furniture his mother had picked up at sales in the Loire Valley and the Maritime Alps.
The many windows and French doors made the solarium seem part of the outside, and the clarity of light was particularly noticeable here. Although it was a sunless day, and somewhat bleak, the cloudless sky was a soft bluish white, almost etiolated, and it was incandescent.
A good light for painting, he thought, and made up his mind to bring his easel and paintbox down there tomorrow. He was suddenly in the mood to do a few watercolors.
Orchids abounded throughout the house, but there was a greater profusion of them in the solarium. His mother had always been addicted to orchids; and, even as a child, he too had been fascinated by them, by the intricacy of the flowers, the fantastical shapes of the petals, and the truly exotic colors.
He had grown up with orchids; there had always been a plethora of them in their farmhouse on the Yorkshire moors. Once a week he had helped his mother to water them, then put them in large metal bowls to drain.
“Sissy, sissy, sissy!” From a long way off, in the far reaches of his memory, he heard Nigel’s voice echoing down through the years. His elder brother had always teased him about watering the orchids with their mother. He hadn’t really cared; he had been independent even then. But his mother had cared when Nigel’s taunting had become a tiresome pattern, and his older sibling had been suitably punished.
Their mother had made Nigel clean all the lavatories at Aysgarth End, six in all, and he had had the last laugh, although he hadn’t dared to crack a smile. If he had, there would have been retribution of some kind. Nigel had been