Witchstone. Anne Mather
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the powerful car expertly and without seeming effort, and Ashley was content to relax inside her seat belt and enjoy the ride.
They left the motorway just before Scotch Corner, taking the Richmond road for a short distance before turning off for Raybury. Traffic was sparse on these country roads, although they did pass one or two vehicles which Ashley thought might conceivably be on their way to the sale.
It was nearing eleven-thirty when they ran through the village of Raybury, and Ashley was enchanted by the tall houses flanking the village green, and the ducks on the pond. Daffodils were blooming in clutches, and in spite of the cold the trees showed definite signs of new life.
‘What a pretty place!’ she exclaimed, and Jake glanced indulgently at her.
‘You think so?’
‘Hmm. Don’t you?’
‘Oh, yes, I like it,’ he nodded. ‘I used to come here a lot at one time. The father of one of my friends at university was the village doctor here. That was his house—there, can you see?’
He pointed to a tall white-painted building with the metal plate still on the tall gatepost, and Ashley leant forward to see, her arm brushing his.
‘Oh, yes,’ she smiled. ‘Isn’t he here any longer?’
Jake shook his head, as she sank back in her seat. ‘Ben’s father retired to Spain about five years ago, I believe, and Ben himself is married and lives in Scotland. He’s a doctor, too.’
‘And didn’t you want a career?’ asked Ashley impulsively, and then pressed a hand to her mouth as though to stifle the words.
Jake slowed to pass some children on bicycles. ‘It depends what you mean by a career,’ he replied, without rancour. ‘I did get my degree, if that’s any saving grace.’
Ashley looked apologetic. ‘I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.’
Jake’s lips twisted. ‘No, it’s not, is it?’
‘Do you mind?’ Her eyes were challenging.
For a moment his gaze held hers and then he was forced to look back at the road. ‘No,’ he said quietly, ‘I don’t mind.’
It wasn’t what he said, but the way he said it, that made something inside Ashley stretch and expand and send prickles of awareness out to the extremities of her body. He had such an attractive voice, she told herself, trying to analyse her enjoyment of his company. The simplest thing was made to sound as though it was for her ears alone, and to imagine him saying more intimate things caused a surge of heat to moisten her palms and dry her throat.
Oh, God, she thought suddenly, I’m enjoying this too much. It was only a casual outing, after all, with a definite purpose in mind, and she was imbuing it with attributes of a much more personal nature.
Fallow House stood behind a high brick wall at the end of the village. It was not a particularly attractive dwelling, made of grey stone, with several unsightly chimneys and a welter of outhouses tacked on to the main building with an absence of design or balance. There were several cars already parked when Jake brought the Ferrari to a smooth halt on the gravelled forecourt, and almost before he had opened his door a man came hurrying down the steps of the house towards him.
The newcomer was of medium height, which meant that Jake was much taller, and had a decided paunch beneath his well cut lounge suit. He looked about fifty, Ashley decided, and his wispy brown hair had been combed across the bald patch that was obviously the bane of his life. But he was certainly delighted to see Jake and shook hands with him warmly.
Pushing open her door, Ashley climbed out, shivering as a sudden gust of wind probed the buttoned fastening of the red blouse she was wearing. Flared cream slacks were warm against her legs, and she bent to pull her suede coat from the back of the car. The coat was dark green, edged with cream fur along the collar, cuffs and hem, and had a warm hood which she drew up over her ears.
Jake saw that she had got out, too, and excusing himself from the other man for a moment, pulled his own sheepskin jacket from the Ferrari. Then he locked the car and said: ‘Shall we go inside? We can talk just as easily there.’
The smaller man nodded, his gaze flickering speculatively over the slim girl at Jake’s side. Ashley wondered whether he knew Barbara and was perhaps conjecturing on her relationship with Jake.
There were quite a lot of people in the draughty hall of the house, standing about in groups talking, and Jake spoke to a number of them. Ashley got quite accustomed to being mentally appraised immediately after Jake had been greeted, but she couldn’t help feeling slightly embarrassed by the closeness of their scrutiny. However, Jake seemed totally indifferent to their interest in his companion, and apart from introducing her to Walter Beswick, the man who had joined them on their arrival, he made no concessions to their curiosity.
Wandering round the house at Jake’s side, listening to his conversation with the other man, Ashley gathered that there were several valuable pieces here among a rather motley assortment of old furniture. There was, for instance, a seventeenth-century walnut cabinet, with lots of small drawers decorated with floral marquetry; an Adam table carved with rams’ heads that Ashley found quite fascinating; and a magnificent four-poster bed in the master bedroom, which according to the catalogue dated back to the eighteenth century.
It was at least eight feet wide and perhaps seven feet in length, and fitted with a modern mattress Ashley thought it would be superbly comfortable. Jake, who had been examining an oak chest which was standing against the wall in the same room, turned to find her stroking the scrollwork on one of the bedposts with a rather faraway look in her eyes. Walter Beswick was on his hands and knees beside the oak chest, trying to find any deterioration in the wood, and for a moment they were virtually alone.
‘What are you thinking?’ Jake asked, in her ear, and she started in surprise.
‘Oh—it’s you!’ she exclaimed, aware that her heart was thumping unnecessarily loudly. ‘I was just thinking—what a super bed this would make. Don’t you think so?’ She bent and pressed the yielding flock mattress that presently covered the solid base. ‘With a decent mattress, of course.’
Jake folded his arms and studied the bed thoughtfully. ‘Hmm. A bit cumbersome, don’t you think? And much too big for one person.’
Ashley made a deprecating gesture. ‘I wasn’t meaning—for myself.’
‘No?’ Jake raised his dark eyebrows. ‘For me, then? You think my fiancée would like something like this in our bedroom?’
Ashley bent her head, her enthusiasm for the piece fading. ‘I was just speaking metaphorically,’ she said.
‘Metaphorically?’ murmured Jake, in admiration. ‘Now that’s a very good word. What does it mean?’
Ashley opened her mouth to tell him and then closed it again at the mocking glint in his eyes. Turning away, she said determinedly: ‘Where is the library? I’d like to see it.’
There was silence for a moment and she waited uneasily for him to reply. But when he did, it was something entirely different. ‘If you’d like the bed, I’ll buy it for you.’
Ashley swung round then, her eyes wide and alarmed. ‘Oh, no! No, thank you.’ Apart from the practicalities involved, she could just imagine the gossip if it ever emerged that Jake Seton had bought her a bed. Then she faltered, tipping her head on one side, trying to read his expression. Was she taking seriously again something that could only be a joke? ‘You’re not serious, are you?’
Jake’s arms fell to his sides. ‘Why not?’
Ashley shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. ‘Well, because—where would I put a bed like that?’ She tried to laugh, and failed abysmally.
‘You’ll be getting married one day. I’ve no doubt some arrangement could be made to store the bed until then——’
‘No!’