A Haunting Compulsion. Anne Mather
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Rachel’s blood quickened at the thought of it.
‘Yes—well, he came to the right place,’ Maisie opined firmly. ‘It’s only right that he should come home and be looked after by people who care about him.’
‘Of course.’ Rachel wondered if this was a subtle criticism of her.
‘Of course, Mrs Shard was worried about that, what with you coming and all,’ the housekeeper continued. ‘But I said to her, I did, this is Jaime’s home, I said, and Miss Williams won’t expect you to consider her feelings at a time like this.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Armstrong.’ Rachel put down her cup. ‘That was delicious.’ She moistened her lips. ‘Er—will you tell Mrs Shard I’ll be down in fifteen minutes?’
‘Yes, miss.’ The housekeeper picked up the tray again, and moved towards the door. ‘You—er—you haven’t spoken to Jaime yet, have you? He’s in his room, just along the hall, if you’d like to go and have a word with him. After you’re dressed, of course.’
Rachel kept her smile in place with difficulty. ‘I expect I’ll see him later,’ she declared stiffly, and the housekeeper looked disappointed.
‘I’m sure he’d like to see you, Miss Williams,’ she persisted. ‘And it is Christmas Eve, you know. The season of peace and good will.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Armstrong.’ Rachel’s dismissal was unmistakable this time, and with a little shrug the housekeeper left her, evidently feeling she had done what she could to repair the damage.
With her departure, Rachel rose purposefully to her feet again and padded into the bathroom. The night before she had paid little attention to her surroundings, but now she took time to admire the rose and cream tiles that circled the bath, and the fluted glass shower, with its pinewood door. The bath beckoned, but time dictated a shower, so she turned on the tap and stepped beneath its steaming cascade.
Her hair got wet, but she had brought a hand-dryer with her, and its smooth style was easily restored. Then, after examining the contents of her suitcase, she dressed in a pair of well-worn denim jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt. Ankle boots completed the outfit, that acquired a simple elegance on her slim body, and applying only the lightest of make-ups, she left the room before she lost her nerve.
In the carpeted corridor outside, she hesitated for a moment, counting the doors to Jaime’s room. His door was half open, as if inviting her investigation, but she was not tempted. She doubted he had asked Mrs Armstrong to intercede on his behalf, but she had no intention of getting involved with him, whatever kind of pressure was brought to bear.
Liz greeted her cheerfully when Rachel entered the morning room a few moments later. As the housekeeper had said, Jaime’s mother was absorbed with her mail, and Rachel walked over to the long windows, gazing out in silent admiration at the greyflecked waters of the bay. Beyond a stone-pillared terrace, sloping lawns fell away almost to the cliff’s edge, and the seaweed-strewn teeth of the rocks below were just visible, constantly washed by the ever-moving tide. On summer days it was possible to swim from the rocks, and there were deep pools where one might find crabs and other shellfish, but although the sky was clear this morning, the sea would be cold as ice. Its distant thunder reached her, as it sucked at the base of the cliffs, the rocks providing a natural protection for the more porous ridges of limestone.
Turning back to the table, Rachel seated herself, and picked up the morning paper lying beside her. She flicked through it idly, until Maisie put in an appearance and asked her what she would like to eat.
‘We’ve got kidneys and sausages, or kippers, if you’d prefer them,’ the housekeeper suggested approvingly, but Rachel only shook her head.
‘I think—just toast and coffee,’ she conceded regretfully. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have a good appetite.’
‘Then we’ll have to see if we can change that, Maisie, won’t we?’ Liz remarked, looking up from her bank statement. ‘I seem to remember you used to enjoy your food, Rachel.’
Rachel coloured then. ‘That was a long time ago, Liz.’
‘Not so long,’ Liz retorted firmly. ‘Didn’t you used to share Jaime’s bacon and eggs, the last time you were here?’
His name came more naturally, and although Liz looked slightly appalled afterwards, Rachel forced herself to respond without hesitation. ‘I was younger then,’ she sighed, pulling a wry face. ‘I have to watch my figure these days.’
‘Nonsense! Let us do that for you!’ remarked Robert’s amused tones, and Jaime’s father came into the room, broad and comfortable, in a navy wool dressing gown. He bent to kiss his wife’s cheek, then squeezed Rachel’s shoulders in passing, before settling himself in the seat beside her. ‘So—you’re looking more relaxed this morning. Did you sleep well?’
‘Very well, thank you.’ Rachel saw no reason to tell them of her restless night. ‘And thank you for your kind words. It was a pretty compliment.’
‘Nothing less than the truth, I do assure you,’ Robert replied gallantly, picking up one of her hands from the table and raising it to his lips. ‘Hmm, you smell delightful. What is it? Something to drive us poor males mad, I’m sure.’
Rachel giggled. ‘It’s Charlie perfume, actually,’ she admitted, as he let her draw her fingers away. ‘And you’re an old flatterer. I don’t know what Liz must think of you.’
‘Oh, I’m too old now to try and change him,’ remarked Liz dryly, but she and her husband exchanged a knowing smile.
‘You’ll never be too old,’ he retorted affectionately, then looked up at Maisie and gave her a wink. ‘I’ll have the same as usual, if you don’t mind,’ he told her. ‘Oh, and remind Andy I want to speak to him later, about those canes in the greenhouse.’
‘Yes, Mr Shard,’ Maisie nodded. ‘Shall I take Jaime’s breakfast upstairs, do you think? Or is he likely to be coming down?’
Liz looked uncomfortably at her husband, and he shrugged his shoulders almost imperceptibly. ‘I—think, perhaps, you ought to take it upstairs,’ Liz conceded at last. She glanced awkwardly at Rachel. ‘You don’t mind, do you, darling? He’s not being deliberately rude. It’s just—’
‘I don’t mind at all,’ Rachel averred, only too willing to put off the moment when she would have to face Jaime in his parents’ presence, and with a sigh of relief Liz gave Maisie her instructions.
‘It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it?’ Rachel offered, as the housekeeper left the room. The last thing she wanted was to lose the rapport they had recovered earlier, and as if sharing her feelings, Jaime’s father took up her words.
‘Perhaps you’d like to walk down to the village with me later,’ he suggested. ‘I’ve got a bottle of rare old Scotch whisky for the vicar to sample, and I want to call at the garage for a couple of new plugs for the Rover.’
‘Rob!’ His wife looked slightly scandalised. ‘You’re not going to offer Mr Conway some of that stuff Jaime brought you, are you?’
‘Why not?’ Her husband was unrepentant. ‘It’s good whisky. And you know as well as I do that old Conway enjoys a wee dram!’
‘I know, but—’ Liz shook her head at Rachel. ‘What would you do with him? Anyway,’ she sighed, ‘if you get drummed out of the church, don’t blame me.’
‘They’d have to get me in there before they could drum me out!’ retorted Robert, with a grin. ‘Stop worrying, woman. Conway and I understand one another. And he plays a fair round of golf.’
Rachel smiled. She had always envied Jaime his parents. Her own mother had died in a car accident soon after she was born, and she had been brought up by her father’s older, unmarried sister, who had come to share her brother’s home on his wife’s death. When Aunt Catherine died, Rachel was already fifteen,