Love in Disguise Part 8

It was too early for flowers, but it was more secluded here than anywhere else, and she settled herself beneath an arbour and was soon absorbed in her reading.

She only returned to the house as the slanting rays of the 8un cooled, and she was still in her bedroom when she heard a car coming along the drive. Her room was on the top floor, facing the front, unlike those of the other staff who occupied the west wing. But a housekeeper, she supposed, held a more privileged position, and she was glad of it, for it meant that from her windows she had a view of the distant river where an occasional boat could be seen breaking the glassy surface of the water.

She went to the window and peered down. Yes, it was the Rolls. Mr. Allen was back earlier than she had expected. Quickly she slipped off her sun-dress and reached for the floral one, shuddering as she saw the daisy-shaped buttons. Her hand was on the bodice when there was a knock at the door.

'Who is it?' she called.

'It's Elsie,' the Danish maid replied, and came in carrying a box. 'This is for you, Miss Wilmot. From the master.'

'For me?' Anthea took the box. It had a Fortnum & Mason label and, though large, was light in weight. 'You may go, Elsie,' she said, and waited till the door had closed before she undid the string.

Carefully she pulled aside the layers of tissue paper and shook out a silver-grey dress in heavy French crepe. Astounded, she stared at it, her thoughts so chaotic that they made no sense. But after a moment she started to smile and was still smiling as she put it on and regarded her reflection in the mirror. The dress was several sizes too large for her-as she had expected-for in trying to assess her size, Mark Allen had been fooled by the voluminous wrap-round folds of her own dresses. And thank goodness he had been fooled! If this new dress had actually fitted her, it would have put an end to her pretence. It was beautifully cut and styled, with a softly fitted collar, simple bodice, plain long sleeves and graceful gathered skirt. But because it was large and too long, it looked frumpish, and she deliberately increased this by making the belt at the waist even looser.

Chuckling audibly, she put on her usual thick black stockings, heavy lace-up shoes and old-fashioned spectacles, 1 then clumped purposefully downstairs to thank him for his gift. Her hand clutched at the banisters. She sincerely hoped it was a gift. If he expected her to pay for it, she would be broke for a month.

'Of course it's a gift,' he said tersely when she searched him out and found him in the library. 'I thought you'd realise that without having to ask?'

'I'm not used to receiving things from my employers. It's most kind of you, sir.'

'I did it to please me, not you,' he said, and scowled at her.

'What's wrong?' she asked. 'Don't you like it?'

'Not as much as I thought I would,' he said candidly. 'There's something wrong with it.'

He was looking at the dress so intently that she knew it would not take him long to guess it was too big for her. Hurriedly she went to the door.

'Now where are you off to?' he called.

'The kitchen.'

'Don't go yet.' Restlessly he moved from his desk. 'What sort of a day has it been here?'

'Beautiful. I was working in the garden all the afternoon.'

'Don't tell me you're a gardener too?'

'Not that sort of work,' she smiled. 'I meant I was reading.'

'One of those weird books of yours?'

'A history book,' she corrected coldly.

'Can't you find anything more rewarding than the Life of Ethelred the Unready?'

'I enjoy history, sir. You obviously don't.'

'I'm more interested in the future than the past.'

"'Knowing the past can frequently help one to assess what the future will hold.'

'Meaning that life is a circle and the same things recur?' He shook his head. 'I'm afraid I don't support that view, Miss Wilmot. Nothing remains the same; everything changes.'

'People don't. They go on making the same mistakes.'

His dark brows met in a frown and his glasses slipped down. He pushed them back. 'You're right in that respect, Miss Wilmot. Leopards don't change their spots either!'

'I wouldn't liken people to animals, sir.'

'Wouldn't you?' He frowned again. 'No, I wouldn't either. Animals are nicer!'

'Then you've been unlucky in your choice of friends,' she said before she could stop herself.

'I take it you don't like mine?'

'I haven't given them any thought,' she said untruthfully, and walked out with such a determined step that she knew he would think twice before calling her back.

After she had supper-taking it with Mrs. Leggat in her sitting-room-she was too restless to remain indoors, and slipping on a coat, went out for a walk.

It was cooler at this hour of the evening, and the air was damp from the river. Sinking her chin lower into her collar, she quickened her steps. Her employer's presence in the house had made her unaccountably edgy, and though she knew it was easy to avoid him, she could not as easily keep him from intruding into her thoughts.

Leaving the drive, she strode across the lawns until she reached the belt of trees that lay some quarter of a mile from the house. The young moon was riding high and everything was sharply etched in black and silver. It made the scene darker and somehow menacing, turning the tree- trunks to skeletons and the branches to writhing arms.

She took a step back and headed for the river. Behind her came the snap of a twig and she stopped, wondering if she had disturbed an animal. The sound came again. It was too heavy to come from scampering paws and she knew it was a person. She glanced over her shoulder. The house was out of sight and there was no place for her to hide between here and the main gate some hundred yards away. Smartly she started to walk in its direction, but the steps behind her came more quickly too and she began to run. So did her unknown pursuer. But he was running faster than she was, and the sound of his feet came closer and closer until he was directly behind her.

A hand came on her shoulder and she gave a scream and whirled round, the sound dying as she saw thick black hair and a tight set mouth.

'Why on earth were you running away from me?' Mark Allen demanded.

'I didn't know it was you.' She was gasping for breath and tried to gulp in more air.

He caught her by the elbow and pulled her along to a wooden bench, half hidden behind a clump of massive rhododendrons.

'If you'd had the sense to turn round,' he said, too angry to be polite, 'you wouldn't have practically given yourself a heart attack!'

'I was afraid to turn in case it slowed me down. It never entered my head it was you.'

'I wasn't sure it was you, either,' he said, and she was suddenly conscious that she was wearing a good tweed coat, tightly belted to show her waist. But the hem of her dress was sticking out three inches below it, and this managed to minimise the smart line.

'I don't think it's wise for you to go out walking alone at night,' he went on. 'If you want some exercise, take one of the dogs with you.'

'That's a good idea. I'll take Judy.'

'She might not be amenable. She's the most difficult of the bunch.'

'We're friends,' Anthea explained. 'She regards me as her ballboy!'

He laughed. 'I'm glad you like Alsatians. Lots of people are afraid of them.'

'I used to have one,' she admitted. 'It died when I was fourteen.'

'They need a lot of exercise. It isn't fair to keep them in a small house.'

'We have a large garden.' She stopped abruptly. 'At least not large by your standards.'

'Are your parents still alive?'

'You've asked me that before. My mother is dead and my father remarried again at Christmas.'

'What does your father do?'

'You asked me that before, too.'

'You didn't answer me, if I remember rightly.' There was no masking the irony in his voice, and she knew she could not hedge this time.

'He teaches history.' It was the truth, though phrased in such a way as to give the wrong impression.

'So that's why you're so keen on the subject,' he said. 'You should have tried for university, Miss Wilmot. I'm a great believer in education.'

'Even for women?'

'Even for women.' This time he was smiling openly. 'Do I strike you as so old-fashioned that I would deny the female sex an education?'

'I get the impression you don't give much thought to the female sex-in general, that is.'

'That's true,' he admitted. 'Though from time to time I think about the female sex in particular!' He crossed his arms on his chest and leaned against the bench, although he did not sit down. 'I've been giving you quite a bit of thought as it so happens, Miss Wilmot. You intrigue me.'

She looked down at the ground, staring at it as if she had never seen ground before.

'Well?' he said. 'Aren't you at least going to ask me why? You really are the least curious of women.'

Still she did not look up, and he gave a mocking sigh. 'I can see I'll have to tell you. You intrigue me because I suspect a very bright mind behind that servile exterior.'

'I'm never servile, Mr. Allen.'

'Perhaps servile is the wrong word. Maybe I mean deliberately deprecating. The way you keep calling me "sir", as if you need to establish my superiority.'

'I didn't think I needed to do the obvious!'

He gave a soft laugh. 'There you are! You've done it again.'

'Done what?'

'Shown me the edge of your sharp tongue and your agile brain.'

'It's just an ordinary brain,' she protested. 'I can't help it if you're used to dumb women.'

'They're not all dumb,' he said gently. 'Claudine is very bright.' 'She's sophisticated.' Anthea stood up. 'That isn't the same.'

'Tell me the difference.' He fell in step beside her as she started to walk back to the house.

'I would rather not discuss your friends, sir.'

'Then let's discuss yours,' he said. 'How come you aren't married, Miss Wilmot?'

'I should have thought that was obvious, sir. Men like pretty women.'

'What's wrong with you?'

'I can hardly be called pretty.'

'That's true,' he agreed at once. 'You're far too intelligent for me to lie to you. But you have an intriguing personality.'

He stopped walking and she was forced to do the same, trying to look unconcerned as she felt his eyes on her. Though the moonlight blanched everything of colour, it also obliterated the unbecoming beige powder which she effected, and threw into relief the clear lines of her face and delicate bone structure. She saw an odd look cross his face, a quick frown to be replaced almost immediately by puzzlement.

'You look different... younger.'

'Moonlight hides my lines, sir.'

'You don't have any.'

'I'm older than you think, Mr. Allen.'

'I'm not sure what I think.' He continued to stare at her. 'There's something else about you. I'm not sure what, but-Darn it, I do know! You aren't wearing your glasses!'

With a gasp she put her hand to her face. She had slipped her glasses into her pocket when she had left the house, and had never given them another thought. But as she went to put them on, he stopped her.

'Do you have to wear them, Miss Wilmot? They don't look strong lenses to me.'

Afraid he might snatch them from her and discover they were plain glass, she buried them deep into her pocket again.

'Good,' he replied, seeing the gesture as her answer. 'Don't wear them any more. You look much nicer without them.'

Purposefully Anthea began walking again, faster this time, and he was forced to keep in step with her.

'I'll be down tomorrow night,' he said. 'I work better here.'

'You bring work with you?'

'You don't think I just sit in the library in the evening and do nothing?' he asked with some amusement.

'I thought you listened to music and relaxed.'

'I'm in the middle of working out a very big merger, Miss Wilmot.' He frowned. 'I don't know why I told you that.'

'Perhaps you felt like talking about it. Talking is relaxing too.'

'The solicitous attention of a docile woman?' His laugh was sudden. 'I prefer to relax on a settee!'