Platinum Coast

The housekeeper in turn extended a plump, work-worn hand, her wary eyes taking in every inch of Christina, who was acutely aware of the scrutiny.

‘Pleased to meet you.’ Dorothy’s lips were tight and her sharp voice indifferent. She turned her attention to Stephen, who was still trying to calm the boisterous spaniel.

‘Come inside, Mr Reece-Carlton. I’ve got something very special for you.’

Stephen patted his flat stomach. ‘Don’t tell me, Dot. Cinnamon and apple tart with home-made ice-cream.’

Dorothy beamed. ‘And fruit cake too. That’s his favourite,’ she commented to Christina as they all trooped into the large, square oak-panelled hall.

Christina heard her own heels clicking on the flagstone floor and was momentarily embarrassed in such grand surroundings, but Dorothy Barnes chatted on to Stephen, not seeming to notice her discomfiture. ‘Good journey? How was the traffic? It’s usually so bad on Friday afternoons.’

‘It was okay. I picked Christina up at Gatwick and I think we made it before the real rush.’

Stephen dropped her bag at the foot of the stairs and they followed Dorothy into a big beamed kitchen.

‘Sit yourselves down,’ she ordered. ‘Tea coming up.’

She bustled towards a bright-red Aga, where a kettle was already simmering.

Stephen and Christina sat at a long scrubbed-pine table, which was laid with a blue and white tea set. A big earthenware pot filled with fresh flowers stood in the centre.

Christina looked around the homely kitchen. Pots and pans hung from exposed beams in the low ceiling next to clumps of dried flowers and fresh herbs. Brightly coloured ceramic containers lined the Delft-tiled work-surfaces, and greetings cards, children’s drawings and cookery books covered a thick stone mantelpiece above a deep fireplace blackened with age.

‘This reminds me so much of the kitchen at home,’ Christina commented.

‘Really?’ Dorothy’s thin brows raised in disbelief.

‘Though you could probably fit my kitchen into your pantry! I mean the atmosphere, really,’ Christina said honestly.

The housekeeper’s expression softened.

‘This kitchen is an extension. Mr and Mrs Reece-Carlton built it a few years ago. It was a poky little thing before, half this size.’

She placed a teapot complete with a red woollen cosy onto the table, closely followed by rich, dark-brown fruit cake and a crumbly short-pastry apple tart baked golden-brown.

‘Mmm, that looks delicious.’ Stephen rubbed his hands together.

‘Tuck in. I hope you’re hungry because I’ve made wholemeal scones as well.’

Dorothy looked at Christina’s tall, slender figure. ‘You look like you could do with feeding up.’

‘I eat like a horse, actually.’ And as if to confirm her statement, Christina reached across the table and helped herself to a thick slice of fruit cake.

The telephone rang, and Stephen stood up. ‘I’ll get it. I’m expecting a call from Robert.’

Dorothy clicked her tongue and sighed as she wiped the top of the tiled work-surfaces.

‘Always telephone calls during meals … infernal instruments! A damn nuisance if you ask me.’

‘What’s a damn nuisance?’ The voice belonged to the pretty young girl who had padded into the kitchen in red-stockinged feet. Christina saw it was the girl from the paddock, Stephen’s daughter presumably. She was dressed in beige jodhpurs and a white cotton jumper. Her long, dark hair was pulled back in a messy pony-tail, and her small, heart-shaped face was flushed from running.

‘None of your business, Miss Nosey,’ Dorothy chided, affection softening her tone.

‘Where’s Daddy?’ the child asked, then looked from Dorothy to Christina, sitting at the breakfast table.

‘Who are you?’ She stared unsmilingly at the visitor with wide blue-grey eyes the colour of a stormy sea. Christina was about to tell the girl her name when Dorothy cut in, ‘This is Christina. A friend of your father’s, come to stay for the weekend.’

‘Well, he never mentioned her to me!’ the girl snapped, then turned at the sound of her father’s voice.

‘Please don’t refer to our guest as “her”, Victoria,’ Stephen admonished gently. ‘Where are your manners?’

Not waiting for her to reply, he continued, ‘Christina, may I introduce my daughter, Victoria.’

She stood up and smiled as warmly as she could into the girl’s pretty, scowling face.

‘Pleased to meet you. Your father talks so much about you, I’ve been dying to meet you.’

It was the truth. After initially being slow to speak of his daughter, Stephen now mentioned her frequently - often as the reason why he could not leave Sussex. This weekend was an attempt to ease Christina into his home routine. She wished she could feel it was going to be successful, but so far the signs were far from promising.

Victoria didn’t smile but lowered her eyes and in a sullen voice said, ‘Pleased to meet you.’ It was obvious that she felt anything but.

Victoria turned her back on Christina. With a glorious smile transforming her face she stood on tiptoes to kiss her father’s cheek, flinging her arms around his neck. ‘It’s so lovely to have you home with me. Daddy.’ She took his hand. ‘I have something very special to show you upstairs. Please come with me now.’ Her voice was demanding.

‘Can’t it wait a moment, Vicky?’ He glanced in Christina’s direction. ‘I was about to demolish some of Dorothy’s wonderful apple pie.’

‘No. You’ll have to come at once or it will spoil. Please, Daddy,’ the girl implored.

Stephen looked over Victoria’s shoulder at Christina, his eyes apologetic.

‘I’ll be two minutes. Don’t eat all the cake.’

She smiled. ‘You’ll have to be quick!’

‘What about your cinnamon and apple pie, Mr Reece-Carlton? I haven’t stood in this hot kitchen baking all day for it to go to waste,’ the housekeeper shouted.

‘Oh, shut up, Dossy. You know you love baking, whether it gets eaten or not,’ Victoria shouted back.

‘I’ll spank your hide, you cheeky little monkey.’ She pointed a chubby finger at Victoria, who dragged her father out of the kitchen without so much as a glance in Christina’s direction.

‘I’ll eat it, don’t worry,’ Christina said, helping herself to a large slice of apple pie.

‘Thank goodness someone will.’ The housekeeper sat down next to her and poured herself a cup of tea, shuffling her ample bottom into a more comfortable position.

‘How long have you worked here?’ Christina asked.

‘Too long, I think sometimes. Especially when that imp Victoria plays me up.’

She helped herself to a huge piece of fruit cake. ‘I came to work here when my eldest, John, was fifteen. He’s twenty-eight now.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘Nigh on thirteen years. Mr Reece-Carlton hasn’t had the house all that time, mind you. There was the Naughton family before that. Americans they were, a funny lot, only came here a couple of times a year. And before them there was Lady Somerville, a lovely old lady. It was her who employed me originally. I’d only been here about six months when she upped and died. My old man used to joke and say it was my pea and ham soup that killed her off!

‘Then, when Mr and Mrs Reece-Carlton bought the house in 1976, they asked me to stay on.’

She took a noisy gulp of tea and slopped a little onto her pinny. ‘Mrs Reece-Carlton was a real lady, very generous too. It was so tragic.’

She stopped speaking abruptly and quickly stood up as she heard Stephen’s voice in the hall, followed by girlish giggles.

Victoria raced into the kitchen. ‘Daddy’s promised to take me to the gymkhana tomorrow, Dossy, so could you make us a picnic lunch?’

‘Of course I’ll make a picnic, with all your favourites.’ She fondly ruffled the top of Victoria’s dark head then nudged her, eyes shifting to Christina sitting awkwardly at the table, watching the cosy scene.

‘Would you like to come to the gymkhana?’ Victoria asked, her tone flat and lacking any enthusiasm.

‘As long as I can have egg sandwiches in my picnic’

Victoria noticed the glance she exchanged with her father and her eyes narrowed. So they had already been on a picnic together? She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.

Going to the fridge, she poured herself some orange juice and then sat at the breakfast table, so close to her father that they looked glued together. Stephen edged away a little, feeling uncomfortable, but Victoria slid closer to him once more.

She glanced at Christina from under thick black lashes and announced, ‘I wouldn’t bother coming to the gymkhana if I were you.’ She helped herself to apple pie then went on, ‘Unless you absolutely love horses, you’ll be bored to death.’

She turned to her father for confirmation. ‘Won’t she, Daddy?’

‘I really think that’s for me to decide, don’t you?’

Christina forced her mouth into the semblance of a smile as she stared into Victoria’s flinty gaze, aware for the first time of the strong resemblance to Stephen when he was deep in thought.

The girl continued staring at her whilst she ate her apple pie. ‘It’s up to you, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘Victoria, if Christina would like to go to the gymkhana, she can. I personally think she would enjoy it.’

Victoria poked out her tongue at her father.

He tapped the end of it with his finger. ‘Put that away. You don’t know where it’s been.’

She giggled and poked her tongue in and out rapidly whilst Stephen pretended to try and catch it.

Christina stood up. ‘Sorry, but I must use the loo.’ She glanced at Stephen.

He jumped up. ‘I’ll show you to your room.’ He pulled Victoria’s pony-tail as he passed the back of her chair. ‘See you later. Miss Reece-Carlton.’

‘I’m going down to the stables. Come and join me there,’ she said.

‘Thanks for the tea, Dorothy, it was lovely – especially the fruit cake. Just like my mother makes,’ Christina called across to the housekeeper, who was taking a can of dog-food out of the pantry.

‘My pleasure. I like folk who eat well and appreciate my food.’

They left the kitchen and Stephen picked up Christina’s bag before leading the way up a wide, dark oak staircase.

She almost slipped twice on the highly polished stairs, and noticed that the uneven floor creaked with every other step as she followed Stephen past walls lined with paintings in ornate gilded frames.

He stopped at an arched, oak-panelled door which he flung open to reveal a medium-sized room with an elegant Regency four-poster.

The room was wallpapered in a yellow and blue flowered print, and the two colours in toning shades were reflected in the bedspread, curtains, cushions and upholstery.

There was a tiny beamed bathroom en suite with a white tub and a small antique sink. The towels were blue with lemon edging, and there were several pots and jars containing bath oils, soaps and cotton wool.

Christina emerged from the bathroom to find Stephen standing next to a small lead-paned window sill and looking out over the garden. It was planted in Old English formal style with smooth, green lawns divided by stone-flagged paths and neat hedges within which the richly stocked herbaceous borders burst with colour. It seemed to end at a high screen of neatly trimmed, spiralling topiary.

‘What a magnificent garden,’ she said. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it, except in films.’

‘This is only half of it. Come on, I’ll give you the guided tour of the grounds. Put on some suitable shoes and follow me.’

He waited patiently whilst Christina unzipped her bag and found a pair of trainers which she quickly pulled onto her stockinged feet.

He took her hand and they left the house by the front door, meeting Muffin, the spaniel, panting on the doorstep.

‘Come on, Muffy,’ Stephen called as they set off down the drive. Muffin slumped down in the warm porch and dropped his head on his paws, ready for a snooze.

‘He must have been down at the stables with Victoria all day,’ Stephen commented. ‘He usually comes back exhausted.’ They walked round the side of the house, down a set of old brick steps to a narrow path where they had to walk single-file. The path twisted through a vast rose garden where Old and New English Roses, floribundas, miniatures and hybrid teas blossomed in every shade from white and palest lemon to deepest pinks and crimsons. The garden was heavy with scent.

‘There are over fifty different varieties in here. My wife had this garden planted specially. It was her pride and joy. She was a keen gardener,’ Stephen said in a soft voice.

‘What about you?’ asked Christina.

‘I’m afraid I haven’t got green fingers; I love to see it looking beautiful, but I’d much rather pay someone to keep it that way.’

The path ended at a crumbling old summer-house where a white rambling rose swathed the black-beamed walls.

‘Come on.’ Stephen opened the door and Christina stepped inside. It was damp and musty-smelling.

‘This was Victoria’s den.’ He pointed to a heap of dusty toys piled in one corner. Rubbing a small pane in one window with the flat of his hand, he beckoned to Christina. ‘Look.’

With her nose almost touching the glass, she peered out onto an enclosed patio where flowering plants poked through old flagstones and honeysuckle and clematis crawled up pale stone walls. A small swimming-pool was set in the centre. It looked unused. Dead insects and leaves floated on the surface.

‘Don’t you use the pool?’ Christina asked, staring at the stagnant water.

‘I do occasionally, but Victoria never does. She’s afraid of the water. She almost drowned when she was two years old and has never forgotten it.’

‘I love swimming,’ Christina said.

‘Well, swim you shall. I’ll get Jack the gardener to clean the pool out this afternoon, and if it’s warm enough we can go swimming together in the morning.’

‘How about skinny-dipping this evening?’ she said mischievously.

‘If we can manage it, I’m game.’

They left the summer-house and walked hand in hand through several acres of woodland, completing the tour of the twenty acres of grounds at the stables, where Victoria was grooming her bay gelding in the yard as they approached.

‘Come and meet Mischief.’ Stephen pulled a reluctant Christina towards the fourteen-hand pony. She thought the name might be apt and approached the animal warily.

Victoria continued grooming Mischief’s tail as Christina cautiously stroked his mane.

‘How long have you had her?’

‘Daddy bought him for my tenth birthday as a surprise present. Didn’t you, Daddy?’

Stephen nodded and smiled.

Victoria continued speaking just to him. ‘Do you remember how you tied his tail and mane with lots of big red ribbons, and what fun we had that day? I’ll never part with Mischief. Even when I get big I’ll still keep him.’

Victoria finished grooming the horse’s tail, and put the brush on a bench by her feet. ‘Daddy always knows just what to buy me.’

She stood next to her father, watching Christina stroke the pony’s neck.

Stephen smiled. ‘I think he likes you, Christina.’

‘This pony has good taste,’ she said, and gave hisa neck a final pat.

Victoria left her father’s side to stand in front of Mischief, saying, ‘Come on, boy, back you go.’ She pushed him back towards his stall, but he was enjoying the attention he was receiving from Christina and did not want to move.

‘Back, boy!’ Victoria slapped his hind quarters and Mischief bucked, landing heavily on Christina’s foot. She screamed and pulled away from the beast, who rolled his eyes at the noise and movement. Victoria did not spare her a glance but concentrated on calming her pony.

‘Are you okay, Christina?’ Concerned, Stephen bent over and examined her rapidly swelling foot.

‘She’ll be fine, Daddy, really. What a fuss. It happens to me all the time.’

Victoria bolted the stable half-door and held out her hand to Mischief. In it were two Polo mints which the pony took and chomped with great relish.

‘See you tomorrow, my darling Mischief,’ she crooned. ‘I hope you’re going to win for me.’ Then she turned to Christina. ‘I really would think twice about coming to the gymkhana tomorrow. There’ll be lots of horses there and you could get trodden on again.’ Her voice was cold.

Stephen took Christina’s arm and gave his daughter an angry glare. ‘Have you no sympathy, Victoria? Can’t you see Christina’s hurt?’

‘It’s not my fault if she’s not used to being around horses.’

A petulant look appeared on Victoria’s face. She would have relented and said she was sorry, if only for her father’s sake, but could not bring herself to speak as she watched him supporting Christina and tenderly sympathizing with her as she limped out of the stable-yard.

Victoria threw a spiteful look in Christina’s direction and muttered under her breath, though loud enough for them to hear, ‘Stupid girl! She’s just making a fuss to get attention.’ Before her father could rebuke her she ran past them and up the small service drive across the top paddock. They saw her round the back of the house and vanish from sight.

‘I’m sorry about her behaviour,’ Stephen apologized as he helped Christina back to the house. ‘She resents anyone in my life. That’s why I never bring women down here. You’re the first since Barbara’s death.’

Christina winced in pain and thought: If this is the way Victoria’s going to act, I’ll probably be the last!

She would have liked to have said so, but held back.

‘I’m sure she’ll get used to me in time.’

She squeezed Stephen’s arm as a sharp pain shot through her ankle. She was positive that Victoria had engineered her accident and sincerely hoped that the wilful child would get used to her soon. If not, she might not survive the weekend.

Within hours Christina’s foot had swelled to the size of a small balloon, and Stephen insisted on calling in his local doctor, who suggested the possibility of a hair-line fracture. There was certainly a very severe sprain. He advised an X-ray first thing Monday morning. Meanwhile he strapped her foot and ankle and gave her pain-killers, recommending lots of rest with her feet up.

Stephen had planned to go to a local Italian restaurant for dinner, so had given Dorothy Barnes the night off.

Christina insisted he should still take Victoria.

‘Really, Stephen, I’ll be fine if you make me a cheese sandwich and leave me here in front of the telly.’

He hesitated. ‘I really don’t like to.’

They were sitting in the living-room in front of a deep inglenook fireplace.

‘Would you like me to light the fire?’ Stephen pointed to the grate which was ready laid with logs and newspaper neatly arranged on the black, charred iron. A dog-chewed wicker basket full of extra logs stood on the hearth next to a highly polished brass fender.

Christina shook her head. ‘I’m warm enough, thanks.’ She shifted herself into a more comfortable position on the royal-blue damask-covered three-seater sofa with its assortment of needlepoint cushions behind her back and neck. Her leg was resting on a small foot-stool.

‘Anyway, you mustn’t disappoint Victoria. She’s looking forward to it.’

Christina watched Stephen’s reaction carefully, thinking how attractive he looked in a navy-blue sports jacket and a mint-green shirt that almost matched the colour of his eyes.

She wanted him to say that Victoria could miss her treat for once, but was not at all surprised when he said, ‘I’ll be as quick as possible, I promise. We’ll be a couple of hours at the most.’

He looked relieved as he said again, ‘Are you sure you’ll be okay?’

Victoria walked into the room and stood in front of the sofa, unable to disguise the satisfied smirk on her face.

‘I’m really sorry about your foot, Christina. It’s such a shame you can’t come with us tonight. Mario makes the most fantastic lasagne.’ She smiled sweetly at her father.

‘My, my, you look very pretty. Is that a new jumper?’

Victoria had changed into a soft pink angora short-sleeved sweater with the head of a white Persian kitten appliquéd on the front. It was tucked into faded blue-denim jeans with silver studs on the pockets, and she wore pink socks and pale-pink ballerina shoes with bows on the front. Her thick, glossy hair hung loose, swinging down her back and shoulders, almost touching her elbows.

‘Nanny bought this for me last time she came to stay. Don’t you remember, Daddy?’

Stephen shrugged. ‘You know me and clothes, poppet, I can never remember things like that.’ He leaned towards her. ‘Now you sit and chat to Christina while I make her a sandwich; then we can go.’

Stephen left the room and Victoria sat awkwardly on the very edge of the sofa.

Christina broke the silence.

‘I realize you’re used to having your father’s exclusive attention, Victoria, and I really don’t want to spoil anything for you.’

Immediately the child got up from the sofa and stood in front of her.

‘That’s good, because I’m not going to let you. Just stay away from us!’ Christina was shocked at the harsh words and saw something in the eyes of the eleven-year-old that chilled her to the bone.

‘I think I’ll go and help Daddy now,’ Victoria said, and ran out of the living-room before Christina had a chance to speak to her further.

Stephen returned ten minutes later with a big tray covered in a white lace tray-cloth. He placed it in Christina’s lap with a flourish.

‘Dinner à la carte.’

‘Thank you.’ She looked down at the tray on which he had laid cheese and tomato toasties, garnished with lettuce and delicately cut cucumber. A slice of apple tart sat next to a bottle of chilled Frascati, and a champagne tulip held a single pale-peach rose.

A small white envelope sat on top of the pile of sandwiches. Christina lifted it up, a question in her eyes.

‘Read it later.’ Stephen put his hand on her shoulder and bent forward, ‘I won’t be long, I promise.’ He glanced at the open doorway where Victoria was standing, an impatient look marring her pretty face.

He planted a soft kiss on Christina’s cheek.

‘See you later.’

‘Have fun,’ she called, and heard Victoria shouting from the hall with glee: ‘Don’t worry, we will!’

The last sound she heard was Victoria’s delighted giggling before the door slammed shut and she was left alone.

Christina had very little appetite but drank most of the wine.

Then she remembered the little card Stephen had left for her.

Remember the last time we had cheese and tomato sandwiches?

I’ll never forget.

Love, S.

Christina sighed and thought about the wonderful time they had shared in London four weeks previously. Stephen was a very different man this weekend. She was dozing in front of an old black and white movie when Stephen and Victoria returned home by taxi two hours later. Christina could tell that Stephen had been drinking as he bounded into the living-room. She noticed two scarlet spots of colour standing out on his cheeks as he sat down next to her.

‘How’s the lovely injured Christina?’

‘All the better for seeing you.’ She touched his hot cheek and leaned forward to kiss him. He jumped up as if he had been stung as Victoria bounced into the room, cheeks ablaze with excited colour and eyes sparkling.

Christina groaned inwardly. Victoria did not look in the least bit tired.

‘How about a game of Monopoly?’ She began to rummage in an old oak chest, pulling out an assortment of board games.

Stephen looked at the Victorian carriage clock on the carved mantelpiece and said, not firmly enough in Christina’s opinion, ‘I think it’s bedtime.’

Victoria pouted, it’s only ten o’clock. I don’t usually go to bed until eleven on weekends.’

She held the Monopoly box in front of Stephen’s face. ‘One quick game, please.’