Summer Of The Raven

She flung open her door and took a step forward into the living room. She saw him at once. He was tall and lean, with tawny hair springing back from his forehead and curling slightly on to his neck. As Rowan entered, he turned to look at her and she saw that he was very tanned, as if he spent a lot of time abroad, and that in contrast his grey eyes were almost silver. He wore a dark green velvet dinner jacket and a frilled and ruffled shirt with a casual elegance that was in no way effete.

She had the craziest feeling that she knew him, that she’d seen him somewhere – perhaps in a newspaper or a magazine, but his name eluded her and the reason he had been photographed.

Then she looked beyond him and with a little cry of alarm she saw Antonia lying on the sofa, very white. The man had been bending over her, and there was a glass in his hand.

Rowan started forward. ‘What have you done to her?’

He stood very still and looked at her, a long hard stare encompassing her from the soles of her bare feet to the top of her head, and she blushed to the roots of her hair, realising what a spectacle she must make in her schoolgirlish gingham nightdress. It was a good job it was opaque, she thought, as she hadn’t bothered to throw her dressing gown on over it.

‘Who the devil are you?’ His voice was low and resonant with the faintest drawl.

‘I’m Rowan Winslow.’ Her voice faltered as she stared anxiously at Antonia.

‘Rowan?’ He frowned. ‘Oh, yes, the child. I’d forgotten …’

Antonia stirred slightly and muttered something and he turned back to her.

‘What’s happened to her?’ Rowan took a further step into the room, her hands tightly clasped in front of her. ‘Is she ill? Did she faint?’

His mouth twisted. For the first time she noticed a slight scar on his face near the corner of his mouth.

‘That’s a delicate way of describing her condition,’ he said sardonically. “‘Passed out” is the more usual phrase.’

‘What?’ Rowan’s eyes went disbelievingly from his face to Antonia’s unconscious form. ‘You can’t mean that – you’re saying that she’s …’

He nodded. ‘As a newt,’ he said pleasantly. ‘If you’ll indicate which is her room, I’ll put her to bed. And you’d better get back to your own before you catch your death of cold.’

Rowan was not listening. ‘You took Antonia out and got her drunk,’ she accused hotly. ‘That’s a swinish thing to do!’

He gave her another more searching look. ‘I took her out, yes.’ His voice was cool. ‘But I can assure you that her over-indulgence in alcohol was all her own idea.’

He bent and lifted Antonia into his arms. She was no lightweight, but he held her as easily as if she were a doll. There was something vaguely obscene about her helplessly dangling legs and the way her head lolled back against his arm, and Rowan swallowed uncomfortably.

‘Her room’s through there.’ She pointed. ‘If – if you’ll just put her down on the bed, I’ll do what’s necessary.’

His brows rose. ‘Aren’t you a little young to be coping with this sort of thing?’ he demanded. ‘Or is it quite a normal occurrence?’

She was just about to give an indignant negative to both his questions, when it occurred to her that perhaps it was no bad thing in the circumstances that he thought she was much younger than she actually was. If Antonia had been drinking to that extent, he could hardly be stone cold sober himself, and it was very late, and they were practically alone together.

‘It isn’t at all a normal occurrence,’ she assured him rather bleakly. ‘If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll fetch my dressing gown.’

It was a warm, unglamorous garment in royal blue wool which had seen service during her boarding school days, and she felt oddly secure once its voluminous folds had enwrapped her.

When she got to Antonia’s room her stepmother was already lying on the bed. The man was standing beside the bed, looking down at her, his face sombre and rather brooding.

‘Do you want me to help you with her dress?’ he enquired as Rowan came in. ‘Your wrists are like sparrows’ legs and you might have difficulty turning her over.’

‘I shall leave her as she is, thank you,’ she replied with dignity, resisting an urge to tuck the offending wrists out of sight in the sleeves of her dressing gown.

‘As you wish,’ he sounded totally indifferent. ‘But if she’s – er – ill in the night and ruins an expensive model gown, she’s unlikely to thank you.’

‘It’s really quite all right.’ She sounded like a prim old maid, Rowan thought despairingly. ‘You don’t need to stay. I’m quite capable of looking after her.’

He smiled suddenly, and she felt her mind reel under the sudden, devastating impact of his charm. Suddenly he was no longer an intruder – the stranger who happened to have brought Antonia home. He was very much a man to be reckoned with in his own right. Absurdly she found herself wondering how old he was. Possibly Antonia’s age, she thought, judging the hard, incisive lines of his face. Perhaps a year or so younger.

‘Do you know,’ he said slowly, ‘I almost believe you are. The question is – who looks after you?’

She was blushing again, and the disturbing thing was she didn’t really understand why.

She gave him a formal smile. ‘We really can manage now.’ She looked down rather uncertainly at Antonia. ‘I –I’m very sorry about all this,’ she ventured, then wondered vexedly why she should have said such a thing.

‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ he said softly. ‘Antonia will be a damned sight sorrier when she wakes up. She’s going to have a head like a ruptured belfry when she eventually opens her eyes, so I’d keep out of her way if I were you.’

He nodded to her and walked out of the bedroom. Rowan padded after him to the living room door, where he turned and subjected her to another of those lingering head to toe appraisals.

Then, ‘See you,’ he said lightly, and went out.

‘Not if I see you first,’ she thought as she secured the latch and shot the bolt at the top of the door. And then she realised with frank dismay that she didn’t actually mean that at all. In fact, she didn’t know quite what she did mean, and her mind seemed to be whirling in total confusion, although that could be because she had been startled out of her sleep.

She leaned against the door for a moment and took a long, steadying breath. It was then she remembered that she had never found out who he was.

She went slowly back to Antonia’s room and stood looking down at her. It was true, it was a lovely dress, and sleeping in it would do it no good at all. It was a struggle, but eventually she got Antonia out of the dress, and hung it up carefully in the wardrobe. Then she pulled the covers up over her stepmother’s half-clothed body, flushing a little as she remembered the stranger’s half-mocking offer of assistance. He was probably adept at getting women out of their dresses, whether they were conscious or unconscious, she told herself scornfully.

At least he’d had the decency to bring Antonia home, she argued with herself as she switched out the light. But then, returned a small cold voice inside her, what other course was open to him? Antonia’s condition had ruined the natural conclusion of the evening for them both.

Usually Rowan slept like a baby, but when she got back into her chilly bed, sleep was oddly elusive and she lay tossing and turning. In the end, she sat up in bed and said fiercely, ‘This is ridiculous!’ and gave her pillow an almighty thump as she did so.

She had met an attractive man; that was all that had happened. She had met others in the past, she thought, her mouth trembling into a rueful smile, and they hadn’t noticed her either. Nothing had changed, least of all herself. He was very adult, and very male with that tanned skin and those pale mocking eyes, and he had looked her over and seen what there was to see, and he had called her a child.

‘Perhaps that’s what I am.’ She squinted sightlessly through the darkness towards the window where a paler light was beginning to be perceptible through the thin curtains. ‘A case of arrested development, small breasts, chewed nails and all.’ The thought made her smile, but it did not lift her heart, and when she fell asleep she dreamed the small unpleasant dreams that cannot be recalled to mind the next day, yet hang about like an incipient headache.

The next day was Saturday, so there were no lectures, but she had to go to the library to exchange an armful of books, and there was the weekend shopping to be done. She breakfasted quickly on toast and coffee and looked round Antonia’s door to see if she wanted anything before she departed, but Antonia was still sleeping like the dead.

Rowen bought vegetables and fruit from a street stall at the corner on her way home from the library and agreed with the vendor that winter really did seem to be over at last, wriggling her shoulders in the pale warmth of the sunlight.

She felt almost cheerful as she walked in at the front door and came face to face with Fawcett, their landlord. He was making his weekly rent round, and she said smilingly, ‘Good morning. Did Mrs Winslow hear you knock? If not, I can …’

‘I have the rent,’ he said rather dourly. ‘I’m very sorry to hear that you’re leaving us. You’ve been good quiet tenants. I could hardly have wished for better.’

Rowan stared at him. She said at last, ‘I don’t quite follow—are you giving us notice?’

He looked quite shocked. ‘On the contrary, Miss Winslow. Your stepmother told me herself that you would be leaving at the end of the month.’

‘Oh, no, there must be some mistake.’ Rowan drew a long breath. She said urgently. ‘Please, Mr Fawcett, don’t advertise the flat yet. My—my stepmother hasn’t been well lately and …’

‘She certainly didn’t look very well.’ His lined face was suddenly austere with disapproval. ‘But I hardly feel there’s any mistake. Mrs Winslow handed me her notice in writing. Perhaps it’s a matter you should discuss with her rather than myself.’

Rowan was breathless by the time she reached their front door. She pushed the key into the latch and twisted it, and the door gave instantly. Antonia was on her knees at the sideboard and she looked round as Rowan marched in.

‘I’m looking for old Fawcett’s inventory,’ she said without preamble. ‘It must be around somewhere, and I’m damned if I’m leaving anything of ours for the next tenants.’

‘So it’s true.’ Rowan dropped limply into one of the chairs beside the dining table. ‘What have you done? I know it’s not Knightsbridge, but it’s clean and quiet and cheap and he doesn’t bother us.’

Antonia got up from her knees. ‘You don’t have to sing its praises to me,’ she said shortly. ‘I’m quite aware of all its dubious advantages, including the low rent. Unfortunately even that is more than we can afford just at present.’

‘Since when?’ Rowan began to feel as if the world was tottering in pieces all around her.

‘Since last night.’ Antonia came over and sat down on the opposite side of the table, facing her. She was very pale, and her eyes were narrowed as if the light was hurting them. She looked across at Rowan’s suddenly bleak face and gave a small rather malicious smile. ‘But don’t worry, sweetie, we won’t be sleeping on the Embankment just yet. We do have another hole to go to.’

‘One that we can afford?’ Rowan moved her stiff lips.

‘Rent-free, my dear, in return for services rendered. Only not, I fear, in London.’

‘Not in London?’ Rowan repeated helplessly. ‘But Antonia, I can’t leave London—you know I can’t!’

‘I had no idea you were so devoted to the place,’ Antonia retorted. ‘I always had the feeling you preferred that place in Surrey.’

‘Well, so I did,’ Rowan stared at her with sudden hope. ‘Is that where we’re going—Surrey? Oh, that won’t be too bad. I can easily …’

Antonia shook her head. ‘So sorry to disappoint you, but our destination is several hundred miles from Surrey,’ she said rather harshly. ‘We’re going to the Lake District, to a place called Ravensmere. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of it and I understand it’s too small to have appeared on any but the most detailed of maps,’ she added with a faint curl of her lips.

Rowan listened to her in stunned silence, then moistening her lips, she said, ‘I—I don’t believe it! You even hated the place in Surrey. You said it was too remote, and now you’re actually considering going to the other end of England.’

‘I’m not considering anything,’ Antonia said flatly. ‘I’m going, and you’re going with me.’

Rowan shook her head. ‘No way,’ she said steadily. ‘I have a course to finish and exams to take, in case you’d forgotten.’

‘I’ve forgotten nothing.’ Antonia drew her pack of cigarettes towards her and lit one irritably. ‘Perhaps you’ve forgotten that all-important clause about our sharing the same roof until you’re twenty-one.’

‘Indeed I haven’t. We’ll just have to tell Daddy’s solicitors that we found it—impossible to comply with.’

‘We’ll do no such thing,’ Antonia returned inimically. ‘That money is a lifeline as far as I’m concerned, and you won’t find it so easy to make out as you seem to think once it’s gone.’

‘I’ll manage.’ Rowan lifted her chin stubbornly. ‘And if it means that much to you, you could manage too. We can catch Mr Fawcett and tell him you’ve changed your mind about leaving and …’

Antonia’s hand shot across the table and gripped Rowan’s arm. She had been on the point of rising, but she hesitated now, almost pinned to her seat.

‘Unfortunately, it’s not as easy as that.’ Antonia paused. ‘You remember all the trouble that Alix and I had over the boutique’s closure?’

‘Not particularly,’ Rowan said drily. ‘It seemed to me at the time that the pair of you had emerged virtually unscathed.’

‘But not quite,’ said Antonia with a little snap. ‘I’d arranged all the financing, as you know, and I believed that my—backer was prepared to write the whole thing off as a loss.’ She paused again. ‘But I was wrong. He’s demanding payment in full.’

Rowan gasped. ‘But when did you discover this?’

‘Last night.’ Antonia stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette in the saucer of a used coffee cup. ‘By the way, just as a matter of interest, who put me to bed?’

‘I did, of course.’

‘There’s no “of course” about it.’ Antonia sounded almost amused. ‘It wouldn’t have been the first time Carne had seen me without my dress, you know. I presume he did bring me back, and didn’t just abandon me to the mercies of some taxi driver?’

‘There was a man here.’ Rowan felt a betraying blush rise in her face and mentally kicked herself.

‘Was there?’ Antonia nodded gently, her eyes absorbing Rowan’s overt embarrassment. ‘I’ve known him for years, of course. His mother and mine were some sort of distant cousins—hundreds of times removed, of course, and too boringly complicated to explain or even remember. But Carne and I did see a lot of each other at one time. We even nearly got engaged. He was hopelessly in love with me,’ she added.

In spite of herself, Rowan found she was visualising that dark, proud face with its cool, sensual mouth, and trying to imagine its owner in a state of hopeless love with anyone. It was not easy.

Without thinking what she was saying, she asked, ‘How did he get that scar?’

‘My word, we were observant,’ Antonia mocked. ‘I’ve no idea, actually. I expect one of his women bit him. But don’t get any ideas, sweetie. He eats little girls like you for breakfast.’

‘How desperately unconventional,’ said Rowan, trying for lightness. ‘Has he got something against cornflakes?’

Antonia was not amused. ‘You know what I mean,’ she said petulantly. ‘He is out—but out of your league, ducky, and don’t you forget it.

‘I’m not likely to.’ Rowan felt suddenly listless. ‘Anyway, it’s unlikely that we’ll ever meet again, so let’s drop the subject.’

Antonia sighed abruptly and her shoulders seemed to sag. ‘Would that we could,’ she said. ‘But that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s dear Cousin Carne to whom I owe all this money, and as I can’t repay him in cash he’s insisting that it has to be in kind. He has this house at Ravensmere which an old aunt looks after for him. But she’s got arthritis now, or some crippling thing, so the idea is that I go there for a while and act as his housekeeper in her place.’

There was a long silence as Rowan stared at her in utter disbelief. Then, ‘Oh, God give me strength,’ she said, half under her breath. ‘Is he serious?’

‘Of course he’s serious. That’s the deal. I go up to this mountain hellhole of his for as long as it takes while I—purge my contempt, I suppose.’ Antonia’s lips thinned. ‘He’s also offered to pay off any other debts I may have, including Celia’s, so I can’t accuse him of being ungenerous.’

‘It’s not a question of that.’ Rowan shook her head. ‘You don’t even know how to keep house. Does he know that?’

Antonia shrugged. ‘The subject wasn’t raised. He knows I ran the Surrey house and the other flat without any problems. Naturally, he wasn’t a frequent visitor because your father, to speak plainly, sweetie, was jealous of him.’ She gave a little knowing smile that made Rowan feel sick. ‘Not altogether without cause, I may say.’

Rowan pushed back her chair and got to her feet. ‘That being the case,’ she said quietly, ‘the last thing you’ll want is my presence in the house. I’m sorry you’re in this mess, Antonia, but it’s of your own making, and there’s nothing I can do about it. From now on we go our separate ways.’

‘Oh, but we don’t.’ Antonia’s eyes glittered as she stared up at her stepdaughter. ‘I have no intention of serving my term and then finding myself without a penny. I do have—plans, naturally, but I also intend to keep all my other options open, and I’m not seeing your father’s allowance just whistled down the wind. Besides, the deal includes you. I told Carne about Victor’s will, and he was most understanding.’

‘How good of him!’ Rowan’s eyes flashed. ‘But I would prefer not to be carted round Britain like so much excess baggage. I can manage to support myself for the next two years. There are grants and …’

‘And what about me?’ To her horror, Rowan saw enormous tears welling up in Antonia’s eyes. ‘Your father wanted us to stay together, you know he did. You’re all of his that I’ve got left. You can’t leave me, Rowan!’

Rowan was aghast. ‘That’s cheap blackmail, and you know it,’ she began roundly, but Antonia was crying now in real earnest.

‘Rowan, you’ve got to come with me. It will only be for six months or so at the most. You can go on with your course afterwards—do what you like. If you don’t come with me, then the whole arrangement is cancelled and Carne is going to make me bankrupt. He threatened to last night. Why do you think I drank so much?’

‘But he hardly knows of my existence …’

‘Of course he does. And there’s another thing.’ Antonia bent her head over her wedding ring, twisting it aimlessly on her finger. ‘I—I let him think you were younger than you actually are. You don’t look your age, Rowan, you know you don’t. It wouldn’t be any hardship to pretend—just for a little while.’

‘How old?’ Rowan said baldly.

Antonia concentrated on her wedding ring. ‘Sixteen,’ she returned after a pause.

‘Sixteen?’ Rowan sank back on to her chair, her legs threatening to give way beneath her. ‘Antonia, you are unbelievable! You can’t do this to me.’

‘And you can’t do it to me,’ Antonia retorted sullenly. ‘They take everything from you when you’re bankrupt. There was talk of an investigation after your father died, but it was smoothed over. If Carne bankrupts me, the whole thing could start again. Do you want to see the Winslow name dragged through the financial mud?’

‘No,’ Rowan acknowledged. ‘But I don’t think it will come to that.’

‘Oh, yes, it will,’ Antonia said softly. ‘For one thing, Carne has never forgiven me for marrying Victor. When he offered to back me in the boutique, I thought it was an olive branch, but I realise now that he just wanted to have a hold over me. It was as if he knew the boutique was going to fail.’

‘Well, he wouldn’t have needed much business acumen to tell him that,’ Rowan said drily. ‘What is he? Something in the City? I thought I knew his face from somewhere.’

Antonia grimaced. ‘Well, it’s more likely to have been the gossip columns than the financial pages. You’ve heard of him, of course—I’m surprised his name didn’t ring a bell. He’s Carne Maitland.’

‘The painter?’ Rowan could hardly believe her ears. The most surprising element in the story was that Antonia should be even distantly related to one of the most famous portrait paiters in Britain and have failed to mention it.

‘The very same.’ Antonia smiled lazily, her tears forgotten. ‘Did you notice his tan? He’s been out in one of the oil states, painting a sheik. They’re about the only people in the world who can afford his prices these days. Of course, he doesn’t need the money. His parents each left him a fortune, and he still has the controlling voice in the family business. Painting was always his hobby when he was a child, but everyone was amazed when he went to art college and began to work at it seriously. Who says you need to starve in a garret to be a success?’

Certainly, Rowan thought, not the critics, whose laudatory remarks had greeted every new canvas in recent years. He had had some dazzling commissions of late, including the obligatory Royal portrait, and had fulfilled them brilliantly. And he was Antonia’s distant cousin, and a former lover, to judge by her words.

She got up and went over to the window, gazing down into the busy street outside with eyes that saw nothing.

‘So I can tell him it’s all right?’ From behind her, Antonia’s voice sounded anxious. ‘I can tell him to expect us both?’

Rowan moved her shoulders in a slight shrug. ‘Tell him what you like. That’s what you’ve done up to now, isn’t it? I’ll come with you, but for Daddy’s sake, Antonia, not yours.’

And not mine either, she thought, as she began the weary task of locating the missing inventory. Because the last thing she needed was to find herself in Carne Maitland’s orbit again. She could still feel the lingering scrutiny of those silver eyes, and the memory disturbed her more than she cared to acknowledge, even to herself.

Not that she had anything to worry about, she told herself ruefully, as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the long mirror. The beautiful, the rich and the elegant—those were the type of women with whom his name was most often linked, and she didn’t qualify under any of those headings. Quite apart from the fact that he regarded her as a child, she had no doubt at all that he found her looks and personality about as fascinating as a—stewed prune.

And that was meant to be a joke, so why was she finding it so hard to smile? Rowan sighed, thankful that the tenor of her thoughts was known only to herself.

This could prove to be the most difficult summer of her life. And she thought, ‘I’m going to have to be careful. Very careful.’

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