Storm In A Rain Barrel

A few moments later, the roar of a powerful engine heralded the arrival of his car, which he drew up close to the entrance so that Domine had only to cross the terrace and climb into its warmth and luxury. She said good-bye to Sister Theresa, and then to Reverend Mother, and biting back a choking feeling in her throat, she ran and climbed into the limousine. She saw, through the pouring rain, that James Mannering had returned to say good-bye to the nuns, before striding back to the vehicle and sliding in beside her. The engine had been running and he thrust it smoothly into gear and raised one hand in farewell as they began their journey.

Domine lay back in her seat feeling overwhelmingly shaky now that she had left all that was familiar behind her, and for a few minutes she stared blankly out at the awful weather and thought she would never experience a storm without remembering this afternoon. James Mannering did not speak to her at once, giving her time to collect herself, and manoeuvring the sleek car out of the gates and along the rain-washed country roads. The Convent of the Holy Sisters was situated about five miles from Guildford, and it wasn’t until they reached the main road to London that her companion glanced her way.

‘Well?’ he said, somewhat wryly. ‘Are you going to cry? Or will you save that for tonight—in bed?’

Domine stared at him in astonishment. She was unused to his blunt manner of speaking, and endeavouring to assume a little of his candour, she replied: ‘No, I shan’t cry now, Mr. Mannering. As for tonight, I don’t even know where I’m to spend tonight!’ She compressed her lips to prevent them from trembling.

Mannering gave her a lazy stare. ‘Don’t you? Didn’t the solicitor explain the situation to you?’

‘I haven’t seen the solicitor,’ replied Domine tightly.

Mannering frowned. ‘Is that so? You mean it was all done by correspondence?’

‘Of course. Besides, what could the solicitor have told me? From the tone of his letter, he seemed as surprised as me!’

Mannering’s frown deepened. ‘Now why were you surprised, Domine? Did you expect to be Henry’s heiress?’

Domine clenched her fists. ‘I think you’re most objectionable, Mr. Mannering!’ she exclaimed. ‘I didn’t imagine anything. Great-Uncle Henry wasn’t old—at least, not that old. When I was eighteen I expected to go to college, and afterwards—well, I suppose I just thought I’d get a job and find somewhere of my own to live.’

Mannering gave her a wry glance. ‘Okay, I’ll accept that,’ he nodded. ‘I’m sorry if I’m riding you, kid. Perhaps I’m so used to the rat-race I’ve forgotten there are still mice around.’

Domine flushed. ‘You still haven’t answered my question. Where am I to stay? Where am I to live?’

Mannering drew out his cigar case and lit a cigar before replying. Then he said: ‘Tonight, you’ll stay at my apartment—in London. Tomorrow we’ll drive up to Yorkshire.’

‘To Grey Witches?’ exclaimed Domine, in surprise.

‘Sure, to Grey Witches!’ He frowned. ‘I don’t intend to sell the place, you know. What’s the matter? Doesn’t that appeal to you?’

Domine shook her head. ‘I didn’t think about that either,’ she murmured, wondering with a sense of excitement whether Grey Witches was to be her home. It would be wonderful to have a real home after all these years.

Mannering gave an exasperated shrug, and then they encountered a stream of traffic entering London and for a time his attention was focused on negotiating a series of traffic lights. Domine looked about her with interest. She had never really visited London. When she was younger, living with her parents in Nottingham, it had never appealed to her, and afterwards Great-Uncle Henry had avoided it like the plague. ‘Nasty, unhealthy place,’ he had called it, and Domine had been too inexperienced to offer an opinion.

James Mannering’s apartment was the penthouse of a block of luxury dwellings, and once inside the air-conditioned environs of the lift Domine forgot the vile weather outside. The lift swept upwards smoothly, and then whined to a halt at the thirtieth floor. They stepped out on to a pile carpeted corridor that led to double doors into his apartment, and Mannering went ahead of her, using a key to admit them.

Immediately a suave little man appeared from the direction of what she later learned to be the kitchen, and Mannering introduced him as Graham while he removed his overcoat.

Domine smiled, and shook hands, and Mannering said: ‘Graham is a gentleman’s gentleman. He was employed by Lord Bestingcot years ago, but he’s been with me for about ten years now, haven’t you, Graham? He’s endeavouring to instil the attributes of a gentleman into rough clay like myself!’ He smiled, and Domine was surprised at the change it brought to his harsh features. She was begining to see why Susan had thought him attractive. There was something particularly masculine about him, and his hardness, she thought, would appeal to some women.

Graham took Domine’s gaberdine, and suggested they might like some coffee, but after ascertaining that dinner would be ready in about fifteen minutes, James Mannering waved him away.

‘We’ll have something a little more appetizing,’ he remarked, and nodding, Graham went to attend to the meal. Then Mannering looked at Domine, standing hoveringly by the door. In truth, she was still recovering from the impact the apartment had made on her, with its plate-glass windows, giving a panoramic view of the city, and the soft carpet underfoot into which her feet sank. There were deep red leather chairs, and occasional tables made of ebony, while in the alcoves, fitted shelves supported books, hi-fi equipment, and a super-luxury television set. The room was lit by tall standard lamps designed in sprays, while the heating was concealed but comfortable. And despite its artistic design, the room was the kind of place where one could relax without worrying too much about ultra-tidiness. Just now, a pile of manuscript lay on a side table, while some magazines were strewn on a low couch. It had a lived-in air, and Domine wondered whether Great-Uncle Henry had ever been here.

‘Come and sit down,’ invited James Mannering, indicating the couch. ‘Take your shoes off; make yourself at home. If you’re to be my ward for the next six months, we might as well get used to one another.’

Domine hesitated, and then she stepped forward, and did as he suggested, subsiding on to a couch that was softer than anything she had previously experienced.

‘Now! What are you going to drink?’ he asked, walking over to a cocktail cabinet. ‘Port, sherry, Martini? Or just some fruit juice?’

Domine bit her lip. ‘Fruit juice, please,’ she said, folding her hands in her lap.

He glanced round at her, looked as though he was about to protest, and then seemed to change his mind. ‘All right,’ he agreed, and mixed her a lime and lemon. ‘There you are!’ He poured himself a stiff measure of whisky and swallowed it at a gulp, then he poured another before coming to sit opposite her, on a low chair, regarding her with lazy, yet intent, blue eyes.

Domine sipped her drink, and looked about her nervously, wishing he would not study her so intently. She could feel the colour sweeping up her neck and over her ears, washing her face a brilliant shade of tomato. Then he seemed to grow bored with embarrassing her this way, and said, instead:

‘Haven’t you any questions you want to ask?’

Domine looked down at her glass. ‘Heaps,’ she agreed candidly.

‘Well, go on, then. Ask?’

Domine felt tongue-tied for a moment. ‘Have—have you written many plays?’ she asked tentatively.

Mannering lay back in his seat regarding her impatiently. ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ he exclaimed. ‘What does that matter? Come on, Domine, stop being such a mouse for once, and speak your mind! Doesn’t it bother you that Henry should have thrust you so heedlessly into my hands?’

Domine’s fingers tightened round the glass. ‘Of course it bothers me. In fact, I wanted to speak to you about that. It—it might be a good idea if I stayed here—in London, I mean. I could easily get a job, and I suppose there are bed-sitters and things—’

‘Oh, no!’ Mannering raised his eyes heavenward. Then he stared at her again. ‘Oh, no, Domine, most definitely, no! Old Henry knew exactly what he was doing when he handed you into my care. He knew that once I’d seen you, talked with you, got to know what kind of innocent you really are, I wouldn’t dare to let you out of my sight. Leave you here in London, indeed! Good God, girl, you haven’t the faintest idea what could happen to you here—in swinging London, as they say! Oh, no! Like I said at the convent earlier, right now you’re in for a holiday.’

Domine sighed. ‘But I don’t want to be a nuisance—’

‘A nuisance?’ He shook his head. ‘My dear girl, you began being a nuisance three weeks ago when old Henry died. There’s not a chance that you’re going to stop now, and certainly not by attempting to be independent. How old are you, fifteen? Sixteen?’

‘Seventeen!’ retorted Domine, somewhat jerkily. ‘You know that as well as I do!’

He smiled. ‘Yes, well, maybe I do at that. But right now you look about fourteen, and considering the promiscuity of girls today I would place you mentally among the twelve-year-olds!’

‘Thank you!’ Domine got unsteadily to her feet. ‘You needn’t imagine that because you’ve been given my guardianship that you can speak to me as you like!’ she gasped angrily. ‘I may look like a child, and I may appear to be one in your sophisticated eyes, Mr. Mannering, but I’m not, and I’m not as ignorant of the way of the world as you imagine!’

He looked up at her mockingly. ‘Are you not? Then forgive me!’

She turned away from his mockery then, unable to stand this verbal baiting any longer, and he seemed to repent, for he said: ‘Oh, Domine, this will have to stop, you know. It’s no good our arguing all the time. All right, I’ll accept that you’re on the verge of young womanhood, but there’s a hell of a lot you’ve got to learn, and you won’t learn it in the space of a couple of weeks.’

She looked back at him. ‘I don’t expect to,’ she said unevenly.

He leaned forward then, studying her thoughtfully. ‘And you won’t get anywhere unless you start asking some questions,’ he remarked. ‘Like, for instance, why Henry left everything to me.’

Domine flushed. ‘That’s nothing to do with me,’ she murmured.

‘Of course it is!’ Mannering shook his head, apparently amazed at her lack of curiosity. ‘Look, did he never talk about me—about my mother?’

Domine shook her head uncertainly. ‘Not that I can remember.’

‘Did he talk about Grey Witches?’

Domine shook her head again.

‘I see. And you never visited there, did you?’

‘No.’

Mannering heaved a sigh. ‘Obviously his intention was to keep both sections of his life apart. He could hardly have taken you to Grey Witches without arousing a lot of unpleasant questions—unpleasant for him, that is.’

‘Why?’ Domine’s brows drew together.

‘Because my mother lives at Grey Witches. She always has.’

‘What!’

He shrugged. ‘Where else would a man’s house-keeper live?’

‘Your mother was Great-Uncle Henry’s house-keeper?’ Domine stared at him. ‘I—I see!’

He lay back in the chair again. ‘Now, just what do you see, Domine?’ he asked, sardonically.

Domine flushed. ‘Well—well, that explains a little of the mystery.’

‘There’s no mystery,’ he retorted dryly. ‘Your great-uncle was a man, like other men. His wife was an invalid for many years, or maybe you didn’t know that. After all, it was long before you were born. At any rate, my mother was ultimately more attractive than his virtue.’

Domine’s colour deepened. ‘I see,’ she murmured uncomfortably.

James Mannering got impatiently to his feet. ‘Oh, God,’ he said exasperatedly, ‘I can almost see your mind working. What kind of reading matter did you have at that establishment you’ve just left? Not the kind that lends itself to a situation of this kind, I’ll be bound. I’m not the illegitimate son, in the legal sense of the word. My mother was married when she produced old Henry’s heir!’ There was mockery in his dénouement of his father’s actions.

Domine bent her head. ‘You didn’t have to explain yourself to me.’

‘Dammit,’ he muttered, almost angrily now. ‘I’m not attempting to explain myself to you! My father was no saint, and I’ll admit when I learned of my connection with him, I hated him! That was when I was a teenager, when I was like you, beginning to find my feet—my identity, if you like. At any rate, I’d had enough of the simple life in Hollingford. I needed an excuse to escape, and that provided one. It was later, after I’d lived in London for a few years that I realized what a stupid attitude I’d adopted. Perhaps I’d realized I was human, too, by then, and humanity possesses many frailties, as you’ll discover in time.’

Domine twisted her fingers together. ‘Your—your mother? She’s still alive?’

‘Sure. Hell, she’s only about sixty now. My father’s dead, though, my adopted father, that is, and believe me, he was more of a father to me than old Henry could ever have been. Don’t expect too much sympathy, that’s all, from me regarding Henry Farriday! His ideas could never be mine!’

Domine shook her head, still slightly bewildered. ‘I wonder why he never told me that you were his son,’ she murmured incredulously. ‘We—we even went to see a play of yours once, in Brighton.’ She bit her lip, and James Mannering gave an exaggerated sigh.

‘Like I said,’ he murmured, ‘we had nothing in common.’

Just at that moment Graham arrived to announce that dinner was served, and they walked across the lounge and through to a small dining-room with a circular polished table, and chairs upholstered in buttoned brown leather. A low light hung over the table, and illuminated the crystal glasses and sparkling silver cutlery. Domine wondered what her great-uncle’s feelings had been when he discovered that his son was achieving success. Had he been pleased? Or had the knowledge soured him? The latter, from the course of his attitude in later life, seemed the most likely. Although she had been grateful to him for all he had done for her, she began to wonder what his motives had been for helping her, if indeed he had had any. Was it possible that his reasons for involving himself in her life had been anything to do with his own disappointment in not being able to acknowledge James Mannering, the playwright, as his son, as his own flesh and blood, without causing a great deal of talk and speculation, and possibly even scandal in a place like Hollingford, which she had learned from reference books and maps was not a large place? If that was so, he must have been sadly disappointed that he had died before discovering whether she was to make anything of her life. Even so, he had still kept his son in the forefront of his mind, and it was to him that he had endowed his heritage.

CHAPTER TWO

LATER that night, as Domine lay between the sheets of the most opulent bed she had ever slept in, she reviewed the events of the day in detail. It had been such a strange day, and yet she could not now admit wholly to a feeling of unhappiness. Indeed, there was a disturbing sense of excitement running through her veins, a feeling she had never before experienced, and which was preventing her from falling into the dreamless sleep she usually achieved.

She thought about the girls at the convent, wondering whether they were thinking about her. Susan would be. Susan had seemed intensely interested in her new situation—and her new guardian.

She rolled on to her stomach as she thought about James Mannering. She had not known many men in the course of her young life, and certainly no one even vaguely resembling him. He was hard, and she suspected he could be ruthless when it came to getting what he wanted, and yet she thought he was kind. There had been a trace of gentleness in his manner with her, and she had appreciated that.

During dinner he had questioned her extensively about herself, discovering every aspect of her life at the convent, and her subsequent holidays with Henry Farriday. She smiled as she thought that despite his assertions to the contrary he was very like his father in his single-mindedness and purposefulness. Great-Uncle Henry had asked a lot of questions, too. He had always been interested in her accomplishments and it was partially due to his encouragement that she had done so well at school.

After dinner was over, James Mannering had excused himself, leaving her to Graham’s care. He had a business appointment, or so he said, and she had not liked to question Graham about his employer’s movements. Even so, she had been disappointed when he had not returned by ten o’clock, and Graham had suggested she retire for the night. As she had not then discovered the layout of the apartment, Graham had shown her round, and she had been suitably impressed by the large rooms with their fine appointments. It was a huge place, with four bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms, as well as the lounge, dining-room and kitchen, and a compact study where Mannering worked at his typewriter. Graham occupied a self-contained bed-sitting room which adjoined the kitchen, and which had its own entrance from the corridor outside.

Domine’s own room was decorated in pastel shades of blue and green, with gold curtains and bedspread, and a bathroom with taps of beaten gold. There was a shower, too, and as she had never taken a shower in her life before she used it before getting into bed. Her cotton pyjamas seemed rather utilitarian beside the cream silk sheets, but she merely shrugged and turned out the light, glad of the anonymous darkness.

Up here, high above London, there was no sound of traffic, no intruding sense of the outside world, and she thought rather sleepily that it must be something like the cabin of a jet-liner.

It must be awfully late, she thought suddenly, when there was a slight sound outside her door, and she realized someone had entered the apartment. Leaning over, she switched on the bedside lamp and looked at her watch before hastily switching the lamp off again. It was after two o’clock! She lay back on her pillows staring up at the ceiling. It was very late for anyone to be conducting a business appointment, she thought reluctantly. Obviously, that had only been an excuse to escape from her presence for a while. Perhaps he had a girl-friend, some special woman he was hoping to marry. She frowned. Somehow, since meeting him, since having him take the time to come and collect her from the convent, she had begun to think of him in rather the manner she had thought of Great-Uncle Henry. Almost as though she was important to him, just as he was important to her. How silly she was to imagine that a man like James Mannering, rich, famous, powerful, and physically attractive should consider her anything more than a child he was temporarily responsible for, and who must indeed be nothing but a nuisance to him. Indeed, hadn’t he said earlier in the evening that she was just that?

With a grimace, Domine punched her soft pillow into shape and flung herself down upon it, wondering why the excitement she had felt earlier had somehow dissipated.

When she awoke, a faint filtering of light was trying to pierce its way into the room through the slats in the venetian blinds, but it was a dismal light, and from the steady beating against the windows she gathered it was still raining.

Sighing, she slid out of bed and padded to the window, pushing the slats of the blind apart and peering out. It was a grey morning, the sky still heavy and overcast, and as it was only late October she thought it was going to be a long winter if this was anything to go by. She shivered, but not with cold, the apartment was already warm and comfortable, but the apprehension she had felt the previous day had returned, and she wondered whether her opinion of James Mannering would undergo any changes today.

She glanced at her watch, and gasped. It couldn’t possibly be after eleven o’clock! She stared at the tiny pointers aghast. Good heavens, what would James Mannering think of her, sleeping till this hour? At the convent she would already have been up four hours!

She hastily entered her bathroom, sluiced her face and hands, cleaned her teeth, and with unsteady fingers unplaited her hair. Brushing it vigorously, she quickly re-plaited it again, and then went and dressed again in the uniform outfit she had worn the previous day. When she emerged from her bedroom, the lounge was deserted, and she looked about her doubtfully, wondering what she ought to do to attract attention to herself.

However, she was saved this anxiety, by the arrival of Graham. He was carrying a vacuum cleaner and looked rather disturbed when he saw Domine.

‘Good morning, Miss Grainger,’ he said, with a smile. ‘I’m sorry—did the vacuum wake you up?’

Domine smiled rather tremulously in return. ‘I don’t think so, Mr. Graham. At any rate, if it did, I’m glad! It’s terribly late! What must Mr. Mannering think of me?’

Graham shook his head. ‘First of all, my name’s Graham, just Graham, there’s no need for formalities,’ he said kindly. ‘As to the other—well, Mr. Mannering himself told me to let you sleep on. He said you would probably be tired. Overwrought, perhaps.’

Domine sighed. ‘But—but I thought Mr. Mannering wanted to drive up to Yorkshire today,’ she exclaimed.

‘So he does,’ replied Graham, frowning. ‘There’s plenty of time. Mr. Mannering doesn’t need the whole day to drive up to Hollingford.’ He began to walk towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll just put these away,’ he nodded at the vacuum cleaner and dusters, ‘and then I’ll see about getting you some breakfast.’

‘Oh, no!’ Domine put out a hand protestingly. ‘I—I’m not hungry, thank you.’

Graham looked at her slim figure. Although she was above average height she was very slender and privately he thought she needed plenty of good food inside her. He bit his lip, and then said: ‘You must have something. Lunch won’t be ready for a couple of hours yet. How about a nice light omelette? Or some toast—or pancakes?’

Domine shook her head definitely. ‘Oh, no, really. Per—perhaps a biscuit—and some coffee.’

Graham sighed. ‘All right. Sit down, make yourself at home. I’ll bring you a tray.’

‘In here?’ Domine glanced round expressively at the elegance of it all.

‘Of course.’ Graham gave a slight chuckle. ‘Don’t be so conscious of your surroundings!’ His eyes were gentle. ‘Mr. James often has a snack in here, when he’s working on some manuscript or reading.’

Domine inclined her head, and after Graham had gone to see about the coffee, she walked over to a low table where a selection of the day’s papers were strewn rather carelessly. She chose one at random, and sat down on a low chair by the wide window. The view was quite fantastic, although the rain was causing a faint mist to cover the city and she couldn’t see far in the poor light. She concentrated on the paper, flicking through its pages without a great deal of interest. She wondered where James Mannering was this morning. Obviously, he was a very busy man, and she wondered how he could find the time to drive her up to Hollingford.

Reaching the theatre page of the paper, she scanned the plays currently being shown in the West End almost disinterestedly. Then his name caught her eye. A play of his called The Inventory was being shown at the Royal Duchess theatre. She folded the paper and read the description with avidity. Not that it told her much. It was simply a précis of what several newspapers had thought of the play, without any real criticism being involved.

She sighed, and turned the page almost reluctantly, wondering whether indeed the play was being a success. According to the article, it had good reviews, but that could mean everything or nothing, that much she knew. She tried to remember the name of the play she had seen with Great-Uncle Henry in Brighton, but her memory failed her. After all, that had been almost a year ago now, during the Christmas holidays. One thing was certain, it had not been The Inventory.