HIGH TIDE AT MIDNIGHT (11 page)

fate that was her chief concern at the momeftt, but the battles she had already

engaged in with Dominic Trevennon. She sighed and pushed her hair back

from her face. It had been an unequal contest, with all the advantages on his

side, including a few that he probably hadn't even been aware of. And now

she had to face his uncle, the source, from what she could gather, of all the

bitterness against her parents. She stirred a spoonful of sugar listlessly into

the fragrant brew. Once again she would be forced to take up the cudgels in

her mother's defence. Not that she was unwilling to do so. In her heart, she

knew that Laura Kerslake had not been capable of the kind of deceit the

Trevennons attributed to her, but this was all so new to her, while they had

some twenty years of prejudice to lend weight to their arguments.

She picked up her coffee cup and walked over to the window, standing

luoking out into the garden. A few roses still bloomed, sheltered from the

gales by the high wall which surrounded the garden at the rear of the house,

but otherwise the empty beds had a bleak uncared-for look.

Morwenna tried to tell herself that the same thing could be said for most

gardens in late November, but she knew it wasn't true. Nor did it explain

why the house looked very much the same. As if everything had been let

slide a long time ago and no one since had ever bothered to call a halt.

She replaced her empty cup on the table and stood looking round her rather

irresolutely. She wondered if there was a telephone anywhere so that she

could call a taxi which would be waiting to take her away from here as soon

as her interview with Mr Trevennon was at an end. They might want to be

rid of her, but they weren't making any great effort to speed her on her way,

she thought rather bitterly.

She opened the door and looked out into the hall. A curious hush prevailed

everywhere as if everyone in the house had suddenly departed leaving her in

sole occupation. The quiet was emphasised by the deep reverbatory tick of

the tall grandfather clock standing at the foot of the stairs.

Moving her feet with the utmost reluctance, she started up the stairs. Inez

had not Ibid her which room was Nick Trevennon's, so she would have to

rely on instinct. She paused at the head of the stairs and looked along the

gallery from left to right. All the doors were closed with the exception of the

second door on the left which stood ajar. Morwenna took a deep breath as

she trod along the gallery. She hesitated briefly, then knocked, lightly but

resolutely. A deep voice called with some impatience:

'Yes, who is it? Come in!"

It was a large room, able to accept the furniture of both bedroom and study

without any sense of overcrowding. It was light too, with large windows

looking out towards the sea cliffs, and beside the windows a man was sitting

in a high-backed wing chair, a rug thrown over his knees.

Morwenna swallowed, then she walked forward. 'Mr Trevennon?'

He turned his head and stared up at her. She didn't know what she had been

expecting. Perhaps an older version of the man downstairs, but certainly not

this weary-faced stranger, his grey hair streaked with white, his eyes filling

with a new pain as they focussed on her face. There was a small table set

beside his chair and on it were piled thepictures she had brought, the

painting of her mother lying on the top.

She said very quietly, 'Mr Trevennon, when I came here first, I didn't know

what the situation was. No one had told me. But I know now, and I'm sorry I

ever forced my way in here.'

He said gruffly, as if she had not spoken, 'You're very like her. But of course

you know that.'

'Yes, my father always said so.' Oh God, another blunder!

He had not appeared to notice. 'You don't remember her very well?'

'I was eight when she died. I remember some things, not others.'

'Tell me what you remember.'

She was silent for a while, then she said with difficulty, 'That she was loving

and happy—even when she became ill. And that she always remembered

this place—Trevennon and all the people in it—with joy and affection.' She

shook her head. 'Under the circumstances I suppose that sounds rather

ridiculous.'

'No.' He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair. 'It

confirms what I've always hoped and believed about Laura.' He too was

quiet for a time. Morwenna stood quite still, not knowing what her next

move should be. One part of her mind was prompting her to pick up the

paintings and leave, while another was telling her that this would be the act

of a coward.

At last he opened his eyes and looked at her again. 'Will you sit down?' He

indicated a chair behind her. 'You must forgive the fact that I didn't get up

when you came in.' He gestured at a walking frame close to his chair. 'I'm

having to learn to walk again, and it's a damned nuisance. It all happened at a

time when I least wanted it to.' He turned slightly in his chair to indicate the

littered desk which stood at one side of the room. 'I'd started writing a

history of the Trevennon family, and I've had to shelve it more or less.

Your—mother will have told you of some of the family stories and legends.'

'Not a great deal,' she said. 'She told me more about her own childhood.'

'But she called you Morwenna,' he said. 'She always said if she had a

daughter -she would call her that. Then, of course, I always imagined it

would be my daughter.' He sensed that she had moved uneasily in her chair

and held up a placatory hand. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you. You

have heard, no doubt, what happened—all those years ago?"

'Yes.'

'I loved your mother,' Nick Trevennon said reflectively. 'Almost from the

moment that she entered this house as a child. But she didn't love me. Oh,

she was fond of me and I told myself that this would be enough, that I would

make it enough. And for me it would have been. But not for her, although it's

taken a lot of time and bitterness to recognise this.' He looked across at

Morwenna. 'Almost until this moment when you looked at me with your

mother's eyes.' He smiled sadly. 'I'm sorry if that sounds sentimental, but this

frankly is a sentimental moment for me.'

'Mr Trevennon--' Morwenna began again.

'Nick,' he interrupted her. 'Call me Nick. Everyone does. Except Laura, of

course. She always called me Dominic because she liked the name. But

that's how my nephew is known and it might cause confusion…'

'Yes,' Morwenna said tautly. 'I've met him.'

'And disliked him, evidently.' The smile reached Nick Trevennon's eyes. 'I

think you've had a rough passage with us, my dear. But that's over now.'

'Yes, it is,' she said steadily. 'I came here to ask you to look after the pictures

for me. Then I was told—what my mother was supposed to have done and I

decided it was an impertinence. But now that I've met you, and you've been

so kind, I would like you to have the paintings—for your own.'

He shook his head. 'From what I've heard, that wouldn't be right,' he said.

'I'm told they are all you have left of Laura—of your home, in fact. Won't

you listen to what I have to suggest first?'

'The thing is,' Morwenna said a little desperately, 'I don't have a lot of time. I

have to get the train back to London today and start looking for work.'

'You can spare me a few moments more,' he said calmly. 'I've waited long

enough, heaven knows. I always hoped ina way that it would be Laura who

would come into the room. 'But I suppose that was too much to ask under the

circumstances.'

Morwenna stared at him. 'She would hardly have been welcome here.'

'No,' he said heavily, 'that's true enough.' There was another long silence.

Morwenna moistened her lips. 'I really must be going.'

'No, wait.' He put a hand out to detain her and Morwenna sank back into her

chair. 'I'm sorry, child. You're puzzled, and you have every right to be.

You're wondering why when everyone in this house speaks of your mother

with bitterness, I should refer to her with regret—especially when I was the

one most deeply wronged.'

'I suppose so.' Morwenna's voice was constrained. 'Although I'don't believe

my mother wronged anyone. I think there must have been some dreadful

mistake.'

'Oh, there was no mistake,' Nick Trevennon said slowly. 'My design for the

Lady Laura
was sold to another company before we could build her. But

whether your mother had anything to do with it is the debatable point.'

Morwenna looked at him incredulously. 'Then you don't believe it,' she

cried. 'But if you don't, why does everyone else? Surely you could have

convinced them?'

Nick Trevennon shook his head wearily. 'At the time this happened, my

dear, I was a hurt and an angry man. I did love your mother and I wanted her

to become engaged to me. She wouldn't give me a definite answer, but I felt

sure I would win in the end. So I let it be known that she was my future wife.

And then she met your father. When she told me that they had fallen in love,

I was furious. I said he would never be allowed to come to Trevennon again.

They ran away together the following night, and I never saw her again.'

'But the design,' said Morwenna. 'What happened to it?'

Nick sighed. 'The drawings were missed almost at once from the yard,' he

said. 'For a while, I thought Laura had taken them with her by mistake, then

when I saw Lackingtons' new dinghy at the Show, I knew it had been

deliberate. Laura was immediately blamed by everyone. My brother was

alive in those days, Dominic's father, and he was convinced of her guilt. I

think my sister-in-law had a hand in that. She had always disliked Laura and

her elopement with Robert Kerslake set the seal on that dislike.'

'But why didn't you stop them?' Morwenna persisted. 'If you didn't believe

it…'

'I did believe it at first. I would have believed anything of her for a time. I

couldn't believe, you see, that she'd gone. I'd been made a fool, of, and I

couldn't forgive that. People don't make fools of the Trevennons, or live to

boast about it. We've had a proud, violent and not always admirable history,

my dear, and I behaved quite true to type. Even when her letter came, I said

nothing about it to anyone. Inez knew because she brought it to me, but she's

never mentioned it and neither have I.'

'She wrote to you?'

'Yes.' Nick Trevennon put a hand to his face as if he found the light from the

window troublesome. 'She wrote to ask my forgiveness and to tell me of her

happiness with Robert. She said she was sure that one day I would see we

would have been quite wrong for each other and that I would find happiness

in my turn. It was then I knew for certain that it could not have been Laura

who sold us out to Lackingtons. I'd had my doubts for a long time. It was so

completely out of character, and besides, she must have known that the

finger of suspicion would point straight to her. She wasn't stupid. And if she

had done such a despicable thing, her conscience would not have allowed

her to write to me as she did.'

'But why didn't you try to put matters right?'

Nick Trevennon shrugged and his face grew harsh under the lines of strain.

'Expediency,' he said simply. 'If Laura was innocent, it meant that someone

else was guilty, and such a limited circle of people knew of the design's

existence, and our hopes and plans for the
Lady Laura.
I thought then it

would be better to remain silent and allow her to take the blame rather than

open a new line of enquiries with possibly disastrous results. I felt then I

would rather not know who hated Laura enough to do this thing to her. I

thought in time the bitterness would die down, but my brother kept it going,

urged on by his wife. There were others involved too. And our losses were

considerable. I'd gambled on expansion, you see, and it didn't happen. So, all

in all, I needed a scapegoat.' He stared down at the carpet. 'Long after, when

my initial bitterness began to subside. I was sorry, more than sorry for what

I'd done. My only comfort was that your mother would never know about it.

When I didn't reply to her letter, I knew she would never risk a second

rebuff.'

He looked up and regarded Morwenna steadily. 'My dear, if you want to

revenge yourself on me on your mother's behalf it would be very easy. You

could just take up your paintings and go out of this house and out of my life

without another word. But I'm hoping very much that you won't do that.'

There was a silence, then Morwenna gave a short, unhappy sigh. 'No, I shan't

do that,' she answered. 'I think there's been too much bitterness already, and

in a way I can understand why you acted as you did, although I don't