Pennyroyal (6 page)

“If that’s what you want, Miss Cassy, but I’ll get your room ready just the same. You might change your mind. Different people sleeping on the same mattress; it doesn’t seem hygienic.”

Cassy held back a flippant comment in time; she did not want to hurt Mrs. Hadlow’s feelings any further. Nor did she want Jake Everand to think that her annoyance had faded. She was still angry with him and it would be safer for her morale if she stayed that way. She caught a glimpse of dark, glistening hair at the vee of his sweater and looked away quickly. The broad expanse of his chest, so recently damp, had the power to unnerve her, to swerve the determination of her anger.

There was an acutely uncomfortable silence. Cassy deliberately stared out of the window, refusing to look in his direction. She heard him fetching a cup and saucer, pouring tea.

“I don’t believe we have anything to say to each other,” said Cassy at last, her voice stiff with hostility. “One of us should leave and since I’m having tea with Mrs. Hadlow, it’s not going to be me.”

“Correction,” said Jake. “If anyone is leaving, it will be you. I’ve paid for my tea. Remember?”

Cassy ran her fingers through her hair. She could feel her neck muscles tightening and that was not a good sign. The last thing she wanted was a bad headache.

“Very well,” she swallowed. “I suggest you continue with the survey without bothering me with the details. Let me have your report in writing. I shall need two copies, one for Mr. Martlake, my legal adviser. When do you expect to finish?”

“Finish? I’m not surveying a child’s sandpit. I’ve only just started. If you want a thoroughly professional survey, I’ll need as much time as is required. If speed is essential you can have a patchy, inconclusive, one-page figment of my imagination by breakfast tomorrow.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’m not sure if you are serious about Pennyroyal or if it is simply a new diversion, something amusing to tell your London friends. The latest game, find your own lead mine.”

“I don’t play games, especially with someone like you,” said Cassy, her voice rising. “And I’m deadly serious about Pennyroyal.”

“So I’m not wasting my time? I don’t take kindly to being used, for whatever reason. Your London ways don’t cut any ice with me.”

“What exactly do you mean? My London ways? Our relationship is of employer and employee and I wish you’d remember that. You could be a little more civil.”

A small pulse began beating in his brown cheek and Cassy decided to ram the point home.

“Oh, now I understand,” she added with feigned, saccharine concern. “Perhaps you’re a little short of cash? Is that why you didn’t meet me at the Castle Inn? I can certainly arrange for a small advance on your fee. How much would you like? Twenty pounds? Fifty?”

She had to admit his self-control was superb. She saw his hands clench. If he had been holding a cup, it would have been crushed.

“I don’t need your money, Miss Ridgeway, or your patronising attitude. I couldn’t make that vitally important date for coffee because I was dripping wet and covered in centuries-old mud. The aftershave wasn’t too hot either.”

There was a moment of prolonged suspension, broken by Cassy’s sudden laugh, a low rich sound that warmed the air.

“You fell in?” she choked.

“Yes.”

She blinked back tears of mirth. “The great Jake Everand in the drink. That’s wonderful.”

His face changed oddly. “I can slip, like anyone else.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Cassy. “I was beginning to think you weren’t human.” A faint blush rose in her cheeks as she remembered that devastating kiss. His eyes were lingering on her and she knew that he had not forgotten either.

“Did you hurt yourself?” she asked in a rush. “Break anything?”

“I do have bones that heal remarkably fast.”

“I was only trying to be pleasant,” said Cassy. “And it doesn’t help if you pour scorn on everything that I say. Perhaps I don’t always say exactly what I mean and things get misconstrued. Breakdowns in communication are a common failing.”

He unfolded himself from his perch on the table and came across to her. She felt the kitchen walls sway and yet at the same time she was conscious of Mrs. Hadlow padding about upstairs, and somewhere outside there was the droning of a plane.

A sudden panic hit Cassy but Jake Everand had no intention of coming too near.

“I don’t believe in communication breakdowns. It’s the kind of meaningless jargon that I’ve no time for. Meanwhile, could I take advantage of this unusual moment of talking instead of fighting, and suggest a truce for the remainder of your stay? It would help the work if we had a proper understanding.”

“Getting Pennyroyal sorted out is my first priority,” said Cassy. “When are we going down again?”

“I’m going down tomorrow morning with Albert Beadle, a local miner. He knows how to handle a boat underground. It has to be propelled by hand, no fumes, no wash. The dinghy has a small battery powered motor for emergencies.”

“So we won’t get stuck,” said Cassy with enthusiasm.

“You’re not coming.”

Cassy struggled to hold back her indignation. It did not look as if their truce was going to last long.

“Albert was one of the last miners to work the Pennyroyal. Do you know what papers your grandfather had relating to the mine? Records, maps, accounts…anything? I need as much information as you can find.”

Cassy put the cups in the sink and cleared the table with a few deft movements. It was not a display of domestication but a breathing space in which she could assemble her thoughts.

“We could look through his study. If there are any papers, then that’s where they’ll be. He used the little front room off the hall.”

The room had not been opened for weeks. The air was stale, the curtains half-drawn, the desk still as her grandfather had left it, the evening before he died. Cassy went across to the window to let in the afternoon sunlight, the disturbed dust motes dancing in concentric whirls.

“It looks as if someone has a fan club.”

She heard Jake’s amused drawl behind her and turned to see what had prompted the remark.

The walls of her grandfather’s study were festooned with glossy photographs, magazine covers, cuttings from the fashion pages, snippets from newspapers now curled and browning with age.

They were pinned to every available space. Some of the glossier photographs had pride of place in frames on his desk. All the pictures were of Cassandra Ridgeway, the model, the cover girl, the fashionable seen-around girl about Town. Her lovely face smile mysteriously from every single frame.

“Good heavens,” said Cassy, embarrassed. “I had no idea. What a collection. They go back years. Don’t look at them.”

Jake was traversing the walls, head at an angle as if assessing paintings in an art gallery. He tapped a faded, full-length shot of Cassy looking windswept on a Scottish moor.

“I like this one. It’s natural looking.”

“I think it was taken on Rannoch Moor.”

“And this?”

It was a large penetrating close-up, her hair for once ruthlessly scraped back so that her face was all eyes and cheekbones. Few faces could withstand such scrutiny but Cassy’s unconscious beauty shone right through the camera lens.

“That was for a new brand of perfume called Mandala.” She began opening drawers and bringing out piles of paper and files. Her grandfather’s collection of photographs had upset her profoundly. She had not known that he followed her career so closely, even to the extent of buying magazines in which he could have no interest beyond her photograph. It spoke of a love and pride that she had not deserved. She had kept her promise to her mother, but the cost had been too high.

“And who is this skinny, little miss holding a Mickey Mouse bucket?” Jake was grinning.

He had found a group of childhood snaps on the mantelpiece and was looking at them with more interest than the professional shots.

“Don’t knock it. The bucket is still selling,” said Cassy drily, wishing Jake would stop looking at the photographs. She was longing for a hot bath and a change of clothes. She could leave Jake to get the information by himself but she did not quite trust him. She ought to sift through the papers quickly to see if there was anything confidential that should be removed.

There were documents relating to the mine, assessments of the mineral veins at the turn of the century and evidence of the actual financial returns. The figures looked complicated and Cassy was tired. She left Jake absorbed in some beautifully drawn and coloured maps and went to find Mrs. Hadlow.

“You’ve been my grandfather’s housekeeper for years, haven’t you?” Cassy began. “What was it like when you first came here, when my mother was little?”

“Oh yes, I’ve been here a very long time. I came in 1940,” said Mrs. Hadlow. “My dear husband had been killed at Dunkirk. Your mother was nearly nine years old. Lovely little thing she was, not unlike you in colouring, but she was not as tall as you. She was so small and slight, she was like a fairy. And your grandfather doted on her. In fact, she was quite spoilt when I arrived here; it took a few months to get that young lady into order.”

“Did they get on well together, my mother and my grandfather?” Cassy was probing, not certain what she was looking for, but knowing there was something more to the closing of Pennyroyal.

“Alician was willful, there’s no doubt, but your grandfather always loved her. She was all he had. His wife died soon after the baby’s birth and his life revolved around Alician.”

Cassy listened to Mrs. Hadlow reminiscing on about Alician’s childhood years. She imagined the little girl, fair and fey, getting her own way with a mixture of fierce independence and an innocent charm. Thomas Ridgeway would have been at a disadvantage, a young widower, bewildered by the loss of his frail wife and left with the difficult responsibility of bringing up his small daughter. The seeds of waywardness had been sown long before Mrs. Hadlow arrived at Ridge House.

It did not make sense. Alician had no reason to hate her father. He had loved her. So why those desperate pleading words…“Promise me, Cassy, never to see him again…”?

“Who was Lewis?” Cassy asked.

Mrs. Hadlow hardly paused in her knitting, but she lifted the garment and peered at the stitches. “I’ve gone wrong,” she said. “That’s what comes of talking and knitting at the same time.” She sighed and began the tedious unpicking.

Cassy gave up. How could she ask Mrs. Hadlow why Alician had come to hate her father?

“I’ll be back tomorrow, Mrs. Hadlow,” said Cassy.

“Mind you do that, Miss Cassy, or I’ll be disappointed. There’s always a welcome for you at Ridge House. This is really your home and you know that.”

As Cassy slipped the Daimler into gear and reversed into the lane, she realised that she had not told Jake Everand that she was going. There was no real reason why she should. It might demonstrate her indifference if she left without a word.

It had been an amazing day and Cassy felt an undercurrent of excitement pulsing through her veins.

It was total insanity to let Jake Everand influence her in any way. She ought to return to London to give herself time to cool off; but the fascination of Pennyroyal was strong, as strong as her wanton desire to feel that man close to her again. It was a craving that had an element of self-destruction. Cassy knew it was dangerous, but like the moth, she was dazzled by the bright flame.

She began the process of removing him from her mind, but her face told another story. Her reflection in the driving mirror was of softly flushed cheeks, eyes languorous and glowing. If this was the effect of one kiss, how would she look if this madness continued?

Probably bleary-eyed and haggard from lack of sleep and crying, she rebuked herself sternly, as she drove into the small car-park behind Castle Inn.

The bath water was hot and took the last ache out of her body. Cassy had ordered her evening meal for eight o’clock so she had no need to hurry. She shampooed her mane of hair, surprised at the amount of grime it had managed to collect.

She did not stop rinsing until she was satisfied it was squeaky clean. As she sat wrapped in her towelling robe, she began to feel really relaxed and comfortable for the first time that day, rubbing a silky body oil into her feet and legs, the familiar actions allowing her to become herself again.

The woman who walked downstairs into the Castle Inn bar was a vision rarely seen in those parts. Cassy had for years worn only the palest of neutral colours; it was a policy which enabled her to assemble a wardrobe of expensive clothes which mixed and matched and always looked perfect. With her tawny hair and luminous honey-tanned skin, she had the appearance of some golden princess, elegant and remote.

Yet there was nothing cold about her looks; everything about her appearance was tinged with warmth and radiance.

Even her back view was beautiful. Jake Everand stopped in the doorway, caught out by the realisation that one glimpse of Cassandra was overwhelming. She had a rare talent for touching off primitive responses that he normally kept well hidden.

He swung on his heel and went back out into the cold night air. He would eat elsewhere, some cheery welcoming hostelry on the road to Matlock where the green eyes of Miss Ridgeway would not tempt or mock him.