The Golden Maze (11 page)

"I didn't, but I was told since. I got back."

"Your father aged fast. I think he was relieved when I took over."

"How's it doing ?"

"Fine, just fine," David said, but the bitterness in his voice shocked Cindy.

"Yvonne here is a good business woman," said Peter, coming to sit in the circle. "She started off with one boutique in Sydney—we met in Australia—did so well, she had one in every city, then moved over here. Already she's got three going in England, haven't you, Yvonne ?"

David was looking impressed.

"You came over together ?"

"No, but we're old friends, aren't we, Yvonne?" Peter said with a strange smile, "always meeting by chance."

Cindy wondered why Yvonne was frowning. Peter went on : "Actually Yvonne has lucky fingers. Everything she touches succeeds. Remember the old legend of Midas? How everything he touched turned to gold? Yvonne is like that, but it isn't all luck, she has brains and the ability to judge characters."

"Better than you, Peter," said Yvonne, almost snapping as if he was annoying her.

"She should have been a man," Peter went on. "She'd have ended up as a business tycoon, a millionaire. I'm not sure she isn't headed that way already. She's a real genius—she has the gift of choosing the right people for the jobs and keeping an eye on them so that things don't go wrong."

David looked even more impressed. "You like England?"

"I think there are terrific opportunities here for anyone who works hard and has a bit of initiative," Yvonne said, giving Cindy a quick glance, almost, Cindy thought, as if suggesting that Cindy lacked the latter, so could never be a success.

"I'm thinking of giving a party, David. I hope you'll come," Peter announced.

"I'd like to, thanks. When?"

"It has to be this week, because we're losing Cindy," Peter said casually. "Make it Friday?"

"Fine." David stood up. "I must be going now. Nice meeting you," he said, smiling at Yvonne.

Cindy seized her opportunity to slip away to her bedroom as Peter walked out with David to his car. Hurriedly she undressed and got into bed, Uncle Robert's diary in her hand.

September, four years ago . . .

It was difficult to find, but finally she got near the mark. September th
irty,

"Sometimes Mrs. Stone is a menace. She is convinced I have bronchitis threatening and insists I stay in bed. I am not feeling well and very exhausted, so instead of losing my temper, I agreed, just to keep the peace. I find it very lonely, for I miss my chats with Luke. He never attempts to see me, nor do I have any visitors at all. Mrs. Stone has a poor opinion of my neighbours, such as they are. She says that not even in the village does anyone enquire after me. I suppose one must expect this as one grows older and of less use. At the same time, it hurts."

Cindy sighed with relief. She had found what she wanted to find. She scrambled out of bed, hunting for pencil and paper, finally finding it, writing on the

paper : "Dear Peter. You never believe me, so you may not believe me now, but please read page . This was the time you came to see your father. I don't believe Mrs. Stone ever told him you were here. If you can read it all, you'll see he never got your letters. I think Mrs. Stone may have sent them back to you. Ask Mrs. Usher. She'll tell you that Mrs. Stone hoped your father would leave the castle to Paul—perhaps that was why she kept you apart?'

She sighed, folded and put it in the notebook. She would give it to Peter as she left and leave him to decide what to do . . .

As she fell asleep, she felt happier. At least when Peter read the notes he would realise that his father had not stopped loving him as he had thought.

WHEN Cindy awoke, the sun was shining. She rose early and hurried down to be the first at breakfast. When Yvonne and Peter joined her, she was finishing her second cup of coffee.

"Isn't it a lovely day ?" she said, smiling at them. "I'm going for a long walk."

Peter looked sceptical. "Watch out for the screes, and don't get lost. If a mist comes down . .."

"Really, Peter," Yvonne interrupted, "she isn't a child !"

Cindy stood up. One of these days, she knew she was going to lose her temper with Yvonne. "See you at lunch," she said, and hurried away, going to her room to change into jeans and her warm anorak, brushing back her hair and tying it loosely with ribbon.

Then she set off. It was so beautiful that she was glad she was alone—for such beauty required you to sit and enjoy it without interruption. Perched on a boulder, she looked down at the castle below. How huge it seemed from here with its tall square castellated towers, the funny little slits of windows in them, the courtyard in the middle. For a moment, tears stung her eyes. She wished she had never seen the castle again. Before it had been a child's dream—now it was real.

Yet in a way she was glad she had come. Despite

the unhappy moments, she would never forget her week up here.

Was it because of Peter? she asked herself. Each time she saw him, she loved him more. How could she ever get over it ? Did people get over broken hearts or did the pain stay
forever
?

She began to walk again, finding the paths that wound round the hillside, pausing to look at the streams trickling down towards the lake. She walked over to the other side where she could no longer be tempted to keep stopping to stare down at the castle, and found something beautiful. It was an immense waterfall, the water sliding abruptly over the side of huge polished boulders; falling far below info a pool, where the water frothed before escaping into a brook that weaved its way between small trees and foliage, yet still made its way to the lake. Above the waterfall was a huge erect boulder and a flat one before it on which one could stand, gazing down the long drop into the white-frothed water.

Sitting down, she looked at it. How quiet everything was save for the distant cries of the gulls and the sound of water. When she heard a scraping noise, she turned, startled.

Peter !

"Hi," he said, lifting his hand. "Mind if I join you?"

"Of course not." She was puzzled. "Yvonne ?"

"Didn't feel like walking. Wants to go over the castle again." He frowned. "I can't understand her interest in it. I mean, it isn't as if it was a real castle —that would be understandable because of its age and association with people dead for hundreds of years, but

why this castle? I think she's been right through it several times already, yet she's still fascinated. Now she's down in the vaults, she says they would make good playrooms—billiards, table tennis, etc."

"But wouldn't that spoil the atmosphere? I mean, if people are . . . are coming to live in an old castle, surely they wouldn't expect modern games and things ?"

Peter shrugged. "I agree with you. Of course, on the other hand, Yvonne is right. We have to think of the financial side of it. Why did you want to see Luke ?" he asked abruptly. "Was it about me ?"

Startled, Cindy looked at him, then away. "Not really."

"Then why did you want to see him ?"

"It was something he'd told me about Uncle Robert . . . I wanted to make sure I'd remembered right."

"Look, let's get things in proportion. You met my father when you were seven or eight. How long did you stay here ?"

"I don't know. It didn't seem long enough to me." "Why did he ask you ?"

"Mrs. Usher said he wanted to marry my mother. She . . . she didn't like the castle and nothing would have made your father move."

Peter laughed. "Odd to think that I might have been your stepbrother."

Cindy gave him a quick glance. Perhaps it would have been better that way, then she wouldn't have loved him. Or would she? It might have made it even more complicated.

"Anyhow, Cindy, let's face it. You were only with

my father for a few weeks. You can't be so interested in him."

Cindy swung round. "But I can ! Don't you see, Peter, how wonderful it was to me to know your father had never forgotten me mean . . . it probably doesn't worry a man, but . . . but I was very much alone after Mummy died and I was miserable living with my aunts, uncles and cousins. Then . . . then just before I got the letter, I'd been given the brush-off."

"Brush-off ?"

"Yes. Oliver ... oh, I know it wasn't anything much, but he seemed to like me and took me out and then dropped me. I was ... well, pretty upset, and . and I felt no one cared what happened to me, and then this letter came and Uncle Robert had never forgotten me, he cared . . . he knew I would love the castle and look after it for him."

"I see." Peter was silent for 'a moment. "You do love this part of the world. I'd forgotten how beautiful it, was."

Cindy, glad that the subject had been changed, turned to him again. "There are so many words I don't understand. What is a fell ?"

"I suppose you could call it a mountain or large hill. Dales are the valleys. Mere means water. Windermere and all the other names come from that."

"I saw a strange name the other day—Ings. I.N.G.S."

Peter chuckled. "It does sound crazy, doesn't it? Actually it means fields with water."

"Everything is so quiet here, no people, no mad rush of cars."

"That's because it's winter. I bet it's very different

in summer. Tourists pour in. Then of course there are masses of climbers and walkers. Place is packed with young walkers and lots of hostels for them. Then the birds ... It isn't nearly so quiet then."

"But even that couldn't change its beauty," Cindy persisted.

Peter laughed, "You have got the bug all right ! What, do you think of this waterfall? Did you stand on the rock ?"

"No, I'm not good at heights. It's terrific though."

"There's a legend about it. Apparently in
1806
a young girl came to stay in the village. She was alone and in those days young women rarely travelled or lived on their own. Her landlady asked questions, but the girl evaded them all. Every day she went to walk on the fells. Always she wore a white dress with broad pink ribbons tied round the waist, with two long ends dangling at the back and reaching to her feet. Then she would stand on a rock and let the wind blow the ribbons round her. This was her favourite place and she would stand on that rock, gazing down at the water below, the ribbons fluttering in the wind." He laughed. "You can imagine the gossip in the village, but she ignored it. Then one day a carriage was seen, but it vanished almost as fast. The girl never came home that night from the fells, nor was she ever seen again or her body found. No one knew what had happened. Some people said that someone must have come in the carriage to fetch her, others that she had jumped into the water in despair. It was even suggested that someone who came in the carriage had crept up behind her and pushed her in. Mrs. Usher used to tell me that story when I was very young. I
could never understand why she wept. Maybe it was an ancestor of hers."

Cindy stared at the huge erect pillar of rock, imagining the girl standing there, leaning. against it, looking down at the water foaming so far below. Had she jumped to escape the sorrow she couldn't bear any more? Maybe she had felt as Cindy did—the hopeless pain of loving a man who loved another.

She shivered. "What a sad story ! Perhaps we should be going back." She jumped up. He did the same, standing by her side.

"Cindy," he said abruptly, "could you be a little more friendly to Yvonne ?"

She was so startled that she nearly lost her balance, but he caught her by the arm.

"Watch out ! You could have fallen in."

They walked slowly down the path that led back to the castle's track.

"Yvonne is hurt by your behaviour," he began, and when she looked up at him, frowning, her eyes puzzled, he burst out laughing. "Sorry, I did sound pompous, didn't I? Yvonne has that effect on me. She should have been born a hundred years ago."

"I think if anyone could be hurt, it should be me," Cindy said angrily. "She isn't exactly friendly, so why should I be?"

"Because she can't help it. Jealousy is a disease, something that isn't her fault. We should feel sorry for her."

"Jealous?" Cindy almost laughed. "Who of? Certainly not me."

"You're wrong. She is jealous of you—bitterly." Cindy stopped dead and turned to face him. "But

how can she be when she has everything I would like? She's so tall and graceful and beautiful and . . ."

"Boring," Peter ended. "All Yvonne thinks about is money."

"How can you say such a horrible thing when she's your . . ."

"Maybe because I know her so well. That's not her fault either. She needs financial security. You're different."

"I haven't got financial security, only what I earn."

"Exactly, but it doesn't worry you, does it? To you, there are other things in, life. There aren't—for Yvonne. Money is the beginning and end of everything. As soon as she heard about the castle, she started planning how to make it earn money."