White Rose Of Winter. Anne MatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
structures of streamlined living. The motorways were a revelation, linking and interlinking in a network of steel girders. She wondered whether she would ever dare drive here again after the quiet roads around Rhatoon, and then decided rather wryly that she might not get the chance. After all, Michael had left all his shares in the company to the family, and what little income she had in her own right would scarcely run to a car. Indeed, she expected to have to return to secretarial work to support herself. She didn’t want to feel beholden to the Pembertons.
By the time they reached Sloane Street and turned into Eaton Gate, Julie had her bearings again. Inner London had changed much less than the outskirts, and it was all painfully familiar. They passed the end of the street where the Pemberton Construction Company had its offices, and she recalled with clarity her first day there in the typing pool. She had been very young in those days, and it wasn’t until later that she progressed up the scale to become Vincent Harvey’s secretary, and through him had been introduced to the chairman, Robert Pemberton. Her nerves tautened. The classic situation, she thought bitterly. Ideal scope for the romantic. But how disastrously it had all ended.
Robert was turning into a quiet square and presently he brought the car to a halt in the forecourt of an immense block of apartments. Even in the rain, Julie could see how impressive it all was, the sculptured forecourt with its formal gardens and fountains, the shallow steps leading up to a row of swing glass doors, the commissionaire from his office vetting all would-be visitors. Recognizing Robert’s car, he saluted politely and Robert raised a casual hand in his direction as he slid from behind the wheel.
When Robert opened the boot to take out their luggage, the commissionaire left his office to approach them. ‘Good afternoon, sir. May I be of assistance?’
Robert shook his head, drops of water sparkling on the thick darkness of his hair. ‘Thank you, Norris, I can manage. Miserable afternoon, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Norris looked curiously at Julie and Emma, who had climbed out of the car and were standing together looking vaguely lost and alien.
Robert intercepted Norris’s interest and standing down the cases, he straightened and slammed the boot lid. ‘My sister-in-law and her daughter are staying with me for a few days,’ he commented by way of an explanation. ‘They’ve just arrived back from Malaya.’
Julie’s eyes widened at this unexpected piece of information. They were to stay with Robert?
But she could not say anything with Norris looking on, so she confined herself to a pointed stare at her brother-in-law. However, Robert seemed utterly indifferent to her reaction, and picking up the cases he indicated that they should precede him into the building.
Julie took Emma’s hand and climbed the shallow steps seething with indignation. What did he mean? Why were they to stay with him? Lucy had said in her letters that they were to stay with her, that she was lonely now that Robert had his own apartment, that she would welcome them into her home wholeheartedly. Needless to say, Julie had taken this with some degree of scepticism. She knew her mother-in-law too well to believe that she should have changed her attitude towards her. But even so, she had never doubted the truth of the arrangements.
In the cramped environs of the lift, cramped with two adults, one child, and two suitcases, Julie had to say something.
‘Why are we to stay with you, Robert? I understood from your mother’s letters we were to stay with her.’
Robert was propped indolently against the wall of the lift, his legs astride the cases. ‘Now now, Julie,’ he responded curtly. Then to the child: ‘Well, Emma? What do you think?’
Emma was thankfully too young to be aware of the undercurrents present in the adults’ conversation and smiled up at him. ‘Does it take very long to reach the top?’
‘Not very. We’ll be there in a few seconds. Look – can you see the red light moving behind those numbers? They’re the numbers of the floors we’re passing. See – ours is this one, right at the top.’
Emma’s eyes grew wide. ‘Oh, yes. Look, Mummy, we’re almost there. Gosh, my tummy feels all empty somehow.’
There was a slowing moment when Emma looked slightly disconcerted at the sudden change in her metabolism, and then the lift stopped and Robert opened the door.
They stepped out on to a pile-carpeted hallway, but although all the lifts opened on to this hall there were only two doors, and one of them was obviously a service door. Julie was impressed in spite of herself. Robert’s apartment must be huge.
Robert lifted the cases, but as they reached the door into the apartment it opened and a man, dressed all in black, stood waiting for them. He was middle-aged, with greying gingery hair, and a ginger moustache.
‘Oh, hello there, sir,’ he greeted Robert cheerfully, his round face beaming. ‘I heard the lift and I said to Mrs. Pemberton, I bet that’s Mr. Robert, and it is!’
Robert smiled faintly. ‘Very efficient,’ he remarked dryly. ‘Here, you can take these cases.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The man came forward and as he did so Robert glanced rather reluctantly at Julie. Then he said shortly: ‘This is Halbird, Julie. He goes everywhere with me. He’s a sort of general factotum, I suppose. At any rate, he’s capable of turning his hand to anything.’
Julie smiled the sort of wintry smile that was all her tight features would run to. ‘Good afternoon, Halbird.’
‘Good afternoon, madam. And you, too, miss,’ he added, looking warmly at Emma. ‘I hope you had a pleasant journey. Not much of a day for arriving back here, though, is it? Miserable!’
‘Miserable,’ echoed Julie, and Emma, with her usual curiosity, said:
‘Why hasn’t your moustache gone grey, like your hair?’
‘Emma!’ Julie was horrified, but both Halbird and Robert laughed.
‘I don’t know, little missy,’ he replied, picking up the cases. ‘Perhaps the frost hasn’t penetrated that far yet.’
‘What do you mean?’ Emma frowned.
‘You can discuss the merits of Halbird’s appearance later, young woman,’ observed Robert then. ‘Come along. Grandma’s waiting to see you.’
But not to the extent of coming to the door to greet them, thought Julie bitterly, and then chided herself for being so petty. She had been in the country scarcely more than an hour and already she was allowing the situation to upset her.
‘Do go in,’ Robert directed, his voice noticeably cooler as he addressed his sister-in-law, but Julie drew back.
‘You lead the way, Robert,’ she insisted. ‘After all, it is your apartment.’
Robert’s eyes were hard as they encountered her defensive green ones for a brief moment, and then without a word he took Emma by the hand and walked through the cream panelled door. Julie followed more slowly, her heels sinking into the soft carpet of the entrance hall. The tapestry-hung walls were highlighted by examples of native wood-carving he had collected on his various trips abroad, and there was a cedar wood chest on which stood a vase of Peking jade which Julie realized must be priceless.
Robert didn’t stop to give them time to remove their coats but opened the door into the lounge beyond, ushering Emma before him. Julie heard her mother-in-law’s exclamation of delight when she saw her granddaughter, and then she, too, entered the huge room. And it was huge, stretching as it did from one side of the apartment block to the other, the outer wall a miracle of plate glass. But before Julie could take in the exquisite appointments of it all, her eyes focused on the woman reclining gracefully on a low couch near the windows, presently embracing Emma, and exclaiming at how tall she was and how grown-up she seemed from the toddler she remembered.
Julie stood hesitantly on the thick apricot-coloured carpet, feeling ridiculously youthful and vulnerable as she had always done in this woman’s presence.