The Ghost of Fiddler's Hill: Corazon Books Vintage Romance Read online

  She said calmly, ‘I suppose I had never really been one of them.’ She did not resent life for what might have been thought to be a dirty deal to her. She did not feel that she was hard done by, for Lindy had a sweet personality, forgiving and kind, but she was sad about it. ‘It’s rather dreadful when you don’t really belong anywhere,’ she said, ‘but that’s me, and there you are.’

  Simon’s very blue eyes which reminded her of wild speedwells in a springtime field, watched her closely. She got the impression that he was deeply moved. ‘Thank you for telling me, Lindy. I may call you Lindy, mayn’t I? I appreciate your honesty.’

  ‘And yourself?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, I’m just a closed book. So dirty a past that I locked the tome and threw away the key!’ He laughed with that infectious laughter of his, a sound which she liked very much indeed. She had never had the time to sit talking to this sort of man in this sort of place before. She forgot that Davies was prolonging the ashtray emptying in the far lounge and hovering like a ghost in the light from the single scarlet-shaded lamp.

  ‘But what do you do?’ she asked him.

  ‘I manage the estate, my agent was a devil, so I got down to it myself and that has taught me a lot. Maybe I’m the impulsive kind.’

  Some of that impulsiveness had come across the desk to her. ‘Maybe it’s a good fault,’ she suggested, and her pulse quickened.

  ‘Is it? I saw the name Fiddler’s Hill on the board and thought, this is fate! My own home has that name. The house I bought when a few years’ emptiness was making it a ruin, but it’s Heaven now. Any chance of getting a drink?’

  ‘Oh yes, sir, I am sure that Davies will help you whilst I lock up,’ for the clock was chiming again. Her pulse beat noisily. I’m being silly, she thought.

  Davies would get the drink, for she believed that he had fitted himself out with duplicate keys for the hotel and could do anything. She tidied up, flicked out the lights and went to bed, but with her came the ghost of another Fiddler’s Hill.

  Not for the world would she have admitted that she slept in the stable room across the yard. Davies had told her that he remembered the time when two horses lived there, and sometimes she believed that she smelt them. She mentioned it to Mrs. Burman, who said it was the hay she smelt, and pleasant.

  Lindy knew tonight that she had been singularly attracted to Simon Leeson. Probably no other man had attracted her so much. His kindly manner, his gay laugh, and those very blue eyes against that very fair hair. He could make her feel a little weak at the knees; then she told herself it was possibly because she had stayed up so unusually late, and she would pay for it when morning came.

  It was beginning to rain as she crossed the back-yard to the stable, and she pulled her coat collar high about her ears. Thank goodness she never spent a fortune on shampoo-and-set for her hair. It had been an exciting evening. He was so nice, she said to herself as she opened the stable door, and the faint whiff of manure came to her.

  Chapter Two

  Mrs. Burman had the unfortunate habit of rising with the lark; also she wore very soft flat-heeled shoes and you never knew when she was coming round the corners. She was ever in all the unexpected places, and so good at finding fault.

  Lindy rose early and went to do the flowers, her first job of the day. This morning they weren’t too bad. But the small bowls of primroses on the breakfast tables were wilting slightly, and she changed them.

  With her second tray full of newly done primrose bowls she went through the hall to find Mrs. Burman poring over the reception ledger in the office.

  ‘Who is this man?’ she asked.

  ‘It says Sir Simon Leeson. He came in at midnight when his car ran into the side of the hotel and he needed a room for the night.’

  ‘You know that he is very famous?’

  ‘I know little about him, Mrs. Burman. Only that he had an accident, and I gave him the only room we had.’

  Mrs. Burman’s shallow eyes narrowed. ‘He is very famous, and very rich, then you go and put him in number forty-two! Tst! Tst! Tst!’

  ‘Forty-two was the only room we had vacant last night.’

  Mrs. Burman was one of those people who, when she got an idea into her head, abided by it, and stood no nonsense.

  Her finger went down the list of bookings unfalteringly. ‘Miss Horton has bedroom and dressing-room, number thirty, and she should have been sent up to forty-two.’

  ‘Miss Horton was already in bed. She always goes up at ten o’clock precisely, and has a glass of hot milk sent to her at ten forty-five. I make it for her when the kitchen staff goes off duty, for there is nobody else to do it.’

  ‘But to put Sir Simon in forty-two! Forty-two of all places! It’s disgraceful. Is he here for some time? Did he say anything about a long stay?’

  ‘He only booked for the night.’

  At that very moment when Mrs. Burman was extremely angry and Lindy extremely worried, she saw Simon coming down the stairs. He carried no suit-case with him which was a good sign, he walked jauntily as though he had had the best night ever, and paused at the hall table which bore the morning papers neatly arranged by Davies. He picked out The Times, the Telegraph and the Express, then turned and was bearing down on the dining-room.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said to Lindy, but Mrs. Burman immediately accepted this as being intended for herself.

  ‘Good morning, Sir Simon,’ said she in her very suave voice reserved only for the best visitors and those whom she wished to please. ‘I am the manageress of Fiddler’s Hill ‒ I see you also come from the same address! I do apologise for the room which was given you last night, but I am afraid it was the only one that we had free for the moment.’

  ‘Quite all right. I was grateful for anything,’ and he did not even look at her, but walked straight past her into the dining-room.

  A good many people did not like Mrs. Burman on sight, and Lindy knew it but also realised that she was the person who was going to get the return volley. It came.

  ‘Awful man!’ said Mrs. Burman. ‘Disgraceful man, so rude! Just walked straight on. Revolting!’ and her colour came up, a sure sign that everything had gone wrong with her.

  Lindy occupied herself with rearranging the primroses; her morning duties were comparatively trivial, a lot of the simplest chores, but she was always there to be called on if anything went wrong. She did the flowers, dusted here and there, and allotted the letters into their niches. She telephoned the shops for certain goods. She went down to fetch them if they did not turn up in good time. Mrs. Burman was one of those people who got every ounce of work out of an employee and never hesitated to call on them whenever she wished. She had even persuaded Lindy to help the chambermaids with the laundry at times, and on several occasions to mend it when Mrs. Hemming, the mender, did not turn up.

  This particular morning the whole hotel was in trouble, for Mrs. Burman was angry, and she let this be known. She was in the mood which never permitted anybody to finish a job before she had butted in and had sent them bounding off to another one. Meeting Simon had ruffled her.

  Davies came in with the news that he had heard that the big end had gone in the car, and a few other details which would take at least a week to settle. He broke the news to Simon who did not seem to be outstandingly worried. He was quite prepared to stay here for a week if he had to do it.

  This shot Mrs. Burman back into the best of good moods.

  Last night had been a thrill, a sort of fairy story to Lindy. Simon had been so entertaining, so good-looking and so young. The hotel was too full of rheumatoid arthritis and people who had had strokes and incipient coronaries, so that the sight of someone young and elegant and gay had been a real relief. Maybe she was in the mood to be attracted; maybe she had glamorised the whole interview, even to the fact that he was here at Fiddler’s Hill and that he lived at a house called Fiddler’s Hill.

  Now she was just finishing her morning’s duty and going off to a rather dreary lunch
when she ran into Simon.

  He wore light beige slacks, and a pastel blue pullover. She wasn’t used to men looking quite so good, and she found it difficult to stand up to it.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he said. ‘I wanted a talk.’

  ‘This is the moment, for I’m off duty.’

  ‘Let’s chat in the garden. I rather think with this place that the walls have ears.’

  Lindy hardly liked to go straight out into the garden under the eye of Mrs. Burman, who missed nothing. She suggested that they went to the kitchen garden, for she had a small job there, invented on the spur of the moment.

  The kitchen garden was walled in, with fruit trees along the south wall. It stood well behind the hotel beyond the squash courts, and was entered by one high gate which one could lock behind one, so that the place spelt freedom for her.

  The surrounding bed was a wide border of potatoes. The big centre bed was planted in strips, one of carrots, another of parsnips, and then one of swedes. The salad beds were coming on well, and there were cucumber frames by them; further on the greenhouse where they grew their tomatoes.

  Simon pulled himself a carrot, rubbed the dirt off it, and began to gnaw it.

  ‘It’s the only way to eat a carrot,’ he said, ‘and now that I’ve got you alone, tell me more about yourself. I want to know more of you.’

  ‘I’m rather dull. Nothing but a stop-gap here whilst the real receptionist is ill. If you let Mrs. Burman know that you are here in the kitchen garden with me, I doubt if I shall be a stop-gap very long.’

  ‘All the same, I’m staying here.’

  He stood there looking at her, still gnawing at the carrot. He was young and slender, whereas everybody else in the hotel seemed to be portly and old to her, and completely set in their ways.

  Simon had the figure of a young tree, willowy and flexible. She admired the very fair hair and the blue eyes. Too many people had eyes which they called blue, but which were merely grey. These eyes were like flowers. Maybe he was a little too good-looking.

  ‘What are you doing this afternoon?’ he asked her.

  ‘It is really my half day, unless Mrs. Burman wants me to help with Mrs. Hemming’s mending.’

  ‘Mrs. Hemming?’

  ‘She comes to repair the linen, and if there is much of it, I help her out.’

  ‘On your half day?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Well, you are not doing it this half day because you are coming out with me. In the car.’

  ‘But your car has broken down. Davies says the big end has gone as well.’

  ‘Davies is perfectly right, only I have hired another car. I could not be stuck down here, only trusting to my legs to get about, or Davies’s bicycle. No, thank you! I’ve got an excellent Jag. waiting outside the hotel.’

  She drew in a deep breath, somewhat swept off her feet with the idea. Then she steadied herself. ‘I’m afraid you have put your money on the wrong horse.’

  ‘I haven’t, you know,’ and he laughed. When he flung back his head like that and laughed so gaily he was infectious. He made the whole world seem delightful. Then he too steadied himself.

  ‘By the by, if that attic of mine is so ghastly, yours must be worse.’

  ‘I sleep off the stable yard, it once was a stable.’

  ‘I can’t believe you.’ Then he saw by her face that it was true, and said, ‘I thought that old woman was a witch when I first laid eyes on her, now I know she is.’

  ‘Shsh!’

  ‘And you are coming out with me immediately after lunch before Mrs. Burman gets you.’

  She said ‘yes’ because she was crazy, and because she would not have missed it for the world. Because in every life a few mad moments make life a lot easier. Everybody has them, she thought, and they bring a great deal of joy.

  Simon talked graciously. He had a beautiful voice, with the polished utterance which she had always adored. He was calm, collected, completely master of himself, and possibly of any situation which might arise. His laughter was gay.

  ‘Be ready by three o’clock,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t know if Mrs. Burman …’

  ‘Damn that old witch!’

  They came out of the walled garden, round by the squash courts and into the stable yard with the out-buildings and the big drain in the centre of it, which, if there was a storm, flooded, and often Lindy had got wet through wading her way to her bedroom. They passed the radiator room stocked with coke, and with coal, and old radiators and such.

  ‘You don’t sleep here?’ he asked, suddenly stung out of himself with amazement.

  ‘Next door.’ She indicated the tiny window with its side sliding panels, and the door left wide open, for this was the only way that she could air the place. He peered round it.

  ‘My God! You’re right. How dare she?’

  It was at that moment that Lindy saw Mrs. Burman coming out of the side door of the hotel and crossing the stable yard towards them. Usually she never came here, it was a part of the hotel which she did not visit, but now of all unlucky moments she had appeared. She walked with quick nervous little footsteps that pattered. She must have seen Simon with Lindy, and the way that he had peered round the open door into her room, and could even have heard what he had said. She was bound to be furious.

  ‘Look out!’ said Lindy sharply.

  They walked towards Mrs. Burman, not hurrying. She stopped them, and was completely composed.

  Her face disclosed nothing of what she thought about the matter. She hesitated, then said, ‘We are moving you into a first-floor room with a private bath, Sir Simon, for I understand that it will be a week before the garage gets your car right.’

  ‘It will be all that. I’ll be glad of another room.’

  ‘The attic is seldom used. It is an emergency room, and you were an emergency, Sir Simon,’ and she was still colourless, emotionless.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ and he walked on.

  Mrs. Burman did not fly off the handle right away. Lindy would have loved to get the row over, if row there was going to be, for she hated a cloud hanging over her head. But Mrs. Burman could always bide her time. Now she was putting on the calm exterior and leading the way back indoors.

  ‘There is someone waiting to see you,’ she said to Lindy, ‘and you will find him in the library.’

  The library was misnamed, for although lined with books nobody ever read anything there. It was used mainly for Bridge. Lindy had no idea who the stranger could be, but she said nothing and purposely did not catch up with Simon Leeson.

  Entering the house Lindy took a side passage, and came to the library, a pleasant room facing due south with french windows on to the lawns and the flower beds on the far side which cut them off from the vista of golf links. A man was standing there. With some horror she saw that it was Alan Pearce, her so-called cousin, a nephew of her foster-mother.

  Alan had never done well at school, yet somehow had managed to get a good job when he left. He was the plodding kind, the deadly earnest sort. There were six feet of him, with a pudding face, blondish hair, and peering blue eyes behind glasses with gold rims. Alan liked them better that way, thought they looked ‘rather smart’.

  Alan had always harboured the idea that he must ‘keep an eye on Lindy’ for his dead aunt; he pursued her, and turned up in unexpected places, usually on some occasion when in particular Lindy did not want him, and this was one of them.

  ‘Oh Alan, why didn’t you let me know you were coming down here?’

  ‘I never thought of it till yesterday. It’s a nice place, isn’t it? And of course you can put me up for a couple of nights?’

  ‘No, we can’t, every room is taken.’

  ‘Good Lord! You’d have thought that at the price it must charge, for I bet it’s expensive, it would be fairly empty.’

  ‘Well, it isn’t.’ She was abrupt, and considerably worried; undoubtedly Alan had come to stay, he was the sort of man who would find
somewhere in the village, he would never go away. It was at this moment that she realised that she wanted to go out with Simon Leeson more than anything else in the whole world.

  ‘I’ll take you out to tea somewhere,’ said he, smiling as though this was a tremendous offer, and the start of the world’s best treat, for Alan thought a great deal of himself. Perhaps it was as well, for most certainly nobody else did.

  ‘I can’t come with you, Alan. I’ve made other arrangements for this afternoon.’

  ‘But I’ve come here all the way from Palmer’s Green.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I didn’t know, and now I’ve made other arrangements.’

  He stood there plainly disappointed, and he fiddled with the magazines which she had laid on the centre table this very morning. He looked so grieved that she was almost sorry for him. ‘You’re going out with a man?’ he said.

  She was half ashamed that she thrilled at the thought. ‘Yes, with a man, a visitor here, and I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Too bad.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Alan, but I can’t do it.’

  He stared at her rather gauchely. ‘You’re different, Lindy, changed. What’s happened to you? You aren’t like your usual self. Have you met some chap who’s leading you on?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘Then what’s the matter? You were such a nice little girl when I came to see you at Christmas. In that other job, I mean the one which turned out to be no good. This place is a bit hot stuff, of course. I can tell you it surprised me.’

  She realised that she must get rid of Alan now, or he would never go. ‘I’ve got work to do, Alan, I’m on duty until two o’clock, and then going out. I’m sorry about this, but you can see how impossible it is.’

  She walked to the door ashamed at having behaved so badly, but Alan had made her behave this way. One had to be abrupt with him, for he was one of those men who cannot take no for an answer. She only hoped he would get a bed in the village, and turned back to speak to him. ‘Ask Davies the hall porter. He is a very good chap and he’ll help you. He must know of somewhere where you could stay.’