The Landower Legacy (39 page)

“Good day, Madam,” he said. “Would you have any objection to my sharing this compartment with you.” “Jago! What are you doing here?”

He laughed. He looked exactly like the boy who had suggested we play ghosts to frighten prospective buyers away from Landower. “I’m going to London,” he said, sitting down opposite me. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, I thought I’d make the most of the opportunity.” “Jago, you really mean …”

“I mean that I wanted to go to London. It is such a bore travelling on one’s own. How much wiser to find a pleasant companion.” “Why didn’t you say you were going to London?” “I thought I would give you a nice surprise. I love surprising people … and particularly you, Caroline. You’re so worldly nowadays, so knowledgeable, so learned that it is wonderful to present you with something you hadn’t thought of first.”

“You must have got on the train at the same time as I did. I didn’t see you.”

“I was holding aloof while you made your fond farewells, and then … when you weren’t looking, I slipped on … and at the earliest possible moment I decided not to keep your pleasant surprise from you any longer. So here I am. Your travelling companion. Are you pleased?”

“You are so ridiculous,” I said.

“Yes. Isn’t that charming? I have a delicious luncheon basket.”

“Where?”

“In the compartment where I have my seat. I am going to transfer it to here. I will leave you for a few moments.”

I found myself laughing. I felt better already.

In a short time he was back with the basket.

“I told them to make it a
deux.”

“So you planned all this.”

“Every operation needs careful planning if it is to achieve the maximum success.”

“I still can’t see why you couldn’t have told me.”

“Don’t you think there might have been objections? A lady of your renowned virtue travelling to London with a man of slightly less moral rectitude?”

“There might have been.”

“Well now, no one knows.”

“I suppose they know you are going to London.”

“Oh no. I’m a diplomat at heart. They think I am going to Plymouth.”

“Why the subterfuge?”

“Because I could not think of a reason to tell them I was going to London. Of course, I have a perfectly good reason.”

“I can’t think why you involve yourself in all that subterfuge just to be in London when I’m there. I shan’t see you. I shall be with my sister.”

“I shall call … as a friend of the family.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“Yes, but you know you like that.”

I began to laugh and we were laughing together.

“That’s better,” he said. “Now you look like the young Caroline. You’ve acquired a touch of asperity in later life. Is it due to the laggard lover?”

“What do you know about that?”

“What everyone knows. You didn’t think you could keep such a
piece of life in the raw from being circulated in Lancarron, did you? You couldn’t have a better messenger service than that which is run by our servants. They listen at doors; they store their news; they impart it to their fellow minions—and it gets around to
us
in time. I can tell you they know that I am the neighbourhood’s Don Juan, Apollo, Lothario, whichever you care to name. This means that I have a greater appreciation of your sex than most men—and of course the feeling is reciprocated. They know that you had an unfortunate love affair and they say you came down here to get over it. They know that Paul married poor Gwennie to get the house and he has regretted it ever since. It is no use imagining your life is a closed book. By no means. It’s wide open and printed in large letters and lavishly illustrated so that all may look and learn.”

“So none of us is safe.”

“Alas none! The only defence we have against this very efficient detective agency is not to care. After all, they doubtless have their secrets. They have their amours, jiltings, mesalliances. It makes us all human—all the same under our skins—the rich man in his castle, the poor man at the gate. That’s what they like to see. Who wants to be other than human? I think it’s a very pleasant state to be in. Better a human being than say … a butterfly or a grasshopper—though there are some of us who resemble these feckless insects.”

I was laughing again.

“That’s better,” he said. “Now tell me what are we going to do when you reach London?”

“I know what I am going to do. I am going to say goodbye to you and go to my sister. I shall be with her all the time. I have my duties to perform as godmother.”

“You’ll be a real fairy godmother, I don’t doubt.”

“I shall try to do my duty by the child.”

“I’ve no doubt of that. I only hope you don’t get too enamoured of her and London life that you decide to desert us. I don’t want to have to make constant trips to London.”

“That might be a little awkward as you are supposed to be in Plymouth now. Where will you stay?”

“I know of a hotel close to your sister’s residence. You see, I have made my plans. I have stayed there on other occasions and shall go there again.”

“You know I can’t see you when I’m in London.”

He grinned at me. “I believe your sister is a charming young lady. I look forward to meeting her.”

“You will stand no chances with her!”

“Chances? What an idea! Are you suggesting that I might attempt to lure a virtuous matron from her hearth?”

“I think you would seduce any woman if you had the chance.”

“If she has a heart as cold as her sister’s I shall not have a chance.”

“She has a warm heart but that warmth will not be for you.”

“Then I shall have to confine my efforts to melting the icicles which encase that of the beauteous Caroline.”

“You are wasting your time. They will never melt for you.”

“Is that an admission that they might melt for another?”

“I doubt they ever will.”

“I wouldn’t take a bet on that.”

“We know you are only interested in high stakes so let’s forget my icebound heart, shall we?”

“Agreed. Look. Here’s Mr. Brunei’s bridge. Plymouth already. No one must come in here. Let’s make it appear that the carriage is full.”

He put his bag on one seat and the basket containing the food on the other. He stood by the window.

“I wish they would not stay so long in these stations,” he said.

Someone was at the door, looking in. It was a man and a woman.

“I’m afraid,” said Jago, with a charming smile, “there is no room in this compartment.” He indicated the things lying on the seats.

The woman nodded and they passed on.

It was only when the train started to glide out of the station that he resumed his seat.

“I didn’t think you were going to manage it,” I said.

“My dear Caroline, I always manage everything I set my heart on. Didn’t you know?”

“Not all things.”

“Oh, what do you mean?”

“Well, one thing I remember. You were going to drive buyers away from Landower and all you succeeded in doing was finding one.”

“My one failure. But it brought Landower back to us, didn’t it? And that was what I was trying to do. God works in a mysterious way.”

“Jago also, I should have thought.”

“Poor Paul. I’m afraid he wishes it had never happened.”

“I can’t believe that. The most important thing was to keep the house in the family and he did that.”

“But what a price!”

“You can’t have things in life without paying for them.”

“He certainly paid. Do you know, sometimes I think he hates her.”

“He should be grateful to her.”

“Well … in a way, yes. It is a pity he has to pay for the rest of his life.”

“He entered into the bargain. I can’t bear people who make agreements and then resent having to carry them out.”

“Don’t be hard on him. He’s doing his best. He’s there, isn’t he? He married her. He’s a good sort really. A little melancholy. Who wouldn’t be, married to Gwennie? He was only in his teens when he had the whole weight of the family debts thrust on him. He had to learn to take over from our father at an early age. What an inheritance! You can’t blame Paul. He did his best.”

I said: “It’s his affair.”

“Alas, my poor brother.”

“I’m sure he can take care of himself.”

“Sometimes those of us who seem the strongest are the most vulnerable. He has a conscience, poor Paul!”

“You speak as though that’s a pity.”

“Well, isn’t it? Consciences can be a veritable plague. They rise up when one least wants them to. They torment and worry and really make life tiresome.”

“Am I to understand that you are not blessed … I mean cursed … by such an encumbrance?”

“Shall we say I put it to sleep long ago?”

“So now it permits you to behave outrageously while it slumbers on?”

“It’s the best action to take against all consciences.”

“What a world it would be if everyone was like you!”

He stretched out his legs before him and laughed at me. “What a world! Peopled by charming, insouciant, handsome, merry fellows like me, who go about having a good time and making sure that others do the same.”

“Utopia, no less,” I said.

“You should join me in it.”

I turned to look out of the window. “I think the Devon scenery is beautiful,” I said.

I could not be sad sitting opposite him. He opened the basket and disclosed dainty sandwiches with ham and chicken and a bottle of sparkling white wine. My own luncheon was equally appetising.

“There is enough here for two,” he said.

“I think I have more than I need.”

“It’s fun, is it not, picnicking in the train, listening to the rhythm of the wheels. What are they saying? ‘Caroline. Caroline, Caroline, don’t stay away, Caroline. Jago needs you. Jago needs you.’ “

“You could fit in anything you wanted to.”

“One hears what one wants to hear. That is what is so pleasant about it …”

He insisted that I share his wine and he poured it into the glasses he had brought with him in the basket.

“To us. Caroline and Jago.”

“To us.”

“Should have been chilled,” he said.

“Rather difficult on a train. It tastes good to me.”

“They say that hunger seasons all dishes. I would say the company, wouldn’t you?”

“I think that has a great deal to do with it.”

The train was speeding on. The journey was half over. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. I knew he was watching me all the time.

When I opened my eyes he was smiling at me.

“How long will you stay?” he asked.

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On many things.”

“You’re uneasy, I sense.”

“Well … perhaps.”

“You’ll have to see the false lover who is the husband of your sister. That could be quite an ordeal.”

“I know.”

“If you want any help, you know there is a stout arm waiting to defend you.”

“I don’t think I shall need defending. He is mild-mannered. He will be perfectly polite, I am sure. And I shall be cold and indifferent. I’ll get by.”

“You’ll be that all right,” he said with a grin. “But you mustn’t let yourself get hurt.”

“As if I would.”

“Well, we all have our weak spots.”

“Even you?”

“I was talking about ordinary mortals. Life goes on no matter what happens.”

“A profound statement,” I said with irony.

“And very true. Take the Princess Mary, who has recently lost her lover.”

He was referring to the death of the Duke of Clarence, eldest son of the Prince of Wales, who had died of pneumonia at the beginning of the year, soon after his engagement to Mary of Teck was announced.

“Consider,” he went on, “she lost Eddy and now it is said she will take George.” He raised his eyebrows almost piously. “Of course it is a true love match, and it was George she loved all the time. That’s what we’ll hear.”

I nodded.

“Very wise, you must admit. Forget what you’ve lost and discover that what is left is exactly what you wanted.”

“An excellent philosophy.”

“Do you know this is the shortest journey I have ever undertaken?”

“What nonsense! We’re miles on from Plymouth, which is your usual destination.”

“It is because I don’t want it to end. I want to catch the golden minutes and imprison them forever.”

“The poetic mood doesn’t really suit you, Jago.”

“Not much in my line, is it? What I will say in blunt everyday prose is, It is fun to be with you.” He leaned forward and gripped my arm. “And that is how you feel about me.”