I didn't have to ask which resemblance he was referring to. It might have been a portrait of himself hanging there. I looked from the portrait to Geoff and back again, my eyes wide.
'It's by Lely,' he went on, as if it were all part of the tour. 'Quite a distinctive style he had.'
A gentle, apologetic tap on the door behind us broke the contemplative silence and made us both spin around like a couple of guilty schoolchildren. A tall, elderly woman was standing in the open doorway. The neatly pressed apron covering her demure dark-blue dress and the classic arrangement of her softly white hair presented a picture of calm, well-ordered efficiency, and her face, with its smiling blue eyes and gentle expression, seemed oddly familiar to me.
But she wasn't looking at me—she was looking at Geoff.
'You have a phone call,' she told him, her voice pleasantly melodic. 'I wouldn't have bothered you with it, but it's Mr. McCandless from the Manchester plant, and he sounded rather urgent.'
'Right.' Geoff grimaced. 'I'll take the call. Thanks, Freda. Oh,' he said, as an afterthought, 'have you met? Julia Beckett, Alfreda Hutherson, my housekeeper.'
We smiled and shook hands, and then I remembered.
'We have met,' I said. 'You came round to the house to welcome me.' 'That's right,' the older woman replied. 'Settling in all right, are you?'
'Yes, thank you.'
Geoff touched my shoulder, brushing past us. 'Look, I'll just go take that phone call, shall I? Won't be a minute.'
Mrs. Hutherson moved aside to let him pass, then stepped forward again, tilting her head to one side as she looked first at me, then at the dark portrait in the corner.
'Quite a nice painting, isn't it?' she remarked, and I nodded.
'Very nice.'
'A very handsome man.'
'Yes.'
She brought her eyes back to mine, and for a moment I felt a curious sensation of nakedness, as though she were looking straight into my soul. Just for a moment, and then there was only an old woman with friendly blue eyes, looking at me.
'It's a pity no one knows who he is,' she said. 'Handsome man like that, and such a dashing figure. Somebody must have loved him, once.'
She looked at me again, and smiled.
'You'll have to excuse me, I've the upstairs windows to do yet. I hope you enjoy the rest of your tour.'
I had to clear my throat before speaking. 'Thank you.'
She nodded graciously and departed, her footsteps ringing in even measure on the polished hardwood floor of the long passage. Odd that neither Geoff nor I had heard her approach, I thought. Alone in the lovely, quiet room, I lifted my eyes once more to the portrait.
Richard de Mornay smiled down at me.
It was Richard de Mornay—I was certain of that. There was no mistaking that proud, handsome arrogance, nor the gentle cynicism of his dark, hooded gaze. Someone must have loved him, Mrs. Hutherson had said, and again that little, knowing voice inside me made reply.
Yes, it said, with painful clarity.... I did.
But then, I already y knew that. Had known it, it seemed, for some time. And I had the strangest feeling—based on intuition rather than on any rational fact—that Alfreda Hutherson had known it, too.
Fourteen
The Red Lion was the busiest I'd ever seen it, several tables swarming with Saturday-afternoon patrons, and it was a long while before Vivien could work her way back to the bar to serve us. Even Ned had been moved to action, and had ambled by us at least twice bearing plates of sandwiches and chips from the back kitchen.
'Right.' Vivien swung herself into position behind the bar, her fair hair swirled around her flushed face. 'Let me get this straight.' She looked across at Geoff. 'You gave Julia a tour of the Hall today.'
Geoff nodded.
'And as payment for this enormous privilege,' Vivien went on, 'Julia has agreed to let you buy her a drink.'
'Correct.'
'Sounds like a rare fair deal, my girl,' she said to me. 'What can I get you?'
'Gin and tonic, please.' I smiled back.
Two stools away, beside Geoff, Iain Sumner leaned forward with a disapproving frown.
'What kind of a drink d'ye call that?' he asked me, his own hand cupped around a sweating pint of dark bitter. 'Ignore him,' Vivien instructed me. 'He's in one of his difficult moods.'
Iain raised an eyebrow at that. 'I am not.'
'You see what I mean.' Vivien winked, sliding my drink across the bar.
Geoff turned in his seat to face his friend.
'You do seem a little out of sorts today, Iain. Everything all right?'
'Everything's bloody fine,' Iain retorted, 'and I'm in a bloody wonderful mood, thanks.' He drew a cigarette from the package in front of him and lit it, the very angle of his jaw an open challenge.
Geoff and Vivien exchanged significant glances. Vivien turned her attention back to me, resting her elbows on the bar and leaning forward to shift some of the weight from her tired feet.
'So,' she said brightly, 'how did you enjoy the tour?'
'It was lovely,' I told her. 'Someone's done a wonderful job of restoring the old rooms—it's just like coming face-to-face with the past.'
'Quite literally, at that,' Geoff chimed in. 'Julia had an encounter with our ghost in the Cavalier bedroom.'
Vivien's eyes flashed excitedly. 'Did you really? And what did it feel like to you?'