A Flight To Heaven Read online

  She had not seen him for several days and perhaps she had been mistaken about him, maybe there was nothing odd at all about the way he had stared at her and he had just been admiring her.

  Arthur had certainly been unable to take his eyes off Elizabeth whenever she had seen them together.

  She took the white dress out of the wardrobe and held it against herself. Should she wear it? It would be lovely to feel the soft silk rustling around her ankles and the delicate lace caressing her neck and arms.

  But it was an evening gown and not really suitable for luncheon.

  As she sat in the drawing room later that afternoon, she was very glad indeed that she had not worn the white dress, but had stuck to one of her sensible long-sleeved, dark gowns.

  The luncheon party had gone very well. Lord and Lady Duckett were old family friends and Lord Duckett had attended the same school as Chiara’s Papa.

  They were both delighted to see that Lady Fairfax was recovering from her bereavement and Lord Duckett’s lined face was wreathed in smiles as he proposed a toast to ‘happier days at Rensham Hall’.

  Lady Duckett was fulsome in her praise of the food and wine.

  “How well you are managing, my dear, without your husband. What a resourceful woman you are,” she kept saying.

  She ate and drank a good deal and then, as the meal progressed, Lady Duckett became rather quiet and several times Chiara thought that she was about to doze off.

  It was young Lord Darley who had much to say, sat opposite Chiara’s Mama and made several toasts to her.

  He said he absolutely agreed with Lady Duckett. Lady Fairfax was a remarkable hostess to have produced such a delicious luncheon.

  And how flattering those dark clothes of mourning were to a woman of her striking complexion, he added.

  Mervyn Hunter, who sat opposite Chiara, said very little, but she knew that he was watching her, as every time she looked up from her plate, her eyes met his.

  ‘Elizabeth and Mama must indeed be right,’ she thought, ‘he does like me!’

  She looked up once again and this time she smiled at him.

  Mervyn Hunter raised his brows and sat back in his chair. His thin lips curled as he returned her smile, but his grey eyes remained quite cold.

  Chiara’s cheeks felt hot and she knew that she must have been blushing. She wished now she had not smiled.

  She dropped her gaze to her plate and tried to keep it fixed there. She thought of Arthur and the way that his expression was gentle and warm whenever he looked at Elizabeth. There was nothing at all gentle about the way Mervyn Hunter smiled at her.

  “I would like to propose a toast!” he was saying now in his dry sardonic voice. “To a blossoming young lady who promises to be every bit as pretty as her lovely Mama!”

  He raised his glass and now his eyes were narrowed so that Chiara thought he was like a cat about to pounce on a bird.

  “Oh, no, really – please don’t – ” she began, before she could stop herself.

  But Lord Darley then gave a little cheer and raised his glass too and then everyone stood up to toast her.

  The rest of the meal was agony for Chiara.

  Mervyn Hunter now had a permanent smile on his lean face.

  She managed not to look at him and then suddenly she felt something touch her foot. She jumped and could not help but raise her eyes to him and now Mervyn Hunter was laughing at her.

  He reached out again, pressing her toes with his booted foot and Chiara shuddered and, in spite of herself, rose from table.

  “What is it, darling?” her Mama asked and then to Chiara’s great relief, she suggested that it might be time to retire to the drawing room.

  “Let’s make ourselves a little more comfortable, ladies,” she said. “I am sure that the gentlemen will enjoy a cigar or two in the smoking room.”

  Lady Duckett settled down for a snooze, propped against the sofa cushions and Lady Fairfax turned to her daughter.

  For a moment, Chiara thought she was going to ask about what had happened at table and that she would be able to tell her mother about Mervyn Hunter’s behaviour.

  But Lady Fairfax was oblivious of her distress.

  “Chiara – Lord Darley has been to Italy – several times! Isn’t that marvellous? He says he almost wishes he was an Italian himself. We have so much in common, I cannot quite believe it!”

  Her Mama’s face was glowing with happiness and Chiara could not bear to interrupt and spoil her pleasure.

  It was not long before the door opened and the drawing room was suddenly filled with men’s loud voices and the strong scent of cigar smoke.

  Chiara’s heart suddenly jumped as Mervyn Hunter approached her and drew up a chair so that he was sitting facing her.

  “You are a very modest little thing, aren’t you?” he said, his voice very quiet, so that no one else could hear. “Why so shy?”

  Chiara turned to her Mama, but Lady Fairfax was standing in front of the fireplace her hand in Lord Darley’s, laughing and talking.

  Mervyn Hunter leaned forward, his face as close to hers as it had been on the day they first met. She tried to move back, but she was trapped in her chair and there was no escape.

  His cold grey eyes were fixed upon hers and Chiara could not look away.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Why won’t you look at me?” Mervyn Hunter said so softly that no one else in the room could hear him. “A short while ago at luncheon you were all smiles and now you will not even meet my eyes.”

  Chiara longed to jump up from her chair and run out of the drawing room, but he was leaning so close to her that, if she stood up, she would almost be in his arms.

  “What have I done?” he asked, staring intently at her with his pale grey eyes. “Have I said something to upset you?”

  “No.”

  Chiara shook her head.

  “Aha!” he smiled. “I’ve got it! It was our little game under the table, wasn’t it?”

  She could not help giving an involuntary shiver, as she remembered his heavy foot pressing against hers.

  “But why should you be so upset? I thought you might find it amusing,” he carried on.

  His voice was very soft, but the expression in his eyes was cold as he watched Chiara.

  “I did not,” she said, the words coming out more sharply than she intended and then to her great relief, he moved back from her a little.

  “My sincere apologies,” he said. “I did not mean to cause offence. It was just a little fun.”

  “Chiara, darling!” Lady Fairfax called across the drawing room. She was now sitting on the sofa with Lord Darley. “Will you ring for the card table to be brought in? We should like to play.”

  “Of course, Mama.”

  Now everybody was looking at her and she found it easier to stand up and edge past Mervyn Hunter.

  He would not try to touch her or push her back into her chair in full view of everybody.

  She went over to the marble fireplace and tugged on the long velvet bell-pull that hung there,

  And then, instead of returning to her chair, she went to stand by the sofa, where her Mama was sitting with Lord Darley.

  Two parlourmaids came hurrying in and put up the little green baize card table in the middle of the room.

  “Will you play with us too, Chiara?” Lord Darley looked up at her.

  His eyes were bright with enthusiasm and Chiara thought, as she had when she first saw him in the stable yard, that he seemed a very cheerful person.

  “I would love to,” she answered, breathing a sigh of relief.

  “No, no!” Lord Duckett ambled over, his kindly red face wreathed in white whiskers. “The young lady is just becoming acquainted with Mr. Hunter and we should not interrupt their tête-à-tête!”

  One of the parlourmaids pulled up a chair to the card table and Lord Duckett sat down heavily upon it and planted his gnarled hands on the green baize.

  “Come along, Maud!” he call
ed in a loud voice to his wife. “Rouse yourself, my dear. You are needed for whist.”

  Lady Duckett gave a little jump and sat up straight. Then she rose unsteadily and came to join her husband.

  Mervyn Hunter made his way to Chiara’s side, a smile on his thin lips.

  “Saved!” he murmured to her and then, moving his lips close to her ear, he added, “I cannot think of anything more tedious on a lovely spring afternoon than to be stuck at a card table.”

  To her horror, she felt him take hold of her hand and press it with his.

  Lord Darley was now leading her Mama to the card table and, as soon as they sat down, Lord Duckett began to deal the cards.

  “Oh, what luck!” Mervyn Hunter murmured. “The sofa has become vacant. Let’s take full advantage of its comfort and seclusion.”

  Chiara pulled her hand out of his and shook her head.

  “What’s wrong now?” he asked. “I cannot believe that you would rather watch a game of cards than enjoy a peaceful conversation with a gentleman who admires you as much as I do – ”

  Before Chiara could reply, her Mama turned to her and asked,

  “Are you all right, my dear? You look very pale.”

  “I am not feeling very well,” Chiara replied.

  She was about to ask if she might go to her room, but Mervyn Hunter, still close beside her, interrupted.

  “Fresh air, I think, is called for,” he said. “May I have the pleasure of escorting you for a short walk on the terrace, Lady Chiara?”

  “Mr. Hunter, what a kind thought!” Lady Fairfax nodded her approval. “By all means, go out, both of you, and enjoy the sunshine. Chiara’s spirits will soon revive.”

  “No – I – really don’t want to,” Chiara stammered.

  “A walk will do you good, darling. You love to be out of doors.” Lady Fairfax said, looking a little surprised.

  Mervyn Hunter held out his arm and Chiara had no choice but to place her hand on it and follow him out of Rensham Hall and onto the terrace that ran along the front of the house.

  “Well!” he exclaimed, as he tucked Chiara’s hand under his arm, trapping it there with his elbow. “This is very nice, isn’t it? Just the two of us, alone at last.”

  She did not reply, but looked away from him and out over the Park, wishing that he would not keep gazing at her so intently.

  “I see I am still out of favour,” he began, after they had walked a few more yards. “But I am only trying to please you. Surely, if you are feeling unwell, a short walk in the company of a kind and handsome gentleman should be just the thing?”

  Chiara turned to face him.

  “I should like to go inside now,” she said.

  He sighed.

  “You are so cold to me, Lady Chiara.”

  “I should like to go in,” she repeated, striving to keep her voice level. “I don’t wish to walk with you.”

  “Ah, perhaps ‘cold’ is not quite strong enough. I might almost say that you are rude, my Lady. Perhaps you took a little too much wine with your luncheon and that is what is causing this strange mood!”

  “I did not!” Chiara snapped. “You were watching me almost all the time, you must have seen that I only took a few sips.”

  “Oh, that’s much better!” He stopped. “Now you are looking me in the eye and showing me a little spirit and I like it very much.”

  He caught Chiara’s wrists in his hands and spun her around to face him.

  “How lovely you are, Chiara, even when you are scowling at me.”

  “Let me go!”

  He was very strong and, although Chiara tried with all her strength to free her hands, she could not.

  “I will, when I am ready,” he said. “But first of all, since I have spent so long trying to please you, I am going to insist that I have a little something in return – ”

  He was interrupted by a loud rapping noise on the glass of one of the windows nearby.

  Mervyn Hunter swore under his breath and turned his back to the window, but still keeping a tight hold on Chiara’s wrists.

  She then heard the squeak of the casement window opening and Lord Duckett’s voice calling to them.

  “I say, Mr. Hunter! Disaster. Maud has nodded off over her hand of cards! Our game is ruined. Would you come and partner me, sir? I need your superlative talents at the card table or I am sure to lose.”

  The old man’s whiskered face peered anxiously out of the open window, as he added,

  “If the young lady has no objection? Perhaps she has walked for long enough?”

  Mervyn Hunter’s white teeth flashed in a smile, as he called over his shoulder,

  “Absolutely, Lord Duckett! Lady Chiara is a little under the weather and does not wish to walk any further. I shall be with you in an instant.”

  The window squeaked shut again.

  “Ha – we were right outside the drawing room. But I don’t think that the old man saw a thing.”

  He drew Chiara along the terrace so that they were out of view of the drawing room window.

  Chiara’s heart was beating painfully fast. What did he mean, when he said that he wanted to take something from her?

  “You must go,” she urged him as politely as she could manage, “they are waiting for you.”

  “Let them.”

  “Please, just go!”

  Chiara twisted her arms inside his grip, but he did not budge.

  “You don’t realise how much I care for you, do you?” he was saying. “Do you seriously think that I mean you harm?”

  “Let go of me, please!”

  “For, Chiara, this little thing that I am going to claim in recompense for all the attention I have offered you – why – had you not thought it might be something nice?”

  Before Chiara could think what he meant or how she should reply to it, he had bent his head and brushed his mouth against hers.

  His lips were hot and the touch of them sent a shock through her whole body. Her legs shook and she almost fell against him.

  “See. Was that so bad?” his pale eyes had a strange light in them as they looked into hers. “Another one? No, I think I will make you wait for it.”

  And then he did let her go and she watched him walk away from her along the terrace.

  She was trembling so much that she had to sit down on one of the little stone garden seats.

  *

  “Remarkable creatures!”

  King Edward VII’s manicured hand rested for a moment on the silky head of one of the tall white Borzoi hounds that Count Dimitrov had given him that morning, when he arrived at Sandringham to begin his visit.

  “Alas, we have no wolves at Sandringham for them to chase!”

  Arkady bowed, politely.

  “I am sure that they will not mind, sir, to leave the dangers of that most perilous sport behind them.”

  “How graceful they are,” the Queen remarked. “An ornament to any room they inhabit. I should think they would make excellent pets. Will you have another cup of coffee, Count Dimitrov?”

  “Thank you, ma’am, but I am more than replete after your delicious luncheon.”

  In fact, Arkady was feeling uncomfortably full. So many rich courses had been brought to the long table in the dining room and he had eaten far too much. He shifted his position on the small uncomfortable gilt chair where he sat.

  “I cannot help but think, Count, that you are rather like a Borzoi yourself!” the Queen was saying, a Regal smile on her face. “You are so tall and you have the same air of strength and grace that they have.”

  Arkady laughed.

  “Thank you, ma’am. An unusual compliment!”

  “We really do want you to enjoy your stay here at Sandringham,” the Queen continued. “This is one of our favourite residences and you must feel quite at home here.”

  Arkady bowed again and now the King was asking him how he liked Norfolk.

  “I have seen only glimpses on my journey here,” he replied, “but the
flat landscape reminds me of my country estate in Russia. I should like to know more about it.”

  The King looked pleased and he then told Arkady to wander wherever he liked in the gardens and grounds around the house.

  But flowerbeds and prettily clipped bushes were not what Arkady really cared for that afternoon. He seemed to have been cooped up indoors for so many weeks now and he longed to roam free.

  He could have gone to the stables and asked for a horse or even a chaise, so that he could go further afield, and he was about to do so, when something caught his eye.

  An old bicycle was leaning up against the wall of the garden.

  Arkady had never ridden a bicycle before and he wondered what it would be like.

  Why should he not give it a try? He went over and took hold of the handlebars, noticing that someone had tied a rolled-up woollen coat onto the back of the bicycle.

  Arkady wheeled the bicycle onto the smooth grass of the lawn, straddled it and launched himself forward.

  “Hey!” a voice cried.

  Arkady looked around to see who had spoken, and in the next moment found himself lying flat on the grass, the bicycle on top of him.

  “What do you think you’re doin’?” a young lad in work clothes was running up to him. “Oh, excuse me, sir.”

  The lad blushed a fiery red and took his cap off.

  “I am Count Dimitrov,” Arkady said, standing up and brushing a few dead leaves from his trousers, “and this I presume is your bicycle?”

  “Yes it is, um – Count Dimitrov.” The young man asked, looking anxiously at Arkady. “Are you hurt, sir?”

  “Only in my pride. And who are you?”

  “Jeremy, sir, Jeremy Jones. I work in the gardens, here.”

  “So, how does one master this thing?”

  Arkady picked up the bicycle from the grass and stood it on its wheels.

  “Well, it’s easy once you know how!” Jeremy said and then he added, politely, “although I don’t know how many times I fell off when I was learnin’.”

  “Show me how to do it!” Arkady requested.

  Jeremy took the bicycle and demonstrated how to mount it and then how to turn the pedals and make it go forward.