Page 42 of Out of Control

She believed him and managed a rueful smile, i feel responsible for her, you see.'

'She reminds you of yourself at that age?' he guessed shrewdly, his eyes gentle, and she gave him a startled glance, then laughed.

i suppose so, yes."

i must take a closer look at her,' drawled Keir. 'I'd like to know what you were like then.'

For some inexplicable reason that sent another stab of panic through Liza, and she headed for the stairs again with more determination. Keir let her go this time and followed with her suitcase, talking calmly.

'My mother must be in her room, changing for dinner, I expect. Would you like some help with your unpack­ing? I'll send someone ...'

'Certainly not!' she said, startled at the very idea, laughing. 'I've only brought a few things—it won't take five minutes to unpack them all.'

'Well, when you've had time to settle in, put on a pretty dress and come down to meet my mother.' He flung open a door leading off the landing on the first floor. T picked this room for you myself.' He smiled, i hope you like it.'

She walked into the room and stood, amazed and delighted, staring with pleasure around the cool elegance of a green and ivory room furnished in the graceful style of the mid-eighteenth century. A four-poster bed, hung with silk striped curtains which matched those at the two windows, a deep white carpet, watered silk on the walls which had a green shimmering the late sunlight, rosewood dressing-table, chairs, chest of drawers. There seemed to be no wardrobe, but Keir walked across the room and opened a white door, gesturing.

'Bathroom through there—dressing-room through there.'

Liza joined him and stared at the two doors. 'A dressing-room? How useful,' she said and glanced in at the room which had a full-length mirror on one wall, rows of empty coat-hangers along another and shelves running vertically on the wall behind the door.

'I'll see you later, then,' Keir murmured, putting her case down and smiling at her with the charm she was rapidly coming to find irresistible. 'Thank you for coming, Liza. I've been waiting for a long time to see you here at Hartwell.'

He had gone before she had taken in what he had said. She heard her bedroom door close quietly and stumbled back from the dressing-room to stare at the empty bedroom, feeling almost dizzy.

What had he meant by that? Had it been a meaningless courtesy? Or . . .

she broke off, biting her lip. Keir couldn't have meant it seriously, and anyway they had only met such a short time ago! Of course he hadn't meant it.

CHAPTER TEN

Keir's mother bore a strong resemblance to her children; she had the same beautiful, bony face as Pippa and eyes of the vivid blue she had handed on to her son. Her direct stare reminded Liza of Keir, too, and although his mother's hair was absolutely white Liza didn't need to guess that it had once been jet-black, because there was a large oil painting of Mrs Gilford over the fireplace in the drawing-room, painted in her girlhood, in the elegant clothes of the First World War era; cream silk and lace which she wore with style. She had been painted in a garden; lilies and roses around her. You could almost smell them, and she held flowers in her long, white hands, the shadow of their colour on her skin.

Fifty years later you could still trace that girl in the upright, graceful old woman who shook hands with Liza.

'Is your name really Elizabeth?' Mrs Gilford asked in a deep voice which reminded Liza of Keir, the timbre was so similiar.

Nodding, Liza agreed. 'But I was always called Liza because I had an aunt Elizabeth—I was named after her, I suppose, although I'd forgotten that.'

'Elizabeth is my name, too,' Mrs Giflbrd said, and Liza gave Keir a surprised, flushed look. He hadn't told her that. He was smiling, watching them both intently, but she couldn't read that expression and didn't trust his charm. It might mean anything, that was the whole trouble with charm—it was all things to all people and never personal, never special, just for you.

'Keir didn't tell you that?' His mother looked amused. 'He didn't mention it.'

'He likes to have secrets,' his mother said with wry affection and Keir made a protesting sound.

'Don't give me away, Mother, please!'

'Was I? We won't talk about you, then—I wouldn't want to spoil anything.'

Spoil what? thought Liza, her eyes flashing from one to the other. They had a silent rapport; she read the intimacy, the smiling understanding in their glances and knew they were very close, needed no words.

'Sit by me and tell me all about yourself,' Mrs Gifford said, patting the footstool next to her. 'Keir, get Liza a sherry.'

'Sweet or dry ?' he asked and Liza said she would prefer dry. She didn't like sherry, but she didn't quite like to say so and held the small glass, sipping gingerly while she talked to Mrs Gifford about her modelling and her agency business.

'Where do you come from, Liza? Now and then you seem to have a West Country accent—were you born around here?'

Startled, Liza flushed. 'Not quite, but it's clever of you to pick up the accent—I haven't been back for years. I'd forgotten I ever had an accent, I thought I'd lost it.'

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