Across the Lagoon Read Free

thanked him and started off. The June sunshine was warm on her head. Walking was pleasant. She passed the village inn with its seats outside and straw-hatted cronies nodding over their beer.
    The road soon took her out into the open country. It was several minutes before she came to the old stone bridge where a stream chuckled over sunlit pebbles. She turned left along a lane, flanked by rolling fields and clusters of trees. Occasionally the thatched roof of a cottage showed amongst the greenery, or the white paddock rail of a country house. Every gate was fronted by a grid of steel rollers to keep out the wild ponies of the forest.Looking ahead, Carol slowed down and moved along the lane uncertainly. She had no idea which residence was Rowan House. She might have overshot it some- . where. She was wondering whether to turn back when her eye caught sight of a tall rooftop hidden beyond the swirl of trees in the distance. Taking a chance, she walked on.
    On the curve of the lane she found, reading the name on the gate with a sigh of relief, that this was the house she was looking for.
    A grey mellow-stoned structure with heavy oak doors under a porticoed entrance, and tall chimney stacks at each end of the sloping roof, it stood back from a crescent of green lawn. From the open imposing gateway a gravelled drive led round to the front of the house and continued on, following the curve of the lawn, to a twin imposing gateway further along the lane.
    Carol walked along the drive feeling her confidence slipping away from her. Apart from an expensive- looking car parked opposite the doorway there was no sign of life. The windows, tall and highly polished, were unadorned save for sombre brown drapes at the sides. Much of the exterior was covered in ivy.
    It was a beautiful old house, but it had a bleakness about it as though it had nothing left to draw on but its memories.
    On the front steps Carol rang the bell and waited with a thudding heart. After a few moments, a grey- haired woman in oatmeal-coloured dress and apron came to the door. Her features were stern, but her eyes had a kindly light.
    'Good afternoon,' Carol smiled nervously. 'I'm Carol Lindley. I was on the phone earlier about the job in the paper.'
    The woman gestured her in and led her across a chequered hall into a carpeted room sombre with ebony- based Jable lamps, gold-framed pictures and dull-patterned vases.
    'I'll go and tell Mr Barrett you're here.' Her head erect with its neat grey bun, the woman went off.
    Carol stood and waited listening to the hollow, metallic tick of a grandfather clock in the corner of the hallway. She could see several other rooms across the chequered space, their open doors showing similar ponderous furnishings.
    A polished wood stairway at the side led up to a landing which bordered the entire hall. Around it, pale alcoves held art pieces, and standing against the walls carved chests gleamed dully. There was no denying that flooded with sunshine, with the scent of summer breezes dancing through it, the house would have a mellow beauty. But at the moment, closed and silent, it emanated only a gloomy orderliness.
    Carol fidgeted in its weighty presence. She was used to family chatter and noise, and rollicking thuds around untidy rooms. The brooding atmosphere began to stretch her nerves. She felt the panic rising within her again. Then a voice was calling from the far end of the hall, 'Mr Barrett will see you now, miss.'
    Thankful for any kind of action, Carol jerked to where the aproned figure beckoned her. She was shown into a large room. With thudding heart she felt the door closing behind her. Along with a blurred impression of book-lined walls, oak panelling and leather armchairs she was conscious of a man sitting behind a heavy desk to one side of the room. She couldn't miss the view out of the big uncurtained window opposite, which was one of rolling tree-bordered lawns and blue sky. Near by an old stone fountain sprayed