Roddy anxiously, running his eyes over the bodywork.
Alex raised one dark eyebrow. ‘What do you take me for? Strictly speaking, I wasn’t the one who had the accident - although I didn’t escape unscathed,’ he said as they walked up the steps. He glanced down at his trousers, which were wet and muddy round the bottom of each leg.
‘If not you, who then?’ asked Roddy, taking in Alex’s wet trousers with amusement.
‘It was a young woman. A bicyclist. She came careering down the hill by the forge and almost crashed into me as she rounded the corner. It was only by some efficient manoeuvring that she managed to avoid the car . . . ’
Roddy breathed a sigh of relief. ‘No harm done, then.’
‘I wouldn’t quite say that,’ laughed Alex, taking off his driving gloves as they went into the Manor. ‘She ended up in the duck pond!’
‘Not hurt, I hope?’ asked Roddy.
‘Would I be laughing if she was? No, of course not. The only thing she hurt was her pride. Of which she seemed to have more than her fair share.’
‘I hope she wasn’t anyone important. The success of our scheme lies in your being accepted here. You need the goodwill of your neighbours, don’t forget. They have to want to attend your gatherings, and more than that they have to want to attend them decked out in all their finery. Otherwise there will be nothing to tempt the thief to strike again.’
‘Which is our only hope of catching him. I know.’ He thought. ‘She didn’t look important,’ he said. He divested himself of his car coat, which had protected his narrow trousers and jacket from the dust of the road. ‘Fine grey eyes, a determined chin, and a tantalising figure. Probably just a girl from the village.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Roddy. ‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked, changing the subject, as he looked round the empty but beautiful hall.
‘It’s a fine old place,’ said Alex. He, too, looked round the hall. It was light and bright, and with its cream walls it had a pleasantly cool and spacious feel. Although it was at present bare - no paintings or portraits lined the staircase, and no console tables or other items of furniture took away from the emptiness - the proportions were elegant, and the tall windows let in plenty of daylight.
He turned round slowly, taking it in. An imposing staircase led upwards. He let his eyes return to the ground floor. A number of doors, half open, led into different rooms. He walked across the hall, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. He threw open the first door. A large, high-ceilinged room was revealed, with windows looking out over the front of the house.
This room was not entirely empty. A few pieces of good furniture - an impressive mahogany dining-table and chairs, and a mahogany sideboard - remained. Alex looked enquiringly at Roddy.
‘Miss Haringay had to let some of the furniture remain with the house,’ he explained. ‘She did not have room to take it all to the Lodge.’
Alex nodded. He cast his eye round the room once more. ‘It’s very impressive,’ he said, before wandering back into the hall and looking round again. ‘My agent chose well.’
‘I still think you should have looked it over yourself before buying it.’
‘What for? I have an efficient agent who knew what I was looking for: an imposing residence in the right area. It’s not as though I wanted to call the place home.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Roddy. ‘It needs modernising, of course.’
‘It does. But as I don’t propose to live here permanently that isn’t a consideration. What matters is that it’s of the right stature, and it’s in the right place.’ His glance ran round the hall once again, and then suddenly his voice took on a steely quality. ‘Once it’s baited it will make the perfect trap.’
Cicely propped her bicycle up against the wall of the Lodge. Much of the mud had been dislodged on the journey home, and she knew that a good dousing with
Alex raised one dark eyebrow. ‘What do you take me for? Strictly speaking, I wasn’t the one who had the accident - although I didn’t escape unscathed,’ he said as they walked up the steps. He glanced down at his trousers, which were wet and muddy round the bottom of each leg.
‘If not you, who then?’ asked Roddy, taking in Alex’s wet trousers with amusement.
‘It was a young woman. A bicyclist. She came careering down the hill by the forge and almost crashed into me as she rounded the corner. It was only by some efficient manoeuvring that she managed to avoid the car . . . ’
Roddy breathed a sigh of relief. ‘No harm done, then.’
‘I wouldn’t quite say that,’ laughed Alex, taking off his driving gloves as they went into the Manor. ‘She ended up in the duck pond!’
‘Not hurt, I hope?’ asked Roddy.
‘Would I be laughing if she was? No, of course not. The only thing she hurt was her pride. Of which she seemed to have more than her fair share.’
‘I hope she wasn’t anyone important. The success of our scheme lies in your being accepted here. You need the goodwill of your neighbours, don’t forget. They have to want to attend your gatherings, and more than that they have to want to attend them decked out in all their finery. Otherwise there will be nothing to tempt the thief to strike again.’
‘Which is our only hope of catching him. I know.’ He thought. ‘She didn’t look important,’ he said. He divested himself of his car coat, which had protected his narrow trousers and jacket from the dust of the road. ‘Fine grey eyes, a determined chin, and a tantalising figure. Probably just a girl from the village.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Roddy. ‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked, changing the subject, as he looked round the empty but beautiful hall.
‘It’s a fine old place,’ said Alex. He, too, looked round the hall. It was light and bright, and with its cream walls it had a pleasantly cool and spacious feel. Although it was at present bare - no paintings or portraits lined the staircase, and no console tables or other items of furniture took away from the emptiness - the proportions were elegant, and the tall windows let in plenty of daylight.
He turned round slowly, taking it in. An imposing staircase led upwards. He let his eyes return to the ground floor. A number of doors, half open, led into different rooms. He walked across the hall, his footsteps echoing on the wooden floor. He threw open the first door. A large, high-ceilinged room was revealed, with windows looking out over the front of the house.
This room was not entirely empty. A few pieces of good furniture - an impressive mahogany dining-table and chairs, and a mahogany sideboard - remained. Alex looked enquiringly at Roddy.
‘Miss Haringay had to let some of the furniture remain with the house,’ he explained. ‘She did not have room to take it all to the Lodge.’
Alex nodded. He cast his eye round the room once more. ‘It’s very impressive,’ he said, before wandering back into the hall and looking round again. ‘My agent chose well.’
‘I still think you should have looked it over yourself before buying it.’
‘What for? I have an efficient agent who knew what I was looking for: an imposing residence in the right area. It’s not as though I wanted to call the place home.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Roddy. ‘It needs modernising, of course.’
‘It does. But as I don’t propose to live here permanently that isn’t a consideration. What matters is that it’s of the right stature, and it’s in the right place.’ His glance ran round the hall once again, and then suddenly his voice took on a steely quality. ‘Once it’s baited it will make the perfect trap.’
Cicely propped her bicycle up against the wall of the Lodge. Much of the mud had been dislodged on the journey home, and she knew that a good dousing with
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