‘Goodnight, my dear,’ he said. ‘Warrender and I will probably not be in until about midnight.’
Clarissa accompanied him to the French windows. ‘It’s really a lovely evening,’ she observed. ‘I’ll come with you as far as the gate onto the golf course.’
They strolled across the garden together, making no attempt to catch up with Hugo and Jeremy. ‘What time do you expect Henry home?’ Sir Rowland asked.
‘Oh, I’m not sure. It varies. Quite soon, I imagine. Anyway, we’ll have a quiet evening together and some cold food, and we’ll probably have retired to bed by the time you and Jeremy get back.’
‘Yes, don’t wait up for us, for heaven’s sake,’ Sir Rowland told her.
They walked on in companionable silence until they reached the garden gate. Then, ‘All right, my dear, I’ll see you later, or probably at breakfast tomorrow,’ said Clarissa.
Sir Rowland gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek, and walked on briskly to catch up with his companions, while Clarissa made her way back to the house. It was a pleasant evening, and she walked slowly, stopping to enjoy the sights and smells of the garden, and allowing her thoughts to wander. She laughed to herself as the image of Miss Peake with her broccoli came into her mind, then found herself smiling when she thought of Jeremy and his clumsy attempt to make love to her. She wondered idly whether he had really been serious about it. As she approached the house, she began to contemplate with pleasure the prospect of a quiet evening at home with her husband.
Clarissa and Sir Rowland had hardly been gone more than a few minutes when Elgin, the butler, entered the room from the hall, carrying a tray of drinks which he placed on a table. When the door bell rang, he went to the front door. A theatrically handsome, dark-haired man was standing outside.
‘Good evening, sir,’ Elgin greeted him.
‘Good evening. I’ve come to see Mrs Brown,’ the man told him, rather brusquely.
‘Oh yes, sir, do come in,’ said Elgin. Closing the door behind the man, he asked, ‘What name, sir?’
‘Mr Costello.’
‘This way, sir.’ Elgin led the way along the hall. He stood aside to allow the newcomer to enter the drawing-room, and then said, ‘Would you wait here, sir. Madam is at home. I’ll see if I can find her.’ He started to go, then stopped and turned back to the man. ‘Mr Costello, did you say?’
‘That’s right,’ the stranger replied. ‘Oliver Costello.’
‘Very good, sir,’ murmured Elgin as he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Left alone, Oliver Costello looked around the room, walked across to listen first at the library door and next at the hall door, and then approached the desk, bent over it, and looked closely at the drawers. Hearing a sound, he quickly moved away from the desk, and was standing in the centre of the room when Clarissa came in through the French windows.
Costello turned. When he saw who it was, he looked amazed.
It was Clarissa who spoke first. Sounding intensely surprised, she gasped, ‘You?’
‘Clarissa! What are you doing here?’ exclaimed Costello. He sounded equally surprised.
‘That’s a rather silly question, isn’t it?’ Clarissa replied. ‘It’s my house.’
‘This is your house?’ His tone was one of disbelief.
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know,’ said Clarissa, sharply.
Costello stared at her without speaking for a moment or two. Then, adopting a complete change of manner, he observed, ‘What a charming house this is. It used to belong to old what’s-his-name, the antique dealer, didn’t it? I remember he brought me out here once to show me some Louis Quinze chairs.’ He took a cigarette case from his pocket. ‘Cigarette?’ he offered.
‘No, thank you,’ replied Clarissa abruptly. ‘And,’ she added, ‘I think you’d better go. My husband will be home quite soon, and I don’t think he’d be very pleased to see you.’
Costello responded with rather insolent amusement, ‘But I particularly do want to see him. That’s why I’ve come here, really, to discuss suitable arrangements.’
‘Arrangements?’ Clarissa asked, her tone one of puzzlement.
‘Arrangements for Pippa,’ Costello explained. ‘Miranda’s quite agreeable to Pippa’s spending part of the summer holidays with Henry, and perhaps a week at Christmas. ‘But otherwise—’
Clarissa interrupted him sharply. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked. ‘Pippa’s home is here.’
Costello wandered casually over to the table with the drinks on it. ‘But my dear Clarissa,’ he exclaimed, ‘you’re surely aware that the court gave Miranda the custody of the child?’ He picked up a bottle of whisky. ‘May I?’ he asked, and without waiting for a reply poured a drink for himself. ‘The case was undefended, remember?’
Clarissa faced him belligerently. ‘Henry allowed Miranda to divorce him,’ she declared, speaking clearly and concisely, ‘only after it was agreed between them privately that Pippa should live with her father. If Miranda had not agreed to that, Henry would have divorced her.’
Costello gave a laugh which bordered on a sneer. ‘You don’t know Miranda very well, do you?’ he asked. ‘She so often changes her mind.’
Clarissa turned away from him. ‘I don’t believe for one moment,’ she said contemptuously, ‘that Miranda wants that child or even cares twopence about her.’
‘But you’re not a mother, my dear Clarissa,’ was Costello’s impertinent response. ‘You don’t mind my calling you Clarissa, do you?’ he went on, with another unpleasant smile. ‘After all, now that I’m married to Miranda, we’re practically relations-in-law.’
He swallowed his drink in one gulp and put his glass down. ‘Yes, I can assure you,’ he continued, ‘Miranda is now feeling violently maternal. She feels she must have Pippa to live with us for most of the time.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ Clarissa snapped.
‘Please yourself.’ Costello made himself comfortable in the armchair. ‘But there’s no point in your trying to contest it. After all, there was no arrangement in writing, you know.’
‘You’re not going to have Pippa,’ Clarissa told him firmly. ‘The child was a nervous wreck when she came to us. She’s much better now, and she’s happy at school, and that’s the way she’s going to remain.’
‘How will you manage that, my dear?’ Costello sneered. ‘The law is on our side.’
‘What’s behind all this?’ Clarissa asked him, sounding bewildered. ‘You don’t care about Pippa. What do you really want?’ She paused, and then struck her forehead. ‘Oh! What a fool I am. Of course, it’s blackmail.’
Costello was about to reply, when Elgin appeared. ‘I was looking for you, madam,’ the butler told Clarissa. ‘Will it be quite all right for Mrs Elgin and myself to leave now for the evening, madam?’
‘Yes, quite all right, Elgin,’ Clarissa replied.
‘The taxi has come for us,’ the butler explained. ‘Supper is laid all ready in the dining-room.’ He was about to go, but then turned back to Clarissa. ‘Do you want me to shut up in here, madam?’ he asked, keeping an eye on Costello as he spoke.
‘No, I’ll see to it,’ Clarissa assured him. ‘You and Mrs Elgin can go off for the evening now.’
‘Thank you, madam,’ said Elgin. He turned at the hall door to say,