Wild Enchantress. Anne Mather

      Jared half turned to stare out of the window, and Catherine felt her hackles rise. He was so arrogant! Why should she regret anything she had said to him? It was left to his stepmother to assure her that she was very welcome, and then Susie led the way back to the hall.

      A marble staircase led to a first floor gallery which circled the hall below. White panelled doors opened on to the gallery, but Susie turned left at the top of the stairs into a long panelled hallway giving access to that wing of the building. She flung open a heavy door halfway along the hall, and indicated that Catherine should precede her into the room.

      She stepped into an apartment fragrant with the perfume from a bowl of roses set on the bedside table. White damask-covered walls were relieved by the long rose-coloured curtains at the open balcony doors, and echoed in the silken bedspread strewn with red roses on a white background. The cedarwood furniture was light and functional, adding its own distinctive aroma to the already heady scent of the room.

      Susie crossed the fluffy white rugs which were strewn over the wood-blocked floor to open the adjoining bathroom door, but Catherine had already stepped on to the balcony, catching her breath at the view which confronted her. There in the distance was the sea, hazed in green and blue, shimmering through the heat of late afternoon. Between the house and the ocean stretched acres of pasture-land, grazed by groups of horses, their coats dark splashes against the greenness of the grass. Immediately below her windows were the gardens of the house. Formal lawns and flower beds, tennis courts half hidden behind hedges of laurel and rhododendron, and opening from the house itself, a mosaic-tiled patio area, bright with garden furniture, and reflected in the depths of an enormous kidney-shaped swimming pool. Its blue waters looked cool and inviting, and had Catherine not felt so utterly weary, she might well have taken advantage of that particular amenity before dinner.

      ‘Can I get you anything else, Miss Fulton?'

      Susie was hovering right behind her, and Catherine came back into the bedroom, looking about her with smiling appreciation.

      ‘I don't think so, thank you. It's beautiful.'

      The maid smiled her satisfaction at these words and gave a little bob. Then she noticed the cases set on an ottoman at the foot of the bed. ‘Would you like me to unpack for you?’ she suggested, but Catherine shook her head, assuring her that she could manage. ‘Well, the bell's just there, by the door,’ Susie added, her voice soft and slightly sing-song. ‘If you do need any help, just ring.'

      When she was alone, Catherine breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against the door to survey her domain. It was all far more luxurious than she had expected. Her father had talked very little about Jared's background, confining his remarks to the man's undoubted artistic ability, and the fight he had had with his father to leave Oxford and attend an art college. Her father had been lecturing at that time, before he gave it up to concentrate his energies towards a political career. But now she was left in no doubt as to her host's affluence, and she wondered if this was the main reason why her father had chosen such a guardian for her. Perhaps it was yet another attempt to persuade her of the foolishness of her own intentions.

      The bathroom which adjoined the bedroom had porcelain tiles, patterned with the continuing rose design. Long mirrors gave back her reflection from a dozen different angles, and cut glass shelves supported a variety of oils and lotions intended to add their fragrance to the water.

      Catherine decided to have a bath, shedding her clothes carelessly, too tired to fold them, or unpack her cases right now. Cool water melted the heat from her body and left her feeling infinitely refreshed. Wrapping herself in a white towelling bathrobe which she found hanging behind the bathroom door, she came back into the bedroom and stretched her length on the superbly comfortable springs of the bed, uncaring that her hair was damp and strewn carelessly across the pillows, or that her bare feet made little wet patches on the immaculate bedspread.