Storm In A Rain Barrel

‘I haven’t seen the solicitor,’ replied Domine tightly.

Mannering frowned. ‘Is that so? You mean it was all done by correspondence?’

‘Of course. Besides, what could the solicitor have told me? From the tone of his letter, he seemed as surprised as me!’

Mannering’s frown deepened. ‘Now why were you surprised, Domine? Did you expect to be Henry’s heiress?’

Domine clenched her fists. ‘I think you’re most objectionable, Mr. Mannering!’ she exclaimed. ‘I didn’t imagine anything. Great-Uncle Henry wasn’t old—at least, not that old. When I was eighteen I expected to go to college, and afterwards—well, I suppose I just thought I’d get a job and find somewhere of my own to live.’

Mannering gave her a wry glance. ‘Okay, I’ll accept that,’ he nodded. ‘I’m sorry if I’m riding you, kid. Perhaps I’m so used to the rat-race I’ve forgotten there are still mice around.’

Domine flushed. ‘You still haven’t answered my question. Where am I to stay? Where am I to live?’

Mannering drew out his cigar case and lit a cigar before replying. Then he said: ‘Tonight, you’ll stay at my apartment—in London. Tomorrow we’ll drive up to Yorkshire.’

‘To Grey Witches?’ exclaimed Domine, in surprise.

‘Sure, to Grey Witches!’ He frowned. ‘I don’t intend to sell the place, you know. What’s the matter? Doesn’t that appeal to you?’

Domine shook her head. ‘I didn’t think about that either,’ she murmured, wondering with a sense of excitement whether Grey Witches was to be her home. It would be wonderful to have a real home after all these years.

Mannering gave an exasperated shrug, and then they encountered a stream of traffic entering London and for a time his attention was focused on negotiating a series of traffic lights. Domine looked about her with interest. She had never really visited London. When she was younger, living with her parents in Nottingham, it had never appealed to her, and afterwards Great-Uncle Henry had avoided it like the plague. ‘Nasty, unhealthy place,’ he had called it, and Domine had been too inexperienced to offer an opinion.

James Mannering’s apartment was the penthouse of a block of luxury dwellings, and once inside the air-conditioned environs of the lift Domine forgot the vile weather outside. The lift swept upwards smoothly, and then whined to a halt at the thirtieth floor. They stepped out on to a pile carpeted corridor that led to double doors into his apartment, and Mannering went ahead of her, using a key to admit them.

Immediately a suave little man appeared from the direction of what she later learned to be the kitchen, and Mannering introduced him as Graham while he removed his overcoat.

Domine smiled, and shook hands, and Mannering said: ‘Graham is a gentleman’s gentleman. He was employed by Lord Bestingcot years ago, but he’s been with me for about ten years now, haven’t you, Graham? He’s endeavouring to instil the attributes of a gentleman into rough clay like myself!’ He smiled, and Domine was surprised at the change it brought to his harsh features. She was begining to see why Susan had thought him attractive. There was something particularly masculine about him, and his hardness, she thought, would appeal to some women.

Graham took Domine’s gaberdine, and suggested they might like some coffee, but after ascertaining that dinner would be ready in about fifteen minutes, James Mannering waved him away.

‘We’ll have something a little more appetizing,’ he remarked, and nodding, Graham went to attend to the meal. Then Mannering looked at Domine, standing hoveringly by the door. In truth, she was still recovering from the impact the apartment had made on her, with its plate-glass windows, giving a panoramic view of the city, and the soft carpet underfoot into which her feet sank. There were deep red leather chairs, and occasional tables made of ebony, while in the alcoves, fitted shelves supported books, hi-fi equipment, and a super-luxury television set. The room was lit by tall standard lamps designed in sprays, while the heating was concealed but comfortable. And despite its artistic design, the room was the kind of place where one could relax without worrying too much about ultra-tidiness. Just now, a pile of manuscript lay on a side table, while some magazines were strewn on a low couch. It had a lived-in air, and Domine wondered whether Great-Uncle Henry had ever been here.

‘Come and sit down,’ invited James Mannering, indicating the couch. ‘Take your shoes off; make yourself at home. If you’re to be my ward for the next six months, we might as well get used to one another.’

Domine hesitated, and then she stepped forward, and did as he suggested, subsiding on to a couch that was softer than anything she had previously experienced.

‘Now! What are you going to drink?’ he asked, walking over to a cocktail cabinet. ‘Port, sherry, Martini? Or just some fruit juice?’

Domine bit her lip. ‘Fruit juice, please,’ she said, folding her hands in her lap.

He glanced round at her, looked as though he was about to protest, and then seemed to change his mind. ‘All right,’ he agreed, and mixed her a lime and lemon. ‘There you are!’ He poured himself a stiff measure of whisky and swallowed it at a gulp, then he poured another before coming to sit opposite her, on a low chair, regarding her with lazy, yet intent, blue eyes.

Domine sipped her drink, and looked about her nervously, wishing he would not study her so intently. She could feel the colour sweeping up her neck and over her ears, washing her face a brilliant shade of tomato. Then he seemed to grow bored with embarrassing her this way, and said, instead:

‘Haven’t you any questions you want to ask?’

Domine looked down at her glass. ‘Heaps,’ she agreed candidly.

‘Well, go on, then. Ask?’

Domine felt tongue-tied for a moment. ‘Have—have you written many plays?’ she asked tentatively.

Mannering lay back in his seat regarding her impatiently. ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ he exclaimed. ‘What does that matter? Come on, Domine, stop being such a mouse for once, and speak your mind! Doesn’t it bother you that Henry should have thrust you so heedlessly into my hands?’

Domine’s fingers tightened round the glass. ‘Of course it bothers me. In fact, I wanted to speak to you about that. It—it might be a good idea if I stayed here—in London, I mean. I could easily get a job, and I suppose there are bed-sitters and things—’

‘Oh, no!’ Mannering raised his eyes heavenward. Then he stared at her again. ‘Oh, no, Domine, most definitely, no! Old Henry knew exactly what he was doing when he handed you into my care. He knew that once I’d seen you, talked with you, got to know what kind of innocent you really are, I wouldn’t dare to let you out of my sight. Leave you here in London, indeed! Good God, girl, you haven’t the faintest idea what could happen to you here—in swinging London, as they say! Oh, no! Like I said at the convent earlier, right now you’re in for a holiday.’

Domine sighed. ‘But I don’t want to be a nuisance—’

‘A nuisance?’ He shook his head. ‘My dear girl, you began being a nuisance three weeks ago when old Henry died. There’s not a chance that you’re going to stop now, and certainly not by attempting to be independent. How old are you, fifteen? Sixteen?’

‘Seventeen!’ retorted Domine, somewhat jerkily. ‘You know that as well as I do!’

He smiled. ‘Yes, well, maybe I do at that. But right now you look about fourteen, and considering the promiscuity of girls today I would place you mentally among the twelve-year-olds!’

‘Thank you!’ Domine got unsteadily to her feet. ‘You needn’t imagine that because you’ve been given my guardianship that you can speak to me as you like!’ she gasped angrily. ‘I may look like a child, and I may appear to be one in your sophisticated eyes, Mr. Mannering, but I’m not, and I’m not as ignorant of the way of the world as you imagine!’

He looked up at her mockingly. ‘Are you not? Then forgive me!’

She turned away from his mockery then, unable to stand this verbal baiting any longer, and he seemed to repent, for he said: ‘Oh, Domine, this will have to stop, you know. It’s no good our arguing all the time. All right, I’ll accept that you’re on the verge of young womanhood, but there’s a hell of a lot you’ve got to learn, and you won’t learn it in the space of a couple of weeks.’

She looked back at him. ‘I don’t expect to,’ she said unevenly.

He leaned forward then, studying her thoughtfully. ‘And you won’t get anywhere unless you start asking some questions,’ he remarked. ‘Like, for instance, why Henry left everything to me.’

Domine flushed. ‘That’s nothing to do with me,’ she murmured.

‘Of course it is!’ Mannering shook his head, apparently amazed at her lack of curiosity. ‘Look, did he never talk about me—about my mother?’

Domine shook her head uncertainly. ‘Not that I can remember.’

‘Did he talk about Grey Witches?’

Domine shook her head again.

‘I see. And you never visited there, did you?’

‘No.’

Mannering heaved a sigh. ‘Obviously his intention was to keep both sections of his life apart. He could hardly have taken you to Grey Witches without arousing a lot of unpleasant questions—unpleasant for him, that is.’

‘Why?’ Domine’s brows drew together.

‘Because my mother lives at Grey Witches. She always has.’

‘What!’