‘That’s not the point. I have a feeling that Sarah has absolutely no desire to live an isolated life in the Cotswolds with, by way of company, Harris’s brother who doesn’t seem quite right in the head.’
‘How can you say that? You’ve only seen him once, at her marriage.’
‘That’s quite enough to form an impression. The two brothers are nothing like each other. In appearance, at least. There are a few points in common. Harris is also capable of—.’
‘Howard!’ protested Mrs. Hilton. ‘How can you talk like that? I’d like you to explain once and for all what you’ve got against him. Incidentally, when Sarah first introduced us, I noticed you didn’t seem very enthusiastic.’
Mr. Hilton hesitated.
‘Listen, Dorothy, I can’t put my finger on it. It’s not the age difference, in any case. Even though fifteen years… No. Incompatible personalities, perhaps. Sarah’s not in the habit of allowing herself to be walked on, and obviously neither is he. He’s more likely to crush other people.’ A mischievous gleam appeared in his eye. ‘While we’re on the subject, my dear, why don’t you tell me what you’ve got against Paula, that sweet young thing? You’ve never said anything, but I know there’s something about her you absolutely can’t stand. Isn’t it true?’
‘What an idea, Howard… No, I’ve nothing at all against her, even though… At times she gives the impression of being — how to put it? — light-headed? Frivolous?’
‘Light-headed or frivolous?’ exclaimed Howard. ‘Paula? Good grief, Dorothy, you’re full of surprises. She just likes a good laugh, that’s all. I’ve always suspected you’d consider any wife of your son, whoever she may be, as some sort of thief.’
‘Which just goes to show how little you know me,’ sniffed Mrs. Hilton, in the tone of an outraged queen.
Howard Hilton picked up the newspaper, then threw it down in frustration and lit a cigarette.
‘I don’t feel happy about the situation,’ he sighed. ‘A family united all together under the same roof, in an old manor, with a generous and very rich man. If this were a novel, it would end in tragedy.’
4
At the wheel of her convertible, Sarah Thorne followed the winding road leading to Hatton Manor at high speed. She had just driven through Withington, followed by admiring and envious looks. The inhabitants of the village were not accustomed to see such a beautiful sports car, with such sparkling chrome, nor such a beautiful driver.
Sarah was wearing a bright red dress of a deceptive simplicity, which suited her perfectly. Her luxuriant black hair trailed behind her in the wind. She filled her lungs with the pure air, as exhilarating as the speed of the little Bugatti. Happy at the thought of finally exploring her new home, she felt tempted to push harder on the accelerator, but decided otherwise when she heard the squeal of the tyres as she rounded the latest curve.
Harris had wanted to show her the place himself that very day, but had been detained by important business in Coventry, much to his annoyance. No longer prepared to wait, Sarah had decided to go there alone: Harris would join her that evening, along with her parents, Francis, and Paula.
Far from being upset, she was thrilled by the idea of discovering, all by herself, the property her husband had described in such glowing terms. Of course, there would be Brian, strange Brian, but from what little she knew about him she felt sure he would not make a nuisance of himself.
At the sight of the sign for Hatton, her eagerness intensified. But as she left the village behind, she was obliged to stop. The road forked left and right ahead of her, but there was no indication in which direction the manor lay. ‘Turn left just after leaving Hatton, you can’t miss it,’ Harris had assured her.
After a brief hesitation, she made a random choice and proceeded along a narrow, rocky road, but stopped a second time as she saw a couple coming towards her. She switched off the engine and waited for them to draw level. The man, dark-haired, slender and of medium height, was tastefully dressed and about the same age as Harris. Sarah found his regular features and discreet but engaging smile quite attractive. His younger companion, with her striking golden hair and charming profile, would have been very beautiful but for the rather vacant look in her pale blue eyes.
Sarah asked for directions to Hatton Manor and the couple looked at her in surprise.
‘Would you, by any chance, be Brian’s sister-in-law?’ enquired the man.
‘Well, yes,’ replied Sarah, charmed and a little confused by his admiring regard.
‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ said the man, bowing slightly, ‘Mike Meadows, at your service, and this is my fiancée, Bessie Blount.’
‘Delighted to meet you,’ said Sarah, in response to Bessie’s friendly smile. After an awkward silence, and not knowing quite what to say, she added:
‘So you know Brian?’
The couple exchanged amused looks. Mike Meadows cleared his throat and continued:
‘Yes, we’re from the village. Brian’s a friend of ours, an excellent friend. And we owe him a lot.’
‘Oh, yes!’ exclaimed Bessie, laughing heartily. ‘You could say we owe him everything!’
Sarah tried to make sense of their strange words and hilarity, but failed.
‘You see, Mrs. Thorne, as the village doctor—.’
‘Doctor!’ Sarah blurted out, having a completely different image of the medical profession in her mind.
Meadows smiled.
‘I can understand your astonishment, madam. Obviously, I haven’t yet acquired the same experience as my colleague Dr. Allerton, whom I shall replace a couple of years from now. But what I meant to say was that, as a man of science, I bow before your brother-in-law’s powers.’
‘His powers?’ repeated Sarah, stupefied.
There was another silence. Bessie Blount turned to her fiancé:
‘Obviously Mrs. Thorne doesn’t know… Brian isn’t the sort of person to shout from the rooftops that he’s capable of….’
‘So you really don’t know?’ asked Mike Meadows.
‘I don’t understand. What powers are you talking about?’
‘Your brother-in-law possesses a particular gift and one that’s very rare. A gift which I, as a man of science, refused to admit… until I met Brian. Prophecy, divination, clairvoyance, call it what you will, your brother-in-law is capable of predicting the future.’
Sarah was about to burst out laughing, but the serious looks on the couple’s faces dissuaded her.
‘Predict the future? But that’s impossible!’
Mike Meadows nodded solemnly.
‘I won’t spend any time on facts which don’t personally concern us and which we haven’t personally witnessed. But be aware that Brian told Bessie and me, just a few weeks ago, about a happy event in the near future which would be of great importance to both of us. He literally told us that we would know great love in the coming weeks. And the very next day we fell madly in love with one another.’
Sarah’s mind was empty as she drove the remaining three hundred yards to the manor. The road ended outside the wide open gate to the property. A wide gravel drive traversed a park of ancient trees, in which the birds were greeting the arrival of a warmer season. If the cracked, moss-covered pillars of the entrance showed signs of abandonment, the lawn, on the contrary, had obviously been carefully maintained. Halfway along the drive, a paved path to the left led to a wooded hillock on which stood a chapel. A thick hedge inside iron railings encircled most of the park, in the middle of which stood the manor. It was a well-proportioned XVIIth century stone construction consisting of an imposing main building, in the centre of which was the front entrance, and a small wing to the left.