‘It’s the old lady who seems to be setting the pace,’ said Margaret. ‘I suppose, like us, they are bound for Aunt Eliza’s.’
‘As it is the only hotel on the island, I think there is no doubt of that,’ said Marius. ‘I look forward to some interesting conversations with Dame Beatrice.’
That this aspiration was not to be realised was soon made clear. The cliff road ended in a flight of roughly-hewn steps and, at the top of these, two paths diverged from one another. The small map which formed the two centre pages of Eliza’s brochure indicated that the right-hand path was the one to follow in order to reach the hotel. The left-hand fork dipped to a deep hollow in which a solid, square house faced the sea which could be seen from its upstair windows. Towards this building the two women were directing their vigorous way. Marius and his children took the right-hand path at the end of which they could see a jumble of buildings, one very much higher and larger than the rest, which they rightly took to be Eliza’s hotel and its satellite bungalows.
‘Well, Aunt Eliza’s brochure is right about one thing,’ said Sebastian. ‘There will certainly be a view of the sea from most, if not all, of the windows.’
They mounted three wide steps and turned to look at the view. The mainland, shadowed by a sea-haze, was remote and dreamlike. Between it and the island the sea was broken by small white-capped waves and the travellers had been more than aware of the wind as they climbed the hill. From where they were standing there was no hint of the beach, neither could they see the wide, shallow arc of the bay. Even the square mansion towards which their fellow-travellers had turned was almost out of sight, half-hidden away in its dip.
Without a word Marius turned and pushed open the revolving door of the hotel. Already he felt that it had been a mistake to come. He marched up to the reception desk and gave his name. It was met with a cool stare.
‘Mr. Lovelaine, did you say?’
‘Yes. I’ve booked for a four-week stay. My sister is expecting me. Miss-er-Mrs Chayleigh is my sister.’
The reception clerk turned up a ledger, grudgingly, it seemed, then turned the hotel register round towards Marius.
‘You had better sign the book, then,’ she said. ‘Numbers seven, eleven and twelve seem to be vacant. Did you need the porter? He’s off duty.’
‘No,’ replied Marius. ‘We left our luggage down below.’
The receptionist hooked down three keys and pushed them over the counter.
‘Afternoon tea, if you require it,’ she said, ‘is served at four and is paid for on the spot.’
‘I see.’ Marius turned to his son and daughter who were now inside the vestibule. ‘We had better inspect the three rooms,’ he said, ‘and then we can apportion them. I suppose you’d both like tea?’
‘No. You have some,’ said Sebastian, ‘and suit yourself about the rooms. Maggie and I are going to have a look at the island.’
‘Oh, very well,’ agreed Marius, whom this arrangement suited. He turned to the receptionist. ‘Perhaps you will let my sister know that I am here,’ he said. He picked up the keys. ‘Is there a lift?’
‘No. Room seven is on the first floor. Rooms eleven and twelve are in one of the chalets.’
‘But that is most inconvenient. I expected that we should all have rooms in the house.’
‘Not possible. The chalet is very comfortable.’
Marius went up the stairs to inspect room number seven and found it greatly to his liking. He supposed he had better offer it to his daughter in the hope that she would refuse it, but he abandoned this thought when he had crossed the short space between the house and the chalets and had looked at the one to which he held the keys. It was of wood and consisted of two very small bedrooms, each of which opened on to the outside air and had an inside door which connected it with a small sitting-room. There was no water laid on, but a notice boldly displayed in each bedroom announced that the bathhouse and toilets were housed in a separate building labelled All Yours which was readily accessible to chalet-based visitors.
Apart from all other considerations, this, and a fire-extinguisher which occupied a prominent place on the wall of the tiny sitting-room, decided Marius. It was not for him to put up with such inconvenient arrangements. He was prepared to make a fuss with the reception clerk if his children repudiated the chalet, but first of all he would point out to them the advantages of the situation, stressing the privacy the chalet afforded and the delightful privilege of having their own sitting-room, besides the freedom to come and go exactly as they pleased.
He returned to the hotel, mounted to number seven, washed his hands (thus, apart from anything else, establishing his right to the room) and went downstairs to greet his sister and have some tea. He expected her to offer it in her sitting-room. This would naturally result in his taking a welcome cup of tea without being charged for it. He resented being charged separately for this extraneous little meal when he was paying full board at what (he now agreed with his wife) were unreasonably high prices for what was offered.
Meanwhile Sebastian and Margaret were carrying out their tour of reconnaissance, but were confining it to the immediate environs of the hotel. These, they soon decided, offered little prospect of entertainment ‘unless’, said Margaret, ‘there’s anybody interesting living in that house down there in the dip, apart from the old witch and the Amazon. I don’t think they’re our cup of tea, do you?’
They stood on the cliff-top and studied the house. Except for a vast, ancient wistaria which climbed all over the front of the south wing, it was without adornment. One window in the centre block had been bricked up, otherwise the fenestration was plain, Georgian and practical. All the upstair windows were open at top and bottom, indicating that the inhabitants had a liking for fresh air, but, apart from this, the house had the unlived-in appearance of a place which was rented for the summer.
It was sheltered by a hill of bracken and heather which rose behind it like a wall, but up which a winding path led to the plateau which formed the main floor of the island. In front of the house there were bushes, but, except for a small rose-garden, no attempt at cultivation of any kind had been made. A low stone wall separated the rose-garden from some rough grass and the shrubbery, and to the east of the main building were outhouses and stables. Behind these were the quarries, now overgrown and unused.
As the brother and sister were taking in these details, the Amazonian woman, whom they had followed with her older companion up the steep track from the landing-stage, came out of the front door of the house and saw them. She waved to them and then disappeared round the side of the building and the next they saw of her was on the winding path at the back which led either to the quarries or the plateau on which the hotel was situated.
‘Wonder what she’s like?’ said Margaret.
‘A bit above my weight, anyhow,’ said Sebastian, watching the tall woman striding onwards up the slope.
‘And a bit above both our ages. Do you think she lives there?’
‘No. They had luggage with them.’
‘They might be coming home from holiday. I wonder when our luggage will come up? I could bear to get out of these clothes and into something a bit more in keeping with the scenery. I wonder whether The Tutor has contacted Aunt Eliza yet?’
‘Perhaps we had better go back and find out. Besides, I’d like to see our rooms.’
They returned to the hotel to find that their father was just beginning his tea, which he had had to pay for.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘it hasn’t taken you long to make your tour of inspection. What do you think of it all?’