us.'
'Now look,' Sandie said with a touch of desperation as she digested
all this, 'you mustn't get the wrong idea. I've come to Killane to—to
play the piano, that's all.'
Another glance was exchanged and two heads nodded wisely.
'That's what Francesca used to say, every time she came over to the
house. She was a pianist too,' said James, and grinned at her.
'In fact when you walked in yesterday, we all thought...' Steffie
paused with a yelp, as James gave her a shrewd kick.
'Yes?' Sandie prompted rather tautly. 'What did you all think,
precisely?'
'Oh, it doesn't matter,' Steffie mumbled after a pause. 'I think I'll go
for another swim.'
It was clear the twins had decided they'd been indiscreet enough for
one day, Sandie thought as she reached for her jeans. The sun was
still blazing down, but she felt suddenly icily cold. She had to force
herself to speak normally.
'I think I'd better be getting back to the house. I— I ought to
practise...'
'Can you find your own way?' James asked. 'We'll stay here for a
while.'
'I'll be fine,' Sandie agreed hastily.
She was trembling as she cycled off, her mind dazedly trying to
make some kind of sense out of what she'd been told. At least some
of the question marks which had been hanging over her since she'd
arrived at Killane had now been answered, but not in the way she'd
expected or wanted, she thought forlornly.
And it explained some of Flynn Killane's hostility too, but not all.
What right has he to set himself up as some kind of moral arbiter on
Crispin, anyway? she asked herself angrily. He's nothing but a
hypocrite, if what the twins said is true.
Stealing and snatching, she thought, and grimaced. She couldn't
imagine any woman in her right mind preferring a boor and a bully
like Flynn to Crispin. And If Crispin made a mistake in marrying
this Francesca, that surely doesn't mean he has to forfeit all future
chance of happiness, she argued.
Flynn Killane seemed to be taking his self-assumed responsibilities
as head of the house much too far. But he won't win, Sandie
thought, lifting her face defiantly to the breeze. He won't spoil
things. Because I won't let him.
And she shivered suddenly, as she was struck by the absurd
conviction that—somewhere, somehow— Flynn Killane had heard
her silent challenge—and accepted it.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE music helped, as it always did. As Sandie played, she felt her
inner turmoil quietly subsiding as all her emotional concentration
became centred on the notes she was trying to interpret.
Magda, she thought, would have nothing to complain of tomorrow.
As she played, she was marginally conscious of the panorama of
lake and trees outside the huge window. The sight of the sun
sparkling on the water seemed to calm and uplift her at the same
time.
It was amazing, she thought, that someone as basically insensitive
and—earthy—as Flynn Killane could have deliberately provided
such an environment for the making of music, when it was
something he didn't even approve of.
But then he was obviously a mass of contradictions, she decided
with a shrug, and certainly not worth the amount of mental energy
she seemed to be expending on him. But it was hard to dismiss him
completely from her thoughts in the light of the twins' revelations,
she told herself with an odd defensiveness.
And it was infuriating the way he kept intruding between her
consciousness and the things that really mattered—like Crispin's
Elegy, for example.
She took up it up and placed it on the stand, studying it frowningly,
trying over a few of the opening chords. It was an amazingly
complex composition, and far more technically demanding than
anything she'd ever attempted in the past. But then Crispin had
criticised her for being unadventurous, she thought with a mental
shrug. Perhaps this was his way of launching her into the musical
deeps.
She struggled with it for half an hour, then put it aside with a sigh,
glad
'Now look,' Sandie said with a touch of desperation as she digested
all this, 'you mustn't get the wrong idea. I've come to Killane to—to
play the piano, that's all.'
Another glance was exchanged and two heads nodded wisely.
'That's what Francesca used to say, every time she came over to the
house. She was a pianist too,' said James, and grinned at her.
'In fact when you walked in yesterday, we all thought...' Steffie
paused with a yelp, as James gave her a shrewd kick.
'Yes?' Sandie prompted rather tautly. 'What did you all think,
precisely?'
'Oh, it doesn't matter,' Steffie mumbled after a pause. 'I think I'll go
for another swim.'
It was clear the twins had decided they'd been indiscreet enough for
one day, Sandie thought as she reached for her jeans. The sun was
still blazing down, but she felt suddenly icily cold. She had to force
herself to speak normally.
'I think I'd better be getting back to the house. I— I ought to
practise...'
'Can you find your own way?' James asked. 'We'll stay here for a
while.'
'I'll be fine,' Sandie agreed hastily.
She was trembling as she cycled off, her mind dazedly trying to
make some kind of sense out of what she'd been told. At least some
of the question marks which had been hanging over her since she'd
arrived at Killane had now been answered, but not in the way she'd
expected or wanted, she thought forlornly.
And it explained some of Flynn Killane's hostility too, but not all.
What right has he to set himself up as some kind of moral arbiter on
Crispin, anyway? she asked herself angrily. He's nothing but a
hypocrite, if what the twins said is true.
Stealing and snatching, she thought, and grimaced. She couldn't
imagine any woman in her right mind preferring a boor and a bully
like Flynn to Crispin. And If Crispin made a mistake in marrying
this Francesca, that surely doesn't mean he has to forfeit all future
chance of happiness, she argued.
Flynn Killane seemed to be taking his self-assumed responsibilities
as head of the house much too far. But he won't win, Sandie
thought, lifting her face defiantly to the breeze. He won't spoil
things. Because I won't let him.
And she shivered suddenly, as she was struck by the absurd
conviction that—somewhere, somehow— Flynn Killane had heard
her silent challenge—and accepted it.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE music helped, as it always did. As Sandie played, she felt her
inner turmoil quietly subsiding as all her emotional concentration
became centred on the notes she was trying to interpret.
Magda, she thought, would have nothing to complain of tomorrow.
As she played, she was marginally conscious of the panorama of
lake and trees outside the huge window. The sight of the sun
sparkling on the water seemed to calm and uplift her at the same
time.
It was amazing, she thought, that someone as basically insensitive
and—earthy—as Flynn Killane could have deliberately provided
such an environment for the making of music, when it was
something he didn't even approve of.
But then he was obviously a mass of contradictions, she decided
with a shrug, and certainly not worth the amount of mental energy
she seemed to be expending on him. But it was hard to dismiss him
completely from her thoughts in the light of the twins' revelations,
she told herself with an odd defensiveness.
And it was infuriating the way he kept intruding between her
consciousness and the things that really mattered—like Crispin's
Elegy, for example.
She took up it up and placed it on the stand, studying it frowningly,
trying over a few of the opening chords. It was an amazingly
complex composition, and far more technically demanding than
anything she'd ever attempted in the past. But then Crispin had
criticised her for being unadventurous, she thought with a mental
shrug. Perhaps this was his way of launching her into the musical
deeps.
She struggled with it for half an hour, then put it aside with a sigh,
glad
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