The House of Adriano by Nerina Hilliard

conventional remarks which had nothing to do with the purpose of their being together. She did not have to direct him, since he appeared to remember the way exactly. When they arrived, Peter was waiting at the gate as usual, his dark eyes widening in surprise and interest to see her emerge from the large black monster that slid into the kerb. He had not yet quite reached the age when small boys begin to give cars precedence over everything else, and so after one intrigued glance at the car he seemed to be more interested by the novelty of her arriving in company with a stranger and by car, instead of alone and by the familiar, noisy, jolting tram.
    Aileen watched as the dark eyes, so much like those of the man at her side, went over him interestedly.
    “I haven’t seen you before,” Peter remarked chattily. “Do you work with my Auntie Aileen?”
    “No ... no, he doesn’t,” Aileen denied hastily. The very idea of Duarte Adriano being in any way connected with her work at the hotel was ludicrous.
    Some odd impulse made her introduce the two almost formally, adding the information that Duarte had been Eric’s cousin.
    “Oh.” Peter regarded the tall, dark man with added interest. “Are you my uncle, then?”
    “Well, not exactly,” Aileen said, before Duarte could reply. She had the feeling that Peter might be on the point of remarking that Paul was his uncle - or hoped he might be - but to her relief he made no such embarrassing remark. It might not be embarrassing in itself, but she was quite sure Duarte would somehow contrive to make it so.
    A few minutes later Peter was installed in the car, sitting between them in the front seat and looking out of the window with interest and mounting excitement.
    In a quiet voice she gave the further directions necessary to take them on to where she lived, and with a swift stab of some indefinable emotion suddenly became aware of how shabby the house looked. It was clean and well-kept inside, but outside it looked as if it could do with a coat of paint and even the neat curtains at the windows did not disguise that the woodwork outside had on it only the remains of some very ancient green paint.
    Quite involuntarily, she found herself shooting a quick glance at Duarte as they left the car, but whatever his inner thoughts might have been, the dark face was quite inscrutable.
    They went inside, Peter prancing up the path ahead of them. Mrs. Margetson was in the hall when they entered and smiled a greeting to Aileen, he r glance flickering curiously over the man, widening slightly as if she too found him somewhat out of the ordinary and no doubt wondered what he was doing with someone like Aileen Lawrence, then Aileen saw a little ripple of shock cross her face as she glanced from the boy to the man, no doubt recognising the resemblance between them.
    Aileen led the way down a narrow passage, opening a door into a small but shabby room that was nevertheless as neat and tidy and well-polished as the rest of the house.
    “Perhaps you’ll wait in here for a moment. I won’t keep you long.” She allowed a trace of a conventional smile to cross her face. “Mrs. Margetson doesn’t like us to bring visitors up to our rooms, so this lounge is always at our disposal. I’m sure you will approve of such a convention,” and here she allowed just a faint trace of something mocking to creep into her smile.
    The dark eyes narrowed as they met hers, but his face was quite unreadable. An odd apprehension began to grow in her. She had the feeling that his expression was kept unreadable for a purpose. He was planning something she would not like.
    “Your ... landlady is obviously a person of good sense.”
    “Yes - and she’s a thoroughly nice person too,” with which remark she turned and left him, to seek out the landlady in question.
    Mrs. Margetson was just turning into the kitchen when Aileen caught up with her. She turned with a smile.
    “At a guess, I would say your friend is