This Way to Heaven by Barbara Cartland Page B

table once more.
    She pushed the lamp further away from the book.
    The flame was secure enough inside the glass, but with all the draughts and strange little currents of air that swirled round these ancient buildings, she knew you could not be too careful.
    A fire in such a huge library would be disastrous.
    Just as she was about to leave, her gaze fell on a piano in the corner of the room.
    â€˜Heavens! I have never in my entire life seen such a beautiful thing.’
    She sat down on the piano stool and carefully lifted the heavily inlaid walnut piano lid.
    Reverentially she ran her fingers over the black and white keys, delighting to find that the instrument seemed to be perfectly tuned.
    Jasmina, like all American girls who had benefited from a good education, had learned to play the piano at an early age, but she had never been given the chance to try such a magnificent instrument.
    Now as her fingers drifted softly over the keys, she was amazed at the beautiful sound it made.
    â€˜I wonder if the Earl plays. He did not strike me as the type of man who would have much time for music, but someone keeps this piano in tip-top shape.’
    She let her thoughts drift away, back to her home in the United States, their big house in St. Louis, the music room leading out onto the shaded veranda and her Mama pouring iced tea for neighbours, who sat on the cushioned swing gossiping.
    Jasmina recalled a very jolly American folk song her dear Mama particularly loved and was about halfway through playing it, when –
    â€œYou play extremely well, Miss Winfield!”
    Startled, Jasmina’s fingers slipped on the keys and she looked up alarmed.
    The Earl was standing right behind her, leaning on the back of a chair watching her.
    â€œMy Lord – I am so sorry. Have I disturbed you? Oh, no, I suppose you have come to continue your reading. I will return to my room.”
    The Earl crossed to the piano.
    â€œThere is no need to. And please, will you stop apologising, Miss Winfield. Every time I see you, the first words out of your mouth seem to be ‘I’m sorry’!”
    Jasmina looked up at him her eyes bright blue in the flickering candlelight.
    â€œHow incredibly boring of me! Well then, I will have to keep that phrase for an occasion when I may very well need to say it!”
    The Earl smiled.
    There was something refreshing about this girl. It was tempting to tease her just to see how she reacted.
    â€œDo you play, my Lord?”
    â€œI have no time for games, Miss Winfield!”
    Jasmina tossed her head, her golden curls tumbling across the cream lace dressing gown.
    â€œI think you know, as well as I, my Lord, that I meant ‘do you play the pianoforte’?”
    The Earl’s smile faded and he reached across to pick up a small oil-painting standing in a frame on a side table.
    â€œNo, the piano was my wife’s. I bought it for her – from Berlin. I hoped it would amuse her, but Millicent was such a carefree and energetic person. She always wished to be out-of-doors and on the go.
    â€œShe had no time for music, but I am certain that as she grew older, she would have loved music as much as I do.”
    â€œI believe your late wife was very young when she died so tragically, my Lord,” Jasmina whispered.
    The Earl sighed, the pain of his memories clear on his face.
    â€œYes, indeed. Millicent lived here from the age of thirteen. She was my father’s ward and when I inherited the title three years ago, we were married. She was just seventeen.”
    He stood gazing down at the painting and silence fell in the room.
    Slowly and carefully Jasmina closed the piano lid.
    â€œI am very well aware that the loss of a wife leaves a terrible scar, my Lord, and you have all my sincerest sympathies.”
    Abruptly the Earl put the little oil painting back on its silver easel.
    Jasmina could see it clearly – a young girl with a cloud of dark curls, not pretty, but