Before Jeremy had a chance to reply to this, the door leading to the library opened, and Clarissa Hailsham-Brown, a beautiful dark-haired woman in her late twenties, entered. "Hello, my darlings," she greeted Sir Rowland and Hugo. "Have you settled it yet?"
"Yes, Clarissa," Sir Rowland assured her. "We're ready for you."
"I know I'm right," said Hugo. "Number one's the Cockburn, number two's the port-type stuff, and three's the Dow. Right?"
"Nonsense," Sir Rowland exclaimed before Clarissa could answer. "Number one's the port-type stuff, two's the Dow, and three's the Cockburn. I'm right, aren't I?"
"Darlings!" was Clarissa's only immediate response. She kissed first Hugo and then Sir Rowland, and continued, "Now one of you take the tray back to the dining-room. You'll find the decanter on the sideboard." Smiling to herself, she took a chocolate from a box on an occasional table, and went across to the sofa.
Sir Rowland had picked up the tray with the glasses on it, and was about to leave with them. He stopped. "The decanter?" he asked warily.
Clarissa sat on one end of the sofa. "Yes," she replied. "Just one decanter." She put her feet up. "It's all the same port, you know," she told them, laughing.
CHAPTER TWO
CLARISSA'S ANNOUNCEMENT produced a different reaction from each of her hearers. Jeremy burst into hoots of laughter, went across to his hostess and kissed her, while Sir Rowland stood gaping with astonishment, and Hugo seemed undecided what attitude to adopt to her having made fools of them both.
When Sir Rowland finally found words, they were "Clarissa, you unprincipled humbug." But his tone was affectionate.
"Well," Clarissa responded, "it's been such a wet afternoon, and you weren't able to play golf. You must have some fun, and you have had fun over this, darlings, haven't you?"
"Upon my soul," Sir Rowland exclaimed as he carried the tray and glasses to the door. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, showing up your elders and betters. It turns out that only young Warrender here guessed they were all the same.
"Hugo, who by now was laughing, accompanied him to the door. "Who was it?" he asked, putting an arm around Sir Rowland's shoulder. "Who was it who said that he'd know Cockburn 'twenty-seven anywhere?"
"Never mind, Hugo," Sir Rowland replied resignedly, "let's have some more of it, whatever it is." Talking as they went, the two men left by the door leading to the hall, Hugo closing the door behind them.
Jeremy moved away from Clarissa on her sofa, and then turned to face her accusingly. "Now then, Clarissa," he said, "what's all this about the Herzoslovakian Minister?"Clarissa looked at him innocently. "What about him?" she asked.
Pointing a finger at her, Jeremy spoke clearly and slowly. "Did he ever run to the lodge gates and back, in a mackintosh, three times in four minutes fifty-three seconds?"Clarissa smiled sweetly as she replied, "The Herzoslovakian Minister is a dear, but he's well over sixty, and I doubt very much if he's run anywhere for years."
"So you did make the whole thing up. They told me you probably did. But why?" Jeremy wanted to know.
"Well," Clarissa suggested, her smile even sweeter than before, "you'd been complaining all day about not getting enough exercise. So I thought the only friendly thing to do was to help you get some. It would have been no good my ordering you to go for a brisk run through the woods, but I knew you'd respond to a challenge. So I invented someone for you to challenge.
"Jeremy gave a comical groan of exasperation. "Clarissa," he asked her, "do you ever speak the truth?"
"Of course I do – sometimes," Clarissa admitted. "But when I am speaking the truth, nobody ever seems to believe me. It's very odd." She thought for a moment, and then continued. "I suppose when you're making things up, you get carried away and that makes it sound more convincing." She rose from the sofa and went across to the French windows.
"I might have broken a blood vessel," Jeremy complained. "A fat lot you'd have cared about that."
Clarissa laughed. Opening the window and looking out into the garden, she observed, "I do believe it's cleared up. It's going to be a lovely evening. How delicious the garden smells after rain." She sniffed. "Narcissus."
As she closed the window again, Jeremy came over to join her. "Do you really like living down here in the country?" he asked.
"I love it," Clarissa told him.
"But you must get bored to death," he exclaimed. "It's all so incongruous for you, Clarissa. You must miss the theatre terribly. I hear you were passionate about it when you were younger."
"Yes, I was. But I manage to create my own theatre right here," said Clarissa with a laugh.
"But you ought to lead an exciting life in London."
Clarissa laughed again. "What – parties and nightclubs?" she asked.
"Parties, yes. You'd make a brilliant hostess," Jeremy told her, laughing.
She turned to face him. "It sounds like an Edwardian novel," she said. "Anyway, diplomatic parties are terribly dull."
"But it's such a waste, your being tucked away down here," Jeremy persisted, moving close to her and attempting to take her hand in his.
"A waste – of me?" asked Clarissa, withdrawing her hand.
"Yes," Jeremy responded fervently. "Then there's Henry."
"What about Henry?" Clarissa asked as she moved away to pat a cushion on an easy chair.
Jeremy looked at her steadily. "I can't imagine why you ever married him," he replied, plucking up his courage. "He's years older than you, with a daughter who's a school-kid." He leaned on the armchair, still observing her closely. "He's an excellent man, I have no doubt, but really, of all the pompous stuffed shirts... Going about looking like a boiled owl." He paused, waiting for a reaction from Clarissa. When none came, he continued, "He's as dull as ditch-water."
Again Clarissa said nothing. Jeremy tried again. "And he has no sense of humour," he muttered somewhat petulantly.
Clarissa looked at Jeremy, smiled, but said nothing.
"Oh, I suppose you think I oughtn't to say these things," Jeremy exclaimed.
Clarissa sat on one end of a stool. "Oh, I don't mind," she told him. "Say anything you like."
Jeremy went over to sit beside her on the stool. "So you do realize that you've made a mistake?" he asked eagerly.
"But I haven't made a mistake," was Clarissa's softly uttered response. Then, teasingly, she added, "Are you making immoral advances to me, Jeremy?"
"Definitely," was his prompt reply.
"How lovely," exclaimed Clarissa. She nudged him with her elbow. "Do go on."
"I think you know how I feel about you, Clarissa," Jeremy responded somewhat moodily. "But you're just playing with me, aren't you? Flirting. It's another one of your games. Darling, can't you be serious just for once?"
"Serious? What's so good about 'serious'?" Clarissa replied. "There's enough seriousness in the world already. I like to enjoy myself, and I like everyone around me to enjoy themselves as well.
"Jeremy smiled ruefully. "I'd be enjoying myself a great deal more at this moment if you were serious about me," he observed.
"Oh, come on," she ordered him playfully. "Of course you're enjoying yourself. Here you are, our house-guest for the weekend, along with my lovely godfather, Roly. And sweet old Hugo's here for drinks this evening as well. He and Roly are so funny together. You can't say you're not enjoying yourself."
"Of course I'm enjoying myself," Jeremy admitted. "But you won't let me say what I really want to say to you."
"Don't be silly, darling," she replied. "You know you can say anything you like to me."
"Really? You mean that?" he asked her.
"Of course," Clarissa assured him.
"Very well, then," said Jeremy. He rose and turned to face her. "I love you," he declared.
"I'm so glad," replied Clarissa cheerfully.