'Do you like music?'
As soon as she had said it, her colour deepened and she looked at him, biting her lip.
'I'm sorry.'
'Why?' he asked, and suddenly his eyes were narrowed, half sheathed in heavy lids, hiding whatever expression was in them.
Marina did not know why she had apologised, only that suddenly she had felt as though she had insulted him, spoken in childish rudeness.
She spread her hands in a troubled little gesture.
'Of course you like it. I could tell.'
For a moment he was silent, then he rose and smiled at her. 'Let's play brag,' he said, and walked out of the room into the kitchen. Grandie was sitting there by the old stove which heated all their water. Gideon went to the long mantelshelf above the stove and reached up to get an old pack of cards which were always kept there. 'Brag?' he said to Grandie with a lift of his dark brows, and Grandie gave him a wry little smile.
A moment later they were all seated around the kitchen table, playing brag with enthusiasm, Grandie notching their scores with matchsticks in a battered old wooden scoring board.
Marina said nothing to either of the two men, but She looked from one to the other curiously. It was yet another instance of the secret between them. Gideon had known before he reached up to the shelf that the cards were kept there. He had known that Grandie's favourite game was brag. Marina and Grandie had spent many nights playing cards in this kitchen. When she was a little girl, Grandie would exchange sweets for the points she had taken in their games. If he won outright she would owe him time, time he expected her to spend in practicing.
How had Gideon known that? Unless the roots of his acquaintance with Grandie went back a long, long way, and if they did why had Marina never set eyes on him in her life before?
CHAPTER TWO
MARINA went to bed at ten as usual. The floors of the old house creaked noisily, the boards having shrunk and warped a good deal. On windy nights she often thought they sounded like complaining little voices. Tonight, though, she heard other voices —those of Grandie and Gideon downstairs in the kitchen. They had closed the door, but the sound came up through the low ceiling. She could not make out the words, but the tones were sharp and hostile. Grandie was arguing with their guest. Once or twice his voice sounded quite furious. Gideon answered quietly, softly, but with an unshakeable determination.
'What does it mean?' Marina asked Meg and Emma. They sat in their accustomed places on the end of her bed, one against each wooden post. Meg was very small and very neat, with tidy black curls visible beneath her yellow velvet bonnet, small black shoes just below the hem of her matching velvet coat. She had been Edwardian, the doll belonging to Grandie's sister Aunt Meg, who had died aged twelve. Marina thought of Meg as her cousin. During her rather isolated childhood she had invented this family for herself. The two dolls made it possible for her to have conversations. Emma was younger but larger, a floppy great rag doll with enormous sewn-on blue eyes and green ballet shoes tied on her feet. She had belonged to Marina's mother, Grandie said. He had never bought Marina a new doll and she would not have wanted one. These two were more than enough for her.
They had been with her for so many years. She would not want to part with either of them. Looking at them now, kneeling on her bed in her brief white cotton nightie, she waited for their reply and got none at all.
'You're useless, do you know that?'
She climbed into bed. 'All the same, something funny is going on, I'm sure of that. Do you think Gideon knows a dark secret from Grandie's former life?' Her eyes widened. 'Maybe Gideon is Grandie's illegitimate son by a Russian ballet dancer or a French opera singer.'
Meg's small face held ineffable contempt. Marina eyed her. 'No, maybe you're right,' she sighed.
Romantic but unlikely. Grandmama would never have allowed it.' She had no real knowledge of her grandmother, but the large yellowed photograph of her in the parlour showed a lady with a forthright chin and speaking eyes. Marina could not imagine Grandie daring to be unfaithful to her.
Grandmama had died thirty years ago. Marina's father had been a young man of twenty, but there were no photographs of him downstairs. Grandie was always elusive about him, brushing aside her questions. She screwed up her nose. Hadn't there once been a picture somewhere? She thought she
remembered one, but she could not be sure and it had certainly now gone.
Marina had a suspicion that her father had been rather wicked. In some way he had offended Grandie. She knew that her grandfather was very secretive about his past and the icy look which could invade h
is eyes was always enough to deter her from asking too many questions.
Curling up, her cheek on her hand, she slowly slid into sleep and when she woke up the daylight was streaming into the room. For a moment she lay there, yawning, then she uncoiled, stretching, and said good morning to Meg and Emma. Washed and dressed, she made her bed and went down the stairs. Grandie had lately begun to stay in bed in the morning. He was seventy-one and was beginning to conserve what was left of his life force.
It surprised her to walk into the kitchen and hear the kettle singing away. Gideon turned with a smile and Marina grinned back at him.
'You're up early!'
'It seemed a pity to waste such a day lying in bed.'
She looked out of the low window. Gideon had drawn the red check curtains and sunlight streamed into the room. The dew was still sparkling on grass and flowers, the vivid crimson roses unfolding on the trellis, the scarlet of poppies trembling heavy- headed, white lilac clustered just behind them. A mistle-thrush sat on the lilac tree, turning his little glistening black eye to inspect the lawn for signs of insects. The sky above him was a brilliant blue.
'It is a lovely day,' she agreed.
'A day for a picnic,' said Gideon, spooning tea into the pot.